I don’t know Kim Rogers, but I hate her. Her clothing line for Belk evidently runs small, because I find my “normal” size is a bit snug if it carries her label. So I have to size up, and this perturbs me. Life ain’t fair, I’ve known this all along, but clothing should be! I dated myself today. One of my friends purchased her daughter a car for her birthday and posted a picture on Facebook. It looked like a dern nice one, much better than what my friends and I drove at sixteen. I commented, “Sharp!” After posting I thought, “Nobody says that anymore. Not even Boomers. That’s it. I will never be cool again.” Not there was ever much hope. I love it when people say they like my house. It’s nothing special, but I’m proud of it. I think I’ve succeeded in making it a home. Almost all my possessions are objects I’ve collected around on my travels. Of course the books make it cozy. There’s usually something cooking or maybe a cake under the glass dome. I’m trying to cut back on those, though. I try to keep it tidy, but there is always errant dog hairs here and there. And Amy hairs. But I feel like if you like my house, you like me, because my home is a direct reflection of me. And, it would stand to reason, you probably wouldn’t be welcome…

“Write of what you know,” Mrs Tipton told my tenth grade English class. But what I know is no longer useful to those who lead lives so startlingly different than my own. I know nothing of long marriages, but instead, ill-fated love. I don’t know about securing a career right out of college, and being compensated fairly. It is a mystery to me, the act of raising children, or having a healthy relationship with my parents. I can’t tell you the first thing about iPhones or popular television programs or streaming services. I couldn’t list five current celebrities if you held a gun to my head, or anything about winning sports teams. I haven’t a clue what’s trending in clothes, or how I should be applying eyeliner. I haven’t a clue about diets or workouts. I cannot do sums in my head or use a sewing machine. But I know about true friends, and fake ones, too. I know what it’s like to travel alone, to a destination hundreds of miles away that I’ve never visited. I am well versed in sitting in a quiet house all day, flipping pages of a book and cooking a pasta dish from a recipe I stumbled across online. I understand how it feels to not want to get up and do it again but you have to, because there is no one to bail you out. I’m familiar with being on my knees…

It has been an altogether pleasant day. I slept in, made me half a pot of coffee, and drank it quite leisurely, with my sweet dog at my side. So very much at my side, in fact, that I’m thinking of changing his name to Barnacle. I could call him Barney for short. Then I decided to clean the winter gunk from my patio table and dine alfresco. It was late for breakfast, but I wasn’t having a Bloody Mary, so I hesitate to call it brunch. Food just tastes better outside. I don’t care if it’s just a bologna sandwich, or peanut butter and crackers, there’s just something about the sun on your face and the wind in your hair. I watched a woodpecker sail right into the hole in the dead tree and clouds puff across the robins-egg-blue sky. I watched all the cars race by, people on an important mission to do things they probably didn’t even want to do. People who would probably be bored to death sitting on a porch watching woodpeckers and eating biscuits with their dog glued to their side. I wasn’t bored, but I was procrastinating. Saturday is housework day. But I got everything vacuumed and dusted and swept and scrubbed. I did not strike a lick at laundry or cleaning my furniture, as is my custom on time change weekends. Yes, I am aware I’m a week late on the time…

I have eaten the awfullest mess of garbage today that ever was. Just like I didn’t learn a thing from Thursday night’s escapade. Oh well. It was a rainy, stormy morning here in East Tennessee and I just couldn’t see the effort in driving to work and spending the day with Sniveling Jake. So I didn’t. And I’m glad of it, I’ve had a rather cozy day here eating whatever didn’t eat me. I feel like I stayed on the phone all day, and checking my log, it appears I pretty much did, from 10-6. Not all work, but some. But you gotta keep up on current developments with friends. And I did get my latest Lisa Jewell book knocked out mere moments ago. It was a hum– dinger and I recommend it to those of you who like “what if” type books or books about amnesia. The title was The Truth About Melody Browne. I liked it, I liked it a lot. Some adulting things I’d like to share: stop buying Rice-a-roni, the San Francisco treat. It pales in comparison to Uncle Bens. I know Uncle Bens fell victim to the marketing attack a few years ago, and I also know it’s a smidgen more expensive, but I’m telling you, it’s worth it. It cooks better, it tastes better, and it makes more. Adulting #2: like everybody else and their brother, I have Pyrex…

I’m looking forward to when writing is so ingrained in me I just wake up and do it, like brushing my teeth or washing my face. As it stands, I put it off all day and now here I am at 11:00, tapping a little something out that I will be too tired to proofread. All errors are mine. (Who else’s would they be???) But to be honest about it, the main reason I put it off is to have something sensational to report on. However, I’m generally happy to say it was another mediocre day. One of my board members asked me today if anything exciting had been going on. I was like, “Lorrrrrd no, please don’t let anything exciting happen!” Because when exciting things happen at work, it’s costing somebody a crap ton of money. No, hold the excitement please. I know a little dog that had quite the capital day. No, not Chessie Pie. Although he may have, I wasn’t here for it. And he is sleeping quite soundly….. No, it was Angela’s dog, Yona. (Yona means Bear in Cherokee. And she does look like a very lean, leggy bear). Angela has two dogs, a 100# Bernadoodle named Okra who resembles a very large stuffed animal, and the little mischief maker, Yona the Aussiedoodle. They both had vet appointments this week for their annual checkup. Okra went yesterday, and Yona’s big adventure was today. You might be thinking…

I rarely know what I’m gonna write about when I sit down to do it. I don’t generally agonize over it, but sometimes I wish for an incident that would leave a desirable impression on me. I thought for sure something would inspire me from my outing tonight, but it was not meant to be. It’s ok. It’s been a decent day. I got quilt #2 sent back to Amazon. I was supposed to have supper and drinks with a couple of friends in Market Square, but that didn’t work out. What DID work out was I caught Kay in Sevierville and we turned up for early afternoon. It took forever to get to our accustomed time for fellowship, so we ended up hitting some of Sevierville’s new spots. Not new to me, but definitely new to Kay. She’s freaking out over being served lobster in a funeral home. I’ve never met a bigger weenie in my life! She cracks me up. She’s all about reviving downtown, and places that used to be one thing and are now another, but she’s definitely out on eating oysters in a former funeral home. Obviously, I have no such qualms. And I got crème brûlée, so it really wasn’t a bad day at all. I looked at the crescent moon tonight as I walked up my sidewalk. I pondered what all the moon has observed, and if it thinks…

Today has been a day of conflicting emotions. It hasn’t been a bad day, just a day where I can’t seem to be on my true path. I know how to fix it, just need to talk to the Man upstairs. I’m afraid I ain’t gonna like what he has to tell me, though. It happens. I am such a procrastinator. I still haven’t sent in my taxes. I did purge some things this weekend- not as much as I had hoped to. I stay on top of most of my stuff, for the most part. Got rid of several pairs of shoes, though. Is anybody interested in wedding dresses? I have two very beautiful ones. Of course, this is my opinion, but I think you’d be crazy not to agree 🤣 I was hoping to donate them to a good cause, so I first thought about the angel baby gown people. I asked Angela if she knew of any locally, since she’s in the sewing machine circles. She didn’t, but sent me a link for gifting to military brides. I liked that idea a lot, but they only accept gowns less than four years old that have been professionally cleaned. Ok. I get it. You don’t want these 1980s puffy long sleeved lacy yellowing monstrosities with matching hats. But I’m pretty sure my 2001 couture A-line corset back ball gown is still posh. And my 2012 taffeta cupcake dress…