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Browsing Tag: #tennessee
No ships for me this morning No stroll for me today No bloody marys on the beachNo sunburn on the wayIt’s the tweeting of little songbirdsThe scolding of the squirrelsThe dew thick upon the fescueThe buzzards as they whirlThe mountains call me homeI see them in the distanceThe air has cooled the light has changedThe mosquitoes are persistent My old front porch beckonsAnd I reflect upon this lifeI’ll sit right here with my beerAnd bid the South goodnight…
I sit hereOn my ugly porch(it has multiple cracks)(and needs pressure washed)(and painted)In the duskTrying to readBut my book is dullAnd my across-the-street neighbor Is walking Up and down his driveway I have observed five tripsSo farBut I am also watching my dogWho has made four rounds of the perimeter While I have eaten OreosSo many I lost count…
You ask me what I’m doingBut if you’d think you’d already knowI’m watching the world wake upFrom my porchI’m admiring the sparkle of the dew in the grass like forgotten jewelsAnd counting birdsAnd listening to water dripThe locusts are gearing upAs I sip my coffeeWhile Chester makes his roundsThe tiny lizard darts among my flowerpotsOld Glory At half staffIs still proudNot beatenJust a little brokenFor a little whileNo breeze stirs her this morningA few bees out already Seek nectar from my petuniasI watch the chickens compete for bugsJerking their heads, their keen eyes zero in on their next victimAnother leaf drops from my redbudsTraffic is increasingAs the sun gets brighterAnd I suppose I should get upBut I’ll miss all thisSo instead I write a poemThat doesn’t rhymeThat most people won’t understandAnd I tell you simply, “Sittin’ on my porch…
Those of you who know me well know how much I cry. I cry for little to no reason most of the time. Maybe I’m laughing so hard I cry. Maybe a song hits me just right. Maybe I’m mourning the Reese Cup I accidentally dropped on the floor. I suppose instead of Chester’s Chronicle I could do something called Amelia’s Emotions. Today, this brought me to tears. I couldn’t ask for better neighbors. They’re friendly, they’re respectful, they’re quiet. They wave at me if I’m sitting on the porch, they constantly consider me when it comes to the roaming of their chickens, they give me a heads up when they’re planning a get together so I’ll be prepared to party with them or leave the premises. They are entering their second harvest season and evidently their garden took on a life of its own this year. They had put a couple of containers out by the road when the squash started coming in. Today, it was a whole table. Now, it isn’t just their generous hearts that made me a little mushy. Scott & Chasity live in my great-grandparents house. My Papaw built that house, starting with just a few rooms, and built on as his family grew. It was a bit of a mish-mash of a house, as you would expect. When…
Do those two words conjure dusty corners and musty smells? Do you think of lamplight and heavy drapes and threadbare cushions on antique furniture? Do you envision leather bound tomes, heavy as bricks, piled on every surface and crammed into shelves that reach to the ceiling? Do you picture bespectacled old women, peering at you from under steel gray buns when a book from your pile slips to the floor, causing a disruption? Do you conjure up card catalogs and rainy afternoons and periodicals enjoyed by a large potted plant? Perhaps you are remembering hours spent in your school library among books on spaceships and whales with rainbow posters on the creme colored cinder block walls. Maybe you remember being slumped in a plastic chair at a round table with a chipped veneer finish, #2 pencil in one hand, the other in a fist at your hairline as you tried to determine what the differences are between porpoises and dolphins for your research paper. Or was it college, when you were there in your cubby, scratching out an outline to your thesis and some grad student was being helpful and surfing through ten weeks worth of newspapers from Chicago’s Great Fire on the microfiche to help you. You were taken into the archives by a lady who probably painted lines up the back of her legs during WWII. You’re tapping away on one of those newfangled Apple computers, the monitor the color of a cherry Lifesaver…
Because it’s been so rainy and generally gloomy….I felt like we needed a reminder there are “better” days ahead. It’s the sunshine glaring off the windshields, temporarily blinding you as you make your way out of the grocery store. It’s that rush of super humid, super hot air that takes your breath the moment you step outside. You wish for air conditioned pants. You want to go to the lake, but really even the thought of lake water isn’t cooling enough to bother. Then there’s the pool….but baking on concrete and then jumping into chlorinated water isn’t really worth getting your hair wet for, either. You sweat standing in your air conditioned bathroom straightening your hair, which will undoubtedly frizz as soon as you think about going outside. Dogs dig out the earth for a cooler place to lie, and rise slowly from their shaded resting places to bark halfheartedly at strangers. It’s so hot you can’t even bear to think about wearing black for a funeral, but remember you bought those black and white palazzo pants just for these occasions. You question the sanity of those girls who wear fashion scarves. You barely refrain from rolling your eyes at those who wear a sweater in the office against the chill of the air conditioning. You debate on moving your chair directly over the vent. It’s…
Today was the big day!! Book fair day! This rates right up there with Thanksgiving and my birthday for me. We go to the library, where Rhonda has carefully cultivated a selection of about twenty books for us to choose from. We vote for twelve, and the ones with the highest number of votes go on our list for next year’s book club picks. We’re the Pageturners, so there is always an eclectic mix of current literature, suspense/ thriller, classics, chick lit, fantasy, with maybe a YA or apocalyptic one thrown in. It’s a blast, especially if there’s a tie and the ones who want to read it lobby for more votes. This probably sounds super nerdy to those of you who don’t devour books like the four of us us do, but let me tell you, I look forward to this day all year. Then, we go to the eatery of choice and have dinner and drinks and discuss the previous month’s selection. January’s pick was The Night the Lights Went Out by Karen White. Of course I’ve been fiddle farting around for some time now and didn’t get it read. I’m about halfway, but I had it figured out, for the most part. It didn’t matter. I’m there for the food. I mean, companionship. 😂🤣 We had a great time, discussing everything from Nazis to…
I‘m a hopeless optimist. Ask anyone who knows me well. I stay to the bitter end, hoping against hope things will get better: my jobs, relationships, food. You name it. Don’t fault me for wearing orange. I have no more say in the matter than I do over my skin or eye color. It’s game day Saturday? Bet your best watch Amy’s wearing orange. It’s almost indeliberate and automatic. If we’re not in attendance, we’re watching from wherever we are (including the Walking Horse Celebration and a bar in Florida) and looking for the checkerboard with every play. Sure, I’ve lost hope several times this season. It’s depressing. I’ve said for a long time-it’s hard work to be a true fan. Anybody can root for a winning team. But to support a program when they’re down and out takes a special kind of loyalty. Some may call it stupidity. But Rocky Top does something to me. And orange is never wrong. Additionally, you can always cheer on whoever is playing Alabama or Florida. Lots of ways to keep occupied as a Vol fan. If nothing else, I can be proud of our band. Pride of the Southland never makes a false step. They’re the majority of the pageantry: the Power T that the team runs through, the…
I didn’t want to go to work today. Sometimes I have an ominous feeling on the anniversary of September 11th, those are the days I keep my bug out bag within arm’s reach. Sometimes I’m despondent, dwelling on the lives lost starting with this fateful day through the War on Terrorism. And sometimes I’m just mad. Today I was dejected, thinking about how useless it all is. And the hurricane, on top of all that. And yes, it could have been a lot worse, but is that how we’re going to live our lives? It was going to be dreary and wet and cold. So I just wanted to loll in bed and read, and kinda forget the rest of the world existed for one day. In short, I wanted to be selfish. On this day. This day. THIS day. The day when selfishness was banished from society in one of the hardest cities on Earth. When strangers kissed on rooftops, thankful for their lives. When emergency personnel rushed into burning, tumbling buildings just to save one more life, knowing they probably couldn’t save their own. When the President of the United States of America kept reading to kindergarteners after receiving the worst news possible whispered in his ear. So yeah, I could get out of bed. I could do this. And so I drove to work, thinking about people in New York City and Washington 16 years…
Oh, football weather is once again upon us. And I’m happy. I’ve got veggies, bottles of ranch dressing, and all the fixin’s for nachos. I also bought some sushi, but that can be our little secret. So anyway, the preparations have been underway. We’re flying the colors and sporting our best orange. Mom has been out to the graveyard to get Grandmother ready, too. I approve of this, mainly because it’s cool and I couldn’t do it if I had to. I can still see her, perched on the couch, her back ramrod straight. “Hold ’em boys, hold ’em.” She’d be puffing away on that cigarette and probably wishing for a shot of Jack Daniels. Grandmother was a big Vol fan, as we all are here in big orange country. Knoxville is a sight to behold on game day. Not sure if you can make it out or not, but the little football says “Go Vols” on it. My contribution was the “live, laugh, love” part because Grandmother wasn’t very religious and all the scriptures just felt wrong. She was all for laughing and loving, though. So that’s her little piece of Big Orange Country, about ten miles from Neylabd Stadium. I’d say she can hear the cheering and feel the stands thundering as 100 thousand strong…
