I don’t think I would make a very good criminal witness.

I mean the description part, mainly. I watched a guy get into a car that pulled up beside him outside a restaurant one day and my mind started formulating a story. “What if he’s never heard from again. What if the driver of the car wasn’t the person he thought it was and they’ve kidnapped him.”

The police would  ask me for  a description of the car and all, since I was an eye witness. That man’s life could depend on my memory. He’s hanging in the balance while I’m trying to describe exactly what I saw. Poor man.

“Well, officer, it was silver with a little beige, depending on how the sun hit it. You know, sort of silvery beige that looks like it’s been in the sun too long. That’s it.”

“He was wearing tan pants — not brown tan, a little more like cream — more light colored. They were wrinkly, too.”

And to think I’ve been married to a law man all these years. You’d think I would pay more attention to the details. Actually, I think I do  – that’s the problem. I try to fit all the details in. One thing always reminds me of something else and then I include that in my story.  The person I’m talking to just glazes over.

What the what?

I’m sure I would be the same way with weather events. If the weather channel people ever come to my house to ask me to describe the tornado that just hit, look out. I just hope I can come up with something different than, “it sounded like a freight train.”

My description would probably be something like this: “It sounded like a train that sounds like a plane flying too low and you think it’s going to hit your house, so you run outside to get in your car. Then you remember that your dogs are still in there, so you go back to get them and realize the stove is on. You don’t want the house to burn down, so you run to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t leave the flat iron on, too. By then you realize it was just a train rumbling down the track and all is well. That’s what it sounded like – a rumble – kind of like a freight train.”

Does anybody else do that?

So, moral to this story? There’s not one — except, pay attention to details. It could save somebody’s life some day when they’re being taken hostage in a slightly beige car.

Have you ever uttered those famous words – “I’ll never do that. I’ll never get up in the middle of the night to join a group of crazies trying to get a bargain. It’s not worth it. I wouldn’t go if they’re giving away gold bricks.”

Never say never.

The doublewide husband and I set the clock for 2:30am (yes, I said 2:30am, not pm) on Black Friday, finally decided to actually get up after the alarm went off, put on clothes and left the house by 3:15 to drive up the interstate to get to Bass Pro Shop at the break of day. Actually, the day had not yet broken when they opened the doors.

We staked out our spot in the parking lot and then decided to stay in the warm car rather than wait outside in freezing temps. We’re really die-hard Black Fridayers. Then, I watched the line of people and we made our move once the line started moving. Just inside the front doors, coffee and doughnuts were waiting along with friendly, smiling faces. They may have secretly wanted to choke us behind those smiles, though. I mean, think of how early you have to get to work to be prepared for a crowd of shoppers ready to pounce on you as soon as the clock struck 5am?

So, the big wooden doors opened and we filed in with the rest of the bunch in surprisingly orderly fashion. Nobody yelled. There were no fights. People were actually being kind to each other. Surely, if the Bass Pro Black Friday crowd can be nice to each other, there’s hope for the world! I think this might have been the cream of the crop as far as Black Friday crowds go.

I thought of something else as we were waiting, before the shopping began — anybody up to no good (i.e., criminals) surely realized that the Bass Pro crowd was not the crowd to mess with. You don’t  terrorize a group of gun toters wearing camo — they will shoot back.

We got in, made our way through the crowd, purchased what we went for and made our way out again. Cracker Barrel (affectionately known as the “Crack House”) was our next course of action. Coffee and gravy brought us back to life. We were nearly the only ones in the place, except for a group of gals who were doing Black Friday the right way — eat breakfast first and then go shopping. I was on my way home to do some napping.

Overall, I would give our middle of the night Black Friday experience a 9 — taking off points because it was so dadburned early. It was fun while it lasted, but I like my sleep too much. I don’t know that I’ll be doing that again anytime soon. If you want me to go on a shopping spree, you’ll have to wait till a decent hour.

The Santa Train made its 75th run this weekend, winding down from Kentucky through Virginia coal country into Tennessee.

There are different Santa Train runs across the country, but this is the one I’ve gone to time and time again since I was a kid. My cousins and I used to go when we were little and stand beside the railroad track to catch the candy, toys and coloring books volunteers threw off the train as it passed by us. I kind of felt like Charlie Brown at halloween when he ends up with an empty sack. I can’t remember ever getting anything big — just a few pieces of candy that landed at my feet.

Now that you’re feeling really sorry for me… picturing me standing by the track with an empty bag. I was fine – I had fun and that’s what matters.

My mom remembered going out to meet the Santa Train with her brothers and sisters years ago when it first started the Christmas run.They had to cross a field in rural Southwest Virginia to get to the track. She said she remembered digging the candy out of knee-deep snow. Back then, they just threw candy out as the train made its way down the track.

These days, kids and adults line up along the track and then swarm the train as soon as it stops, trying to get a stuffed animal or a roll of wrapping paper. I have seen knock-down-drag-outs over the toys (between adults and kids!) but this year the crowd was pretty civil and orderly. I’m glad — it’s for the kids anyway. I like to watch the goings on and snap photos to remember the event.  Except this year my phone almost ran down before the train even got there and the doublewide husband had to share his pics with me.

There’s usually a country music star aboard the train as special guest. It was pretty cool seeing Ricky Skaggs on the train this year. He’s from Cordell, Kentucky. I bet he watched the Santa Train as a child and maybe even dreamed of riding it one day.

I hope the Santa Train gets to keep on running for many more years to come. One day we’ll be watching it on its 100th run. Maybe by then they will throw out things like computers and gift cards for massages. I might have to knock somebody down to get that.

I’m not sure if I like this whole time changing thing. It just mixes me up too much — messes up my routine. I guess the morning “fall back” isn’t too terrible since we gain an hour.

If you’re like us –  we change some clocks and forget others in the house. Depending on what room you’re in at the time, you could be in a panic on Sunday morning. My cell phone has a mind of it’s own so I don’t have to worry about it. That’s still a little disconcerting in itself.

I’m not crazy about the weekend when we “spring forward” because of the loss of  that hour. The whole thing throws me off track for at least a week. Although I like that time zone (time frame?) the best. I’m just gonna go back a few days and hang out there for awhile.

Or better yet,  I’ll run for national time decider. Can we put that on the ballot next year? I would look like the rabbit with the clock in Alice in Wonderland.  I promise to keep us on one time or the other — none of this changing around twice a year. It interrupts our lives and sleep patterns and our evening daylight. I like the long days, so I think I’ll come up with an idea where we can have morning light early and long evenings to hang outside longer.

Maybe I need to move to Alaska during the time they have daylight almost 24 hours. I think that would suit me just fine. I’m good at taking naps any time of day, so it would work.

My neighbor, Elmer, has seen many more time changes go around than I have over the years. He always loves to remind me when the days are going to start getting shorter every summer. I try not to listen, but he’s right. Just when I get used to the nice long days they start getting shorter. Oh June, how I love and hate you all at the same time. On the flip side, I love the shortest day of the year in December, because that means the days are going to start getting longer. It’s just a little bit each day, but I hang onto every minute.

My car clock may or may not be on the correct time right now. If I leave it where it is, I may actually get to work on time…

Maybe I’ll just look up the states that stick with one time and move to one of them. I’ll let you know when I find the one that’s just right.

I went to Gatlinburg, Tennessee for a conference this past week. We go every year, but this time was different.

It had been almost a year since fires struck and burned the Smokies. I don’t know the statistics about how many acres were destroyed, but I remember hearing about people trying to escape. Some of them didn’t make it out. I saw the news reports and videos of our vacationland burning. It was too sad, but I watched anyway and prayed.

A few days ago, a friend and I drove the nature trail that winds back through the mountain above Gatlinburg. We saw stumps of burned trees and foundations that had supported vacation cabins. It was still beautiful, still majestic. A fire challenged the mountains and the mountains won.

The undergrowth was growing nicely. Nature was replenishing with new shoots from the roots that were hidden far under ground.

This isn’t my usual humorous look at life post, but I had to talk about what we saw. I read another friend’s article about the fire she’d written right after it happened and I got teary-eyed. It’s still emotional and I’m so glad that things are getting back to semi normal in the Smokies.

It was good to see the new construction going on as new hotels and vacation cabins are being built back.

Don’t worry — all our favorites are still there — you can still get taffy that will stick to your teeth and get your name air brushed on a t-shirt. I can still get my cinnamon doughnut at the Village bakery.

Dollywood is thriving, although the fires did get close to the theme park. I think they lost some of their vacation rentals. Dolly didn’t let the tragedy slow her down, though, and raised enough money to be able to help a lot of people who needed it. I think she could teach the government something about raising and distributing money.

Like I said, I’ll get back to the funny stuff next time. I just needed to report on the Smokies and let everybody know it’s gonna be ok.

It’s October, time for pumpkins, colorful leaves, scarecrows …. and dancing Santa’s.

Can we please have separation of holidays?

Here goes my “back in my day” speech.

Well, back in my day, the Christmas trees didn’t come out until after we carved the turkey. Then it was no holds barred! I think my Aunt Shirley secretly had her Christmas tree decorated and hidden in the closet all year long just waiting to bring it out as soon as Halloween was over. She loved Christmas! I love it too, I just think we should wait till the appointed time — at least until November hits.

Retail stores literally have the Santa’s and Rudolph’s bumped up against the ghosts and goblins. I don’t like it. On that note, I could do without the witches and mummies standing in the aisles of every store you walk in. I want to punch the animated monsters reaching their fake spindly hands out trying to grab me.. I hate those things. I do love fall! Pumpkins with scarecrows, yellow mums and hay bales are lovely and quaint.

I’d much rather rock around the Christmas tree than watch monster movies any day. But give the halloweeners their day to have fun — wait till closer to Thanksgiving to bring out the Christmas decor. I do like the orange lights up everywhere for fall though. Christmas used to be the only season where we had festive lights – now they’re all over the place throughout the year.

If you want to decorate for Thanksgiving, good luck. It’s almost impossible to find a cardboard turkey for your table. They’re in short supply. It’s either a frankenstein or an elf — there’s no in-between these days. I guess I’ll have to go out and find some feathers and make my own turkey centerpiece. I wonder what that would end up looking like — I’m not the best at homemade creations, but I try.

I just want to enjoy my pumpkin spice latte without seeing a candy cane frappe on display too. Christmas season will get here, just be patient. I’m pleading to the Cracker Barrel’s and Wal-Mart’s of the world — chill your wheels a little. Let us relax and enjoy each season as it comes. I’m taking a stand for Thanksgiving too! I want to see some turkeys and pilgrims in the mix!

Sorry… got a little carried away there. I guess I’m a little overly enthused about keeping the seasons separate.

I’m not going to mention that I’ve already been watching Hallmark Christmas movies. We won’t talk about that…

Life in the country is quiet and nothing ever happens… right?

Ha ha.

Over the years some pretty interesting things have happened out in our neck of the woods. We have had ostriches running amok and naked people posing in front of open windows, in the midst of all the cattle tending and rooster crowing.

Naked people?

Several years ago, talk started buzzing about a mysterious naked man in the community. He wasn’t out roaming around the farmland or trying to get into other people’s houses or anything like that. “Then what?” You might ask.  He was quite content to stay at his own abode and flash his wares (I’m not talking about Tupperware here) at anybody who drove by after dark.

Reportedly, he didn’t mind greeting the school buses driving by early of the morning with loads of kiddies going to school either. It seems he wasn’t particular about who he flashed.

The doublewide husband decided  late one day that he had to see what (if anything) was really going on so he decided to do a little drive by. (He worked for the local sheriff’s department at the time and people kept calling him about the goings on)

I was up for an adventure and didn’t realize the magnitude of what I was getting into, so I decided to go along.

We hopped in the car and away we went. The roads around here are a little curvy in places and “Big Tex’s” house sat just as you come out of a curve going one way and just before the curve going the other way. The house was fairly close by, so it didn’t take long to get there.

Just as we approached the house in question, the doublewide husband  spotted him. “There he is!” It was dark outside, except for this bright glow coming from the wide open window of the house. At first I was like, “Where, I don’t see anything.” (I think I had my glasses on that night and I don’t see as well with them as I do my contacts) As I peered at the house thinking I was missing the action, my question quickly turned to  “Ohhhhh…. oh my goodness…look away, look away, look away Dixieland!”  Well, if we didn’t believe before that, we certainly did then.

Needless to say, that was one country drive I didn’t soon forget.

That’s also not the end of the story. At the time my little 90-year-old neighbor, Kate, lived just out the street. She lived by herself and made some of the best pies (not related to the story, but I just wanted to add it). She had heard all of us talking about the naked man and the commotion he was causing.  Her daughter, Wanda, and I would go for evening walks as often as we could and went out to Kate’s once in awhile.

One evening it started to get dark before we made it out the street. Wanda had already warned me that Kate probably wouldn’t open her door since we didn’t call and give her advance notice that we were going to stop by.

We went up to the back door and knocked. Nothing.  I remember seeing the curtain by a window move a little. Sure enough, she wouldn’t come to the door.

We walked back out the road and called to let Kate know that was us knocking at her back door. She admitted that she had been afraid to open the door. ” I thought it was that naked man.”

The naked man certainly had us in an uproar for awhile that year. Still think life in the country is dull?

Every Thursday we make our way to the Telford Diner in the “downtown” section of our country community.

The parking lot is usually full, tables loaded, and steak and gravy is not the only thing on the menu. There’s always plenty of conversation to go with the soup beans and cornbread. And it’s usually pretty interesting…

We end up on a different topic every week. This past Thursday’s offering was all about how we do and do not want to be buried.

Most wanted the customary arrangements, while some said they’d be fine with the plain and simple. “Just put me in a pine box,” the doublewide husband commented in the mix of the conversation. (I think that’s actually the name of a country song)

One thing the cremation crowd agreed on: do not sprinkle them at sea because they’re afraid of water and can’t swim.

Tall tale telling is as plentiful as the condiments.  It’s pretty fitting for this spot located just outside the Storytelling Capitol. Give me a hamburger steak with a side of funny stories any day. I love it.

Something else that makes the Diner quaint is the decor and the festive plastic tablecloths that always sport the proper print for whatever time of year it is. Fall floral is the current theme with Thanksgiving and Christmas soon to follow. Red, white and blue cloths are displayed with pride during the summer months. The only kneeling done here is in thanks for the many blessings.

We celebrated the doublewide husband’s birthday at the Diner a few months ago. What better place to have a party and share your birthday cake?! Everybody in the place joined in the festivities, sang Happy Birthday and overdosed on vanilla lard icing that night.

This Tennessee back road bistro is small town America at it’s best.

If you’re ever in the area and need a good meal served with a smile and some of the best sweet tea there is, just follow 34 as it winds out of Jonesborough to the west. Warren, Vickie, Crystal and the rest of us will be waiting for you.

I think I’ll call my memoir: Sponge rollers, Vap-O-Rub and Revivals: A Girl Grows Up in the South. It’s catchy and so true.

My parents were convinced that “Vicks” Vap-O-Rub cured everything from colds to bad perms. Sponge rollers were a staple in our house and revivals, well, that speaks for itself.

The South I grew up in was made up of holiday sleepovers with my cousins, church gatherings, perms, Smoky Mountain vacations, bicycle riding till dark, running around barefoot all summer, eating sour grass and fresh green beans from the garden. Everybody was welcome at our revivals and at the Sunday dinner table.

Everybody pitched in to help family and our neighbors (who were like family) when needed. You could always find a group of guys standing around somebody’s car that needed “fixin”.

Seems like my mother always had something in the oven or on the stove. We never went hungry, that’s for sure. Vacations were no exception — we packed up the food and took it with us. Restaurants weren’t as plentiful in the 60’s and 70’s and my mom wasn’t too much on eating anywhere she deemed questionable. She compared them all to her own kitchen. If they had let her inspect the restaurants, I’m sure we would have eaten out more often.

On the way home from one vacation trip I got a little carsick sitting in the backseat between my cousins. Not to worry! My dad stopped beside the road, mom and my aunt whipped out the leftovers and made me a green bean sandwich. Apparently it did the trick — that and letting me ride up front with my dad and my uncle. Fresh air and that light bread concoction had me feeling better fast.

That is my Appalachian South. We all got along for the most part and any disagreements were usually settled quickly —  then we put it aside and went on. That was before social media (thank goodness I got to experience life without it!). I’m all about sharing stories and photos, and social media helps me keep up with family that I don’t get to see in person very often. But dang– it makes it impossible to get away from all the drama going on in the rest of the world! (sorry for using such strong cowboy language)

So that’s my view from my Southern window. Stay tuned for my autobiography (one day in the not too distant future). It might just be something  worth reading.

I need a “Boot-of -the-Month” club. You know, one that operates kind of  like health insurance — everybody pays in so much – except you get a new pair of boots every month instead of a trip to the doctor.

I love boots — all kinds of boots — tall and short boots, cowboy boots, work boots, shoe boots. Lovely leather boots. ❤

I think I’m addicted. No – I know I’m addicted. I can’t get enough.

I’m all jelly legs upon walking into a boot store. I won’t say that I need an intervention. I don’t want an intervention. If I’m wrong, I don’t wanna be right.

How can loving boots even be wrong?

I enter contests on Facebook all the time – “like, share and stand on your head while eating a banana, and you’re in to win!” Yeah, well I’m still waiting. That’s why I need a Boot-of-the-Month club.

If I ever decided to go bad and turn to a life of crime, my specialty would probably be holding up boot stores. There I would be, armed with a potato masher and a pop gun demanding the loot – give me all your Fryes and Old Gringos and nobody gets hurt.

I don’t know how or even when my boot obsession started. Maybe it was the influence of old cowboy shows like Gunsmoke and Bonanza. I never wanted to be the girl in the saloon waiting for her hero to ride into town – I wanted to ride the open range with Little Joe and Hoss, tending to the cattle, eating beans off a tin plate, singing by the campfire and wearing cowboy boots. Ahhh, that would be the life.

Now I’ve got to figure out a way to pay for my obsession, since there are no boot insurance plans.  I need to start a boot fund.

If anybody feels inclined to donate, I’ll be glad to provide you with the name and address of my favorite boot outlet. I’ll just have them set up a running tab in my name.

Brother can you spare a boot?