Tag Archives: Wytheville

A Month off Facebook

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After a month off Facebook, here’s what I’ve missed and not missed.

I miss:

People I barely knew being involved in my life. Because I’m an author, a lot of people I had never met but who read my books friended me. We kept up casually, oh so casually. There would be an occasional comment on a cat picture, a like for something I’d crocheted or canned, a laugh at the picture of me falling in mud. I miss the casual camaraderie of people I only knew because they read my books and decided they liked me.

Getting advice. I know a thousand people who are smart and savvy experts at something, often something obscure. I miss hopping online to ask “Is it okay to do the stitches backwards when you’re edging the blanket” or “what columns should a household budget have” or even “does this look like poison ivy to you?”  While there is a website response to every query put into a search engine, I miss the voices of people familiar to me, ones I trust not to steer me astray. That little blue star appearing in query responses now gives me the heebeejeebies. Its advice is just flat WRONG half the time, and in some cases that could result in blowing one’s house up (clearing a gas line; how long to pressure can meat). Ain’t listening to the little blue star; I miss those thousand or so smart, sensible friends.

Ironically, I also miss GIVING advice. I’m good at some specific things, but here in Wytheville where we know hardly anyone, people don’t ask me about radio reporting/storytelling/writing/canning/crocheting/swimming/foraging/homesteading/cats.

Where’s Wendy? I thought this was a dumb game I played because travel took me so many places where there were pretty pictures to be taken. Turns out, it grounded me back to my home base. When I traveled, it made me feel like people cared where I was; plus it was silly clean fun. A lot of weight for a small game, but there it is. I miss that.

I do not miss:

What I’m eating pictures. Most of my friends are foodies. Sometimes I got good ideas from them. Mostly I just had greens envy.

Feet pictures. For some reason, every time someone gets hurt, they post these pics online. It stands to reason we injure our feet more than other parts of us, given their suboptimal working conditions and general lack of care in our society. But yeesh. I don’t want to see your naked feet unless I’m teaching you to swim, kay, thanks. Now you know.

People talking politics in punchlines. I love a good political debate with a well-informed friend who challenges my thinking. I have a fair few friends who fall into this category, and I look forward to seeing them in person more now, because my ears are not full of the white noise from online memes and punditry. Savoring a good conversation has become an art form, but it’s almost weird to ask friends to Zoom with you just to see each other because, hey, you know, we have social media for that. We don’t have to be intentional. Do we?

People I barely know getting involved in my life. Yes, I know. While I miss the casual, friendly reader who decided they liked me, I don’t miss the friends of friends who showed up to yell that I am part of the Great Evil because a) I don’t attend an evangelical church (we are Quakers) b) I don’t agree with all the parts of all the scripts of the political party I align with (“BUT HOW CAN YOU DENY THE RIGHTS OF…”) I do not miss the virtue signalers convinced that dismantling unjust systems means only those who deserve to will get hurt. Ha.

Reels. You suck, Zuck. Great timewasters of unsafe viewing; some of those “animal rescue” videos are pure evil.

Doomscrolling. I’m astonished, absolutely astonished, at having enough time to learn a new pattern, write the notes for the last chapter, try a new recipe, learn why carrots and cauliflower should be planted near each other, research writing grants at the end of the day. I always told myself I was too tired, too emotionally and intellectually drained to start something new after dinner. Ha. New life, new fun, new ideas, new ways to pursue old interests. The time I’ve gotten back is indescribable, and I don’t want to sound like someone who is encouraging others. We all make our own decisions. Just, don’t let anyone tell you the time is not real, when you get it back. It’s amazing. And fun.

More things to talk about later, but here it is a month in: no regrets. Not even the advice. :]

Trickle Down

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Yeah, I know it’s been awhile guys. There was this hurricane, see. And I’ve pitched a book to my agent about the hurricane in partnership with a reporter colleague from Inside Appalachia days (Roxy Todd) and we were flat out either delivering supplies or gathering stories. Keep you posted on that.

But here we are, back to a world of normalcy and trying not to think about muddy water 24/7, and the Governor’s Summit on Prosperity began last night, hosted in my town at our most posh hotel. Live music and fresh veggie trays with cute little finger food nibbles lined the tables, while a whole lot of suits and dresses swirled on the patio in a “see and be seen” dance.

The weekend before this began, I was running a medical conference at BREAKS Interstate Park. It’s always a bit of a guessing game to know how many people will actually make it up the mountain to eat with us, so I take any leftover food from that event to the local motels where those in transience can get some nutritional content from great cooking. Two pans of lasagna went to the Econolodge and the Travel Lite when I got home Sunday, along with some breakfast trays.

So Monday night I’m staring at the swirling skirts and hearing the wall of sound so many individual conversations become in a networking space, the words that just bounce off your eardrums and you don’t need to hear them to know what’s being said anyway, and I wondered–what are they going to do with the leftover food?

Three conversations up the hierarchical ladder later, I was talking to someone very polite with “manager” in her title who had clearly never been asked this question before. First she needed to talk to Kristie, who organized the event and paid for everything. I got Kristie’s approval. Then Ms. Manager thought we might need to ask the health department if it was okay. Which made me giggle but it was a noisy night and she was busy so we agreed to connect the next day.

The theme of the evening was rural prosperity. The Boling Wilson where the reception with the live music and the pork belly squares and the sweet little corn and cheese and tomato toppers on flat bread were being served to the people who were going to make life better for everyone, was across the street and down a block from the Travel Lite, where the lucky unhoused manage to get vouchers for a week at a time.

Maybe that’s enough metaphor for one day, this being my first blog in awhile. I’ll let you know what happens to the food. Y’all have a good day.