Tag: great smoky mountains

Silver Slippers Of The Smokies

I must be an extremely impressionable soul.

As I have discussed, we recently took a trip to the Great Smoky Mountains. While we were there, we visited Dollywood. We also spent a morning shopping in Gatlinburg. I have never been a huge fan of country music. I am not a detractor or anything. I don’t have a systemic hatred of the genre. There are even a few songs that I can identify as favorites of mine. However, country music as a whole never seemed to really resonate with me.

One trip to Dollywood and that changed. I overlayed Tennessee Hill People Culture over my base personality, like one of those “topper” pairs of glasses. The base frames are the same, but there are various “fancy” magnetic covers for those frames that you can purchase individually to change up your look. The core of my personality was still Terri, but I slapped on a set of sparkly, distinctive, “hee hawing” toppers the minute I got out of the car in Tennessee.

I had to stop myself from speaking with a drawl so people would not think I was mocking them. My drawl reflex was not intended to be rude or mocking. I just couldn’t help myself. My delicate ears heard the drawl all around me. My brain somehow managed to translate it and ordered my mouth to respond in kind. It took a lot of intentionality to ignore that command. I spent the entire time we were in Tennessee humming Dolly Parton songs. I even walked around two-stepping with an imaginary partner. I was offended on behalf of the hill people when I looked at goods in “real handmade Smoky Mountain handicraft” stores and saw “Made in China” labels. My GPS got screwed up one morning directing us to the visitor center for the national park. As we slithered our way up a mountain, with no sign of visitors anywhere (actually, no sign of any people at all,) I instinctively knew we were in a “holler” as soon as a saw a couple of rundown houses grouped together and flanked by equally rundown furniture. In an act of solidarity, I left considerable money in jars all over the area asking for help for hurricane relief. I felt really good about it.

The final straw came on our last full day in Tennessee. We were wandering around the shops in Gatlinburg. Uncharacteristically, I was having a challenging time finding stuff to buy. As we passed a shoe store window, a pair of silver sequin ankle boots caught my eye. Now, silver sequin ankle cowgirl boots may be the thing I need least in all the world. However, I could not uncatch my eye. Finally, Max convinced me to go in the store and take a closer look. I went in, hoping to find something about those boots that I hated so I could let go of the whole ludicrous idea that I might actually buy them.

After trying on the display pair in size eight, I loved them. My foot, however, is not a size eight. It seemed especially ridiculous to pay a price upwards of $200 for a pair of shoes that did not fit. Maybe even ridiculous enough to drive the notion from my brain. Max was not to be deterred, however. He asked the sales guy if they had any other sizes. The inventory showed they also had a size seven and a size 7.5.  After some concerted searching, the guy found the size seven, but it was too small. He looked and looked and looked for the size 7.5 before admitting defeat. Feeling like Cinderella leaving without the prince, I tried to find relief at not having to decide whether to spend so much money on such an audacious purchase.

As we were leaving the store, the sales guy found the problem. He explained that the 7.5 boots were the ones in the window. They did not want to sell that pair because one of the boots had one tiny, tiny sequin missing. I never would have known it was there if he had not pointed it out to me. I tried the boot on, and it fit perfectly. The sales guy said he would call the vendor and see if they could send me a new pair in the correct size.

Several hours later, he called me to report that the vendor discontinued the boot. They could not send me a new pair because there were no new pairs. Just as my brain was ordering a dip in endorphins, the sales guy suggested an alternative. After discussing the matter with his manager, they agreed that they would sell me the sample boots with the tiny, tiny, tiny imperfection for about $75 off the sticker price. I thought that was more than fair- especially when Max insisted on buying them for me for Christmas. They are now hidden in a closet here at home, hoping that I will forget about them and be surprised on Christmas. I don’t think that is going to happen.

So, I am soon to be the proud owner of a pair of sparkly silver boots. The only way these make sense is if I am going to become a country western singer or a Rockette. I don’t think either of those things are going to happen either . Still, I can’t wait to wear them!

Have a sparkly day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

What is your silliest purchase ever? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Wild Or Mild? Part 2

As our visit to Tennessee continued, I loosened up a little. As touristy and garish as Pigeon Forge is, the Smoky Mountains are definitely a place that markets adventure in the great outdoors. In an attempt to blow a raspberry at the emotional impact of turning 65, I decided I wanted to partake. In my world, having an adventure includes a tour guide, a driver, and a souvenir shop. I’m into carefully controlled adventure and planned spontaneity.

I scheduled two different pink jeep tours. I have never been on a jeep, nor have I ever gone off-roading… at least not intentionally. Both jeep adventures were fantastic. Everything was so beautiful. The trees, the rivers, the waterfalls, and the sunlight dappling the fields created an exquisitely tuned symphony of primitive perfection. We made multiple stops along the way to give us the chance to wander a bit and climb down to creek beds to get a better look. The Great Smoky Mountain National Park is one of those places that expanded my mind to a new level of beauty perception. It happened to me the first time I went to Hawaii and the first time I went to New England. I was so profoundly aware of not realizing somewhere so beautiful could exist until I saw it with my own eyes. The Smokies had the same effect on me. At the end of each tour, the guide took us off-roading on a course specifically designed for thrills and chills and no broken bones.

There was so much exhilaration in walking on unpaved trails, climbing down a slope so the guide could take our picture right next to the river, sliding my feet through fallen leaves, filling my lungs with so much crisply clean air flavored with forest, looking for bears in the trees,  and giggling maniacally when the off-roading experience popped my butt off the seat and into Max’s personal space.  That exhilaration made me feel young, vibrant, carefree, and wild. My mood felt unfettered. My muscles felt loose. My vital signs felt like they clicked right into optimal normal range as soon as we officially entered the park. The adventure created so much superpower in us, we could actually be in two places at once. See the pictures below showing us behind the jeep and at the front of the jeep in the exact same photograph. To be honest, I felt like a bit of a badass.

On the other hand…. I was inept at getting out of the jeep. Getting in was not too much of a problem. I could grab onto a handle and haul myself up into the back. Getting down, however… that was harder. I did not feel steady enough on my feet to dismount the vehicle and find the ground while still remaining upright without holding on to at least one other person’s hand. I am a rather short person, and that ground did seem pretty far away from the back of the jeep. Still, no one else seemed to need life support to get out of the jeep. It was embarrassing.

It was also embarrassing when a visit to an old house shone an even brighter spotlight on my unsteadiness and extreme lack of coordination. There were three steps up to the porch of the house and zero bannisters. Most people visited inside the house. I certainly had that intention. When I came face-to-face with the steps, I wisely realized that I could get up them without a railing but would be stuck there forever until bears ate me or I died of old age because there is no way I was going to be able navigate descending those steps.  It was a humbling feeling for my newly declared badass self.

Another day, we took a trip to Skypark in Gatlinburg. We took a chair lift about 500 feet up the mountain. It was the coolest thing we did on the trip. I had considered ziplining but chickened out. Skypark was my compromise with myself. The view from the ski lift was fantastic and, arguably, I appreciated it much more than I would have at the breakneck speed of a zipline. It still felt pretty wild.

There were a few non-wild moments, however. When we pulled the lap bar down on the chair lift, I did not immediately realize that there was a security support bisecting the center of the main lap bar. Instead of the bar gliding smoothly over both our laps, I somehow managed to bring the security support down directly on my thigh. I was apparently sitting too close to Max and was not in my own lane. I ended up having quite a lovely bruise on my thigh after that. When we reached the end of the ride, I also found that my purse and sweater were hopelessly tangled in the lap bar. It required two quick-moving attendants to extricate me from my accessories and get me safely back on terra firma.

Once we got off the ski lift, I poured on the wild again. We walked across the skybridge- the longest cable bridge in North America, which spans the 400 feet or so from one mountain top to another. The bridge also boasts a 30-foot section where the footpath is not wood or stone or anything that feels solid. Instead, that 30-foot section is made of glass. As you traverse that section of the swaying bridge, you can look beneath your feet and see nothing between you and the ground 500 feet below. Max and I had no issues walking the bridge. We suitably impressed ourselves with our courage when we made it #PassTheGlass. I even conquered the swaying and managed to stay on my feet. Handrails, even when made of rope and cable, are my friends.

Now that the vacation is over and I have had time to reflect, I must admit that my badass self was maybe not quite as edgy as I first believed. I look back at all my adventures and feel enormously proud of myself. To be honest, I don’t think I saw any other short, pudgy, 65-year-old women braving jeeps, ski lifts, and swaying glass bridges 500 feet off the ground. Still, it is humbling to think of my wobbly dismounting from the jeeps and clutzy exit from the ski lift. It is also only fair to go back to my original point, which is that my adventures were carefully controlled, and my spontaneity was planned. So, what is your verdict? Wild or mild? I think I’m going with wild AND mild!

What do think?  Am I wild or mild?  Is my ass bad or good?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com. 

Have a wild day!

Terri/Dorry😊

#PassTheGlass