Just A Gal From Glidden: Life, laughter, and a cup of ambition

By Kate Winquist

Some weeks, Dolly Parton just shows up uninvited in my brain and refuses to leave. This week was one of those weeks.

Maybe it’s her lyrics. Maybe it’s her infectious sense of humour. Maybe it’s her… ahem… figure—which, as someone who has also been generously gifted in the chest department, I find oddly comforting. Representation matters, people.

Whatever the reason, Dolly’s been rattling around in my head like loose change in a purse. And honestly, in times like these—crazy, loud, exhausting times—I’m okay with that. Dolly is relatable. Dolly is fun. Dolly reminds us not to take life (or ourselves) quite so seriously.

Case in point: a lovely lady named Jolene stopped in this week to do some photocopying. Jolene. I genuinely think she may be the first Jolene I’ve ever met in real life. I resisted the urge to sing at her. Barely.

Last week, I shared a photo and a story from my high school days, and somehow—miraculously—four of us from that photo actually managed to get together this past Saturday. We added a couple of new friendships, celebrated a birthday, enjoyed lunch, a few adult bevvies, and some really good conversation.

It’s fun to reminisce about the good old days, but I think we all agreed we wouldn’t actually want to go back. Well… maybe just for a quick redo on a few life decisions. Nothing major.

Of course, the photo being published in the local paper raised some eyebrows. One friend got a text from someone out of province who screenshot it and said, “You’re famous!” Another quipped, “Don’t let Kate take a photo or it’ll end up in the Voice.”

Honestly, I’m starting to think no one will want to talk to me anymore. Even my sister weighed in: “Your columns resonate with lots of people—I enjoy them… just quit dropping my name in your articles.” (Insert crying/laughing emoji here.)

The conversations have definitely changed over time—along with the number of drinks and the time of day we’re consuming them. Younger me might have gone for a tequila shot at the Red Lion Inn. Older me knows José Cuervo is not my friend. Conversations now revolve around grandchildren, achy knees, diabetes… and learning that apparently tequila might help blood sugar levels. Who knew?

Saturday afternoon is usually when I write this column, but this week it was delayed. I could have written it Saturday night, but older me was tired, chose an early bedtime, and decided a fresh start was the better option. Alarm set for 5:30 a.m. Office by 6:00 a.m.

Which immediately brought another Dolly classic to mind:

“Tumble out of bed and I stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition”

Most of my time is spent behind a desk these days. Don’t get me wrong—I truly enjoy my job—but sitting all day is starting to take a toll. Getting out of my office chair, off the couch, or out of bed in the morning feels harder than it used to. I’m not old… but I’m not young either. At 56 (almost 57), I should probably be in better shape than I am.

So I’ve made a decision. Every hour or so, I get up and walk the long hallway in our office building to limber up my weary bones. It’s not glamorous, but it’s something.

“Workin’ nine to five, what a way to make a livin’”

Here’s what older me has learned: we need to pay attention to our own lives and the people who matter most. The ones who tease you because they know they might show up in your weekly musings. There’s a lot of noise out there. The news is scary. Social media is exhausting. Half the time we don’t know what—or who—to believe.

So maybe we need more afternoons with friends, birthday cake, laughter, and a few drinks. Maybe deadlines still matter, but fun should too. Work should still have joy in it. Life should still feel… lived.

I’ll let Dolly have the last word this week (sing it with me):

“It’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it.”

And honestly? I’m choosing not to let it.