Southern Boys in New York City

Hello my friends, I wanted to post here before I leave for NYC on Tuesday of next week. I got this 'bee in my bonnet' about two things,
1- Going for Halloween and 2- Going by myself. I love Halloween, if you don't know, and I have a feeling that NYC does it up right.
As for going by myself, I'll be staying with Adam because Dan lives in a 6 floor walk-up, and let's admit it, 'Pammie don't do stairs'.
So, Adam and Adina are kindly welcoming me to their second floor place, AND, letting me have the bed! Bless their sweet little hearts. I'm sure that sleeping on a futon after a few days will have them all grumpy. If all else fails I'll find out where the cheapest (albeit safe) rooms are to rent, OR, I can just change my return date and come on home.

I leave on the 27th, and have tickets for the 31st to see Wicked! with Dan, and dinner afterward with Adam and Adina.
On the 30th, I am hoping things work out for BethNoLastName to take the train from Trenton to spend the day.
On Sunday Nov 1st my friend Joy and I are going to meet up for something or other. She's going to be in town job hunting. She has always wanted to move back to NY from LA and things have worked out so she can, and I want to celebrate that with her.
If I can make it work I want to go to Long Island and visit with Lori and her girls.We're trying to work out the logistics since she doesn't have a car to do a train or bus pick-up. I'm sure we'll get it done.
In between all this wonderfulness of people I want to see as many art museums as my body will allow. I want to do some shopping in places that have nothing remotely like them here in the Memphis area. OR, I may buy nothing at all, and just take a gabillion photographs, afterall, that's where I get MY art done when I'm traveling.
I cannot believe Mike is allowing me to do this. I don't know if he is wanting to prove to me that I can't handle it, or is excited that I truly want to grow as a person and stop being a Cowardly Lion. There are days I waffle between which I believe, but I think, based on his inate kindness, he is hoping I do some growing in spunk and spirit by doing this. (I do too.)

I do hope I get an experience like Adina did earlier this week. She was at work, a restaurant with a coffee shop just outside. Sean Connery walked in to get something to drink. She was beside herself with disappointment that he didn't walk all the way into the space where she was working. I loved that he rattled her. Shes so cute.
One time we passed Spike Lee on a sidewalk, but it was getting dark, he had on a hoodie, and when I told Adam who I'd seen he asked which way Mr Lee had gone, I pointed and from that POV it was just a sea of the backs of people of all sizes, and Spike Lee is just short enough to get lost in a crowd.
I'm secretly hoping Joy introduces me to her best friend, an actor. He was in Animal House, but has done much better work since then. He writes, produces, and directs. Of course, I'll probably make a fool of myself if she does, and if I do she'll NEVER forgive me.

Hugs, all, it's past my bedtime.

This is a test.

Traditions

Birthday...it's my youngest sons 30th birthday soon. And his brother, despite all he's been doing has managed to cook up a wonderful surprise for him. Adam and his girlfriend 'dicided' to come home to celebrate turning 30 with his dad and me, and all his friends here in Memphis, and his only remaining grandparent, his Papaw, will be coming here for lunch on Sunday.
The party is on Saturday night, but all Adam knows is that he'll be meeing up at one particular friends house where all his friends will be gathering for a potluck.
Or, maybe he doesn't know it's a potluck...I dunno all the details really, all I know is that I am making 'birthday dessert'. I'm making his favorite dessert - Key Lime Pie, three of them, maybe four, the lovely pastry crusts I bought are quite small. AND, I'll be making an Italian Cream Cake, which is new to me and I am not a baker. But I wanted to do a traditional southern cake to make his birthday unique, and afterall, he will need to put candles somewhere so he can blow them out, right?
I am so excited that my sons are going to be home this weekend. I never imagined how wonderful it feels, when they're grown, for them to come home. My parents always seemed like they couldn't wait for us to leave when we'd go visit, so I never saw evidence of what I feel with my sons.
And then in October I am going to visit Adam and Adina, and see Dan when we can get together, for Halloween in NYC! And the most unique party is that I Am Going Alone! This will be quite an adventure for me. Mike has always been so over protective, because I get so flustered and needy. But I am determined not to be that person this time, I need this trip as much to gain some faith in myself as much as I do to visit my sons, AND "The City" for my favorote holiday of the year.
I'll post here again about what happened when I get back. I hope to meet up with three wonderful friends I've made on LiveJournal. I must not forget to pack my camera to document those monumental occasions.
Since I am, once again, persona no grata (sp?) with the inlaws, I will be spending Thanksgiving Day cooking a meal for my family for the day after Thanksgiving. They will be at Mike's sister's house with his Dad and the ingorant sisters and their families. I will be perfectly happy cooking with wonderful quiet in my house.
So, while I may be alone for Thanksgiving Day, I will NOT be for Christmas. We are going to Edisto Beach, which is located on the Carolina coast between Charleston, SC, one of the most beautiful southern cities I have ever seen in my life, and Savannah, GA another city known for her traditions and history.
I'll be taking lots of photos at Christmas, for sure and share them with all my blog readers here, and my friends on Live Journal and Facebook.
I know this post was not one about Ouiser and southern traditions and events, but it kind of is, because southern families are crazier than betsy bugs and I married into one of the craziest. And THAT's saying a lot because my daddy's family, over the years, have raised crazy to a high art.

I truly have nothing to say here, but am trying to remember (thanks to someone reminding me that I actually HAVE a Blogger acct) to post on some kind of regular basis.
With a life that's slowed down as much as mine has, it takes a bit of thinking to find something interesting. SO, I dicided that the only way to post interesting is to BE interesting. I've made a comittment, upon our return from the gulf this week - to get my house in order (literally - no euphamisms (
I need to stop talking about making art and actually MAKE some. I plan to start getting up in time to check the newspaper for estate sales so I can shop for ephemera for collage making, and just to remember what morning really feels like. (and maybe beat the critters to my vegetables)

Speaking of which, the long awaited tomatoes are beginning to ripen. We'll miss many of them, but some will be here when we get back. AND, when I get my house in order, I'm sure my camera will turn up so I can post photos of them on LJ. Since we need to stop by the pharmacy on our way out of town, I think I'll just buy a small inexpensive digi camera at Walgreens, or we'll get one in Destin. Dunno which, but I want to take photos of the gulf, and I WILL need a camera to do so.

So, I guess this is a post of some sort, isn't it...the 'vapor post', words with no real substance.

FINALLY - A Short Trip to the Sea!

It's late summer here in the Mid-South, our garden has only pole beans, and an heirloom speckled bean left in it, as well as the tomatoes that I was so late in planting. Everything else will be turned into mulch/compost soon so we can plant some leafy greens and heirloom varietries of winter squash. (which actually should probably already be in the ground)
The cucumbers were delicious, as was the fresh yellow squash.
I've been meaning to post photos of the variety of heirloom tomatoes that we planted late but are now thriving. They're filled with little green globes of potential. Mike let me eat the first red one, and it was, as expected, a taste of heaven.
I think I heard a chorus of Angels with southern accents sing a harmony of Halelujah when the first juicy bite hit the back of my tongue.
Why yes, I DO consider a warm, ripe tomato the southern American version of Manna from Heaven. (apologies to all my Jewish Friends).
It's a shame that we'll miss some of them while we're out of town next week, but those that ripen and dry up on the vine will be gathered for their seeds to use next season. Yes, I am learning about the value and importance of keeping heirloom varieties of plants available to growers, but that's grim stuff that Ouiser and I will tell you about another time.

(Lordy, the way I phrased that makes it sound as if I truly think Ouiser is a real person in my life. Relax, she's just a mental plaything for the sake of this blog and in honor of one of my favorite Southern themed movies about female friendships.)

The reason for posting to you tonight, besides the fact that it's been a while, and you may have wondered what happened to me is some good news,
The at BIG job Mike had spent the last month+ getting prices on so he could hand over the final price to the owners is over. I was feeling like a widow. BUT,
We are FINALLY going on a vacation! Since I don't like to vacation during the months when school is not in session, because, basically, I cannot bear other peoples ill-bred children. Makes this all the sweeter. School resumed last week in Tennessee, as well as most of the Mid-South.
Now, don't get me wrong, I know the difference between children who are given space to be themselves and experiment - on a short leash, and children who are allowed to batter each other, be disruptive and be let loose to be just plain brats, causing chaos wherever they go. My sons were kept on a short leash and I saw similar parenting when an internet friend visited me this spring from Massachusetts. Seeing her do what I did (but WAY better) only served to underscore that keeping kids on a short reign doesn't have to stifle their wonderful personalities. It allows them the freedom to trust themselves and to respect others.
Then, sadly, there's the second category (the kind who make me avoid vacationing during the summer). They include my husband's sisters' grandchildren who are being raised (as my dear mama would've said)
'like a pack of little hethans'!

But I digress, which is my usual state of being when I type. Digression, I should look up that word?
LOL
Anyhoo...we are leaving on Friday, as soon as the Animal Hospital where w are boarding the dogs, opens it's doors. And then we'll hit the highway heading south to what is commonly referred to as:

THE REDNECK RIVIERA. (I kid you not!)
AKA, the Gulf Coast, specifically, Destin, Fla.

We made these plans so late that all we were able to get with our timeshare points was a studio condo, I guess we're not the only old people who don't want to vacation where illbred children may be running around with no supervision. (I now know why American's get such a bum rap in Europe, it's the lack of proper parenting of the American rugrats. Who do we think we ARE?)

At least the studio condo supposedly has a kitchen. But Mike snores like a grizzly bear which always worries me that I won't sleep unless there are not separate beds with walls between them for us.
But I'm betting that smelling ocean air, and walking the beach will relax both of us to the point that no one snores and restful sleep will be had by all. Hopefully there's a screened balcony and we can fit a blow up mattress and my pillow in the trunk.)
We'll see.
If I can fit my computer bag into the car I will post from there. After all, he'll maintain control of the TV changer, and we all know it's still baseball season, and "Pammie don't do" sports on TV.

Critters in the corn!

We've noticed ears of corn having been torn open and bites taken out. It tickles me that Mike has twice asked me if I have been peeling back the corn husks to see if the corn is ready to harvest. I told him no, both times. But tonight, I went out to the garden and broke off four of the fatter ears and we had them for dinner. They were good, but I believe in another few days they'll be amazingly delicious and completely filled out. Basically, both the squirrels (or racoons) and I jumped the gun on the corn.

I was on the Somerville square yesterday and went into the Square Hardware store and they had corn cutters. I've lost mine in the move, so was thrilled that they had one almost just like it. So some of our corn, or some we buy from a local organic farmer, will be cut and put in the freezer already seasoned with butter salt and freshly ground pepper to be eaten this winter.
I love Square Hardware. The old man who owns the place is there everyday and it's his family who take care of customers. He has a shiny brass National Cash Register AND the wooden crate it was shipped to the store in. It's the last working one in the country. He LOVES talking about it, and one day I took the time to listen to the whole story. So yesterday I looked for him just to say hello, and his face lit up.
Square Hardware has an adjoining store that sells furniture, and decorative pieces. Most of what they carry is not my taste, but I have my eye on a 'booksellers bookshelf' unit for my bedroom. My bed is usually covered with books and magazines as if I were an invalid needing constant reading material to occupy my mind. My bedroom is where I do my reading, unless I'm on a train or a plane. I need it to be quiet and no dogs whining for attention. I've been reading a lot lately and getting the greatest pleasure from it. A friend just finished the latest Wally Lamb book and since I'd already bought it I've moved it to the top of my 'stack' to begin after I finish two by Kate Chopin that were written in the late 1800's. They are about life on Louisiana plantations and so well written, it's no wonder they have stood the test of time.
Dover Thrift Additions was having a sale, and I got a somewhere around 20 books for a bit over $50. They're naturally all paperback, but I am treasuring them as if they were bound in leather with gold endpapers.
I feel the same way about the Jane Austin books I got at Barnes & Noble for $8 each a few months back. This was to be "My Summer with Jane", but I've also been watching every version of movie that Netflix carries of her work as well. Now, since the Dover books are shorter, my plan is to read the Austin books after watching the DVD's. I'll probably begin them in September, since this summer is flying by.
Well, this blog entry began as a few comments on the garden, but as you can see I have gotten caught up in literature again recently, and am having a high time with it.

Oh, one other bit of news, about local things. There's a Mr. Tucker who has an antique/junk store that's located just off the town square a bit.
I've bought some small things from him, but have been eyeing a dry sink he first acted like he didn't want to sell. I asked him yesterday if he cold rethink selling it, and what was his best price. He told me he'd already told prices to two ladies who were interested in it, but since he and I had discussed it and I already knew what he paid for it he gave me a price of $25 more than he paid for it. I told him it was SOLD!
Now I'm going to reintroduce 'country' (but not the tacky '80's stuff) into my homes personality, and this dry sink (with a copper liner in the sink part!) will be perfect in front of the kitchen windows holding plants. I'm moving the kitchen table into the corner of the family room, since the four chairs are on casters and can be moved around for seating when people come over. Besides, no one sits there to eat because the couch is closer to the TV. Yes, I am admitting the rule I made when we first moved here is broken and I fear not fixable. One reason I like having company is because I insist on using the dining room. I can seat 10 people in there and theres no TV to interrupt polite conversation.

I'm tickled to have found Mr Tucker. He tells the greatest stories, and he even knows my uncle Louis, and graduated HS with my aunt Peggy (Louis' wife) and knows other members of my family. I told him he and I had to accept now being as close as family without being family since he's been friends with my uncle and aunt most of his life. And he didn't disagree. He likes having an audience for his stories, and I love listening to a good one, so we're a good fit for someone who always has something new an unusual to sell, and someone else who loves to look at old things.

Screen Doors, Doggie Doors, Tree Frogs and Roller Skates

We went shopping for screen doors the other day. I want one for the front door and another for the back that has a doggy door built into it. Unfortunately the back door will not be an old fashioned screen door, but a storm door. As my husband says, he'd rather not come home to find I've been air-conditioning the entire neighborhood all day. So, the screen doors will be used in the spring and fall, but the storm door on the back will be during the heat of summer, and cold of winter so the dogs can go outside to take care of their bathroom business and stop using the mudroom for a potty.
My mother would be rolling over in her grave if she knew I was purchasing potty pads to lay about the mudroom floor for the dogs. But hey, the room is already scented from the two former owners' dogs use of that room as a toilet. Removing those marble tiles will be a job for sometime in the future and hopefully removing them will remove the latent smell of doggie markings. But til then we will make do.

Right now, since it's a nice evening I have the back door open a bit just to listen to the tree frogs.
There must be hundreds of them singing their tiny little hearts out. I think it's the sounds of summer that bring so many childhood memories to the front of my mind.

Did you use clothespins to attach baseball cards to the spokes of your bicycle wheels to hear a clicking noise as you rode your bike around the neighborhood? We did. My brother didn't mind at all sharing his baseball cards with us since, back then, little boys primarily bought them for the bubble gum that came in the wax pack with the cards.

I remember playing jacks with the girls on our street. I wasn't the best with the eye hand coordination, but I did enjoy playing anyway. And an even more trying game was Pick-Up Sticks. Did you play with them? If I recall correctly one player would hold the sticks loosely in her hand in a vertical position, with the bottoms of the sticks resting gently on the floor and then release her hand so the sticks fell in a kind of pattern. The object of the game was to remove the sticks, one at a time without moving another stick in doing so. It was fun and didn't require bouncing a ball and throwing jacks at the same time so I was a bit better at it than other games.

Another game that required a bit more grace than I was blessed with was jumping rope. But, on the playground at school when there was a long rope and two girls throwing it I could, at times, manage to go a few jumps before loosing my turn.
I WAS reasonably good at kick ball because the ball was a large one, and much easier to kick than hitting a baseball with a bat, which I could never do. And, I eventually got pretty good at roller skating on the sidewalk. I saved my own money for a while to buy my own skates. They were $5.00 and I got many good years use out of them. I guess it was games using feet, that were my forte'.

But, as long as people didn't mind my lack of skill, I was always included in one way or another in the neighborhood games. Kids were better behaved back when I was a kid, all the mamas were watching and would let your mama know if you'd not behaved well when with the other chidren.

The only person who had less skill or grace than I, was my sister. Since she was more popular than I was her clumsiness was my saving grace for being included with the girls who lived on our street. Eventually, though, we parted ways and had our own groups of friends from school. And to this day, since she and I have nothing in common, we have not one friend in common, and that suits me just fine.

I Heard My First Cicada Today

I heard my first cicada today. It seems early in the summer for them, but, as I've gotten older time slips by much faster than it did when I was a child. When I saw my first Junebug this year I knew they'd not be around long, relatively speaking, and that the cicadas weren't far behind.
It's strange how, as children, summer seemed to go on forever, I remember sitting outside at night with friends and watching junebugs cling to the screen doors, trying their best to get inside the house.
But this year the junebugs seemed to come and go faster than I could turn around. Things just moved slower when we were children, or they seemed to. Now, as adults each season seems to rush by faster than we can tend to all the things we are attempting to fit into it. There's no time to sit and think, mull things over, we have to strike while the iron is hot as they used to say.

It seems like just days ago that the cucumber seeds were planted in the garden, and today I have a large pile of them awaiting pickling jars. This must be done tomorrow or they'll be inedible. Then there will be the tomatos to can, and the peas and beans will follow. I just don't know how my grandmother did it all with nine children during the depression. But she did, and with that knowing smile on her face that I always loved.
At least these days we have freezers and that's such a blessing, now because I also have a large pile of squash calling my name.
Tomorrow I'll cut it into slices, cook it with some black pepper and butter, and let it simmer until the squash is limp. We'll save some of it for Sunday dinner, but the rest will be divided into portions for two, and put into the freezer for winter.

I remember when we'd go visit grandmama and the uncles and aunts when we were kids in the summertime. We'd always come home with bushels of black-eyed peas, or butterbeans, or corn.
We'd spend the next few days shelling peas, or beans, or shucking that corn, then mama would put it all in the freezer. The corn she'd cut off the cob and cook a bit with some butter, like I do my squash, and then it'd go into the freezer.
My sister and brother ALWAYS complained about helping with this, but I enjoyed it, although I never told anyone that I did. It's the repetition...the flow of the process that I enjoyed. It was fun to get a black eyed pea pod open enough so that I could stick my thumb into the end and just zip down and have a dozen peas fall into the pie pan I had in my lap. When my pan was full I liked to stick my fingers into the peas and feel their coolness on my hands, then let them fall, once again, back into the pan. Butter beans took a little longer to get the rhythm going but once I did I was a bean shellin' fool!

I remember one summer when daddy had brought home a pick up truck load of corn. We weren't as young that summer and we all had other things we'd rather be doing. But I still liked working with them to get the food put up, so while my sister and brother acted like babies about having to help, I kept quiet and shucked ear after ear trying to clean as much of the cornsilks off as I could. Mama was working the hardest, standing over a hot stove and watching several pots at one time. She had the knack for cutting the corn off the cobs and wouldn't let any of us try for fear we'd cut too deeply and get cob into the corn. When I grew up and had my own kitchen I found a gadget in a hardware store that was made for cutting the corn off the cob and thought I'd struck gold! I sort of wished I could go back in time and give one to my mama.
I'm looking forward to using it again this summer.

Next summer we're going to have double the size of garden we have now. The raised beds just didn't get started on soon enough to be assembled this year. Life kind of has a way of stalling us on projects like that. But thankfully we're both determined to grow enough organic food for the two of us, as we're doing our best to help both the planet and our own health.

"Something The Lord Made"

The title of this post is also the title of a movie that stars Mos Def as Vivien Thomas, and Alan Rickman as Dr. Alfred Blaylock. The subject of the movie is the early days of heart surgery, in a time when suspicions about it being the home of the soul and off limits to medicine are still discussed. It also takes place in the 1940's when the dividing line between white and black americans is still as wide and deep as a chasm.
While you can rent the movie and see the amazing and true story it tells, the reason I wanted to post about it is the depiction of the two different worlds in which the two main characters live in the deep south of the time.

One would expect at least some changes between the '40's and the '50's, but I wanted to write that, while growing up in the fifties (I was born in 1952) I observed how the paths crossed and the unspoken demands of expressions of humility by the whites of the blacks was evident everywhere.
There is one scene in the movie, when Vivien Thomas is walking a sidewalk on the teaching hospital campus and having a converstation with another black man. They are dressed as nicely if not moreso that any of the white people in the film. But, when white people are coming down the same sidewalk, these men step aside, and bow their heads to assure they have no intent of making eye contact with these people - especially the women.

Vivien Thomas is the first and only lab assistant ever hired at this school. And allowing him to perform surgery on dogs causes trouble for Dr Blaylock, who is revealed to be a rebel who stands up to all his superiors.

In those days in was unheard of for a white man to defend a black man. The black community was expected to 'know their place' and stay there. And this is 100 years or so following the Emancipation Proclamation.

As a child I saw signs telling blacks that their entrance to a building was in the back.
I saw two water fountains in the JC Penny store where my mother took us to shop. I once asked her why two were needed. Was their water different that ours? Was it dirty? Why did they have to drink dirty water? She just told me to be quiet.

My daddy used to steal eggs from his mama's hens to give to the elderly black woman who lived on their farm. I'm sure she helped, over the years with raising babies, or doing laundry, which was a nice way for her to make some money or be given food from their farm. This was during the Great Depression, afterall. But, even though he got spanked, for some reason, my daddy had a soft place in his heart for her and continued to sneak eggs to her. I love that story, but it was quite unusual for the times. Later in his life his feelings changed and be became a bitter old man, but that's another post.

I cannot imagine having to live the way African American's were expected to live in the south in those days. It's no wonder that entire families uprooted and went north to cities like Chicago, Detroit, and New York.
These days I enjoy films made by people like Spike Lee who told the true story of the 9th Ward in New Orleans. Why? Because, people like him showed me, that we've not made much progress since the 1950's. Only now, the children of the southern African American community are starting to get angry and demand the respect they deserve as citizens of this country.

Summer Nights

I've been sleeping with the vents on the AC closed, the ceiling fan turning, and my windows open. This brings on the best sleep - the kind that babies enjoy. In fact I remember tent camping when our sons were babies and seeing the happy look on their faces as they crawled out of their tangle of blankets eager for the buckwheat pancakes their daddy was already preparing over the old rusty campstove.
The delicious sleep I will be enjoying til the summer heat starts to invade my dreams is reminding me of spending summers with my grandmother. We'd arise early in the morning to find clouds of morning mist floating above the groud in her front yard and in the fields across the road. By the time we'd finished breakfast and were heading outside to either plant some peas in her garden, or to harvest something else there, the mist was but a memory.
My grandmother always had the most kind smile on her face, and time I got to spend alone with her was so precious to me. Afterall she had, I think 17 grandchildren, and more great grandchildren than I can recall. I didn't even like sharing her with my brother and sister.
But dear sweet Emma, had a heart big enough for all of us, and I doubt that we realized how blessed we were to have had her in our lives.

I don't have much else to add to this post, honestly, I just have my grandmother on my mind lately and wanted to share this memory of her before it slipped my mind.
I hope those of you who read here are enjoying my memories, and my opinions, because I have plenty of both, that's for sure.

Levels Of Polite Society

This entry has been deleted...for the second time, I hope it stays deleted from now on.
Me

Well, Bless Her Heart

Sharing gossip in the south is like walking a tightrope between the manners your mama taught you about never repeating unkind words saif about another, and the fear that by repeating gossip you will gain a reputation for being a tale bearer.

So when your neighbor walks over to your house unannounced and bearing a plate of her very special tea cakes covered with a delicate linen napkin you know it's time to brew up a pot of tea and ask her to sit a spell, because her tea cakes always come with a price.

Eventually her reason for stopping by will come out in the form of a sad and sorrowful expression on her face that announces what is to follow. After a sip of tea to clear her throat she will usually begin with something like this:

"Did you hear about the candy drive that the PTA had going over at the junior high school?"
"No, I haven't heard a word." you say, while pouring a bit more tea in her cup.

And trying to hide the ghost of a smug smile on her face, your neighbor will reset her face into an expression of sorrowfulness and say,
"After all that money they raised for new gym equipment the PTA president Marlene's older boy, you know, the one who never graduated 8th grade? Well, he stole that money from under his mama's dresser and before he could run off to Memphis and spend it drinkin' and gamblin' the police caught him and locked him up!"
"Oh MY!" You moan. "How IS poor Marlene handling such a disgrace?"

"Well, what I heard is that she's blaming her husband for having been a neglectful father in raising their children, and then locked herself in her room crying with a migraine headache. You know how she always gets those bad headaches when trouble comes her way."

"I do know that, " you say, and then comes that definitive Southern reply to any and all bad news,
"Well, bless her heart." You add, shaking your head while wondering if your neighbor has shared her news with everyone or will there be anyone left for you to tell.

You see, we do our best to hide scorn, and we do our best not to sound judgemental or preachy, but those three words say it all and each every one of us knows it. The thing is, though, it comes to us so naturally to say, "Bless her (or 'your' or 'his') heart", that we actually believe we mean it in the most sincere and genuine way at the time we're saying it. It's only after we've given the news some thought that we realize we know several reasons for how or why the recently 'blessed' sufferer brought their own unhappiness down upon themselves, and all our concern leaves us as fast as our neighbor left our kitchen carrying her mama's heirloom china plate covered in cookie crumbs and her linen napkin.

There's Respect for History and Heritage, And Then There's Just Plain Silliness, In My Opinion

It is my personal opinion, that here in these southern United States the end of the Civil War has, for some, yet to be recognized. I give you the big old muddy pick up trucks that zoom up and down the highway near my new home. These vehicles carry overfed 'good ol' boys' who've placed Rebel flags in their rear windows, or attached to the front of their trucks in lieu of a front license plate.
When I was in High School our mascot was Colonel Reb, and our fight song was "Dixie".

"Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten, look away, look away, look away, Dixieland. I wish I was in Dixie, away, away, in Dixieland I'll take my stand, to live and die, in Dixie. Look away, look away, look away Dixieland".

What any of that had to do with Football escapes me, but I was, then, just happy that I knew the words to 'Dixie' so I could feel I belonged.

It was a tradition at our school to celebrate our senior year with a Senior Luncheon at the Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis. The Peabody has a long and rich history and I wll write about it another time. But for now, back to high school graduation traditions. Each female member of the graduating class was expected to wear a hat to this luncheon. And each year there was a program/popularity contest to select "Colonel Reb and his Lady". There were candidate couples from each class and there was a well rehearsed dance on the auditorium stage to "The Tennessee Waltz". This extravaganza was, naturally, done in replica Civil War costumes complete with hoop skirts on the girls, and sword bearing uniforms for the boys.
The year my brother was a senior he and his girlfriend actually were elected Colonel Reb and his Lady. But then, my brother is alway the most sought out man in most rooms of people who didn't grow up with him. For me he was just an annoying pill of a little brother, but as an adult, he actually turned out alright.


On a less pleasant note about southerners, I have to add that I have perfectly mannered southern female friends who, for some reason, even today do not like black people. When one of my friends told me that when her sons were young and the black children (of successful parents) in their school class would come to play with her children at her house she'd make everyone stay outside. None of these children were allowed in her home. As a matter of fact, I am the only person in our group who voted for Barak Obama for president. And guess what, they still love me! I hope that one day they will be able to see that they voted for the wrong candidate. But, until then, I will love them because Jesus told me to, and drink sweaty glasses of iced tea and share lemon bars with them, and enjoy the stories of the lastest links between their families and history, because afterall, our past has a great deal to with with our future, don't you agree?

Now, when you go home, don't forget to tell your mama I said hello, and asked about her, y'hear?

Born In The South

Being born in the South is an honor. If you weren't born here then you just don't get it. You may think you do from watching movies made by Hollywood, but you don't really get it and you never will. Although we do invite you to come and share our culture anytime you can make it down here. And, you are allowed to envy us, and then mock us, if you need to, for living in a place where the summers are so hot that tomatoes stew in the sunshine right on the vine. Where porches are made for rocking chairs, and rocking chairs for catching a breeze in the shade and share pitchers of fresh iced tea with sprigs of lemon verbena crushed into each glass.

It's not just a skin deep thing, it's a blood thing, and it's a history thing as well. There are Civil War battlefields dotting the landscape in the South that are revered as if the bodies of the dead had just recently been laid to rest.

I even have two friends who are O-FISH-ALLY members of the United Daughters of the Confederacy. And one of them can even trace her family back to the Founder's of this country.
My personal heritage is not so long. But I do know that my maternal great greatfather brought his family here from Germany to escape the evils of that government at the time, to settle in Mississippi and farm His name was August and I may do more research one day. He was found by one of my UDC friends who loves doing generational research and took a few moments to find him for me. She is very generous that way.
His son, my grandfather John, was one of the sweetest and kindest men I ever knew. He always had a twinkle in his eye, and made sure my sister, brother and I got a dime to buy candy from the candy display in his small dry goods store that was once a landmark in La Grange, Tennessee. My mother was named after her mother, Blanche.

My paternal grandmother was also a gentle soul, and an amazingly good cook . She could bake cakes that would rival those found in bakeries in NYC. And she could ring the neck and head off a chicken in her backyard faster than you could blink. My sister still tells stories of seeing a headless chicken hopping around flapping it's wings in the dust of the back door, and how she just could NOT eat a bite of chicken that evening when she saw a platter of it all fried and crispy on the dinner table that evening.

I learned to love butterbeans, sweet corn, and icey slices of tomatoes at her table, and to sit outside in the summer twilight watching for fireflies while the grownups talked inside the house. Since my sister, brother and I were some of the city relatives, my country cousins would tease us with tales of all kinds of spooks that lived in old falling down houses and on the ride home we'd not argue about who sat where in the car. We were just glad to have each other close.