10 days ago.... 3, maybe 4 inches of snow on the ground.
Today...... cloudless, 86 degrees with very strong winds. I'm just sayin. I think we're swinging back to balanced weather.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Forgive me! Please!
Forgive me! I haven't had time to read or write lately! Not even now! But I thought this was hilarious!
See this. Hilarious!
See this. Hilarious!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Weird-O Weather Woes
Ok! What's up with our weather huh?
Tzav, my pal, I do believe we've traded places again.
Friday: 75 degrees and a beautiful cloudless sky to enjoy with perfect breezes
Saturday: Temp drops to mid 60s, severe weather...later that evening, SNOW and 32 degrees. 1 inch or less they tell us. Dangerously windy.
Sunday: I wake up to 3 inches of snow on the ground and more falling, temps in the mid 30s and still very scary wind. This afternoon, it's melting, closer to mid 40s and I can see the grass a little now. Wind is blowing so hard that when it gusts, the blinds on the sliding glass door bump into my table. Woah that's windy.
Normal weather this time of year is upper 60's -mid 70s... I think it should be back to normal later this week. The snow is beautiful, but I want to wear my capris and flip-flops again!
Tzav, I know you're a busy bee. When you get a chance, will you please tell me what the weather norm is in your section of the country? Has it been normal this year for yous guys?
Tzav, my pal, I do believe we've traded places again.
Friday: 75 degrees and a beautiful cloudless sky to enjoy with perfect breezes
Saturday: Temp drops to mid 60s, severe weather...later that evening, SNOW and 32 degrees. 1 inch or less they tell us. Dangerously windy.
Sunday: I wake up to 3 inches of snow on the ground and more falling, temps in the mid 30s and still very scary wind. This afternoon, it's melting, closer to mid 40s and I can see the grass a little now. Wind is blowing so hard that when it gusts, the blinds on the sliding glass door bump into my table. Woah that's windy.
Normal weather this time of year is upper 60's -mid 70s... I think it should be back to normal later this week. The snow is beautiful, but I want to wear my capris and flip-flops again!
Tzav, I know you're a busy bee. When you get a chance, will you please tell me what the weather norm is in your section of the country? Has it been normal this year for yous guys?
Monday, March 15, 2010
My Grandfather, born in Quitman, MS
Please forgive me for writing again so soon! I just put the following poem on another blog, then decided that it belonged here as well. It is about my Grandfather, who was born in, and lived several years in, Quitman, Mississippi.
I had a wonderful opportunity to know Grandfather. I especially loved him, a tall, muscular man who was so gentle toward me. He strongly impressed me with his kindness and intelligence, even more so when I became a woman.
The following is titled "A Visit to Grandfather's Garage." It truly was Grandfather's garage, but Grandmother's touch could also be seen in it.
A Visit to Grandfather's Garage
An ancient car with rounded fenders
sits undisturbed, immaculate,
surrounded by painted shelves.
Ancient tools in careful order,
Mason jars of prism colors,
each in their labeled place.
For us, on the workbench,
a box of fresh walnuts,
two others of apples and pears.
They blend their fragrances.
From the door,
Grandfather laughs.
Grandfather had a voice that was absolutely arresting. As a child, often, I would hide inside their house, my ear pressed against the wall, listening, while he talked with some adult. I had no real reason to hide there, except for the fact that I wanted nothing to disturb the resonance of his voice -- not even my presence.
His voice was incredibly deep, and although he had lived in California for years, he retained his southern way of speaking slowly, each word spoken with deliberate accuracy. Each word sounded like it was spoken from inside a deep cavern. I have tried to tell my children what it sounded like, but it was far beyond description. The closest I came to describing it was to tell them to imagine the deepest human voice they had ever heard, then imagine what that voice would sound like, if they cupped their hands over their ears.
Grandfather was probably the most intelligent person I have ever known in all my life. He did not attend college, yet he knew more about the world, and about so many things -- more than I can ever imagine knowing. He had set himself to learn, and he was a voracious reader.
Grandfather was well over six feet tall, and Grandmother wasn't quite 5 feet tall. Grandfather seemed to be always smiling, and Grandmother was loving but very serious. Grandfather would lope when he walked alone, and he could be across his back yard before I could have hardly started. But when Grandfather walked with me, he never seemed to be waiting for me, yet he paced himself with my footsteps. Grandmother took quick, short steps that could keep pace effortlessly with my longer ones. What a pair they were!
I had a wonderful opportunity to know Grandfather. I especially loved him, a tall, muscular man who was so gentle toward me. He strongly impressed me with his kindness and intelligence, even more so when I became a woman.
The following is titled "A Visit to Grandfather's Garage." It truly was Grandfather's garage, but Grandmother's touch could also be seen in it.
A Visit to Grandfather's Garage
An ancient car with rounded fenders
sits undisturbed, immaculate,
surrounded by painted shelves.
Ancient tools in careful order,
Mason jars of prism colors,
each in their labeled place.
For us, on the workbench,
a box of fresh walnuts,
two others of apples and pears.
They blend their fragrances.
From the door,
Grandfather laughs.
Grandfather had a voice that was absolutely arresting. As a child, often, I would hide inside their house, my ear pressed against the wall, listening, while he talked with some adult. I had no real reason to hide there, except for the fact that I wanted nothing to disturb the resonance of his voice -- not even my presence.
His voice was incredibly deep, and although he had lived in California for years, he retained his southern way of speaking slowly, each word spoken with deliberate accuracy. Each word sounded like it was spoken from inside a deep cavern. I have tried to tell my children what it sounded like, but it was far beyond description. The closest I came to describing it was to tell them to imagine the deepest human voice they had ever heard, then imagine what that voice would sound like, if they cupped their hands over their ears.
Grandfather was probably the most intelligent person I have ever known in all my life. He did not attend college, yet he knew more about the world, and about so many things -- more than I can ever imagine knowing. He had set himself to learn, and he was a voracious reader.
Grandfather was well over six feet tall, and Grandmother wasn't quite 5 feet tall. Grandfather seemed to be always smiling, and Grandmother was loving but very serious. Grandfather would lope when he walked alone, and he could be across his back yard before I could have hardly started. But when Grandfather walked with me, he never seemed to be waiting for me, yet he paced himself with my footsteps. Grandmother took quick, short steps that could keep pace effortlessly with my longer ones. What a pair they were!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Question
My last post brought up this question: What's the deal about cooking vegetables all day?
Both my parents came from the Quitman, Mississippi, area, and mother cooked the vegetables all day long -- especially the green beans. I never understood that, or gave it much thought, until the following incident, because I just thought it was her way.
So when my first husband was drafted for Vietnam, and I moved to Laurel, Maryland, to be with him, my parents decided to come out and visit. At that time, we were dirt-poor (I learned to say that in the South!), living on 19¢ pot pies for dinner every evening, and we scrimped every penny in preparation for their visit, so that they would not know. The day they were to arrive, I went to the grocery store and bought a roast, fresh vegetables, and everything else we would need to keep all well-fed while they were there.
We'd been away all day their first day there, sight-seeing the historic battle grounds. Home again that evening, I quickly ran in to cook our meal, quickly steaming the fresh green beans. "Almost ready!" I shouted from the tiny kitchen of our little barely-furnished apartment.
Mother came in to see how things were and spotted the green beans on the stove, the burner already turned off. "You can't serve these!" she told me.
Puzzled, I asked, "Why not?"
She replied that they were poison! "Poison?" I asked, "Why are they poison?"
"You have to cook them all day, or they will kill you," she told me.
I just stood there, looking at her, trying to figure out if she was kidding. She wasn't. And she was firm: she was not going to eat them, and I was not to serve them to Father, either.
Dollar signs swam past my eyeballs, laughing at me, jeering. I wondered what I could put on the stove quickly to serve them, but we only had those pot pies and just enough food to feed them for three days. Those beans were certainly not poisonous, and that was what I had bought to cook that night. I decided to be firm with Mother.
"Okay," I told her. "You don't have to eat them, but Pat and I are going to eat them, they will be delicious, and we won't die."
She was silent through the meal, as we ate our green beans, and the next day, we went sight-seeing again, somehow living through the whole thing.
I later learned, through my travels, that some people from the South do cook green beans, corn, and some other vegetables all day. Now, I know that I am not much of a cook, but I barely cook my vegetables, except for potatoes (which I invariably prefer to have completely over-cooked). -- Oh, and any time I can serve my vegetables raw, I do. Furthermore, I refuse to cook either mustard greens or other greens: they just go in my salads.
So is this just another proof that I am a bad cook, or are the differing cooking practices truly regional? -- Or is it an age thing?
Both my parents came from the Quitman, Mississippi, area, and mother cooked the vegetables all day long -- especially the green beans. I never understood that, or gave it much thought, until the following incident, because I just thought it was her way.
So when my first husband was drafted for Vietnam, and I moved to Laurel, Maryland, to be with him, my parents decided to come out and visit. At that time, we were dirt-poor (I learned to say that in the South!), living on 19¢ pot pies for dinner every evening, and we scrimped every penny in preparation for their visit, so that they would not know. The day they were to arrive, I went to the grocery store and bought a roast, fresh vegetables, and everything else we would need to keep all well-fed while they were there.
We'd been away all day their first day there, sight-seeing the historic battle grounds. Home again that evening, I quickly ran in to cook our meal, quickly steaming the fresh green beans. "Almost ready!" I shouted from the tiny kitchen of our little barely-furnished apartment.
Mother came in to see how things were and spotted the green beans on the stove, the burner already turned off. "You can't serve these!" she told me.
Puzzled, I asked, "Why not?"
She replied that they were poison! "Poison?" I asked, "Why are they poison?"
"You have to cook them all day, or they will kill you," she told me.
I just stood there, looking at her, trying to figure out if she was kidding. She wasn't. And she was firm: she was not going to eat them, and I was not to serve them to Father, either.
Dollar signs swam past my eyeballs, laughing at me, jeering. I wondered what I could put on the stove quickly to serve them, but we only had those pot pies and just enough food to feed them for three days. Those beans were certainly not poisonous, and that was what I had bought to cook that night. I decided to be firm with Mother.
"Okay," I told her. "You don't have to eat them, but Pat and I are going to eat them, they will be delicious, and we won't die."
She was silent through the meal, as we ate our green beans, and the next day, we went sight-seeing again, somehow living through the whole thing.
I later learned, through my travels, that some people from the South do cook green beans, corn, and some other vegetables all day. Now, I know that I am not much of a cook, but I barely cook my vegetables, except for potatoes (which I invariably prefer to have completely over-cooked). -- Oh, and any time I can serve my vegetables raw, I do. Furthermore, I refuse to cook either mustard greens or other greens: they just go in my salads.
So is this just another proof that I am a bad cook, or are the differing cooking practices truly regional? -- Or is it an age thing?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
My First Mississippi Wake
I really can't tell you much about it. I was not yet nine, when we were invited to our first wake. I don't even know who the lady who died was! As far as I know, I had never met her. I just know that she was lying inside that darkened house. I wasn't sure if she was dead or dying -- I thought she was dying.
But my eyes popped when I saw that yard! People milled about, not particularly sad or anything, but they seemed a little quiet -- like they had been expecting her to pass away, and perhaps they were at peace that it was "her time."
But the main thing I, the 8-year-old from Northern California, saw was the U of tables in the front yard of that tiny, unpainted, wooden home! There must have been at least nine tables, all of them laden down with more food than I had seen in my whole entire life!
I stood there, just looking in awe, when one kind lady told me to get a plate and fill it up. I did.
Now this was my normal time for breakfast! And they had all the breakfast foods: coffee, biscuits, sausage, ham, coffee, scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles, coffee, syrup, butter, gravy, coffee, sweetrolls, molasses, hashbrowns, coffee, jams of every kind, . . .
Then I saw something I had never seen before for breakfast: fried chicken, roast beef, hot rolls, corn, fried chicken, potato salad, mashed potatoes, green beans (that most likely had been cooked all the previous day), fried chicken, loaves of homemade bread, mustard greens, turnip greens, jambalaya, okra, . . . and on and on it went!
So I ate. I avoided the foods I already knew I didn't like -- what we in the Northwest call "soul food" -- and ate my fill of many other things. Finished, I sought a place to put my plate and utensils, but the same lady came up behind me, leaned over me, and said, "Honey, you hardly ate a thing! If a wind comes up, it'll blow you away!" And she served me some warm blackberry cobbler and homemade ice cream, right out of the oak ice cream maker. I thought I would burst, but I had no desire to turn it down!
And when I finished, there she was again with her admonition about getting blown away, but I told her I was through. All the time I lived my 3.5 or so years in the South, I would hear the same admonition over and over, from other ladies' mouths, as though there was a script they all had read.
I will keep this post short. I just want to write that I had never before seen anything like that wake and have not again, since leaving the South.
But my eyes popped when I saw that yard! People milled about, not particularly sad or anything, but they seemed a little quiet -- like they had been expecting her to pass away, and perhaps they were at peace that it was "her time."
But the main thing I, the 8-year-old from Northern California, saw was the U of tables in the front yard of that tiny, unpainted, wooden home! There must have been at least nine tables, all of them laden down with more food than I had seen in my whole entire life!
I stood there, just looking in awe, when one kind lady told me to get a plate and fill it up. I did.
Now this was my normal time for breakfast! And they had all the breakfast foods: coffee, biscuits, sausage, ham, coffee, scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles, coffee, syrup, butter, gravy, coffee, sweetrolls, molasses, hashbrowns, coffee, jams of every kind, . . .
Then I saw something I had never seen before for breakfast: fried chicken, roast beef, hot rolls, corn, fried chicken, potato salad, mashed potatoes, green beans (that most likely had been cooked all the previous day), fried chicken, loaves of homemade bread, mustard greens, turnip greens, jambalaya, okra, . . . and on and on it went!
So I ate. I avoided the foods I already knew I didn't like -- what we in the Northwest call "soul food" -- and ate my fill of many other things. Finished, I sought a place to put my plate and utensils, but the same lady came up behind me, leaned over me, and said, "Honey, you hardly ate a thing! If a wind comes up, it'll blow you away!" And she served me some warm blackberry cobbler and homemade ice cream, right out of the oak ice cream maker. I thought I would burst, but I had no desire to turn it down!
And when I finished, there she was again with her admonition about getting blown away, but I told her I was through. All the time I lived my 3.5 or so years in the South, I would hear the same admonition over and over, from other ladies' mouths, as though there was a script they all had read.
I will keep this post short. I just want to write that I had never before seen anything like that wake and have not again, since leaving the South.
Java Chiller
Now this is something I KNOW to be fact because I have experienced it first-hand.
In the south, we like our coffee strong. Chewable. The kind that "Puts hair on your chest". I've always been told, "If you can't stand a spoon up in it, add another scoop to the brew." That is an overstatement of course... I suppose.... well, maybe.
Picture it - Eeeearly in the morning, landing at a Chicago airport and the sun is barely up. Been up since well before dawn and slept through most of the flight, so I missed the beverages. I knew it would be a long day and needed to gear up with morning go-go nectar. So I rush to the hotel to primp and prepare a little before the chaos was scheduled to begin and make a room service call for coffee (No machine in this room, where the heck am I?). A few minutes later, they come in with my brown water.
Ok, so that place definitely wasn't going on my list of 'places to get a cuppa', but oh well, next stop. Cabby runs me through McDonalds - they usually have drinkable coffee. *sip sip* Hmmm, more brown water. Maybe a new crew member made it... I'll wait. Now, I am an addict and I can admit that. I typically don't wake up without coffee unless I'm really excited to be where I am, and while excited, at this point I was too caffeine depraved to even remember why I was there.
So I get to my meeting. Oh PRAZELUJAH! They've got coffee. Yep, brown water. OY! Forget it! Longest day ever.
Next we go into Indiana and then a separate trip to Ohio.... all repeats of my Chicago misadventures. More trips this past year to New York, Vermont... the same. What?
Not long after that, a new member joins our team, Mike. Mike is a great guy, originating north of the Mason Dixon line. We never had his kind in our neck of the woods before, so this was certainly an experience. FIRST THING we noticed is that he made brown water. SO we had little secrets.(Mike, if you read this, you know I love you and we've already confessed to doing this.) I was in the front office and if anyone in the back offices saw Mike headed towards the front, my phone would buzz to let me know that I was to run to the coffee pot to try to start a new pot BEFORE he got there. We were meanies, but coffee is a serious thing in the south especially in our office. 6 of us would go through 2 large canisters of the most intense Folgers we could buy every month. It took several months of his watering down his cups of coffee that I made before he started slowly learning to chew the real stuff. Now he doesn't like it weak. I knew he was good people.
Mike told me, it was because he was from the north.
Do all northerners drink their coffee weak? No! Is it wrong to make weak coffee? YES! It's against the rules!
Ok, no, it's not wrong... to each his own, but this is certainly a notable difference between the north and the south. We still love ya'll.
Proper southern coffee:
6 -7 standard canister scoops - heaping to 10 cups of water
Served piping hot and black as midnight. It should at least stick to the sides of the mug a little when you swish it around. Mmmmm yummy.
My thoughts: People in the north are generally healthier than us southern fried styles. While we NEED the coffee to get going in the mornings, northerners simply run outside for a quick hike in the mountains through 50 ft of snow both ways. I'll drink to you!
In the south, we like our coffee strong. Chewable. The kind that "Puts hair on your chest". I've always been told, "If you can't stand a spoon up in it, add another scoop to the brew." That is an overstatement of course... I suppose.... well, maybe.
Picture it - Eeeearly in the morning, landing at a Chicago airport and the sun is barely up. Been up since well before dawn and slept through most of the flight, so I missed the beverages. I knew it would be a long day and needed to gear up with morning go-go nectar. So I rush to the hotel to primp and prepare a little before the chaos was scheduled to begin and make a room service call for coffee (No machine in this room, where the heck am I?). A few minutes later, they come in with my brown water.
Ok, so that place definitely wasn't going on my list of 'places to get a cuppa', but oh well, next stop. Cabby runs me through McDonalds - they usually have drinkable coffee. *sip sip* Hmmm, more brown water. Maybe a new crew member made it... I'll wait. Now, I am an addict and I can admit that. I typically don't wake up without coffee unless I'm really excited to be where I am, and while excited, at this point I was too caffeine depraved to even remember why I was there.
So I get to my meeting. Oh PRAZELUJAH! They've got coffee. Yep, brown water. OY! Forget it! Longest day ever.
Next we go into Indiana and then a separate trip to Ohio.... all repeats of my Chicago misadventures. More trips this past year to New York, Vermont... the same. What?
Not long after that, a new member joins our team, Mike. Mike is a great guy, originating north of the Mason Dixon line. We never had his kind in our neck of the woods before, so this was certainly an experience. FIRST THING we noticed is that he made brown water. SO we had little secrets.(Mike, if you read this, you know I love you and we've already confessed to doing this.) I was in the front office and if anyone in the back offices saw Mike headed towards the front, my phone would buzz to let me know that I was to run to the coffee pot to try to start a new pot BEFORE he got there. We were meanies, but coffee is a serious thing in the south especially in our office. 6 of us would go through 2 large canisters of the most intense Folgers we could buy every month. It took several months of his watering down his cups of coffee that I made before he started slowly learning to chew the real stuff. Now he doesn't like it weak. I knew he was good people.
Mike told me, it was because he was from the north.
Do all northerners drink their coffee weak? No! Is it wrong to make weak coffee? YES! It's against the rules!
Ok, no, it's not wrong... to each his own, but this is certainly a notable difference between the north and the south. We still love ya'll.
Proper southern coffee:
6 -7 standard canister scoops - heaping to 10 cups of water
Served piping hot and black as midnight. It should at least stick to the sides of the mug a little when you swish it around. Mmmmm yummy.
My thoughts: People in the north are generally healthier than us southern fried styles. While we NEED the coffee to get going in the mornings, northerners simply run outside for a quick hike in the mountains through 50 ft of snow both ways. I'll drink to you!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
When I moved to Mississippi,
I was 8½. I was angry at being moved with only what I remember as a day's notice, angry at leaving my friends and the only home I knew, and angry about what I quickly learned were the differences between California and Mississippi then. My parents were absolutely ecstatic to be there and did their best to help me become a proper young southern lady.
I wanted desperately to return to what I knew and understood, to what was "home" to me. After awhile, in what I am sure was exasperation with my profound unhappiness, I was told that I had better forget California, because I would never see it again. At that, I basically gave up on life and all things good.
The political climate was very difficult for me back then, as were the heat, humidity, school, church, mosquitoes, etc. However, there were things about Mississippi that, if I'd had a different attitude, would have been wonderful.
Please forgive that child, my Southern friends.
The Birds!
The Mocking Birds were magic! The first one I heard was in a tree above where my sister and I had been playing hide-and-seek together. One day, my sister and I heard someone teasing us from somewhere in the back of the house we rented, calling, "You're it! You're it!" We looked everywhere! -- even in the huge tree in the back yard -- and found no one. We ran in the house and told Father, and he immediately knew what it was. A mocking bird! We never saw it, but we were thrilled.
Another bird I fell in love with was the Cardinal. Wow, they were gorgeous! -- especially in the snow.
And another -- those lovely sky-blue Blue Jays. Up here, I have yet to see one like those, even though I have read that we have them; rather, we have the Stellar Jays.
And you have Bob Whites! I had never heard one in Eureka, CA, but I have heard some here in Washington.
Fire Flies!
I loved them, too. What child would not? At first, we poked holes in a jar lid, put a few drops of water in the bottom, added some grass and a sprig or two, then filled the jar with fire flies. How disappointing the next day to find them dead. So we learned to put them in the jar for a little while, then open the window after a few minutes of enjoying them as "night lights," to let them go.
And I learned their other name, too. Lightning bug!
Frogs and Crickets
I was not allowed to find and play with them, but I could not be stopped from enjoying their music!
The Panther
The little old man who lived in Brandon loved to brag about the big black panthers he had seen in the woods behind his house, and my sister and I would give each other looks. Yeah. Sure. A panther in the woods behind his house in Mississippi. And when we were alone, we would giggle about his stories. Obviously, they were not true . . .
Except I read a few months ago about the panthers that most certainly DO live in Mississippi!
It was our ignorance that made us laugh at the old man.
I wanted desperately to return to what I knew and understood, to what was "home" to me. After awhile, in what I am sure was exasperation with my profound unhappiness, I was told that I had better forget California, because I would never see it again. At that, I basically gave up on life and all things good.
The political climate was very difficult for me back then, as were the heat, humidity, school, church, mosquitoes, etc. However, there were things about Mississippi that, if I'd had a different attitude, would have been wonderful.
Please forgive that child, my Southern friends.
The Birds!
The Mocking Birds were magic! The first one I heard was in a tree above where my sister and I had been playing hide-and-seek together. One day, my sister and I heard someone teasing us from somewhere in the back of the house we rented, calling, "You're it! You're it!" We looked everywhere! -- even in the huge tree in the back yard -- and found no one. We ran in the house and told Father, and he immediately knew what it was. A mocking bird! We never saw it, but we were thrilled.
Another bird I fell in love with was the Cardinal. Wow, they were gorgeous! -- especially in the snow.
And another -- those lovely sky-blue Blue Jays. Up here, I have yet to see one like those, even though I have read that we have them; rather, we have the Stellar Jays.
And you have Bob Whites! I had never heard one in Eureka, CA, but I have heard some here in Washington.
Fire Flies!
I loved them, too. What child would not? At first, we poked holes in a jar lid, put a few drops of water in the bottom, added some grass and a sprig or two, then filled the jar with fire flies. How disappointing the next day to find them dead. So we learned to put them in the jar for a little while, then open the window after a few minutes of enjoying them as "night lights," to let them go.
And I learned their other name, too. Lightning bug!
Frogs and Crickets
I was not allowed to find and play with them, but I could not be stopped from enjoying their music!
The Panther
The little old man who lived in Brandon loved to brag about the big black panthers he had seen in the woods behind his house, and my sister and I would give each other looks. Yeah. Sure. A panther in the woods behind his house in Mississippi. And when we were alone, we would giggle about his stories. Obviously, they were not true . . .
Except I read a few months ago about the panthers that most certainly DO live in Mississippi!
It was our ignorance that made us laugh at the old man.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Steel Magnolias
Ever watched Steel Magnolias?
I think that movie is one of the best, most accurate depictions of southern women that I have seen.
Magnolias are big, beautiful, fragrant flowers that bloom from around mid April - late June. They stand out on the trees, their fragrance fills the streets and while delicate, they are able to withstand the intense southern elements.
BIG and beautiful: Southerners do things BIG. BIG hair, BIG cooking, BIG hospitality, BIG mouths and so much more. Again, I love that movie because of it's on-the-nose accuracy. I've always heard, "If you're gonna do it, do it BIG!" You can always count on us to do the gargantuan. If we have a party, a dinner or whatever, you can simply expect that it's going to be an EVENT to remember. Even our small is BIG.
Fragrant: Southerners are known to be the most thoughtful, hospitible persons ever. Their "sweetness" fills an entire room, except that I can name a certain Northwesterner who pretty much takes the cake. SHE thought of EVERYTHING when I visited. Amazing Tzav! I used to live in The Hospitality State (Mississippi). We will share our entire lives with you, accepting and loving you as family even if you are a stranger. We will inevitably give you pet names and call you "dahlin", "suga pie", "honey" and "precious". We will always "Bless your heart" at every opportuntiy.
*** We will not only share our lives with you, but the lives of everyone else as well.
It is common knowledge that southerners are into everybody's business. It's the truth. Having worked as a stylist in a southern salon much like what's shown in "The Steel Magnolias" movie, I can tell you - southern ladies are just exactly like that. We want to know everything there is to know about you and then we will call everyone we know and tell them all what we learned. If it's good, we'll praise you and try to get you elected as mayor. If it's not, we'll talk sweetly to your face and raise our eyebrows behind your back. Bless your heart.
Able to withstand the elements: Southern people are often the brunt of jokes, but they are some of the strongest around. Southerners (and this I certainly know from experience) have a bit of a pride issue. We may be dying on the inside, grieving and suffering intense pain, but you will never know it and we will pass it off with a "fiddle-dee-dee". Our home-life may be shattered, but dahlin', we'll invite you to a dinner party at our house and all you will see is 'the perfect household'. We may be sick, tired, depressed and ready to crack on the inside, but our hair will be done, our nails polished and our lipsticked smile will give you the direct opposite impression. I think that's why there are so many "family secrets" in the south, though that may be common everywhere.
There is an unspoken culture that when something is wrong, you are not to let anyone know, it will all eventually work out. If you're hurting, you don't share it, you deal with it. To do otherwise would be you are weak, and being mean and cruel to the one you're leaning on. You pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, you work your way out and handle the situation. Granted, the south is also known for it's many that survive only on the welfare system, but even those on welfare will not often allow you to see what's really going on. We're just not that honest. Hmm, is this a strength? or a weakness? Depends on who you're asking. The Southern Gentleman is the one who thinks one thing and does another. The Southern Lady is the one who can make anyone comfortable in her presence. Anything else would just be wrong.
I found this link and just loved it. You have to visit this website.
I think that movie is one of the best, most accurate depictions of southern women that I have seen.
Magnolias are big, beautiful, fragrant flowers that bloom from around mid April - late June. They stand out on the trees, their fragrance fills the streets and while delicate, they are able to withstand the intense southern elements.
BIG and beautiful: Southerners do things BIG. BIG hair, BIG cooking, BIG hospitality, BIG mouths and so much more. Again, I love that movie because of it's on-the-nose accuracy. I've always heard, "If you're gonna do it, do it BIG!" You can always count on us to do the gargantuan. If we have a party, a dinner or whatever, you can simply expect that it's going to be an EVENT to remember. Even our small is BIG.
Fragrant: Southerners are known to be the most thoughtful, hospitible persons ever. Their "sweetness" fills an entire room, except that I can name a certain Northwesterner who pretty much takes the cake. SHE thought of EVERYTHING when I visited. Amazing Tzav! I used to live in The Hospitality State (Mississippi). We will share our entire lives with you, accepting and loving you as family even if you are a stranger. We will inevitably give you pet names and call you "dahlin", "suga pie", "honey" and "precious". We will always "Bless your heart" at every opportuntiy.
*** We will not only share our lives with you, but the lives of everyone else as well.
It is common knowledge that southerners are into everybody's business. It's the truth. Having worked as a stylist in a southern salon much like what's shown in "The Steel Magnolias" movie, I can tell you - southern ladies are just exactly like that. We want to know everything there is to know about you and then we will call everyone we know and tell them all what we learned. If it's good, we'll praise you and try to get you elected as mayor. If it's not, we'll talk sweetly to your face and raise our eyebrows behind your back. Bless your heart.
Able to withstand the elements: Southern people are often the brunt of jokes, but they are some of the strongest around. Southerners (and this I certainly know from experience) have a bit of a pride issue. We may be dying on the inside, grieving and suffering intense pain, but you will never know it and we will pass it off with a "fiddle-dee-dee". Our home-life may be shattered, but dahlin', we'll invite you to a dinner party at our house and all you will see is 'the perfect household'. We may be sick, tired, depressed and ready to crack on the inside, but our hair will be done, our nails polished and our lipsticked smile will give you the direct opposite impression. I think that's why there are so many "family secrets" in the south, though that may be common everywhere.
There is an unspoken culture that when something is wrong, you are not to let anyone know, it will all eventually work out. If you're hurting, you don't share it, you deal with it. To do otherwise would be you are weak, and being mean and cruel to the one you're leaning on. You pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, you work your way out and handle the situation. Granted, the south is also known for it's many that survive only on the welfare system, but even those on welfare will not often allow you to see what's really going on. We're just not that honest. Hmm, is this a strength? or a weakness? Depends on who you're asking. The Southern Gentleman is the one who thinks one thing and does another. The Southern Lady is the one who can make anyone comfortable in her presence. Anything else would just be wrong.
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Magnolia memory -
As children, we would climb the house-height magnolia trees, lay in their branches completely covered by the leaves and pick the inside flowers. We would tear the giant petals off one by one and roll them up. When you put pressure on the bright white petals, they would crinkle and turn brown at which point you would tear off the brown spots and let them drop to the ground. Why? We were bored and there were plenty of flowers to go around. We would tear each petal off, layer by layer until we got to the center. We would then pick it apart as well. First all the curly fuzz, but sometimes we would stop there and the core of the flower was like a pointy bulb about the size of a small lemon. They would be our toys. Sometimes we would keep picking layer by layer of what would have been petals until we got to the core and there was nothing left. This is what we did when there were no tad poles to play with. Ah, the bayou.I found this link and just loved it. You have to visit this website.
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