Can You Hear This?

This is another jewel I received via email. No author or reference was attached. If you read it and know to whom we can give credit for this clever summation of the weather in our great state, please let me know.

YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN SOUTH CAROLINA IN JULY WHEN. . . .
The birds have to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground.
The trees are whistling for the dogs.
The best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance.
Hot water now comes out of both taps.
You can make sun tea instantly.
You learn that a seat belt buckle makes a pretty good branding iron.
The temperature drops below 95 and you feel a little chilly.
You discover that in July it only takes 2 fingers to steer your car.
You discover that you can get sunburned through your car window.
You actually burn your hand opening the car door.
You break into a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 a.m.
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, “What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?”
You realize that asphalt has a liquid state.
The potatoes cook underground, so all you have to do is pull one out and add butter, salt and pepper.
Farmers are feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from
laying boiled eggs.
The cows are giving evaporated milk.

Having read this, if you find that your personal constitution would not bear this type of heat, don’t even think about visitin’ during dog days………….otherwise known as August.

All my friends with teenagers and young 2o-somethings express their worry and concern that their near grown boys and girls will exercise good judgement and not take off on any tangents. Understandable to me as I am approaching that age with my own son.

What I have to worry about at this point, however, is quite different. My folks going off on some tangent. I’ll give you an example and, believe it or not, this is the gospel truth!

My mother, her sister, and one of their life-long friends decided, when the powerball lottery in Florida reached some triple digit number, that they just had to buy some tickets. (One way of “planning” for retirement but I can’t recommend it as sound financial strategy.)

So they get off to an early start one morning. They drive south, stopping at any outlet strip or roadside attraction that caught their eye, from SC to somewhere on the GA/FL state line. They find the ubiquitous convenience store which proclaims to have sold “the most” winning tickets of anywhere around those parts and buy their tickets.

Did I mention the plan was to drive to the state line and drive back in the same day? Well, of course, with all the visits to the various shopping meccas and attractions along the way, it’s fairly late at this point and they are a little tired from their adventure.

Despite the fact they are in a location that in southern-speak can only be referred to as a “wide spot in the road” (meaning so small it probably doesn’t even boast a traffic light, let alone a Wal-Mart), they decide to spend the night. The next challenge they quickly discover is finding a place, other than the side of the road, where they can spend the night in at least “Motel 6″ comfort.

After additional driving of some distance, they arrive at a slightly wider spot in the road that has accommodations that do not completely offend their “delicate” sensibilities. Then they make another discovery, while they planned this to be only a day trip, each, without the others knowledge, had set off somewhat “prepared”.

Into their oversized handbags (which would double as an overnight bag for most people), one had packed a toothbrush and toothpaste, one had packed a stick of deodorant, and another had some hairspray. Being classic southern ladies they had each packed the one and only true essential, their make-up. I also believe one or two manage to have a pair of clean undies tucked away too!

By this time in their adventure, the availability of shops, limited in number to begin with, where they might purchase additional essentials are closing up. As luck would have it they happened on a TG&Y just before it closed up for the night where they managed to purchase additional toothbrushes, a couple of combs, and a three-pack of brief undies, which they split up amongst themselves as needed.

Being considerate as all southern women are raised to be, they each made a phone call to their respective husbands explaining their decision to “stay over”. This was news was no surprise to the men as they have had years of experience where these women are concerned……you just never knew what they might do!

There they were the next morning, dressed and refreshed, having shared the necessities they packed and all having clean underwear. They decide, since they’re so close anyway, to just drive on over the Charleston for the day. Charleston is in the opposite corner of SC from their homes, but they just can’t pass up the opportunity to visit, don’t ya know!

As could be expected, in their travels that day, they visited and shopped ’til they were ready to drop. Unfortunately, they were still about 300-400 miles from home. That being the case, there was nothing to do but find accommodations once more to “stay over”.

By this time, the men, having figured as late afternoon approached and there was no word from the ladies, that dinner would be whatever they could scrap up, wisely decided to get together and dine out. They each had a message waiting when they got home (they didn’t all carry cell phones at that time) letting them know not “to wait up”.

I never did get a clear picture of how they addressed their lack of additional clothing or sleeping apparel, but I do know they each dutifully washed out their undies so they would be fresh for the next day!

So, on the third day, after driving a couple thousand miles, they returned home. They were late to be sure and had all manner of treasures they had collected along the way, save the winning lottery ticket.

The moral of the story……………..young ‘uns aren’t only ones who will “road trip” at the drop of a hat. Better watch those retirees!

In my day job, doing mortgages, I am finding it more and more difficult to deal with the misconceptions consumer’s are getting today about how financing works. Advertisements for 100% financing and interest-only programs are everywhere. Advertisements offering loan programs for those just out of bankruptcy or have poor credit are just as popular. Advertisements with teaser rate offers are a constant.

Where is the reality? Reality is that you have to have adequate credit, some money for closings costs at the very least and a property that you can afford.

Every day we have another potential client come through the door believing he/she can get a loan with no credit, no money and have microscopic payments. Unfortunately, they’ve bought into the ideas the advertisments sell and think buying a $250,000 house and having a $800 a month payment with no money down is a possibility. It isn’t.

If you want to be a homeowner, you need to be realistic. Houses are expensive purchases and long-term investments. You don’t go into a deal of this size without some planning. You have to save some money. You have to work on having good credit. You have to accept the difference between what you want and what you can afford.

One of my loan officer’s put it succiently, “When I was young and saw the Valleydale commercials with the marching pigs singing “Hoooray for Valleydale”, I knew it wasn’t real, it was an advertisement. Pigs can’t sing! So why do people think just because it’s advertised that it’s gospel?”

When seeing, hearing or reading any advertisement, one should always exercise a little common sense. The adage “if it’s too good to be true, it probably isn’t” is a good “rule of thumb.” Otherwise, singing pigs would be everywhere and everyone would own their dream home and have no mortgage.

While Scarlett had all the county boys fluttering around her at the Twelve Oaks Bar-B-Q, the other Belles were put out. Why? Because she had the art of flirting “down pat”, as they say down south.

Flirting is a way of life in the south. Men, women, and children are exposed to this ancient form of communication and know it the way they know that August is hot and muggy, it’s just the way it is.

I am an indiscriminate flirt. I flirt with men, women, children, young, old and everything in between. Oh no, I can hear the gasps of those I’ve shocked and offended as I write.

It’s is very important to understand that flirting, especially the southern version, is not necessarily sexual in nature.

While flirting can be used in a sexual way, to flirt with someone is to show them attention with affection. Not necessarily sexual affection, just affection. If you have ever seen a baby in a shopping cart and have taken time to talk, grin and wave to get the baby to laugh and/or grin back, where I come from that’s called flirting.

Southern flirting is like sincere flattery, it makes the recipient feel good. For a moment, that individual feels special in a way they didn’t feel a moment before. It’s a wonderful feeling to give and a wonderful feeling to receive.

With all the weirdness in the world today, it’s understandable that to some this sounds too overt and/or inappropriate. But rest assured, if you’re ever down South and find yourself on the receiving end of some warm southern flirtation, even if it’s from a complete stranger, you can be your boots you’ll feel like you’ve just been wrapped up in a warm blanket on a cool evening or settled down for a comfortable snooze in the porch swing.

The whole idea is to make someone feel appreciated for themselves. No matter who’s giving and who’s receiving, everybody goes away feeling a little lighter and brighter and, Lord knows, we can all use more of that!

10 for $10. They are lining up in the aisles. What’s 10 for $10? It doesn’t matter. The average American will purchase items that he/she doesn’t need or can’t even use just because it’s a “bargin”.

Despite the fact shopping is one of the great American pastimes (for both men and women), I am still amazed when very normal, rational and, otherwise fiscally responsible people I know will go completely “off their nut” (a truly Southern expression, meaning anything from slightly off to totally crazy) when they see those three little words, “sale, discount, and free”.

I know men with yards no bigger than a postage stamp who will go to Lowe’s and load down their SUV with enough lime and fertilizer for 10 acres because it was half price. I know women who live alone but go to Costco and buy anything from canned tuna to toilet paper in quanties large enough for a family of twelve.

There’s nothing wrong with buying in bulk to save money if you’re really saving, but most folks never look at it from the other perspective. Does it make sense for someone to “warehouse” in their pantry enough Slim Jims for an entire Boy Scout troop? It’s probably not cost effective even though they could host a camp out. Especially if they don’t know a Boy Scout, let alone a whole troop.

I had a Great-Aunt that lived alone and ate like a bird, but would go to Wal-mart and buy a 10 pound block of cheese because it was “on sale”. She was also fond of buying 12 boxes of holiday boxed Whitman’s samplers when they discounted them after the holiday. Then she loved to give them to folks when they came by to visit. Of course, you never knew if the box being given at Christmas with Easter packaging was from the same year or several years back. Until they opened it, that is.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE a good sale! My motto when shopping for clothes is “if it’s not on sale— it’s not my size.” But I once had an associate that believed “if it’s on sale buy it, whether it’s my size or not.” I have been shopping with this woman and she could walk up to a sale rack and walk away with anything from a size 6 to a size 12 and buy it. Bless her heart, she wore a size 14. It didn’t matter, if she liked and it was on sale, size didn’t matter. She had so many “returns” in the trunk of her car, I could have gone in it and dressed from head-to-toe for several days. And, that was just the stuff in there in my size.

In the future, as we move from the sale rack to the deep discounted section to the discontinued aisle, we should consider, very carefully, if 1) do I really need it?, 2) is there room for it in the garage?, 3) is it really my size?, and most important 4) does it make my backside look like it needs a banner that says “wide load”? Think about it !

As you know by now, I’m partial to (that means fond of to you non-natives) all things Southern and proud of my roots, even if they’re caught up in the kudzo! God bless Cracker Barrel’s gift shop where I was first introduced to the concept of “GRITS”. They have it on T-shirts, sweatshirts, canvas bags, etc. One of my girlfriends bought one and wore it proudly, bein’ as how she was from Alabama and all!

Once again, via email, I received the following list of things all us GRITS grew up knowing and takin’ it for granted that others would too. Unfortunately, that’s not the case, those folks from other parts of the country don’t know or don’t get it. Havin’ a strong desire to share and celebrate my Southern heritage, I’m posting it for you:

Southern girls know bad manners when they see them:
1. Drinking straight out of a can.
2. Not sending thank you notes.
3. Velvet after February.
4. White shoes before Memorial Day or after Labor Day

Southern girls always say:
1. “Yes, ma’am.”
2. “Yes, sir.”

Southern girls have a distinct way with fond expressions:
1. “Y’all come back now, ya heaah.”
2. “Well, bless your heart.”
3. “Drop by when you can.”
4. “How’s your mama?”
5. “Love your hair.”

Southern girls know their three R’s:
1. Rich
2. Richer
3. Richest

Southern girls know everybody’s first name:
1. Honey
2. Darlin’
3. Shugah

Southern girls know the movies that speak to their hearts:
1. “Gone With the Wind”
2. “Fried Green Tomatoes”
3. “Driving Miss Daisy”
4. “Steel Magnolias”

Southern girls know their cities dripping with Southern charm:
1. Hotlanta or Adlanna (Atlanta as outsiders say)
2. Richmon
3. Challston
4. S’vannah
5. Birminham
6. Nawlins’
7. Oh! and that city in Alabama ? It’s pronounced MUNTGUMRY!

Southern girls know the three deadly sins:
1. Bad hair
2. Bad manners
3. Bad blind dates

G.R.I.T.S. = Girls Raised in The South!

That reminds me. I have a rubber stamp that says “Just because your children were born in the South does not make them Southerners. After all, if a cat had kittens in the oven, that wouldn’t make them biscuits.”

For all of you who appreciate the uniqueness of Southern-speak, you will like this. I didn’t write (although I wish I had) and I got it many years ago via an email forward, so I have no idea who to credit and thank for it but it’s just too good not to share with you. If the original author is known by anyone reading this, please email me her name so that I can give credit where credit is most definitely due.

In the meantime, ya’ll enjoy….

Someone once noted that a Southerner can get away with the most awful kind of insult just as long as it’s prefaced with the words “Bless his/her heart”.

As in, “Bless his heart”, if they put his brain on the head of a pin, it’d roll around like a BB on a six-lane highwway. Or, “Bless her heart”, she’s so bucktoothed, she could eat an apple through a picket fence.”

There are also the sneakier ones that I remember from tongue-clucking types of my childhood: “You know, it’s amazing that even though she had that baby seven months after they got married, bless her heart, it weighed 10 pounds!”

As long as the heart is sufficiently blessed, the insult can’t be all that bad, at least that’s what my Great Aunt Tiny (bless her heart, she was anything but) used to say.

I was thinking about this the other day when a friend was telling me about her new Northern friend who was upset because her toddler is just beginning to talk and he has a Southern accent. My friend, who is very kind and, bless her heart, she can’t do anything about those thighs of hers, so don’t even start, was justifiably miffed about this. After all, this woman had CHOSEN to move south a couple of years ago.

“Can you believe it? she said to my friend, A child of mine is going to be taaaaaallllkin’ a-liiiike thiiiiissss.” I can think of far worse fates than speaking Southern for this adorable little boy, who, bless his heart is surely the East Coast king of mucus. I wish I’d been there. I would have said that she shouldn’t fret, because there’s nothing so sweet or pleasing on the ear as a soft, Southern drawl. Of course, maybe we shouldn’t be surprised at her “carryings on.” After all, when you come from a part of the world where the “family silver” refers to the large medallion around Uncle Vinnie’s neck, you just have to, as Aunt Tiny would say, “consider the source”.

Now don’t get me wrong, some of my dearest friends are from the North, bless their hearts. I welcome their perspective, their friendships and their recipes for authentic Northern Italian food. I’ve even gotten past their endless complaints that you can’t get good bread down here.

The ones who really gore my ox are the native Southerners who have begun to act almost embarrassed about their speech. It’s as if they want to bury it in the “Hee Haw” cornfield. We’ve already lost too much. I was raised to swanee, not swear, but you hardly ever hear anyone say that anymore, I swanee you don’t.

And I’ve caught myself thinking twice before saying something is “right much”, “right close”, or “right good” because non-natives think this is right funny indeed.

I have a friend from Bawston who thinks it’s hilarious when I say I’ve got to “carry” my daughter to the doctor or to “cut off” the light. That’s ok. It’s when you have to explain things to people who were born here that I get mad as a mule eating bumble bees. Not long ago, I found myself trying to explain to a native Southerner what I meant by being “in the short rows”.

I’m used to explaining that expression (it means you’ve worked a right smart but you’re almost done) to newcomers to the land of buttermilk and cold collard sandwiches (better than you think), but to have to explain it to a Southerner was just plain weird.

The most grating example is found in restaurants and stores where nice, Magnolia-mouthed clerks now say “you guys” instead of ya’ll and their mamas raised them up to say. I’d sooner wear white shoes in February, drink unsweetened ice tea and eat Miracle whip instead of Duke’s than utter the words “you guys”.

Not long ago I went to lunch with four women friends, and the waiter, a nice Southern boy, you-guys-ed all of us within an inch of our lives. “You guys ready to order? What can I get you guys? Would you guys like to keep you guys’ forks?”

Lord, have mercy. It’s a little comforting that , at the very same time some natives are so eager to blend in, they’ve taken to making microwave grits (an abomination), the rest of the world is catching on that it’s cool to be Clampet. How else to you explain NASCAR tracks and Krispy Kreme doughnut franchaises springing up like yard onions all over the country?

To those of you who’re still a little embarrassed by your Southerness, take two tent revivals and a dose of redeye gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart.