Can You Hear This?

Being from the deep South, I have a greater tolerance of heat than those from other climes, yet I have little tolerance for air conditioning. I find it very strange to be dressed for the 95 degree weather outside and shivering as a result of the 69 degree weather inside. This is NOT normal, I don’t care where you hail from!

In addition to my low tolerance to cold and/or excessive AC, I simply don’t like a great deal of variation in the ambient temperature of my personal living space under any conditions. My threshold is 75 degrees. Anything above is moving toward the realm of summertime comfort, anything below is, in my opinion, ARTIC. People who like things too far above or below are just completely off, PERIOD!

My S.O. is an absolute darlin’ and I adore the hardwood floors he walks on, but he has been complaining to me of late about my thermostatic problems. I asked him, very diplomaticly, of course, WHAT THE HELL WAS HE TALKING ABOUT? In his own special way, he said that he was waking up at night, shivering and cold and didn’t understand why, since he knows how intolerant of cold I am. He said when he woke up, the ceiling fan was on and he was chilled, bless his heart!

I patiently explained that I woke up in the night, feeling like I was burning in the fires of HELL and turned on the ceiling fan. The cause of this conflagration…………………..something called PERI-MENOPAUSE. Unfortunately, I am at the mercy of numerous pesky hormones, which, when activated, take me from the Sahara to Mt. Everest temperature-wise in about a second and a half.

Other wise women I hold dear understand this calamity. Men do not! Since they are perfectly comfortable when they are perfectly comfortable, they simply don’t understand going from perfectly comfortable to freezing to death to burning up in a matter of minutes. It’s just right up there with their lack of understanding of how a women needs more than two pairs of shoes……………one for dress and one for everything else. I mean, it’s been working for them forever! Even those men who consider themselves fashionable only have black, brown, cordovan, and athletic.

Women with hormone issues are somewhat like volcanos and tornados. They can stew for long periods of time dormant or whip up in the blink of an eye. They can sputter, spew and just rumble, or they can let loose and wreak havoc on anything in their path. And, God forbid, if things get really pressurized they can BLOW and all HELL will break loose, making the plagues of Egypt look like summer vacation.

So, for all the women out there who understand EXACTLY what I’m talking about, I recommend getting a programable thermostat, set it at your comfort zone (mine is 75). If it is the right kind of thermostat and hormone surges have you racing to it, anxious to adjust, make sure you can do so with a couple of clicks.

For all you men out there who have NO IDEA what I’m talking about or WHY the woman in your life is constantly blowing hot and cold, my recommendation……….get a pair of shorts and a parka and deal with it!

MOST IMPORTANT: DON’T TOUCH THAT THERMOSTAT!

Every day I learn that you can never say I’ve heard it all because, sure as shootin’, the next person that opens their mouth in your presence is probably going to prove you wrong. The most amazing shockers I hear these days are ususally related to money matters. Untold numbers of myths exist out there, but here are few I’ve heard more than once.

I have a client that believed paying the late fees on her bills meant the creditor wouldn’t report the payment as being late. It was quite a shock for her to learn that, no, the creditor collects the late fee for late payment and still reports it as late to the credit bureaus. They don’t cut you any slack just because you went ahead and sent them that extra amount they charge you for not paying on time.

I have heard several times the stories of woe experienced when a checking account was overdrawn. Believe it or not, just because you have checks in your checkbook, it doesn’t mean you have money in the bank. According to some of my banking friends, this is a common misconception among lots of folks. Maybe the bank should hold an educational seminar…………………..?

One client was in a financial pickle because she failed to realize co-signing a loan actually means you’re accepting responsibility for it. The company she worked for had a credit union on site and members could get a loan of several thousand dollars with just a couple of signatures, theirs and someone else’s. The result, when the company started laying people off and the credit union began calling in the loans, she was responsible for over $10,000 of other people’s debt. Word to the wise, if you don’t want to pay for it, don’t sign up!

I often get asked if there is such a thing as too much credit? The answer: YES! Every time you open another charge account, even if the credit limit is only a few thousand dollars, it’s still more credit. Assuming that you are one of those people who likes to take advantage of the sales clerk’s offer to “open a new charge account with us now and save 10% on today’s purchases”, listen to me. The answer to that question should always be……………NO, NO, NO!

How did I learn that? At one time in my youth, long before I knew anything about the mortgage business or credit, I heard my Aunt, whose husband is a minister, saying that she couldn’t believe the bank had refused them credit for something. The banker in question was a member of their church and knew that they were financially responsible people. So what was the problem? The answer: since it wasn’t common knowledge that too much credit could be a problem, the banker met with them to explain. It turns out that with all the store charge cards and other credit cards she had, she had over a $100,000 of available credit. This is a bad thing when you are trying to get new credit. The bank was looking at the amount of debt she had the potential to incurr if she went on a shopping spree. That was when I learned there was such a thing as too much of a good thing. The story made enough of an impression on me that as I got older and began to have the sale clerk’s ask me if I wanted to “open an account today” I knew to say no!

I actually learned that lesson twice, the first time was when my great-grandmother, knowing I loved chocolate, gave me a whole bag of Hershey’s milk chocolate stars and said I could eat all I wanted. Naturally, being 7 or 8 at the time, I ate the whole bag. I definitely learned the concept of too much of a good thing can be bad on that occasion.

In my opinion, one of the funniest TV shows ever produced is Designing Women. Apparently, a few other folks agreed with me as it was very successful during it’s run and then lasted for many more years in sindication.

To orient any of ya’ll that aren’t familiar with the show, the girls, Julia, Mary Jo, Charlene and Suzanne had a crazy friend who visited right often (Southern for frequently) named Bernice. Bernice’s craziness was blamed on the “little arterial flow” problem. Most times, it just seemed that she had finally lost all pretension of “genteel” behavior and just did or said whatever she felt like. While she never wore a Red Hat that I recall, she did wear a lot of purple.

As Bernice’s sense of timing and humor gained popularity, she became a fixture on the show and served as the lovable but “not quite right” member of the family. If you’ve spent any time at all in the South, I’m certain you’ve seen, met or been exposed to those folks that are lovingly described by family as “not quite right”.

Now you might wonder, considering the title of this entry, where I’m going with all this. Well, as Julia put so eloquently back then, “in the South, you never ask whether or not someone has crazy people in their family, you just ask which side they’re on”. In my case, the answer’s both.

In one particular episode Julia told a somewhat stuffy Yankee visitor, “in the South we don’t hide our crazy people or keep them locked up in the attic, we bring them right down to the front porch and show them off”. In my family, there are so many, the porch can’t hold ‘um all. Now, before any of my blood kin come after me for insultin’ ‘um, what I’m really saying is my family, like most I know, boasts a fair number of entertaining eccentrics.

I have an Uncle who can’t remember some things too well anymore, like where he lives, in recent years he broke into a house that he thought was his but wasn’t, slept on the back porch of a house that he thought was his but wasn’t and, frequently, called the police from wherever he was and asked for a ride home. Fortunately, he is now “residing” in a nice facility where they can keep an eye on him and prevent his nightly wanderings.

I have an Aunt nearing 90 that was convinced, right up until they reposessed her car because she couldn’t remember to pay the bill, that she was a perfectly competent driver, despite the fact that she was barely able to see over the top of the stearing wheel. Needless to say, her reflexes and her memory weren’t all that sharp either and she frequently ended up in the wrong place, confused as to how she got there.

I have several relatives that are fairly particular about what they will and will not eat. They will swear to you on a stack of bibles that they don’t eat garlic, a sacrilege in my opinion, but they think it’s too strong for their “delicate” constitutions. I’ve seen them sitting at a table, be it one of the family’s or a restaurant, saying they just can’t eat anything with garlic. All the while they are shoveling the garlic-laced meal on their plate into their mouths with gusto.

At the same time, my maternal grandfather, who worked as a clown in the circus during the Depression, would pickle hot peppers and green tomatos and eat them with everything. He’d make cracklin’ cornbread to go with turnip greens and pinto beans. And, when he was in the mood, he could bake as fine a layer cake as any woman I know.

I’ve got relatives that are dyed-in-the-wool bible-bangers and those that are New Agers. I’ve got those that won’t get on an airplane for love or money and those that can take off for a trip around the world with nothing but a credit card, a toothbrush and a map.

All those of you out there who’ve worried for year’s that the neighbors were going to find out just how “strange” your family really is, just follow my lead. I don’t worry about what the neighbors will say anymore. It’s far easier just to make sure I give them plenty to talk about! I figure, if they’re going to talk, might as well make sure it’s interesting.

Once again, I got this lovely email about Southern Women and had to share it with you!

Men who think they don’t understand women should read it, women born in the South will know it’s gospel, and Northern women, bless your hearts, might be slightly envious.

If you had the good sense to transplant yourself to the South from another local, we know you got here just as fast as you could, shugah!

Enjoy,
Darlene

Southern women appreciate their natural assets:
Clean skin.
A winning smile.
That unforgettable Southern drawl.

Southern women know their manners:
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why, no, Billy!”

Southern women have a distinct way with fond expressions:
“Y’all come back!”
“Well, bless your heart.”
“Drop by when you can.”
“How’s your Momma?”

Southern women know their summer weather report:
Humidity
Humidity
Humidity

Southern women know their vacation spots:
The beach
The beach
The beach

Southern women know the joys of June, July, and August:
Summer tans
Colorful high-heel sandals
Strapless sundresses

Southern women know everybody’s first name:
Honey
Darlin’
Shugah

Southern women know the movies that speak to their hearts:
Fried Green Tomatoes
Driving Miss Daisy
Steel Magnolias
Gone With The Wind

Southern women know their religions:
Baptist
Methodist
Football

Southern women know their country breakfasts:
Red-eye gravy
Grits
Country ham
Mouth-watering homemade biscuits with Mom’s homemade jelly

Southern women know their cities dripping with Southern charm:
Charleston (Chawl’stn)
Savannah (S’vanah)
New Orleans (N’awlins)
Atlanta (Addlanna)

Southern women know their elegant gentlemen:
Men in uniform.
Men in tuxedos
Rhett Butler, of course!

Southern girls know their prime real estate:
The Mall
The Country Club
The Beauty Salon

Southern girls know the four deadly sins:
Having bad hair and nails
Having bad manners
Cooking bad food
Wearing too much makeup in the summer

Southern girls know men may come and go, but friends are fahevah!

I don’t know why it is that some of the tastiest things found in the South come with some of the most annoying critters known to man. As I was taught as a youngster that we are all God’s creatures, I spent many a moment scratching my head as what redeeming value a mosquito (known to Southerners as skeeters) had to the world. After nearly 40 years, I have yet to come up with a viable answer. They are a nusiance, miserable little things and if I stick my fair skinned toe out the door without proper sprayed-on protection, they FEAST on me. I mean, there won’t be a mosquito within a hundred miles if I’m indoors. Let me step outside without a good coating of “Deep Woods Off’ and you can hear ‘um comin’ for miles around. But I digress……

Strawberries ripen to their peak of perfection around late May, early June in South Carolina. I was fortunate in my youth to have had an abundance of this wonderous fruit readily available as my paternal Grandparents had a strawberry patch that covered several acres. I can remember as a child being able to wander up and down the rows eating whatever I chose to pick. Until that inevitable moment when someone would shout, “Grandpa bring the shovel, there’s a snake.” At that moment, I broke all speed records reaching the relative safety of the back porch. Once the erstwhile snake was discovered, shooed off and/or killed, I would not return to the field no matter what the persuasion. I have a healthy respect for snakes. South Carolina boasts several of the more deadly versions, two of which are the copperhead and the cotton mouth. Since my Daddy is shy (Southern speak for missin’) an index finger on account of a copperhead encounter in his youth, I keep my distance and, thankfully, most times, they keep theirs.

Then comes the hot, sultry dog days of late July, early August when blackberries grow ripe and succulent on their prickly vines. There is simply nothing better in the whole world than fresh, homemade blackberry cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream. Just thinking about it would send us kids right out into the thicket picking for all we were worth. Then, of course, a few hours later, the next day at the latest, we were cursing the very idea of picking blackberries, pie or not. Why you ask? Well, I don’t know about other parts of the country but in South Carolina, in late July and August, blackberry patches are the convention grounds of choice for a nasty little critter called a chigger. Chiggers are actually worse than mosquitos! They don’t just bite, they burrow under your skin causing a gargantuan red welp and they itch like the very devil. Even worse, they’re favorite nesting spot is going to be that warm, tender skin found in your groin area. Misery, thy name is chigger. There is no real relief to this itchy problem and the only thing that shortens the duration of your misery is to paint the afflicted area with clear fingernail polish. Apparently, this effectively smothers the little critters ultimately bringing on their demise.

Then, of course, there are the peaches. South Carolina is not only home to the only water tower in the country shaped and painted to resemble a giant peach (although, in some folks view, it looks like a large butt looming over Interstate 85), it is the largest producer of peaches in the country, or at least it was the last time I bothered to check such agricultural statistics. Anyway, peaches also reach their peak ripeness under the oppressive heat of July and August. Everyone was eager to drive out to the local orchard, not far from my uncle’s house, and pick a bussel or two of peaches…………..except me, of course. Peaches that ripen and fall from the tree tend to ferment right there on the ground. The air is thick with the scent of fermenting peaches…….and, of course, the yellowjackets. Now, hopefully, most of ya’ll have heard of yellowjackets, if not, it’s like a mean cross between a regular honey bee and a wasp. Yellowjackets are antagonistic. You don’t really have to stir them up or anything. Step in the wrong spot at the wrong time and they will come after you. Yep, I know this from a particularly negative personal experience in my own back yard. (The experience was so bad that my little brother nearly died from it but that’s a story for another day.) Anyway, in addition to yellowjacket worries, peaches have two other things I learned to loathe, peach fuzz and peach tree sap. You get that stuff on you and you have once again discovered some of the most torturous itching in the world. Now you might wonder how a child would manage to get fuzz and sap on themselves. Well, when you’re small and easily lifted, it makes terrific sense to the adults around to lift you right up into those peach trees so you can pluck the most desirable fruits from the tree itself. To this day, I will not eat, cook or have any interaction whatsoever with peaches.

The point of this………..well, you just really appreciate that which you have to work for, even when it results in discomfort of some kind. As Clariee said “that which doesn’t kill us, makes us strong”. Or in this case, feeds us well !

Excuse me, but, as Southern as I am, I have to say that if I’m in a car accident of any severity, the question of my underwear’s cleanliness will not be one of my first concerns. Don’t get me wrong, I believe that starting the day with clean underwear, should you feel it necessary to wear underwear, is a must. (Yes, folks, there are those out there who apparently feel like it’s not a necessary piece of daily apparel. I use to wondered how some folks, no matter how tight the garmet, never had the slightest panty bulge. Well, imagine my chagrin when I learned they just go without!)

Women of a certain age in the South have long lists of things one simply must or must not do! A few examples are:

Don’t smoke on the street—since most buildings are smoke free these days, if you can’t smoke on the street, where can you? (I don’t smoke and I certainly don’t encourage it in others but you still have to wonder where people are suppose to go.)

Although, I do agree with this one, I was always told, if you’re going to wear open-toed shoes/sandals, your feet must be well-groomed and in the case of ladies, your nails polished. (Personally, I don’t want to see some old hippie retiree with birkenstocks and trench-foot and, with Nail salons on every corner, there’s just no excuse for one to put his/her ugly feet on display to the world! Get a pedicure!)

Don’t close the barn door after the mule is out! Basically, it’s too late. Whatever happened that you’re worried over can’t be undone, so it’s best just to go find the mule and bring him on back. (Toothpaste won’t go back into the tube either, if you squeeze out too much just go on and wash it down the drain, life’s too short to stress about it.)

Handbags and shoes are suppose to match and/or coordinate with one’s outfit. (Nobody would have imagined back then wearing a chartreuse ensemble with a shocking purple bag and shoes of yet another color.) Formal gowns require matching shoes, preferably dyed to the exact same shade.

Never wear white shoes before Easter or after Labor Day. Folks have gotten kind of lax on this one as I can also remember you never wore black shoes between Easter and Labor Day unless they were patent leather. It just wasn’t done. A lot of you youngsters out there can’t imagine not wearing black shoes 24/7 since that’s all you seem to own, but such was the case in my youth. (Of course, in those days, the only time you saw black nail polish or lipstick was at Halloween, so go figure!)

Hey Folks! For the next few days, I’m going to be enjoying the long weekend and remembering those Americans who have given so much for us to be able to celebrate the 4th of July! If you’re interested in my most recent observations and warnings, take a look at ProtectYourGoodCredit.com

HAVE A HAPPY AND SAFE 4TH OF JULY HOLIDAY WEEKEND! AND DON’T FORGET YOUR SUNSCREEN!!