Can You Hear This?

One of my modern day heroines is the Boss Queen herself, Jill Connor Browne, of the Sweet Potato Queens. If you haven’t read any of her books, you must run out ASAP to the nearest bookstore and buy yourself some, preferably the whole set. Then, get yourself some of your favorite snack things, [fried, au gratin or chocolate are best] set yourself down and prepare to laugh yourself silly. Laughter is, as you well know, the very BEST medicine of all. If the idea of laughing hysterically, with tears rolling down your face, while reading a book embarrasses you, then pick someplace private, like your bedroom and commence to “healing” yourself.

If you’re not familiar with Ms. Browne’s literary talents, then the title of this post may be confusing, so let me explain…..

You Never wear panties to a party! is an SPQ motto. You have to read the “Sweet Potato Queens Book of Love” to understand how this came to pass but I will tell you of my recent experience which has some basic similarities to the one that started it all with the SPQs.

I was getting dressed recently to go to a fancy “do” that a dear friend invited me and Darlin’ Boy to attend. I have an appropriate “little black dress” for such an occasion, but of course, wanting to ensure that I presented a smooth silhouette, I chose to wear my panty hose sans panties. My Mama, bless her heart, just loved the little satin pumps I bought to go with the dress but after viewing them earlier in the afternoon, decided that they must be treated with Scotchguard to protect them from dirt and stains. She, conveniently, had a can and said she would fix them right up and bring them to me once I’d gotten dressed. (She doesn’t have plastic slip covers on the furniture, thank god, but she is a firm believer in Scotchguard.)

As I finished dressing, she came up to my bedroom with my newly treated shoes. As I started to put the shoes on, I discovered I had a run in my brand new pair of pantyhose. Fortunately, having bought the hose in bulk, I had another new pair handy. Mama, still sharp as a tack, don’t ya know, immediately noted I was putting the hose on sans panties and stated loudly that I “wasn’t wearing any underwear”, like I didn’t know?!!

In true SPQ fashion, without looking up from putting on my new hose, I said, “You never wear panties to a party!” I could practically HEAR the explosion of thoughts going through her mind from across the room, glanced up to see her sitting on the chaise, with a mixed look of disbelief and wonder. You’d thought I’d just pointed out one of the great secrets of the universe and she’s confused how had I known about it all these years, yet she didn’t.

Still taken aback by my comment, she queried, “why not”. I promptly replied, “You just don’t, everybody knows that”. Her next comment took me by surprise. “Well, that explains it. I never understood before why whenever we get together with Bob and Myrna to go out on the town, Bob never wants Myrna to wear underwear”. Knowing the crowd my parents hang out with, I found this statement simply amazing—but way too much information, thank you very much!

Just goes to show, kids, no matter how much you try to be open-minded and adult about it, it’s just really hard to see your parents in the same light when you begin to learn that they actually used to do,[ and maybe still do] all the same things that you do [or used to do]! They weren’t sober, celibate, or sedate in their youth and might be giving definition to the term “sexy senior citizen”.

So, remember, boys and girls, no matter what your age or what you’re doing………………..your parents have already “been there, done that!” And, never wear panties to a party because you just never know……………..

Have a Happy and Safe New Year! Best Wishes for a Peaceful and Prosperous 2006!

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As most of you that visit regularly know, I get some pretty interesting stuff via email from friends, family and, of course, my Mama! I got the following list of rules from a ‘Bama friend. For those that are fortunate enough to be traveling through God’s country, otherwise known as THE SOUTH, pay attention!

Now, I’ve copied these rules for all you non-Southerners for your enjoyment, enlightenment and safe passage through our great land. It does occur to me once I read through these rules that they could be slightly altered and applied to the many foreigners (pronounced here “furrr-rin-ners” down here) that have decided to visit or move here. Bottom line, if you’re going to come here, and I mean anywhere in the entire US of A now, then don’t complain. We didn’t invite you and we don’t require you to stay if you’re unhappy with what you find. Go home and be happy!

For the inexperienced traveler, these are fairly simple rules, easy to follow and will definitely ensure that you don’t “borrow trouble” while you’re here! Cheers to the author!

Subject: South Rules

If you are going to live or visit in the South, you need to know these rules.

1. That farm boy you see at the gas station did MORE work before breakfast than you do all week at the gym.

2. It’s called a “dirt road.” No matter how slow you drive, you’re going to get dust on your Navigator. Drive it or get out of the way.

3. The red dirt — it’s called clay. Red clay. If you like the color, don’t wash your car for a couple weeks — it’ll be permanent.

4. We all started hunting and fishing when we were seven years old. Yeah, we saw Bambi. We got over it.

5. Go ahead and bring your $600 Orvis Fly Rod. Don’t cry to us if a flathead breaks it off at the handle. We have a name for those little 13-inch trout you fish for — bait.

6. Pull your pants up. You look like an idiot.

7. If that cell phone rings while a bunch of mallards (ducks) are making their final approach, we will shoot it (the phone). You might want to ensure it’s not up to your ear at the time.

8. No, there’s no “Vegetarian Special” on the menu. Order steak. Order it rare. Or, you can order the Chef’s Salad and pick off the two pounds of ham and turkey.

9. Tea – yeah, we have tea. It comes in a glass over ice and is really, really sweet. You want it hot — sit it in the sun. You want it unsweetened — add a LOT of water.

10. You bring Coke into my house, it better be brown, wet, and served over ice.

11. So, you have a sixty thousand-dollar car. We’re real impressed. We have a quarter of a million-dollar combine (it’s farm equipment) that we only use two weeks a year.

12. Let’s get this straight. We have one stoplight in town. We stop when it’s red. We may even stop when it’s yellow.

13. We eat dinner together with our families. We pray before we eat (yeah, even breakfast). We go to church
on Wednesdays and Sundays and we go to high school football games on Friday nights. We still address
our seniors with “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am,” and we sometimes still take Sunday drives around town to see friends and neighbors.

14. We don’t do “hurry up” well.

15. Greens – yeah, we have greens, but you don’t putt on them. You boil them with salty fatback, bacon or a ham hock.

16. Yeah, we eat catfish, bass, bream (pronounced brim) and carp. You really want sushi and caviar? It’s available at the bait shop.

17. They are pigs. That’s what they smell like (money). Get it – pig farms – income – money? Get over it. Don’t like the smell? Interstate 75 goes two ways – Interstate 20 goes the other two Pick one.

18. Grits are corn. You put butter, salt, and maybe even some pepper on them. If you want to put milk and
sugar on them, then you want Cream of Wheat – go to Kansas. That would be I-75 north then I-40 west.

19. The “Opener” refers to the first day of deer season or dove season. Both are holidays. You can get
pancakes, cane syrup, and sausage before daylight at the church on either day.

20. So every person in every pickup waves? Yeah, it’s called being friendly. Understand the concept?

21. Yeah, we have golf courses. Don’t hit in the water hazards. It spooks the fish and bothers the gators -
and if you hit it in the rough, we have these things called diamondbacks, and they’re not baseball players.

22. That State Trooper that just pulled you over for driving like an idiot — his name is “Sir,” no matter how young he is.

23. We have lots of pine trees. They have sap. It drips from them. You park your Navigator under them, and
they’ll leave a logo on your hood.

24. You burn an American flag in our state, you get beat up. No questions. The liberal contingent of our state legislature — all four of them — enacted a measure to stop this. There is now a $2.50 fine for beating up the flag burner.

25. No, we don’t care how you do things up North. If it is so great up there, why not stay there?

26. And no, down here we don’t have an accent, you do.

Ya’ll have fun and come back now, ya hear!

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Bless her heart, my Mama sure knows how to touch mine! She sent me (via email) this Dahlin’ tribute to Carolina girls evah’where! I’m sure once you’ve read it, ya’ll will want to be a Carolina girls, too!

Bless your hearts…………

CAROLINA GIRLS…….BEST GIRLS IN THE WORLD!
Three men were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new wives duties.

The first man had married a woman from Alabama and bragged that he had told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning that needed done at their house. He said that it took a couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and the dishes were all washed and put away.

The second man had married a woman from Florida. He bragged that he had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes, and the cooking. He told them that the first day he didn’t see any results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married a South Carolina girl. He boasted that he told her that her duties were to keep the house clean, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for breakfast, lunch and supper. The first day he didn’t see anything. The second day he didn’t see anything. But, by the third day, most of the swelling had gone down and he could see enough out of his left eye to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher and telephone a landscaper.

Got to love them South Carolina girls!

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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.

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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!

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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 !

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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!)

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