In today’s world truly being from the South has lost many of it’s meanings. Today most people that live in the South are from other parts of the country. I understand the phenomena because if I had to live buried in snow 9 months of the year I would pack my bags and run faster than a hungry cheetah toward warm weather too. Because of this plethora of what we in southern polite society call “Damn Yankee’s” (this is different than a normal yankee because these never leave) finding a person who can make a single syllable word sound as if it has more than 3 is almost as hard as finding that illusive needle in a haystack. We are still around it’s just we temper it more in public. As one of my close friends says to me regularly “uh oh your southern is showing- did you spend time with your family today” to which I respond “Yeeeaaah maaaaybe a lettle too much”
Because these little southern society nuances are disappearing it always make me giggle and laugh when something just “hits me upside the head” (yes another southern term) and says “By Golly you do still live in the South”. One of these little baseball bats came tonight. As I sat and watched, oh just another mind numbing stupid entertainment TV show”, a ticker flashed across the bottom of my screen. As my hubby and I read this ticker we both started to laugh. It said and I’m quoting “Breaking News at 11- Thief runs off with 10 foot rooster”.
Now for anyone who knows me understands that something this absolutely bizarre takes my brain by storm. This is a situation my gray matter has never considered nor thought of so the implications and questions start before I can even help myself. The things that start neuron explosions in my brain can be quite odd and even a bit scary. As I sit with tears of laughter rolling down my face I begin to rapid fire them at the hubby. (He’s just so thrilled because this poor man lives with this insanity everyday) I always start out innocent enough, but as I really get going my brain gets and evil streak that would make Betty White blush.
So this poor man who loves me gets to sit and hear questions such as:
Exactly how strong is this thief to run with a 10 foot rooster? Is he Hercules because I’m pretty sure a 10 foot rooster is heavy
How do we know it was a thief and the yard bird didn’t wander out of his yard and he was just collecting it? This is the South and there are still people with yard birds
What does one do with a 10 foot rooster? My family has eaten a whole lot of gospel bird (fried chicken for those of you not from here) in our lives and I’m not sure we’ve ever eaten that much
This is about when it all starts to go down hill……..
You know honey it could of only been better if they had of used the word “cock” instead. (Yes – cock is a perfectly acceptable word for rooster- get your mind out of the gutter with mine)
Why would you want a 10 foot cock in your front yard? Unless he does yard work then maybe
How exactly does a man run with a 10 foot cock? Maybe there’s “shrinkage”
Why exactly do you want a 10 foot cock? I might have an answer for that
Where does one find a 10 foot cock? This is the age old question of women every where
Where do you hide a 10 foot cock? hmm- that kinda sounds uncomfortable
Can you shop for 10 foot cocks in your neighborhood pawn shop? Now that might get interesting
Why would a man want to steal a 10 foot cock? Maybe he is a porn agent
The questions go on and on…….. until I’m a giddy fool and the husband is looking at me with that ever loving look of “for the love of god woman please shut up”
Well the news finally came on and the reality of a big ole metal rooster wasn’t near as fun as my imagination, but is reality ever as much fun or as bad as your imagination?? I can speak from experience, in my twisted mind, it isn’t so I’m going back in for more.
I’m dreaming it’s College football bowl season and the Oregon St Beavers are playing the South Carolina Gamecocks for the National Championship! So until next time when we discuss the joys of that commentary…………………………….. 🙂
I’m having one of those days that I can write about a hundred 1 liner funny Facebook posts, but when I start to flesh them out I run into a problem. They either get too serious, could be taken as offensive, or my good little southern mama might disown me. Most of the really funny one’s fall under the last category. In you’re from the South, and your mama is still living, then every woman (even if you’re over 40 and a mama yourself) knows that when your mama ain’t happy then ain’t nooo body happy. Trust me- I still strive to make my mama happy. My mama’s dispensing guilt gene is unparalleled. She can dispense guilt with just a glance -she doesn’t even require speaking. I think there’s a super power in there somewhere and I just pray mine develops.
What’s funny about my mama is her super power can cross generations. My parasites are much more scared of disappointing “NA NA” they they have ever been of me. They play a good game of pretending to be scared of me, but the reality in this family is that NA NA holds all the cards! I spend most of my time just trying to keep them fed, bathed, in clean cloths, continuing good grades, driving to practices, trying to keep them out of prison, and avoiding letting them kill themselves with stupid behavior (Just the later is a full time job as they get older). NA NA on the other hand actually has the patience and time to teach them respect for themselves and others. I used to feel a little jealous, but then I realized there is something comforting when my daughter comes out and says “Oh no- I can’t wear that- NA NA would have a heart attack right then and there” or the boys inform me “I need a suit coat and a tie for that wedding or funeral or NA NA will disown me” It sure does make my life easier!
As I look back over my life now I am starting to understand many things in my upbringing and why my children fear and respect NA NA so much.
Now part of being really (and I mean REALLY) Southern is growing up in extremely large extended families. Now in the south related can mean anywhere from 1st cousin to 27th cousin or 1st cousin 26th removed for those from other parts. We grow up playing with, spending time at family reunions and church with these people regularly. These are all considered family and if your mama is from the south she can tell ya every generation. Hell- I’ve got some my mama can tell me how I’m related to them twice on two different sides in generations that are 7 apart. A southern mama’s memory is long and very very scary! That’s why southern women spend so much time at the funeral home and making dinners- they are related to everyone.
Because of this closeness to family, most of us don’t move real far. When I grew up I lived next to my grandparents and the very next house up was my great grand parents. Now most think that’s CRAZY, but in the south it’s completely normal and sometimes even expected. Believe it or not- almost all of my friends lived in very similar situations. If it wasn’t next door it was no more than 1/2 a mile away from their grandparents. My great grandparents got me off the bus. I spent every afternoon with them hearing stories and learning all sorts of things. I can tell you county and family history now with the best of them. I can wash cloths in a wash tub, prepare a chicken from alive to the table, grow vegetables, cook fried okra, and mend a shirt. I refuse to do any of these things, but by-god I’m southern and I can! We’ve been doing that “It takes a village” thing for generations and we take it seriously!
There’s an old saying that you should give your children roots so they know where they come from and wings so they are confident enough to fly away from the nest. Our mothers give us both, but due to the guilt super power our mothers possess and being surrounded by family our roots stretch- oh 27 generations deep. Our wings are large and they usually let us fly away for a little while or roughly until our own little birds start to fill up our own nest and then amazingly we start looking at houses that are back close to mama. Our wings are strong, but getting roots like that out of the ground just requires more strength than Hercules much less our poor little wings. The roots seem to get longer once we have our own smaller birds in tow. Some do pull it off, but don’t be fooled- those children of southern mama’s still call almost every day.
I am completely southern so as usual when the first parasite began to show in my belly the immediate draw home began. I had spent 30 years trying to get away, but there I was 8 months pregnant and waddling moving in next door. The draw home was powerful. I felt like Odysseus listened to the Sirens song. I had no idea what this sudden urge for my mama and my family land was all about or even who I was anymore. I felt like Scarlet saying “I know- I’ll go home to the red earth of Tara” Who was I? What strong woman does this anymore? Why do I not want to be on my own? Do I think I am not capable? Am I weak?
As I pondered these questions I looked around and thought about all the things I learned in my grandmothers and great grand mothers house’s and smiled. I had learned respect for my elders, respect for myself, respect for other people, love of family, to relax and see the comedy and beauty of life, and that roots are good and powerful. The largest and strongest tree’s have the deepest roots. I wasn’t weak I came from something stronger than myself. I came from a huge strong tree and I was about to help it form new branches and those branches spirits needed to be fed in order for them to develop and be strong. I couldn’t nor did I want to do it alone. The parasites needed a NA NA.
There’s an old saying in the south when you are doing something your ancestors wouldn’t approve of “your granny (or grandfather) is rolling over in their graves” I have done a lot in my life to make my granny roll over in her grave, but bringing the parasites home to raise I’m pretty sure made her smirk and dance a little jig. I just hope the Red Earth of Tara and Na Na can help me keep them from making my granny do somersaults. 🙂
I just realized Lent comes at the perfect time of year!
Everyone knows and understands that wonderful time of year when we pop champagne, stay up too late, light fireworks, wear funny hats, sing Auld Lang Syne, and kiss our beloved (or at least who’s standing there). New Years Eve is that drunk time we all have those brilliant idea’s of starting fresh or starting over. The next morning we call those New Year Resolutions – gym memberships increase, hungover people around the world swear they’ll never drink again, green vegetables fly off the shelf’s, and new savings accounts are established. Now on there face values these lofty goals are considered healthy. They could even be considered luxuries of the self indulgent. What typically happens, however; is we fall short of any semblance of achieving them within 2 months. We then spend the next 10 months looking at ourselves in the mirror with that disappointed look that your preacher gave you when you accidentally stole the $20 out of the collection plate.
If we had ever had any hope of doing those dazzling resolutions in the first place- we wouldn’t of needed to be drunk to imagine we could pull them off.
Now this year I formulated the perfect plan to avoid the 10 months of personal discouragement. About the time the resolutions are starting to feel like you have taken on a Herculean task- and you ain’t Hercules- It’s Mardi Gras!! If you think about it Mardi Gras is a lot like a several week loooong New Years Eve culminating with Fat Tuesday. We drink too much, wear funny hats and masks, have parades, fireworks, show our tits for beads, and in general carouse as if it’s the world is gonna end. The festivities are only over when it’s time for us to behave again because it’s Lent.
Now the beginning of Lent, or Ash Wednesday, is a lot like New Year Day with one very important difference. Hangover’s abound, but now we must learn to suffer in order to be prepared for Easter. We are supposed to give up certain types of luxuries as a form of penitence. Now many choose to fast, give up candy, soda’s, or booze. Y’all can do as you please, but I’ve decided I’m gonna give up all those self indulgent luxuries called New Year’s Resolutions I made two months ago. It’s my form of penitence.
I think it’ll work for me. Not cooking is similar to fasting, not eating healthy is similar to not eating candy, not drinking water is similar to not drinking soda, and going back to wine from whisky is technically giving up booze!
Hey- if nothing else- I’ll wink at myself every morning 🙂