A Proper Southern Woman

My husband was recently watching a documentary on the making of one of our favorite films (and books) To Kill A Mockingbird...

It gave me pause...I am a card carrying Southern Woman. After all I have more than one deviled egg plate. No self-respecting Southern Woman would NOT have a deviled egg plate. In fact you can't even be in the Souther Belle Society without having one. I did have a china pattern - in a previous life - held open houses for church, posessed the appropriate attire for funerals and weddings, could whip a casserole for the bereved or someone with a new baby in 2.5 min. and not even blink if I had to hostess a wedding, funeral or homecoming at a moments notice. I was young and didn't know better. Ask me now and I might need interevenious adavan.

Yes, when I was younger I was a girly girl, I played dolls, paper dolls, wore dresses every day, could leap puddles holding my train case purse in a single bound, wear loafers and bobby socks and could kill anyone with  kindness. We were born that way. Out of my four girls, only one was partially a girly, girl. the rest detested dresses, and I won't even go into their antics as a tomboy. But I managed to scar them by making them wear dresses, hats and gloves on Easter Sunday. They remind me of that torture once in a while.

I was the only little girl on my block of Darling St. - yes,  I lived on Darling street in a pink brick house. My Daddy built be a playhouse with a real glass sliding window. It held baby cribs and dolls, doll cloths, tea sets, etc. I saved my allowance (25cents), go to the Good Will and buy net formals from the 50's and my Mom would fit them to me. So my dress up dresses were also in the playhouse. I don't know how many times my Mom would go to Weingartens (our grocery story) with my little girl friends all dressed up in net formals. We were the original princesses. No one called us that, we were Southern Bells. My house we THE house all the neighborhood girls wanted to play. The boys always dressed as cowboys and indians and tried to attack us. Boys. It makes me sad to think that my play house now holds lawnmowers and lawn chemicals. Does the owner even know the magic it once held?

Now don't get me wrong, I was a playmate with my brother and learned to catch snakes and lizards, run through the woods, give some one an "indian rope burn" and play Tarzan and swing off the roof of our house on the tiny branches of the trees. Mom would have whipped our hid if she knew half the stuff we did. That was fun but I knew what I was supposed to do and how to act. Even if I did regress occasionally.

When I lived in Natchitoches, Louisiana as a young Mom, I got to be an extra in Steel Magnolias. I wore on ugly had an dress and set in a bench in the wedding scene for 12 hourse for a 3 min. scene in the movie. But I was also a tour guide to the plantation houses and I learned to get my hooped skirts into the suburban in a flash and drive down Cane Rive to my job, be my "sugary sweet" self and then go home to 4 kids and cook dinner.

I won't ever give up my Southern Belle membership card, wear white shoes after labor day, smoke in public like Princess Margret, wear velvet after Febuary and will always use mayonaise and white chicken meat to make chicken salad - not dark meat and Hellmans! But I could care less about being in the Jr. League or who made what Sorority in college. There is more to life than that!

My kids grew up laughing at the silly rules I taught them about Southern Ettiquete. They don't adhear to those rules except - say yes mam', no mam', please and thank you, always mind your p's and q's. Don't cuss in public, never spit, open doors for ladies, ladies first and always try to help.

Make your Momma Proud.

How can you forget your age?

I have come to terms with how old  I will be this year. It took me two days of crying every time I thought about it, once I was out of shock to realize this won't be so bad. I guess the alternative is not to have a birthday, right? WRONG.

I have a little grandson that was born on my birthday - (good job Kat) we finally celebrated our birthdays together last summer. I was  - um - 53 and he was 3. OK so far. I had a great year, my book was being published, we signed the contract with the publisher, the grand kids were here, things looked good.

Then I saw a sign...not a sign from heaven, not a sign from the great beyond, just a sign that said if you were born in 1957 you would be 55. I busted out laughing. How could they print something like that? Obviously they need a calculator. Then I called my sister. She laughed so hard, tears ran down her leg. OK, she can be wrong. I called my brother. He said I would be in a time warp if I was going to be 54. We are 18 months apart. He laughed also. Now I ask you, is this funny????? What is wrong with everyone? Then I confronted my husband as he was in the shower and he nearly choked on his shampoo. 

It seems that I have been 53 for two years in a row. I immediately burst into tears and cried for 2 days. How can I possibly be this old and not feel like it on the inside? Then there was the bad day for the book signing...I was depressed for a week.

Now I have decided to except the inevitable. After all I have no choice. I seriously considered major sedation for that big day, but now we are going to have a party instead. A murder mystery party and I am writing the saga. I have to get this frustration out somehow and legally.

In this new chapter I am going to do everything I want to do. I am going to paint and write and drink wine and be a MomMo. I am going to publish lots of books and be an eccentric old lady. 
When I am old I shall wear purple....might as well, I already have a purple truck!

Second Book Signing

Well, the next event is fast approaching! This Friday, June 15 from 3-5 at Market St. on 98th and Quaker. Thanks to Mr. Eugene Ford for getting things set up for me.

I worked on the posters tonight for the event. They are huge! 22x 28. One of the largest I've done so far. I'm go have them printed professionally tomorrow and then take them by the store.

Alexander Graham Cracker's First Day Out

After a night of storms and lightning (thank you God for the rain) Trace and I loaded up the car and headed off for the first book signing for Alexander Graham Cracker Goes to the Moon. I have spent the last couple of weeks anxiously making sure everything was perfect. Business cards? check; books? check; posters?, check...the list became very long. The last two nights I didn't sleep at all. I would wake up with another item to add to the list. I wonder how I ever managed to teach classes.  Now here I am at 5 am writing a post because I can't sleep AGAIN. You would think I would just be exhausted by now.

We found the cutest quilt with rockets and planets on it, matching sheets to use as a table cloth, a lamp with stars and starry very soft pillows. I painted and made a magnet board, cut out aliens, make a rocket from an apple juice bottle and assembled my other favorite books to read.

I found a wonderful vintage silk shirtwaist dress from the 50's, a hat/gloves and chiffon hankie so I would look like Alexander's Mother in the book. I had to keep with the retro theme. I wore my Granny Red's brooch and matching earrings. I thought our table looked very nice. Everything coordinated and I even put up a video of the moon landing of Apollo 11.

 I wouldn't have been able to pull this off without my husband. Thanks, Trace.