Church of our Lady Scarlett O'Hara

Lately, the subject of tradition keeps coming up, particularly southern traditions and our kooky, southern ways. I think Ouiser from Steel Magnolias summed it best

Ousier: Here. (Throwing a bag of homegrown tomatoes at the ladies in the salon) Tomatoes. Somebody’s gotta take em. I hate em.

Arnelle: Then why do you grow ‘em?

Ousier: Because, I’m an old southern woman. We are supposed to wear funny lookin’ hats, ugly clothes and grow vegetables in the dirt. Don’t ask me those questions. I don’t know why! I don’t make the rules!

How true! We don’t know why we do them, we just do. Recently, I was going to a potluck and a dear friend of mine asked if the people coming to the potluck made normal food. I wasn’t sure what she meant. She said “Do they mess up food, like deviled eggs? Deviled eggs are not supposed to have smoked salmon and capers on them, Laura! Good southern women don’t mess up deviled eggs!” Now I’m not a fan of deviled eggs, but my friend has got a point. There are just some things we southerners just don’t do.

When I got married, a sweet Southern Lady gave me a deviled egg dish. She said “Laura, every good Southern women needs one.” Graciously, I accepted this sweet gift (without telling her that I HATE deviled eggs). For some reason, I could not get rid of the dish. For years I had this deviled egg dish sitting in my cabinet, just taking up space, but couldn’t let it go. I kept asking myself “Why I’m holding on to this thing?“ The only reason I could come up with is because you never know when you MIGHT need it. What if I needed to do an Easter Egg display? Shabam! Deviled Egg dish to the rescue. So after many years of struggle, I finally gave up the deviled egg dish. But gave it to another true southern lady, my sister, who loves deviled eggs.

Often, I take for grated the reason we do things and our southern heritage. I just assume that the rest of the world does things like us to. A good friend of mine, who will remain nameless because she is a Yankee, is always asking me why we do the things we do. She thought that all southerners were evangelical Christians. Not true. There are many degrees of the Christianity in the south. So I explained to her the degrees of evangelical Christians in the south, based on denomination. Your list may vary, but here’s mine, from least evangelical to the “bible thumping, snake-handling, you ain’t going home till your right with God” Christians:

Catholic
Episcopalian
Presbyterian
Methodist
Baptist
Church of God or Church of Christ (tie)

Southerners are religious people. We come from a long line of Protestant, Scotch Irish, English and German stock. Mention revival to a southerner, and they know that that means a week of church, usually in the summer time, often under a tent and there is a empty KFC bucket being passed down the rows for the offering. Whereas in other parts of the world, a revival could mean to them the reopening of a beloved Broadway play like “Fiddler on the Roof” or a furniture style like “Oh, Brad, I love that Greek revival settee” But in the south, revival means your going to be praying. All. Week. Long.
When my dad died, I learned more about us southerners. We are good people, but in times of crisis, we shine. We will supply you with more casseroles, sandwiches, cole slaw, fried chicken, pies, cookies, cakes, cokes, lemonade and sweet tea than you will ever need. Then we will follow up with a note, usually on our personal stationary, just letting you know that we are thinking of you and keeping you in our prayers. Do you know that mother personally keeps all the Hallmark stores in her town going? As long as my Mom is around, they will do great business. When Mom realizes that she forgot to send the sweet lady at church a card because it’s the 39 anniversary since her husband died, she runs out, gets a card, fills it with meaningful, thoughtful words and puts it in the mail by the end of the day and then says “Whew! That was close! I almost forgot! Thank goodness I put it on my task reminder!”

I kid you not, the week Dad died, someone was reorganizing the refrigerator at Mom’s 2 times a day, trying to fit the wonderful gifts of sympathy into it. And when John and I got home, for 6 weeks, our mail box was full of sympathy cards and notes just letting us know they were thinking of us.

I could go on and on. Yeah, I know, we are kooky group of people. But y’all keep moving to the south, so we must be doing something right! And we’ll be by your house later on this week with a green bean casserole and some deviled eggs to welcome you to the neighborhood! Did you know we have several church in the neighborhood? First Methodist, First Pres, First Baptist and the catholic church - the Church of our Southern Lady Scarlet O’Hara. Yep, they are just a few blocks down…..

Inner Beauty thy name be Truth

This past summer, one thought has continued to swirl around in my head. Many times I’ve thought about posting it, but thought ”Nah. They don’t want to read about that. They want witty commentary and goofy antics about my life.” But alas, this swirling thought continues, so it must have something to say. This summer, I have been pondering the merits of inner beauty. When someone is truly being themselves, it is a beautiful thing - warts and all.

Earlier this summer, I saw my dear old friend Michael and his husband Roger. I hadn’t seen Michael since about 1992. I was exited to see him, but at the same time, shameful to say, I was hesitant about seeing him. What would he think of me? What will happen when he sees me and sees that I have gained weight? For a few minutes, I actually thought about canceling our visit. I was actually going to let my weight hold me back from seeing an old friend who had such an impact on my life. How silly! So I bucked up, and went to see Michael and meet his lovely husband. I’m so glad that I did! The look on Michael’s face when I walked around the corner and when our eyes meet melted away any fears that I had. I could see nothing but friendship and love in Michael’s eyes and I am pretty certain that he could see it in mine as well. Throughout our visit, we must have given each other a thousand hugs! We laughed about the past and caught up with the present. We were both thrilled so to see each other!

After a while, I confessed to both Michael and Roger that I was worried about seeing them and my battle with my weight. They each assured me that I looked fine and it was my inner beauty that made me who I was, not my outward appearance. All was good from that moment on. It was a beautiful day!

(Michael and I celebrating a beautiful day!)

That day was very freeing for me and I took away a lot from their visit. I have know Michael since 1988, and in that time, Michael has always been himself. I have never known him to be fake or false. I applaud Michael and Roger for both of them being true to themselves.

There is something to be said about the openness of the gay and lesbian community, about the freedom to be themselves. I think being out is more than just saying “I’m gay” but rather it is a statement of “This is me.“

So I have been wondering: can the same thought be put to other ideas?

As long as I can remember, I have weight issues. I have been up and I have been down. I’ve been happy at both weights, and sad at both weights. However, I will say that I was more stressed when I was skinner because I became obsessed with what the scale said, and that made me miserable.

So the question I have been asking myself all summer is I should come out of my own closet? While the everyone around me knows that I’m overweight, sometimes the last person to admit it is the person closest to it. Myself. I think the time is right to step out of my own closet.

So here I am. I am a 36 year-old overweight woman. I struggle with my weight and I will until the day I die. The world might judge me by my outward appearance, but I would hope those who know me would judge that which is on the inside. My physical heart might not be as strong as a tri-athlete, but my true heart is a strong as ever and has many more miles to go.

Have I given up on living a healthy lifestyle? Absolutely not! I come from a long line of people who of died from heart attacks. But I am done with trying to meet a certain weight requirement. Only my body truly knows what is right for me. My life goal is to reach a healthy weight and maintain that for the rest of my life.

But while our culture is obsessed with physical health and appearance, I would like to encourage all of us to work on our inner health. What will it take for all of us to make our inner selves happy, healthy and beautiful? For me, I would like to think acknowledging who I truly am and stepping out of this closet puts me one step closer. This is one small step for me, but could be one giant leap for mankind.

There is no one on the planet to compare with moi.
- Miss Piggy

Karma thy name be Rick Springfield

Let me preface this entry with a few points:

1. I was not a fan of Rick Springfield. I am now.

2. My husband has no interest in meeting celebrities.

3. My husband loathes the spotlight. LOATHES it. Why he married a woman that carries around her own microphone and spotlight is beyond me.

4. My husband has a …well, let’s call it a “talent” to make fun of, pull jokes, pranks, etc on others. It gives him deep satisfaction, followed by a deep evil laugh. The more he loves you, the more fun he has at your expense. I speak from lots and lots of experience.

But karma is an interesting mistress. And she came to see John the other night in the form of Rick Springfield.



Our employer does several concerts in the summer and my husband helps oversees the security at these concerts. He has been doing them for years. He has meet B.B. King, Chris Isaacs, Isaac Hayes (for which he got a bruise from “Shaft“ himself), Bruce Hornsby, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Clay Akin, and Rev. Al Green. Even Robert Redford (not in a concert). None of these people phase him. As he says often “They put their pants on just like everybody else, Laura. Its no big deal.” I think that is why karma came in the form of Rick Springfield. He didn’t expect it.

Before the concert Rick Springfield‘s manager told John that Rick would be coming down into the audience during the song “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and needed security to follow him to ensure his safety. John was all over this like white on rice. Mission accepted.

Out comes Rick Springfield and the women go nuts. They have signs. They have bouquets of roses. They all try to give him their bouquets which he then strums with his electric guitar. The rose petals go everywhere and the women scream. I sure that there is some sexual meaning behind this, but I digress.

And there is John. Standing post at the base of the stairs leading from the stage. Not listening to the concert, just watching the audience. The only thing he is paying attention to is for “Don’t Talk to Strangers” begin.

Rick and the band begin “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and John is waiting for him to come down the stairs to make sure that he doesn’t fall.

He waits…….

and waits…………….

and waits……………………….

Then he feels something drip on his head.

(Cue karma)

John looks up and Rick Springfield is standing over him, smiling. With his 80s icon sweat dripping on John.

“Hey man!! What’s your name?”

John looks at him with a look of disbelief and says curtly “John.”

“Well, John, I need you to help me sing the chorus.”

“No.”

“Hey, women love it when guys sing! Your sure to get laid tonight!”

John looks at him. His answer still hadn’t changed.

“Why is it that all the big and tall security guys never want to sing and shirk running off.”

John digs in his heals.

“Audience, I’m going to need your help to get John to sing. Everybody tell John that he sucks. And flip him off too!”

Then 2,500 people proceed to tell my husband how much he sucks, all the while flipping him off.

“John, I’m going to ask one more time and if you don’t sing, I’m going to take off my pants and drop my jockeys.”

This puts the women into orbit and the chanting changes from “You suck, John!“ to “Don’t sing! Don’t sing! Don’t sing! Don’t sing!”

John then looks over to his buddy Brad. Brad has an intent look on his face. They are both aware that these women could now rush the stage. Brad looks at John and says:

“You better sing like a f-ing songbird!”

And there with the spotlight on him, 2,500 people chanting his name, and Rick Springfield holding a microphone to his mouth, John takes a breath and says:

“Don’t talk to strangers.”

And karma went “Ch-ching.”

Grease is the word. Really?

I saw an old friend the other day and it was so refreshing to see him! We have been friends since I was about 5 years old. We would sing, laugh, dance and even race together. Every time I saw him, I would always have a good time. And this friendship was one of those that made a lasting impression on me and how I viewed the world. I’m talking about my friend “Grease.”



I clearly remember seeing the movie trailer for “Grease” and desperately wanted to see it. It looked like such fun: dances in the gym, car races, boys, singing, hanging with friends. Its everything that a 5 year would want to do. I remember being in kindergarten and we would play “race” with the boys. They would run and race against each other and we girls would fight over who got to play the part of Cha Cha DiGregorio and start the race. What a role model for a young girl!!

“Grease” was one of the first movies that I remember seeing on cable - which was brand new then. Bec and I watched “Grease” all the time. We knew all the songs, we could hand jive, we loved that movie!! One year for Christmas, my Aunt Rhonda got me the album and a “Grease” logo cardboard cut out from the theater. I had reached maturity!



Years passed and I didn’t see my friend much. We didn’t reconnect until I was an adult. He looked the same, said the same words but the words didn’t have the same meaning. Things sounded ……different. Like he had a different tone in his voice when he spoke to me. He said things like:

“Well, she got friendly down in the sand!”
“It broke.”
“Yeah, well what are you supposed to do with them for the other for the 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day.”
“Hey! A hickey from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card.”
“Do your parents know that I come into you bedroom every night?”
“What’s your name?” “Marty. Maraschino. You know, like the cherry.”
“Hey, Rizzo’s got a bun in the over!”


Ohh.

MYYYYY.

GAAAAAAAWD.

Well, ok then. Moving on.

So, as I reuniting with my old friend, I was reminded of the “lessons’ that I had learned from my friend and how they made an impression on my life and what I thought high school life was like. This is the honest truth. So, here we go:

1.Summer love is a magical thing. Once you part, you will miss the person desperately. However, it is ok to break out in song at lunch or the football bleachers at school to sing about it.



2.Pink Ladies are fun and they rule the school! But you can’t be too pure to be pink. So, you need to get a cool pink jacket, wear tight skirts, get diamond eyeglasses, pierce your ears and dye your hair pink.

3. Pink Ladies have slumber parties. You are supposed to eat Twinkie’s and drink a dessert wine. You will need to have your ears pierced, learn how to smoke and not be like Sandra Dee before your first slumber party. You don’t want to be sung about and made fun of at the slumber party.

4. Every high school may not be on National Bandstand, but when they have dances, it will involve a big piñata-like person thingy and fancy decorations.

5. You want to be a good dancer, but not the BEST dancer at your school. The best dancers have the worst reputations, so be careful!!

6. If you wear a dress to school be careful!! Guys will look up your dress or worse still, raise your dress and show your underwear to everyone at the big dance.

7. Be careful drinking the punch at the dance, because it will have something weird in it.

8. When you graduate from high school there will be a carnival with rides on the football field.

9. In order to get the guy you love, you have to change. Good girls finish last. So you need to dress “fancy”, tease your hair, smoke cigarettes and wear Dr. Scholl’s high heeled sandals to get your guy in the end. Be prepared for all the guys to look at you and whistle. Then proceed to the “Fun House” and sing with your new boyfriend. It will be electrifying!



10. At the carnival, everyone will get along, start dating again and sing together for one last time. Annuals will also be distributed here. Get into your new boyfriend’s hot car and drive off into the sunset. Happiness will be had by all.



True story, I asked my dad where they had their high school carnival when he graduated. He tried to explain to me that they didn’t have a carnival and I just looked at him like he spoke a foreign language. Which he did. It was called “reality.” Wop-bob-a-lu-bop! A wop-bam-boom!

So this raises the question: what impressions are being made on my niece as she grows up watching “High School Musical” or “Twilight?” If she brings home a pale guy who doesn’t eat and is super hot, I might have to fight her for him. I do after all have my pink jacket and Dr. Scholl’s high heeled sandals. I think I can take her!!

"Don't Stop Til You Get Enough"

A major part of my childhood past away last week. Surprisingly, I was more sad than I thought I would be. For many years, I have thought that the Michael Jackson that I grew up with had been dead for quiet a while and that the Michael Jackson of the past 20 years was just bad fake of the “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” Michael Jackson I knew so well. Yet the his tunes have been in constant rotation in my iTunes shuffle since last Thursday. Behind the plastic, the bleached skin, sequins, and the bizarre behavior lies some very powerful music. So this entry is to the man who continues to make my feet tap.

I like to think of myself as a spiritual person. Someone who has a close relationship with God. I’m a big believer in the power of prayer. But did you know that 2 people in particular taught me how to pray? It’s true. My sister Bec and Michael Jackson.

“WHAT???!! Michael Jackson??!!” you say. Tis true dear reader. Bec and Michael Jackson taught me how to pray. Here’s how it went down.

I love my sister. I lover her very dearly. She is greatest sister anyone could ever have. But, when she was a baby up until she was about 3 years old, Bec cried all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. Her favorite phrase was a sobbing “Come here, Momma” with tears pouring down her cute chubby cheeks.

One night on the way home from my grandmother’s house, Bec was in her car seat just crying away. I don’t remember what she was crying for, most likely she wanted to sit with Mom but she wouldn’t stop crying. All the way from Rockwood, TN to our home in Knoxville, Bec cried. And cried. Annnnnnnnnnnnnd cried. Looking back, I can still see the tears rolling down her face and glistening in the light from the passing cars. Right about the time we were passing the Pepsi bottling plant on Middlebrook Pike I had had enough. I threw my head back against the back seat of the car, looked up out the back window toward the stars and said the follow “Dear God, please shut this child up!” I don’t remember if he answered the prayer, but it was then that I knew I had an ally.

On August 10-12, 1984, Michael Jackson and the Jacksons came to Knoxville and played 3 sold shows at Neyland Stadium for 150,000 people. Tickets were $31.50 ($65 in 2009). Michael was just cresting at his popularity. His appearance on “Motown 25” and the debut of the moonwalk had come out earlier that spring. Truly to go to this concert one would be able to see an artist at his peak.

“Sooooo, Laura, how was the concert? Which night did you go?” you ask. I didn’t get to go. That’s right. I did not get to go. Me who had Michael Jackson posters, buttons, records - everything - did not get to go.

I remember thinking as a child that this was some sort of punishment from my parents. Didn’t they understand? Were they not kids of the 60’s? Didn’t they believe in the power of rock and roll? Isn’t this what they were all about? Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Nope. They were all about how can we make this child suffer more! I was denied the Michael Jackson “Thriller” jacket which was on sale at Merry-Go-Round for $100 ($205 in 2009) and now I was being denied going to the concert. Why was I even brought into the world if they were just going to deny me pleasure? Clearly they were hell-bent on making my 11 year old life hell.

Ah-ha!! But I had a higher source!! I would turn to my old ally Jesus. He would find a way for me to go to the concert. Because, after all, every kid I knew was going except for me. Jesus would help.

So there I sat in my hot bedroom asking Jesus to deliver me tickets to the Michael Jackson concert. And to show my devotion, I opened my bible to the book of Psalms and began to read.

I read a lot of Psalms between August 10-12, 1984. Needless to say, the tickets never came. But my relationship with God did not suffer. My prayers were not in vain. Through that experience, God showed me humility and the power to laugh at one’s self. Instead of tickets, he gave me one heck of a good story to remember.

Southern Embellishment

Pssst.

Pssssssssssst.

Hey reader. Yeah, you with the mouse. Over here.

I’m hiding behind the monitor. I know its hard to see me, cause I’m in camouflage. Yes, camouflage!!! Le grand camou, baby. It’s the latest fashion accessory, didn’t you know. Hmmm, guess you didn’t see the memo because it was in camouflage. Well, let me share the good word with you.

In our latest jaunts to East Tennessee, John and I stopped off recently at a couple of stores near Pigeon Forge, one being the BPS Experience (aka Bass Pro Shop). I loath BPS, but I love my husband, so I go. While John is foaming at the mouth over fishing lures, I pass the time by people watching and checking out what else they have in the store that doesn’t pertain to fish. I recently found this interesting number in the Women’s section (Yes Virginia, there really is such a section):



Yep. It’s a camouflage teddy. Now, my first reaction was that there are some ladies (and some men, see “Deliverance”) who really go all out for their man. Some men just might find it right purty that women would be all decked out in some sexy camou. Defeats the whole idea of the setting one’s sites on the target, but I digress. I personally found this hysterical and called John over to see it. Surprisingly, John had a different reaction that I did. He thought it was a great way for women to hide from their man. (I bought 2.) Needless to say, this teddy was the PG-13 version, there were more (or less, so to speak) on sale at BPS but my niece reads this blog so I‘m going to leave it there.

On a later trip, I stumbled upon this find:



A camou duffle bag. Its not that its camou that I find amusing, but that fact that it has decorative black bows on it. Seriously, ladies? Seriously?!?

Now, y’all know that I’m a good southern women and us southern women like to embellish not only the truth but our wardrobes. We’ll monogram the dickens out of everything we own, we can wear high-heeled thong sandals with flowers on them in the dead of winter and wear a string of pearls with a workout suite. But we have officially pushed the boundaries of good taste.
WE HAVE GONE TOOOOOO FAR, Y‘ALL!!

I understand wanting to meet your man halfway and show interest in his hobbies. And I‘m all for equality, I am. But if we are going to out into the woods with our men and go get us a deer, grab your daddy‘s cameo and go. Don‘t slap bows all over everything.

Ladies of the south, I beseech you! We are known for our style and our class, our sense of decorum and good manners, our gentleness and most of all, thank you Jesus, our southern hospitality. But ladies, let us step back and think about what we embellish on our clothes. No need for camou teddy’s and camou duffle bags with bows. Let us resolve to leave such embellishments to our stories and leave the Yankees wandering if we’re telling them the truth or not. That’s a heckofalot more fun than deer hunting anyway!!

Blah! Mushy entry. Run. Run now!!

Today, we as a county are celebrating Mother’s Day. If you ask my mom, everyday is Mother’s Day and we should each treat our mother’s fantastic everyday, not just once a year. And trust me when I say this, she reminds me of that frequently.

But today is bittersweet, because essentially Mother’s Day is a celebration of the family. As you know, our family has changed dramatically this year. I like to think of it as we were once a square with 4 individual points. Now, I feel that we are a working our way to becoming a triangle with 3 individual points. We haven‘t completed the transition from square to triangle yet, but we’ll get there.

So today, I honor two very special women in my life who just happen to be mothers: my mom and my sister. I wouldn’t be where I am without either of them. I’m so very thankful that I have been able to lean on them in these past few months but also to support them when they are feeling week. Mwah! Love you, ladies!
I know, ya'll want to hear "Wind Beneath My Wings" now. But you know what, I have my limitations people. Take the mush and run because that's all you get. Going to stop now because Hallmark is going to be calling soon for me to write sappy cards. Blah. My Pop is gonna get it when I see him for making me go to such a lowly state. Blah.