Southernness...

I used to joke that the Lord could send me anywhere in the world and I'd be happy, as long as anywhere didn't include the North. I've always loved being from the South.

Southern. It's not just a regional adjective; it's a family name. My mom's maiden name is Southern. As in railroad, only not. If we were Southern Railroad people, I'm betting there'd be money in the family. In our family there isn't any money; we do have an abundance of antique beds, though. I don't know why.

I've decided that even if I didn't get my Granny's gift for tatting, I did get her affinity for painting furniture. Wood, meet Paint. Paint, meet Wood. Sandpaper? We don't need no stinkin' sandpaper. I have an impatient artisan heritage.

Aside from our throw-away-nothing-because-we-might-be-able-to-use-it-for-something-else family philosophy that lies somewhere between the mountain of collectability and the island of hoarders, I also inherited a nice set of family stories. One of my favorites will get me in trouble with PETA. It involves tick removal from a cat, kerosene, flames and a house fire. That actually wasn't the Southern side of the family. Oh, I mean it IS the southern side, just not the Southern side. I can't remember which cousin was trying to do the cat a service, but he inadvertently caused kitty's demise and burned the house down. I don't think he could do it today, what with the fact that folks usually build solid foundation walls instead of leaving the crawl space open.

There's the story of Granny and the watermelon patch and another one about the time she got bit by a copperhead... or was it a moccasin...? At any rate, she had a scar on the top of her foot where her daddy cut an x and sucked out the poison. In a recent First Aid re-certification course, I learned you're not supposed to do that to a snake bite. Oh well. She was fine, and it made a good story to keep kids from running barefoot through fields or even through a grassy yard in summer twilight.

Why I love the South...

Readers and writers and books...

I took a break from stalking watching owls online long enough to have dinner with two of my teacher peeps and attend a book-signing Friday night. Our basketball team was playing for the conference championship at the same time as the reading. Ninth-grade English teacher SC had one of her students ask if she was going to the game, and she said no, she was going to a poetry reading. She said he laughed off and on for the rest of class.  After all, who goes to those things?!

Well, we do. The author is the dad of one of Zane's buds. It is his first book. It is about the underlying theme of lynching in Langston Hughes' poetry. My area of concentration in lit for my MA was African American literature.  Wrote my thesis on Toni Morrison. LKF, there. 

It was awesome. We were blessed to get an outdoor table at a little Italian restaurant. I kept looking for Billy Joel to show up. We chatted about anything and everything. Food was delightful. Tenth-grade English teacher BV could possibly be the funniest, most insightful person I've ever met. I think anyone who knows her would agree.

The book-signing attracted a fairly large and diverse group of people. Dr. Miller had a delightful reading, but knocked it out of the park with his Q & A. BV cracked up the entire crowd with her assertion that modern poetry makes no sense; Langston Hughes is brilliantly accessible to all. Universality. We had a lovely discussion following the reading about how literature is universal, and if the majority of people don't "get it," then it probs isn't literature at all. 

It made me realize how much I have starved my intellect over the past 16ish years since I gave birth. I see more reading and readings in the future. And definitely more lunches and dinners with friends.

Oh! The picture above. If you've ever been to Quail Ridge Books, you'll recognize the wall.  It's in the bathroom.  Actually, every wall in the bathroom is lined with autographed photos of authors who have done book-signings there. I could get only one shot because there was a pretty long line and the reading was about to start. I was trying to use my best Southern manners and get in and out as quickly as possible. Next time, I'll try to get the rest. 

I am off to read a little. I did buy a copy of Dr. Miller's book, but I didn't get him to sign it; the line was long. I figure that since track starts next week, I'll just ask him to sign it at one of the meets, since our kids run together. That's not odd, is it? I'll get to his book soon, but first... I treated myself to another Clyde Edgerton novel. He's my favorite local author. I always end up laughing until my sides hurt when I read his work; he is spot-on in capturing especially older Southern women. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he'd stalked watched my family online while researching his books. 

Hoot...

Our Science Department chair shared a link to an owl cam today. The cameras are located inside and outside a barn owl box in Oceanside, CA. The momma owl has six eggs, which are due to hatch between today and the end of the month. 

Today I've watched her sleep, roll the eggs around, eat a mouse (while I was cooking dinner... sweet timing, there), and sleep some more.

You want to watch too? 

Click here. 

Alas, poor red faux...

It took everything I had not to write "Alas, poor Yorick..."

I've heard reports that the red fauxes are out and about this time of year.  Unfortunately, this one didn't make it.

He is now 50% off at Target.

Confession...

Now would be a good time for me to move away from society for a few days  weeks  months  years.

Confession...

Having cold feet makes me grumpy. Literal cold feet. Not figurative cold feet.

Pedro came to my house to live...

I found some rugs on sale online at Crate & Barrel.  They were cute. I ordered them. They came. I put them on the floor. The floor looked like it was wearing Pedro's serape... a little like this:

Hey, look at that. It's me in college, stopping to gas up at South of the Border on the way home from Sping Break in Florida. Nice tan.

I do love some color. Truly. So, I'm embracing my Pedro-serape floor coverings. Why I ordered a total of five of these rugs in various sizes is story in itself. What's relevant here is that one landed under the dining room table, replacing an oriental-style rug. Of course that meant I needed new window treatments, and double-of-course I waited until 24-hours before 30 or so people descended on my house for a Super Bowl party.

In panic mode, I hit every store in town, looking for the perfect curtains. The last store left was Kohl's. The Kohl's collection of window treatments pretty much stinks. My Marine instincts kicked in, and I shifted into adapt-improvise-and-overcome mode. I wisked through the sheets. Nothing. I flew through towels. Nope. I sped through the shower curtains. Nada. Then I screeched to a halt in front of the placemats.

Multi-colored bamboo matchstick placemats. I bought five. Turns out I needed only four.

Kohl's placemat.  $3.99 each + 50% off  = $1.99 each.

 Grocery shopping happened at the SuperWalMart, which conveniently stocked clear monofilament.

SuperWalMart. $1.00

I lined up the matchstick placemats two-by-two and tied them together with clear monofilament. Each set took about 10 minutes to secure. 

10 minutes of tying knots. Right-over-left. Left-over-right.

 I ripped down the old window treatments and clipped in the new ones. 

$4.50 per window. 30 minutes.

It's fun and festive--that's for certain. Arriba!

Confession...

I think my house is cluttered because I don't have enough lace-up shoes.  Hooray for TOMS and Uggs.  Boo for clutter.