ALL ABOUT G.R.I.T.S. (Girls Raised In The South)

The first thing we should cover is which U.S. states comprise "The South" as Southerners see it. The South includes Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Louisiana. Florida is NOT "The South". Neither are Texas, Missouri, Delaware, or Washington DC. Why? I have my suspicions, but I won't mention them here. Most true Southerners will agree with me on this list.

The thing about G.R.I.T.S. is that we're not like everybody else, and we are often misunderstood. Southern drawls don't equate to stupidity, lack of education, any particular political affiliation, a lack of indoor plumbing, being the quiet little wives of "good ole boys", or giant civil war hoop skirts. Southern women are politicians, scientists, educators, moms, astronauts, architects, and engineers. Yet we cherish our Southern heritage, and try to blend that heritage with our modern day world views.

Here are a few things you may not know about G.R.I.T.S.

·      We say “bless your heart” a lot. (FYI, this is usually code for “you’re an idiot”.)

·      We monogram EVERY DAMN THING. Umbrellas, underwear, socks – you name it, we put our initials on it. Why? Because it belongs to us, that’s why.

·      We never ever ever wear white shoes or pants before Easter or after Labor Day. This is a sin of gigantic proportion.

·      You might just find us yuckin’ it up at the local tavern on Saturday night and singing in the church choir on Sunday morning. We love whiskey and we love Jesus. These things are not incongruent.

·      We make our kids address adults as “Ma’am and Sir”, and we never allow our children to call adults by their first names. The only exceptions are close family friends whom you refer to as “Miss X” or Mr. X”. I grew up with Miss Pat and Mr. Steve, and Mr. Gary and Miss Carol Jean.

·      We love calling our children by their first AND middle names, like it was one single name. Cindy Lou, Kelly Ann, Misty Ray, Daisy Mae, Bobby Joe, Billy Bob, Tommy Ray, Willie Jack, etc. I actually had an uncle named Jim Ed. And we called him… wait for it… Jim Ed.

·      We love florals, plaids, houndstooth, stripes, and bright, bold colors. We are Southern, we are here, and you shall not miss us when we enter a room.

·      We love big hair, regardless of what hairstyle we have or what decade it happens to be. We also love big earrings and jewelry to go with our great big hair.

·      We say Momma and Daddy, not Mom and Dad. If you call your parents Mom and Dad, you’re probably not from around here.

·      We’re soft on the outside, fierce on the inside. Don’t mess with our people, our siblings, our neighbor’s little sister. And whatever you do, don’t lie to us. We are equal parts Scarlett O’Hara and Erin Brockovich, and we will BURY YOU as we defend our love ones to the death. We do this without ever breaking a sweat or a nail.

·      We despise rude, disrespectful manners. THOU SHALT NOT behave rudely. That is all.

·      We name our kids after our Mommas and our Daddys. This is expected, regardless of whatever unusual name your Momma had. Sadly, I broke this rule when naming my own children. (But my children are Yankees, so it’s okay, and my family has forgiven me.)

·      Everyone who lives north of the Mason-Dixon is a Yankee. There is no Midwest, Northeast, Northwest, Southwest – they are all just Yankees.

·      We give grandparents bizarre names that are a badge of honor. Mimi & Big Daddy, Meemaw & Sugar Bear, Lovie & Mister, Cookie and Babe, Diamond & Tank , Big Momma & Geepaw, Mamaw & Big Sam, Bunny and Honey. (These are all actual grandparents I know personally.) My own great grandmother was called Mud. (Not kidding). Another friend’s grandmother was Kiki, and Kiki’s husbands kept passing on, and she kept marrying new ones. Her original husband was Papaw, and the ones who followed became 2Paw, 3Paw, and 4Paw. Creative, don’t you think?

·      We bake casseroles using combinations of things you would never expect. We also use a lot of Cream of Mushroom Soup. It tends to subdue whatever you’ve got writhing in the pan.

·      We do not stand around fainting, clutching our pearls, and drinking mint juleps while everyone else does hard labor. Oh no. We get our hands dirty, we dig in, and we “get ‘er done”. You will find us mowing lawns, scrubbing floors, refinishing our yard sale dressers, and making sure errrbody’s clean, well fed, and prepared for life.

·      We play Bunco. It involves dice, prizes and much socializing. Google it.

·      We can fish and shoot. Personally, I have never shot any living thing, but I can skeet shoot, and catch bass all day long.

·      WE UNDERSTAND FOOTBALL. We can tell you when the ref should have called “holding”, we can name the players and coaches of our favorite teams, and tell you the winner of the 1983 Cotton Bowl. SEC football is in our blood, and Saturdays in the fall are devoted to tail-gaiting and hollering. We do not think a football woman’s only place is on the cheerleading squad, or breeding players. Rather, we believe that football would be much more competitive if women were coaching teams.

·      We call all brands of carbonated soda “Coke”. It could be Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Ginger Ale… but to us it’s all Coke.

·      We take lots and lots and lots of pictures. We create shrines in our houses with our many photos. Friends and family reign supreme, and you will find them in every corner and every wall of our homes.

·      Lastly, we are loyal to our people till the day we die. This includes our families, every 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th cousin, our middle school gym teacher, our high school basketball team and or cheer squad, our college sororities, and every single person we grew up with. It doesn’t matter if you we were true-blue friends back in the day or not, we’re FAMILY, we’ve got history, and we’ve got each other’s back.

And this is how Girls Raised In The South do thangs, y’all.

THANK YOU.

To those of you who give of yourselves so others may live

Who choose to be kind when you are treated unkindly

Who forgive when it is undeserved and no one cares

Who let others take credit when you deserve the accolades

You are my grace. Thank you.

To those of you who fail and try and fail and try again

Who grab the dragon by the tail when all odds are against you

Who fight for those who cannot fight for themselves

Who defend the honor of the weak and the broken

You are my strength.  Thank you.

To those of you who use your gifts for good

Who serve neither your ego nor your own desires

Who serve the world around you

Who see the greater good, the greater life, the greater love

You are my gift. Thank you.

To those of you who are falsely accused and wrongly judged

Who are ridiculed and shamed

Who are tortured by the hate and jealousy of the unenlightened

Who hurt and cry alone in the corners of your life

You are my courage. Thank you.

To those of you who laugh at the storms (you’ve been through them before)

Who find joy after the rain

Who see new beginnings in every sunrise

Who adore the laugh of a child and the smell of a forest

You are my inspiration. Thank you.

To those of you who cannot remember

What it feels like to be well and happy

Who suffer by day and by night in unspeakable pain

Who share your love even in your sickness

You are my healing. Thank you.

To those of you who remind me daily

That good triumphs over evil

That light brightens the darkness

That love conquers all

You are my hope.

Thank you.

MY FORGETTABLE TOP 10!

sin·gle

ˈsiNGɡəl/

adjective

unmarried or not involved in a stable sexual relationship.

I've been divorced now for six years. It happens, and I'm good with it. After 22 years of marriage and raising three great kids, I love my job, my family, my friends, my boyfriend (who shall remain private for now), and my life. I feel whole and happy.

Over the years I have had many well meaning people question me about this. They don't actually come right out and ask me why I'm not publicly with anyone, but they say things... inappropriate things... misogynistic things... intrusive things! Apparently women of a certain age cannot function without a partner, and I am to be pitied. According to these folks, any relatively normal woman my age should arrange her entire life around finding a partner because, hey, you can't possibly be happy without a man in your life, right?

Don't get me wrong, I still believe in love, and I'm very pro-relationship. I also know that every one of these friends who questioned me has my best interest at heart. But holy cow, their ideas and opinions are impertinent, to say the least. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or offended that people seem to be comfortable sharing their very strong opinions about me WITH me!

Here are the top ten "forgettable comments" people have shared with me about my apparent singleness. These statements from others are actually, verbatim what people have said to me. The answers that follow, however, are not how I actually responded at the time. I'm sure I bit my tongue and tried to be polite. But these responses are the things I wish I had said! Hindsight is glorious, especially when you're caught off guard.

MY FORGETTABLE TOP TEN

10. "Wendy, are you dating? You need to get out there! Have you tried Match.com? My sister tried Match.com and found a man right away! Obviously every woman's goal after divorce should be finding another man right away, and I must not very good at it. I'm happy for your sister, but NO. 

9. "I'd really like you to meet my cousin! He's very successful, some kind of 'ologist' - can't really remember exactly what he does, but he's got a really great job." (Thinking to myself) Oh God yes, please call the 'ologist' and hook me up. Lord knows I need another 'ologist' in my life. So thankful that your primary criteria for my future partner is that he is gainfully employed as an "ologist".

8. "If you appeared a little less independent you'd probably attract someone. Independent women tend to give off a superior vibe, and men are probably intimidated by you. If they think you don't need them, they won't like you." Right. Because everyone who knows me knows how very much I want to appear helpless and needy. NEWSFLASH: It's not 1955, and I'm not June Cleaver or Doris Day. If a man can't handle my independence, he's certainly not the man for me. I'm not changing for anybody, and I'm certainly not going to appear to be less than I am.

7. "Everyone I know has found a husband at my church! It's a great place to meet guys! You should come with me and I'll introduce you around." What a GREAT reason to go to church! Husband hunting! Actually I found my first husband at church, and that didn't exactly end in happily ever after, so no thanks.

6. "You're too pretty to be single." Ummm, is that a compliment or an insult? I think it's both. No, I'm not too pretty to be single. Actually I'm too smart to be involved with someone who is less than I deserve. I'm holding out for the person who is right for me. 

5. "It's amazing that you've been living by yourself for so long. How do you handle things at home? It must be so difficult for you. Who takes out the trash and handles the yard work? What happens when something breaks?" Oh my gosh. I never thought of that! Whatever shall I do??? I do things myself, you HELPLESS FEMALE MORON, and if I can't do it, I hire someone to do it. Just like I did when I was married. 

4. "I really thought you'd be remarried by now. I'm so sorry." Sorry? Are you kidding me? I'm fully embracing my life! I travel the world with my job, spend time with the people I love, and get to live my life pretty much the way I want to live it. I'm actually sorry for YOU, hon. You're married to a man who is the spitting image of Peter from Family Guy with all the charm and panache of a chauvinistic pig. All you do is complain about him and how miserable you are! Yeah, I totally envy that. Please feel sorry for me.

3. "Are you still working through issues from your divorce? It's been such a long time now. You need to move on. Maybe you should see a counselor." Actually, I did see a counselor for a while after my divorce, and it was very helpful and affirming. I'm happier and more at peace than I've been in my whole life. But thanks for assuming that because I don't have a husband, I must have issues. If people aren't married, there must be something wrong with them.

2. "Who do you take to weddings and funerals, and things like that? Is there someone you can call to go with you? You can't go to events like that alone, that would be horrible, and you know how people talk." Well of course I wouldn't dream of going anywhere in public without a date. What would people think? They might think I'm mean, or independent, or antisocial! If I were alone at a wedding, I'd just sit in the corner and cry pathetically while the other ladies rocked the Chicken Dance with their husbands. Believe me, I've had plenty of people talk about me behind my back. Let them talk. My motto is: What other people think about me is none of my business.

AND MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE:

1. "Are you gay? It's okay if you're gay. But seriously, are you gay? Do your kids know? I mean, you are a Democrat..." Well, I'm a registered Independent, not a Democrat, but Civil Rights for all people are very important to me. I have lots of close friends, both men and women, who are gay. some are in relationships and some are not. If I actually were gay, I certainly wouldn't be hiding it from anyone, especially from my kids! No, I'm not gay. Neither am I in any hurry to discuss my sexuality with a gossip. Why is this important to you, or to anyone else, for that matter? Welcome to 2017. Lots of people are homosexuals. Homosexuality is not a disease, it's not a choice, it's not contagious, and it's not something that randomly happens to you one day. Guess what? Our sexuality - either homosexual, heterosexual, or OTHERsexual, does not define us. It's part of who we are, but it's not all we are. If it is, you've got a major problem, regardless of your personal orientation.

So there you have it!

Please do me a favor. If you have any friends over 40 who are single, please don't judge them, interrogate them, or try to fix them. 

You might be surprised to discover that they aren't even broken.

THE MOUNTAIN

I'm climbing a mountain.
Enormous, powerful, terrifying.
I could have stayed in the valley with the others
(They seem content to be there)
But I'm not happy in the valley anymore.
The valley has never been my home.
I am meant for higher places
That can only be reached by climbing this mountain.

Parts of my climb have had clear, level pathways
Easy peasy, and I take it as it comes.
I climb, I rest, I sing, I catch my breath.
But other parts are treacherous as I hold on with my fingertips
Small stones slipping under my weary feet
Hands bloody and raw from the climb.
I struggle to keep from falling, moving slowly upward
And I dare not look behind me.
There is no safety rope, no net to catch me.
I either climb or fall. I cannot remain on the side of the mountain.

Sometimes the weather is perfect for climbing
And I enjoy my journey in the sunshine
Gentle breezes whispering that I can make it.
Other times it's cold and wet
When the storms come and the clouds and fog are blinding.
Much of the climb is a slippery slope.
Those days make me wonder
Why I ever decided to climb this mountain at all
When I could have stayed behind
In the safe, familiar valley.
But then I remember why I left, and where I'm going
And I climb on.

You are climbing this same mountain.
You're climbing from the other side
And I catch glimpses of you from time to time.
I watch you struggle and strain like I do
Fighting to hold on like I do
Contending with weather, doubts, enemies, and danger
Like I do.
I hear you cry out in anguish to the mountain itself
"Why did you call to me, beckoning me to climb?
Why did I leave the valley - the Devil I know -
For the chance of a better life? What if I die here? What is the point?"
And you climb on.

Truth is, we know why we're climbing.
If we don't give up, we will one day reach the top
The high ground, the place we've always dreamed of.
At the peak of the mountain we will be together
Each having followed our own perilous path
Each having climbed under our own power
No one pushing or pulling us, no one helping or catching us
Building our own muscles and confidence as we climb.
When we reach the top we will know without a doubt
That we have done the impossible.
We climbed that majestic, monstrous mountain and made it to the top.
No one believed we could do it
Not even us.

It doesn't matter who arrives first
What matters is that we both make it
To the place we've worked so hard to reach
The place that's meant for us.
The view from there will be breathtakingly beautiful.
We will see the valley and all of the people who remain there
Living their valley lives, rarely looking at the mountain above
Heads down in day-to-day living, drowning in apathy
Afraid to climb, held hostage by fears
Never knowing there's a way out of the valley and up the mountain.
That was us, not so long ago.

From the top we will be able to see
Fellow climbers scaling the mountainside ever-slowly
Working hard, reaching, bleeding, slowly upward
Determined on some days and doubtful on others.
Our eyes meet in understanding, because we know.
This mountain nearly defeated us, too.
You will take my hand and we will call to them from the top
With love, with words of life
And tell them of the beauty that awaits them.
We tell them that we believe they can do it - we believe in them
We write and sing to them songs of hope
That echo down the mountain and into the valley
"Keep climbing, don't give up!"
"Look up and dare to dream!"

The peak at the top is not a point, as one might think
But rather, a vast expanse
Flat, green, and surrounded by a range of mountains
As far as they eye can see.
To our surprise, this mountain is just part of
Many mountain ranges, hundreds - perhaps thousands of mountains
Where millions of other travelers are climbing
And more millions still living in the valleys below.
We discover mountains and paths
That lead even higher than we are now,
And we wonder where they would take us.
We gather with the others
And there are many
Who have journeyed and climbed
And are now resting in the vast, green expanse.
They welcome us, and we know we belong here.
These are our people.
Those who climbed and survived against all odds.

But today, I am struggling.
I'm on the side of the mountain, scratching and scraping
Thinking about the future, the life I'm fighting for
Reminding myself of the truth and the reward
Sweating profusely, arms extended, reaching, pulling,
Fighting the elements without and within
Desperately seeking sure footing for one more step
One more push
So I can move just a little bit higher today.

I know you're climbing today, too
Dreaming, like me, of new life at the top.
We must keep climbing
We must believe
We must hold on
Another day closer
To the place we are meant to be.

FOR GOD'S SAKE, LAND THE PLANE.

"Land the plane."

It's a phrase I use when I want someone to get to the point. I'm not sure if I heard it somewhere, or if I invented it, but it's always there, ready to pounce like a panther. Most of the time I don't say it out loud, I'm just thinking it when someone in a conversation is going on and on and on and on. AND ON.

I have a mind that races like Secretariat on crack, I'm usually thinking fourteen steps ahead of the other person, with an internal, mental dialogue that is rapid-fire-Aaron Sorkin-esque. It's not very Southern Belle of me, being from Tennessee and all, but there it is. I'm a tornado wrapped in a hurricane moving at the speed of light. And nothing frustrates me more than looooooong stories told by slow-tongued sloth-people.

(Yes, that's me.)

Don't get me wrong, I'm not proud of this. It's a major character flaw and I spend a lot of time masking it. But those who know me know I'm guilty. I've been this way since I was born. Just ask my sweet cousin Keith, who spent hours of time patiently constructing his fab Lincoln Log houses on Granny's living room floor, only to have his whirlwind Sasquatch cousin come barreling through on roller skates, knocking his Andrew Lloyd Wright creations into a pile of rubble. Poor guy.

I have a friend and colleague who is one of the sloth-humans. Let's call him/her Pat, for the sake of non-identification. Pat could very well be the product of the divine mating of two long-winded writers, Don McClean (American Pie) and John Wesley (Methodist hymn-writer). Pat takes eighteen thousand thoughtful verses to say what could be said in two. Pat's emails make the U.S. Constitution look like TrumpTweets, with words so flowery I can smell them through my computer screen. Pat loves words, Pat loves the sound of Pat's own voice, and Pat is not afraid to take as long as necessary to communicate every detail of every thought of every teeny-weeny part of every atom on the speck on the flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea.

I adore Pat, but Pat's writing drives me nuts. From the moment I open an email or text from Pat, I find myself frantically searching for the point, like trying to find the eject button before my fighter jet crashes and burns. Please Pat, for God's sake, land the plane.

But it's not Pat's fault, nor Pat's problem. It's mine.

I'm the impatient one. I'm in the wrong. I'm the one who always feels like I'm racing against the clock. I blame my parents, because of course, everything that's wrong with me is entirely their fault, and I have no responsibility in the development of my own character. My family began playing very competitive games with me as soon as I could sit up and "go fish". Once, in a heated game of Old Maid at our kitchen table in Memphis, Tennessee, I physically ate the Old Maid card when I was 4 years old to keep from losing the game to my mother and grandmother. (Not kidding). Needless to say I was not a laid-back child. Whenever I played anything and lost, I would say, "I came in third". Never mind that there were only three people playing and I came in last.

Maybe you're a sloth-human, and people like me are totally offensive to you. I'm sure that the "plane-landers" of the world drive others crazy much more than the sloth-humans do.

If you're a sloth-speaker, sloth-writer, or slothy-thinker, I offer you my heartfelt apology. I wish I were more like you, patient, eloquent, Shakespearean, comforting others with your words and phrases like the balm of Gilead. But try as I might, I'm just not that girl.

If we ever cross paths and I get a little squirmy during our conversation, please know I'm trying. It's not you, it's me.

My heart is with you, and the good angel in me is smiling and nodding, appearing engaged.

But my mind is screaming in silence, "In the name of all that is holy, please LAND THE PLANE."