I am late in coming to the blogosphere party, but better late than never I guess. I have been asking myself why I am compelled to do a blog at this time. Well, I think there are two reasons. The tone of the country is so down these days that I thought it would be good to lighten the dialogue a bit by writing about things I love, that compliment my life and lift my spirit. And by doing so, hopefully lighten the load of someone else.
Secondly, this displaced Dixie chick is longing for home. Since destiny determines that I must remain on the west coast for now, I will console myself by writing about the traditions and customs which molded my young soul; and which now, as a mature woman with a family of my own, comfort me, guide me and fill me with pride.
I come from a long line of steel magnolias and southern gentlemen, a nice southern family. Church was compulsory. Manners were without question. The child who answered yes or no to an adult without the requisite ma'am or sir was considered to have committed a crime equal to high treason. Family name and family tradition were sacred and valued. The hundred year old christening dress worn by your great-grandmother is far preferred to the new, albeit more ornate, department store purchase.
Nice southern girls are feminine. (Yes, they tend to wear a bit more make-up than their northern prep counterparts) But they are not pushovers. God bless the soul who crosses a southern woman. Will she yell? Perhaps not. But you will feel her sting nonetheless.
Now, as a forty-something mother, my heritage calls to me louder than ever before. Perhaps it is like nature's instinct to ensure that the species survives, or perhaps I am just fed up with all the pervasive tackiness of popular culture and the accompanying polyester. But whatever the case, I am here to share, to rant, or to celebrate as is appropriate.