I'm reading books now that I have left in the bookcase untouched for a long time. But now, this quarantine has me reading things that I would not normally bother with; but times have changed and I must kill time with what is handy. This virus has caused good things and bad things. I tend to look on the sunny side of life, so I think good things are heading our way. Stay well Y'all.
Anyway, I'm spending my quarantine time reading everything, even mail that usually is trash canned without opening. I read instructions on OTC medicines like aspirin or Vicks VapoRub. Did Y'all know ‘Depends’ have a twelve-hour expiration?
Y'all I'm all in.
I take long naps during the day which makes for a late bedtime. So, every night as I crawl into bed I reach for a book. I finished a book two days ago about the A-Bomb and it's after effects on humans and steel beams. Mercy alive! Last night I clawed through the bookcase to fine a book titled: CORNBREAD NATION. No kidding. I was stunned. That title had me at the get go. I'm a cornbread tramp. Cornbread is the staff of life for me. No cornbread, no sopping; no sopping, nothing getting done around the house. My recent trip to Walmart caused such a panic driven moment when I couldn't fine cornmeal. My days have been disturbed. They may be numbered.
I posted on Facebook my fear of living without cornbread and you wouldn't believe how many people love me. I got messages to tell me where I could find cornmeal, offers to buy it for me, offers to bring it to my porch to keep me socially distanced. I even had an offer to stop in Mobile to get cornmeal for me. I'm loved beyond the clouds.
Anyway, I kinda scanned through some of the book’s Forward trying to get a feel for why I should bother reading about something as low-life and life sustaining as cornbread. I KNEW in an instant this entire book was written by Yankees trying to sound Southern.
What a complete ruse.
Some uppity writer wrote that Shad was a spring fish. That right there told me all I need to know about the birthplace of the writer. A Southern writer would know we here in the South can tell the difference in the seasons for our fish. None. We want fish, we dig worms, grab a pole and hit the fishing holes. Southern, Spring, Shad. Fake as glue-on nails. Has any Southern woman ever called a shad something that she would serve to her friends.
NO!
We Southern women would serve a catfish, a jackfish, a mullet, or a plate of bream; but unless our dish didn't swim below the Mason-Dixon Line it would never grace our grease. Shad in Cream Sauce? That's Yankee fare and don't you ever mention it here.
Then I read about how a fine Southern table should be set. That Yankee writer tells how to lay the perfect table for OUR most important dinner guest.
For real?
First off, all Southern dinner guests are as important as the chairman of the U.S. Treasury. All the guff on using the best Battenburg linen tablecloth, the best Spode china, the best Waterford crystal, the best Britannia silverware. That galled me.
Let me put this out there now. I set a table with my best 60-year old china I bought on time for my hopeless chest. Many pieces missing and badly chipped. The fill-in pieces are from a collection I got started by using points at the grocery store in 1978. My crystal is the survivors from that hopeless chest "payment plan" collection and a few that I bought at an antique shop (flea shop) which must have been owned by a Yankee Fraternity. They each have a different family name and crest etched into them. I was impressed with thinking about all that toasting and formal secret hand shaking stuff.
Pshaw!
My flatware, is mottled and the fork tines show bends. Rice is bad to stick between bent fork tines. Pay attention to details. My linens have been yellowed so long, I just let 'em. I never entertain a guest that can't laugh if I serve two kinds of gravy. Some of my people like lumps in the gravy while others like the good stuff skimmed off. I own a gravy boat, but won't confuse a table guest with it. My Southern side tends to lean in on keeping everyone feeling welcome and at ease. Never lost anyone to being too high-tabled.
Anyway, I read on down to see the name, Truman Capote. Why in the name of Atlanta does everything written in a book about Southern Style have to mention Truman Capote? We all know he wrote a book with help from Harper Lee. He tried to clinch on to Jackie Kennedy as long as she could stand him. Studio 54 was the beginning of the end for them. She married what's his name that owned a boat. Truman died a pathetic alcoholic. Harper Lee became a recluse, then died and that's that.
Yankees want us to think they know us; they don't. They say we have gatherings to celebrate family with "Hog Butcherings." That's a flat out lie. We Southerners don't celebrate when we work at "Hog Killings." We work with family because we need food, we need family help, and they need some pork. Some family we don't especially like to hang out with, but Hog Killing Time is for hanging out with people that we don't like. They get a pass for Hog Killings.
Hog Killings are as old as the first pig. Hog killings are for sustenance for Southerners. We need everything a hog has to offer. Hog grease is as important as that cornbread the book was written about. We Southern folk keep it simple and as easy as possible. Yankees want the world to believe they are a cut above us by pretending to put words into our mouths.
We aren't the ones that say, "yous."
We say, "Y'all.”
Don't get it twisted…
