A Marketing Executive's Dream

My son is.

He believes our lives would be better if we only had that little gadget that lets you turn tomatoes into flowers and apples into swans. Not that he eats either of those items. But boy do they look cool.

That cream stuff that fixes knicks and gouges on leather and upholstery is popular as well. Might have something to do with child-created damage that could be magically fixed with this wonder gel.

Good thing he hasn't caught the colon-cleansing infomercial, huh?

He gets this from me. Despite years of product disappointment, I truly believe that this new stay-put all day lipstick will indeed stay put and not turn my lips into something that resembles dried clay. After all, the commercial says it does. Would Halle Berry lie?

My South

In My South... elders are addressed as "ma'am" and "sir". It is a gesture of respect for the wisdom they have earned in life.

In My South... macaroni and cheese is a vegetable.

In My South... hand-made quilts are a precious heirloom to be passed down from one generation to the next.

In My South... the good china is to be used NEVER! Everyday china is for everyday and the fine china you receive as a wedding gift is simply for decorating the china cabinet.

In My South... there are no mint julep drinkers. GROSS! Who thought mint, confectioner's sugar and booze was a good idea?

In My South... we take care of each other. If you are sick are grieving, we're bringing you some food. Food makes everything better.

In My South... thank you notes are a must! My mother helped me make a list following my high school graduation so I could check off everyone to whom I had written a thank you note. When I got married, I clipped out an article from Bride's magazine about the art of the wedding gift thank you note. I still have it.

In My South... wearing white after labor day or before Easter is still taboo.

In My South... music tells a life story. Blues, Jazz, Rock, Bluegrass. My favorites are Ray Charles, Harry Connick, Jr., Louie Armstrong, and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

In My South... we pronounce neither and either two ways (nye-ther and neether, Eye-ther and EE-ther).

In My South... coke is the universal name for a regular flavor soft drink. We even call Pepsi coke. The quickest way to figure out if someone is a transplant is if they say "pop" or "soda" instead of coke. Well, that and the yankee accent.

In My South... children respect their parents and always, always obey them. Not really, that's just a pipe dream of mine. That post would have to be titled: "In My Dream World...."

And Aunty.... scroll down and pause the player if you need to listen to the youtube stuff!

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

This is for M of Easternmax. I have never seen any southern gentleman dressed like the old man in the intro. Linen suits are popular among the genteel in summer, but this Colonel Sanders look isn't familiar.

I'm sure that, unlike Mr. Berendt says, some people have indeed been disappointed by Savannah. Ask Rob. He hates those lovely historic squares. They are one way, mostly single lanes where driving is complicated by negotiating amongst endless carraiges and trolleys.

It really is a gorgeous city. Rob was surprised that ya'll were so fascinated by our Savannah trip. He thinks you have a romanticized view of the city. I do too, though. There are some truly unique places there and a lot of great history from many different eras.

Delicacies

Japan has the Puffer Fish. Italy has Calamari. France has Escargot.

We in southern Georgia, USA, have.... the boiled peanut. Tender little legume of perfect saltiness. Boiled for hours in the biggest pot one owns until it achieves just the right texture and taste. Served as an appetizer at summer gatherings and as a snack right out of the fridge.

My grandmother grew up just a few hundred miles away from where we live now. She had never heard of boiled peanuts until she moved to south Georgia. She never did learn to like them. Most non-natives consider them slimy and gross.

A Mixed Bag.... Again!

So you're probably getting a little sick of these directionless, what-I-did-on-my-summer-vacation type posts. But there is so much I need to tell you that you'll just have to suffer through with me.

Here is our new baby.





Sophie was born May 21st. We picked her out of the litter last weekend and she is settling in as the (too) much adored family pet. Abby and J.T. love to pretend she is chasing them as they run about the yard screaming in "terror" while she happily chases them. Abby's scream could shatter glass and ear drums miles away, I tell you, miles! The girl has informed us that Sophie is her dog.

J.T. has been attending Wildlife Camp this week. All the snakes, birds, tarantulas, turtles and frogs a boy could possibly dream of seeing have been on display. The Wildlife Center educates the local public about native species and also does rescue and rehabilitation work for injured animals. Living in a small college town can be a very, very good thing.

J.T. also slammed his finger in the door. I think the nail is going to come off. Very gross. Of course it is the finger. It's always the finger that gets injured. Could it be because it is the longest one? And he has to show everyone the damaged finger. By itself. Many of our family and friends have unintentionally been given the finger this week.

A pair of house wrens has chosen the columns on our front porch as a nesting sight. Their four babies are losing their down, hopping (or falling?) down from the nest and unwittingly marching into the jaws of death of the two cats who live next door.

Rob and I even fit in a little landscaping work. We staked our badly leaning maple tree in the front yard. When we finished, I looked at Rob and asked: "Pretty good, huh. Let's quit our day jobs and become landscapers."



I can't repeat what he said.

An Exceptional Day

Last Saturday, my best friend (hey Angel) and I went to see THE movie for the chick crowd. We loved it. The husbands kept the children, we went out to lunch, then the movie and finished up our exceptional "Girls' Day Out" with cool, creamy milkshakes.



The movie won't be nominated for any Oscars or be remembered for a brilliant plot. But it was sheer, grown-up fun for these two thirty-somethings. We got to revisit some of our favorite characters, drool over some lovely shoes and blush at some racy scenes. There was even an elderly couple sitting a few rows down from us which creeped us out a bit. Kind of like watching a contraband movie with your parents in the room. Unlike M, I didn't come home with less cash and more shoes. I had already purchased these lovely torture devices two days before.



I'm off to read Soozadoo's latest work. So don't expect me popping round your blogs this weekend. I have work (really, really fun work) to get done.

Ten Years Ago

I married Rob. June 6, 1998. The thinking was that having an anniversary that coincided with the historic events at Normandy on June 6, 1944 would make it easier to remember. No, that's not true. It just seemed like a great date for a June wedding. Here we are, younger, less gray and just as in love as we are today.

Due to the joys of parenthood, work obligations and vacation dates, we took our annual Savannah trip a week early. Why Savannah? It is the nearest city with a large mall, several bookstores, and some great restaurants.

We don't do the classic Savannah romantic tour. We've been there and done that several times over. So there was no visit to the Owens-Thomas house (even though it is my absolute favorite place to visit in Savannah), no luncheon at Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House, no carriage tour, no stroll through the Mercer house or the Telfair Museum.

There was a trip to two book stores.



A 30 minute wait in line at New York & Company, complete with grumpy mother of newborn triplets who was exceptionally rude to the salesperson on duty. A stock-up of J.T.'s favorite shirts (on sale!) at Old Navy. A cute, corny photo both picture of Rob and I. Two book stores and a new camera from the electronics store.




The latest Indiana Jones movie (when did Harrison Ford get old?). A delicious drink before a scrumptious meal. A new pair of shoes with dangerously high heels that, in an example of cognitive dissonance, I both love and hate. They are beautiful. They kill my feet. As you can see, Abby loves them too!




We bought Abby some new lip gloss (the thing at the moment in the 3 age bracket) and some new color wonder paper. J.T. scored some Batman action figures and they both got books and a new leapster (the old one got left outside last summer. Rain and electronic devices don't mix). Rob spent most of his anniversary money at the toy store.

It was a lovely day with my beloved. Happy Anniversary Rob.

K Does Not Equal C

Pet Peeve number 1 gazillion. K substituted for C, only for the sake of kuteness. I hate it. If your business name is Kathy's Kool Kuts or Kids' Korner Klothes, you can bet you won't be earning my customer loyalty.

Where is the love of 'C'? Why must it be replaced with 'K'? Is 'K' a better letter? Has 'C' offended in some way?

Bring back the 'C'! I don't want to eat Kandy Korn or stop by the Kwik Korner. What's wrong with 'cuts' instead of 'kuts'? Every ten year old knows you don't spell cute with a 'K'!