Southern Sunday's (Where Are They Now?)

I don't like to go to the grocery store on Saturdays. So busy. I try to go, when I go, during the weekdays.

But yesterday, a Saturday, I had to make a run to Publix. A big run. A "filled shopping cart" run.

"Plastic okay?" the young girl who stood at the end of the checkout counter asked.

I told her it was ... I bought those reusable bags ... and I have managed to leave them in my car every single time I've ever gone into the store.

So the cashier scanned, the girl bagged, and I paid. "Which way to your car?" the girl asked. I pointed to the left. "That way," I answered.

As we walked out of the air-conditioning inside to the warming temperature outside, she asked if I was having a good day. I told her it had been a busy day so far. She told me she had come in at 11. I smiled and said, "That's nice ... you got to sleep in." She laughed lightly. "Yes, I did."

I told her I don't usually come to the grocery store on Saturday because it's so busy.

"Actually," she said, "Sunday is the busiest."

Sunday? Seriously? So I said that thing that dated me and made her look at me sideways. "I remember," I said, "When no stores were open on Sundays. None. People went to church, they came home, they had Sunday dinner, and then they hung out with family and friends."

"Seriously?" she asked.(Yes, it took us longer riding the dinosaurs to church and home, don't you know?)

"I remember," I said, driving the stake farther into my own heart, "when the drug store in my little community decided to open on Sunday. But only after 1:00. After church. And only the pharmacy, in case someone needed their prescriptions filled."

To myself, I said, "It was the beginning of the downfall ..."
To me, she said, "Wow ... that's hard to imagine." (Insert frowny face here.)

Ah, the Sunday's of my youth. We slept in later than if we were going to school but not as late as we had the morning before. Sunday school followed by church. Mother's fried chicken. Or pot roast. With potatoes. Or rice and gravy... Spending time with my family. Daddy being home! Spending afternoons on motorcycles or at the "creek" with friends (as I got older). Playing with the kids in the neighborhood (when I was younger). Then back to church for MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) and Sunday night service.

Now what are people doing? Rushing to the grocery store with all the others who are rushing to the grocery store. (Can you say "boring" boys and girls?)

I miss the Sundays of my youth. I miss them ... badly.

Southern Autumn, Blues and Greens

The dogs woke me at their usual 5-something this morning. My typical response is, "Go back to sleep ..." which I say two or three times until I realize they are not the only ones who have to go ... outside. (Not that I go outside!)

So I drag myself out of bed, stumble from room to room until I reach the back door, and then traipse across screened patio to open another door so the two littlest members of our family can do what nature calls them to so dang early in the day.

And while they do it, I stare outward, across the lawn, to the lake. This morning, it lay like glass ... an amazing shade of green. Birds fly over, their reflection is nearly perfect in the water below. The air was crisp. The sky a brilliant pink, a calming lavender, and a deep shade of gray--like Neapolitan ice cream. Or sherbet.

Over the course of the day, the sky grew bluer, the air grew warmer, and then became downright hot. Autumn in Florida. But then the sun set in a whole new array of colors--red, orange, and another shade of gray. I know because those same two dogs came and got me 12 hours from the first time today (with a number of times in between), requesting my services in opening the doors.

Again, I rested against the door frame of the screen door, looking out over the lake. This time the water was dark blue-gray. The surface, choppy. A man and a small child zip around on a Seadoo. Family & friends laugh under the canopied top of a pontoon. A few ducks glide in the water near our shoreline.

Interesting how the water and the sky changes, even within a few hours. Life is like that, too, wouldn't you say? You can wake up one morning and everything is fine. But before the sun sets, the "waters" are choppy. Same body of water. Same life. Smooth as glass. Choppy.

Here's what I've discovered ... in it all, God remains ... God. He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow (Hebrews 13:8). Life may change. We may change. But God never changes. He is in the greens, the pinks, the lavenders, the grays, the reds and the oranges. He is in the smooth and the choppy. He is in the crisp and the hot.

He is ... He is ...

Southern Girls, Their Daddys, and Diamonds

I remember watching an episode of Oprah some years ago. She told the story of, in the early years of her success, going to Kmart (Yes, Kmart) to buy a bath mat. There was one for $10, which was fine, but the one for $40 was the one she really liked. She was torn, standing there with both bath mats in her hand, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to spend the $30 extra bucks.

Someone recognized her, greeted her, and asked what she was doing in Kmart (Yes, Kmart). Oprah laughed and told the fan of her dilemma. The fan gave the mega-star a puzzled look and said, "But don't you have plenty of money? Enough to buy every bath mat in this department?"

Sure enough, she did. She'd just forgotten because she was still at that place of remembering what it felt like to count every penny and of living paycheck to paycheck.

Flash forward to a recent edition of O Magazine. On one of the glossy pages I see a stack of Ralph Lauren towels in a rainbow of colors. Oprah's "comment" beneath the full-page photo is that when she had finally "arrived" one of the first things she did was purchase a whole bunch of the plush RL towels for every bathroom in her apartment. (I have come to the conclusion that Ms. Winfrey has a thing for bathroom accessories ...)

By no means do I have the kind of income Ms. Winfrey has acquired and, unless there is some great miracle, I never will. But I have "come into money" a few times. More than a few times, whether by an unexpected check or an inheritance ...

When my father died, I decided to take some of my inheritance from his estate and purchase something I'd be able to keep always and, in doing so, hold my father close. I also wanted something indicative of him and something I could pass along to my daughter, his granddaughter.

My daddy was so precious to me. He was and always will be ... daddy. Daddy and I had a couple of fabulous things in common. We both loved to shop and we both loved jewelry. Daddy didn't wear a lot himself, but he got a kick out of buying it.

So I decided to buy myself a pair of diamond earrings ... my "Daddy Diamonds" I called them. They are classy and classic and I am reminded of him every time I slip them on. One day my daughter will wear them and will remember both her mother and her Pa-Pa.

Have you ever "come into money," whether short-term or long-term? Did you buy something special for yourself when you did? What was it and why did you decide to make that particular purchase? Can't wait to hear your answers!

Reflections of a Southern Life

Taken from http://theprojectbyjudy.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/god-wink-2/

I have found myself increasingly cranky lately. Nothing to fear; I tend to get this way as summer comes to an end. I'm tired of the heat, I'm wishing I lived somewhere--anywhere--else than Florida. Somewhere where I could actually see a leaf change from vibrant green to splendid red or glorious orange. Where I could walk through the fallen leaves and hear them swish and crunch under my feet. Somewhere where I could feel the snap of cold on my face as I hike a path or rush to the mailbox.

But I live in "tropical paradise," which is all well and good certain times of the year and a bummer during the others. I often say that those of us who live in Florida don't have four seasons, we have two. Hot and hotter.

And I hate ... let me reemphasize that ... hate!! ... hot. Just try touching the thermostat in our house and see what happens.

So, here I am. Nearing the end of September and cranky.

Yesterday morning I did something different in my prayer time, hoping to relieve the misery. I asked God to "wink" at me "today." To show me He still has me in His radar and we're "okay." We're still good. In spite of my crankiness.

Then I went to a meeting (planning for Florida Christian Writers Conference of which I am one of the two directors). I left the meeting at 1:00 because I had a phone meeting at 2:00 and I wanted a few minutes to swing by the mall first. (I've lost a pant's size ... which may be a wink ... or it may be the fact that I'm walking my little ...okay, big ... feet off.)

After the mall (and the confirmation that I have indeed lost a pant's size, which the sales ladies celebrated with me, even as they took my credit card), I got in my car and headed toward home, just as my phone meeting was to commence.

I can drive and talk.

In theory.

Okay. So I took a wrong turn out of the mall. So what? All roads lead to Rome, right? Or, at the very least, to Lake Kathryn.

Lake Kathryn at Sunset/c Eva Marie Everson

I took another route ... still chatting.

As I came to a roll toward a red light, I glanced over at the sidewalk where two young ladies (think teenagers) walked in the same direction that I rolled. Even from the back they looked familiar. I said to the other person on the phone, "Is that? Is that Becca and Emily?"

"What?" she asked. "Who?"

Then one of the girls turned and I knew it was, indeed, Becca and Emily--two young ladies from my church and the daughters of my friend and assistant, Cheryl. I asked the person on the other end of the call if I could call her back, powered down the window and called out to the girls, asking them if they'd like a ride.

"Sure!" they said.

They were heading to Ross, they told me. Not in my actual direction, but ... all roads leading to Lake Kathryn being true, I drove them there, chatting happily about the fact that Emily's Sweet 16 party will be held at my house within a few days (and completely forgetting that today was her birthday). Not only that, I worry about two young ladies as gorgeous as these two walking ... anywhere! 

After dropping them off, I resumed in my phone meeting and found my way toward home. As I neared Ronald Reagan Blvd and SR 434, I saw two cars had stopped in the middle of the road in front of me. The drivers were out of the car, inspecting the "damage" from the accident they'd apparently had within the last 5 minutes.

That's when it hit me. That's when God winked. Had I gone my usual route ... had I not seen Becca and Emily and taken them to Ross ... I would have most likely been right where these cars were. Boom-boom, crunch-crunch.

God winked. "Yes, Eva Marie," He said. "I still see you and we're still good ..."

Let's Be Like Southerners!

In the South ...


     ...y'all is singular. All y'all in plural.

In the South ...

     ...we know that grits comes from corn.
     We know how to prepare them and
     we know how to eat them.

In the South ...
  
     ...we know that tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful.
     We know that red-eye gravy is a breakfast food.
     And we know that a biscuit under that gravy is the nearest thing to heaven.

In the South ...

     ...we know that scrambled eggs without Tabasco just ain't right.
     We also know that fried green tomatoes is a dinner food.

Let's Listen to Music Like Southerners

Jason Aldean

"Listen to the Night Train"

Let's Be Like Southerners!

Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." 

Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it. When Southerners travel up north, they often order "tea" with their

meals and get unsweet tea without ice. When we order tea,no matter where we are, we expect sugar and lots of it poured over lots of ice. "Sweet iced tea" is the way you'll often hear us describe it. "Would you like a glass of sweet iced tea?" Or ... we may just say, "Tea?" You should know what that means ...

For the record, "sweet iced-tea" is always best served on a hot day and in Mason jar ... 

"Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk. Personally, I never took to buttermilk, but my mother swore it was "so gooood" especially when served with some hot apple pie. 

Do you have a favorite "sweet iced tea" recipe? Here's a good one: Southern Sweet Iced Tea