Mamasita

Oh boy. I've got so much work to do (thankfully) and I shouldn't be blogging...but...(My mom says I shouldn't say but. Or butt. Because when you say but what you're really saying is "forget what I just said, what I really mean is this...") My mom also says that when you hear someone sigh, what they're really saying is "look what I have to put up with" and she also says that pouting is the highest form of seduction. You figure that out. Although this wasn't going to be a blog about my mom (who I call mom or mamasita in private and Shirley in public as she doesn't seem to answer to mom when we're among people) she's clearly on my mind. And heart. This weekend I drove to Blythe, California (aka Blight) to visit my mom and dad. They live on the Colorado river off the I-10 freeway where it is hot as h. e. double toothpicks. Mom and I went swimming in her "club" pool, we worked on a dress (she sews, and has made clothes for me all my life. One weekend when I was probably 9 she came home from a weekend away with my dad and I had grown so much in 2 days that nothing fit me, so she made an outfit a day for a week so I'd have something to wear. She'd make practically anything I wanted and once made me a jumpsuit like the one Fonzie wore on Happy Days.) We also cooked. Guess what we made? Cornbread and blackeyed peas. Yummy. I just want to say this about my mom. Although she's not perfect, she has been a very loving, sweet mommy to have. Very interested in my life. Affectionate. She laughs at my jokes. She had me when she was only 21 years old and did an amazing job for someone so young. I always felt safe with her. Yikes. I just realized that if I'd had a kid at 21, they'd be 20 years old!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! (That's me running like a crazy person from the thought of it) I'd love to have a child and hopefully I will and if they think of me half as highly as I think of my mom...I'll be happy.

Treasures

Thinking of people and things that bring me joy, delight my heart or inspire me brought me to ponder the treasures I own (temporarily as I know as “you can’t take it with you!”) These gems stir my heart towards beauty and goodness. Anything that causes a longing for the eternal is a good thing in my book, or blog.

Here are some of the little things that inspire and transform me:

Photographs: one in particular is a photo of my dad right after the Ole Miss riots in 1962. He’s walking down a side walk on campus heading towards the camera wearing a suit with a cigarette in his right hand. He was 22 years old and a total bad ass.

Paintings: I am the proud owner of a Wyatt Waters painting called “Dear Dairy” that I bought when I had first graduated from college. I paid $50 a month for it to a gallery in Jackson, Mississippi (total of $550) and it’s now worth four times that. A stunning electric watercolor of a Dairy Freeze in Crystal Springs, Mississippi.

Pottery: When my roommate and I took a 19 day southern road trip, I found a treasure from a family of potters in Mississippi (I promise there isn’t a theme here, I like Yankee stuff too!) It’s a bird, made of clay and painted with an eggshell color head with the prettiest blues for his body. He’s sweet and healthy. My friend Kirsten has a bird and I had one as a kid. Their delicateness and chirping put a song in my heart.

One last treasure that I actually don’t own; I believe my cousins are the keepers at this time. When I was growing up I had two sets of grandparents in Mississippi. My mom’s parents lived in Greenville at the time (deep in the delta, cotton country) and visiting them was all about eating really great food, shopping for school clothes, looking at all the family photo albums, playing cards, playing with some neighborhood kids and watching TV. My dad’s parents on the other hand lived out in the country in the hilly part of northern Mississippi. Visiting them was also about great food, playing outside, looking for fossils, traipsing in the woods and spending hours in country graveyards. But another thing was reading the stacks and stacks of comic books. Not just any comic books, but comic books of fairy tales and myths. I would re-read these every time I went to their house. Seems that what I love about these “things” is the nostalgia of them. Which in the Greek means to return home again. Maybe there is a theme here. Maybe there is an undeniable call from the very soil of Mississippi that is constantly calling me back. My brother feels it too I think. Makes me wonder, makes me nostalgic.

Falling

Ninety degrees today in beautiful downtown Burbank where I live with a killer roommate (killer as in capital K Kool versus a bloodthirsty lady; she also hates the letter K being used for a word like kute or krazy so she may cill me) in a house built for little people in the 1920's. (mini-ode to Faulkner finished) My mind is like a tree full of red, yellow and orange leaves as I declare this day officially fall. Now for folks like me who will be spending fall in LA; Thanksgiving and Christmas in Orlando, Florida (playing the mother in A CHRISTMAS STORY for Gramercy Theatre), fall must become a state of mind. I'm a fall kinda girl. All the promise of the holidays with none of the stress or let down they may bring. In my heart, fall is the scene from TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD when Gem and Scout are coming home through the woods after a carnival in which Scout has appeared as a squash (I think). The wind is blowing danger all around them, haunted by racism and the changing south. Ok, fall to me is a crisp late afternoon in Greenville, Mississippi by the fabulous graveyard surrounded by the brick wall and dripping with ghosts disguising themselves as hanging moss from ancient trees. That's what I long for. The mystery, the snap of cool air and an ache in my heart. What is fall to you? By the way, the above painting is by the exquisite Wyatt Waters of Clinton, Mississippi.

For Staci

Hello. Anyone out there? (echo, echo, echo) My lovely, scary smart, funny and articulate roommate has been blogging for about two months and has inspired me that perhaps blogging is a beautiful thing. Heck, on facebook my status is always so cryptic because I'm terrified of letting people see beyond the pretty armor I've been crafting all my life. Now I want to see what it's like to live with the armor off. Perhaps this concept of myself will shock some. Probably not. I'm discovering that if you really want to be honest with yourself ask a friend if you're being honest with yourself. So here I am. No! Don't look there! Over here...Just kidding. Look all you want. Now, for the title of my blog. I'm a southern girl. A bit obsessed with all things southern, and I LOVE cornbread and blackeyed peas. Come visit the blog if you like. And, be sweet, as we say in the south.