Frankly, My Dear...

i grew up in illinois. i was born there and if you ask me where i'm from, that's the state i'm giving you. but my family moved to texas at the end of my 7th grade year and i stayed there through college-- a total of 9 years. i also lived in louisiana for 9 months at the beginning of my marriage. i was a newspaper reporter there, so you could say i have some experience with the south. or at least part of it.

georgia was neither the top nor the bottom of the list of places i wanted e to get stationed at. because of the vast culture differences and my general against-the-tide personality, my feelings toward southern living aren't what you might call positive. or forgiving. the first few days here really tested me.

it's common practice down south to give directions by landmarks. which is great if you know the area's architecture and shrubbery like the back of your hand. but when your gps doesn't register half of the roads in your area (including your own home address), it's imperative that the woman answering phones at the water supplier in town knows the directions to the office so you can go in to get your water turned on because they require you to do that in person. unfortunately, not only did the woman on the phone not know any of the road names or directions to the office from where i was, neither did any of her co-workers. but they could all tell me that i had to turn at the light by the gas station and dollar store and then turn again right before the train tracks. ask me how helpful that is.

not helpful at all.

i began to wonder if my sanity could carry through a minimum of 3 years of this. and i ached a bit for this house that i adore and the realization that if i wasn't able to hold on to my sanity, i would have to sacrifice this home and move yet again. double sigh.

then the strangest thing happened. at the garbage dump.

that's right, the garbage dump. there are no garbage men for our road (possibly our county? i'm not really sure) so we have to haul our own trash. (we're working on buying a truck so that nobody has to put smelly garbage in their car)

i've been to the dump 3 times and was startled today as i realized that i've only seen 2 men there dropping off residential trash. the other dozen-ish dumpers? all women.

i have become very well acquainted with the southern belle-- she's a southerner, so by birthright she's supposedly tough as nails and she talks a lot of game, but she also spends over an hour every morning putting on her makeup, teasing her hair, picking out the right outfit, perfecting her manicure, coordinating her perfume with her deodorant, accessorizing and eating the breakfast that best fits her diet. you'd be surprised to find that in place of dirt and spurs on her cowboy boots, she has rhinestones and bedazzled crosses. she still likes her men in wranglers and knows all about muddin', but that mud better not ever ruin her favorite pair of $120 jeans. in essence, she's a priss with an accent. if you ever picked a fight with her, she would fight dirty, but she would lose.

she wouldn't be caught dead throwing away her trash at a garbage heap. that's what her husband is for.

and that's when it hit me: i'm not in that south anymore. the more i've reflected, the more i can see it: these women are the real southern belles. they keep up with their appearances-- their hair isn't growing wild, they're tan, they have a substantial amount of "church clothes". but that well kept hair is pulled back in a ponytail and those church clothes are reserved for just that. the tan is from the hours they spend every week mowing their yard, doing their own landscaping and gardening, playing outside with their kids... it's from the actual sun. they have several pairs of boots and sneakers that are caked in mud and cracked from age and use. they drive pick up trucks with child seats securely fastened in the back. they haul their own garbage, their own building materials, anything they can carry. if you picked a fight with one of them, your face would likely need reconstruction of some sort. these women aren't proud.

but they should be. i live next door to this woman. i've seen several of them out shopping at home improvement stores and general department stores. i've seen them at the dump. i've seen them on our street.

these women are southerners. they are in fact tough by birthright, but they are also legitimately strong. they are tackling obstacles without flinching. they are facing life without complaining. they are kind and unashamed. they have no reason to put on airs for you.

if i can just learn all these damn landmarks, i think this is the kind of place i could stay for a while. at the very least, these are the kind of people i could stay around.