Stylish Aprons: Just "2-Cute"

Colorful, mixed patterns, accessories, and pizzaz!
2-Cute Aprons will launch November 23, 2013, at the Rector Crafts Fair. 
The fair will open Saturday morning before Thanksgiving.
Shoppers will be looking for gift items and treats for loved ones.
Prints with coordinating trim suggest a festive season approaches.
Couples chef aprons in Razorback pattern, chevrons, John Deere, and camo hang ready for gifting.
Frilly fashion statements with zebra print and pink hint at dessert festivities.
Lace, ribbon, flowers, and trim make these aprons "2-cute."
Finding patterns that coordinate, not match, challenges my eye and color sense.
 New fall and winter patterns and colors will be ready for you.
"2-Cute Aprons" will debut at the Rector Crafts Fair. 

Something just for you is waiting.  Custom designs may be ordered.

Lady Bug's Souvenir Fashion and Decor Tips

Motto for spending money on vacation souvenirs: “I may not pass this way again…”

Philosophy for purchasing items while on tour –one of a kind designs unlikely to appear within a 4-state radius.

                 I do wish Mother would have let me buy a “lady bug” dress.  Remember those? Everybody had one. Sometimes, 3 or 4 girls happened to wear them on the same day, perhaps by agreement. No one minded. The madras bodice with Peter-pan collar sporting the little ladybug was a must-have.  That was then. While imitation is a form of flattery, no ladybug wants to be in a duplicate outfit at the same grocery store.
                Big retailers such as Dillard’s and Macy’s carry cute outfits – but the same design in a range of sizes from 2P to 24WXL.  If you choose to splurge on a “way cute” pair of palazzo pants for your newly sculpted size 8, what could be worse than to see the same pair standing in line at the movie theatre, but in size 80XLT?  Thus, when thinking about articles of clothing as souvenirs of your trip, consider one-of-a-kind designs from that locale, something highly unlikely to appear at your neighborhood Starbucks.
                   Home décor souvenir items, such as screaming “Chevy Chase’s Vacation” tablecloths, are not used in today’s modern schemes.  Subtle in scheme, colorful, light-weight throw blankets that are useful. Look for colors and designs that blend with your living area décor or those that would accent  a guest room bed.  It would be impractical to bring home a mounted Moose head for your den, unless you actually shot it….Nah, not a good idea, regardless of circumstance.
                     Magnets, once the rage in my circle, took over my refrigerator front and both sides. My office magnetic bulletin board was covered with the cutest representations of exotic locations such as Lamberts, Home of the Throwed Roll. I may buy an especially iconic representation magnet, but one that’s small and “tasteful” like a Wyoming cowboy on a bucking steed.
                      Another temptation awaits inside the gift shop at Cracker Barrel, oft frequented by folks on the road. You could buy your wardrobe there...but wouldn't. State by State logo-designs in seasonal colors, holiday profusion, state sports team outfits…you name it. Several of our crew bought ponchos while in Nebraska. Once on the bus, they realized they could exchange them in Jonesboro, AR!!!

Like an Ole Miss T-Shirt at a Razorback Tailgate Party

Does one need special permission to wear white after Labor Day?

               The answer, of course, is “yes.” You need permission, but that permission will be granted. Exceptions exist for every rule. 

                For example, should you have the misfortune to live outside the South, and you don’t know the fashion rules, then you could be forgiven for wearing a white dress or shoes (gasp) after Labor Day.  Forgiven, but still talked about.  Should you own a yacht and host a gala onboard, your white slacks and nautical jacket could sport sailing-red, white, and navy blue. Wedding-Dress white is preferable in all seasons, especially when “off-white” once suggested something scandalous. If, let’s say, you are the Pope, the white robe and cassock combo is ok and no permissions are necessary. 

                     A white 100% cotton or linen shirt is southern-casual-classy paired with skinny-leg jeans; that is, if you’ve been blessed with skinny legs!

 

So, with all those exceptions, why is there a rule in the first place? Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. Society thrives on rules.  Rule-breakers would be so disappointed should there be no rules to break. But, let's qualify this particular rule: it’s not the white in the outfit that screams fashion faux-pas.  It’s the shoes. 

                    Your mama told you from the day you could choose cute shoes, “Put your white shoes and sandals in their boxes on the day after Labor Day.”  Her advice was right-on. White shoes after Labor Day, well, it’s “just not fittin.” When your fellow fashion friend gives your appearance the once-over, starting with your hair style and travelling down to your toe-nail polish, don’t cause rumbles throughout the South. Acknowledge that September weather is still hotter than the hinges of Hell, and humidity plus temperature dictates comfort.  Go so far as to give the OK to shorts and sandals. But the sandals must not be white.

                  White Shoes after Labor Day is akin to a beribboned picture-hat at a funeral or use of the wrong fork at a dinner party. White shoes in September stick out like 4" heels at a rodeo, like an Ole Miss t-shirt at a Razorback tailgate party. Plenty of reasons exist for why “Princess Margaret would never be a KKG,” but the paramount one must have been that she did not adhere to the upper/utter-most rule in fashion-conscious society:  There Shalt Be No White SHOES after Labor Day.

Front Porches and Southern Hospitality

                       What is it about the Front Porch that is so Southern iconic? Its shade is pleasing and coolly inviting. An expansive porch once wrapped around the non-air-conditioned house to preserve the cool of evening for the main house, well into the mid-day.


July, 1929

                Architectural designs throughout the South often encompass a front porch, a Southern staple, as much as a tomato and cucumber summer salad.
                 For moonlight and magnolia southerners, the Front Porch served as the stage for flirting, memory making and generational stories. Many a tentative Romeo has stolen a kiss while “just swinging” on Juliet’s front porch. 
      My growing-up family home had a front porch, a back porch, and a sleeping porch. We called it “the big house.” Front porch weather summoned us outside for “porch sitting.”  A cool breeze might saunter by as family gathered to share the day’s encounters.
                             When our family moved to our first “neighborhood,” our house also had a front porch. Sitting under the ceiling fan, my parents and grandparents, neighbors, too, watched us cavort across the neighboring yards and into the streets, often calling out, “Watch that car!”
                        Sometimes we kids talked and laughed while sitting on the curb until the mosquitos became vultures.  A screened front porch extended porch sitting well into the evening so there could be conversation sans mosquitos.
                       In our neighborhood, we grew up under the watchful eye of a front porch sentinel, our own version of Mrs. Gladys Kravitz.  Keeping watch from her Front Porch perch, she saw everything. Because this neighbor would not only see all, but tell all, some of us were cautious in our behavior. 

                  Comments about “curb appeal” now come from those who drive or stroll by our homes. Living beyond the front door, porch, and sidewalk, the community senses welcome from the family who dwells within a house with a pleasing front porch area. Perhaps that is why many families today continue front porch hospitality traditions rather than the more private backyard venue.
           Back yards, patios, decks, and privacy fencing have moved our porch sitting habits to a more secluded area. Fancy outdoor living spaces include grilling kitchens, private swimming pools, landscaping and outdoor lighting located in the rear of the home. The ambiance for a marvelous experience exudes hospitality, but nothing replicates the inviting community feel of a beautiful front porch and the family that welcomes us to join them for some “porch sitting.”

The Mystery of the "E"

     Skeletons. Closets. Farmersville, TX.  This tiny farming community became home to great-great grandfather Jay Horn and wife Samuel Eliza Lansford (Rike)Horn.  Genealogy records indicate they called her "Sammie."  She was the wife of Lewis Rike, brother of GW Rike, son of Robert A. Rike.  GW Rike, RA Rike, and Jay Horn, Sr. owned the first herds of cattle brought to the Farmersville area.  Lewis died young and three years later, Sammie married Jay Horn.  My grandfather, Claude Garland Horn(e), was one of their children.

     Claude set out for Camden, Arkansas (why, I do not know), arriving there in 1906.  His brother Samuel Lansford Horn (Sam) came with him.  Claude was 21 and Sam was 17.  Both became prominent businessmen in Camden.  Claude won the prize, however, marrying the youngest of the Gordon Girls and the last to marry, my grandmother, Mildred. The mystery remains:  why did Claude add the "e" to the spelling of Horn?
      A family split makes for a good story, but that does not seem the case, as my mother tagged around with, idolized, and absolutely adored Uncle Sam's daughter, Mildred, named for her mother.  Beautiful and popular Mildred died at age 19 or 20 from measles' complications. Her brothers Sammy and Billy Horn lived, worked, and raised children in Camden, but the women and girls did not socialize much at all. The men (Daddy, my Uncle Gordon, Sammy, Billy, and their other-cousin John Ritchie) enjoyed hunting, fishing, and camping trips. (According to legend, they did some hunting and fishing on their drinking trips.) I remember Susan (Mibby-Sue/ Mildred Susan) and DJ (Dorothy Jane/ Janie) slightly. Trying to form a relationship, even on Facebook, can be a challenge.  Who has ownership of all the photos of Grandaddy's side of the family? Where are the photos of Uncle Sam's family members?
     Family Mysteries are good fodder for writing, but could be solved if all the cousins could manage to join forces, share memories, and ultimately uncover the photos. Maybe we could solve the Mystery of the "E."

"Morning Rainfall" with Musical Musings

Rumble. Rumble again.
         Blink.  Blink again. 

Recognition and realization.

Rain, soft and steady, sheeting sanctuary windows.
Tug upon the covers.  Snuggle into the burrow.  Sigh. 
Sigh again. Soft and warm.
Safe. Peace. 
Symphony of rainfall. Sleep again and Smile.

Musical musings: Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head; Singing in the Rain; Rainy Night in Georgia; Rhythm of the Rain.

Birthday Pleasure: Delicious Pink Frosting

                Step back in time…way, way back to the era of a little girl’s birthday. I was transported there this morning as I visited with a Rector neighbor.  She had baked her grandchildren’s favorite cake to take to the family dinner tonight, and was busy whipping up the frosting.  As I watched and we conversed, I noted her steps and she shared that the recipe was one she’d always had within her family. When I saw the beater raised from the mixing bowl, I knew it was my family’s recipe also.  I had never made the icing myself, and I only recall one specific time when Mother, herself, made it.  For my birthday – perhaps age 3 – because I recall that we were in the kitchen of our little house on Crestwood.
                     

The cake did not matter as much as the frosting.  Our family’s basic recipe involved simple syrup and 4 egg whites plus 1 T sugar beaten into peaks by an experienced hand with a faultless rhythm.  The red handled “egg-beater” was used with skill to create stiff peaks within a Wesson Oil gray crock boasting a blue band and blue lettering.  Once the simple syrup (1 cup water, 1 cup sugar cooked to the string stage) was added in, a stand mixer could be used to create the fluffy, stiff-peaked frosting.  Add a teeny-tiny dot of red food coloring, and voila’!  Pink Icing!  

                      Want to lick the beaters?

Just Peachy

                 While the phrase, “everything’s just peachy” can be a facetious  remark in an off-handed slap to the day being a bit less than hoped, allow me to comment that, indeed, all is “just peachy.”

               We have Peaches!  It’s July, right?  Late in their arrival by a few weeks, the orchards have been suddenly laden with peaches in various stages.  Some ripe, some firm, we purchased a bushel of each. 

               What can beat fresh peaches over vanilla…frozen yogurt?  And, I cannot allow a summer to go by without my famous peach cobbler.  Not the dump it all in a casserole with something from the bottom coming to the top, but my fabulously foot-stomping, slap-yo-mama delicious, family peach cobbler.  It’s prepared first and foremost in the peach cobbler pyrex dish.  Just the right amount (or more) of the secret ingredient is added to the sliced syrupy peaches before pouring them into the prepared crust in the prepared dish and placing the divine creation into the prepared oven.

             Peaches in the morning, peaches in the evening, peaches at suppertime!

"Anyone doing tasteless or vulgar movements will be immediately disqualified!"

               Ballroom Dancing lessons. Just like learning to play bridge to be eligible for Junior League membership, young ladies and arm-twisted young gentlemen learned to waltz, tango, cha-cha,  twirl and dip. Some dancers were more talented than others, don't ya know. Those couples were our Bobby and Sissy (if you have to ask, don't), Lawrence and the Champagne Lady, our very own Johnny and Penny ("don't put Baby in a corner").
                On assigned evenings, at Miss Connie's Dance Studio (very close to Miss Maud's house), about 20 barely-teenagers reluctantly walked into her living room, cleared of all furniture and turned into a dance studio.  This was the venue for 7th and 8th grade young people to learn refined dance moves.  The teens had the Bop, The Twist, the Hully-Gully, Walking the Dog, and the Stroll to perfection, so how come, they wondered, were they back in the 40's with Glenn Miller and Stardust? They were told they'd thank their parent later.
                I was one of those teens at Miss Connie's. After we'd learned all we possibly could learn, we practiced a routine showcasing all steps, while going around in a giant circle. We participated as a group in a Spring Recital! Reflecting, I cringe for us, but humiliation for me came after the performance. My attempt to add filler to the poofy upper portion of my dress had met with disaster.  Long prior to the catch-phrase "wardrobe malfunction," my own rendition occurred as wads of tucked away Kleenex had worked their way upward, white folds peeking through the sky blue lace covering my de'colletage. I'm just glad they didn't scooch up so far as to actually escape.

            That same summer, to appease teen egos, our parents threw us a dance party!  A neighbor's carport was lighted with Christmas lights, flashing bulbs and wired for stereo. A revolving Christmas tree multi-color spotlight aimed on the dance floor added pizazz, prior to the disco-ball. A fine dance-powder gave the concrete a festive sheen and a fabulous sound as we all danced to records spun by our host's  much older brother and his girlfriend. This couple had dance moves we'd never seen.  Several in our neighborhood troupe could really do the
bop and the twist!  Iconic Sandy and Danny would not have won that Dance Contest.
              Teen-Town, where Judy danced circles around Jerry, and Panther Prowls after home ballgames filled our teen years, meeting our need to dance, even if we didn't know which guy was our partner (Hey, Am I dancing with you?). Kevin Bacon (Footloose! 1984) would have felt more at home in Camden than that two-bit town somewhere in Texas. 
                Come on, Everybody! "Let's Dance!"

Hospital Hotties: The parakeet tells all

“Have you had any previous surgeries?”
                Tonsillectomy in 6^th grade and I got a Barbie Doll and “Friday Night Date” outfit for her.  Does that count? And I’ve had all my reproductive innards ripped out in 1994 and then more cut out in 1999. 
                I chirped like a parakeet tell-all personality, filling them in on details for the next Hospital Hotties Tabloid publication.
               I learned several things myself. The medical arena has changed in 20 years.  My fears and flashback horrors never materialized.  Nurses are not only competent and kind, but they listen and these nurses encouraged me rather than drag me from my bed only to collect me in a puddle of fainting pain.  In addition, medicine itself has improved.  Doctors and nurses, anesthesiologists and auxiliary staff are patient-centered and recognize concerns and act accordingly.
                   A few things remain the same: 1. Everyone needs to see stiches, glued parts, and general frontal landscape, so modesty is totally out.  Tell Victoria that there are no Secrets!   2.  Hospital Gowns are clean and utilitarian, made in Russia and underwritten by the National Organization of Ugly Women. 3.  Measuring Input and output are nice ways of asking if you have pee-pee’d or poo-poo’d lately, how much did you eat and what do you weigh.  These numbers are important. 
                        Girls can only do so much to combat these Hospital Truths:  1. Pretend there is a geriatric hospitalization centerfold audition and these ogling examinations are your audition for a photo op: Playboy (the first-ever version for the blind.) 2. When the nurses agree that you may don undies, choose those that color-coordinate.  It’ll give them something to laugh about as you sashay down the hallway for exercise or make your way to a bed-side potty-chair. 3. Choose peaches, water, and chocolate soufflé at each meal, after you step-up from broth, Jello chunks, and frozen fruit delights.  4. Girlfriends will bring make-up, tweezers, and shampoo.  Use everything.
                                          Be assured that, given my particular situation, I am fully cognizant of the following statement:  Difficult as it may be, I have only this surgery to recover from.  No chemotherapy or additional bodily assaults.
                                As they say in these parts, “I’ve Had Worse,” and I know to be grateful.

Janie Scarlett Talks some Smack

            Gerald O’Hara: “Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O'Hara, that Tara, that land doesn't mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts.”

            I dreaded it.  It was not my idea of a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon.  Forgive me, Gerald O’Hara and Saints of the Oil and Timber Industries!  I confess my short-sightedness.

           Sunday afternoon drives south from Camden, past Mt Holly, in Union County, AR, only signaled that I might get to drive, learning to clutch, shift, gas, and brake.  Even if I hit a tree, the tree would suffer far more damage than the car. My brother and I squirmed in the back seat as most of the time our grandmother rode with us. This land was her father’s home place. 
             The tasks for the day were usually two: 

1. Pay homage to the grave site, for the marker had not yet been moved to Camden. Under a small stand of trees below and to the left of where the house had been located was the gravesite of Mary Sue Gordon, my grandmother’s aunt. 

2. Walk the lines of timber.  My brother and father walked the lines, with Daddy explaining to Thomas how all this one day would be his to manage.  Pine trees were just tiny green sprigs needing a good growing season as do cotton, corn, or soybeans.  Saplings were nurtured into mature trees which were then marketed for timber, a good cash crop.

                    Daddy petitioned the heirs to expand his role as Sue Gordon Estate manager to develop the acreage into prime timberland.  He and his brother-in-law and another of the uncles had offered the family a nice sum for the land.  My grandmother (only 1 of the 4 living sisters) and the other heirs did not want the land out of the direct-line, so they voted not to sell to Daddy. To say that this vote changed the dynamic within the family is an understatement.

                         Ultimately and for multiple financial considerations for the  Gordon sisters, Daddy brokered a deal for the family and got the sisters an excellent price for the acerage. The land was sold to a timber company, but the family retained ½ the mineral rights.  Mineral rights are important in south Arkansas, important in Union County, 16S/17W.

               In 1921, the South Arkansas Oil Boom spewed forth almost 30,000 barrels of oil to begin, just east of El Dorado. About a year later, Sid Umsted of Camden and partners (some of whom were relatives) struck a gusher outside Smackover.  The towns of Camden (Ouachita County) and Smackover (Union County) and the entire south Arkansas landscape changed overnight from a sleepy agriculture and timber area to a major player in the oil and gas economy of the state. 
              Our heritage is tied in knots in this story. We have mineral interests in south Arkansas. With the renewed interest in the Smackover Brown Dense or the Smackover Shale, within 16S/17W, I say, bring on the oil.  I’m ready to be a Baroness with black gold and green dollars.

               Where is that Prissy, anyway?

Ugly Ducklings

             Yesterday was John Deere (and John Deerest!) Day.   I finished the JD Collection of Aprons for Voila’!  Today, friends, is “Camo” Day. Even lace and a gathered yellow hem cannot make Camo pretty. Coordinating pocket trim will help, but even that can’t break them free from the Ugly Zone.

FLASH!  Surely WalMart in Kennett has Duck fabric. To rescue these Ugly Ducklings, I’ll tweak the design and Voila!, they will become Duck Commander Aprons.  And….I’m off to Walmart!

Egg Elegance: The Gordon Family Easter Egg

               Plastic eggs constitute a plebian way to provide color and capsuled confection to the celebration of Easter.  Easter Bunnies do not lay plastic eggs.

               Easter Bunnies do lay eggs, though.  Not regular eggs, but colorful and fragile Easter eggs: varied in color, filled with candy, and topped with a special “fluffy, bunny tail.” I never questioned this quirk of nature.
               Saving the shells for months prior to the dying ritual was a task, but one that perpetuated the tradition of our Easter Bunny. Pink, yellow, green, purple, blue – all colors of spring provided the spectrum for the weekly color fest, which must be performed in secret, as when children are at school or asleep.  That egg shell-dying egg-stravaganza, however, was only the beginning of the adventure for creating the one and only Gordon Family Easter Egg.
                   Family members began by buying or saving tissue paper or finding crepe paper such as the paper which creates the frills on a piñata….colorful, festive, and fragile, the kind that if wet or handled too much stains fingertips.
                Various hues of crepe paper (tissue paper) are cut into 4”x4” squares (could be a tad larger).  Don’t be stingy with the paper. It is folded, accordion style. You’ll have a “fan” about 4” tall. Cut ribbons down into the crepe paper, down to about ¾ -1”, leaving enough folded paper to fit snugly into the small open top of the empty egg shell. Scissors are used to curl the ends of each sheet of the crepe paper ribbon, like you would curl a ribbon for a package. Be careful not to rip the paper when curling it. The result should appear as a fluffy, puffy, curly “Bunny Tail” fashioned in a multitude of spring colors.  Match or Mix the toppers to the dyed egg shells.

                Fill the colored egg shells with candy corn, lemon drops, Hershey’s Kisses, jelly beans, M&M’s, and add a colorful topper.  With some degree of loving effort, you have created a masterpiece: a really awesome, authentic, and fragile, Gordon Family Easter egg.          (Photos are of my baby brother, Thomas Gordon Dansby, Easter, 1954.)

Barbie and Ken on the Cutting Edge of Excitement

           It’s not common knowledge, but Barbie and Ken have been married for 7 whole years today, March 9!  What a lot of living for them. Today's celebration includes a night on the town. The Dream Couple plans to scoot along in the Barbie-car to the Art's Council event: Clay County’s Got Talent Review.  Barbie will wear one of her couture outfits, minus the hat and gloves.  Ken might shrug the tux, but a sport coat is a must.  He’s just not dressed without one.
           This morning’s coffee and muffins were shared in the den of the Barbie Dream House, with Ken in his recliner and Barbie in her’s. Barbie checked her messages on her pink Barbie Smart Phone and her emails on the Barbie lap-top.   Fluff the Barbie-cat (who is “rare”) has not been seen for a very long time, rumored to be in a plastic bin in the Barbie-basement. Real-life Hershey prefers to sit at Barbie’s side every minute of every day and is much cuter.
           Later this morning, Barbie and Ken will work together on their various projects:  Ken will be tiling the enlarged dream-shower in the Master Bath and Barbie will be using the Barbie-sewing machine, making polka-dot and print fashion aprons for the Spring Crafts Fair.  Barbie and Ken live on the cutting edge of excitement!
           The Seven-Year-Itch has not been the subject of any conversations regarding Barbie and Ken.  No Monroe-Moment for this couple.  Should anything like that arise, Barbie would be shopping for a Ken-Kasket.

Lessons from the River House

            Daddy, my uncle, my cousins’ dad, and a couple of man-friends built the River House.  On the road toward their sanctuary, their equivalent to a woman’s spa-retreat, there were multiple opportunities to get the “Hooptie” stuck and wench out. My memories of the River House are fond in some regards, and nightmares in others. 
             Daddy and the “boys” built a one room River House with a screened front porch facing the upper branch of the Ouachita River, off the road to Sparkman, AR.  They loved that escape into rugged manhood, where they caught fish or shot squirrels for food and provided their own liquid refreshment.  Boys became men at the River House.  There, men scratched openly, belched for the Guinness Book of World Records, pooted in competition, and cussed with abandon.  With no women present, men fell into their ancient habits, those that were forged when civilization did not exist.
             At the River House, I learned to shoot a 22-rifle. I’m a great shot for beer cans and turtles perched on a log. My visits to the River House, though, can only last a few hours because I refuse to tinkle while sitting on a log.  It is because of visits to the River House in the early days that I trained my bladder to expand, expand, expand some more. I hold to a simple rule today- Always check the location of the nearest ladies room.
            My grandmother rarely visited the River House, but one Sunday afternoon, she wanted to take a little drive to see “the boys.” My grandmother was the communion-cloth caretaker of the First United Methodist Church, 4^th pew from the front matriarch of our family.  It was this grand lady who wanted to “go see her son, her son-in-law, her nephew, and friends” at the River House.

                Mother tried everything to keep the visit from happening, but was unsuccessful.  As we crossed the River Bridge, a wooden plank, side-less span, she slowed the car to a crawl and lay down on the horn. I asked her why she was honking so long and loud. Her reply, “Just to let them know we’re coming.” I learned later the Long and Loud meant Hide the Booze and pull up the ladder, Mildred is on the prowl.
                Years later, Daddy and Gordon (my uncle) bought the River House from the other boys and added on a side porch and a small bathroom.  A set of steps with a banister and a ceiling fan for the screened porch plus a window unit to cool the singular room were added. It was those improvements that mother insisted upon so that she would consider spending the night or having a cook-out there.  My brother loved the River House for he and Daddy spent days and nights there hunting, fishing, and being men. Mother could be a fabulous hostess there as Daddy cooked steaks, entertaining couples with her signature grace and ease, though it was never her first choice.
                What did the River House have to do with my girly childhood? 
                 I learned tinkle etiquette, defense from attacking turtles or beer cans, horn-blowing signals, and what a wife’s love for her husband can overcome.

Rule #1: Refrain from Drinking the Bread Pudding

         The Co-ed's Code, the college-girl's answer book for all question on appearance and behavior was a natural fit with the Southern Lady Rule Book, the Camden edition, authored by my mother and her bridge club friends. It is certain that those ladies had input in the wildly popular Handbook on Southern Graces entitled Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be A Kappa Kappa Gamma!

I willingly share these Top 5 SLRB (Camden ed.) examples with you.

1.      Be sure to acknowledge appearance augmentation such as obviously fresh hair color, face lift, boob/nose job, and fake eyelashes. They’ve spent plenty of good money for the look, so let them know you appreciate their efforts. “Darling, where ever did you get those fabulous press-on lashes?”

2.      Always inquire as to the health of relatives.  “How is Aunt Ophelia after her most recent fall from the Casino bar stool?”-or-  “I did not realize Cousin Tipsy had returned from the Clinic already.  How is she feeling, Dear?”

3.      Eat like a bird. Remember Mammy’s admonition to Scarlett. Be sure to go halves on a sandwich or dessert, ask for a take-home box, even if you only use it for a second roll and the other half of the dessert.  Forget about the starving children in China – leave a morsel or two on your plate. (Though tempting, don't drink the whiskey sauce puddled around the

       bread pudding.)

4.      Thank God for good fashion sense. When you see a Rhinestone Cowgirl outfit on a

       60+ granny who thinks she's 40 years younger, be sure to Thank God you took it

       to Goodwill last weekend.

5.      Do not buy a dress that also comes in 3XL. Though imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, it does not make up for the humiliation as you swish around in your cute little dress and the hefty-bag duplicate shows up at the next church social.

 

Ladies' Dorm Companion: Long Live the Co-ed's Code

          My mother trained me in all aspects of etiquette, but I received additional  training in college from The Co-ed’s Code, authored by the AWS (Association of Women Students) under the leadership and direction of Dean Bernice Smith, Dean of Women.  This little booklet was small enough to tuck into a co-ed’s bra, to be produced at a moment’s notice to check the rules and regs required for lady-like behavior, should said "lady" be in doubt.  An example of appropriate female behavior could be, “If in doubt, turn your back to your professor, boyfriend’s father, sorority house-mother, or college dean when pulling your asthma inhaler from your bra.”  Additionally, if a lady has imbibed too much, “always stand down-wind from Dean Smith and President Russell, ….or drink Scope.”
          The most memorable instructions, however, in the Co-ed’s Code related to dress, appearances, and behavior.

Rule 1 from Co-Ed’s Code:  Ladies are not seen in public in shorts….but ladies can be seen in a perverted get-up of gym shorts or swimming suits covered by a flasher-style raincoat, in any and all weather. Other lady-like/modesty rules include this one - Ladies should always throw clean granny-style panties to fraternity men during a “Panty-Raid.”

Rule 2 from Co-Ed’s Code:  Ladies do not walk holding a cigarette.  Instead, ladies draw a lingering drag, blow smoke rings, set the cigarette down in an appropriate ashtray, walk to the next seating area in the Student Union and ask friends to pass the cigarette, hand by hand by hand by hand until it is received between fingertips sporting manicured and polished nails.  Use generous splashes of Chanel No. 5 to cover the tobacco odor.

Rule 3 from Co-Ed’s Code:  Ladies do not form bread-lines at teas.  This rule is to avoid the appearance of having propensity to stand in a commodities line or an employment line. Ladies visit with each other, keeping an eye peeled for an opening at the tea table.  When an appropriate entry space is available, ladies should sashay to the table and load up multiple plates with all the remaining finger sandwiches and chocolate cake.  Ladies should grab a cup of punch and plenty of napkins to use instead of sleeves. Napkins with stains may be thrown away more easily than a blouse or jacket.

           I found my copy of The Coed's Code when going through items for the Burn Pile in order to reduce the number of boxes stored in the basement bedroom.  I could not bring myself to burn it, though I wished to do so many times during my college years. I internalized those 3 rules and added them to my Southern Lady Rule Book, the Camden edition, authored by my mother. You can read those 10 entries in my next post.  Each is written with the same level of respect that you sense in reading the 3 rules explained above.

Hospitable Housekeeping: A Most Worthy Goal

                 One of my most very favoritest statements regarding the art of “hospitable housekeeping” is this: “I really feel comfortable coming to your house. It’s so nice to know that if I pick up something, I’ll know exactly where to put it back down!”

          I Hate Housework.  I do it.  Occasionally.  I don’t like to do it unless I am able to tell a difference.  If I am going to give a whole morning to nothing but dusting, vacuuming, swiffering, and cleaning the kitchen, and the shower, the tub, the ….bathroom…., well I want everyone to be certain they can tell that I have given significant time to cleanliness.  Aside from my ratty looking outfit, my hair in disarray, and foul mood, I’d like someone to be able to say without a doubt that something is different here! 

If you use Windex on the bathroom mirror too often, you won’t get that, “Well, would you look at that.  Who Knew!” feeling of accomplishment!

                 Perhaps we all should have help with housework.  It dates back to ancient time when Cinderella had the blue birds helping with the laundry. Snow White had the forest creatures and the funky dwarfs to assist, and everybody was in a most cheerful mood, whistling, dancing and singing, hoping for that someday when the prince would take them away from all this! Well, I have my prince, but the birdies and bunnies outside my kitchen window do not seem to be housework inclined.
                 I rather subscribe to dear departed Erma Bombeck’s philosophy.  If you leave the clutter alone long enough, your family will think that the sock BELONGS on the mantel!  I suggest that men who are over 6’ take a vow not to look on top of the refrigerator and certainly not to glance at the ceiling fan blades.  If necessary, they should not wear glasses in the house except to watch TV or read.  No one else can see those pesky cobwebs in the corner of the laundry room.  I certainly can’t.  I’m not in there enough!
                      Let’s all take a solemn oath and toast Erma with this pledge:  “If it doesn’t multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares.  Why should you!”

The Princess Gets a Phone

           "Dial P for Princess!”  In a long line of chatterboxes, I credit my chat-status to Nana, Mother, and Ma Bell who was a savvy gal.  She was a trend-setter, a forward looking Mama, determined to cater to future generations of Alexandra Graham Belles!  After all, who spends tremendous amounts of time on the phone:  females!

             The telephone in the back hallway at Nana’s house was the one I held when Santa called! I was trained in the art of conversation by the most excellent of “Talking on the Phone” women: my grandmother and her daughter.  How did they manage their social life without a cell phone I wonder?
             Prior to the car phone, cell phone, the smart phone, the phone that cooks supper and pays bills, the family’s phone was singular-one line for an “entire” family.  If a person called the last 4 digits (rotary dial), Voila! Connection to that home and everyone in it!  All the prefixes were the same. (83)Temple 6-5354  OR simply 5354 would reach my bestest friend’s family. “May I speak to Dale?”  “Sure, Jane, Just a minute!”  Calling down the hallway, “Dale…..it’s Jane.”
             So, when Ma Bell marketed the Princess Phone, it was directed to women, thus the name, slim line in colors other than “basic black.” The Princess was a forward thinker’s encouragement to the teenage daughter to have her own “designer” phone. It was the IPod/IPhone of our generation! My friend Cindy who grew up in Jackson, TN, was featured in the newspaper because she was the FIRST teen princess in Jackson to have a Princess Phone, blue of course.  She and I were immediately fast friends; though our teen years were miles apart, our connection was clear.

                     Other markets may have offered colors of “harvest gold” or “forest green,” but our color choices were limited to periwinkle blue and puke pink. Tiny wallpaper flowers and bedspread accents were light blue, so it was a natural that I chose the BLUE Princess Phone.  We did not have an additional line, but I got to say “hello” as a Princess, placing the oval, streamlined, baby blue phone next to my bed.  In my hand was the precious receiver with spiraled blue cord that would sometimes twist into a maze as I ran it between and around my fingers, like a hair curl. Fitting the regular-sized receiver under rollers inside the bonnet of a portable hair dryer was an Olympic event in duration of conversation over endurance of pain, stretching the elastic of the bonnet to further cut into the forehead, leaving marks similar to lobotomy scars.
                  The only other downside was that the lightweight base might dangle over the side of the bed, as it could easily be jerked off the bedside table if there was much excitement involving the phone call. As a bonus, though, the dial lighted when the receiver was picked up, serving as a night light for under covers during late-night calls with friends. The Princess Phone marked a celebration of life for a teenage girl and I celebrated every day!

Indulge in an Extra Suitcase

              Before Victoria ever whispered her Secret, Frederick’s gave women plenty of ideas, but the catalog store was too flamboyant for a precious little Southern girl with a good silver pattern. I oooh-la-la’d in day-dreams about possibilities for pretty, sexy lingerie.  Mix-n-match colors and patterns for “unmentionables” resulting in absolute feminine sexiness has always been part of my fashion couture. 

            During my pre-teen years, Barbie owned all the lingerie ensembles possible plus accessories, including the pink hair brush and mirror. She dressed in her blue or pink high-heeled bedroom slippers with the pompoms and pranced around in  baby-doll pajamas or gown and robe sets. She had a pink stuffed dog to take to her 4-poster bed, matching her "nighty-nite" set. The thing was, though:  the high-fashion outfits would not fit over the underwear.  I dressed her in the panties, bra, and straight slip and then the brocade, gold strapless sheath dress.  No chance that would work. It all bunched up, most unglamorously.  So….Barbie (whisper this) never wore any underwear under those designer outfits.  I don’t think Ken knew about that!
                Barbie’s fashion faux pas did not change my mind about underwear! I love lingerie, love choosing it, deciding with which outfits to wear which pieces. Just to give you a clue, I needed an additional suitcase to pack lingerie for my honeymoon in 1970. Baby-doll pjs, fancy nighties, pretty gowns with matching robes in sheer, pastel colors, white and cream peignoir sets- all were folded and placed in “night-by-night” order.  My short sets and sundresses were complimented with matching bras and panties and also arranged by day and activity.  I was all about dressing well, with no thoughts as to undressing.  In fact, I dressed and undressed in the privacy of the bathroom every night of my life, until….I didn’t.
              Nothing screams “pretty woman” like sexy angel-ware. It’s not a man telling us we are pretty, it’s us knowing we are pretty, especially as we treat ourselves to something that is not cotton, flannel, or discards from Hanes clearance rack.  Women selectively cover curves with a starched man’s white shirt or a long t-shirt, but under it all will be sexy lingerie, or a hint of it. It’s not so much providing a visual for the men in our lives, but it’s expressing our special feminine indulgences, even under jeans and sweater, or men’s shirts (a la Shania Twain).

                 If you have not listened to Victoria as she whispers to you, I’ll share my secret: enjoy your femininity, wiggle with a smile knowing the approval we’ve given ourselves as we dress for the day, indulging in soft and silky all day long.  Indulge, dazzle and, if necessary, pack an extra suitcase!

Fashion Memories: Taffeta and Crinoline

         What’s your first fashion memory?  I love the one my fellow-Scarlet (JBR) shares explaining how punishment for her was her mom explaining, “If you don’t quit throwing that fit, I’ll make you wear shorts to school instead of a dress!”  Oh, how she’d straighten up fast, because nothing could be worse than not being allowed to wear her cute dresses.  Other friends (CB, KG, KMA) explain the trials found in getting their little girls dressed for school each day. I get great pleasure as they share stories of choosing hairbows, tights, and all the other outfit-compliments that are a “must” for today’s primary graders. It was "Miss Priss" who introduced me to Fancy Nancy.
         My first memory of fashion had me accompanying my mother to department stores, and as she tried on clothes, I tried on all the hats! My preferences then bent toward ruffled sox and Mary-Jane flats along with circle skirts topping petticoats.  I have not outgrown the desire to swish in taffeta and twirl with crinoline. Of course, knee injuries from playing chase and hide and seek added a bruise and band-aid to the girly-girl image.
         Today, “really cute shoes” with complimentary handbags and jewelry, blouses and sweaters topped with pretty scarfs in my favorite colors fill My Fashion and Style boards on Pinterest. A couple of shops here have great fashion jewelry such as chandelier earrings and huge chunky rings. They also showcase wonderful scarfs and dresses for skinny people. Really pretty jewelry, whether costume jewelry or gold, sterling silver, always has been “oooh-la-la” to me. (Serendipity and Studio C in Paragould, Now and Then in Rector, and Feather Your Nest and The Treasure Chest in Piggott)
             When I recently examined a baby’s breath tiny pearl necklace and a teency heart bracelet engraved with my initials, my jewelry fascination was revealed. Rings, bracelets, necklaces can be had for “cheap” today, or you can swing by Jared’s to pick up a few Pandora charms.  Ask me about “Prom-Queen Forever” and “Lucy the Fish” charms.  Aren't you just tickled by the commercial on TV for the “Red Hot Love Bead?”

              Wearing pretty jewelry each day insists on manicured nails and a great haircut.  It’s fun to stack bracelets and rings, feeling Queenly, even in jeans in Rector. Just as an FYI, I don’t intend on carrying the Queen’s handbag! (subject of an upcoming Post!)