Most across the River

This fall has been one of many changes in the household of the Fabulous Ma'am.  Tom Berenger and The Captain have been in heavy preparation for white tail deer season, so Tom B. has been gone quite a bit. Also, our oldest boy Should Be a Bachelor, has been flying in from California pretty often, talking about relocating his oil field interests back to Texas. What it looks like to me is he is missing home and trying to find a way to be on a steady rotation of hunting and fishing with his daddy. I am hopeful he will divorce or desert the wicked wench he, for some unknown reason, married a couple of years back. The youngest boy, The Bachelor, is now installed in a new house, minutes away, so I can continue to feed him on a regular basis.

My tiny tot, Trixie, is growing up. Halloween is her favorite holiday. She has been a witch 7 out of 10 years. This year she chose an alien costume. Not illegal. The kind that comes in a space ship. I begged her to be something pretty but she informed me she was like Tom B. and I couldn't make her into a sissy girl. So Halloween comes and the new neighbor, Winston, same age as Trix, invites her to trick or treat. Instantly my tomboy wants to wear my tiara and go as a girl. with lipstick. So, I just happen to have a tutu and some sparkle, so throw on some tights and a black tank, and she is a princess ballerina. And now she is asking me if I think she should marry Winston when she grows up.She tells me I have to accept that she isn't going to be little forever. She is going to have to grow up. What is strange is that I don't feel all that grown up, so how can she grow up.

When I think of grown ups, I think of Big Daddy and Teeny Mama and they are about 38. All grown ups to my memory were 38. So how is it that two months ago we celebrated Big Daddy's 80th birthday? When I think of him, he is the strongest man in the world. Family urban legend has a story where some cousins came out to the country for a visit. The boys, Big Daddy, Big Brother, and Baby Brother were down at the river, so the cousin was sent down to fetch them. He said when he got to the river, Big Brother was tying up the boat, Big Daddy was in hipwaders, carrying the motor, a bushel of oysters, and his Baby Brother on his back. Business as usual.   The favorite pictures of them is from when they were grammar school boys. It must be summer because the three are lined up, barefeet and overalls, on a dirt road. Big Brother is first, Baby Brother is in the middle, and Big Daddy, the middle child and the tallest, is on the end.  I love this picture, have it framed in my office. They are frozen in time.

For Big Daddy's birthday, I did a slide show of almost 300 pictures, gathered far and wide by my Carolina Cousins, all in secret for the big day. It was entitled "My Life So Far". I started with a picture of a beautiful oak tree on a bluff, overlooking the Cape Fear River. This is the place Big Daddy was born. It is still in the family and many of his paternal cousins live on the land. His maternal cousins have the same gifted situation at Gore Plantation. Three generations all together.  For his grandchildren to see him as a little boy was fascinating. They all looked at the old pictures of his brothers and sisters and picked out who they all favored.  The family resemblence is strong throughout.  When Big Daddy grew up in the pictures and married the beautiful young woman who they know as Teeny Mama, the kids didn't like it.The picture of the newly married couple hugging on the couch sent them into a tizzie fit. "Where's me" "When do I get in the pictures". The idea that my sister and brother and I were ever children is just more than they can take. Fast forward to a white haired, handsome man, and that is Big Daddy. Still strong as an ox, a little worse for wear. And Teeny Mama, just as beautiful as ever. Especially with a big baby in her lap. Her favorite time and theirs as well.

My father's baby brother was my Uncle Glenn. He and my Aunt Mary had 3 sons and lived in Florida. . Big Daddy was in Vietnam or Africa, or somewhere on the other side of the world, and we got to go to the beach everyday when Uncle Glenn came.When they would come for a visit it was like a vacation for us.  Now that I think of it, the trip was usually me and 4 or 5 boys, depending on who wasn't in trouble with Big Mama. But he always took me. None of that "only the boys" stuff that many in the family would pull on a girl. It was the best.

Ten years ago, Big Daddy and his remaining siblings all met at a beach house in Florida. Tom Berenger and I were the chaperones. It was hilarious to see them all back at about 38 . Sure the brothers all had white hair and the aunts all stayed stuck together, trying to get all the visiting possible.
 Tom B and I headed out to a bar in Destin and listened to bands, met a most interesting couple, she with a tattoo (I had never, at that point,spoken to a tattooed women, to my knowledge) and he  handsome in a bad boy kind of way. They asked to share our table on the crowded deck. Always one to get in people's business, I asked if they were married. He said no, he was a widower. So young, and a widower. What had happened. Turns out she was murdered.  I asked if they caught the person or had a suspect. " They are look pretty heavy at me" was his reply. Tom B was at the bar so missed this part of the conversation. When we came back our new "friends/murder suspect" invited us out on his boat. Fortunately, I had a sick migraine on cue and we were out of there!
So we rented a pontoon boat and took the uncles out. They were so funny and happy to be with us. I remember getting ready to dive off the boat and Uncle Glenn told me "Honey, you sure do fill out your bathing suit a lot different then when you were a little youngun". With that, I went overboard. He shared with Tom B and my Uncle Julian " If the good Lord made anything better than a pretty woman, he kept it to himself". What a compliment.

As I told you a couple of months ago, we lost my dear Aunt Mary. She and Uncle Glenn were the perfect, devoted couple. Two peas in a pod. He was lost without her. When my cousin Mike called to tell me his daddy, my Uncle Glenn, my daddy's baby brother, had died of a broken heart , 2 months to the day of Aunt Mary's passing, it was the saddest feeling. I drove over to my parents to break the news. One of the only times in my life I have seen my father cry. As Trixie put it, we have lost Baby Brother. As Christians, we know he and Aunt Mary are in paradise. For those here on earth, we feel their loss.  Old Daddy, my granddaddy, was an eternal pessimist. If you asked him how he was, his was reply was "I'm most across the river". Meaning he was in such poor shape he would soon pass over into eternity. He had this condition until he died, just months shy of 90.

So Uncle Glenn, Goggy, is now across we river.  A handsome, beautiful, loving man. Eternally 38 and on the Carolina Beach.  He will be sorely missed.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am

It's not all that without a Fabulous hat

At the turn of the twentieth century, my great grandmother ( the original Tinny) and her sister started a tradition during a visit home.  Those were not the days for a fashion budget, so these sisters got creative and traded hats. What was old to Mama Tinny was new to her sister, so they looked forward to this exchange on each trip.

My Cousin Tinny, of whom I often write, told me of this story on a long ago visit and we decided to make it our own. With a slight variation. To Tinny's favor. Whenever we visit, I bring a hat for my dear cousin. Since she knows my hats are near and dear to my heart and identity,   part of my very being , she wouldn't consider taking one of them. No, only a  stylish new hat that I have brought  especially for her will do. The bigger the better. Hats should be not only a fashion statement but also a protection from the elements and a stylish topper for any occasion.  Whether paired with my signature white linens on the Carolina beach or keeping the sun off Tinny as she tends her heirloom garden,  a good straw hat says "I am a Southern women. A force to be reckoned with".


Take the Southern belle of all times, Scarlett. When first we see this flirty girl, she is wearing just about the coolest bonnet one could ever wish for. That big, gorgeous straw hat with the yards of ties under the neck was so stunning  it took away almost all attention from those twins who had hair the color of Tang. Against Melanie's QuakerState bonnet, you could tell it was going to be a tragic end for poor sweet Mel, fashion speaking and otherwise.  Scarlett's bodacious brim was so fabulous for the barbeque at Twelve Oaks, that our dear Scarlett  looked fabulous, fiddle dee dee, when everyone at the Wilkes' ancestral home was betting Ashley was off to join the ballet while the other rowdy guys where off to the army.   Give me that rascally Rhett any day. Just saying.
Not Southern, but still very chic, Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, will forever be remembered in that fabulous felt fedora as she told Humphrey Bogart (looking like a basset hound) "we'll always have Paris."  You know in that scene at the airport, you see all the people working far off by the plane ? Well, they really weren't  far away. They were midgets. Truth is stranger than fiction. Off point, but needed to be said.

Jackie Kennedy did great things for the millinery industry with those cool little pill box numbers. Only problem created for the next 40 years was that women thought the way to wear a hat was like poor old Jackie, perched on the back of her head. Wrong. Hats should be placed on your head, the brim pulled down to your eyebrows and then up a little. Gives that illusion of mystery. yesterday I was running late  to the TicTacNailShak, so I brushed my hair back and grabbed my Kaminsky widebrim to compliment my linen a-line, flat sandals and off I went. A customer was having trouble finding the perfect shade of red, so asked my opinion. After setting her up with I'm Really Not A Waitress Red, my consult told me "Thank you. I can see you are a person of taste". To be recognized as a person of taste, especially at the TikTak is more than I ever hoped for when I left the house.  Amazing, Friday night mascara, but a great hat instantly puts me in the realm of Person Of Taste.

I have hats that have sentimental value, such as my romantic hat from Monte Cristo's in  Santa Fe. It has my name embossed in the band and just looking at it makes me think of one of my favorite places. Then there is the crazy HUGE straw cowboy hat that looks like I could wear it to shop at RoundTop Trade Days or to my day job picking watermelons. My nephew , Texas Ranger, borrowed it for a day at the beach back in June and I haven't seen it since. Then there is the straw hat bought on the French Rivera to keep me from sunstroke on the nude beaches . Fear not, Fabulous Ma'am did not go Native in Nice, I wore a one piece bathing suit, zinc oxide and a straw  with a navy ribbon that made me look like Madeline. Since we are talking about nude beaches, I have one thing to say. Don't do it. It's not pretty. The people you see are not what you might have imagined. Think 90 year old man in less than a speedo. 100 year old leather-like lady who has obviously nursed 4 generations.  You have a strong desire to poke your own eyes out with your drink umbrella. I digress.

Perhaps no sporting event is more to my liking than the Kentucky Derby. Fast action, cocktails starting in the morning, and a sea of decadent hats. What could be more perfect? On this one day, nothing is outrageous for one's chapeau. In fact, the horses are really secondary(for me) to the splendid millinery parade( sorry Seabiscuit).

So friends, on these hot days of August, remember the sun is not your friend. A big hat and Neutrogena SPF 100 will keep your skin from looking like Corinthian leather. Can you imagine Scarlett with a tan? Not in a million years.  A Southern girl knows the importance of a good hat. And keeping the plantation in the family.

I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am



Cousin Tinny
Gore Plantation,Brunswick County
North Carolina

Memories in Capri Pants

These past few weeks have been bittersweet. The Fabulous Ma'am has been able to visit with my extended family on a regular basis, even though we are spread across the country. We have been going though the picture boxes, finding pictures of us as children, and posting them on Facebook. Interesting to see how the family resemblance goes on throughout the generations. Seeing Teeny Mama in Capri pants, cuddled up next to a skinny tall man that can only be the pupa of what would become Big Daddy. The parental units and the aunts and uncles all look like teenagers. They are always hugged close together, I notice in the photos.

Big Daddy came from a family of 5. He is the middle son, followed by two girls.  Funny to see them all sitting on an antique looking car with their daddy. Pictures of Daddy and Oldest Uncle in their sailor uniforms with Big Mama, as they were about to leave for the Navy. In Big Daddy's graduating class of 14,  nearly all the boys joined the service just as the Korean War was beginning. We learned the same was true for the next class as well. All were friends and many joined up together. We see the pictures and think they look like kids. They were kids. The military was a ticket to an education and a life off the farm.

Social networking usually gets on my nerves. What I see is kids with iphones, texting nonstop and never looking up while around their families. As children, our social networking was positioning yourself as close to the grownups as possible and then keeping your mouth shut so you could listen to their conversations.  So much can be learned while pretending to be cuddled up asleep. That's when they talked about the realllllly interesting stuff.  While I think social networking today is creating a generation who spend all their time not socializing with the people around them but texting to someone who must be super important, there are cases where it is a blessing.

Through social networking, a group was created called the Clamdigger Union. A tongue in cheek group comprised of the "old families" of the little NC town where my family has lived since the American Revolution. The Union came into our lives a few years ago by fluke.  A picture of a highschool basketball team from 1949 was posted and the question was" can you identify these boys".
I received a message from one of my younger cousins that a picture of Big Daddy's team had been published and she identified him. Our interest was peaked. I looked at the page and started reading the question of the day page. That day's question was "what was your best memory of the movie theater". Mine was going with Big Mama to see Sleeping Beauty and her explaining to me why we couldn't sit in the balcony because it was for Colored People.  My response caught the eye of one of the older cousins who had been my baby sitter. She made contact. We began to Social Network, locating all her brothers and sisters. Then she received a message from someone who had gone to school with my father all those years ago. Much to our amazement, he revealed that his birthmother was her grandmother's sister. He had been adopted but it was not spoken of in those days.

So from then on , we all began reading and contributing to the Union. Our very own social network. I was reunited with my best friend from 3 year old Sunday School. With my first crush from that same class. And with family I never knew I had.

For a big family, we have been very lucky. The greatgrandparents lived long and died in their sleep. My Big Mama and Old Daddy both lived into their late 80s and just slipped away. Only two tragedies touched us, to my memory. My Aunt Carol, young and beautiful, with two little kids, went into the hospital for elective surgery and never came out. How does someone die at 32? During the Vietnam war, we shared the agony of that time when our Cousin Kenny was killed. He was not 19. Losses that are mourned forever, but still, we have been lucky.

Now the parents are getting old,  my Baby Boomer cousins and I  are babies no more. We thought the "grownups"   would be those young , laughing people, in Capri pants, and happy forever. Reality came  a couple of weeks ago when, through social networking, prayers were asked for my Aunt Mary. A person universally described as the sweetest lady anyone could ever meet. She loved my Uncle Glenn like a teenage crush throughout 50plus years of marriage. Never a harsh word, only a smile that was so big it made her eyes nearly close. One of my cousins described her has being able to stay above the fray of the family crazies and always find time for a nap on the couch.

Soon daily phone calls to Florida began. And then I got the call that she had passed away. This dear sweet angel gone to heaven.  All I could think of was her smiling , about to laugh. How we looked forward to seeing that Nova pull into the gate at Big Mama's. It meant endless fun. The boys flew out of the car and we knew it was only minutes before we would be headed to the beach.  With Big Daddy in Vietnam, we only went to the beach when the Uncles came to visit. A memory I will never forget.

So, today I sit in my playroom. All quiet, with Tom Berenger 75 miles offshore and Tiny Tot visiting with her grandmother, Mama Mia. I think of my sweet aunts who provided so much love and laughter.  They were blessings to all who knew them. I cherish their memory and encourage others to connect with family. In the end, it is from where our comfort comes.

God Bless Aunt Mary and Aunt Carol,  til we meet again.

I remain,

The Fabulous Ma'am

Heard It In A Love Song

There hasn't been  really good music since my generation. When I hear the music of my youth, I am instantly transported to that moment, that feeling, that great hair. What I can understand of today's lyrics, and granted it is limited, seems to dwell on that being formerly known as ones father, currently known as "my baby daddy" or killing the police, doing deadly drugs.  or other acts of random tackiness and ill will. I don't get it.On Dick Clark's American Bandstand, the songs needed two things . Had to have a beat and you could dance to it. I think this generation doesn't even realize what they are missing.One of my nieces tells me she likes my music because it is about stuff. Indeed.


"Play that Funky Music White Boy  ". Now that is a song that everybody reacts to. Seriously, that gets you on your feet. I have a friend who is a rather respected physician and will be acting all professional until his cellphone breaks into "Funky Music White Boy". Instantly, he is back at the Frat House and it is on like Donkey Kong!(Whatever happened to Donkey Kong? The name alone should insure immortality at some level. I digress).Super Freak stands the test of time. When I hear Maggie May, I'm instantly dancing in my purple bedroom in 7th grade..


 At my recent reunion, I joined my posse from 4th grade in that time honored tradition of dancing with your girlfriends.  My BFF ,Ginger Rodgers, was jumping up and down outside the ladies room at the Yacht Club for me to hurry before we missed The Electric Slide.  About the time we get in position, the song switched to "Brick House". Contrary to urban rumor, although always identified with The Fabulous Ma'am,  Brick House was NOT played at my wedding(s). Nor was Rod Stewart's "Hot Legs". That was at my brother's nuptial.  My signature song has and will always be Brown Eyed Girl, Van Morrison version. Tom Berenger has named a boat after it. Or maybe I did that, so  sea wenches would realize all that is TomB and his fine self is already hopelessly devoted to moi.


 Speaking of hopelessly devoted, when my brothers' children were little, I taught them all the words to the soundtrack of Grease. They thought I had total recall, not realizing it was the 20th anniversary of  this screen version of a Broadway play.. I always liked Rizzo singing Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee. lousy with Virginity.  I only like Olivia/Sandy when she put on the leather clothes and high heels and sang "You're the one that I want". I could sing all the songs, and all the parts. My version of Hopelessly Devoted was so NOT pathetic like Olivia/Sandy in her pink babydoll pajamas. I also taught them Camelot one summer. C'est Moi!.


Other than musical theatre, my love of James Taylor and Carly Simon is second only to my devotion to all things Stevie Nicks. Stevie and Lindsey Buckingham made their first album pre Fleetwood Mac in my freshman year of college. Stevie was so avante garde and instantly became my icon. Not to be confused with Barry White, The Icon of Love. After all, nothing spells love like a four hundred pound black man with relaxed hair and numerous dangling gold medallions. With lines like "take off your brassiere, my dear", it is easy to see how Barry endured for 30years. My First , My Last, My everything.
Gladys Knight and those Pips with Midnight Train to Georgia is another tune that will get everybody into instantPip mode during the refrain just before "I'd rather live in his world, than live without you in mine" (Arm pulling train whistle double time natural reflex). I don't know why they got named Pips but that song made being one seem like the next best thing to being Gladys herself.
With the legendary bad acting and great dancing of Travolta in Urban Cowboy, we all went country. Two stepping was an all weekend activity. The Fabulous Ma'am actually sang with a cover band for a brief stint until Teeny Mama and Big Daddy came to a performance. At a honky tonk called Momma's Worry. It lived up to its name and my career was nipped before Nashville.


My appreciation for all things REAL cowboy went into sharp focus. Not what we call "all hat, no cattle" but real cowboys. Bull riders, even better.. Something so attractive about a man  whose idea of fun is climbing onto the back of a huge and crazy bull and seeing just what it takes to make 8 seconds. O my yes.
Then came my Epiphany.   George Strait came into my life. "You'll Always be the fire I can't put out"  I was forever devoted. Hopelessly devoted. George has it all. Face, hat, voice, wranglers, and he is a real cowboy. He team ropes with his brother. A more perfect man, other than Tom Berenger, and Big Daddy, there will never be.


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One of our in-laws had an starter marriage that was full on cowboy/rodeo regalia. Never have I seen the bride get rolled over the back of the dancing groom in a full on wedding ball gown with broken in Luchesses for the first dance. It was like being on a movie set for  Oklahoma!  In retrospect, the best part of that short lived pairing was that wedding reception.  I do , however, draw the line, when the bride breeches all laws of decency and decorum and even THINKS about using the Jack Daniels garter. Not prudent. Nor tasteful. True mark of a starter wedding. Like a starter home. Not where you plan to live forever, but its a start. Think of it as the ranchette of romance.


Lyndard Skynard. TomB wants me to pass out Bic Lighters at his wake and have Freebird played. Last year we went to see the remade Lyndard S at the rodeo. TomB and I were the only ones in the arena, I'm pretty sure, with a full set of teeth and no tattoos but these fans were fired up. It's probably the only venue where you see the Confederate Flag and it is not immediately classified a hate crime!  When they play "Gimme Three Steps" I just go with it and hoot and holler. Then come home and have what is called "voice rest' for three days.


Listen to Rod Stewart sing "when a man loves a woman" and who wouldn't melt.  Jimmy Buffett's "Come Monday" was so romantic that is was only after a long courtship that my sister asked her beloved Dennis   Quaid "what is a brown nelly haze".  Brown LA Haze was what Jimmy was talking about, but the mood and magic had already been set forever.


These days, I listen to Cat Stevens again. His new name is Yusuf, I don't care about his politics, his beautiful and soulful voice is the same. Carole King and James Taylor did a great live album last year, playing all the classic songs. I like Darius Rucker post Hootey and love the Girl Gone Crazy songs like Gunpowder and Lead.  But it's Brad Paisley's song "She's Everything To Me"  that plays in my head. In younger days it would have been a song I imagined Tom B would have chosen in his almost cult obsession with The Fabulous Ma'am. But now, it is the song I think of when I see my Tiny Tot. My mini me. My Trixie is, well, she's everything to me.
 I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am

Musings of The Fabulous Ma'am: Yoga on the bayou

Musings of The Fabulous Ma'am: Yoga on the bayou

In my mind I'm going to Carolina

It's spring , so you know it is time for the annual Roots Tour of The Fabulous Ma'am. Since the weather is still cool, the flowers are in bloom and the Yankees have not yet descended like locust on the Atlantic Seaboard . Perfect for my trek with Tom Berenger to visit The Cousins. You may remember my cousins live on the family plantation, everybody having their own house ( not like The Ewings in Dallas. I never understood with all that oil money, why they couldn't get out from under Jock and Miss Ellie) and no neighbors except  siblings. My Great Uncle JD passed away and there was a time we feared The Yankees would take Tara, so to speak. But all is well, and as has been the habit for decades, three generations are all together and ready for family far and wide to come stay.

 Like all Southern folks, The Cousins want to see about you. This means they cook and you just visit.You are allowed to bring liquor and the type or brand is not important. You are occassionally allowed to take them to lunch, but only after they ok  the place(. Remember about the issue of whether or not the grease has been changed).  Tinny and I like to run the roads, go to the cemetaries and dig for flowerbulbs. Tom Berenger runs with Tinny's husband, Ben Casey, and the naturalist Harold Barnum. They hit the Intercoastal before the sun is up and return in time to eat.  Peg, Tinny's sister and partner in crime, stays home and fixes dinner while we are gallivanting all over the county. Peg says she is just throwing something together. The something is Clams Casino for 50 as an appetizer. Did I mention Peg dug the clams? Oh yes.  Then we have Shrimp Fried Rice and Shrimp Egg Rolls. As you remember, The Cousins only eat seafood caught by other family members and they put Forrest Gump to shame on ways to prepare it. They are branching out from the tried and fried standards.

 Peg has a husband who cracks me up.  He informed me he was quite the catch as far as husband material went.  He possesses both a drivers license AND a full set of teeth, making him the equivalent to a contestant on The Bachelor in Brunswick County. Buddy is the quintessential Good Ole Boy.  For those not from our area, there is a huge difference between A Good Ole Boy and A Redneck.   Rednecks are fun to party with (think Lynard Skynard audience) while a Good Ole Boy is the one you marry. George W. is a Good Ole Boy. So is Tom Berenger. I didn't make this rule up. I saw it on National Geographic. Remember National Geo is the first place most people saw naked people outside of your blood kin. So they are pretty scientific and know what they are talking about.

Tom B. loves the cousins because they are all "quite outdoorsy" just like he is. He would live there in a second but since there are no oil fields, not much need for his expertise. That's when he comes up with the idea that he is going to fish professionally. Didn't that little Jacques Cousteau do that?Poor little Jack did not look good from all that sun. Like a little French raisin, he was always so peppy, oblivious to the melanoma that was fixin to eat him up. Somebody should have gotten him a big fly fishing hat with a string so it didn't blow off the Calypso. You would think a stylist would have been consulted before poor little Jack took off in that little knitted skull cap. And another thing, that Calypso didn't look too swanky to me. Calypso makes me think Planters Punch and steel band. Not skin cancer and a ski cap.  I just don't get the concept of using a boat with such potential for such a blue collar operation. I digress.

  One of my favorite visits on this trip was with my cousin that used to be in the war with me. . RJ came down from Winston to the beach. It seemed like he would never get to the house and I was out in the road looking because we all know that makes the car come faster.  Finally, the car drove up and The Fabulous Ma'am ran ( a shock to all to behold) off the porch and just jumped on RJ.  We hugged and laughed and just looked at each other. We had not been together since I was in preschool. He was almost grown at the time, 2nd grader I believe.

We loved war.We learned tactics from watching Rat Patrol and Combat. Our other cousin, GW, had all the weapons an army could ask for and occasionally I got to be his recruit. That was only during minor battles, and when we lost, I went  before the firing squad for treason. I think this is when being an Axis power became appealing. I got more satisfaction out of being THE ENEMY, since I was totally involved throughout the campaign.    No matter where the battle, be it European , Pacific Theater, or in the African Desert, I was always the star .I was a Nazi. Sometimes I was a Japanese.(red hair and freckles didn't fool this soldiers). RJ and Brother were always Marines. That being said, this was the first time we ever just sat and visited without me being tied to a tree.

Brother was always the commanding officer with RJ as second in command. Think of Brother as Patton ( no sympathy) and RJ was more General Bradley.  Since I was the only girl cousin (Tinny and Co. were at the beach and we were in the country) I was a natural for the role of combatant or a POW and an integral part to the war effort.  I imagine these days, such a daily occurrence  would put me in child protective custody and Generals Patton & Bradley would face court martial. Those were gentler times.

 Our most memorable mission, other than when I got shot, was when we dug the fox holes in the peanut field. Without the distraction of  an XBOX, we were able to devote all our time to digging. Tunnelling had been a failure, so Brother came up with the idea of camouflaging the fox hole with a sheet of zinc from Old Daddy's barn. After the zinc was in place, we covered it with soil. Then brushed out any traces of footprints with a pine branch. It was  perfect. So very perfect. Until we trapped Old Daddy.

That was super bad. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.  The boys got a spanking and I was spared, I think, because I had that protection via Geneva Convention.Or because I got behind Big Mama and cried like a girl. Old Daddy wouldn't spank a baby girl. Even a Nazi baby girl.



So on one fine day in April, two soldiers sat and reminisced. And like most reunions, we only thought about what was good, how the days back then went on forever, and how it had been way too long since our last time together. And how the 7 hours in that porch swing seemed like 15 minutes.

God bless my family. And our troops. Wherever they may be.

I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am

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Springtime at the Swankienda

We are in the countdown. Springbreak has come and gone , the date of Official Endangered Species will be here in a couple of week, the entire county is suffering from an allergy commonly known as The Crud, and I am in over drive. That's right: Springtime is about to hit the Swankienda.

Every year at this time, The Fabulous Ma'am and Mr. Fred, my loyal yardman/event planner/brick mason start a month long process where I attempt to create  a landscape worthy of Southern Living in the desolate dirt of Zone 10, Southeast Texas.  Forget all the pictures of tulips and peonies. You can buy them but they won't grow. So, the minute the Big Umbrella Store opens, I fill up my cute little SUV and drag back as much as possible. Between the oil patch and The Endangered Species lady, Tom B is pretty busy.Yard work is not high on his list of priorities.

Good thing he is preoccupied because it wouldn't take much to realize I'm clearing   OCD'ing on my boxwoods. Clandestine  trips to the drugstore to refill the muscle relaxers, stick on heating pad(haven't mastered that yet. Surgical tape will keep it on, but then I have to deal with loss of skin that is not unlike the underbelly of a tree frog. I digress), and copious bottles of moscato. Moscato is my new "working beverage" since it doesn't feel like real wine and thus does not demand crystal.   Sister bought these fabulous RedNeck Wineglasses for Christmas. 8ounce Mason jars atop cut glass pedestals. They were the perfect addition to my outdoorsy decor that included a wreath made of shotgun shells. It brought tears to my eyes, it was so perfectly Tom B. So, from a hydration/pain management standpoint, I'm ready for action.

Remember those tulips that have been in the refrigerator since September and planted on New Year's Day? As usual, dead as a hammer. But, I do it every year, so why stop believing? Speaking on Don't Stop Believing, this is also the time when I break out the only music ever made, 70's music , progressive country, and disco, and dance around the Swankienda and backyard. During lunch or siesta, Mr.Fred gets to play his boombox and sleep in my yard.  It is all so transformational, I quickly get into  my tropical oasis mindset.

Tom B. has done his best to bring relics of nature back to the yard. Just to keep it real. Martha S. calls it that touch of whimsy. However, the article Martha has at Turkey Hill don't hold a candle to the stuff I got. Take , for instance,  the cow spine that he and Trixie found out in the field during one of our evacuations and brought home. Trixie drug it up to the ranch house and announced she had found a dinosaur and she was pretty sure it was a pterodactyl.   Well,after it made the rounds for "show and tell" at the elementary school,  it came to rest  under a tree, inconspicuous for a long time. Til the squirrels got into it. Walking out in the morning, Little Black Dress & black patent heels, I approach my ride just as a cervical bone falls out of a tree. On another day, I worry I have overdone it on my self medication when I see a tiny skull with a bushy tail running along an oak branch. Seems the curious squirrel found the baby deer skull, tried it on as a squirrel joke, and got stuck in it. Probably felt claustrophobic and was on his way for help when I spied it.

Back to my garden.  My whiteflag iris from my late, great aunt in North Carolina are in bloom. The Spiderwort from my grandmama's yard are in bud. The cyclamen planted at Christmas are still looking good. The pansies are tired, so Mr. Fred is bringing in tons of begonias( the dark leaf kind that can take the sun. I prefer the lighter color leaf but they go 3rd degree burn and proceed to die an agonizing death). The violas were snipped early on Saturday morning and delicately graced the handmade chocolate truffles I made for my soiree. Tom B is trying to be kinda helpful because he doesn't know I heard him planning on ditching me for a hunt with the Captain next week, so he mowed the yard. Mr.Fred drove by and saw that my landscape had been violated by another. When I called him, he kinda cold shouldered me and then asked if I had a crew in my yard already. Told him no, it was only Mr. B.   Ok, I've been faithful in our relationship, so we are back on track for my party countdown.Mr. Fred arrives and sheepishly brings the matter up. He admitted that he was "jelly" when he thought I had hired strangers.Clearly smitten. Sister asked for Mr.Fred to work for her, but I told her only one job or else I would be "jelly".

Mr. Fred works for Tiny Mama sometimes. She smells real good. Fred tells me. Why don't I smell good like her? I don't know what to tell him? Is this a deal breaker? Is he gonna start charging more? Another worry I had not contemplated. Again, I digress.  I planted bluebonnets under the crape myrtle tree, so they pay homage to our great state. In about 20 years, I can charge people to take pictures of their kids amongst my magnificent wave of blue. OR, I can direct them to the spot on FM646 where I take Trixie every year and pretend it is Hill Country.

Sister advised me on Knockout Roses, so banked the sunroom in those. Then my standards of hot pink geraniums, lavender, sweet alyssum, and blue saliva. This year in cobalt blue pots to accentuate the blue fountain I repo'd off Tiny Mama. The flats of grass where rolled in on Thursday, it FINALLY rained on Friday, and the sun came out just as my guests arrived for parTAY on Saturday. 

Every girl should have a Mr. Fred. He is just perfect. Always does what I want, when I want, doesn't make a mess,never says "does it have to happen now?"  and leaves until I need him again.  At my beck and call, waiting for my next project.

 And there will be one.  Next month, I'm doing my roots tour back to Carolina. You know what that means: My cousin Tinny and I will be out early, armed with some wine, sunscreen, and drywall buckets. Digging up flowers from all our long lost relatives' yards. We will visit all the cemeteries, the family buried on the golf course, and the last of the line who are actually alive and living at the original family place on the banks of the Cape Fear.
I'll be just in time for the famous Azalea Festival. This belle's going home. For a little bit.
Til next time.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am

Musings of The Fabulous Ma'am: Boys and their Toys

Musings of The Fabulous Ma'am: Boys and their Toys: Well, things have been a bit crazier than usual around The Fabulous Ma'am's swankienda lately. First of all, Tom Berenger has been up at Cle...

Boys and their Toys

Well, things have been a bit crazier than usual around The Fabulous Ma'am's swankienda lately. First of all, Tom Berenger has been up at Clear Creek Ranch with The Captain working on something called game management. Now, on first hearing of this, I'm thinking what kind of games do they have going on up there that they need managing? That's when Tom Berenger explains that some Yankee lady petitioned the Wildlife Department or whatever the government calls that office that has more time than sense to make the Oryx an "endangered species". You didn't even know they existed, right? So why's this woman all worked up about protecting them? Just so you know, the Oryx is an exotic antelope that , in it's native Africa, is tiger food.  In the Texas Hill Country, they live a happy life, get to breed like rabbits, and for a few a thousand dollars, Yankees come out and hunt them. The rest of the time they are like shy pets. Butterball ( she and her mate, Tom) arrived on Thanksgiving one year, so PatsyCline named them after the  Pilgrims holiday meal main features..  They went on to have a bunch of babies, the first one we saw was , of course, named Pumpkin Pie. They have beautiful long horns and are just very cool animals. I digress. So, the Yankee lady wins her court case and gets them declared "endangered" starting March. What this means to a rancher is the animals cannot be hunted, will overpopulate, and generally eat you / of house and home. So, Smarty Pants Lady caused all sales of the oryx to be cancelled. An then the Oryx quickly went from soon to be "endangered" to sure as hell extinct. The Capitan invited a Wounded Warrior to come out and take down Tom. Not having the heart to hunt Butterball himself, The Captain had Tom B. come up to put poor old Mama Oryx on the extinct list.  It was the birthday weekend for Tom B and also The Captain, so my oldest, The Needs To Be Bachelor, came in for the hunt. Well, Butterball bit the dust with much fanfare. I cried and PatsyCline was unconsolable to have her pets gone.
 Another reason we are Republicans in the NRA. What good is it to declare an animal who is not native to Texas as endangered when all that does is destine it to be on the wildlife welfare dole. Don't get me started. PatsyCline is now in bigtime Election year mode and this just fueled the fire.

I mentioned our oldest came home to be with his daddy for the birthday hunt.. Well, as if we dont' have our hands full with our youngest , The Bachelor, put the two of them together with Tom B . and it is WWF, full on cage match. Even though the boys are thirty-ish, they still like to sneak attack their Pa and wrestle. In the front yard. With neighbors watching. Well, all those years of Oil Well Fire Fighting has made TomB as strong as an ox, and they can't take him. He puts them in a figure 4 headlock and makes them say "I am a woman" before he releases the submission hold.

This week brought some unusual crazy of the famous (sorta ) kind.  As some of you know, The Fabulous Ma'am never actually produced any youngsters of my own. That is not to say my hands, lap, and kitchen, have ever lacked for children to love, play with, dress up, or on the rare occasion , bail out. God knew I was a mother in need of a child, so he has sent many my way. My two biggest projects have been the Berenger Boys. Imagine the Tasmanian Devil times two, add some muscles, and you have a pretty good picture of my duo. That women love them, only adds to the mayhem. Last year, their ancient great aunt, a maiden lady herself, passed away. She left their mama, her only relative, her estate. The boys went back to The Dominion to help clear out Aunt Diamond's house, preparing it for sale. In a cupboard in the basement, Big Brother found a box of old comic books. 350 to be exact. Remembering when they were little , Aunt Diamond mentioned she had comics they could add to their fledgling collection of Superman comics (now called Graphic Novels). Nothing more was ever said about it. Big Brother mentioned to a friend that he had this cool old comic where Superman is fighting Adolph Hitler. Pretty cool. Well, that 's when it started. After a little Internet research, a well placed call to a comic book auction house, a skeptical guy in a suit showed up. When he saw what the boys had in the cardboard boxes, he called The Brinks Truck. And today, as they say,  history was made.  What started out as two boys and their comic books this morning, ended with Fox news stalking The Fabulous Ma'am for "my story". How did I feel that my boys had sold 45 comic books, originally purchased for 10cents each, for $3.5million dollars? My phone hasn't stopped ringing. All these years I have prayed those two wouldn't make the paper( unfortunate brushes with THE MAN)and now they are in the Wall Street Journal.  Sister was laughing at me as I told her on my iPhone that the TV people were in my yard. Had to put her on hold while I told those pesky people from Live at Five, to stop calling me.  I just pray they don't buy a monkey before that get home. Not sure what we need to get a Yankee primate back to Texas.
Then, I get a call from my beloved tot, Trixie. She is in New York for the big auction and not having a good time at all. Had to go to OUR auction this morning, didn't even get to talk on TV and had to sit there and be still. Did you know, Ma'am that if you move around alot in an auction, they charge you money and will put a kid in jail if you don't pay a lot?. We don't do that at home.  Did get to go to FAO Schwartz, so that was pretty cool but now Daddy B won't let her be on David Letterman with him. She told him she was calling Texas  and he was gonna be in big trouble if Ma'am had to get involved.  Sister and I agree that Trixie could be the next FruitCake Lady on Letterman. Trixie said if we can go to the Castle and just have "quality time" for a little while, she will be ok. The Castle is also known as JW Marriott Hill Country. It is her favorite place in the world. Tons better than New York. New York doesn't even have a Lazy River and not any land at all! Funny that Tom Berenger has the exact same view of NYC. The Fabulous Ma'am, however, with Sister in tow, could be quite content at The Plaza even without The Lazy River.
Well, my little Trixie will be home tomorrow night and I love that nothing holds the same atttraction for her as being the baby and pampered child of The Fabulous Ma'am. Unless, of course, Letterman gets her before she gets back to Texas.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am