Friday, August 14, 2015
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Thelma, Louise, and Me
The spring in Texas guarantees certain fantastic thing. Bluebonnets, perfect weather,and best of all, RoundTop weekend. For those in the know, RoundTop is the mecca of antiques. and weirdness. Set up in cow pastures, fields, saloons, and chicken coops, the town with a population of 92, bulges to accomodate approximately 25 thousands antique junkies, decorators, and just plain girls with some cash, Tori Burch handbags, and black suburbans who are anxious to find that perfect thing for the McMansion. It is not unusual to see 4 Yuppie girls in capri pants loading an armoire in the back of a Yukon. Or , my favorite, some girls from Beaumont who saw the ultimate statement piece for their fiesta party: life size trio of mariachis made of hammered aluminum and spray paint.Fantastic doesn't even begin to describe it. As many of you know, The Fabulous Ma'am lives by the moto "too much is never enough". Whoever came up with the idea of "Less is More" wasn't from the South. We believe "More is More". My sister-in-law is from Mississippi where they revele in what she calls "Big Ole Tacky Christmas". It sounds bad but is actually what all of us in Texas live for. We start in October, getting ready for the pinnacle of Pinterest, known as Christmas. By the way, the holiday in December is Christmas. It is not Winter Festival. It is Christmas. Celebration of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Let us be clear on that. I digress.
So, Tom Berenger and I made the trek up to Warrenton and RoundTop this past April. The bluebonnets had started to bloom, so you see copious amounts of people, pulled over on the side of the road, toddlers in tow, to get the perfect Texas picture:baby in Bluebonnets. Obviously, no one informed them rattlesnakes live in those fields. I know this, but still, I have an annual picture with my Tiny Tot in a bluebonnet field near our house. Our first was taken when she was so little you could barely see that little blonde head above the bluebonnets. Now, the is nearly as tall as Ma'am. Segway.
After a day of browsing freaktique and fine antiques in the fields of the festival, Tom B and I stop at a white tent field (white tents indicate High End) so I could get one last glimpse of what is IN this year.
I notice this interesting looking bird house. Since I am in my retro 70s earth chick mode, I think this might be a good addition to my suburban outdoor sanctuary. I ask the dealer how much is that cute birdhouse. With an air of superioity, this vendor tells me it is certainly not a birdhouse it is, I think he said, it is a Bon Marche'. Oh, I said. I thought is would be perfect for a birdhouse. Certainly not! It is a Bon Marche', priced $750. Hmmmm. I'll think about it. Meantime, Tom B is posted up with a vendor who makes highend furniture out of Winchester ammunition boxes. I find him an example the situation with the Bon Marche'. We get such a kick out this snooty little man, that from then on out, we refer to everything as a Bon Marche'. We come across an endtable made of vintage luggage and declare this is an interesting Bon Marche'. Tom B tells me we should go back to Snooty Man so he can view this Bon Marche'. I tell him, I will say " Daddy, you can get some chicken wire and build me a Bon Marche!". Or, we ponder just going over there saying " that Bon Marche things would be perfect for my chickens. Daddy, give him $750." Snooty Man has given us much more than a bird house. A new phrase for my quirky lexicon.
I was proud of myself for showing such restraint and leaving this antique crack house atmosphere without dragging anything home to add to my already over the top collection of weirdness. I congratulated myself too soon. We needed to stop to fill up the F150, so a wonderful all purpose combination of gas station, grocery store, feedstore, and beautyshop draws my attention. This is the type of place that for me, is the pure version of Walmart. You never know who or what you will find. As I search the spice rack, I notice the next area is the feed store. Wandering over there, I see chickens. Not frozen. Live. Different colors, not the blue and pink of Easter chicks ( btw, those are Leghorn roosters and will grow up and start crowing and you will have to ask you housekeeper to take them to her friend who raises them) but glorious deep rusty red, creamy white, and iridescent black. I'm facsinated. A sweet young man in a John Deere cap comes to wait on me. I tell him no thank you, just looking. BUT if a man comes in to pay for gasoline and tries to buy one of these chickens, please do not sell them. Yes, ma'am he tells me. I return to the truck,perusing my antiques newspaper, when I see my handsome husband returning with a smile on his face and a brown cardboard box. With two cochin chicks.( Cochins are chickens who look like they are wearing chaps). So off we go with a box making chicken racket ( racket: Southern word used to descripe copious amounts of noise made by rambunctious children).Since these babies were part of a road trip, they became known as Thelma and Louise. And then it started. Another tale of the eccentric goings on of The Fabulous Ma'am.
Now I am raising chickens at The Swankienda. Research taught me the cochins are heritage chickens. The difference between heritage and commercial eggs is remarkable. They have more protein, more vitamins, and less cholesterol than commercial. The commercial chickens start laying eggs at 60 days old. Heritage chickens lay at 8 or 9 months old. They live for up to 12 years. Commerical chickens lay for a year and then are of no use and their life ends.They never touch the ground and are packed so closely together that if one dies, if doesn't fall. Heritage chickens are free range, or in my situation, free backyard. They roam around and eat bugs, worms, and lizzards. They are very layed back (no pun intended)and happy little ladies. One a trip to a feed store in a neighboring community I met the HippieChickenWoman. She became my chicken mentor. After visiting her chicken compound, I came away with vast knowledge, a dozen blue and green eggs, and 3 more chickens. Buffy, Blossom, and Henrietta complete my flock.
There are many of life's lessons in getting back to basics. We have an organic garden which Trixie loves to eat out of on her daily harvest. Nothing quite equals homegrown tomatoes. The chickens have provided an entire life cycle example, the old Chicken or the Egg conversation. Also, the importance of having a Daddy. Or in the case of my hens, a rooster. The most often asked question is are we going to have a bunch of chicks. Answer "No". We do not have a rooster. Trixie asked me what the rooster does to contribute, so I sent her to the internet. After viewing a 3 minute explanation, she told me " I don't see how that rooster have seizures all over the place is going to help anybody". I agree. So our girls are content to not go co-ed, and just cruise around the backyard.
Life is so stressful at this stage of the game. Our children are growing up and leaving. We stress over our aging parents, our careers, and the changing world we live in. As I walk out this early morning to check the hen house, barefoot in my long embroidered Mexican dress, I am reminded of the song from the 60's" Slow down, your moving too fast. You got to make the morning last. Just skipping down the cobbleston. Feeling alive and feeling groovy".
Peace and love,
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am
So, Tom Berenger and I made the trek up to Warrenton and RoundTop this past April. The bluebonnets had started to bloom, so you see copious amounts of people, pulled over on the side of the road, toddlers in tow, to get the perfect Texas picture:baby in Bluebonnets. Obviously, no one informed them rattlesnakes live in those fields. I know this, but still, I have an annual picture with my Tiny Tot in a bluebonnet field near our house. Our first was taken when she was so little you could barely see that little blonde head above the bluebonnets. Now, the is nearly as tall as Ma'am. Segway.
After a day of browsing freaktique and fine antiques in the fields of the festival, Tom B and I stop at a white tent field (white tents indicate High End) so I could get one last glimpse of what is IN this year.
I notice this interesting looking bird house. Since I am in my retro 70s earth chick mode, I think this might be a good addition to my suburban outdoor sanctuary. I ask the dealer how much is that cute birdhouse. With an air of superioity, this vendor tells me it is certainly not a birdhouse it is, I think he said, it is a Bon Marche'. Oh, I said. I thought is would be perfect for a birdhouse. Certainly not! It is a Bon Marche', priced $750. Hmmmm. I'll think about it. Meantime, Tom B is posted up with a vendor who makes highend furniture out of Winchester ammunition boxes. I find him an example the situation with the Bon Marche'. We get such a kick out this snooty little man, that from then on out, we refer to everything as a Bon Marche'. We come across an endtable made of vintage luggage and declare this is an interesting Bon Marche'. Tom B tells me we should go back to Snooty Man so he can view this Bon Marche'. I tell him, I will say " Daddy, you can get some chicken wire and build me a Bon Marche!". Or, we ponder just going over there saying " that Bon Marche things would be perfect for my chickens. Daddy, give him $750." Snooty Man has given us much more than a bird house. A new phrase for my quirky lexicon.
I was proud of myself for showing such restraint and leaving this antique crack house atmosphere without dragging anything home to add to my already over the top collection of weirdness. I congratulated myself too soon. We needed to stop to fill up the F150, so a wonderful all purpose combination of gas station, grocery store, feedstore, and beautyshop draws my attention. This is the type of place that for me, is the pure version of Walmart. You never know who or what you will find. As I search the spice rack, I notice the next area is the feed store. Wandering over there, I see chickens. Not frozen. Live. Different colors, not the blue and pink of Easter chicks ( btw, those are Leghorn roosters and will grow up and start crowing and you will have to ask you housekeeper to take them to her friend who raises them) but glorious deep rusty red, creamy white, and iridescent black. I'm facsinated. A sweet young man in a John Deere cap comes to wait on me. I tell him no thank you, just looking. BUT if a man comes in to pay for gasoline and tries to buy one of these chickens, please do not sell them. Yes, ma'am he tells me. I return to the truck,perusing my antiques newspaper, when I see my handsome husband returning with a smile on his face and a brown cardboard box. With two cochin chicks.( Cochins are chickens who look like they are wearing chaps). So off we go with a box making chicken racket ( racket: Southern word used to descripe copious amounts of noise made by rambunctious children).Since these babies were part of a road trip, they became known as Thelma and Louise. And then it started. Another tale of the eccentric goings on of The Fabulous Ma'am.Now I am raising chickens at The Swankienda. Research taught me the cochins are heritage chickens. The difference between heritage and commercial eggs is remarkable. They have more protein, more vitamins, and less cholesterol than commercial. The commercial chickens start laying eggs at 60 days old. Heritage chickens lay at 8 or 9 months old. They live for up to 12 years. Commerical chickens lay for a year and then are of no use and their life ends.They never touch the ground and are packed so closely together that if one dies, if doesn't fall. Heritage chickens are free range, or in my situation, free backyard. They roam around and eat bugs, worms, and lizzards. They are very layed back (no pun intended)and happy little ladies. One a trip to a feed store in a neighboring community I met the HippieChickenWoman. She became my chicken mentor. After visiting her chicken compound, I came away with vast knowledge, a dozen blue and green eggs, and 3 more chickens. Buffy, Blossom, and Henrietta complete my flock.
There are many of life's lessons in getting back to basics. We have an organic garden which Trixie loves to eat out of on her daily harvest. Nothing quite equals homegrown tomatoes. The chickens have provided an entire life cycle example, the old Chicken or the Egg conversation. Also, the importance of having a Daddy. Or in the case of my hens, a rooster. The most often asked question is are we going to have a bunch of chicks. Answer "No". We do not have a rooster. Trixie asked me what the rooster does to contribute, so I sent her to the internet. After viewing a 3 minute explanation, she told me " I don't see how that rooster have seizures all over the place is going to help anybody". I agree. So our girls are content to not go co-ed, and just cruise around the backyard.
Life is so stressful at this stage of the game. Our children are growing up and leaving. We stress over our aging parents, our careers, and the changing world we live in. As I walk out this early morning to check the hen house, barefoot in my long embroidered Mexican dress, I am reminded of the song from the 60's" Slow down, your moving too fast. You got to make the morning last. Just skipping down the cobbleston. Feeling alive and feeling groovy".
Peace and love,
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am
Monday, November 5, 2012
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
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.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am
Friday, August 17, 2012
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
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'amCousin Tinny
Gore Plantation,Brunswick County
North Carolina
Sunday, August 12, 2012
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
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,
Monday, June 11, 2012
Heard It In A Love Song
"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.
.
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
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