august serendipity

“When did the endless month of August become not even a month at all but a jumping-off place for the next season to come”? (Quote from Rick Bragg in his article, “Endless Summer”, for which I credit the inspiration of this post)

I can remember the entire summer flying by and trying to squeeze the last drop out of every day. June and July were just teasers we referred to as “summer break” between the mundane school years. Family trips to the beach and the lake, working the sweltering afternoons in cotton and hay fields, spending the sweet summer nights running around the complex between baseball games, chasing down the Yum Yum Shack for a quenching snow cone that melted immediately when it hit your tongue, mud riding in the Mule Hole Ditch, and burning every other ounce of energy in swimming pools or racing bikes. And then August hit. It was always a shock when it finally arrived because I couldn’t grasp where the previous two months and majority of my break had gone. But somehow, August seemed to drag out longer than any time I had ever experienced. I always assumed it was the scorching heat that made the days seem to stick, like everything else does this time of year.

I believe that summer romances, at least the good ones, always take place in the better parts of August. Could be the heat getting to everyone’s head, or maybe it’s be something magical that no one can explain. It’s the time when the newness of summer has completely faded into a sense of effortlessness and simply being, and the inexperience of childhood lapses into a ripened understanding. Those pristine spells of swinging sunburned legs off the edge of an old wooden bridge, relishing in the Mississippi mud as it slides between your toes, and watching the sweat beads drip simultaneously from your glass and your chest, become soft recollections of serendipity. Ceiling fans stir the notion that time is still, and yet pesky flies remind us again and again that nothing is. Exhaustion brings a lull that resonates with everything but the crickets at dusk. And for a moment, everything is right.

“There was a time when August stretched out forever, the end of it somewhere beyond the horizon of childhood’s favorite season.”- Rick Bragg

Take a moment and forget about the football season countdown, the taunting Halloween decorations already strategically placed on store shelves, and school schedules ahead- and recognize the month of August the way God intended us to: Southern, sticky, and timeless.

Love always,

Addie

“Summer romances end for all kinds of reasons. But when all is said and done, they have one thing in common: They are shooting stars-a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity. And in a flash, they’re gone.” –Nicholas Sparks

“The children start school now in August. They say it has to do with air conditioning, but I know sadism when I see it. I think a bunch of people who were not allowed to stomp in a mud hole when they were young….decided to make sure that no child would ever have the necessary time to contemplate a grand mud hole ever again…People ask all the time, what’s wrong with kids today?…I think they do not know how sweet it is to feel the mud mush between their toes.” –Rick Bragg

understanding a clementine

Sometimes I wonder how slow drivers ever make it anywhere. I have always had road rage episodes on occasion, but since moving to Mississippi, they’ve become much more frequent. I think that no one in this state is ever in a hurry. And that’s just the beginning of a long list of reasons why everyone can tell I’m a transplant.

Typically people from Missouri have a “neutral” dialectal (unless they live north of St. Louis- there they tend to have Northern accents). But Bootheelians (like me) typically inherit a twang- not the sound of a pretty Southern drawl, but rather that of a country “hick” as we refer. Although I catch myself picking up the Mississippi tongue from time to time, I’m still tragically stuck with the confused sound of the Bootheel accent. People continually ask me where I’m from because “I sound different.” And I know they probably just mean that I don’t talk as pretty as they do…thanks for adding insult to injury.

My “Mississippi pseudo family” also likes to point out our differences. We frequently pick out words that I say differently and take turns repeating them over and over while laughing at each other. I like to eat pickled beets, which is apparently a “Northern thing” (direct quote from Alex’s brother, Michael). I grew up on Miracle Whip which is a sin if you didn’t know, and thus I have been converted to real mayonnaise. I also do not put pepper juice in my black-eyed peas, which are referred to only as “peas” down here. (The peas that I grew up on are round and bright green, not beany.) In jr. high we went “T.P.’n”, but Alex and I took Kameron and her friends “rollin.” We do not associate by counties. And though I always considered my home a “town” because of its smaller size compared to many larger “cities” in Missouri, it is known as a “big city” to people around here because it has a Walmart. And the list goes on…

Mississippi tends to fall into “region” rather than “town” associations, which is also different for me. I went to Sikeston public schools and thus my friends were Sikestonians. Anyone from a different town was automatically an enemy because of sports rivalries. However, many Mississippians go to private schools that draw from different parts of an area, and thus associate in regions. Clay and I were quick to observe this while attending Mississippi State and made a game out of classifying Mississippi natives in their “regions.” Our categories included: Hills (where I currently reside), Jackson, Delta, and Coasties. Coasties are the easiest to spot in all their salt-lifestyleness because they like to be barefoot and usually have jewelry made of fish hooks. Jackson’s are also easy as to find because they are the ones that are clearly from a city and are a little more eccentric than the basic Mississippian. (They weren’t all necessarily from Jackson, but they obviously didn’t grow up on a farm. Typically they were the “frat stars” on campus.) Deltas are the proud farm boys with high egos and even higher drinking tolerances. And the Hill people were the ones that didn’t quite fit the other categories, and were simply a basic mold for Mississippi or Southern people with no pull anywhere else. (This game doesn’t always apply to girls because female trends tend to be more encompassing and not limited to a region.)

William Faulkner said “to understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi”- I’m learning to understand. I have always loved the beautiful landscapes and scenery in Mississippi, and especially the fact that it has a coast. But on the contrary, beautiful landscapes have an inverse relationship with cities (aka solutions to the solitudes). Of all the places in the “landmass state”, I (in my Missouri mind-set) would say there is only one city (Jackson), and four towns (Tupelo, Oxford, Starkville, and Vicksburg). Moral of the story, if you live in the western-South and want to go to a city, you go to Birmingham. That’s it.

Recently a co-worker and native Mississippian brought to my attention all the famous people from Mississippi. In his observation, he wondered why none of their stardom had brought more attention to the state in terms of the economy, tourism, and essentially, things to do. He explained that after living here his whole life, he was bored. Though my co-worker and I both live outside “town limits” in the middle of nowhere, the town we claim has little to offer outside the working day hours. (This is typical of most places in this great state.) If I had lived here my whole life I would probably feel the same way, but since moving here I have realized something else. The nothingness of Mississippi encourages things that today’s societies so desperately need but continue to lose touch with: being outdoor, appreciating little things, spending time with loved ones, and creativity to supplement the voids. I think the Mississippi “celebrities” know that their investments in their home state could deplete the foundation of what makes it so great in the first place. Sometimes people just need to get away and get in touch, and if they’re lucky enough to understand that, they go to Mississippi.

I’m still learning this seemingly backward place, but oh, it’s beautiful. And I can understand the native’s love-hate relationship because though it can sometimes be boring, I love to call it my home. I was reading the editor’s note in Real Simple magazine last week and she was painting a perfect picture of the busy lifestyle of an editor. Racing home between meetings to grab a quick bite when suddenly, the beauty of her clementine- it’s colors and texture and the way the peel came off- stopped her. She thought “people write poems about things this small and beautiful. Slow down”. And right there, in the middle of the editors note, I realized that Mississippi was the clementine. Those who don’t see it’s exquisiteness in entirety haven’t slowed down enough to appreciate life itself. Its genuine nature makes it seem naïve, but I think it’s the rest of us that have something to learn. I think that means I’m learning…

I even caught myself driving under the speed limit yesterday. Whoa.

Love always,

Addie

“Mississippi is like my mother. I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person who raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother too.” –Kathryn Stockett

this is getting ridiculous…

I could start this blog with another apology for being so behind in writing, or explain how busy I really have been since coming back to Murray between getting back in the “groove of things” and figuring out my schedule…but quite frankly, no one likes to hear excuses. So instead, I’ll just start by saying: “Welcome back! Thanks for tuning in once again and for not losing faith in my return.” (Also, props to Aunt Laurie who never ceases to let me know when my blogs are getting behind at approximately the same time my writer’s itch begins to kick in.)

I’m sure you’ll be shocked to know that I’ve become a regular at the gym (as of last week, anyways). And I have to say that it’s never really as bad as I think it will be. After I get up the motivation to drag myself to the gym and force my feet onto the treadmill, it’s only a matter of minutes before I begin to feel the spike of endorphins in my system and actually start enjoying it. And the weigh machines have become my “friends” because in the wise words of Jordi: “Sikeston girls don’t do anything half-assed: we like to taste our alcohol just like we like to feel our workouts.”

Needless to say, the blizzard that occurred in the MKY yesterday put a damper in my healthy lifestyle after class was cancelled and my schedule was suddenly free. It’s like the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, but instead, the title is If You Give a Girl a Snow Day. The rendition goes a little something like this: if you give a girl a snow day (and the girl just happens to live in the most convenient part of town), her friends will want to stay with her so they don’t have to try to battle the icy roads the next day. And if her friends sleep over, they’ll want to watch a movie. And if they watch a movie then they’ll have to make brownies. And you know the rest of the story….but brownies weren’t the only diet killer. For dinner last night, I ordered a calzone from Baldy’s. I know this is bad enough in itself, however I was not expecting the delicious pizza pocket to literally be the size of Mamie’s head. Literally. We have pictures to prove it.

I never anticipated the move back to Murray to be this tough. I guess I just thought that I would leave for a semester and upon my return, everything would be exactly how I left it. Except I forgot that when I left this place, I was not only running to Starkville as fast as I possibly could because I am absolutely in love with the place and wanted to give my originally chosen alma mater a try, but I was also running away from my current situation. The MKY has a lot of memories for me and last year was a year of rebuilding and remodeling Addie from the inside out. It was a great year to say the least but the mortar and brick of that building centered around several very important people that I knew were leaving. I guess I assumed that if I got away for a semester to some place new and exciting, I would learn to live without seeing them everyday. I did- but now that I’m back, this little town that once seemed so ideal to me has turned from a story book ending, into more of a “once upon a time…”

Starkville is freedom to me because it was the first place I’ve ever gotten to really be me, all on my own. I’ve never been all on my own in Murray, so it’s taken me a while but I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Don’t get me wrong, I still have amazing friends here and love each and every one of them dearly, it’s just a little different without my “stand-in boyfriend” and the other two-thirds of my amigo trio. Fortunately, I have learned that life can, and will always be summed up in three words: “it goes on”…so we too must follow suit.

Random: all the driving I’ve been doing makes me think about music. I love those old familiar songs that grab your attention and that you can recognize even before the first few measures are played out. But even more, I love the few special songs that grab your attention and make you recall the memory in the first few chords. Gotta love em.

I know I’ve talked about my pet peeves before, but I realized that I left one out: besides dirty dishes, people putting condiments on the meat instead of the bread, and clutter, one of my all time favorite peeves is when people go out on a date and sit on the same side of the table, leaving one whole side completely empty. Are you that pathetic that you can’t stand not touching for one meal? You can’t even carry on a serious conversation with that kind of set-up. Eye contact is crucial in a good conversation and if I had to turn my head 90 degrees every time one of us was speaking, I would be going to the chiropractor after every meal. Either you have nothing to talk about or you are way to clingy. Either way you look at it, it seems to be a toxic relationship. Just sayin.

As most of you may know, I love a good movie. (I was even voted most likely to always related my life to a movie in high school…not sure if that’s something to brag about but just thought it seemed fitting for this point.) But unfortunately, I am one of the most movie-deprived critics of them all. I see a preview, immediately want to watch the movie, yet seldom ever actually make it to the theater to see it. But I’m trying to change that- I have now watched 7 movies over the last ten days. Impressive, huh? Last night we watched “Easy A”. Funny movie but probably not one that I’ll bother to watch again. However one quote from the movie stuck out for me and I MUST share it: “Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80’s movies? I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window. I wanna ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey. I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me. I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me. Just once I want my life to be like an 80’s movie, preferably one with a really awesome musical number for no apparent reason. But no, no, John Hughes did not direct my life.” No further explanation needed….

I would also like to say that I am officially obsessed with the Southern way of life. (Just for the record: I was born south of the Mason Dixon line. The Bootheel is considered to be the South, however we have a lot of Midwest traits mixed in there as well.) I am proud to say I’m from the Missouri Delta and wouldn’t change my upbringing for the world. I had an idealistic childhood and high school years that people could only dream about. But after living in Mississippi for only one semester, I have notices small changes within myself and I like it! I remind myself daily of lines from Emily Post, I have learned to curl my own hair and routinely tell myself that “the higher the hair, the closer to God,” I own cookbooks and even more kitchen appliances, I’m thrilled with my sorority’s emphasized value on “women of poise and purpose” and the fact that we rep pearls, I now have multiple shades of lipstick, my eternal obsession with decorating/entertaining/wedding planning has reached an all time high, I have a closet full of clothes but often “nothing to wear”, I have recently become obsessed with shoes and Lilly Pulitzer, and I even caught myself saying “bless your heart” two days ago. Dear Jesus, help up all. The true Mississippi mud has worked its way into my soul and there’s no shaking it. I think I knew all along that I wanted this to happen but I never expected it to happen so fast. Now the only thing that upsets me is the fact that one final semester is separating me from the place where I have always dreamt of being. 95 days and counting….

That being said, I feel the need to explain to you the epic battle that has been going on deep inside my heart for as long as it’s been beating. As many of you know, I was (and still am) the true, die-hard Barbie fanatic; nevertheless I was raised with dirty, smelly, no-good, rotten, mean boys and was forced to be “tough.” I got picked on a pushed down in the dirt more times that I can count. I even had rocks thrown at me! I cried and whined, but no amount of pleading would make the boys disappear so I learned to deal. I knew if I wanted them to accept me, I had to be just a rough as they were, but this created a huge dilemma in my head that I unknowingly would cope with for the rest of my life. When I was young it was ok to play tough with the boys because as soon as I got home I could put on my dress up clothes and be a “Barbie girl” until bed time, therefore making the “on/off switch” to my personalities distinct. But once middle school hit, girls simply couldn’t play with boys anymore without having everyone assume that they had a crush on them, once again leaving me at a cross roads. I was forced to put up my dolls and dress up clothes because I was “too old for them” and wasn’t able to play with the boys, meaning things were no longer black and white like they had been for so many years.  Now, 21 years old (almost), and I’m still having trouble with the distinction. This is exactly the reason that I have different little “personalities” that live inside me and take turns coming out and showing themselves. (I have discussed these “personalities” in a previous blog but had not yet realized the reason for their existence- now that I have discovered a clear definition of their creation, I felt the need to revisit the topic.) To clarify, the “personalities” are all different, yet can all be classified into two distinct groups- hence the basis of the war within me. One group is pushing me to be a poised, full-fledged cooking, cleaning, entertaining, dainty, vixen of a lady and leave the dirty jobs for the men. After all, that’s what they’re here for, right?  Contradictingly, the other side is saying “anything boys can do I can do better” (in a very animated, elementary school voice while sticking her tongue out…and yes, I made up the word “contradictingly”). It’s pushing me to rebel against anything ladylike just to prove a point. One minute I’ve got a pie in the oven while I’m teasing my hair, the next minute I’m changing a tire with horse crap on my boots- reluctant to ask for help with either task because women are supposed to cook and look good, but I also don’t need a guy to help with changing a tire because my dad taught me how.

Honestly the battle is more amusing than frustrating. I like that I have a good taste for both sides of the fence, figuratively speaking. I heard a quote (yes, another quote…) from Sex and the City the other day that stood out to me and I think that it fits pretty perfectly right here: “Later, that night, I got to thinking about fairy tales. What if Prince Charming had never shown up? Would Snow White have slept in that glass coffin forever? Or would she have, eventually, woken up, spit out the apple, gotten a job, a health care package, and a baby from her local neighborhood sperm bank? I couldn’t help but wonder: Inside every confident, driven, single woman, is there a fragile princess just waiting to be saved? Was Charlotte right? Do women just want to be rescued? I guess sometimes a woman absolutely has to be rescued…and sometimes, a woman absolutely has to rescue a man. I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t live without each other Love…..Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that’s just fabulous.”

Well I think that’s enough for now. I am pretty sure that the tangent I just rambled off about my “personalities” is enough to scare you away for a while…but it was just another one of my unruly thoughts that I felt the need to get out. Until next time, keep on keepin’ on.

Love always,

Addie

“I’ll keep making the sandwiches as long as he keeps bringing home the bread.”