Today's sports section of our local newspaper carried an interesting article entitled "Childress, Favre now have better understanding." Seems the Viking coach and Brett had difficulties Childress' first year of coaching the famed quarterback. Favre has held off his decision to return to the Vikings' clubhouse. So Childress decided to come to Mississippi and entice Brett to return. What he discovered is this, in his quoted words:
"The Deep South is different, and he'd (Favre) would be the first to tell you that." The time spent, as the article continues, gave Childress a stronger understanding of Favre's way of life and his way of thinking".
Every section of our country has produced people whose philosophy and general way of life are slightly different from other areas. Southerners are no different. Despite our slow speech, our laid-back life, our seemingly less informed minds (although we do have highly educated people), we treat life as it comes. A friend from the Northwest remarked, when I sent him a photo of a friend and me both over 70 years old, commented, "You women look so young!" We don't have searing cold weather to erode our skin, and the moisture of our humidity does preserve our bodies. Most of my neighborhood is made up of vibrant young-looking, women over the age of 60.
On the same day of the article, a friend from Memphis forwarded a poem about Mississippians. With all the bad publicity we've had, somehow we folks seem to thrive in our little world.
If Mississippi's In You
(by Patricia Neely-Dorsey, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia, page 86)
If Mississippi's in you,
It'll always be that way;
It matters not how far you go,
Or how long you stay.
If Mississippi's in you,
It always plays a part;
In how you live and move and breathe,
And in every notion of the heart.
If Mississippi's in you,
It's in you through and through;
It's who you are and how you be,
And it's in everything you do.
If Mississippi's in you,
There is some special glow;
A different something down inside,
That all the home folks know.
If Mississippi's in you,
It'll always be that way,
From the time you enter in the world,
Till in the grave you lay.
Every true Mississippian,
Can surely have it said:
"I'm Mississippi born,
I'm Mississippi bred,
And when I die,
I'll be Mississippi dead."
Showing posts with label Southerners. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Southerners. Show all posts
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
2010 Natchez Literary and Cinema Celebration
Attending a southern celebration in one of Mississippi's oldest towns, Natchez, was a delight last week. Listening to writers on southern humor emphasized our connection with the rest of the world. A tribute to Horton Foote by Scott Dixon McDowell through a documentary that took 20 years to complete was one of the outstanding aspects of the week. McDowell has a film that will be viewed by college and post college students of literature and writing for eons to come. Horton Foote died last year at age 94 and left us two of many endearing movies: "Trip to Bountiful" and "Tender Mercies". One of his many movie adaptations "To Kill a Mockingbird," revealed his subtle humor. (Sis and I were pleased to have heard Mr. Foote seveal years ago when he was celebrated at a Southern Writers' Conference in Alabama.) Gerald McRaney, actor originally from Mississippi, gave us his views on Mr. Foote in his sharing of "Horton Foote, the Man That I Knew". McRaney is a member of the advisory board that produces this literary festival yearly.
Another bright light that shone was Clifton Taulbert, author of Once When I Was Colored,Last Train North, and Eight Habits of the Heart. He grew up in Mississippi and now lives in Tulsa, OK where he runs the Building Community Institute, which he founded. He spoke of the humor that George Washington Carver possessed. Always he is a popular speaker.
One speaker delighted us with referrals to "Double Names, Conniption Fits and 'Kiss My Foot':Laughing at Ourselves with Eudora Welty and Other Southerners" An actress of television, movies, and theatre, Jane Welch, entertained us with behind the scenes struggle of snatching a role in TV, theatre, or movies with her "Life in the Theatre: The Agony and the Ectasy".
Others reminded us of how gentlemanly manners pervaded the Old South and how Pogo, Snufy, Lil Abner and other comic strips used southern humor. Our own cartoonist from Jackson's Clarion-Ledger, Marshall Ramsey, delighted us with a series of his political cartoons and a running commentary of how he found humor in serious subjects.
Collectively, these speakers, southerners who live and work in the east and south, reminded us of the traits of behavior, speech patterns, and use of flowery expressions that are slowly disappearing as we adapt to modern life, thereby losing our identity as southerners. Only our accent remains.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Where Are My Manners?
I've noticed recently that when I receive a compliment I am so involved with the content of the compliment that I fail to say, "Thank you." What has happened to my manners? I tried the other day to think of a single reason for failing to be polite. There was none.
Living in the summer out of my environment where rarely one hears "Hello" or "Good morning" from one stranger to another, I've begun to imitate this behavior. Perhaps I'm so involved in remembering that I'm not to ask a lot of questions upon meeting , that my manners have taken a back seat. To my chagrin I've not handed out many compliments myself.
Being courteous and mannerly is a Southern tradition we like to brag about. We are open people, who will tell a stranger our life story if time is alloted.
Introductions are the likely way we'll first show our manners. Eating breakfast in a dining area we begin a conversation with the new face at the next table. Before we know it, we find commonality in family, friends, home and leave with a good feeling that another acquaintance on this earth has been made. We'll tell each other where we're heading, who'll we see, where we've been and exchange ideas about traveling. Some worthwhile tips are gained over coffee and grocery store rolls.
I remember the first summer I met new people in that part of New York I love, I introduced myself by giving my first and last name. The other person failed to tell me his/hers nor didn't reply "I'm glad to meet you", so I made a note to remind myself that is not a point of etiquette in early part of cultivating friendship. Neither is a hug on the second or third meeting. Fortunately, these awkward moments fade as we get to know each other.
I recall going to a senior breakfast once in Maine. I sat down next to a gentleman and introduced myself, saying that I had accompanied my daughter to the meal and she lived in the area. After a few moments of silence, the old gentleman leaned towards me and in a low voice said, "We Mainers don't take kindly to strangers. Since your daughter lives here, I'll tell you my name is William." Not William Smith, William Jones. Just "William." I realized when repeating this incident later that most anywhere outside the South where we are perhaps appear too familiar with strangers, that hesitancy in revealing one's self is probably a safer move. Especially, now when telling that stranger too much can lead to a possible criminal act.
My new year's resolution, beginning now is to remember to say "Thank you." I do like those compliments. But I must give the other person a compliment so I'll receive the same reply.
Living in the summer out of my environment where rarely one hears "Hello" or "Good morning" from one stranger to another, I've begun to imitate this behavior. Perhaps I'm so involved in remembering that I'm not to ask a lot of questions upon meeting , that my manners have taken a back seat. To my chagrin I've not handed out many compliments myself.
Being courteous and mannerly is a Southern tradition we like to brag about. We are open people, who will tell a stranger our life story if time is alloted.
Introductions are the likely way we'll first show our manners. Eating breakfast in a dining area we begin a conversation with the new face at the next table. Before we know it, we find commonality in family, friends, home and leave with a good feeling that another acquaintance on this earth has been made. We'll tell each other where we're heading, who'll we see, where we've been and exchange ideas about traveling. Some worthwhile tips are gained over coffee and grocery store rolls.
I remember the first summer I met new people in that part of New York I love, I introduced myself by giving my first and last name. The other person failed to tell me his/hers nor didn't reply "I'm glad to meet you", so I made a note to remind myself that is not a point of etiquette in early part of cultivating friendship. Neither is a hug on the second or third meeting. Fortunately, these awkward moments fade as we get to know each other.
I recall going to a senior breakfast once in Maine. I sat down next to a gentleman and introduced myself, saying that I had accompanied my daughter to the meal and she lived in the area. After a few moments of silence, the old gentleman leaned towards me and in a low voice said, "We Mainers don't take kindly to strangers. Since your daughter lives here, I'll tell you my name is William." Not William Smith, William Jones. Just "William." I realized when repeating this incident later that most anywhere outside the South where we are perhaps appear too familiar with strangers, that hesitancy in revealing one's self is probably a safer move. Especially, now when telling that stranger too much can lead to a possible criminal act.
My new year's resolution, beginning now is to remember to say "Thank you." I do like those compliments. But I must give the other person a compliment so I'll receive the same reply.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Catching Up on News
Returning to our Mississippi home is not an easy task. Perhaps it's aging that puts so many obstacles in our path: renovations left undone to our 40 plus year-old home, the overgrown jasmine in the yard, the leggy branches of our shrubs, the stubborn absence of memory where we placed familiar items,the extensive growth on the few dishes left in the fridge,the dust balls and spiders caught therein--too much for me to take in one week.
To solve the above problems, I visited the library, checked out a few mystery books for the first weekend home and proceeded to forget the housekeeping duties. Now that Monday has passed and I'm sitting here in the middle of the week, I have to wake up in the morning with a chipper attitude to tackle each task deliberately. I'd rather ignore household duties. Let the jasmine continue to crawl up the outside walls, the shrubs go leggy until spring, locate missing papers by chance, throw out the leftovers as I see them, wave the duster around the corners at some given hour each day, and in about a month maybe we'll be back in our routine.
Missing friends here and there...that's the problem with leaving one place and returning to another. In the first week of our return I lost a dear friend in an accident, another to illness. They are my age. A gentle reminder that there'll be more peer deaths until one day not many will be left except those younger. I often think that these deaths are God's reminder for us to delight in every day left us.
I feel invincible. But I'm not.
Returning I realize I've not missed reading our newspaper. Same trouble in our capitol city with City Hall, the mayor, the firemen, the police...not any different from those cities in New Jersey, California, or Anyplace USA. However, there were some interesting articles:
remembering the day that the rock group Lynyrd Skynyrd lost members in a plane crash in the small town of Gillsburg, MS;
that a "feisty Asian weed" named Cogon has invaded the northern town of Tupelo, Elvis' old home place. This dwarfs kudzu that is seen scrambling over hills and in ditches of some small towns. Because of its highly effective reproductive method, I'm betting someone's going to find a way to put it in a pill to overpopulate the country;
that the writer darling of our state has written another best-seller: John Grisham. We can tell you how he bought 1000 copies of his first book and tried to sell them out of the back of his car for $10. Not too many takers. Now one is for sale for $3500. A Time to Kill. Grisham has not lived in the state for years now--too many visitors dropping in unexpectedly at his Oxford home. So he moved to Virginia. I guess readers aren't as aggressive about getting a book with his signature as are we Mississipians. One story told of a Saturday signing at a local bookstore with a mile of fans waiting in the hot sun. One lady went into labor, Grisham rushed out to sign her copy so she could be taken to the hospital. The next year she stood in line with another book, and her year old baby. Ahh, we Southerners love a good story.
Outside the state, the local rag printed, in Charlotte, NC, a new exhibit at Levine Museum of the New South examines Southern stereotypes through comics and cartoons. The purpose of this exhibit is to show their own citizens, both recent and old-timers, that stereotypes are rooted in some truth. Anyone visiting the South is bound to say first, "Everyone is sooo friendly." You betcha. Returning from NY we know we're in the South when we go for breakfast at the motel and everyone says "Good morning." Or when the waitress at the luncheon diner says, "Anything else I can do for you, honey?" Ahh, sweet sounds, and no Southern gentleman thinks "harassment".
Well, that's the South for ya'.
To solve the above problems, I visited the library, checked out a few mystery books for the first weekend home and proceeded to forget the housekeeping duties. Now that Monday has passed and I'm sitting here in the middle of the week, I have to wake up in the morning with a chipper attitude to tackle each task deliberately. I'd rather ignore household duties. Let the jasmine continue to crawl up the outside walls, the shrubs go leggy until spring, locate missing papers by chance, throw out the leftovers as I see them, wave the duster around the corners at some given hour each day, and in about a month maybe we'll be back in our routine.
Missing friends here and there...that's the problem with leaving one place and returning to another. In the first week of our return I lost a dear friend in an accident, another to illness. They are my age. A gentle reminder that there'll be more peer deaths until one day not many will be left except those younger. I often think that these deaths are God's reminder for us to delight in every day left us.
I feel invincible. But I'm not.
Returning I realize I've not missed reading our newspaper. Same trouble in our capitol city with City Hall, the mayor, the firemen, the police...not any different from those cities in New Jersey, California, or Anyplace USA. However, there were some interesting articles:
remembering the day that the rock group Lynyrd Skynyrd lost members in a plane crash in the small town of Gillsburg, MS;
that a "feisty Asian weed" named Cogon has invaded the northern town of Tupelo, Elvis' old home place. This dwarfs kudzu that is seen scrambling over hills and in ditches of some small towns. Because of its highly effective reproductive method, I'm betting someone's going to find a way to put it in a pill to overpopulate the country;
that the writer darling of our state has written another best-seller: John Grisham. We can tell you how he bought 1000 copies of his first book and tried to sell them out of the back of his car for $10. Not too many takers. Now one is for sale for $3500. A Time to Kill. Grisham has not lived in the state for years now--too many visitors dropping in unexpectedly at his Oxford home. So he moved to Virginia. I guess readers aren't as aggressive about getting a book with his signature as are we Mississipians. One story told of a Saturday signing at a local bookstore with a mile of fans waiting in the hot sun. One lady went into labor, Grisham rushed out to sign her copy so she could be taken to the hospital. The next year she stood in line with another book, and her year old baby. Ahh, we Southerners love a good story.
Outside the state, the local rag printed, in Charlotte, NC, a new exhibit at Levine Museum of the New South examines Southern stereotypes through comics and cartoons. The purpose of this exhibit is to show their own citizens, both recent and old-timers, that stereotypes are rooted in some truth. Anyone visiting the South is bound to say first, "Everyone is sooo friendly." You betcha. Returning from NY we know we're in the South when we go for breakfast at the motel and everyone says "Good morning." Or when the waitress at the luncheon diner says, "Anything else I can do for you, honey?" Ahh, sweet sounds, and no Southern gentleman thinks "harassment".
Well, that's the South for ya'.
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