Yankee Doodle Mere

Apparently my mother, dad, and brothers all agree that I am somehow turning into a carpet bagger. Now, I find this hard to believe considering that I was born and raised in the same county. When I left for college, I traveled further south, and I now live in the epitome of southern life "Dawg Country!" Furthermore, I was a debutante for crying out loud.

I asked what evidence they had procured for such nasty stereotyping.

My choice of noisy establishments to wind down the day? Simple explanation for that one. I work in an office. Other than the phone ringing and the sound of my typing, there isn't a whole lot that makes noise. I live my life in silence. Add in the fact that I do not have cable or internet at home, and its really like living in a vacuum. So, since I have all day with my thoughts, at the end of the day, I prefer to drown them out. What is so wrong about that? So what if I live my life backwards. That doesn't make me a yankee.

I still hold true all the "southern" traditions. I refuse to wear velvet before Halloween and after Valentines. I will not wear white shoes after labor day (although I do fudge on the whole open toes thing). Perhaps I don't exactly adhere to or prescribe to the purse matching the shoes thing, but that is more a generational difference than geographical. Due to my accent I cannot correctly say "oil", "boil", "foil." In fact, when I use to docent at an old plantation house in Jonesboro (yeah, yankees make great docents) the actual yankees that came down, use to make fun of me for my accent. So did my ex who was from St. Louis.

I am still at a loss of how my family could come to such a conclusion. My mother doesn't understand my infinity and love for NYC. But, she has never been there. She said that we two are more different that she had thought. Perhaps Mama, but, keep in mind that there is a 30 year difference here. If you were my age now, you may feel differently about the things that I love. You may have loved them as well. Also, I was raised by you, and you were raised by someone who, when they grew up still had buggies and carts and no electricity. Times, they are a changin' (at least according to Bob Dylan).

Don't despair my dear family. I am still that little southern bell, I just traded my corset and seven petty coats for trouser pants and a blouse. Just because I do things a little different and sometimes have a tendency to be "hard and cold," just think of me as your own steel magnolia.