“All I Ever Wanted to Be was a Milk and Cookie Grandma”

No one knew I love to write. It is my true purpose in life. I have always loved the written word, but I put it on the back-burner years ago. I had another plan that was not God’s plan. Dangerous ground to walk on my darlin’ ladies (and gents). I had a purpose without a plan. God was not in it. It quickly turned into an illusion and began fading out of sight.

Keep in mind, we mourn the past because the investment we made does not

 yield the return we expected.

Here are my faded, and renewed, dreams…may it create a fire in your soul to pick up the pieces of a broken dream and begin again. 

It is true, year after year, decade after decade my dream was to be a “milk and cookies grandma.” Even to the point of selling everything and relocating to be closer to the grandchildren.  It was my dream to be waiting at the bus stop every day with milk and cookies when they got off the bus. I wanted to love them, help them with their homework, and take them to ball practice. 

Nothing could stop me from wanting…waiting…wanting this “dream” to come true. Long-suffering and the eternal optimist, I ignored the signs and the apparent cracks forming in the foundation of my dream. No matter, it still came as a shock when I realized it was not to be.

Instead of the dream coming true, life happened. Jobs changed, and divorces occurred with spouses who took the children out of state. And that is the broad stroke of the tsunami that hit our family. The “dream” of being surrounded by grandchildren who lived close was rolling down the interstate. It had U-Haul written on the back of the truck. 

There is an old southern saying, “Don’t beat a dead horse.” I began to laugh when I thought of how many times I heard this growing up. My spirit lifted as I found humor in how I had “whooped” on that poor dead horse…for years. 

Another saying my good Episcopalian Grandmother would say to me is, “When God closes a door, He always opens a window. When He does Sug-ah, you be ready to fly.” 

When I thought of that wisdom, a fountain of excitement began to bubble up in my spirit. I remembered how she encouraged me to write. It took me back to a wonderful time and place when all things were fresh and new. When my cousin and I made frequent trips to the big house for a visit. The big house was where my Grandmother and Grandfather lived.

It had a huge magnolia tree in the front yard where my cousin and I spent hours climbing those big branches amid the huge magnolia blossoms. We would leave the big house surrounded by the aroma of those hardy but delicate flowers.

The big event was when Grandmother would fill two of her purses with candy, lipsticks, makeup, and little games. We could not wait to riffle through those purses discovering all the girlie treasures that were waiting on us! We always left happy, consuming the candy she had lovingly placed in those purses.

She put a five-dollar bill in there too. Our little hands would be busy racing to see who would find theirs first. I always found my money wrapped around a glitter pen. I have often thought these long years after, that it was her way of saying, “Virginia Mae, always remember to write.”  

A new life began to flow through my spirit as I recalled these times growing up. The happiness that occurred in my soul erupted into laughter.  Southern women don’t pull themselves up by the bootstraps, we learn to laugh as we “clean it up” to begin stronger than before. I had been sad for too long. It felt incredible to laugh again.

After prayer and a bit of contemplation, it became clear that I had found a new purpose. This time, the mission had a plan. With a keen desire, my grandmother’s encouragement, and a glitter pen, I began to write again. 

Now, I write about my deep south experiences and how they have fashioned me to become the southern lady I am today. And I would not trade it, or them, for all the brown sugar brownies and banana pudding I could eat. The memories mean all world to me…  

So, sugar-foot, do not give up on “all” your dreams, when one does not come true. No matter how much time and energy you put into it. If you look, you may find a hidden gem, a dream that is ready to be resurrected. 

And don’t kick up a fuss and act like a donkey when you do not get what you want! If you are blessed to live life, there will be many times you will need to course-correct yourself and go down a different path.

By the way, we do get to see and keep the grandchildren! I adore every moment with them. 

Oooh, I think I hear my sweet husband bringing me a fresh, steaming cup of coffee.  

He is going to get a big hug for sure!

 

Sinking into Pink Floral Pillows on My Chair with Glitter Pen in Hand,

Jinger, My Husband’s Queen

“Teach Me How to Flirt”

I was shocked and speechless as her words echoed through the phone that day. The lady who called me with this request is a very successful businesswoman. I didn’t answer her immediately. But here she came again, “I'm serious. I want you to teach me how to flirt. You Southern women must have this etched into your DNA and I want to learn from the best.”

I did not miss it the second time. It was loud and clear, woman to woman, that this was a call for help. Even then, these words came tumbling out of my mouth, “You want me to do WHAT?!” She responded for the third time with the same request. She most definitely wanted to learn the centuries-old, wily art of Southern flirting.  

I could not understand her dilemma when she first approached me. Truthfully, I do not fully understand it now. Doesn’t every woman alive know how to wink, smile, and glance over her shoulder at a man for a little harmless flirting? Wasn’t softness, a sassy attitude and enduring strength encoded into every woman’s DNA?

This experience taught me..absolutely, NOT!

If Southern women instinctively know how to flirt, and honey, we DO know how to flirt, then how and where did we learn? It caused me to mentally go back to the lazy days of childhood when I was learning and soaking up everything from the women around me. They all knew the art so well. How it tickled me with joy to bring up those memories.  

I was raised at the knee of goddesses. Female superheroes of their day. Women who often found a way to get what they needed and mostly what they wanted by their sheer elegance and grace. They were strong souls, but always the lady. Observing them flirt was more instructive than a Vanderbilt University course in human relations. 

The movie “Steel Magnolias” is a typical depiction of women in the South. The lady who approached me to help her had no idea about this type of beauty and grace. She had already secured her financial future by owning apartment buildings in the Fresno area in California. 

Her life had become hard as steel with no beautiful Magnolia flower in sight. She was unhappy and out of balance in her relationships. She was searching for the flower in herself and in her life.

The first time we spoke, she blew right past my statement that this would be her most significant learning curve yet. I even told her that she was NOT a good candidate for this type of coaching. She acted like I had not said a word. In her mind, nothing was stopping her! 

I happily accepted the challenge and looked forward to this coaching experience. And then…whoa-horse -whoa, buckle-up and pump-your-brakes! She never missed a beat as she blew the barn doors open with her forceful personality. She was forecful telling me everything she thought she knew about men and relationships - what worked and what didn’t work. 

I took the time to practice breathing and repeating affirmations to center myself. As I breathed deeply, I said to myself, “Ok, Jinger, this is Grace Driven Leaders, and she is going to learn this. No, she is not too far gone to learn the art of flirting.”

To my surprise, slowly but surely, she began to listen, learn and apply her newfound knowledge. It was remarkable to see her focus on each lesson with the same diligence as she did her business. She began to understand she had lost something very dear in the process of building her empire. She lost her female sensuality. She walked into a male-dominated world and as a result, she became harsh and unyielding along the way to becoming successful. It had taken the toll on her feminine soul. 

Thankfully, this story has a delightful ending. It didn’t matter where this powerhouse had been raised or where she lived in the present. She found the man of her dreams and became his “Steel Magnolia” in California.  

One lady to another, I am thrilled for her and for any woman who reclaims the joy in their life. A lady who knows just the right shade of red lipstick to wear. It's a sight to behold!

You must begin somewhere. What are you waiting for?  

Ok, sugar-foot, I am going to the garden to pick Gardenias for tonight’s dinner table. I’ll see you next week for more adventures from the deep South. 

Until then, you just remember: A wink, a smile and a soft word will calm the beast in most any man.

When… you know how to do it “juuust right!” 

Roaring Softly, 

Jinger, My Husband’s Queen

"Our Daddy's Taught Us to Reload"

If you have never held a rifle pointed into a cloudless sky and yelled "pull," chances are, you were not born in the South. By the time I was twelve, I had learned to lead the sight on a rifle the length of a loaf of bread when partaking in the hobby know as skeet shooting. With the gun against my shoulder and the barrel of the rifle sight staying ahead of the clay pigeon, I pulled the trigger. And BAM! It was blown to smithereens. This is known as skeet shooting. (No birds or other animals are involved.) 

Our Daddy's taught us to reload. We were taught to respect, not fear, guns. When I grew up, my father and uncle owned a gun club. They held competitions for skeet shooting throughout the year. This is where I learned how to handle a rifle and shoot skeet.

The the most memorable event was a men's only, once a year event hosted by the two of them. It was by invitation only with all the free beer, calf fries, and French fries the men could eat. Serious and just for fun shooting competitions were held. Each year, it lasted into the wee hours of the morning. In this world, securing an invitation was like getting a table at the Oscars. Most of all, it was for bragging rights and provided a year full of stories and good times to be told and remembered.

The young girls in our community learned early how to handle, reload and shoot rifles and handguns. Of course, all this was done in full make-up with a smile on our faces.  Hair coiffed and done up because, after skeet shooting, the girls would load up in the new Cadillac to go shopping at Smith's department store in the "city."  That was the way of women in the South when I grew up. And it was wonderful.

The hazards of smoking are now well known, but when I was growing up it was acceptable and trendy. I mean, have you ever seen smoke flowing from a woman's nostrils as she looks down her nose at another person? It is a sight to behold! One you will not forget. A grown man could be reduced to a puddle on the floor. 

Rich, poor or in between, there is a southern pride in men, women and children born and raised in the deep South. If you were not raised here, it could be challenging to understand. With a cup of Folger's coffee and a Salem cigarette in a crystal ashtray, the problems of the day floated away with the plume of smoke.  

The lip print and color of red lipstick on the cigarette butt was as incriminating as a fingerprint. Not all southern ladies smoked, but they did wear make-up and lipstick. Whether they were the "old sisters" my Dad had to dance with (previous blog) or had a day of hard labor ahead of them, they were put together. Ready to meet the day head-on like the steel magnolias we were raised to be.

The meanest thing I ever heard my grandmother say about another woman was, "Oh, Honey, she doesn't primp." She made a face like she had seen or smelled something very offensive. A woman's station in life did not matter when it came to whether she was presentable in the community. Or whether she was accepted. One of my earliest memories is that a pencil skirt, Hanes hosiery, and a pair of high heel alligator shoes would take you places few dared to dream.

Our Daddy's taught us to reload and our mothers and grandmothers taught us to cook. If you have never had a homecooked meal from a southern kitchen...Well, you have missed one of nature's most authentic pleasures. Now, don't get the idea you can come into a southern woman's kitchen and ask for a recipe. Or how long it takes to cook something. You will not get a clear answer because there isn't one. It is a pinch of this and a pinch of that. It all depends on the tastes and smells bubbling up from the pots on the stove and in the oven.  

There is a hypnotic grace in the deep South, one that cannot be duplicated. Even Hollywood is unsuccessful in its attempt to recreate a southern accent in actors who were not born here.

We are unique. So are you.

Ladies, if you are ever down this way, get ready for a good time!

No one will care if you whoop and holler and throw your hat in the air.

That is...if you have your lipstick on, your hair is done, and you carry yourself with pride.

With a Wink, A Smile, and One More "Pull!"

                                                      And Bam!

                                                      Jinger