For the Love of Dogs

If you're like me, many of your childhood memories are wrapped up in your family pets. My mother and I recently wrote a short article about this for our Confessions of a True Southerner Series called Our Dogs Wear Clothes Too. We posted the article on our website at www.jenniferyoungblood.com. If you could use a good laugh, check it out!

Family Legends

Do you have that legend in your family that you've heard about since you were three? We have a legend in my family, and her name was Ada Lou Mullinax. She was my great grandmother on my maternal line. Unfortunately, I never got to meet her because she died two years before I was born. I feel like I know her though because I have heard stories about her all of my life.

At just over five feet tall, this diminutive woman was the picture of southern grace, but she had enough fire and grit in her to light up an entire town. She was born on October 15, 1901 in Talking Rock, Georgia and spent the majority of her life in a small Alabama community called Alder Springs. She let my mother and all of the other grandkids know in no uncertain terms that she was too young to be a grandmother so they could call her by her first name. In the south, her name is pronounced “Ader.” Years later, she decided that she wanted the grandkids to call her momaw, but they all told her it was too late—she would always be Ader to them.

Alder Springs doesn’t even rank as a town. It’s so small that you could blink your eyes and miss it. You won’t find it on many maps because it’s too insignificant to warrant a pin dot. Even today, few people are aware of its existence. What made my great grandmother so special then?

Ader lived in a precarious and pivotal time in southern history. Ader and her husband owned a farm where they raised cotton. For centuries, cotton had been the livelihood of the South, but things were changing. Cotton was no long yielding the income that it once had. And it couldn’t have come at a worst time—on the eve of the great depression. When Roosevelt came into office, he proposed the New Deal as a way to keep the south somewhat solvent. The government started paying farmers to plow under their cotton to help drive up the price. The farmers during this era had to embrace the winds of change in a very personal way. I have the highest admiration for these tenacious, stubborn people who toiled their life away on a strip of land in a remote area of Alabama.

To these people, their word was their honor. They faced their trials with optimism and courage. Ader spent her life helping other people. With tears in her eyes, my mother often speaks of the time when she didn’t want to go to a school dance because she didn’t have a nice dress to wear. She came home one afternoon to find Ader making her a dress. They couldn’t afford to buy any new material, so she took one of her favorite dresses and remade it for my mom.

About a decade ago, I was helping my mom move from Texas to Alabama when I came across some notes that she’d jotted down about Ader. For as long as I can remember, my mom has talked about writing a book about her. I became intrigued with the story and convinced my mom to work with me so that we could write the story of my great grandmother and all of the other heroes of that forgotten time. Once we got started, there was no turning back. LIVIN’ IN HIGH COTTON was published in 2004. Writing LIVIN’ IN HIGH COTTON gave me the opportunity to unearth and bring to life the legends of my childhood. There’s something about putting a story on paper that makes it immortal. My mom and I had always had a wonderful relationship, but working together has enhanced it and taken it to a new dimension. We have both rejoiced in our triumphs and suffered through our failures—together. I learned a great deal about where I came from and the tremendous legacy that has been left to me. I learned the importance of family and how vital it is to keep good records to pass down to the next generation. But most of all, I learned about myself. I’m so very grateful for the lifelong journey that began with a few scattered notes.

Perspective

Have you ever noticed that most battles are won or lost within the confines of our own two ears? Our thoughts literally make us or break us. A good friend of mine used to say that "Perception is reality." Why is it that some people go through life ranting about all of the injustices that life is heaping on them while others quietly face their challenges with dignity and optimism?It brings to mind the old adage, "Is the glass half empty or half full?"

Years ago when I was a young college student, I attended the most culturally diverse university in the United States, Brigham Young University in Hawaii. At the time, there were about two thousand students comprised of over fifty different countries. Today, there are over seventy countries represented in a student body population of twenty four hundred. Anyone who has ever lived in Hawaii knows that it's one of the most expensive places on earth to live--paradise has its price. The dorm rooms, or hales as they are called, are tiny, cinder block rooms with the bare basics. Each room houses two students. I had been at BYUH for about a week when I met a girl who told me this story.

"When I got to BYUH, I couldn't believe how small my dorm room was. And then I realized that I had to share it with another person! I couldn't help it. I just sat down on that dingy mattress and cried when I saw it. My walk-in closet back home was bigger than this for goodness sakes. A couple of days later, I met a girl from the Philippines. We started comparing notes about our dorm rooms. I felt a little vindicated when she told me that she too had cried when she saw her room. Then she told me why. She just couldn't believe that she had such a nice, big room and that she only had to share it with one person. Her whole family lived in a place that was about the size of her dorm room."

I never again heard my friend complain about her room. A clear perspective--it makes all the difference!

An Exercise in Frustration!

I told all of my children that I would be my husband’s project when our youngest son moved out of the house. Well guess what? Soloflex, here I come. First of all, I made the mistake of telling him that we have an exercise channel on cable. So not only do I get to work out of the Soloflex, the monster machine with bands, but I get to warm up first by doing either Tae Bo, Buns of Steel or The Walking show. The other night, he asked if I could raise my legs any higher, and I said I could if my stomach wasn’t in the way. Today, he told me that we were going to whittle down that little tummy of mine. This announcement came while I was on the floor trying to grunt out a series of sit-ups. I tried to give him the death glare, a nearly impossible task considering that the flat tire around my middle had grown to the size of Mt. Everest from that vantage point.

Whittle down my stomach. “Let’s see, four children and over fifty birthdays. That’ll be the day.”

Then to cap it all off, I’m sitting in front of the TV with my fat-free, sugar-free orange jello when this Sonic commercial comes on advertising 157,000 ice cream shakes. I see this life-sized picture of a frothy, vanilla shake with chocolate fudge drizzling down the side. This really starts my taste buds to dancing. Then I look down at my congealed jello that’s oozing down the spoon.

I dare anyone to say anything to me, especially since I’ve been dieting and exercising for two weeks and haven’t lost an ounce!

Sandra

Southern Talk

Have you ever noticed that we southerners have a very distinct way of talking? I can be in a room with fifty other people from various parts of the world, and the minute I open my mouth, people stop mid-sentence and give me a peculiar look. This is followed by "So, what part of the south are you from?" I always stand up a little taller and proudly tell them about my Alabama heritage. Then, I tell them about Tennessee--my home away from home. Sometimes, I can tell that people are not paying near as much attention to what I'm saying because they're so mesmerized at how I'm saying it. This can be a little irritating at times, but it does point to the uniqueness of the south. We have our own sing-song cadence that's soft and twangy at the same time. My brother and I call it banjo talk. We southerners don't get in a hurry. In fact we like to roll our words around and season them up just right before spitting them out.
Once when I was in Vegas, I went to one of those buffets where the people are standing behind the counter. "Which type of meat would like?" the man asked.
I answered him with one word, "turkey."
He came right back with, "What part of the south are you from?"
How he deduced that from the word turkey is still a mystery to me.
Maybe it's really true what they say--you can take the girl out of the south but you can't take the south out of the girl. Thanks goodness for that! It only took two syllables to prove me a southerner that day. Of course, when I want to do it in one, I just put on a big smile and go up and say, "Hey ya'll." Works every time!

The Intimidated Blogger

My mom and I have finally moved into the twenty-first century and have officially started blogging. We've talked about doing it for months, but somehow we keep getting distracted with all of our other projects. So, I bit the bullet today and am now writing my first post. I have to admit that this is a new experience for me. I find myself sitting here, staring at the blank screen, thinking "now what?" I've been writing four hundred page novels for the past decade, then why am I so intimidated by a simple blog post? Maybe it's because I have no problem living out experiences vicariously through my characters, but this is supposed to be about me. Yikes! So, all of you experienced bloggers, please turn a blind eye to my pitiful inexperience as I fumble my way through this.

Blogging--I'm looking forward to the journey!