Southerners are distinguished, not only by their distinctive accents, but their colorful sayings, as well.
Only someone born and raised in the South could tell you where “over yonder” is. If they say they’ll be back “directly”—how long is that?
You’d best beware when asking for traveling directions. “Just down the road” might mean two blocks or 20 miles.
Only someone born and raised in the South could tell you where “over yonder” is. If they say they’ll be back “directly”—how long is that?
You’d best beware when asking for traveling directions. “Just down the road” might mean two blocks or 20 miles.
And Southerners are always “fixin’ to” do something: make dinner, go to the store, or “box your ears"!
When my family returned to Louisiana for a visit one summer, Mama got a hankerin’ to see a former, elderly neighbor. I tagged along, too. Lyda Mae was a hoot, and she always had a tasty treat baking in her oven.
We rang the doorbell and waited patiently for her to maneuver her walker to the door. Her weathered face lit up like Christmas when she saw us.
"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” she yelled. “You two are a sight for sore eyes!”
She smothered us with bear hugs. “Glory Bee,” she said to me, “you’re growin’ like a bad weed!” She ushered us into the house and, as is the custom with Southern hosts, her thoughts soon shifted to food.
“Come on back to the kitchen. I was just fixin’ to heat up some lunch. Are you girls hungry?”
Do birds fly?
We settled around her tiny kitchen table with our plates loaded with spicy ham jambalaya and black eyed peas from Lyda Mae’s garden. Just when we thought we couldn’t eat any more, she set out a sweet potato pie and a plate of cookies. Life doesn’t get any better.
“How’s your mama?” asked Lyda Mae. “I haven’t seen her in a coon’s age.”
“She’s doin’ fine,” Mama said. “How’re your boys?”
“Like two peas in a pod,” Lyda Mae replied. “Both working at the refinery and fishin’ on their days off. Rob finally married Linda Sue.”
“The home coming queen?” asked Mama. “She was such a pretty little thing, riding on that float in the Home Coming Parade.”
“Bless her heart,” said Lyda Mae. “She blowed up like a blimp. She’s big enough to BE the parade float now.”
We shook our heads—poor Linda Sue.
Our afternoon visit covered all the usual neighborly topics: food, family, friends, food, weather and food.
As Mama and I prepared to leave, Lyda Mae bestowed more hugs and shed a few farewell tears.
“Ya’ll come back now, ya’ hear?”
Recipes included in the book for this story: Ham Jambalaya (recipe on this blog), Black Eyed Peas, Sweet Potato Pie (recipe on this blog), Peanut Butter Blossoms
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