Shellie Rushing Tomlinson
Hello, porch friends. I got up early this morning to get
things ready for you. We've got a lot to chat about! I'm
tempted to open things off with a big "I told you so." I knew
that warm weather last week was teasing us! But, Mama would say
I'm being a smart-aleck so I'm not going to say it. ~smile~
I hope things are going well for you. It's been quite busy
around here. My interview with Randy Prewitt on "Good Morning
Ark-La-Miss" sent some new porchers this way. Maybe a few of
them will write in and introduce themselves, (hint, hint). I
know y'all like hearing from each other because you tell me so.
By popular demand I've decided to give our new temporary feature,
"A Southern Definition...You Could Have Been a Girly-Girl",
permanent status. I just hope I can keep those definitions coming.
Yep! The pressure is on. ( Feel free to bail me out if you think
of a good one. ~smile~). Oh, and don't miss Tammie Stutts' letter
in the "Southern Exchange". This woman knows a thing or two about
girly-girls.
Enough from me, I hope you enjoy this week's sampling of the
South. I had fun getting it together for you.
Hugs,
Shellie
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"Chuckles"
"Seeing Eye to Eye"
Three travelers happened to meet at a restaurant in Ohio. One man
was from Michigan, one from Florida and one from Alabama. They
got acquainted and started talking about their problems with
their wives.
The guy from Michigan said, "I told my wife in no uncertain
terms that I was tired of fast food and wouldn't have any more
of it in our home. Well, the first day after I told her, I saw
nothing. The second day I saw nothing. But on the third day
when I came home from work, the table was set, and a wonderful
dinner was prepared."
So the man from Florida spoke up, "I had kinda the same
experience. I told my wife we couldn't afford the maid any
longer and she would have to do her own cleaning and shopping.
The first day I didn't see anything. The second day I didn't
see anything. But the third day when I came home, the whole house
was spotless, and the pantry shelves were filled with groceries."
The fellow from Alabama pushed out his chest and said: "Hmmph!
I told my wife just last week that she would have to do the
cooking, shopping AND housecleaning. I thought she took it okay.
Well, the first day I saw nothing! The second day--I still saw
nothing. But by the third day, I could see a little bit out
of my left eye!"
~Thanks to Dude Halley for this week's chuckle!
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"A Taste of the South"
This is one of my sister Rhonda's recipes. It's so quick,
easy and delicious you'll want to make a habit of keeping
can biscuits on hand.
"Pull Apart Bread"
• 3 cans biscuits (10 to a can)
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon cinnamon
• 1 stick of butter, melted
Mix cinnamon and sugar in large freezer bag. Cut biscuits into
fourths with kitchen scissors, drop in bag and shake until they're
evenly coated. It works best if you shake a few at a time.
Drop coated pieces in bundt cake pan. Do not grease pan first.
Pour leftover seasoning mix over biscuit pieces and drizzle with
the melted butter. Bake at 350' for thirty minutes, let cool
and turn over onto cake plate. Enjoy! Rhonda would say the
calories don't count because everything is broken up. :-)
~Thanks Rhonda!
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"Spotlight on the South"
SPOTLIGHT ON ROBERT ST. JOHN
I haven't met Robert St. John in person, but from what I know
of him so far--I think I like him a lot! Renee Decker from
Bastrop, La. forwarded me the following essay. I liked it so
much, I decided to verify its authenticity and share it with
you. I expected that to be easier said than done, but I was
wrong.
Mr. St. John was out of the office when I contacted the Purple Parrot
Cafe, http://www.msra.org/Members/Hattiesburg/PurpleParrotCafe.htm.
but I was given his email address. I promptly emailed him a
request to verify the following essay as his own, not really
expecting a personal response. Wrong again! Mr. St. John
returned my email that same day, confirming the essay as his
own and supplying me with the original text. I know you'll find
it as entertaining as I did, but first, here's a little more
info on the author.
Robert St. John, a native of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, has been
in the restaurant business for twenty years. During the past
twelve years, he has served as president of Purple Parrot
Company, Inc. of Hattiesburg, which operates the Purple Parrot
Cafe, Crescent City Grill and the Mahogany Bar. St. John was
chosen Restaurateur of the Year for 1996 by the Mississippi
Restaurant Association. He is a past board member of the
Mississippi Tourism Associate and a graduate of the Mississippi
Economic Council's 1996-1997 Leadership Mississippi Program and
a member of the Culinary Federation and the James Beard Foundation.
"My South"
Thirty years ago I visited my first cousin in Virginia. While
hanging out with his friends, the discussion turned to popular
movies of the day. When I offered my two-cents on the authenticity
and social relevance of the movie "Billy Jack", one of the boys
asked, in all seriousness; "Do you guys have movie theaters down
there?" To which I replied, "Yep, and we wear shoes, too."
Just three years ago, my wife and I were attending a food and
wine seminar in Aspen, Colo. We were seated with two couples
from Las Vegas. One of the Glitter Gulch gals was amazed, amused
and downright rude when I described our restaurant as a fine-dining
restaurant. "Mississippi doesn’t have fine-dining restaurants!" she
demanded, as she snickered and nudged her companion. I fought back
the strong desire to mention that she lived in the land that
invented the 99-cent breakfast buffet, but resisted. I wanted
badly to defend my state and my restaurant with a 15-minute
soliloquy and public relations rant that would surely change her
mind. It was at that precise moment that I was hit with a blinding
jolt of enlightenment, and in a moment of complete and absolute
clarity it dawned on me: my South is the best-kept secret in the
country. Why would I try and win this woman over? She might move
down here.
I'm always amused by Hollywood’s interpretation of the South.
We are still, on occasion, depicted as a collective group of
sweaty, stupid, backwards-minded and racist rednecks. The South
of movies and TV, the Hollywood South, is not my South.
My South is full of honest, hard-working people.
My South is colorblind. In my South, we don’t put a premium on
pigment. No one cares whether you are black, white, red or
green with orange polka dots.
My South is the birthplace of blues and jazz, and rock-and-roll.
It has banjo pickers and fiddle players, but it is also has B.B.
King, Muddy Waters, the Allman Brothers, Emmylou Harris and Elvis.
My South is hot.
My South smells of newly mown grass.
My South was the South of The Partridge Family, Hawaii 5-0 and
kick the can.
My South was creek swimming, cane-pole fishing and bird hunting.
In my South, football is king, and the Southeastern Conference
is the kingdom.
My South is home to the most beautiful women on the planet.
In my South, soul food and country cooking are the same thing.
My South is full of fig preserves, cornbread, butter beans, fried
chicken, grits and catfish.
In my South we eat foie gras, caviar and truffles.
In my South, our transistor radios introduced us to the Beatles
and the Rolling Stones at the same time they were introduced to
the rest of the country.
In my South, grandmothers cook a big lunch every Sunday.
In my South, family matters, deeply.
My South is boiled shrimp, blackberry cobbler, peach ice cream,
banana pudding and oatmeal cream pies.
In my South people put peanuts in bottles of Coca Cola and hot
sauce on almost everything.
In my South the tea is iced, and almost as sweet as the women.
My South has air-conditioning.
My South is camellias, azaleas, wisteria and hydrangeas.
My South is humid.
In my South, the only person that has to sit on the back of the
bus is the last person that got on the bus.
In my South, people still say "yes, ma’am", "no, ma’am', "please"
and "thank you"
In my South, we all wear shoes--most of the time.
My south is the best-kept secret in the country. Please continue
to keep the secret; it keeps the idiots away.
by Robert St. John
(Thanks Robert, you took the words right out of my mouth.~Shellie)
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"It's Been Said..."
"Down South everybody cherishes dreams. In dreams this world
and the next mix like sugar and grits."
--Grandmother Ernestine, to novelist Jewell Parker Rhodes
(This is Shellie speaking. If you aren't really Southern you might
need further clarification on grits and sugar. You can find
all you need to know in the "Southern Joke" archive,
http://www.bayou.com/~tomtom/jokes.html. Look for number #2.)
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Visit http://www.allthingssouthern.com/books.html for a FREE
chapter of my memoir, "LESSONS LEARNED ON BULL RUN ROAD".
(You can order online using your credit card--or you can snailmail,
email or fax the printable order form.) Don't forget to browse
the rest of the store!
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"Southern Comfort"
"Who's in Charge?"
Not long ago I saw a cartoon of a very small boy being pulled down
the sidewalk by a huge Great Dane. The little boy was trying his
best to pull back on the leash, all the while shouting, "Now,
let's get this straight. You are my dog! I am not your boy!"
As cute as this picture is, I see a sobering resemblance here to
someone I know really well. Myself! Sometimes when I say all the
right things, do all the right things and pray all the right prayers
and still don't get my way-- I can get a little like this young
man. Of course, I'd never say it out loud, but my ugly attitude
dares to whisper to God, "I'm not your servant. You're my God!"
So, maybe I'm preaching to myself here and you've never dared
get so uppity with our Father. Well, someone else did. Why else
would the Bible have said in Romans 9:20, "Nay, but O Man, who
art thou that talks back to God?"
God isn't a formula. He's the Creator. We can't control God with
our repetitious prayers any more than our young fella above can
control his dog with a lease. We're talking about the Father of all
time here, the First and the Last, the Maker of heaven and earth. I
think our best response when we don't get what we want can be
summed up in two words, "Yes, sir."
~Shellie
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"Southern Exchange"
Your letters:
Dear Shellie,
This is my classic Girly-girl story:
Every summer my family (mom, dad, me, Marcey and Sarah) would
go camping with my uncle's family (uncle, aunt, Cindy, Vickie,
Tori). My family was very athletic and outdoorsy--accustomed
to gardening work, splitting wood, mowing yards, and playing
sports. My uncle's family was NOT.
One spring we went to Horseshoe lake near Jones, LA to camp
and fish for white perch and brim. Boy, were they biting! While
the adults were preparing supper, Daddy told us girls to clean
the fish. Now Cindy is old enough to be at home and Tori and
Sarah are too young to help. So Me, Marcey, Vickie, and friend
Janice have the whole task. We're armed with spoons, (to
remove the scales), knives, (to remove the head and entrails),
and water to clean the mess up. Marcey, Janice and I are cleaning
fish and Vickie is standing there looking disgusted. We begin
to taunt her..."You have to help, too! Do you want to scrape,
cut or wash? You have to help! Do you want to scrape, cut or
wash?" Well, the more she resists the more frustrated we get
with her attitude.
So...we begin to scrape a little harder and the scales begin to
fly. She screeches and flings her arms. "Want to help now?" we shout.
"No!" We fish cleaners look at each other, shrug and suddenly
fish eyeballs begin to fly. Our cousin runs from the area screaming
and whining to her mom...
I remember us laughing so hard we didn't hear my dad coming. The
whole time he was "getting on" to us--his back was toward our cousins.
He was grinning from ear to ear and giving us a look that says, "way
to go". He didn't care for girly-girl attitudes either. We all had
chores to do and the ability to perform them. There was no room for
a farmer with three girls to put up with girly-girl attitudes.
I hope this makes your day a little lighter. You and your sisters
have me and mine beat by a mile. I never felt the urge or the need
to ride my bike off the barn roof. Although I did ride the three
wheeler up and down spoil piles on the bank of the bayou behind our
house. Not the brightest of ideas either...
God Bless,
Tammie Stutts
Goodwill, La.
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"A Southern Definition"
"If you've never held a frog because you were afraid you'd get
warts...you could have been a girly-girl."
--Shellie Rushing Tomlinson
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WHAT SOUTHERN MOMS TELL THEIR DAUGHTERS...
About beauty: "Pretty is as pretty does!" Do you remember your
southern mom's advice about love,marriage, relationships and
life in general? Then join the fun; this project is exploding!
Write me at tomtom@allthingssouthern.com to have your mom's
advice memorialized in my new book: WHAT SOUTHERN MOMS TELL
THEIR DAUGHTERS...
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