Yankee Gone South . . . A Classic Love Triangle

I was born in Michigan and yes, I realize that’s not the “NORTH”.  Michigan is part of the Midwest but when I first moved here to Memphis I was told very plainly, it didn’t matter from what part of the North I came from, I’m still a Yankee by all accounts. I was not born or raised on the East side of the state – Not a Motor City girl.  At this point, within the first five minutes of meeting you, I am compelled to due my Michiganly duty and show you from where I hail with the very convenient Michigan Hand Map.  This is me, West Side, a city on Lake Michigan called Muskegon.  Yes, it really is cold as hell there.  IN fact, I think “Muskegon” is  Iroquois for “Oh my God, I can’t feel my feet.”      

German, Dutch, Swedish and French settled this area of the state and they are a seriously pragmatic and resourceful people.  When times are tough--and they are so tough now, people rally.  People are very proud and there is no waiting or asking for handouts and help.  These are very much "bootstrap" pulling up people.  There’s a sign in every lawn – small engine repair, taxidermy, childcare, blueberries, vegetables, hair salon . . . Et cetera.  Whatever it takes, whatever skills they have . . . they are put into practice to provide for their families.  Hunting and fishing aren’t just hobbies, they’re a food source and for many families, necessary to keep their families fed.  It is with great pride and even enjoyment my people incorporate these skills into their lives.  This isn’t by any means unique to Midwestern or Middle Class, but I’m just giving you a frame of reference here.
   

I grew up this way on ten acres of pasture and pine trees – a little farm with 2 cows, a pond to ice skate on and a blueberry farm backing up to our property . . . Western Michigan, agricultural, rural, manufacturing, industrial area.  It was beautiful and magical and I loved going to the lake and romping through the woods, catching tadpoles and fishing in the pond.  But as much as I loved mother nature, very early I began to covet sparkly things, seek out silky or satin fabrics and squirrel away stray sequins, gems or anything metallic – much like a raccoon.

People looked at me funny when in 3rd grade, I showed up in a beautiful corduroy navy blue 3 piece suit my mother made me.  Satin blouse, Blazer, Vest and Culottes complete with burgundy leather knee high boots.  Swoon.  Third grade, people and I begged my mother to make the outfit for me from a pattern I spotted at the store. 

I also made a hobby out of inventorying my mother’s jewelry collection.  There were just a few items in it but I could model her rings and necklaces every single day.  I also coveted the one makeup palette of 12 creamy pastel eye shadows she had.  I counted down the days until I would be allowed to touch makeup.  Fast forward to junior high and high school . . . I wore flouncy shirts, riding boots, vests, blazers and dressed up for every occasion I could find warranted it.  I loved clothes and classic style.  T shirts and jeans and sweatshirts felt very sloppy and unkempt. . . . It just wasn’t me.

This is where my family started looking at me like I’d grown a third eyeball or something.  My sister questioned me many times about "Why are you all dressed up" or "Why are you wearing makeup?" to which I replied, "I don't know, why do you wear pants?"

My extended family was by no means rude to me about my love of all things fancy and special, but I knew they found me a little odd.  I would wear special holiday skirts or dresses and makeup and boots and really blow it out for our holiday gathering and well, pretty much for anything.  Not that these folks aren't festive . . . there are usually holiday sweatshirts.  And on that subject, let me just say, there aren't ugly sweater parties . . . I think you know what I mean.  

How I got here . . .  

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So, as luck would have it, I married my husband - at the CRAZY stupid young age of 19 and moved to Memphis TN where he attended optometry school.  It was SUPREME culture shock at first.  I spent the first 4 or 5 years here feeling like I was Alice and I had somehow fallen down the rabbit hole in this strange backwards place.  There were language barriers {oil vs. ole} {pin vs. pen}, and people moved, talked and just seemed to operate on a much slower schedule than what I was used to.  I walked fast, talked fast and worked fast.  

My “rabbit hole” began with my first experience working at Seessel’s Grocery Store at Poplar and Perkins.  East Memphis, wealthy, old money.  I can’t tell you how many times I was asked, “Where you from, honey?” and “Slow down, what’s your hurry?”  

After much frustration, one day, a light bulb went off in my head . . . call it wisdom or acquiescence . . . I’m never going to get ahead or at the very least, get anyone to trust me if I don’t “assimilate” and slow down.  Assimilate . . . or die trying.  And, like a user becomes a junkie, wasn't that hard.  

–I learned to speak a little slower, linger on the vowels and worked to duplicate and appreciate the lilt of Southern speak and charm and understand its unique power.  

There are so many things I've come to appreciate in the nearly 17 years I've loved in the South now.  I love the friendliness and familial nature of Southern people.  Not one year passed in the first 10 here that we didn't have 5 or 6 offers to spend Thanksgiving as a part of their family.  (As a side note, after 4 or 5 Thanksgivings, we decided to stay home and cook our own dinner as no one in the South made Stove Top Stuffing.  Rather than decline to eat Grandma Margaret's famous dressing for the 10th time, we became Thanksgiving Recluses to  make Stove Top in the privacy of our own home).   


People in the South go to extraordinary measures to make people feel special, appreciated, and loved.  The details put into giving gifts, throwing parties and making sure nothing is left to chance--everything is done with panache and style . . . even the Euphemisms and Idioms have a special flavor and Sass.  Some of my favorites include, "That is a Hot Mess," and "Aunt Betsy is just Bat Shit Crazy," and "She's about to have a Come Apart."  Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention, "Bless your Heart," a phrase that covers a lot of topics implying pity, empathy, sympathy, or my favorite, stupidity.

•That being said, there are Southern ways and customs that my very Midwestern upbringing just can't fully appreciate.  For instance, tailgating with canopy tents and seersucker suits – fruit trays and ice sculptures.  I come from the land of football games where there is more Camouflage and Ski caps, Kegs and brats in the parking lot instead of shrimp cocktail and salmon pate with children with polo shirts running around, with little girls in matching hair bows or boys in checkered John John’s . . . The Alma mater legacy runs deep here in the South but demonstrated . . . in a different way.  

–Speaking of children I had previously never encountered the child/person with two names.  My best friend I met here 10 years ago.  Her name is Laura Lea.  She is from Jackson, Mississippi (pronounced, Missippi) and has been my Southern woman Jedi Master for more than a decade.  I've also had the pleasure of meeting a Jack Henry, Beau Henry, David John, Ellie Grace, Mary Taylor, Mary Porter, Mary Carter, Mary Margaret, Mary Courtney and so on and so forth . . . They’re beautiful but really, how many names does a person need.  My feeling is it’s a mixed bag of fear of offending as well as paying homage to a relative.  It’s not such a big thing further North . . . Or at list in middle class Midwest. 

•We looked at our family names for our kids.  For our daughter the female names consisted of – Janice, Louise, Susie, Linda, Diane, Penny, Pauline, LaVerne (my grandmother) and last of all, SHAWN.  Who names their daughter Shawn?  Apparently my father and stepmother do as coincidentally, I have a step sister named Shawn.  So, I gave my daughter the most classically feminine name I could find:  Sophia.  Nothing Androgynous about Sophia.  Our son, that was hard too.  Family names include Craig, Rick, Morris, Lee, Oscar, Arnold, Ernie, Danforth and yes, another LaVerne.  My grand parents are both LaVern – the power couple: Vern and Vernie.  I know, ryight?  So, his name is Jake.  Just Jake, no namesake.  Jake.

 

–Jake and Sophia . . . I have not purchased either one of them a monogrammed piece of clothing.  I think a nice lady gave Sophia a bag and a friend gave her some monogrammed bloomers.  Monogramming.  I can get behind an initial here, a name there, but here, people are tagging everything like you’re in a weird, high falootin’ street gang?  My dear friend Laura lea explained it to me when I called her out on this crazy Southern-ism . . . "It’s like marking your territory but instead of peeing on things, we MONOGRAM – to say, 'Those are my God Damned Hand Towels, or That’s MY damned precious baby and her cute baby shit is in this adorable diaper bag with her damned initials on it. '"  Why she curses like that in this quote, I don't know.  But I love it.  You should hear a Southern woman swear.  It's most awesome.

–Next to monogramming, the next phenomenon I not only don't understand but rather loathe:  Little girls with big ass hair bows – bigger the bow, meaner the girl.  Scientifically proven from years of experience/research in the world of retail service.  If I saw a little Buffy with her Big Ass hairbow, I knew she was going to destroy stuff.  Just don't do it.  No one needs a flight deck on their head.  

–And, having not grown up in a rather fancy place, I can honestly say I don't know if anyone in my extended family - both sides - even owns actual China or "good silver."  I'm more of an "every day" china/paper plate kind of gal.  Practical and cost effective.  I DID actually register for China and Silver when I got married.  I did not receive a SINGLE place setting, fork or salad server.  I did however receive popcorn bowls and a jerky maker.  The popcorn bowls saw a lot of action.  Jerky maker, not so much.  

So, how do I reconcile these two social cultures into one woman . . . tormented between my love of the Southern fanciful, extravagant, glittery charm and the pragmatic practicality of my Midwestern upbringing?  

Well, I've decided to create a hybrid.  A new archetype of woman.  "The Midwestern Belle."  It's a working title - but I'm hoping it catches on.    

I'll continue to pick and choose from which influence I shall rationalize my decisions in parenting, life, friendship, work and most importantly, shopping.  I'll wield my Southern accent with pride and sass and charm and apply my Midwestern practicality with a 1-2 punch that you'll never see coming . . . Bless your heart.  

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