On Being Southern

July 21

Of all the things that become my muse, humidity never seemed like a real candidate. And yet…

What does the slow steady whirl of a ceiling fan mean to you?

When it gets warm, we have no air conditioning and the fans are our salvation. For this reason, I can not be upset over sticky air. It gives me the chance to become Southern again, to feel my roots to the core of who I am, down into my toes and up to the gentle blowing strands of my hair.

Something about them bring me back unmistakably to just about every memory I have and every memory shared with me from my grandmother. I can – with ease – forget that laying on the back porch, large glass windows, stripped down to cotton underclothes laying down on blankets with my brothers and sisters for an afternoon getaway from the heat was not me. Underclothes were a lot skimpier in my time, cupboards took up most of the space on that porch when I knew it and I have no sisters. But you put a ceiling fan on, I can hear the rhythm of my grandmother weaving the story of her family into my heart.

Blow, blow me away.

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2 Comments for “On Being Southern”:

  1. July 22nd, 2009 Mandy Sue says:

    I love how smells, sounds, or other little things can take us back to a simpler time in our lives. Love this post!!

  2. July 23rd, 2009 Jo says:

    Again, this is an incredible post. You brought me back with you to those times. Beautiful!

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