For Whom the Belle Tolls has been around for a few years now, and while a lot has changed since I started blogging (I finally broke down and got a smartphone), much has stayed the same (I'm still largely held together by hairspray and hot glue). Even though I wrote this little introduction all the way back in December 2012, I still find these truths to be self-evident. For those of you who have known me all along, you'll see that this leopard has not changed its spots, and for those of you who may be new to the Belle Tolls, this should get you up to speed pretty quickly. Go ahead and count this little stroll down memory lane as your cardio for the day, and enjoy.
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Just the facts ma'am: born and raised in the great state of Georgia, I am a true Southern belle who loves all things prissy, frilly, and frou frou. My family has self-diagnosed me with OCD, which I prefer to call HOE...highly organized and efficient. That's right, I am a proud HOE. I graduated from Clemson and adore everything about it. My blood runneth orange. I married my mom's college roommate's son (take a minute, that one's tricky to diagnose) whom I met when our moms reunited after 20+ years and quickly realized they had some matchmaking to do.
My hubs turned out to be a serious workaholic, which allowed me to "retire" at the ripe old age of 29 - a full year before the goal of 30 I set for myself! I am now a very happy housewife and my only child is our 16 pound ball of canine chaos, our bichon frise Cotton. As you will quickly come to know, I decided to start blogging because my life practically begs for it. These things write themselves, and truth really is better than fiction.
Rather than write an autobiography (yawn), I thought it more helpful and much more entertaining to give you some commandments, in addition to the Big Ten, that I like to live by...also known as the ten commandments for the fantastically fabulous (hey, no where did I write that I was humble, 'kay?).
1. The higher the hair, the closer to God. I heard a Real Housewife last week incorrectly state that the higher the heel, the closer to God. Nice try, but anyone can buy a pair of really high heels. Big hair can only be achieved by the perfect combination of hot rollers, teasing and aerosol hairspray. It's an art.
2. Mind thy mom and thy manners. Both are trying to keep you looking classy and out of trouble.
3. Thou shalt enjoy thy guilty pleasures. Personally, I love Days of Our Lives, Diet Coke and beauty pageants, to name a few. I am a future Wheel of Fortune contestant just waiting to be discovered.
4. Thou shalt resist the urge to strangle thy spouse and/or give thy dog away free to the first taker. Men and dogs are very similar species in that both will eat almost anything, constantly get into mischief, require a good deal of obedience training, and will fall asleep at any given time, circumstance or argument be damned.
5. Thou shalt not steal another woman's boyfriend or her bargain. Life is hard enough for us without the bad juju of stealing someone else's beau, and heaven forbid you steal her Neiman Marcus for Target Collection find out of her cart while she isn't looking. Believe in karma, because if you don't, it will come back to bite you right in the butt.
6. It it sparkles or shines, thou shalt adore it. Rhinestones, glitter, bright lights, sequins, and lest we forget, diamonds. I love it all because it just makes life more fun. And pretty.
7. Thou shall start thy diet on Monday. Never refuse a cocktail or a shared dessert with a friend in the name of losing that last five pounds. Life is too short, and cocktails and dessert are too much fun. They should not be passed by, particularly on those holiest of days, the weekend. You can go back to your Crystal Light and rice cakes on Monday.
8. Honor thy lips and thy lip gloss. I once read that Will Rogers said, "Live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." As tempting as it is, word always gets out.
So be careful what comes out of those lips, and while you're at it, swipe on some lip gloss. I never met a woman who didn't look better with a touch of gloss.
9. Love thy neighbor, or at least pretend to when you see them on the street. It's the right thing to do in the name of Southern hospitality. Plus, it makes walks to the mailbox less awkward. And while we're at it, if someone says hello to you in passing, you are morally obligated to say hello in return. Anything less is tacky, and no one wants to be labeled tacky (unless you're Dolly Parton or Nicki Minaj, in which case, do what you feel).
10. Remember football season and keep it holy. Here in the South, college football is filled with pomp and pageantry. Rivalries can divide husband and wife, brother and sister, even mother and child. We take it seriously and we do it right. So put out your best gourmet tailgate, pack up the cooler, and put on your cutest outfit in your team's colors. Dress need not be comfortable, mind you: you are not actually playing any football. All you need to be able to do is sip and socialize. Because no matter what anyone may tell you, that's what it's really all about.
And there you have it. So the next time you pass a flat-haired woman without lip gloss, who doesn't say hello because she's cranky from not eating dessert, maybe share this with her and give her a nudge in the right direction. I'll leave it at that, because commandment number eleven is: never tell them everything you know. Wink.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Thursday, March 21, 2019
A Southern Belle Primer
I have come across the most charming little book: A Southern Belle Primer. I don't know exactly how I have missed this gem all these years, because when I posted a picture of it on Instagram a couple of weeks ago, dozens of you commented that you grew up with this as a manual for good living and expressed shock that I had not know about it before. It was published in 1991, so I admit I am extremely late to the game. Shame on you good Southern folk for not bringing it to my attention sooner! How tacky (wink).
Inside the pages, there is much to do about tomato aspic (which I adamantly refuse to try), Hellman's mayonnaise (Hellman's will freeze over before I eat anything but Duke's), and repeated extolling of the Junior League (of which I am a dropout). That being said, a good Southern belle is her own unique character who is not afraid to stand out, and I still found that the majority of the topics presented rang true to me in a very delightful Southern way.
Chapter One is entitled "Who Are Your People?" so right away I knew I had come to the right source. I haven't heard that phrase (used sincerely, anyway) since my Mimi, my mom's mom, passed away. It was her opening sentiment every time she met a friend of mine with whom she was unfamiliar. She needed to know immediately if this girl's parents were the Walkers from the Baptist church or the Walkers from the Methodist church and if her granddaddy was the Walker who once owned a store downtown? As the book so accurately states, "Southerners never tire of talking about bloodlines. Everyone is questioned. No one is exempt."
Another very important part of Southern belle lore that resonated with me is this: "In the South, a girl's first can of hairspray is more important than her first bra." Amen to that, sister. I was taught the importance of good, big hair in my early youth when my mama and I would get out the Dippity Do hair gel and a container full of pink sponge rollers, listen to "Solid Gold Saturday Night" on the radio and roll my hair for church the next morning. We did this every Saturday night without question or complaint, because it is the price you pay for curled, coiffed, teased glory. The author has a theory that when Southern women stopped wearing hoop skirts, big hair became another way to make women's waists appear smaller. I don't know exactly how the evolution of big Southern hair came to be, but I can tell you I, along with scores of other Aqua-Netted females, just feel prettier when my hair is living its biggest life.
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| Amen! |
As a girl who started ballet and tap lessons at the ripe old age of two, I was also particularly taken with the part about dance classes. You see, according to the Southern Belle Primer, ballet and tap classes teach young belles-to-be about charm and "is where they first learn to sparkle." I would also add it is where I developed my love of costumes and sequins; my desire to take dance in the first place came when toddler Susie saw a picture of a tutu-clad ballerina in a magazine. I took that picture right over to my granddaddy and pointed to that beautifully costumed prima donna and let him know, "I want to do this." Granddaddys being granddaddys, he had my mama enroll me in classes ASAP...never mind the fact that I wasn't yet steady enough on my feet to walk in a pair of baby tap shoes. My mother would have to carry me across the studio floor and deposit me on my mark, and let the dance class begin. With the exception of one rebellious year when I took a hiatus, I was in dance class from the age of two until I left for college. I like to think I learned to sparkle, all right. I also learned that even if you aren't sure exactly what your next steps are supposed to be, you can usually get by with a wink and a smile.
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| Dance recital pictures, 1983 and 1984. How could anyone not want to wear these costumes? |
No Southern Belle Primer would be complete with covering essential topics like silver, beauty pageants, the War, and fittingly saved for last: funerals (and their accompanying casseroles). I chose the same silver pattern as my mother before me (Strasbourg), so imagine how thrilled I was to discover I was marrying a man whose mother's silver was Strasbourg as well! That just sets a girl up for a lifetime of fabulous entertaining. I enjoyed my fair share of beauty pageants (and tiaras, the most important part) during my younger days, and as far as "the War" goes, I married a member of the Kappa Alpha Order, which is essentially the college fraternity equivalent of war reenactors (Robert E. Lee is listed as the order's spiritual founder, after all). My mom is currently in charge of the bereavement committee at the Methodist church in her hometown, and she is proudly passing on the funeral hospitality that was near perfected during her time as a Baptist. There is rarely a week that goes by that we don't discuss funeral food or the plans to feed a family after a church member has passed. I've officially reached the age where any time I see an attractive black dress, I think, "I should probably buy that in case I need it for a funeral." Death is part of a Southerner's way of life, I suppose.
A friend has let me know there is an updated version of the Southern Belle Primer that I simply must read. She said it contains some new insights about Southern propriety and protocol, but assured me that is still contains the Twelve Patterns of the Silver Zodiac just like the original. I'm sure I will give the newer version a read at some point, but to be honest, I don't feel that there's a need to rush. Southern belles don't change, they adapt; but the truth of the matter is that, just like patent leather and seersucker, deviled egg plates and tomato sandwiches, belles are a timeless classic.
A friend has let me know there is an updated version of the Southern Belle Primer that I simply must read. She said it contains some new insights about Southern propriety and protocol, but assured me that is still contains the Twelve Patterns of the Silver Zodiac just like the original. I'm sure I will give the newer version a read at some point, but to be honest, I don't feel that there's a need to rush. Southern belles don't change, they adapt; but the truth of the matter is that, just like patent leather and seersucker, deviled egg plates and tomato sandwiches, belles are a timeless classic.
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| It's not so much a title as it is a badge of honor. |
Thursday, March 7, 2019
Doggone Crazy
Chanel creative director and fashion icon Karl Lagerfeld died a couple of weeks ago...and left at least a portion of his $200 million fortune to his beloved cat, Choupette. This will most likely make Choupette the world's richest cat, surpassing a British cat named Blackie who inherited over $9 million from his owners in 1988. However, the richest pet of all time title still belongs to a German Shepherd named Gunter IV, whose owners left him $375 million in 1991. Let's also consider the fact that Choupette is already a self-made feline who has earned her own spending money as a model. This cat has got it made. I love this story because it just goes to show that no matter how calm, cool, and collected someone may seem on the exterior, inside we are all doggone crazy over our pets.
While I don't have Karl's kind of money to give to my dog, he still manages to take his fair share of our income, our time, and our energy. He may not be a millionaire (but feel free to become one, Cotton), but he does have a pretty pampered life. At the age of sixteen, he habitually has my husband and me tripping over ourselves to make sure he's comfortable and happy.
Most of you know that Chick-fil-A is a habitual reward in our family; Cotton feasts on nuggets after every vet visit. Now that he is well within the senior citizen age bracket, those visits are coming more and more frequently. Even the drive-thru workers know the reason for our visit and more often than not, they will ask how Cotton's doctor visit was and happily hand over the bag with his most delicious chicken reward.
I'm afraid it doesn't stop with the nuggets. The blanket in the picture above is Cotton's favorite blanket, his near constant companion and snuggle partner. He also has a blanket that is reserved just for sleeping on at night, and still another quilt that we keep in the car for short rides. This dog has gotten cold-natured and now has his own mini closet in my laundry room with sweaters and shirts--and even Christmas pajamas--for practically any occasion. No pet of mine is going to shiver.
As arthritis has started to shorten our walks, I caved in and did something I swore I would never do: I bought a dog stroller. I was confident that Cotton would hate it and assured myself that meant I would never have to appear in public pushing him in it...the problem is, he was smitten with it from day one. Then again, who wouldn't like to stroll around (on the aforementioned quilt) and enjoy attention from strangers? Why walk when you can ride?
So we've got nuggets and blankets and sweaters and strollers, why not throw in a birthday cake every year as well? We have ordered Cotton a small "cake" every year since he turned twelve; I figured that when your dog reaches that age, every year becomes a reason to be celebrated. This year, as we celebrated his sweet sixteen, we went a little over the top with a pom pom collar and a party hat (okay, and also a toy car). Yes, it was ridiculous. And you know what? We laughed so hard and got so much joy out of it, I'm not the least bit sorry.
I take great comfort in knowing that I am not alone in being crazy for my animal companion. A lady in my neighborhood takes her aging Labrador retriever out for runs and pushes an empty jogging stroller. When the dog gets too tired to keep going, he hops in the stroller and she pushes him along the rest of the way. They are neighborhood celebrities, and for good reason. My friend Jason told me earlier this week he was contemplating using an oxygen tank for his fourteen-year old dog, Savannah. It had a neoprene case to help make it portable, and we both said we wouldn't hesitate. Cotton is about to have to wear diapers when we leave him for more than two or three hours--I don't have children and I honestly never thought I would be changing diapers, but you do things for your pet without a second thought. A few years back, a pregnant friend confided in me she only hoped she would love her baby as much as she loved her two cats: I'm happy to report that she does.
It doesn't matter if you have a cat, dog, fish, bird, horse, snake, ferret...our animals make us better people. They take our minds off ourselves, they think the best of us, and they remind us about important things like loyalty and not holding a grudge. We love our pets because they are always glad to see us. They can't talk, so they can't argue or tell our secrets. They may steal your snack but they will never hog the remote. They are our confidants, our therapists, our sidekicks. Pets remind us to be curious, play, and live in the moment.
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| Feast your eyes on Choupette Lagerfeld, multi-million dollar heiress. |
While I don't have Karl's kind of money to give to my dog, he still manages to take his fair share of our income, our time, and our energy. He may not be a millionaire (but feel free to become one, Cotton), but he does have a pretty pampered life. At the age of sixteen, he habitually has my husband and me tripping over ourselves to make sure he's comfortable and happy.
Most of you know that Chick-fil-A is a habitual reward in our family; Cotton feasts on nuggets after every vet visit. Now that he is well within the senior citizen age bracket, those visits are coming more and more frequently. Even the drive-thru workers know the reason for our visit and more often than not, they will ask how Cotton's doctor visit was and happily hand over the bag with his most delicious chicken reward.
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| When you are 80 in people years and you like Chick-fil-A, you get to eat lots of Chick-fil-A. |
I'm afraid it doesn't stop with the nuggets. The blanket in the picture above is Cotton's favorite blanket, his near constant companion and snuggle partner. He also has a blanket that is reserved just for sleeping on at night, and still another quilt that we keep in the car for short rides. This dog has gotten cold-natured and now has his own mini closet in my laundry room with sweaters and shirts--and even Christmas pajamas--for practically any occasion. No pet of mine is going to shiver.
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| A sample of Cotton's wardrobe. Yes, we bought special tiny hangers for his clothes. |
As arthritis has started to shorten our walks, I caved in and did something I swore I would never do: I bought a dog stroller. I was confident that Cotton would hate it and assured myself that meant I would never have to appear in public pushing him in it...the problem is, he was smitten with it from day one. Then again, who wouldn't like to stroll around (on the aforementioned quilt) and enjoy attention from strangers? Why walk when you can ride?
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| Cotton (right) with my mom's poodle, Sam, strolling around Pigeon Forge this fall. |
So we've got nuggets and blankets and sweaters and strollers, why not throw in a birthday cake every year as well? We have ordered Cotton a small "cake" every year since he turned twelve; I figured that when your dog reaches that age, every year becomes a reason to be celebrated. This year, as we celebrated his sweet sixteen, we went a little over the top with a pom pom collar and a party hat (okay, and also a toy car). Yes, it was ridiculous. And you know what? We laughed so hard and got so much joy out of it, I'm not the least bit sorry.
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| Celebrating sweet sixteen (and probably thinking, "Oh boy, these idiots have officially gone off the deep end.") |
I take great comfort in knowing that I am not alone in being crazy for my animal companion. A lady in my neighborhood takes her aging Labrador retriever out for runs and pushes an empty jogging stroller. When the dog gets too tired to keep going, he hops in the stroller and she pushes him along the rest of the way. They are neighborhood celebrities, and for good reason. My friend Jason told me earlier this week he was contemplating using an oxygen tank for his fourteen-year old dog, Savannah. It had a neoprene case to help make it portable, and we both said we wouldn't hesitate. Cotton is about to have to wear diapers when we leave him for more than two or three hours--I don't have children and I honestly never thought I would be changing diapers, but you do things for your pet without a second thought. A few years back, a pregnant friend confided in me she only hoped she would love her baby as much as she loved her two cats: I'm happy to report that she does.
It doesn't matter if you have a cat, dog, fish, bird, horse, snake, ferret...our animals make us better people. They take our minds off ourselves, they think the best of us, and they remind us about important things like loyalty and not holding a grudge. We love our pets because they are always glad to see us. They can't talk, so they can't argue or tell our secrets. They may steal your snack but they will never hog the remote. They are our confidants, our therapists, our sidekicks. Pets remind us to be curious, play, and live in the moment.
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| What a wish! |
Sadly, our pets also remind us that life can be short, and we will never have enough time with them. So I say put on the fancy collar, push them in the stroller, feed them Chick-fil-A and spoil them every chance you get. I like to think they would do it for us. And also, if anyone finds out that Choupette enjoys the company of small, white, elderly dogs, please let me know. Cotton could really help her spend that fortune of hers, believe me.
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