On Growing Up Southren…
…or can you really find yourself if you don’t even know your name?
Now my cousin knew my name alright but she called me Cindy Lou in the South you got to have two names one just ain’t enough honey and you got to address people proper with endearments like darlin’ sugah sweet pea words that drip slip slide outta your mouth like the buttah that runs down your chin from granny mommy’s made from memory biscuits tweren’t no Bisquick in her cupboard.
Well I was born Candace Leigh but it didn’t matter none because when my folks the one a Southern Baptist from Florida Cracker and the other a New England Episcopalian High Church Ma’am converted things started to change as in you must have the name of a proper saint in order to baptize this child and so it came to pass that they baptized me at the age of three Mary after the Blessed Virgin in the name of the Father the Son and the Holy Ghost it was Ghost back then.
Now she was a righteous woman and all sure enough and one should be proud to have such a namesake and I woulda been but I was Candy all my life all the way through the third grade anyway until the nuns saw Mary on the Baptismal certificate and that was all she wrote and that’s why you’ll find Mary at class reunions cause it’s a lot easier than explaining who the hell Candy is. the end.
Present day. So I’ve been trying to reinvent myself so I can rename this blog and I’ve been having a little trouble but my excuse is that I’ve had an identity crisis since I was nine. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. This week has been crazy, and it’s not over yet, but I’ll be back next week with my usual quilting shenanigans. Can you believe that Labor Day has already come and gone? It’s more than half-past summer, folks, and another cool weekend is predicted here. All I can say is, yee-haw.