Hey y’all– I realize there are new readers finding me all the time. (Welcome!) Some of you may have landed on the blog and don’t realize that you can subscribe to my FREE weekly newsletter at the website for a steady fix of southern fun. We can’t have that! Hence, my decision to post this week’s newsletter here. Yes, my diabolical plan is to get you addicted to All Things Southern. I can’t get away with anything, can I? Hugs, Shellie
All Rights Reserved Volume IX, Issue 43, ©Copyright 05/02/11
“Yours Truly, a Threat to National Security?”
Hello folks, it’s my supreme pleasure to welcome everyone back to the porch of All Things Southern, though I may be a tad road weary from the tour. Of course, that only means that it’s high time for a visit with my freaders. (Yep, coined me another new word on the Sue Ellen’s Girl Ain’t Fat, She Just Weighs Heavy tour. Friends plus readers equals freaders!) I’ve got plenty of refreshments on the sideboard there. Step over Dixie Belle, make yourselves at home and let’s chat… ~smile~
I was leaving Houston recently with a complimentary case of food poisoning from one of their finest Mexican restaurants and one major goal: preventing my insides from staging their own boycott in Houston Intercontinental Airport.
My queasy intestines and I arrived at the initial security point where a poker-faced lady discovered my first security violation. My driver’s license had expired the week before. I apologized, silly me. Miss Rumsfield frowned. Apparently, I was the newest threat to national security. Did I know I was traveling with an expired license? Why had I let it expire? While cramps shot through my shoulder blades, I reminded myself that sarcasm wasn’t attractive at any age; thanks Mama. Countless stomach rolls later, Miss Rumsfield’s supervisor jotted something on my boarding pass and waved me, his ex-problem, toward the next security point.
My new friends read the coded note on my pass and seized my luggage from the x-ray machine for in-depth screening. I was passing silently through the metal detector, hallelujah, and smelling the first hint of freedom—or blue cheese enchiladas—when I heard, “She has a knife!” What? Who has a knife? I don’t have a— oh, wait, yes I do…The good folks in Farmerville put one in my gift basket at that last speaking engagement. I, public enemy number one, had dropped it in my purse!
A second man spoke into his miked collar. “We have a knife,” he told someone somewhere. Correction, Crocodile Dundee, you have a utility tool with a corkscrew. (Hush, Shellie.) I begged ‘em to just throw it away, but I quote, “Ma’am, once security has been breached we must follow protocol.” Protocol! I haven’t seen such blatant suspicion since I was fifteen and told Papa I was carrying those cigarettes in my purse for a friend.
I’m back in my own home bunker, but I thought you should know how difficult it is for a forty-something, green around the gills, writer from Lake Providence to threaten the world with concealed fingernail clippers. Rest easy, America…
Until next week…
Don’t forget our weekly porch party, every Monday evening on ATS LIVE from 5-6 PM CST! Aired locally on TALK540 KMLB and all over the world thru the listen live link on the homepage!
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Georgia Hathcock Brown had her day in court Friday. I saw her the next morning and she was still fuming about being “hauled into court for nothing by that dreadful woman.” Georgia is and will always be a drama queen. I know through the grapevine that what actually happened is that Georgia tried to sell off some her late daddy’s land, knowing full well that his wife, her step-mom, was part owner.
It’d be fair to say that Georgia and the second Mrs. James Hathcock have never seen eye to eye. Once, years ago at an engagement party for the happy couple Georgia all but publicly accused Ms. Hathcock of marrying her father for his money! They never got past that. Then Mr. James took ill and the two of ‘em fought to nurse him back to health. There are some people who say the poor man took the easy way out.
I didn’t tell Georgia that news of her court appearance was all over town. Peggy works at the courthouse and she said Georgia got off to a bad start during the swearing in ceremony when she was told to state her name and address.
A look of total surprise swept over Georgia’s face as she reeled around to raise perfectly arched brows at the judge. “Do I have to say my age?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes, ma’am, you do.”
Georgia pulled her spine even straighter and flipped her bottle blond hair. “I am thirty-one and some odd months,” she replied.” The courtroom snickered and the judge rapped his gavel.
“Can you be a little more specific,” the judge instructed Georgia, “thirty-one and how many months exactly?
If looks could kill, the man would be pushing up daisies. After a few moments of calculation
Georgia testified, quite testily, “One hundred and eight.”
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~~A Taste of the South~~
You’re gonna be glad you made it back to the kitchen. I’m making my Amazing Almond Chicken. You might as well buy two of everything at the grocery store, friends. Your family will definitely be calling for an encore. Let’s do this thing.
“Amazing Almond Chicken” (And for the record I have ZERO idea why I can’t get this to format without the space between each ingredient. Sorry!)
8 boneless chicken breasts
1 (10 ounce) can each cream of chicken, cream of celery, cream of mushroom
1 cup sour cream
1/3 cup chopped onion
1/3 cup chopped bell pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
1 stick melted butter
2 tubes Ritz Crackers, crushed
1 (2 ¼ ounce) package sliced almonds, toasted
I’ve already got our chicken ready. I covered eight boneless chicken breasts in water and boiled ‘em until they were fork tender. Once they cooled, I tore ‘em into bite-size pieces and placed ‘em in my greased casserole dish.
Now, we’ll take these two tubes of Ritz Crackers, crush ‘em up and stir ’em up with a stick of melted butter. We’ll set this aside and stir together a can of cream of mushroom, cream of chicken, cream of celery, and a cup of sour cream with some diced onion and bell pepper. We’ll pour this mixture over our chicken and top it with our buttered Ritz crackers.
We’re gonna slide it in the oven here at 350 degrees for thirty minutes or until it’s bubbly—whichever comes first, and then, right before we eat, we’ll top it with our toasted almonds. That’s good eating, folks– from my kitchen to yours!
~~It’s Been Said…~~
She was born in Birmingham, Alabama, October 29th, 1973. The child loved to run and dreamed of running in the Olympics. She was nine years old when Coach Dewitt Thomas came to her elementary school. He hoped to find some budding talent for his track team. The children were lined up, boys and girls, their first initial and last name recorded on this clipboard and the races began. When it was over V. Jeffery recorded the fastest time. Coach Thomas was prepared to search for Vinnie or Van. He was shocked to find a shy young girl named Vonetta. It wouldn’t be Vonetta’s last surprise.
Despite tremendous success in track and field in high school and college, a rash of injuries seemed to be conspiring against her to rob her of her life-long dream. Although she qualified for the Olympic Trials in 1996 and 2000, she failed both times to make the team. Five surgeries in eight years had taken their toll. After the 2000 Olympic trials Vonetta felt forced to retire from her first love, but she wasn’t ready to relinquish her Olympic dream.
At the age of twenty-six, Vonetta took up bob-sledding on the encouragement of her husband Johnny who spotted a tryout poster. Within months she was competing at the top of the sport. Less than two years later, Vonetta Flowers the bobsledder from Alabama, slid into gold with fellow American Jill Bakken, becoming the first African American, male or female, of any country to win a gold in the Winter Olympics.
Today’s Southern Quote features the refreshing candor of a young woman who knows how to give credit where credit is due. While shocked onlookers shook their heads in disbelief that anyone could go from the dejection of missing the 2000 Summer Games to a gold medal performance in the Winter Games of 2002, Vonetta Jeffrey Flowers simply said, “My faith pulled me through.”
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“Whoever Heard of An Obnoxious Angel?”
I have an angel on my back porch, a tiny thing who spends her days sitting on the side of my fountain pouring water from the small basin in her delicate hands into the stained glass pool beneath her feet. She is the sweetest little thing, too— if I tend to her properly. She has her moments, let me tell you…
My angel’s water supply has a tendency to evaporate in the heat and humidity of our long Delta days. If I remember to replenish it regularly, my angel and her overflowing basin charm me with the most pleasing background music. It’s a pleasure to sit on the porch and write to y’all while she soothes me with her tinkling cascade. On the other hand, let her water level drop too low and the child turns into a banshee—a screeching, grating,
obnoxious tart, her pump desperately sucking air where water should be. If this happens the girl not only fails to give me peace, she actively destroys it.
Maybe you’re ahead of me. I hope so. I see myself in my angel fountain. Look in the reflection and see if you recognize anyone you know? God’s word is living water to our souls. When we are full of this living water, it washes us, and flows out of us in a pleasing melody that allows our lives to fall graciously on those around us. However, when we neglect the Word and fail to replenish ourselves with this precious water, what is supposed to be a life-giving flow becomes hollow at best to the hurting world around us and give-me-a-break- from-your-religion grating to their ears at worst. Fill your fountain, folks. You could be someone’s sweet music today.
IF YOU ENJOYED THIS ISSUE OF ALL THINGS SOUTHERN PLEASE CONSIDER USING A BUTTON OR TWO BELOW TO FORWARD ME TO YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY–YOU’RE THE BEST ADVERTISMENT OUT THERE. THANKS!