Quick warning- this may not be the story for you if you are a vegetarian. And, I’m pretty sure I have written that line before. As the Fourth of July is closing in on us, I find myself planning, packing, and getting groceries for the upcoming celebration. And when I think of the Fourth of July, I think of delicious barbecue- especially the ribs. You see, here in the South, and here in my home, ribs are somewhat of a staple.

I find it very interesting to learn that nicknames have been around since the fourteenth century. This is when the term “eke name” was first used. The actual meaning of

“eke name” is to have an additional name. Now, one thing I am sure of is that here in the South, we take our nicknames very seriously, and boy do they stick- whether good or bad. And they’ll stick when you least expect it. Personally, it is rare that I even hear my true name anymore, and when I do, it is usually in a business setting or with people that have not known me for too long.

These days, with especially how hot it is outside, most of us are looking for a cold, convenient drink to quench our thirst. If you’re like me, a beer is too heavy, and a wine sometimes too sugary or strong for the early afternoon. I tend to lean toward the new-ish hard seltzer drinks in a can. They are perfect for a hot afternoon on the lake, a long day on the beach, while enjoying a ride on a pontoon boat, or to whet your whistle during a back yard barbecue. I just want to know where these suckers were when I was in college. Tailgating in The Grove at Ole Miss would have been so much easier. I also kick myself for not thinking of the idea, but I digress.

  This past Tuesday night, I was driving home from a fellow author’s book release party. The sky was filled with an absolutely beautiful, flamingo pink hue which can make my five- year- old daughter gasp in the most innocent and joyful way. The streets were still steamy from the aftereffects of a strong, southern, summer-shower. And the fireflies of these longer days were finally making their debut.

A few years ago, my husband and I were in the throes of working long days while juggling our first child. To be honest, not much has changed except vocations and another child full of energy added to the mix. Regardless, when I look back on those first few years of parenthood and the all-consuming juggle act, I think of stories like the one I’m about to tell and just hope that sleep deprivation was to blame on this one.  

I have been in my beloved college town of Oxford, Mississippi for the past few days. The sleepy small southern town is filled with memories at each corner I turn- many that make me laugh out loud as I remember them. Some of the funniest ones I have are from the ways we had to start “figuring it out” when we ran out of money as broke college students who should have prioritized food over a big night out at the bar...a lesson usually learned after the fact.

If you spend enough time in the South, you are bound to hear the phrase, “that’s just plain tacky.” The statement is a staple around here. It can be used as a quick dismissal of something, to describe a type of behavior one doesn’t agree with, or can describe something that could be seen as gaudy. And, it can also be the ultimate insult. Interestingly enough, after researching, I found that the term being used to describe something that lacks taste in the South may have originated with a breed of horses called the wild Carolina Marsh Tacky horses. These animals were not considered to be of high quality and viewed to be lacking in breeding. If you aren’t familiar with the common usage of the phrase, let me give you some examples of things that can be seen as just downright tacky.

“I want to be an artist!” I proudly exclaimed to my parents one night. It was the end of my eleventh grade year of high school. My art teacher had just pulled me aside to let me know he believed I should go to college for art and that I needed to think about my senior art thesis. I had always loved art and being surrounded by creative souls. I loved listening to how their brains worked. While some may have perceived them strange or weird, I saw these artistic humans as magical. I was thrilled because I dreamt of going to art school and remain surrounded by these magical thinkers during college, but I could see the look of concern from my parent’s face. To their defense, I naively did not understand the ends and outs of college tuition and preparing an almost adult for the real world.