Dry County Guilt - about pic

You can usually find this sitting in a parking lot a few blocks away from Turner Field.

On and off for years I have been questioning my Southern roots.  I was born in the South, raised in the South, and still live in the South.  You would think I would have some understanding what goes on around me by this point.  Growing up in a small town the only thing I ever wanted to do was to leave.  I left and immigrated…to another Southern city – this one a few million more citizens.  Craving the Southern taste and identity is a constant, blessing, and curse.

Ever wake up and realize that you don’t know how to make an awesome cornbread?  Ever wish that you knew how to cross stitch something?  Remember the last time you went to your great grandmother’s decoration?  For some odd reason deep down inside me, I want to know all of these things.  Not just know it but how to do it well.  There is a disconnect between my generation and my grandmothers’ generation (aka my Mom…I kid…but not really).

Were things really that much better back in the day?  Will I discover more of myself and my ancestors just by trying to experience the same things?  Will I even complete a project?!  I will try though.  The best I can do is just to try.  Try and learn from others.  Try and fail and laugh.  Try and learn and share.

And wave at webcams.


Your beloved grammatical criminal


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