Happiness is a Moist Towelette

I have no idea who invented the first moist towelette but I sure know who supplied me with my earliest one and that was Colonel Harland Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame. My Daddy loved to eat out and I'm certainly a chip off the ol' block. Growing up in our neck of the woods, there weren't many chain restaurants but we did have KFC and Captain D's. I quickly became a student of the theory, "if it ain't fried or out of a body of water, what's the point of eating out?" Sure, I thoroughly enjoyed the big bucket of original or extra-crispy chicken with sides of mashed taters and brown gravy (which just so happens to be my preference...more on that another time), coleslaw and hot biscuits but secretly, I couldn't wait for my mother to open that cute little red 'n white package with the folded piece of lemon-scented and Heaven-sent towelette in it. *sigh* When that cool towel of wonderfulness touched my face, I would close my eyes and breathe in that lovely scent. It was refreshing beyond words!

My folks knew the pleasure that those little towelettes brought me so there was always a container of similar-smelling Wet Ones in the glovebox. I appreciated their concern but really, the two didn't compare. How could I ever be moved by a scrunched up and ripped towelette when the Colonel had his folded so very nicely and neatly in a cute little package? It seemed wrong and definitely a terrible copy of sheer greatness. (No offense meant to any of you diehard Wet Ones lovers.)

For years, I've remembered, and missed, those moist towelettes. A couple of weeks ago, I drove through our local KFC and ordered the special which was the chicken fried steak (totally smothered in white gravy). I opened the bag, took out my food and there, lying at the bottom like a gift meant only for me, I spied the Colonel, smiling up at me on the cover of his little red 'n white package. Joy flooded through me and I'm pretty sure if someone had happened to be watching me when I first glimpsed that tiny moist towelette, they would've considered calling the nearest nuthouse to take me for a mini-vacation!

At that moment, time almost stopped. I held the package in my hand and thought...and thought. If I were truly certifiable, here's a one-sided conversation that could have taken place. "I haven't seen one of you for years! Dare I open you? How can I ask such a question? Of course, I should...you are a divine present! But if I open you, I may never see the likes of you again! Oh...whatever shall I do?" My first moist towelette in decades is tossed into my bag by an unknowing employee of KFC and I can't bring myself to open it. I suddenly realize I'm far too old to be acting so immature (and peculiar). I snap out of it and proceed to do what any normal farmwife and homeschool mom would do. I set my moist towelette on the dash so I can gaze at it adoringly while I proceed to chow down on my KFC Monday special. As I finish my meal, I decide to only use my napkin (that would be a plain, rough, dry napkin). I hide my treasure in between the front seats of my Jeep and for the next week, I drive around, trying to give little thought to when exactly I'll pop my once-in-an-adult-lifetime towelette open.

There's one annoying thing about me as a mother. When I know about something really wonderful, I have to share it with my children. I realize that this typically wouldn't be a trait most would frown upon but just this once, I might like to have hesitated in being so doggone good to my son. Another thing about me is I can't stand a child with a dirty face. I've been known to offer up a spitbath or a wet washrag on many an occasion to a yucky-faced child in order to assist them in cleaning themself up.

You know what's coming, don't you? Well, off Jacob and I rush into town last week and in my hurry, I didn't notice that something was smudged on his face. When I saw it, I could've cried. I instantly knew the purpose of the moist towelette and I knew its time had come to fulfill what it was created to do. I force a smile at my boy and hand him my gift. "Jacob, I have been saving this little package for just the right moment, and this, Son, is it. You will never know how much I love you but let me open this and try to show you just a bit." Now most sons wouldn't understand their overdramatic mothers but this child typically does. He knew something awesome was coming. His beautiful lips turned upward into a huge smile and as I carefully ripped open the top and pulled out the towelette, the scent hit us and we both laughed. He said, "Mmm!!!" and I remembered once more that my son is more like me than he should safely be. I unfolded our moist towelette, closed my eyes and took in that wonderful lemon-scent that hasn't changed one single bit since my childhood. I handed it to Jacob and with glee, he wiped his face, his hands and we repeatedly smelled it even though whatever dirt was on his face was now totally smeared onto the towelette. He and I shared a precious bit of joy together.

Thank you, Colonel Sanders, unwitting KFC employee, Mama and Daddy. Together, you all brought an old girl and her son a huge amount of happiness. For me, happiness is a moist towelette!

Stick It in Your Corncob Pipe and Smoke It

While I'm on a roll about smoking, I figured I'd shed a little light on what I mean by "dispelling the hillbilly myth" that's mentioned on my blog banner for any of you curious cats. Although I'm a native Ozarkian, I've actually lived on each coast of the United States. In my travels and from the mouths of various transplants to the Ozarks, I've heard all the funny jokes about hillbillies, rednecks and Southerners. Really, they're great. *tongue planted firmly in cheek* I figure I can treat all these fabulous sayings about my people by tackling them on a "first come, first serve" basis and I'll treat them as if I'm dining on an elephant; one bite at a time. So here goes nothin'!

Hillbillies are not the only folks who smoke corncob pipes. You want proof? Well, I've got it!

Case in point #1 - General Douglas MacArthur. I think we can all agree that Dugout Doug preferred the elongated corncob pipe only smoked by gentlemen of rather large stature. I'm positive the size of that pipe was not in direct correlation to the size of his ego. The good general was born in Little Rock. Just so we're straight on this, the capital city of Arkansas is not included in the Ozarks. Our mountains just don't extend that far. No hillbilly here!

Case in point #2 - Popeye. I don't know which state Popeye hails from but I guarantee with that accent of his, he's a Yankee, through 'n through! Popeye's a sailor...not a hillbilly. The only character from the Popeye cartoons anyone in their right mind would even confuse with a hillbilly would be Wimpy. If it's not plain to you why that would be, I'd be delighted to explain it to you in private. *giggles*

Case in point #3 - Frosty the Snowman. Yep, that's a corncob pipe whether it looks like one or not. Remember the song, "...with a corncob pipe and a button nose and two eyes made out of coal"? It's pretty obvious to me that Frosty's not an Ozarkian snowman. He's much too rotund for the amount of snow we get in these parts. Now I'm not pickin' on Frosty as I'm pretty rotund, myself. I love Frosty! In fact, I might have to crank up the A/C tomorrow, grab a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate and snuggle up with Jacob to watch our dvd.

Last but not least...Case in point #4 - This Guy. I can't tell you who this man is, where he lives or much of anything really so how 'bout I just make up what I see when I look at this picture? I believe this man's a jovial sort of fella. He's married to a woman who apparently doesn't mind her honey out on the town at the local pub drinking a cold one. He's the type of man who tips his hat to the lady on the street, laughs heartily at little children at play and enjoys a friendly game of billiards with the boys on Friday night. Although I know next to nothing about This Guy, I actually do know two things. He loves him a corncob pipe and he is most certainly NOT a hillbilly. Hillbillies drink their suds from a can on the front porch. Furthermore, a hillbilly dearly loves a hat but well, no offense...not this kind.

I truly hope you've enjoyed this little dissertation! By the time I've posted about a dozen of these lessons, you'll be able to detect a hillbilly - or determine who isn't one - at a moment's notice. Keep reading and hopefully this newfound knowledge I bring to you will come in handy...even in your neck o' the woods!

"Oh, Pa! Can't I Just Look at the Pretty Man?"

Please note: This is NOT an ad for the American Cancer Society.

One of the earliest television shows I ever remember watching and loving as a child was The Andy Griffith Show. Today, it remains one of my very favorites. No matter how many times I've seen some episodes, I still smile and get that same warm and fuzzy feeling. Thankfully, Mark is a big fan and we have two children who adore it, as well. I'm even blessed to have dear friends who are AG Show fans. Chelsea and one of her best girlfriends, Rebekah, have enjoyed Andy Griffith marathons into the wee hours of the night.

I believe we all get why folks find themselves so enchanted by Mayberry and its fictional inhabitants. The tie that binds here seems to be that we can all relate to a show made up of a group of sweet mountain people who appreciate good company, good food and good morals. Okay, so maybe Otis didn't always take to the moral high ground but I always thought he was lovable in his own way. My family enjoys the heck out of high-strung Barney; pretty and precious Thelma Lou; hand-wringin' worrywort Aunt Bee; cute as a bug's ear, freckle-faced Opie; crazy as a hoot owl Ernest T. Bass ("he's a nut!"); sweet and naive Gomer; daffy Floyd, the barber; those bluegrass lovin' Darlins and a host of other enjoyable characters.

And then...then there was Andy. *swoon* Back in the day - when men were men and women were women - I would've given ol' Miss Crump a run for her money! Sheriff Andy Taylor was a fine lookin', downhome daddy and widower just full of country smarts. I ask you, what's not to love? Well, some might say he was sure terrific except for one glaring fault. Andy was a smoker. I must admit that I've never really minded his affinity for cigarettes. I always figured Andy was an adult making an adult decision. Sure, on the inside, his lungs might've been grossly charred with tar and nicotine but on the outside, he was a veritable hunk of manly manhood! So yes, I've pretty much always thought Andy quite sexy in his little lawman's uniform, puffin' away on those cigarettes. For me, he ranks right up there with The Marlboro Man, Don Johnson, Sam Elliot and Tom Selleck. Alright, I'll stop right there before I throw myself into a tizzy. *wink*

(For the record, smoking is definitely not my cup of sweet tea. I've smoked the sum total of one and a half cigarettes in my 38 years and that was more than enough for me. I don't like smoking BUT if you're an adult and I don't have to share the same room with you as you smoke, I have no desire to infringe upon your freedom. What's that saying? Smoke 'em if you've got 'em.)

Be prepared to take more trips with me down Memory Lane to Mayberry and to other quaint little villages of vintage television on An Ozarks Family!

Greetings From the Ozark Mountains!

This short 'n sweet post goes out to all my people. When the term "my people" is used, it's generally meant to describe one's folks or family. Well, I tend to think of all the people I relate to, many on a daily basis, yet am not related to by blood, as my amazing, extended family. So in my mind, you are all "my people". My people are mainly a talented, intelligent, beloved bunch of happy housewives, homeschooling families, brothers and sisters in Christ, former classmates, local friends, relatives and a few rebels mixed in for good measure. My people aren't all from the Ozarks but our common bond is love for God and country. The way I see it, I'm endlessly blessed to have such a pleasant, healthy mix of loved ones!

I'm not going to give a diatribe about what this blog is all about. I think the title and description say plenty. Just plan on hearing a whole lot about country livin', country values, me and my people. Love to you!