I am a Southerner in the City, an aging debutante, a small town girl cursed with big city aspirations. My grandfather says that I’m at the cusp of feminine failure—I’m as old as a bottle of prime Tennessee whiskey (aged 25 years) and still single. I need to “get on home” and find a nice Southern boy—a doctor, maybe an insurance salesman. At this, I dig in my heels and set out to date every inappropriate man in Manhattan…
Monday, January 28, 2008
Believe
Just as I’m nearing the end of my book and recipe edits, my mom sends me this, in a big, beautiful frame:
“Believe in yourself, believe in humanity, believe in the success of your undertakings. Fear nothing and no one. Love your work. Work, hope, trust. Keep in touch with today. Teach yourself to be practical and up-to-date and sensible. You cannot fail.”
Okay, Mom, I believe in you and my undertakings and true love and a big ol’ country breakfast to get my day started in the cold, hard city. There–life and its essence. Simple.
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