“Things Every Southern Woman Should Know How to Make”

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Alice clicked on the headline, mildly curious about what yet another stranger thought should be in her kitchen repertoire. Pictures of China plates mounded with crispy fried chicken, greens, cobbler, and a pile of biscuits a mile high flooded the screen, all set off with a pitcher of sweet tea beaded with condensation. The table was set; an apron draped off to the side next to a box labeled “Gramma’s Recipes” in fine calligraphy. She closed the browser and put away her tablet. She was born a Georgia peach, but she couldn’t make a cobbler to save her life. Did that mean she wasn’t southern? Or maybe just not “Southern.” For Alice, there was no recipe box full of family traditions. Her younger years were filled with rental homes in different states and her father’s voice coaxing her toward a text book rather than a cookbook. Metalworking and fabrication held more interest than learning to flambé or sauté. Did it make her less of a woman that her cooking skills consisted of fresh salads

Something in a name

Okay, I’m sort of odd when it comes to names in a story.  Once upon a time, I was forced to read Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.  In the first few pages, I knew what the ending of the book would be and only finished it under protest.  Throughout this whole novel, I loathed Darnay.  He irritated me to no end, and as I pondered why—besides his incredibly stupid actions—I realized that only once does the reader ever see Darnay’s first name.  He’s only called Charles once.  One time.  Now I know there are others who are not referred to by first names, but those gentlemen had titles.  Doctor, Mister, always something before the last name.  Yet, Darnay was just Darnay, and there was little else to him besides the fact that he bore a striking resemblance to Sydney Carton.  My brain in its infinite quirkiness came to the answer that perhaps I was not supposed to like Darnay.  That the use of his last name without title and the lack of insight into his personality was an act of subliminal messaging enacted by Mr. Dickens to turn my thoughts against the man.

On the other hand, I love secret names, such as Ged in Ursula K. LeGuin’s A Wizard of Earthsea.  For me, knowing Ged by his true name as I read his story was like I was one of the people trusted to know his name.  After all, he could have been called Sparrowhawk through the whole story and his true name only mentioned when in conversation with his closest friends.  Then I would have known it, but it wouldn’t have been the same.  Quirky brain.      

Comments

  1. i have never read either one of these stories but i kinda know wat you mean wen you read a stry you do feel like you become to know the characters in it and that you are in it with them sometimes but if you were to read one like you said that has someone not called by their first name it would make you feel like you wernt worthy enough to know it ... and it would not make that story fun to read... i like to get to know the characters i read about i like to feel like i am in the story thats wat makes reading fun to me ... sandra

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