The South

Nostalgia by Linda Beeson Rosendale

My fondest memories of childhood are of church services, the scent of Momma’s perfume and her suede coat with a fur collar. The smell of that perfume, a combination of sweet flowers and citrus, combined with the softness of her coat take me back to a simpler time, a time when adults were in charge, you could walk the neighborhood without fear, parents watched out for all the children in the area, and everyone knew you.

It was a simpler time, a time when honeysuckle bloomed fragrant and beautiful and we drank the sweet nectar from its blossoms–a habit my mom tried to discourage, to no avail.

Evenings at Mama’s house spent catching “lightening bugs” or swinging on the front porch. Family and friends always dropping in. Play dates didn’t exist. It was a much more informal time and place. I still prefer that kind of thing.

Now, suffice it to say, I lived in a small town in The South. Sometimes, especially when I was a teenager, it wasn’t so convenient to have all those people in my business. But now, I’m glad they were. I messed up enough with the eyes on me, but without them, I shudder to think!

The South. Yep, capitalized, cause it’s like a whole other world if you aren’t from there. From our expressions (so good it makes you wanna slap your grandma) to the milk and cornbread for a midnight snack, and everything in between. There is no place like it.