Southern Comfort

Unless preoccupied in the thoughts of my dream world, I always greet people with a smile. I was raised that way. Regardless of how society feels about salutations and respect, I say Ma’am and Sir. There is always room in the inn and food in the fridge. I was raised by a very hospitable family. I can remember my mom and dad cooking dinner and feeding anyone in the yard. Once, my dad fed a yard full of hungry kids with one pitcher of Kool-Aid, a bag of chips, and hotdogs. It wasn’t a planned meal. My dad was outside doing yard work. He threw some hotdogs on the grill and that was that. I’ve seen my mother feed ten people with one chicken, and everyone ate until they were full. Growing up, it never occurred to me that this wasn’t normal. I thought every family shared what they had. I can remember sleeping on the floor on pallets because family was visiting from out-of-town. What hotels? We slept on the floor and talked the entire night.
My childhood was an instructional manual in hospitality, Southern Comfort. I never knew my parents not to be willing to help anyone, family or not. They embraced everyone, even long gone exes. That’s another story. The miracle of it? They weren’t rich. Even by middle class standards, they were modest. However, they were abundantly limitless in love.
Forget Emily Post and all those manuals and books, Margaret Barclay is the most hospitable and charming lady. She could (and would) give lessons to you and feed your some of the best fried chicken you’ve ever eaten.


3 thoughts on “Southern Comfort

    1. Of course, I need to bring her to meet all of you guys. To say that I was blessed is an understatement, God outdid himself with this angel!

      Liked by 1 person

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