And come off that dumb hillbilly act!

I’m down south this weekend, visiting my parents and helping my Dad (who is currently walking with a cane) prepare for the church’s “Charity Chicken,” which is part of the town’s Memorial Day Weekend “White Squirrel Festival.” (Does it get any more small town than that, I ask?)

I spent this afternoon lugging industrial-sized foodstuffs, raising tents, and crawling in the grass to hammer in stakes. It was me and the “Men of the Church,” meaning me and a bunch of southern senior citizen males. They were forever worrying about my ability to lift heavy objects, which was both kinda charming and REALLY annoying—particularly since I heard several of the Men talking about participating in tomorrow’s Memorial Day parade…as World War II vets. I’d like to think that I can do more heavy lifting than, say, your average 85-year old.

After the church was all prepared, I dropped my parents off at square dancing and drove my daddy’s pickup (a manual, natch) back up the mountain to the house. I was covered in grease and grass stains, and there was banjo music playing through the radio. I think I definitely earned some “Country Girl” cred today…although now I’m sitting down with a glass of Pinot Grigio, watching Jeopardy.

So much for that.