I was born in the South. I have the accent, the eccentric relatives, and the love of all that is Fannie Flagg. What brought this website about? For one thing, I really like and I really don’t know how to fry chicken. And frankly, I realized that I will be considered the missing link once I have children. I will be the reason that they only know how to cook things that come in cans. They will think the can opener is a major appliance. If they have to escape via tractor, they will be out of luck. Grits will be a thing some of their more astute friends will have to explain to them. I’m not saying that becoming what I call a proper Southern woman will save these children. I mean, my mom cooks a mean cornbread. I cook a fairly grumpy and quite ugly cornbread. This is not her fault. She tried. A friend tried to teach me to quilt, and I am fairly certain she had to seek counseling afterward. Of course, now, as with piano lessons, I wish I had paid a little more attention to those basic skills women sometimes teach their daughters and sons. I have a husband who sews, builds, cooks, repairs, and gardens far better than I can ever hope to. He can pretty much do it all, and I can microwave pizza. So much for being equally-yoked. To catch up with my husband and in hopes of having at least one or two skills to pass on to our future children, I am going to spend a year learning all of those things my Momma begged me to learn years ago. Follow me as I become a proper Southern woman.