No place like home -- Karen Wight

I have a Southern mother. I’m not talking about Southern California

but the South, as in Confederates, fried chicken and mashed potatoes,

supper instead of lunch, fireflies and summer evenings and girls’

finishing school. You know, the South.

In fact, I not only have a Southern mother but two Southern grandmas.

Now, if you’re a Southern California native, this does not mean much

to you. But if you have any Southern relatives, you know that fried green

tomatoes is not just a side dish or the name of a movie but a way of

life.

I think my Southern roots account for a lot of my personality quirks,

or perhaps “traits” is a nicer way to put it. I yearn for a more

laid-back, tie-dyed philosophy. But I can’t seem to overcome what has

been inbred, and if you’re a Southern girl, you have a lot of rules to

follow.

“Rules for Living” was the topic of a discussion I had this week with

Debbie and Jennifer, who both work at Butera Home Collection in Westcliff

Court.

As I walked by the store this week, Jennifer was conducting an

informal query on which one of a salt and pepper pair has more holes. It

seems like a simple question: which shaker has more holes? But the

question turned into a provocative discussion.

Once you put that important question out to the general public, watch

out. You get all kinds of answers. And by the way, everyone thinks his or

her way is the only way and all other opinions are plain wrong.

As Debbie, Jennifer and I stood there, we asked people the salt and

pepper question as they walked by. Our answers were evenly divided

between “salt has more holes” and “pepper has more holes.” So, who knows

the right answer?

In my kitchen set, the holes are the same. But in my dining room set,

there are more holes in the pepper shaker.

My formal salt and pepper sets are about 60 years old, so I doubt the

reason there are fewer holes in the salt shaker is because of concerns

about high blood pressure. It’s just that they came that way, and I never

doubted the configuration.

This subject did prompt a weighty discussion about rules in general.

And, as the product of a Southern mother, I live by a lot of rules.

Fifteen years ago, my grandma nearly burst a seam when she came to my

house and saw that I had candles on the table with unburned wicks, a

major faux pas.

This led to a discussion on hospitality and the importance of not

wanting your guests to feel that you went out of your way to welcome them

into your home.

She said that all the candles in my home should have wicks that have

been burned, even if it’s ever so slightly. Plus, used wicks light

faster; a bit of practicality thrown in for good measure.

In my fortysomething years, I have been instructed in quite a few odd

and unusual practices that my Southern relatives consider part and parcel

of a well-mannered life.

The toilet paper in a powder room should always have the free edge

hanging over the roll. In addition, the loose square should be folded in

a triangle. This is a nice practice until your children routinely use the

powder room. Try teaching this to a 15-year-old.

You should always have at least three hand towels available. Always.

Don’t ask why three is the magic number unless you are entertaining a

large crowd.

Always have more food than you need. This is the yenta-meets-Southern

matron rule of living.

Always have fresh flowers. They don’t need to be fancy. Something from

the garden is fine, but cut flowers are a must.

Always have a dish of candy available for guests. (This is a toughie

for me, because I’m a treat freak.)

Food and my grandmas were inseparable. Homemade treats were the order

of the day. Of course, they also weren’t worried about fitting into their

jeans, but comfort food was high on the priority list.

Manners. Can’t have too many of these. Of course, the fact that my

grandma and mother went to the same “finishing school” before their

college studies could have something to do with it. This was expected of

me as well.

When I announced that I would attend UCLA as a four-year university

rather than attend finishing school first, my great-grandfather, Daddy

Eph, didn’t talk to me for six months. Oh, a public university, the shame

of it all.

There are a lot of rules to follow for a girl whose mother thinks of

herself as a cross between Scarlet O’Hara and Jackie Onassis.

Never wear white shoes before Easter or after Labor Day. Chipped nail

polish is the equivalent of committing a public embarrassment. Your purse

and shoes should always coordinate.

And you need to iron everything. I mean everything. I have vivid

recollections of ironing my little sister’s panties. That was weird, but

I did it anyway.

So, back to the salt and pepper shakers. People are emphatic that

their way is best. And I guess it is, for them.

We all live in our own worlds. Some just have more rules than others.

Some have more guilt than others. And some require more work than others.

So whether you set your table with silver or plastic, remember that

there is magic in the details. Gracious hospitality and good manners

translate across all borders, all cultures and throughout all time.

* KAREN WIGHT is a Newport Beach resident. Her column is published

Sundays.