So You Shoot, Huh?

Even though I’m still relatively new to shooting and the gun world in general, people seem to like to come to me for advice on guns.  I’m not an expert, nor do I profess to know everything there is to know about firearms – far from it.  There are always new developments, weaponry and shooting techniques I have never seen before.  But maybe because I don’t know it all people feel more comfortable approaching me with questions they might feel silly asking an expert or more seasoned shooter.  A good number of women will ask me questions about my own experiences that I’m delighted to relate.  I didn’t realize how many other women were afraid of guns, or more to the point, asking “stupid” questions about them until I starting becoming more vocal about my hobby.  I figured I’d post some of the most common questions, and my answers here just in case any of you had the same questions.

“So you shoot a semi automatic and not a revolver?  Why?” 

Yes, I shoot a semi automatic.  The why is purely my own personal preference.  Semi automatics usually have a higher magazine capacity than revolvers, and I prefer the feel of them in my hand.  I just don’t care for how a revolver feels.  I’ve shot them; they’re just not my cup of tea.  If you prefer how a revolver feels in your hand, then that’s the style of gun you should consider.   If both styles feel good in your hand, go to a range that rents out guns to shoot and try each of them in different calibers and styles. 

“How do you manage to rack the slide back?  I can’t seem to get my husband’s gun to do it!”  

Men generally have more upper body strength and seem to have a stronger grip naturally.  Why else do we hand over those impossible to open jars over to our husbands?  It seems like the ability to rack that slide back comes easier to them.  I have little hands, delicate little fingers, and my grip strength is not equal to Bears.  In fact, I struggled like crazy to get the darn slide racked back the first 50 times or so.  Bear showed me how to use my dominant hand that’s on the gun grip to push the gun forward as my other hand was simultaneously racking the slide to the rear.  I didn’t get it the first time.  Or the second.  Or even the third.  I practiced till I did.  Once I did it successfully, I practiced some more till my hands were tired.  I still practice racking the slide back.  Your husband’s spring may be too tight for you to rack with ease, but another gun may be just right.  It’s sort of like Goldilocks and The Three Bears.  You have to find the one that’s just right for you. 

“Isn’t a .40 caliber really hard to handle, though?” 

Nope.  There are a lot of people who will tell you horror stories about recoil, and how the gun jumped and bucked and did all sorts of cartwheels across the range.  I’ve shot .22 caliber, .380 caliber, 9 mm, .40 caliber, and .45 caliber semi automatic handguns.  I won’t lie to you – there’s definitely a difference in the amount of recoil.  But as a smaller sized woman, I need to ensure that if I ever need to use lethal force against an assailant, that it will STOP them from advancing on me further.  I need to make every shot count.  A .22 won’t give me the same stopping power, even loaded with hollow points, as a .40 or even a 9mm will, also loaded with hollow points.  It simply won’t.  Larger holes equal more damage, so if someone who’s hopped up on Lord knows what is coming at me, or a rabid dog charges me, I’m putting my faith in a larger caliber.  It’s just where my comfort zone lies. 

“Why do you go to the range so often?  I just want one to keep in my nightstand drawer in case I need it.”

What fun is keeping it in your nightstand?!  Let’s take a step back and look at this scenario seriously for a minute.  You’re asleep in your bed, and you awake to hearing someone in your house.  Maybe they’re already just outside your bedroom door.  You have seconds to react.  Seconds from coming out of a deep sleep and having to have your weapon unlocked, loaded, and ready to fire, while issuing a loud, commanding, “Leave this house now – I have a gun and I will shoot you!”  Do you really want to be fumbling with a weapon you’re not familiar with, haven’t practiced with, in this situation, wasting valuable time that an attacker can get to you and possibly even turn the gun against you?  Or do you want to be confident in your ability to be loaded, racked, ready and able to hit your target on the first go?  I think the question here really becomes, “Why wouldn’t you go to the range often?”  We practice on the range, we do drills at home, and the peace of mind it provides me knowing that I’ll be able to access my gun in the minimum amount of time is invaluable…and it’s a heck of a lot of fun to shoot away the week’s frustrations.  (State imposed deadline of a half an hour to reply to a claim, I’m talking to you)

“The guy at the gun shop told me I didn’t need…”

This one kills me.  I’ve had more than a few patronizing gun store clerks try to hand me a tiny little pink or purple gun and tell me it’d be “just fine for a little lady” like myself.  If you run into this, smile sweetly, bless their hearts, hand them the gun back, and tell them you’ll be taking your business, and your money to an establishment who will take you as seriously as a male customer.  Then leave.  Don’t even bother giving them your business.  There’s gun shops a plenty here, and the few times I’ve run across that attitude, I have not only left, but I made sure to let everyone else know how they treat potential customers as well.  A good gun shop will be interested in helping you find the gun you want without scoffing or patronizing you in the process.  The guys at the local store we go to are respectful, helpful, and happy to talk guns with me.  They know I’m a “caliber queen” and don’t even bother showing me anything below a 9mm unless it’s in the spirit of a little light hearted teasing.  They know I take my guns seriously, and as a result, they take ME seriously. 

“But if your husband has a gun, why do you need one too?”

My husband also has a pair of boots, but I’m not going to go tromping around in his when my own fit me so much better.  I can shoot Bears guns, and often do, because it’s important to me to be proficient in all the guns in our house, but I still prefer to have my very own guns because they fit me.  Simple as that, really. 

In the South, guns are part of the culture.  In the areas I’ve lived in the north, it was almost taboo and the only time guns were ever really discussed was to jump up on a soapbox and lament our need for stricter gun control.  It might shock you, but I agree – we DO need stricter gun control….so be safe, get on out to the range, and work on controlling that gun – the x ring isn’t going to shoot itself, y’know! 

Till next time, y’all! 

Carry On...15 Different Concealed Carry Outfits WITHOUT The Purse

The idea of carrying my gun in my purse is odd to me.  Why would I put my gun in my purse when there's so many different options for me to safely carry it on my person, where I can access it easier and faster than from my purse?  I set my purse next to me when I'm in a restaurant, under my desk when I'm at work, on a friends kitchen island if I'm visiting, and in it's little spot next to my desk at home.  If I need to access that gun immediately, I have to first get my purse, then open the gun compartment (because all ladies who carry guns in their purses are using actual concealed carry purses, right?  With a built in safety feature, I hope?)  then I have to draw my weapon, then I have to rack the action and then I can address the threat.  Even if I'm just walking through a parking lot, if someone catches me unaware, they could very well end up snatching my purse and my weapon.  That leaves me completely defenseless - they have my purse, they have my address, they have my gun, which is registered to ME.  Consider the implications of that one.  

I realize that it's a matter of personal choice, and all the above reasons are why my choice is to always carry on my person whenever possible.  Like most women, I also like to look stylish and used to think that carrying a gun would limit my wardrobe choices.  Not so.  There are so many different holsters on the market these days that I can't use that excuse anymore.  With the right gun, and the right holster, I'm good to go.  

For those of you who aren't familiar with the holster terminology, IWB is Inside the Waistband, OWB is On the Waistband.  Compression shorts holsters look like biker shorts, but have a built in holster for left or right kidney carry. There's also compression t shirts and tank tops for women with right and left pockets for your gun. The Flashbang holster clips to the middle of your bra.  Yes, your bra.  The Marilyn holster is brought to you by the makers of the Flashbang holster, and it also clips to the side band of your bra.  The thigh holster I've only ever seen made by DeSantis Leather, who produces some truly beautiful holsters.  I won't insult your intelligence by telling you what a shoulder holster is, we've all seen those!  
 
But, just in case you STILL think I've lost my mind, here's a compilation of different outfits I put together on Polyvore, with different possible carry options for each outfit, ranging from mostly casual to  some dressier fashions, for all seasons.  Ready?  Let's go!

IWB, FlashBang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster

IWB, OWB, Shoulder Holster w/Jacket on, FlashBang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster

IWB, OWB, Flashbang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, The Marilyn Holster

IWB, OWB, Flashbang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, The Marilyn Holster

"Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, Thigh holster

"Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, Thigh holster

IWB, OWB, Flashbang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster

IWB, OWB, Flashbang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster

IWB, OWB, Flashbang Holster, Shoulder Holster w/jacket on, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster

"Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, Thigh holster

"Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, Thigh holster, Flashbang Holster, The Marilyn Holster

IWB, OWB, Shoulder Holster w/Jacket on, FlashBang Holster, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, The Marilyn Holster

"Thunderwear" compression holster, Thigh holster, The Marilyn Holster

"Thunderwear" compression shorts holster, Thigh holster

IWB, "Thunderwear" compression shorts holster or compression t shirt or tank holster, The Marilyn Holster

 

 

That's a lot of potential outfits, and hopefully you're getting the idea.  There are at least 2 different ways for each outfit that you can keep your gun safely secured on your person, still look great, and still have room in your purse for all the rest of the stuff you lug around for you, your significant other, the kids, etc.  (Or maybe that's just me that ends up carrying everyone's stuff in her purse?  Say it ain't so!) 

You probably noticed all the accessories too...but just remember: the best accessory you can wear is the one that keeps you alive!  

Till next time, y'all!


 

I'm a Prepper, He's a Prepper, Wouldn't You Like to be a Prepper Too?

 

I have a confession to make.  Bear and I are preppers.  I still consider us fledgling preppers since we’ve only begun truly prepping in earnest within the last 3 months or so.  A lot of people ask me Why?  It’s a valid question, sometimes asked incredulously, other times asked out of genuine curiosity, but it’s a question I’m happy to answer, because I think preppers can sometimes be put into that “crazy person” category by people who don’t understand it, or who’ve never met someone who practices preparedness. 

Freud would say to go back to my childhood, since all issues stem from there, and in this case, he’s right.  My Grandmother grew up through the Great Depression, and that mentality of always having a fully stocked pantry, cabinets and freezer passed on to me as well.  An empty cabinet fills me with anxiety, while a fully stocked kitchen makes me feel more secure.   Our family went through some lean times when I was a child, but there was always food to eat.  Gram knew the best way to stretch a pack of chicken breasts, or a cut of meat, so it’d give our family at least 2 meals.  She passed that onto my Mama and me. 

The other factor was a bad case of the “What ifs”.  Granted, the family joke is that I’m such a worrier, I’d worry about the baggage retrieval system at Heathrow International Airport if there were time.  They say it like it’s a bad thing, too!  But I digress…Bear and I always had items in the house in case of a natural disaster or really bad storm – extra bottles and canteens to store water in, flashlights, lanterns, candles, some canned goods, first aid supplies, military surplus items - but it was only enough to get us through a few days at most.  That always bothered me, and the what ifs crept in.  What if we were without power or fresh water for a month or more?  What if there was a disruption in the food supply chain?  What if there was a Zombie Apocalypse?  What if one of us lost our jobs?  It would be our own personal economic collapse.  The rest of the world would go on business as usual around us, but our life as we knew it would cease to exist.  While we have a buffer in savings, our money isn’t going as far as it used to.  How long could we survive off our savings before it ran out?  In this economy especially, the thought preyed on my mind more and more often and I knew we had to do something to ensure we’d be able to survive should a worst case scenario come to pass. 

In the South, so many of the people are remarkably self reliant.  They can hunt, fish, fix and grow just about anything.  If they don't know how to do something, they know someone who can, and they'll happily share their knowledge with you if you'll just set on the porch a while with them and visit.  Here, hunting and fishing is something that's not just an adult male dominated hobby.  Parents take their children out hunting and the kids learn how to handle a gun safely at a very early age, bait their own hooks, and take satisfaction in the fact that they helped to put that venison stew on the table, or caught some of those fish for the fish fry.  It's a big contrast to living in New York City where people were mostly "shelf reliant", and if you needed something fixed, you called the building super and waited for them to take care of it.  For us, prepping is just an extension of life in the South.  We're learning how to become more self reliant and less shelf reliant. 

I look at prepping as taking my Grams Depression Era mentality an extra step further and mixing it in with the Southern "country folks can survive" attitude and making sure my family will be ok should we face an emergency or crisis.  Now, instead of worrying about the “what ifs” I know we’ll be OK, and that gives us the calm, level heads needed when facing an emergency. 

In upcoming posts related to prepping, I’ll be covering making room for food storage for those of us with smaller spaces, how we track our food storage calories to see how long the supply will last, the joys of oxygen absorbers (no seriously – they are amazing!), how we made our own gravity filter, and getting friendly with my beast of a pressure canner, nicknamed Megalodon.  Of course, they’ll be non prepper posts thrown in there as well, but admit it, you’re just a wee bit curious, aren’t you?    

Till next time, y’all!  

Why prepare for 72 hours if a storm can leave us without power for a week or more?

Life Is Good - Musings on a Cold Day

Yesterday was a beautiful, balmy day in the low 80’s and very comfortable.  My Mom and I were speaking and she was telling me it was 50 where she is in what I refer to as "the great white north".  Last year they were snowed in for Halloween, with no power for about a week!  The year before that they had to shovel the snow off the roofs because the weight of the snow was caving the roofs in.  That’s craziness!!!  I grew up in the north, but I sure as heck don’t miss the snow, ice, and cold.  I don’t even miss the full change of seasons, sure the foliage was pretty, but if you don’t blink,  you can still see some trees changing color here and there.  But here’s my Mom, telling me how chilly it’s gotten already, and there’s me, terribly smug because I’m going about in flip flops and a t shirt and…WHAM!  Mother Nature and Karma got together and said, “Oh yeah?” 

It didn’t get above 58 degrees here today.  I left the house in a light denim jacket and short sleeved shirt and was blessing the car heater the entire drive into work.  But, we’ve had a few cool mornings and it always warms up nicely by lunchtime so I wasn’t all that concerned.  Stepped outside at lunch, and it’s still freezing!  Ok, not technically freezing, but it is COLD out there!  In my world, anything below 75 is chilly, if it drops below 70 I’m grabbing a sweater and if it goes below that, I’m miserable and looking like the Michelin Man in all my layers and layers of clothing.  Bear will be the first to tell you that it probably took me a full year to “thaw out” after we moved down here.  My body just does not tolerate cold well at all.  As I type this, my fingers feel like little sticks of ice…and I’m in the warm house with a shirt, and a (Gamecocks) hoodie on. 

We’ve been in South Carolina for just over 3 years now, and I’ve gotten used to the weather (the humidity is another story).  Today it occurred to me that maybe I haven’t just gotten used to it, but I’ve begun taking it for granted.  If this is the biggest problem of my day, my chief complaint, then I am really, well and truly blessed.  There’s a double batch of chili simmering away on the stove, and a pan of cornbread baking in the oven.  Bear will be on his way home to me shortly, and we’ll be able to curl up together on the couch, watch a show and spend some time together before we both have to get up to go to our jobs tomorrow.  Life is good.  Sometimes that's all too easy to lose track of.  There are bills to pay, stress from work, budgeting and then re-working the budget when something unexpected comes up and the day to day chaos.  We’ve got a roof over our head, food for our bellies, and we’re still crazy in love with each other after 8 years together.  So today was cold, but it was a blessing in and of itself, because it helped me to see that I’m taking things for granted that I’m very lucky to have.  The cold is a temporary inconvenience, and maybe we won’t always have some of the many blessings we have today, but so long as Bear and I have each other and our families, life will still be good. 

Till next time, y’all! 

A Girl & Her Gun, It's a Beautiful Thing

To say that I have had limited exposure to guns would be an understatement.  My mother’s second husband fancied himself a hunter, and while there were some guns in the house, the actual mechanics of them were a mystery to me.  Bear, on the other hand, grew up shooting and as a Soldier, has an extensive working knowledge of firearms.  We’d talked about getting a gun for home protection before, but the very thought was scary to me.  I thought about how dangerous that could be, and I was fairly certain that I wouldn’t be any good at handing a gun of any sort, ever.  The most experience I had handling guns was the water gun game at the local fairs. 

When we went to our first gun show, I was overwhelmed by the amount of guns I saw.  Yeah, I know – it’s a gun show, what did I expect?  I had no idea what to expect, but I never expected that there were so many guns of different sizes and calibers by so many different makers.  Long guns, revolvers, semi automatic handguns, pink guns, camo guns, guns, guns, guns.  That first show, I walked around looking at the various handguns and speaking with some of the vendors, while Bear carefully made sure I was following proper gun handling etiquette.  (as in, when examining a gun, do not POINT the muzzle anywhere but down in a direction where there are no people so that no one’s in front of the barrel)  We didn’t buy a gun that day, and I was relieved.   I still had very mixed feelings about having a firearm in the home.

Our next gun show was in South Carolina.  Our little home is out a little ways, on a small lake.  By “out a ways”, I mean we’re in the boonies, and on a small lake, I mean one that has alligators.   (Imagine my surprise upon discovering that!)  Suddenly my mixed feelings about having a gun in the house became a little less mixed.  So we meandered up and down the aisles of the gun show, Bear teaching me about all the different guns and then, he spotted it.  A Mossberg 12 gauge tactical shotgun, a beast of a thing, and his eyes got this gleam in them, this kid on Christmas morning look lit up his face.  The price was right, and we had cash in hand.  Before I knew it, we were driving home with a gun and ammo of our very own, and I was fairly certain I was going to have to shoot it.  I was sure that I’d do something completely stupid, like drop the gun or break it somehow.  The story my friend Peggy had told me about the time she went shooting with a male friend came to mind – she said the gun was bucking wildly and she kept getting “ploinked” in the head by the spent shells.  This did not sound like my idea of a good time...but I knew it was unavoidable and I was going to have to shoot that gun.   

Bear was careful to give me hearing protection and safety glasses, coached me on how to hold it properly, how to lean into the shot to mitigate some of the recoil, and how to click the safety off so the gun would actually fire.  Bear demonstrated by shooting if first and I was really proud of myself for not peeing my pants….It sounded like a cannon going off!  Oh my goodness, I was not prepared for how loud it would be!  Then it was my turn, and so I took the gun and followed Bear’s careful instruction.  That first shot felt like someone had walked up to me and shoved me in the shoulder, hard!   But I did it.  I shot that gun, I didn’t drop it, I didn’t break it, it didn’t break me, and I hit the dead tree we were using as a target.  I felt…victorious.  I’ve conquered other fears by facing them (rappelling down a tower comes to mind) but somehow I expected to still be scared witless of guns even after firing them.  Instead, I became more comfortable with it and from there my curiosity and interest in guns grew. 

By the time the next gun show rolled around, I was ready for a gun of my own and chose a Sig Sauer P250 compact and spent a good bit of time learning how to rack the slide properly and how to lock it to the back.  Bear taught me how to disassemble the gun, clean it, reassemble it, clear it in case of a misfire, and of course, the safety rules.  My first range day, I didn’t have great expectations and was really nervous that I’d embarrass myself.  I’m really lucky in that Bear isn’t just a great shot himself, but has had countless years instructing others in the proper use of firearms and marksmanship.  With his guidance, I did fairly well for a first timer.  The biggest surprise was how friendly everyone was on the shooting range.  They were all so encouraging and sweet – I’d get helpful pointers, offers to shoot their guns for comparison, compliments our on range safety etiquette and so much positive reinforcement.  I was hooked!  It became an almost weekly occurrence for us to head out to the range together, and it was amazing to watch my progress on those targets.  I couldn’t believe that the girl who had been so scared of guns was now a woman who wasn’t just comfortable with guns, but one who really loved the continuous learning and the challenge to improve with each range day. 

Enjoying the Glock 21's paper perforation power!

I’ve now shot more rounds than I can count, thrilled at the power and accuracy of Bear’s Glock21, enjoyed the elegance of a bolt action rifle (beautiful!), rocked the AR-15’s accuracy and intimidating look, wore an ear to ear grin with a suppressed .22 that made me feel like femme fatale assassin, played with a Czech sub machine gun, and some other cool toys that our range buddies bring out from time to time, and are kind enough to let me get my hands on.  It’s a very humbling experience to be acknowledged as a good shot among people who’ve been shooting far longer than I, and to be entrusted with the firearms they hold near and dear to them.  Most of all, it’s been an incredible bonding experience for Bear and myself – to learn from him, to see how proud he is of me when I’m shredding the x-ring, to have somewhere for us to go where we can blow off some steam and be among people who accept us as we are.  

There's me with my pink range glasses and that suppressed .22

It’s given me a whole new level of confidence and security that my life didn’t have before.  I’ll always need Bear in my life but if he isn’t home I know that I’m still very safe and very capable of protecting our family.  It’s a wonderful feeling, and one that I encourage other women to experience for themselves.  Find a good teacher, one who is well versed in not only the mechanics of shooting and marksmanship, but also safety, read up on the subject.  I highly recommend the book, “The Cornered Cat” by Kathy Jackson, and her website, http://www.corneredcat.com/.  Do not let anyone, regardless of who they are, or how much experience and knowledge they have, pick your gun out for you.  Pick the one that feels right in your hand that feels like it’s the right fit for you and your needs.  Practice as often as you can, whenever you can.  Learn to disassemble your gun and the proper way to clean it.  Do dry fire exercises at home, drills to ensure you can get to your gun quickly, and have it drawn and ready in the minimum amount of time.  For practicing dry fire exercises, intruder drills, and cleaning your gun keep your ammunition in another room entirely and ensure that your firearm is cleared completely prior to practicing or drills as an added precaution.  It only sounds like safety overkill till you put a whole in the wall, or worse.  My kitchen bares testament to this - thankfully, it was only a bb pellet, but still!   

I’ll be posting more shooting blogs as it’s a huge part of my life, but in the meantime, please feel free to ask me any questions or give me ideas on what you’d like me to cover in future blogs. Till next time!  

Shooting my cousins AR-15 - so much fun, we had to get our own!

 

Whaddaya Mean, I Tawk Funny? AKA Lost in Translation

When we first moved to Virginia, it was to an area that was previously a very rural farm town.  People had a definite accent, and my accent was nowhere near the local norm.  I started listening more carefully to the way things were pronounced, and began slowly softening up my NY accent to make it more palatable to the locals.  When in Rome, right?  What I wasn’t taking into account is there’s some things, no matter how well you pronounce them, that just aren’t the same here as they were in NY…like, oh, say…Tea.  If I order a tea up north, I’ll get it hot with a side of lemon or sugar and cream.  Order it here and I get Sweet Tea.  If I get BBQ anything up north, it’s covered in thick BBQ sauce slathered ON the meat.  Here?  BBQ is not so much a sauce, as a religion and ordering BBQ more often means you’ll get pulled pork that’s been slowly smoked over wood chips, and then served up with a vinegar or mustard based sauce, depending on the region.  Sometimes, you even get a choice.  Order a “Cawfee” up north, I get a coffee, here, I get a coffee and a mighty strange look.  (I’ve since learned how to pronounce the word, thanks)

The phrase “Y’all” is used, along with “All y’all”, and if you hear a woman say “Oh Hell No!” you’d better look out because she is ticked off about something, and someone’s gonna get a piece of her mind, bless their hearts….in areas of New York where I’ve lived that would have qualified for an almost polite "no, thank you."

Then, I learned that there were completely new phrases and words for things that I had been completely ignorant of.   I won't lie, more than a few of these have made their way into my own everyday speech now, and I'm trying to teach my mother the value of just saying, "Bless your heart" for the annoying people in life.  But that's a blog post in and of itself, so back to the delightful Southern phrases I've been blessed to learn.  Speaking of blessed...

"Bless your heart/Bless his heart" - there's a dual meaning for this, I've discovered.  I've had people say it in a completely sympathetic manner "Poor thing!  Bless your heart." and I've heard people say it in a more sarcastic, sometimes even catty manner, "Well, maybe she just isn't cut out to be a waitress, bless her heart."  Very often for a particularly annoying person or as a response to said annoying person, they'll just say, "Bless." 

“Cattywampus” meant crooked and was not a plant that grew down by the lake.  

“Fixin” didn’t mean repairing, but to be on the verge of something, as in, “We were fixing to leave, but that truck here parked all cattywampus and now we’re blocked in”.  

“Gimme some sugar” was not a request for sweetener of any kind.  

“Hoecake” is not a pseudo-affectionate nickname for a woman with questionable morals, but rather a small cake made from cornmeal.

“Hoppin John” is not a man, nor a dance, it’s a traditional (delicious!) Southern dish most often served on New Year’s.

“Hankering” has nothing to do with blowing your nose.  It’s a strong or persistent desire.  Which would explain why, when someone commented, “I’ve got a hankering” and my reply was, “Oh, do I need a tissue?” they looked at me like I was crazy. 

"I ain't one to talk" is almost always followed by "but" and that person is one to talk, and tell you everything you never wanted to know about people you probably don't know anyway.  

“Like to” (in some instances) does not mean you actually would like to, but rather you almost did something, as in, “I like to die when that truck almost run us off the road”.

“That dog won’t hunt” doesn’t refer to a dog or hunting, but an argument or line of thinking that won’t work.  

“The Civil War” – don’t say it.  Just…don’t.  ‘Round here it’s the War between the States, the War for Southern Independence, or the War of Yankee Aggression.  I have, happily, never made this snafu myself thanks my husband’s very careful warning, but if you ever want to hear a room go so quiet you can hear a pin drop, go on ahead.  But y’all will probably be labeled as “Yankees” if you do!  

Till next time....

Food, Glorious Food...I'm anxious to try - what is that SMELL???

My Mom will be the first to tell you that as a child, I was a notoriously picky eater.  Anything new was immediately disliked before even being tasted, and I seem to recall my Gram and Mom both having to come up with terribly creative stories in order to get me to try something, IE egg drop soup: "These are dinosaur eggs - I had to climb into the Pterodactyl nest and steal them while it was out hunting for prey."  (One of my favorite shows was "Land of the Lost" as a kid...the sleestaks alternately fascinated and terrified me, and dinosaurs were always cool in my book.)  Fast forward 10 years and I'd become a far more adventurous eater.  By the time I'd met Bear, I had broadened my culinary horizons quite considerably - Indian food was a favorite, sushi was a delight, calamari, well OK, I always ate calamari (because Gram said they were "rubber bands") but you get the idea.  I'd branched out, grown up, new food wasn't this horribly daunting thing to me anymore...till I came face to face with Collard Greens.  No sir.  Not gonna happen.  Nope.    

For those of us who live in the South, we're well aware of the gravity of the above statement.  Greens are a staple here, and each family has their own special recipe for how they're cleaned, prepared and cooked it seems.  My husband has his own recipe, and so it happened that he decided to fix me a batch while I was recuperating from being ill.  I awoke from my nap to this strange smell...I couldn't quite put my finger on it, save for the fact that it was unlike anything I'd ever smelled before, and didn't care to be smelling at present.  Giant green leaves adorned my kitchen sink, and on the counter top, an opened package of something I'd never heard of: fatback.  I think the conversation went something like this:
Me: What is that? (pointing to the fatback)
Bear: Fatback.
Me: Yes, but what IS it?
Bear: Exactly what it says it is.
Me: I don't know what fatback is.
Bear: It's salted pork fat that you use to season beans & greens.  
Me: Eeeeew.  Gross!  
I think I may have (oh so maturely) even covered my mouth with both my hands at that point.  You have to understand, I was raised in an Italian family, we didn't use pork fat to cook anything in.  Sausages in the sauce, sure, but plain salted pork fat?  What flavor could that possibly impart?  Grease?  It wasn't even refrigerated!  Surely this would be rancid.  

After our entire apartment thoroughly reeked of cooked Collard Greens, Bear judged them done and delicious.  He gave me a small helping from the serving bowl, and I bravely tasted them.  Oh!  What is this wondrous flavor?  What is this delightfully yummy, perfectly seasoned stuff?  This can't be the same stuff that stinks to high heaven, this is Uh-maz-ing!  I vaguely recall grabbing the serving bowl and eating as much of this green goodness as I possibly could while Bear looked on smugly.  

And so, my introduction to Southern cuisine began.  

Collard Greens are a great source of vitamins A and K, and fiber.  Like I said before, every family has this own way of preparing them, but this is how we do ours, here.  I've tweaked Bear's recipe a bit, but he's given it his stamp of approval, so here it goes:

The Dixie Fried Bride's Collard Greens
1 large bunch collard greens
1 large onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 strips salted fat back, cut into 2" pieces
6 strips bacon, cut into 1" pieces
1/4 Tsp Cayenne Pepper (add more if you want a kick to your greens)
1 Tbsp Red Pepper Flakes
1 Tsp White Pepper
1 Tsp Black Pepper
1 Tbsp Balsamic Vinegar, optional
Olive Oil - just enough to coat the sides & bottom of the pot, I use my Misto for this
Enough water to just cover the greens

Separate all the leaves, and wash thoroughly until absolutely no grit is left on the leaves.  Let leaves dry a little while you dice the onion and mince the garlic. Coat the sides and bottom of a large, tall sided pot, put in your fat back and cook over medium high heat.  The fat back should become slightly translucent as you cook it, add in your bacon pieces next, and allow to become halfway cooked before adding in your onion.  Add your garlic about a minute after you add in the onion to avoid it from becoming burnt and imparting a bitter taste.  Saute onion and garlic, and add a scant 1 cup of water to the pot, and your peppers, reducing heat to medium low.  This gives your greens a flavorful base to go into once your done with the next step. 

Using kitchen shears, or a very sharp knife, cut out the thickest part of the fibrous stems, and put them aside.  Cut your leaves into about 1 - 2 inch bits.  Next, take the reserved stems and chop those into 1/2 inch bits.  You don't have to use all the stems, and at this point you may already be annoyed at the amount of chopping you've had to do.  You can forgo the stems altogether, but we like them.  

Once your leaves and stems are chopped, add them into the pot.  Add another cup of water, just enough to barely cover your greens, and simmer on medium heat for at least 45 minutes, or until tender.  In the last 5-10 minutes of cooking, I like to add a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar - it just seems to give an extra layer to the flavors of the dish that really compliment it. 

If you're feeling truly wicked, fry up a little extra bacon and crumble it over the greens once you've placed them in the serving bowl.  

Our Thanksgiving table is never without Greens, and here in the South they're also traditional for New Year's - the green symbolizing money for the coming year.  

Enjoy!