Water Gets Old

Aiken, is a beautiful little town in South Carolina. Its claim to fame is what the locals call the "bomb plant". I worked there and no, I don't glow. I spent 10 years of my life learning about radiation and nuclear waste and even met my husband there, well, kind of. It can be incredibly hot. I mean, steam rising up over a Carolina cotton field, yes, they still exist. I got lost next to a cotton field once, no cell phone, out in the middle of no where, every myth about the South playing in my head. You have seen Roots? I found my way home, a little shaken, but untouched by the things my mind had conjoured. Now, keep in mind, I'm not a Southern Girl. I'm a midwest transplant. I love the South and plan to return but for that moment in time, I was just "fixin" to learn a few things. Let me introduce you to Ms. Milhouse. Now, this, is a Southern Girl. She taught me about the South. Ms. Milhouse became my best friend in the South, as her family took me in as their own while I transplanted myself in the South. Ms. Milhouse, or LaDebra as I usually called her was and is an independent woman who knew how to handle her own. She even helped to take care of my dog, "Scary Cymone" , as she called her. Cymone was a yellow lab, who was afraid of her own shadow. My dog Cymone liked to sleep with me and once, tried to climb into LaDebra's bed. That did not work out to well! LaDebra taught me about the Chitlin Strut, a festival dedicated to chitlins. She and the women of her church would sit and clean chitlins for hours in preparation for this festival, held in November of each year in Salley, S.C. LaDebra also taught me about real hash. Until then, I had only seen hash out of a can. Little did I know, that hash in the South meant every part of the pig, from the rudda to the tudda. I remember my first pig picking. That whole pig, just staring at me, "go ahead, Cassie, just go up and pick off a piece." Uh, no, I'll pass, he still has a face. How about the time, when she and I sat on her porch, ready to go out for the evening and as we talked to our young men friends, something black came out of the brush from across the street and came winding it's way across the street to the porch. Without hesitation, one of the guys, without pausing in his conversation, pulls out a pistol and shoots a monster black snake as it slithered across the road. Who does that? My transplant was nearly complete. Sweet tea is the drink of the South and finally, something I love. But, I do not like water. But, for those who come over and want a cold glass of water, I kept a beautiful blue pitcher of water in my refrigerator. I met my husband Keith in the summer of summer of 1998 in Savannah Georgia. He loves water. Therefore, I made sure that I kept that water pitcher near the back of my refrigerator so it would be cold, just for him. Since I never drink the water, it was always available to him. He helped me fully sod the backyard of my condo, after I used an entire 15 pound bag of fescue grass to overseed the yard the first time! He needed a large glass of water after that! He helped me to paint the living room of the condo, prior to renting it, he needed water after that job. He was an avid softball player and each night after we came home from his game, I would pour him a glass of water from the blue pitcher. One day, he said to me, "Cassie, the water in your house taste different than other water." I was somewhat happy. Afterall, It should be special. He is the only one that has ever drank that water. I decided it was time to refresh that water. I took out the pitcher and opened the top. Oh My God! there was green fungus and things growing in this pitcher! I didn't know. Water gets old! Maybe next time, I'll serve sweet tea.