Whipoorwill!

    When the supermodel and I moved to the ham, there was no welcoming committee sent by the chamber of commerce to welcome us to the city. No neighborhood block party to embarrass myself at. No pies dropped off by June Cleaver. Now, to my 1950s sensibilities, this was a grave oversight on the part of the city with or without their current issues. She is a supermodel and is moving to your town. Cough up some pie people.

     

Reenactment of our move
from Mississippi

The supermodel had it brought to her attention that a friend of a friend was moving to our fair city so, on Sunday after doing our chores, we loaded up the welcome wagon and prepared to smother us some ex-pats (ex-patriot fans, They moved from Boston) in southern charm. She had put on her Betty Crocker finest and baked up a hearty kid pleasing (well our kids anyway) meal (see link for details) complete with frozen chocolate chip cookie dough for baking later and a bottle of wine. We didn’t know anything about these people other than their names, address, and need of a welcome wagon. Never one to turn down a chance to be nice, we loaded up baby and off we went.

    

The only couple more perfect and
cute than our hosts

Needless to say, these were some of the greatest people we have met while we have lived here. They are on the list because she was charming and could not have been more approachable and sweet. He is Mr. Perfect. Fighter Pilot? Check. Brilliant Businessman? Yes. Most importantly though, gracious and laid back. He is new to the South and has settled into the pace of life and humidity like it was a favorite easy chair. As a point of reference, while there he was discussing his desire to purchase seersucker as soon as possible. Their three children were adorable, precocious, and at times near nude. They could not have been more endearing. 


     Also, they didn’t show up at my house at 7, require me to run 10 miles, and suggest that I wear sugar socks. Although to be fair, the running club contains my closest friends in Birmingham and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

    We were there to drop off a meal and welcome them to town and were invited to stay for a dinner that they cooked for us (been in the house three days and already entertaining) and her brother and his family and her sister-in-laws parents. We sat on a back porch listening to the children play and getting to know one another. Several of us had spent time in Oxford, MS so there was the obvious discussion of where did your child have RSV? Who was your OB? All of which were points on which the supermodel and the sister-in-law had points in common. All this time my daughter, stay puft, sat in the grandfather’s lap hanging out. With stay puft in one hand and a scotch in the other, he endeared himself to us.

    After we left many hours later, the supermodel and I continued to discuss just how wonderful the evening turned out. We had created a sneaky system of signals for use in case we needed to escape. I feel okay sharing our safe word as it will never be needed. Remember the Three Amigos? One word… whippoorwill.

    I am still amazed and grateful for the evening we had. Let’s review our Good (Southern) Housekeeping handbook shall we? Welcome new emigrants to our community? Relax on a porch at dusk during the summer with a drink? Sure there wasn’t seersucker, mint juleps, or warm apple pie but, there was a wonderful group of people enjoying what I think was one of the South’s quintessential summer nights.