The South Shall Rise Again.

For those of us who like a calm orderly universe where the good get rewarded and the not-so-good get fungal infections, it’s been a bad winter. Over the last three months, no fewer than five people I know have lost their jobs. This wasn’t supposed to happen to people like them, people who abided by all of the rules we were told led to success in life. They studied hard in high school. They worked hard at Ivy-league colleges. They got degrees in the useful and the profitable. Abiding by the rules worked until 2008 when someone let loose a pack of Irish Setter puppies in the high-rise of cards that was our financial and banking system.

As Simon and Garfunkel wrote, “I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered/I don’t have a friend who feels at ease.” Everyone I know -- from small-business owners to (oh, delightful irony) a bankruptcy lawyer -- is fighting a rising sense of panic. People are making drastic choices. Families I know are considering moving out of state, someplace cheaper. Some families are thinking about moving back in with their elderly parents, a plan that doesn’t scream “Hi! Everything’s going SO VERY WELL!”

The weather is weird. Iceland is bankrupt. Banks can't explain where they left three hundred billion dollars. Paris Hilton is still insisting on herself. We’re all a little fragile right now. Fragile people need cheering up. I’m going to give you my happy place and then, if you feel so inclined, you will leave an email with a suggestion for how you’re getting through all this. The only rule: it’s got to be free. Maybe someone will be helped by what we offer.

Of course, what I offer is weird and embarrassing. Honestly, did you expect anything else from me? A year or so ago, someone with the snappy name of Monogram Momma wrote a comment on my blog. Because I will do anything rather than write, I decided I had to check out her blog. It was a lively, brightly colored place where people put needlepoint collars on their dogs, discussed the finer points of sweet tea and created holiday-themed crafts which didn’t look like something you’d find stuck to the bottom of a shoe. Her life, unlike mine, appeared attractive and probably smelled like cinnamon. Ever eager to not write, I read some of her comments and discovered this world previously unknown to me, that of the preppy Southern mom-blogger. Oh, even typing those words sends a shameful blast of serotonin to my brain.

Nearly all of the blogs have the words “Plaid” or “Magnolia” or “Monogram” in the title. They start worrying about Christmas card photos in March. They put up pictures of fearsomely-coordinated outfits they are going to wear. They belonged to sororities. They bleed college sports. They are members of the Junior League. Their weddings took only slightly less planning than the Hadron Collider. They are, in a phrase, not me. Except for the Junior League part.

[Yep, I was in the Junior League; didn’t see that coming, did you? It’s a long story. I’ll write about it another time.]

These women don’t appear to be going through the same financial crisis as the rest of the country. I don’t know why and, candidly, I don’t care. I don’t mind if they’ve actually been eating government cheese and living without heat for the last month. As long as they maintain the charade that they can afford all the Vera Bradley and Bonnano sandals they want, I’ll be a devoted fan.

In any given day I read the paper, I listen to the news in the car and, because I’m not quite stressed enough, I download NPR podcasts which might as well be titled “We’re All Doomed.” I flip through emails from people desperately trying to sell furniture or place pets they can no longer afford. That’s when the buzzing begins in my head and I race off for the soothing shores of Madras, to pretend for a while that these women are what’s real and the other stuff is just a very ugly dream.

Cute animals are good, too.

http://icanhascheezburger.com/
http://www.cuteoverload.com/

As far as the preppy women go, start here:

http://clemsongirlandthecoach.blogspot.com/

She has links to most of the other blogs, all of which link back to one another. It’s wondrously ingrown.

Now, it’s your turn. If cats who can’t spell and women wearing pink lipgloss and a headband to give birth don’t soothe your aching head, what does? We all need to know.