Southern-Fried and Sanctified

Not to make our friends to the north jealous, but I'm writing this in shorts and flip-flops. On Feb. 26. The summer of 2016-2017 started in late January, after maybe three days of wintry weather from November through Christmas. Flowers are blooming, pets are shedding, pollen is blowing and everyone is sneezing. It feels ungrateful to complain about a mild winter, but I only got to wear scarves maybe six times, and I shudder to think of how hot July will be. We will broil like ribs on a grill, is how hot it will be. There's no summer like a South Carolina summer--hot, sweet, sticky, giddy, sodden with the scent of pluff mud and Little league popcorn. Chickens take dust baths and old folks rock on the porch saying, "Why are we sweating out here when it's 72 degrees in the house? Get up, Myrtle, my stories are on." And that's (an early) summer in the south. Stay hydrated, y'all!   

Hello there!
I'm Julie and I'm just like you, but crazier. Actually, I'm your crazy sister after four mojitos. For 27 years I've been writing weekly newspaper columns, now collected in a book called "Southern-Fried and Sanctified." I've been through hard times and good, and my nutty family puts the "funk" in dysfunctional. I've been divorced (I got the dog and the house) and remarried. Now I live in a teeny town in South Carolina with farm animals, wacky neighbors and a husband who finds me hilarious instead of weird, thank God. I hope you--and your BFFs, bridesmaids, ex-roommates and sorority sisters--will enjoy SF&S. And I swear every word is true. Mostly. Kind of. OK, we'll talk about that later.