the help

"I hope she ain't so country she ain't got a Hoover."

I'm the last one to the party on this one, but it really was such a good book. Within the first few pages I found myself nodding in agreement with gospel-choir like "mm-hmms!" and giggling like a little old lady at bingo. Even my thoughts have taken on a southern drawl. I wished I could whip out zinging one liners like Minnie and carry sorrow with such grace as Aibee, and endure condescension with such patience as any of these ladies. I also lost any penchant I might once have had for certain kinds of pie. And I wondered really what it was like to live in that time, in that world, where so few seemed to have a conscience at all, let alone a clear one. Where motherly affection was spared  by mothers but given in abundance by other women, who were often forced away from their own babies. The ties that bind became twisted and confused. And I fantasized over meals like pork chops and corn bread and collard greens, fried chicken and potato salad and caramel cakes. I was hungry through the entire book.

Coincidentally, collard greens were included in this week's co-op basket. I consulted one of my favorite southern women on proper preparation and now have a pot of southern life simmering away on my stove.