The Noble Art of Cussin'

True story. When my Southern girlfriend Kim was 4, she was playing with her brother and a neighborhood girl, named Jewel, who was about 10. Kim was enamored with Jewel as the older, wiser woman of the world, so to show off, Kim decided to try out some cuss words. She tried each one on like shiny shoes, seeing how each fit and, more important, what kind of reaction she could get. Jewel obliged with deliciously satisfying shock and dismay.

Kim was thrilled. Then, things took an ugly turn.

“I’m gonna tell yer Mama that yer cussin'.'” Jewel declared. Kim laughed wickedly, unafraid, but when Jewel took off running, fear overtook!

Kim recalls the chase vividly and says it was like one of those slow-motion nightmares where you feel like you’re running through mud. Jewel, being older, had longer legs and could easily outpace Kim. Jewel's long, brown curls flew in the wind, taunting little Kim, who ran with all her might to overtake Jewel and take her down! Alas, Jewell arrived at the kitchen door before Kim. To Kim’s horror, she saw the door open, saw her mother standing there, hands on hips, and heard Jewel blast the dreadful accusation, “Miz Montgomry, Kim was cussin’!”

Kim gasped, horrified. She ran forward and shoved Jewel out of the way. “Nuh uh, Mama, I was not! That’s a damn lie!"

Special thanks to Kim Cullen for providing all the damn details.

Top 10 Ways to Get Sidetracked during a Conference Call

10. Check email.
9. Assume a comfy position.
8. Pay bills.
7. Plan your vacation.
6. Shop online.
5. Try to figure out how to mute and unmute. (Pray that you actually ARE on mute.)
4. Watch a movie about some woman being stalked or abused on Lifetime Television, starring Meredith Baxter Berney.
3. Go to the bathroom and hope no one asks you a question.
2. Flirt or make out (preferably with your spouse)

And the #1 way to get sidetracked during a conference call...

1. Create top ten lists.

Death by Twitter

OK, is it me or are you feeling twittered, face-booked, emailed, IMed, and linked-in to death? Trust me, I'm the Queen of Connectedness (my TOP strength, for those familiar with the "strength" profiles). But for Pete's sake, is this really connectedness, or is it just a recipe for insanity? If I really keep up with all of these social networking sites and tools, it's a sure bet I will soon be walking around with a Crackberry in my hand, reduced to a driveling idiot who is connected to the whole world but has no real friends to show for it.

Whatever happened to just meeting a friend for coffee (sans the Crackberry, thank you very much)? Oh, and by the way, ever try to have a conversation with someone who has a Crackberry glued to their hand (and mind)? Don't get me started. Or how about sitting in a meeting with buzzing Crackberries going off the whole time? (Ok, we get it. You are important!)

I think it's time for a lunch break. Outside. Without the phone.

Father's Day

After a day full of the requisite Father's Day cookout, I took a minute to think about my Dad ("Daddy," of course, just like any good Southern girl will say). In my case, a lot of people agree when I say my Dad is the best. When I was younger, people used to tell me all the time how great both my parents were. I thought they'd feel otherwise if they had to live with them. Of course, now I know they were right.

Daddy is an artist, and I got his artistic temperament. My mother and sister are the left-brain organizers of the family. (I often think now of how crazy Daddy and I make them.) Over the years, I've grown to appreciate even more the way Daddy taught me to see the world through his artistic eyes. Even on a simple walk he notices every detail. ("Look at the color of that moss on that branch." or "Kate, look at the fiery color of those leaves. That's a hickory.") He knows the name of every tree. He ought to! He and his cousins spent most of their youth running around the Alabama woods from sunup to sundown.

One of my favorite memories of Daddy is listening to classical music with him. I can still picture the covers of those albums. One had Monet's ballerinas on the front, and since I dreamed of being a ballerina, this was my favorite. Daddy is a country boy from Adamsville, Alabama, but he loves classical music.(His mother, my Nanny, came from a family of 11--all of whom were musical or artistic in some way.) We'd sit together and listen to those albums, all the while Daddy pointing out some subtlety of the music.

Daddy is famous for his easy-going, laid-back nature, another trait I've inherited from him. I love this about him because it makes for easy, comfortable, not-in-a-hurry conversation. I think this, along with his steadfast faithfulness as a father and husband, are what I love about him most. I can think of no better tribute to a great father than this fact: I have always known I was safe and loved. I still do.