Down Home In Oklahoma

This will probably come as a surprise to those of you who have heard my accent but I was not born and raised in Oklahoma. I love Oklahoma and have lived here more years than I have lived anywhere else and even though we moved away for three years awhile ago, when we moved back and crossed the state line I wanted to get out and kiss the red dirt, I had missed it so much. That being said, it has come to my attention that there are a few things that are still lacking in my Okie-ness.

First, and this is entirely my mother's fault---I just saw a study that said what mom's eat while pregnant influences what their kids will like and my mom's idea of  exotic food was any vegetable other than green beans or corn---I do not like Mexican food.

I know, I'm probably the only person you have ever met, or cyber-met, who doesn't like Mexican food, but there it is.  I mean, look at it logically.  Take refried beans. You can't tell me you have never looked at them and thought they looked like maybe the dog had eaten them first.  And chili rellenos?  This is one of Dennis's favorites (he wasn't born here either but he pretends). I never see this culinary delight on a plate without thinking it looks like they have baked a rat, covered it with sauce and cheese, and served it to him, tail and all.  I believe all you people who choose a Mexican restaurant every Sunday after church and especially on your birthday, and take your picante sauce the spicier the better, have in reality just had your taste buds burned to numbness and are not really tasting what you are eating. Or looking at it. I'm pretty sure this is every Oklahoman I have ever met.

Come to think of it, that is probably why you drink so much iced tea.  But you'll never believe this.  I do not like iced tea. Give me Diet Coke or plain old water, but not tea. Not iced.  Do you know there are parts of the country where they don't even have iced tea on the menu except in the summer?  And they certainly don't come to your table with full pitchers of it to refill you glass all during a meal.  Don't be afraid here: Some places don't have iced tea available at all.  If you go there, take your own.

Then there is the issue of Country and Western Music. I'm sorry, I guess I was born this way but if you wanted to torture me into giving up military secrets, betraying my country and all that is dear to me, forget water boarding or sleep deprivation.  You could probably accomplish it by locking me in a room with somebody twanging about their lost loves or trucks or dogs or you name it, for---I don't know---24 hours or so and I would give up every secret I ever knew like a blithering idiot just to get it to stop. Didn't they break down Noriega that way?

There are people who have attempted to take advantage of this failing and almost succeeded, like when Jake and Robyn were not yet married and I wound up riding in a car with them all the way from St. Louis to Oklahoma City. They found a Country Music station on the radio and played it for 500 miles. I believe it was a test to see what kind of mother-in-law I was going to be. I had to plug my ears, cover my eyes and go to my Happy Place but I think I fooled Robyn enough that she did not call off the wedding. We had pizza for lunch though, since I was buying.

And  it was Josh, when he was a teen-ager, who got in my car while I wasn't looking, and set every one of the radio buttons on a different Country Music station and turned the volume up full blast, knowing full well that when I turned the car on it would blare loud enough for all the neighbors to hear and that I didn't know how to re-set the buttons. I'll get him back someday.

I don't think Dennis cares much either way, but since our house is a Country Music-free zone, he just hasn't been exposed to it much, so he is not that familiar with the genre. We figured this out a few years ago when he was selling real estate and sold some property in Yukon, OK, to a guy named Troyal Brooks. Mr. Brooks was purchasing a ranch there for his mom and dad, and seemed like a really nice young man. After he and Dennis had spent several hours together looking at the land and then signing paperwork, Dennis met with the other broker  and said. "Boy, that buyer sure seemed familiar but I can't quite place him."  To which, the other realtor replied. "Oh, that's Garth Brooks.  Troyal is his real first name but he goes by his middle name." Hey, if Dennis gets to stay in Oklahoma, I get to stay, too!

And, oh, gosh!  I almost forgot that I don't like football, red or orange.  I think I may be in trouble.

I confess my failings.  Please don't ask me to leave.  How can you not love a state that has towns with names like Bug Tussle and Bushyhead

My boys weren't born here but they have lived here most of their lives and I think a little of the red dirt runs in their veins. Josh says I need to be nice to him since he's the one who will pick my nursing home some day. I'll likely be deaf by then and eating a soft diet so I guess as long as it is in Oklahoma, it will be okay.