Much Ado About Peaches

I think I must have been dropped on my head as a baby because my "community spirit" lobe seems badly damaged. While everyone around me gets wrapped up in extolling the virtues of their city or state, I'm left wondering what all the fuss is about.


For example, when I first moved here to North Carolina, I was bemused to see their license plates read "First in Flight." Really? John Glenn was born here? "Well no," my darling husband had to explain, "it refers to Kitty Hawk." For months I found this a source of amusement. North Carolinians were proud that the Wright brothers-- who were not born here or even designed their plane here-- chose a sandy hill in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina to jump off. My daughter wasn't so amused, however, when we forced her to climb "The Hill Of Death" (her name) in the middle of summer. It is.. how shall I put this...a sandy hill. As tourist attractions go, it is somewhere between the grand canyon and the Stuckey's gas station on Highway 50.

My point is, that North Carolinians took a sandy hill that hosted a historic moment and ran with it-- making it a point of state pride. Yah Hoo! First in Flight! Most out-of-staters probably don't even know what that means. But never mind. State license plate mottos are not meant for out-of-staters.

And neither are Official State Thingys. As I have mentioned before, North Carolina's Official State Fruit is the scuppernong grape, but the Official State Blue Fruit is the blueberry, a detail that is funny to me, but serious to blueberry growers. Who else cares? Probably only the child who has to memorize this stuff for a school report.

I bring this up because Alabama just passed a resolution on Tuesday naming The Peach as Alabama's Official State Tree Fruit. Georgia is not amused. Georgia is in fact mad as hell. Georgia declares itself to be known internationally as The Peach State, and anybody who has attempted to navigate the byways of Atlanta knows that every other street is named Peachtree. Peachtree Lane, Court, Circle, Avenue, etc. Georgia takes its peachiness seriously. I expect there will have to be a peach-off.

Meanwhile, there has been no word from South Carolina which also declares the Peach to be the Official State Fruit. Oddly enough, South Carolina actually grows more peaches than Alabama or Georgia, but they choose not to flaunt it. Their license plate says: "Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places" which is better than using their state nickname, "The Palmetto State." Whenever I see the word Palmetto, I automatically think of the Palmetto bug and nobody wants their state to be associated with a large, scary cockroach.

Stranger still, the number one grower of peaches in the United States turns out to be...California. California can't be bothered defending their peach status, because it is too busy with the California-Florida orange wars. California is "The Golden State" but Florida is "The Sunshine State." While sunshine is very enticing to the people living in colder states, I personally think that California should just go ahead and declare themselves "The Bimbo State." Now that's a tourist attraction!

Fanny's Healing Butt

because we could all use a little healing

Almost two weeks since the election and we are all still reeling and writhing in pain. Some of the citizens living in a bright blue spot in the red state of North Carolina, are having such a hard time with their loss that restaurants in Durham are reporting a run on comfort food and group therapy is becoming de rigueur.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the nation, a tiny red dot in the vast blue state of California-- my mother--is receiving hate email accusing her of being one of those crazy evangelical Christians who re-elected The Bad Man. My mother can hardly be called an "evangelic" since she doesn't even believe in the immaculate conception-- she thinks Joseph and Mary were probably fooling around before marriage. But since she voted for Bush and she attends a church, she must be one of those nasty, power-crazed, Apocalypse-anticipating nuts who are just waiting for Jeezus to come down and start ripping the arms and legs off non-believers. My mom thinks the Apocalypse is just a dream, and the story of Adam & Eve is just a story, and by the way, she voted for Bush because she is scared of the Terrorists.

So the whole country is hurting and I have a suggestion.

My bulldog, Fanny, apparently thinks her butt has the Power To Heal, and she very generously applies it to all who might be in pain. She does this by backing up slowly and then gently sitting down on your foot, or your stomach, or whatever she senses needs some glorious Healing Power. This used to include the head of our Basset Hound, Otis, but he recently passed away, and she seldom gets a chance to sit on Mick, the cat. He, after all, got an A Plus on his last visit to the vet and rightly considers himself in tip top shape.

So here is my solution to our nation's distress: All of us-- all the blues, all the reds, and all the purples-- bunch in really close and let Fanny sit on our heads. And maybe at last we can begin to heal as a nation; America the Whole once more.

It's no more crazy an idea than that the pro-Bushies and the anti-Bushites will ever be able to have a Coke and sing in harmony.