My Hill for the First Week of December

I try to live and let live, but I draw the line on people who put sugar in grits. Just last week I learned that our new county 4-H agent practices that heretical approach to grit cooking, which makes me wonder how effective new-hire drug screenings are if they can’t detect someone who uses such a simple illicit substance as granular glucose in grits. Just think of all the farmers who worked hard to plant, tend, and defend that corn from earworms, all so she could later defile it by sweetening something that should always remain salty. A good helping of salt (enough to raise your blood pressure about twenty points) is the only other granular substance allowed in grits. The fact that a 4-H agent, who is entrusted with teaching our next generation of children practical life skills, doesn’t know how to cook a proper pot of grits is an alarming sign of just how far our country has fallen. In  her defense, she was raised above the Mason-Dixon line, where people have to doctor their inferior corn product, known as hominy, with sugar. 

Plus, I reckon I can’t be too hard on the new 4-H agent because I married into a family who puts milk in grits, which goes to show you that sometimes you have to make sacrifices in life. From what I’ve been able to piece together, at some point in the mid-1900s my in-laws succumbed to the teaching of that mid-century cult leader, Betty Crocker, who led many southern women astray with her heretical recipe for “creamy” grits. Indeed, the whole point of grits is that they’re gritty. That southerners could be so easily convinced that grits ought to be creamy likely goes a long way to explaining the modern-day phenomenon of our former president, a man who convinced a large number of Constitution-thumping southerners to defy the Constitution. The whole point of the Constitution is that we don’t attack the Capitol to try to hang the Vice-President, but I digress. 

The final thing I want to mention is that the hydrangeas in front of our house are breaking bud, and last week when we were returning from my parents’ house in South Carolina for Thanksgiving, I noticed some cherry trees were blooming, which brings me to my final flank of this blog post–trees shouldn’t be blooming in November and December. As the old saying goes, if you don’t stand for anything, you’ll fall for everything, so here is the hill I will stand on this week: Grits ought to be gritty (and salty), the Constitution ought to be protected (not attacked), and Christmas ought to be in winter (not spring). 

Thank you. I’ll get off of my soapbox now.