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Southerners are really good at food. It is a fact of life. Some of us can really cook it. Some of us can really eat it.

The real gems can do both.

They usually have restaurants with names like “Big Daddy’s BBQ.”

Food is a way of life here, and it’s important.

I’m not sure if I have the words to tell you just how important food is to Southern people so I’ll just present a fact from my life as evidence.

Mama once made me a meatloaf cake with mashed-potato icing for my birthday. I kid you not.

I had a hard time with what to write for today’s WordPress Discover prompt, which is dish.

I think I’ll try to write a poem, because I’m running out of time.

Maybe I can make it rhyme.

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This story was supposed to be a tale about a time when I made a sound investment, which grew with work and then yielded plenty of dividends.

Instead, it’s about a loss.

The moral of this story is simple. Life doesn’t go how I plan, and sometimes my plans make me sick.

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Mason,

When you were born Feb. 20, I was elated. A lot of things ran through my mind at once when I thought about you, mostly pride and a plan to travel the length of the country twice in a weekend to see you.

My pride has only deepened in the six days you’ve been here, especially since I heard you’ve already peed on your mama.

My plan didn’t happen, but there’s another one in the works and we’ve been officially introduced on FaceTime.

Since I wrote to your sisters shortly after they were born, I thought I’d try to write down some things you might need to know about life.

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I sat in a mall food court yesterday afternoon.

It was the first time I’d darkened the door of the mall in a while. I’d planned to people watch, because it’s just about the only thing suitable to do in a mall while you patiently wait for a woman to finish shopping, but something was off. (more…)