Daughters of the Revolution (DAR) Garden Hat Party Post # 21

It was early March after my first Mardi Gras. I wondered how life could possibly go on after weeks of celebrations. In my eight months of living in Mobile, this had certainly been the best. That’s because in New York during the winter, people are holed up inside for months, or they are shoveling snow. Here, we went to several parades a week, both day and night. We had also gone to four Mardi Gras balls. Our last ball before then was our high school prom. Balls in Syracuse are few and far between. Then my first Mardi Gras came to a screeching halt!

The lyrics to a song ran through my head: “Where are the clowns? Well, maybe next year!” ‘Uh oh’! I thought. ‘What now?’ But to my surprise, life in Mobile moved on without missing a beat. Mardi Gras was replaced with a whole new set of activities. A friend had invited Shanon and me to a DAR Garden Hat party held at the DAR house, a historical home in downtown that is furnished from that time period. The kitchen is stocked with fine china, silver and crystal for events such as this.

Recovering financially from divorce, constant trips to Panama City during Mom’s final months, and flying kids back and forth left me with no extra cash.  The thought of spending money on hats was overwhelming. I went through the house and found a hat that had been my grandmothers' for Shanon, and a Felt, Crocodile Dundee hat for me. I wrapped two black scarves around it until it looked like an authentic fancy hat. It was also had black sequins and fringe that hung across the front and sloped down to the right across my eyes. It would have to do. I just wanted to go to a garden party in the first week of March! In Upstate New York, they were snowed in but here I was on my way to a garden party!

     Shanon and I pulled up on the street that tunneled with Live Oaks, flowers and bushes in bloom all around us. We were greeted warmly by southern women who donned hats and took our names for a door prize, then directed us to the dining room and the garden patio where a one-man band played jazz music. In the dining room, the tables were covered with linen table clothes and lined with gourmet delicacies of all types, from seafood, to cheeses, pastries, and all kinds of homemade convections all laid out on china, silver and crystal. I had never seen such a beautiful set-up in my past life, particularly because china is not a big thing in the north.

     Before we ate, we decided to walk the grounds and headed to the garden where I still couldn’t believe it was March and I never had to go back to the cold again! We went back in to the dining room where many were already getting food, and I marveled at a world that, up until that year, had only been in my head. Yet it really did exist! People ate beautiful food, on fine china, in the warm month of March, wearing hats!

     What we didn’t know until then was that there would be a hat contest. Nearly everyone had stopped to marvel at my home-made-out-of-desperation hat and encourage me to be in the contest. Most said it would win. This was surprising since I nearly cancelled because of the anxiety of trying to pull it together, yet here I was and my hat truly was one of the cutest. I tried my best to dodge questions about where I got it, as many asked. After eating delicious food and tea on china, silver and crystal, the contest began and Shanon and I entered in different categories.

      To show our hats, we had to walk through the crowd and model them.  As I paraded around this very southern  party in my fancy hat that was nothing more than a scarf covering a man's hat, I felt that at any moment, someone would stand up, point their finger at me, squint their eyes and yell, “Wait a minute!! That's a man's hat!"   I was not used to parading myself around and felt extremely awkward. The southern women hammed it up by posing, smiling, and spinning around for each table. And then there was me; walking as stiff as a barn door in Upstate New York. I tried to smile, but felt the same self-consciousness that seemed so prevalent in Upstate New York - of stepping out of character. Yet as I looked around, I saw confident women who seized the opportunity to have fun, whether or not they would win. To them, it wasn’t about winning. It was about having fun while trying. I thought of the many times I didn’t try because of the misconception that, to not be the winner meant I was the loser, no matter how many others didn’t win either.

 The judges decided to go by the applause of the audience. The first time around, I received enough applause that it was questionable who the winner was and I tied with another lady who actually had a tea party on her hat. There had to be a tie breaker. My name was called first and by the applause, it seemed I had a pretty good chance.

When the other woman’s name was called, she raised her arms in the air, paraded around and goaded any table that was not cheering her on. The roar of the room grew louder as she goaded each group. She inevitably won. That was okay because I hadn’t even expected to be in a contest, and was still riding high on the fact that this homemade hat was even worthy to enter. But I couldn’t help thinking about what the other woman just taught me.

She wasn’t a showoff, or mean spirited, or conceited. She simply did what most southern women from Mobile to New Orleans are taught to do: Go out and give the world your best! She had done just that and the ‘world’ gave her back it's best. My barn-door stance and coat-hanger smile was enough to convince the audience that I was not worthy of the hat honor. I thought of the many years I was afraid to even introduce myself or say hello to people for fear of appearing presumptuous, rendering me vulnerable to rejection or attack. At that moment, I saw how life had handed me back exactly what I had put out.

While our hats were probably tied as far as whose was the best, she certainly outshined me, by miles, in personality, zeal and confidence. She modeled to me a part of myself that I longed to be but had never seen anyone else model it either. I realized that the only requirement is to give life my best and trust that that is enough! And that day, I made a plan. Next year, Shanon and I are finding the best hats ever and we are going to flaunt them! And furthermore, I will make darn sure that no daughter of mine grows up carrying herself like a barn door who slept with a coat hanger in her mouth!

The Good Ga's!!! Post #20

        Another thing I love about the south is the easy conversation among southern women. It reminds me of how my mom related to her four girls and how I relate to mine. I had very close friends in the north and we had plenty of conversations, but northerners have more of a self-preservation mind-set. Most share experiences and perceptions on life, but only in bite-sized chunks so that the receiver can digest it piece-by-piece, or perhaps never really get the full picture. There are some who share like southern women do. They are the one’s whose spirits were manufactured in the Deep South but, for some reason ended up in the body of a northerner.

         Communication among southern women validates one’s femininity as well as the masculinity of the men in our lives and what they need to make them tick. (Food, sex and football! But that’s all I have to say about that!) In the north, discussion about men takes on more of a feminist approach, one that I could never fully relate to.


        Our society often celebrates the woman behind a successful man, or simply women in general. This certainly is not to discredit all that. We are to be celebrated!!! It is only to balance it with the fact that, success for both partners’ lies not only in themselves, but the other as well. But we see little celebrating of our men, and never hear about the great men who are behind confident, successful women, whether it is having a wonderful experience as a stay-at-home mom (her experience depends largely on her male counterpart) or her professional success. So, just for a moment, in this time and place, be a fly on the wall during the conversation of southern women about ‘The Good Ga’s’.

      To clarify, a Ga is really a guy, pronounced as you would saying Lady Ga Ga. This is Deep South speak for ‘guy’. I was with some girlfriends for a night of wine, food and chat at one of their houses. We sat in the bricked, garden courtyard with a fireplace on one side and a fountain on the other. The warm, soft southern breeze carried the scent of sweet olives through the evening air, and only the full moon and a few candles lit the night. We poured wine into the crystal wineglasses and the conversation began. I was used to the north, where you edged your way into it and made sure you knew and trusted your audience and then you only skimmed the surface. These ladies had been friends for years and immediately drew me into their circle. Many times that night, I thought, “You mean, we can say that?!?!”

        Two of the women were married and another, a hair dresser,   is from a physician after 15 years of marriage and is in a monogamous relationship. I had been married 20 years and dated only Les since then. The first two shared what made them happy and content in their marriages, and what needed work. The other divorcee and I talked about our pasts and our thankfulness to now have a ‘normal’ Ga in our life. The more wine we drank, the deeper our thinking became.


        We began defining normal. A normal Ga is one whom you know where they are – even if they are not with you, simply because they have the courtesy to let you know. They are the ones who call every few hours to touch base even when you don’t call them. They pull no disappearing acts nor do they have a secret world of which their wives or girlfriends have no part, or addictions/habits that take precedence over the people they claim to love the most. They are happy to provide for their families and even thrive on it. They are not physically or emotionally abusive rather, they clearly understand that their own happiness and success is directly linked to that of their partner and vise versa.

       A little more wine helped us to think even deeper and take it a step further as we then talked about Good Ga’s. Name after name came up as we, in a God-like mode, decided who the Good Ga’s are in our community. I noticed the inflection and emphasis on the word ‘Good’, as though in awe, each time my southern girlfriends called a man a ‘Good Ga’. Our northern counterparts tend to be a little more monotone on the subject.


      Then we began defining what makes a Ga ‘a Good Ga’. Our four-woman think tank passionately began to determine the characteristics. But before I go into our glorious criterion and make all the feminists out there puke, let’s be clear that we are perfectly aware the Good Ga’s aren’t perfect! No matter how nice they are, how well they dress, how much money is in their bank accounts, or how many letters are behind their names, they all burp and fart when you get them home! The difference is, with a jerk, it just makes them all the more repulsive. With a Good Ga, it is more endearing because we are the one they chose to be their burp/fart confidant. Being privy to their not-so-pleasant sides make their strengths look all the more attractive and we do our best to hone the good rather than the other! What is a Good Ga?

       First, they make life safer for the rest of us, or shall I say, grounded. They are the men that the community naturally looks to as the leaders, whether or not appointed. They are the problem solvers. We love to support them but we don’t stand in their way because they are quite capable. They are fair, even tempered, and seem to look out for the overall good of everyone, though when push comes to shove, their families are first. They are the ‘Watchmen on the Wall’, and often Knights in Shining Armor during a crisis. They are the men who may, or may not have been, our top picks in high school but their sweet spirits, steady temperament, and well roundedness earn them more respect and admiration with each passing year. The Good Ga’s are the ones that, as girls mature into women they realize are the true gems!

       It was discussed with an ‘us or them’ connotation, meaning that the ‘Good Ga’s’ were on our side. They were held in high esteem. I thought a lot about the“Good Ga’s” in my own life; those in high school who were gentlemen way back then. How easy it was when Les came along because, though I hadn’t seen him in 25 years, he has always been, to anyone who knew him, a Good Ga! I thought of my male friends in college who maintained protective, friendship stances, were gentlemen, and just plain Good Ga’s. I think of the close male friends, also gentlemen, over the years, the ones who made me feel safe, grounded, and made life better than it would have been without them. I hold these men high in respect and honor.

        I love the Good Ga’s! Good Ga’s live hard, love hard, and play hard. Only they play the right games and love the right people! They realize that it’s not about the ‘here and now’ rather the legacy they will hand down. They don’t invest time and energy into people and things who do not affect the bottom line of their legacy. Good Ga’s value their religion and God. They love passionately – both their women and their community. They are trustworthy, reliable, safe, and nice! They ground everyone around them and just make the world a much, much better place to live. So, Here's to the Good Ga's! I love the Good Ga's!!