My mama is about as Southern as one could be without turning into a Hollywood-esq caricature. She is a better woman than I in many ways. Growing up, I never heard her yell or cuss (In contrast, Lord forgive me for everything I say while driving or trying to navigate around slow walkers on Valencia Street). Instead, she would mutter the charming and nonsensical phrase,”Bless Betty Bingo.”
I live thousands of miles away from my mama, with her blue hydrangeas, whimsical words and gentle spirit. But the more I grow up, the more I try to channel her. I suppose this blog is an extension of that desire.
While I can say with certainty that she does not share my love of mid-century modern furniture or really understand what quinoa is, she has always championed me in new adventures, no matter where they might take me. Seven years ago, she blessed a dream that led me to pack my bags and move across the world. Last Spring, that dream led me to San Francisco and a cozy apartment with lots of charm and zero storage.
She knows I will likely never move back to the hometown of my youth. But with grace, she blesses my nomadic life.