This part of our lives we would call “cornbread.”
After spending a week on the white sandy beaches of Navarre Beach with my (Nash) family and friends, we have headed north to much colder weather and colorful leaves in Virginia.
And today, we reached the pinnacle of cornbreadedness with a visit to the Martinsville Speedway to see NASCAR in action. I had never seen a race and lucky for us, Rebecca’s wedding was the same weekend as one of the two races held in Martinsville each year.
I wasn’t sure who to root for so I went with Jimmie Johnson, also the name of a former boyfriend. Turns out–which Angus oh-so-candidly pointed out after my pick won–that Johnson is more than an ex-boyfriend’s name. He happened to be the crowd favorite.
We had a great time in the land of cornbread. And this is cornbread at it’s homiest. I’m talking country music blaring from Skoal stands, faded white bras hanging on clothes lines outside of RVs, McCain/Palin signs posted beneath Confederate flags, buttons that read “Vote McCain not Hussein.”
Good Lord I had to remind myself that this is where I’m from. Lord help me. And help them.
But instead of rolling my eyes and preaching about the fact that Obama is not a Muslim, I simply enjoyed it. Laughed. Sipped some Bud Light and Diet Coke. And raised my hand to cheer when Jimmie and Dale rushed down the speedway, flinging rubber in our faces.