Some younger friends have asked me what is mother wit, and why would I create a blog with that title. It's a mostly southern term, and one that I learned growing up in Monroe, LA. A good basic definition is:

mother wit n.Innate intelligence or common sense.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin  Company.  Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

 

 

I like to call it good common sense. It's the things your mother or other respected adults taught you during your childhood that stick with you throughout your entire life. It's knowing that if you stick your hand in fire, it's going to burn or knowing that there can be consequences to choices that you make.

 

Sometimes we can get so highly educated and esoteric in our thinking that common sense goes by the wayside as we attempt to analyze and study every issue that comes up in our lives. Now I'm not discounting education, because education has certainly brought me a mighty long way as a baby boomer woman of color. But let us not lose sight (or sense) of our innate, God-given talents with which we are all born.

 

God make each of us as uniquely as snowflakes, and He knew us before we were formed in our mothers' wombs. We each possess a special mixture of DNA that is uniquely ours, just like our fingerprints. Down deep inside of us there exists that common, innate, natural gift for discerning what is good and what is not, However we choose to filter it with our personal beliefs, common sense, or mother wit, is deep within us.

 

This blog attempts to offer insights into instances in which an abundance or great lack of mother wit occurs in my everyday life in sunny Sarasota, FL.

Squirrels and Snakes and Possums, oh my!

Welcome to the sunny South, Dee! You're not in Michigan anymore...

Living in central Florida has required some adjustments, most of them good and pleasant. It has been pleasant to enjoy a warm winter, and to be able to walk, sit outside on the lanai anytime of day or night, and go to the beach and enjoy the sun and the Gulf. Although it felt very strange, it was pleasant to experience my first warm weather Christmas since my childhood in Louisiana.

What has not been so pleasant is experiencing the various critters that are indigenous to this part of the country. Squirrels I can adjust to, although the pine-tree covered terrain of my Michigan home meant that we didn't see many of them. More sightings of deer than squirrels.

But I can count on one hand the encounters I had in over 30 years with the small garden snake. Since I love gardening, I would be surprised but not fearful if I stumbled upon a little green snake while digging in the dirt. Once I learned that they were not poisonous, and relatively harmless, I called a truce on my snake killing spree and most often would let them scurry away.

My first encounter with a long black snake in Florida happened one morning while walking Honey and Buddy, my two cocker spaniels. The dogs froze in their tracks and the snake moved from right to left about 20 feet ahead of us in a grassy, treed area right outside my apartment door. I was horrified, and immediately told the property manager about this monster snake sighting. With a twinkle in his eye, he informed me that it was most like a racer or fruit snake, who would mean me (or the dogs) no harm. I would have been okay had he stopped there, but he went on to describe other types of snakes which were poisonous and from which I should flee. I decided that I wasn't going to take the time to look at a snake that closely, and that I would just flee whenever I saw any kind of snake. My second snake sighting created a bit less anxiety, and after awhile, I remained cautious but not afraid of walking up on a snake. After all, I'm a Louisiana woman, I grew up in bayou country, and I'm not afraid of no stinking snake.

But the night I walked up on a possum is a different story. Actually, I drove up on him as I returned one Wednesday night from small group. He was strolling in the middle of the road and then turned and walked up my sidewalk. I was too terrified to get out of my car. Finally, I got my courage up and raced for the front door, and of course I fumbled with the keys to get in. And of course, Honey and Buddy wanted to go out. So, armed with two dogs and a broom, out I went to the other side of the road so that the dogs could do their business. As I came back up the sidewalk, to my horror, I realized I had left the front door wide open! I thought, the possum is in my apartment!

I thought, the dogs will protect me and help me get him out. The dogs strolled in, drank water, and settled down for the night, while I stood in the middle of the living room, broom still in hand, waiting for the possum to come out of hiding. I turned on every light, looked in every nook and cranny, all the while berating the dogs for not sniffing him out. I slept poorly that night with lights ablaze.

The next morning, I marched into the property manager's office to tell him of my experience. I said, "I've gotten used to the squirrels and the geckos, I've made my peace about occasionally seeing a snake, but I cannot get used to seeing a possum!" With that same twinkle in his eye, he calmly informed me that we lived in a preserve where all kinds of wildlife dwelt, and that I would somehow have to get used to occasionally seeing members of the possum family.

Okay, so I'm getting over these creature sightings.

And, welcome to Florida, Dee!