grits

A while ago someone asked me my blog address. "Grace and glory?" he wrongly repeated back to me. I told him again. "Grits and glory???" he asked very questioningly. I couldn't contain my laughter as I corrected him yet again. This time I explained the name and I could see the lightbulb go on in his mind as he said, "Ohhhhhh! Grit and glory! Got it. That's really good!" Ha. Today we met some folks at Cracker Barrel for lunch. Niel ordered a salad, a root beer, and a side of grits. Yep, grits. He was missing home, and wanted something-as-close-as-he-could-get to mealie-pap. He even ate it just like he does in South Africa: with ketchup and cheese swirled into it. By the time he finishes stirring his concoction, I'm always about ready to hurl. I have to avert my eyes as he consumes the now-orangeish mush.

There's way more grits than glory in my life these days...