MARION MOM (cont.)

as in “turn the lights own” (It can be very confusing).

• Walmart and Kroger are both plural in the vernacular, “Headin’ to Krogers!”

• Peench means pinch.

• Ain't is an acceptable vocabulary term you learn in elementary school.

• “Coke” is a generic term for a soda, not an actual soft drink brand.

You order like this: “I'll have a coke, please.”

“Okay, what kind?”

“Dr. Pepper.”

7. Get a truck. We shot right through the minivan stage of family life into the maxi-van phase. I happen to enjoy my fancy, black, limousine van with dual air conditioners and an entertainment system (Praise Jesus!) My poor husband inherited the old minivan, which just exceeded 200,000 miles. (Should we take pride in that?)

Admittedly, no macho vibes exude that vehicle, just an air of despair and pity, as in, “Look at that man driving a minivan, bless his heart.” A truck will also haul a trailer with manly flourish. I explained to my husband that I don't know why we need a trailer. Sometimes, you just haul a trailer in Marion to remind folks you live here.

8. Learn to fish. I grew up privileged to spend many hours on a motorboat fishing with my family for bass and crappie, which is spelled like “crappy” but pronounced like “croppy” (I also have a vague memory of catching a Mother-inlaw fish, thusly named because of its ugly visage, but that could have just been my dad's way of having a little fun.) When conversation with Marion acquaintances hit the ubiquitous awkward pause, any fishing-related comment can rev it back up again.

For. Hours.

9. Not unrelated: Learn to hunt. I don't suppose buying a hunting license actually counts as knowing how to hunt, but it can sure fool the locals into thinking you belong in the club.

When you actually do experience the testosteronefilled prowling preying, and preparing your own meat, invest in a good taxidermist. You can't let those trophies go to waste without proclaiming the true musk of your Arkansan roots.

No room is off-limits to a deer head, either. Not even the bedroom.

10. Trains. The more you complain about the trains, the better you'll fit in.

They're loud. Because of the location of the crossings in relation to our home, five or six elongated, high-decibel blasts at a time interrupt our conversation on a regular basis.

And by regular, I mean hourly. If not more. Even at night. They're also long… long enough to block every crossing in Marion in one fell swoop, and if you get excited to see one train finally clearing out, a second one will shortly come to take its place. Take a book with you if you plan to cross the tracks.

11. Tornadoes. Fix up a “'fraidy closet” and make sure there's plenty of fullycharged electronics, all your important paperwork, tennis shoes, and chocolate. Above all, if you happen to fall asleep under a tornado watch, don't sleep in the nude.

12. Torrents and thunderstorms. It seems far too regular that heavy rains flood our streets, our land, and our houses. A few weeks ago, my husband waded through thigh-deep waters in his church clothes to access his office. I think I'll buy him a wetsuit for Christmas. Theyshould include one for every newcomer in the welcome wagon.

13. You must root for the Razorbacks. Razorback Frenzy threw us for a real loop during our first football season here. I promise I've always been a Razorback fan, but most of my married life, I lived elsewhere, and therefore lived in blissful ignorance the lengths true fans are expected to go to show their team spirit. Don't even think about planning anything non-football related on the weekends during football season.

14. We don't hang out at coffee shops here. We hang out at Shake Shack. Or Cliff's… yes, the tractor supply store. 'Nuff said.

15. Join a church.

Everyone who is anyone associates with some religious organization. It's a thing my pastor calls “Southern Churchianity.”

Church offers opportunity to catch up on fishing, hunting, the latest outing to Jonesboro, the Razorbacks, and train-tornado- torrent trouble. Oh, and that Jesus guy, too, who actually, in all technicality, claims to be a resident of Marion as well.

(You'd think He, of all people, could do something about the train situation…

Am I right?!)

As far as I can tell, we're adjusting right nice. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm fittina head to Jonesboro to purchase

Dorothy Wilson lives i Marion with her husband Chris as they enjoy all the adventures life with their seven children brings. This article originally appeared in the December 2014 edition of the Marion Ledger… but the rules still apply.