I lament the passing of a genteel time. A time when the dignity of the southern matron was the highest standard. It was a pretty time when discretion, kindness, courtesy, and privacy were gifts bestowed upon all.
The southern matron is our connection to our past and our family foundation. She represents a life lived in service. She is the keeper of our history, our stories, and our secrets. The South has always, always upheld a great reverence to aging gracefully. In France, and among certain classes in England, aging gracefully is high art and highly praised, too. "Elegance is the privilege of age" is an adage southerners believe in.
Her silver hair is always set, or in a chignon, or a tasteful French twist. The southern matron has spent her life carefully tending to herself and, most importantly, perfecting her demeanor.
She dresses to reflect the dignity of her station. The southern matron exercises discipline in matters of taste and dress. Lovely, tasteful, classic dresses in sumptuous fabrics carefully chosen to lend an air of refinement, never fashion. Stockings are worn, and shoes and pocketbooks are timeless. She limits her jewelry to a timeless few pieces: wedding set, pearls, and perhaps a brooch.
She is fastidious in her care for herself, her clothing and linens.
Her old fashioned treasures are carefully chosen and carefully arranged in delicate porcelain, or cut-glass, or even simple fruit or jelly jars. Fresh-cut flowers are always, always present. These are the luxuries of the southern lady.
The southern matron lives her life in ritual and simple ceremony. She reads cherished leather bound volumes her ancestors read before her. Her stationery has remained the same throughout her life: light blue linen. The southern matron gardens and revels is the bountiful southern land.