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My son-in-law Todd shared these “25 Reasons I Owe My Mother” somebody e-mailed him. These made us both laugh; me because my mom would have enjoyed the humor – and truth – of the piece so much, and him because his mother also has a wonderful sense of fun. On this Mother’s Day weekend, see if anything here – such as “Justice” – rings a familiar note in your family.
It’s been a while since I saw “the boat.” The Hubster has this sailboat that he’s renovating at a dock down in Mount Pleasant. Selkie is her name-o. (Selkie: Something about a seal and a beautiful woman, a water legend. Anyway, it’s a broke boat with a weird name.)
At first the boat was anchored out in the creek and every now and again, we’d get in his little dinghy and motor out to it, spend the night, cook a little dinner, wake up to birds and breakfast and enjoy the heck out of it. Beautiful surroundings, fresh air, interesting folks down on the docks.
At first the boat was anchored out in the creek and every now and again, we’d get in his little dinghy and motor out to it, spend the night, cook a little dinner, wake up to birds and breakfast and enjoy the heck out of it. Beautiful surroundings, fresh air, interesting folks down on the docks.
Let me count the ways.
Agatha Christie said all she needed was a small table. It could be carved mahogany in an elegant drawing room or she was up for using a rough board thrown over a saw horse during a Baghdad dig. Dame Agatha wrote in both those situations, being an English country lady as well as the wife of an archeologist. One of Ernest “Papa” Hemingway’s favorite refuges was Sun Valley, Idaho, where he wrote in the mornings and hunted and fished in the afternoons.
Agatha Christie said all she needed was a small table. It could be carved mahogany in an elegant drawing room or she was up for using a rough board thrown over a saw horse during a Baghdad dig. Dame Agatha wrote in both those situations, being an English country lady as well as the wife of an archeologist. One of Ernest “Papa” Hemingway’s favorite refuges was Sun Valley, Idaho, where he wrote in the mornings and hunted and fished in the afternoons.
For a couple of months now, we have been collecting school supplies for Bob Dunleavy, a Summerville resident deployed to Iraq. He wrote to Publisher Ellen Priest about the children and schools that had no supplies.
We offered to help, to get the word out to our readers and the people of Summerville, about the need he had witnessed.
We offered to help, to get the word out to our readers and the people of Summerville, about the need he had witnessed.
For a couple of months now, we have been collecting school supplies for Bob Dunleavy, a Summerville resident deployed to Iraq. He wrote to Publisher Ellen Priest about the children and schools that had no supplies.
We offered to help, to get the word out to our readers and the people of Summerville, about the need he had witnessed.
We offered to help, to get the word out to our readers and the people of Summerville, about the need he had witnessed.
Three decades ago I was a full time staff member of The Journal Scene. During that time a senior citizen named George Buell was a frequent visitor to the paper. A resident of The Presbyterian Home, he remained an active and concerned citizen up into his nineties. George wrote frequent letters to the editor and when he was able, brought them in personally. At one point he was the oldest living graduate of The College of Charleston and was much feted as such. Our daughter Cathy was then a recent diploma holder from The C of C and was an active alumna. The two often met at college functions and were fond of each other. When he came by, he usually stopped in the newsroom to say hello and get news of “our favorite girl.”
He walked slowly then and with a little difficulty. When I’d ask how he was doing, George would always grin and come up with some quip about aging. I’d walk him to the door and he’d make his exit, quoting from what he explained to me were the fifth through eighth lines of a favorite poem which made us both laugh. I came across the entire doggerel the other day and the words still make me chuckle – although now my 30-year-older body understands both the comedy and the candor of the sentiments.
He walked slowly then and with a little difficulty. When I’d ask how he was doing, George would always grin and come up with some quip about aging. I’d walk him to the door and he’d make his exit, quoting from what he explained to me were the fifth through eighth lines of a favorite poem which made us both laugh. I came across the entire doggerel the other day and the words still make me chuckle – although now my 30-year-older body understands both the comedy and the candor of the sentiments.
It’s an amazing thing to see your children blossom into adults before your very eyes.
I feel like my daughter’s life is on fast forward at times.
I feel like my daughter’s life is on fast forward at times.
A pair of nearly nine-year old feet went stomping up towards their bedroom last week, and a huffy voice tumbled down the steps in their wake. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough where it doesn’t matter what you think!”
Which reminded me of a story…
Which reminded me of a story…
A few weeks ago, Manchild #2 called and requested refuge.
“It’ll be for just a few weeks until I get my own place,” he said.
“It’ll be for just a few weeks until I get my own place,” he said.
Yes, thanks for asking, our five-month kitchen project is done. Well, almost. Construction is done. The family room side remains to be painted and a couple of decorative touches are still inbound, but the kitchen is up and running and yours truly is in culinary heaven. Thanks to my hero trio – husband, son and son-in-law – this new room, thrice the size of the gallery style that reigned for 30 years, is currently my favorite place to be.
I like to think of it as my Cotswolds Kitchen. We lived in England for four years and the Cotswolds, a hilly area in Britain’s center, is one of the most picturesque places in the country. There is abundant Tudor architecture and much use of natural rock and stone. It always looks like the sun is shinning in the Cotswolds because so many of their buildings, especially the pretty thatched cottages with mullioned windows, are built of a golden toned limestone, which literally gives the place a consistent friendly radiance. Hopefully my kitchen reflects that glow.
I like to think of it as my Cotswolds Kitchen. We lived in England for four years and the Cotswolds, a hilly area in Britain’s center, is one of the most picturesque places in the country. There is abundant Tudor architecture and much use of natural rock and stone. It always looks like the sun is shinning in the Cotswolds because so many of their buildings, especially the pretty thatched cottages with mullioned windows, are built of a golden toned limestone, which literally gives the place a consistent friendly radiance. Hopefully my kitchen reflects that glow.
We spent Friday and Saturday on Kiawah with the Hubster’s brother and sister-in-law.
A fair amount of time we watched for the resident gator that lolls around on the edge of their yard when she crawls out of their pond. They call her Beulah. Sis-in-law law was gardening a few days ago and was scared very nearly out of her wits when Beulah roared. She described it as a really strong vibration that she (sis, not Beulah) felt as much as she heard it. “It sounded like a lion,” she said. (I’m not at all sure I knew that alligators roared.)
A fair amount of time we watched for the resident gator that lolls around on the edge of their yard when she crawls out of their pond. They call her Beulah. Sis-in-law law was gardening a few days ago and was scared very nearly out of her wits when Beulah roared. She described it as a really strong vibration that she (sis, not Beulah) felt as much as she heard it. “It sounded like a lion,” she said. (I’m not at all sure I knew that alligators roared.)
“Little pig, little pig, won’t you let me come in?” I growled, taking the part of the big bad wolf in this favorite tale of our granddaughter Anna, then three. “No, no,” she chimed in, reciting the lines by heart, “not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.” Getting into the spirit of reenactment, she stroked her jaw line and then reached up to mine. Before I could begin huffing and puffing and blowing the house in, Anna looked me straight in the eye and said delightedly in her best piggy squeal, “Gran Barbara, you have hairs on your chinny chin chin too!”
Drat children! They not only say the darndest things, they say the truest. This little imp must have eagle eyed vision, I thought, reaching for my magnifying mirror. Immediately I wished I hadn’t. There before me, sprouted an abundant crop of white stubble. And horror above horrors: a couple of those strands looked thick and black and seemed to curl into a kind of feminine goatee. Obviously more rigorous scrutiny was called for. The senior body can betray you in limitless ways – and quickly too.
Drat children! They not only say the darndest things, they say the truest. This little imp must have eagle eyed vision, I thought, reaching for my magnifying mirror. Immediately I wished I hadn’t. There before me, sprouted an abundant crop of white stubble. And horror above horrors: a couple of those strands looked thick and black and seemed to curl into a kind of feminine goatee. Obviously more rigorous scrutiny was called for. The senior body can betray you in limitless ways – and quickly too.
I’ve not had the fun of shopping for prom dresses since I bought my own – we’ll just say it was a long while back.
Our all-boy offspring contingent didn’t exactly go nuts over getting together an ensemble for prom. So I missed out on the full prom experience – not that I don’t love being mom to my guys. But girls they aren’t. So when my sister asked if she and her daughter could come down from Rock Hill to shop, I said yes. Sounded like a prissy, girlie weekend.
Our all-boy offspring contingent didn’t exactly go nuts over getting together an ensemble for prom. So I missed out on the full prom experience – not that I don’t love being mom to my guys. But girls they aren’t. So when my sister asked if she and her daughter could come down from Rock Hill to shop, I said yes. Sounded like a prissy, girlie weekend.
I love the Flowertown Festival. It’s a Summerville product that benefits Summervillians. What’s not to like?
It’s true that it takes a great deal of support from Town departments – Street, Parks & Playgrounds, Police, Fire, Admin, Planning – all of them, really. And it can discombobulate nearby businesses and residents. But it’s only for one weekend a year and what an opportunity to show off our town’s hospitality, history and beauty. And maybe visitors will enjoy the festival so much, they’ll come back to sample more of our wares in more of our regular venues.
It’s true that it takes a great deal of support from Town departments – Street, Parks & Playgrounds, Police, Fire, Admin, Planning – all of them, really. And it can discombobulate nearby businesses and residents. But it’s only for one weekend a year and what an opportunity to show off our town’s hospitality, history and beauty. And maybe visitors will enjoy the festival so much, they’ll come back to sample more of our wares in more of our regular venues.
Heee’s baaaaacck. In my house. Again. Manchild #2 has been gone for exactly six months. All the way to North Chuck in the Up Chuck region near Trident Tech.
While he was gone I repainted his room, I installed real nice bronze switch plates on the outlets, I bought stacks of hardwood to install after the removal of the aging carpet. The wood now sits forlornly in the garage, ready for me to put it in its proper place. Instead of new flooring the room is now filled with a bed, chair, a couple of tables, suitcases, clothes bags and our youngest, the aforementioned Manchild #2.
While he was gone I repainted his room, I installed real nice bronze switch plates on the outlets, I bought stacks of hardwood to install after the removal of the aging carpet. The wood now sits forlornly in the garage, ready for me to put it in its proper place. Instead of new flooring the room is now filled with a bed, chair, a couple of tables, suitcases, clothes bags and our youngest, the aforementioned Manchild #2.