Island Girl

Today we celebrate the one-year anniversary of when we signed on the dotted line to purchase our little slice of heaven in the Low Country.  I can hardly believe it’s been a year.  Recently, I read, the days are long but the years go by swiftly.  Indeed, it seems they do. 

 

I am learning to love the term “Island Girl.”  Sounds so exotic and beachy. 

 

As she was crossing from the beach to the parking lot, and I from the parking lot to the beach, I struck up a conversation with an established resident.  It was just last month the weather was sunny and cool.  If you know me you know I seldom meet a stranger.  Percy would be SO proud.  Anyway.  I asked her if her time on the beach was good?  Her answer to me is what I tell lots of friends – It’s a day at the beach!  What’s not to love? 

 

That’s exactly how I feel about the beach.  A cloudy, rainy, cold day at the beach is better than a day, well, almost anywhere else.  We continued our conversation and I shared with her that we had recently purchased a place here. 

 

Ah, she exclaimed, then she said the magic words.  You’re an Island Girl now. 

 

And just like that, I got a new “label.”  Island Girl.  Has a nice ring to it, don’t cha think?

 

Just call me, Elizabeth of James.  James Island that is.

 

 

The coolness of the Night

It was just another Monday.  A little manic as the song goes.  It was a day of updated computer programs that had hiccups all day.  A day of an overlooked appointment, again, due to a miscommunication between my laptop and my phone.  Thankfully, an email reminder came to my rescue and I arrived on time to committee meeting.  It's a big committee deal too, a huge event in the making.

It was tax day, you know April 15.  Were my taxes complete?  Absolutely not.  They were, however, with the accountant, who, no doubt were working hard on making sure I had all the deductions I was due.  I did send an email asking if we were filing an extension.  I was assured that they would be completed later in the day.

I received an almost urgent call regarding an invitation.  My friend emailed me and when I didn't respond fast enough for her (she's a first born) she sent me a text.  "Do you want to play bunco tonight?"  I waited 2.3 seconds and responded with an emphatic YES! Followed up quickly with, what do I need to bring?  I then picked up my desk phone and called my husband to see if we had any plans for the evening.

Well the day is done. I sit gathering thoughts and soaking up sounds of the night.  I live in a home that is convenient to the interstate, sometimes sounds make their ways through the trees.  Not tonight.  

In the cool of the evening I hear the melody of spring critters in the trees.  Now, I'm not sure exactly what theses critters are but it's a soothing long creeeaaaakkkk, and a heavier lower rumble.  The sky is clear, the stars bright and just a sliver of a moon.  An occasional automobile interrupts my symphony of critters.  

Oh, and then I hear the girls.  I hear the chatter of them several houses away.  They aren't too loud but the sound carries in the clear, cool air.  I can tell they're girls as they are all talking at the same time.  I suppose they are talking about whatever it is girls talk about these days.  Do you think it's changed?  Ok, so I know it's changed, but how much?    The cadence of their voices are much like the sound of the critters.  A steady drone then silence, a slight rumble then silence.  I suppose their little chat is coming to an end.  I hear the start of an engine and someone is leaving.  Voices still as though talking through a car window.  The sound of a door closing, the bid of farewell and the sweet sounds of I love you. 

I suppose should also mention the sound of the pecking of the keyboard . . .

Just Bebe

Take Five

Jake and I spent a couple of days at the beach in March.  We are in the sunny south.  While it was warm, it wasn't the hot, humid, sweltering go jump in the water to cool off heat we have the pleasure of having  June - September in South Carolina.

The mosquito's didn't seem to get that memo, though.  They were dive bombing me.  They LOVE me.  Do I have comfort in knowing I am loved?  Ha!

While we were there soaking up sun and time with each other I also noticed a few other things:

The feel of warm sunshine on my face.

Reflection of the sun off the water.

Sound of the waves as they meet the shore. 

Smell of the salt water and the smell of the marsh.

Feeling the ocean breeze.

Those silly sea birds that walk sideways on the beach and stand on one leg.  Begging for a cheeto or cracker.  You think they do that walk for the cracker?

A little boy running to catch those birds not caring whether he caught them or not.

Dolphins - swimming down the coast toward Savannah.  There were lots of them.  I know you call a group of Dolphins swimming, a pod.  I like using the word "herd" better.  Isn't that more fun?   And it's just plain silly.  Silly is good.

The daily circle of a military training plane or helicopter.  Made me so thankful that we live in a country where brave men and women serve to protect our freedom.

Watching a group of cousins play together during a long wait for their table to be ready at a restaurant.  Most of them were 6 and below.  There was one boy a bit older, I'd say 11 or so.  Hat's off to him for being a great role model and not complaining. The grandparents were beaming with pride having all of them in one place. 

Families riding bicycles up and down the beach.

A little girl on the back of the bike, yelling, "Go, granddaddy, go!"  (faster) Heart melting.

Note:  When riding bicycles with children on the beach remember they are just that, children.  Don't tell them to stop acting like a baby.  They are babies.  Stop, listen to them and show them the dolphin that are swimming almost so close that you could touch them. (If you were brave enough to try that COLD water.)  And one more thing.  Don't make up stupid rules about bike riding and fuss at them.  It's spring break for crying out loud.. 

All in all, it was a fabulous week.  We really didn't want to come home.  But, alas, all things must end.

I can't wait til next time!

Just Bebe

The Button Jar

Is it just me or did every household have one of these?  It must not be JUST me because a month or so ago we were at the Flipper family home.  His mom moved out and we were going through things.  I found myself going through her sewing supplies.  That's right up my alley.  Collecting sewing stuff.  Notice, I didn't say, sewing.  I do love to sew but seems I don't do it all that often. 

Anyway back to my find.  As I searched through Cat's sewing stuff, I came across a button jar.  I'm not sure what it is about buttons.  Or button jars. 

It took me back to memories of the button jar of my childhood.  It was a Welch's Grape Jelly jar.  The lid was a faded purple.  It was dented on one of the upper edges of the lid.  I suppose that came from it being dropped on the floor.  Heck, I was the one that probably dropped it.

As a little girl I can remember opening the jar and dumping the contents on a smooth surface.  I would sort them by sizes, colors and styles of buttons.  I remember one particular button that was fancy. It had a big fat rhinestone in it.  I never remember having any items of clothing that had anything sparkly on the buttons.  I can't imagine my mother having any item that fancy.  She could have,  I just don't remember her with sparkly things when I was growing up.

What I wish is that I could share the softening of my heart or the catching of my breath when I think of that silly old jar full of discarded and extra buttons.  It was just an old grape jelly jar.

Hopefully, my children will have similar memories of silly things from their childhood that one day will put a smile on their face.  

Kittens in the bag

We lived in the middle of 24 acres.  There was a daddy, a mama and three precious girls.  The oldest was 9, the middle was 6 and the baby girl was 2.  A tiny house at the top of the hill.  There was love and laughter and coziness.  Lots of coziness. The house was small remember?  When we moved in we managed to bring a couple of cats with us.  

Fluffy was the first one to have kittens.  Fluffy was a gray ball off, well, fluff.  Hence, the name Fluffy.  She was named by a child, of course.  Anyway.  The adults of the family knew that the Fluff had given birth.  Who knew where or exactly when but we knew she was well fed and was probably taking excellent care of the kittens.  Somewhere.

Several weeks went by.

Behind the tiny home there was a storage shed that had been built for storing things that would not fit into the tiny home.  It was quite a sturdy structure with windows and a real door that locked.

One night as all the precious children were getting ready for bed the daddy went out to the little building to fetch or store  . . . something.  He sneaked quietly back in the house and asked for a paper sack.  

The mama, ok, it was me,  looked at him questioningly.  What in the world?  He whispered, "There are kittens in the building."  So, the Fluffy cat had finally deemed us worthy of knowing these precious kittens  

I have no idea how in the world he caught them all.  It must have been some kind of athletic prowess.  It was dark.  There was no electricity in the building. I don't think he even used a flashlight. They were fast and quite ferocious.  Well, they were ferocious sounding anyway.  

He caught them and put them in a large brown paper grocery sack and carefully folded down the top so there was no escaping.   He sneaked back into the house with brown bag in hand.  

We quickly called all the girls to the kitchen.  The daddy placed the paper sack in the middle of kitchen floor.  There was quite a ruckus going on inside that paper sack, lots of punching.  The girls all gathered around as the daddy opened the sack.  As we all looked down at those precious little kittens, you have never heard such a commotion.  

They were hissing and spitting and totally protesting being in that brown bag.  The ferocious sound coming from that bag quickly changed to a soft purring sound as we gently lifted them out of the bag by the scruff of their neck and held them close and loved on them.  

Soon they were a part of our family.  

Now And Then

Recently I have had the pleasure of sitting in classes at several local public schools.  Let's just say a few things have changed since back in the 'day'.  The 'day' being when I was in school.

On my first visit I started to notice things being, well, WAY, different.  We watched a movie about the USA's dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.  The quality of the video was outstanding.  It was a reenactment of the lives of several people all woven together.  The story unfolds of characters on the ground in Japan as well as from the American flight teams that flew over the Japanese city that day.  It was so interesting to hear and be reminded of our history.  My mind, however was doing a quick comparsion and going back in time.

Back in time to "then" meaning when I was in school.  OK, so it was a while back.  When we watched a movie somebody (usually a trusted student) was chosen by the teacher to go to the library - that's what we called it then - now it's the media center.  Anyway,  trusted student would then wheel the projector into the classroom and set up the film and the projector.  If we were lucky, the threading of the film into the projector went smoothly and within a few minutes we were watching the image on a pull down screen or maybe the concrete wall above the chalk board.  

The image today is a much different as well.  Then it was a crackly, spotted, film filled with dusts and debris and who knows what all.  Today, a movie is simply downloaded from YouTube.  Fabulous quality.  Digital.  It is synced from the desktop of the teacher (yes they are stilled called teachers) to the projector that is hard wired from the ceiling.  There's an on off switch for projector mounted on the wall and some even have a fancy remote control.   The downside is it takes a second or two for the projector to power up.  Today students grumbled that they had to wait on the movie to download.  You know, it took maybe 10 seconds, literally.  You think this is what they mean when they call us an "instant" society? 

Also books being read aloud to the classroom has also changed greatly.  I remember with such fondness hearing my teacher read to us.  I will always remember 4th grade and having Mrs. Fite read OLD YELLER.  What I remember the most was the sweet rhythmic sound of Mrs. Fite's voice.  Some days it was clearer than others.  Some days it was almost raspy.   Today students (or at least some of them) listen to books that are professionally recorded.  Now, it's a crystal clear recording.  Digital.  Again.  I am not, by profession, a teacher.   I think that part of the fun of being a teacher would be reading aloud to my students.   In a way, reading aloud is like acting.  You get to play all the parts.  It's a "show" of sorts.  You put in all the emotion; the laughter, the tears, the disappointment and the joy.  Best of all you can enhance the story by using the inflection of your voice.  

Once as a substitute teacher in Mrs. Steed's class I had the pleasure of reading aloud to my students.  The scene was from "How to Fight a Girl."  The young boy in the book had ridden a mini bike and practically run over his mom's foot.  She was wearing house shoes.  She was livid.  I read that scene in my best mad, frustrated, livid mom voice.  As I put the book away one of my students told me, " your read that mom part real good."  I sort of mentally patted myself on the back when I realized I liked the acting part of reading.  As I was checking out at the office that day imagine my surprise when Dr. Singleton looked at me and said, "I walked by and heard you reading."  My heart stopped.  She continued, "I thought you were talking to one of the children and then I realized you were reading." HORROR!  I sounded SO MEAN.  And she let me come back and sub again and again.

Today students are very well connected.  Connected to electronics.  Cell phones, iPads and Ipods.  They are everywhere.  Students want music in their ears constantly.  What's funny is they don't understand how it is very evident to an adult that the music is still streaming into their headset. The first clue is that it is LOUD and we can hear it.  Second clue is the nodding of the head back and forth to the beat of the music. They are so surprised when it is brought to their attention to turn off the iPod.  And then there's the constant texting and requesting to use those cell phones. 

All we wanted to do was chew gum and not get caught.

  

Sorry Wrong Number

I had decided I wasn't going to date anymore. No more Dateme.com.  You know, looking at photos of men who pretty much lie about their height, age, weight and post a picture that is at least ten years old when they had hair. After all, dating for me seemed to be a steady stream of "one" dates. That was me, the queen of "one" date. I could go out with a guy for one date and realize very quickly that home would have been a much better place for me to be. I had decided I'd just work on a few home improvement projects. I had decided that I'd just stay active with the singles group at church. I had decided I'd just be the best "me" I could be. At least, that was my plan. Little did I know how a few weeks could change my life forever.

It was July in Georgia.  A sunny hot and sultry Wednesday afternoon.  The oldest daughter and I made a trek for freshman orientation to Shorter College in Rome, Georgia.  It was a great time to explore new things.  After two days of orienting we left Rome headed for home and vacation on the Gulf of Mexico.  The younger girls were awaiting our return packed and ready to load up for a week of long overdue vacation.  Friday afternoon we drove to Columbus and made a pit stop with the good Sheila and her girls.  Up early Saturday morning headed for the gulf coast, the Palmer chicks.  Happy times.  My life was full, my heart light.  Being a single mom was a great thing.  The wind was changing direction and I was unaware.

Upon my return from the beach, low and behold there was a message in my inbox from Dateme.com.  Someone calling himself Golf Guy had contacted me.  Hmmmm.  Golf Guy.   I'd seen his profile.  I remembered.  He sounded, well, nice.  And cute.  But remember, I had made that decision . . . you know the one.  I looked at his profile again.  Still, nice and did I mention he was cute?  What's a girl to do?  Respond! And QUICKLY.  Totally forgetting I had decided not to date.  I decided to respond.

There was a catch, a hiccup. The email he'd sent me was received on Wednesday, the day I'd taken college freshman for orientation.  Way before seven days at the beach.  Eleven days earlier.  Eleven days is a very long time in cyber dating world.  Lots of thoughts were going through my mind. What if he'd forgotten about sending the request?  What if he'd already gone on to the next girl?  what if, what if . . . What did I have to loose?  Within a few seconds I'd responded with something like, "Not sure if you're still interested.  I've been out of town on vacation.  Bla bla bla,  let me know."  Remember, he seemed nice and cute.  Little did I know how this quick response would affect the rest of my life.

He was still interested. It took a couple of days for him to respond.  His response was something like, "I'm on vacation now, will get back with you when I return."  Well, all rightie then.  He didn't tell me he'd be on vacation for three weeks.  Life continued. Eventually, he returned and emailed me again.  We bantered back and forth with email for several days and finally he gave me his phone number.  Told me to give him a call.  It took a few minutes but I did call the number.  Several times and for a few days.    I kept getting this  - very strange - voice mail.  Some guy with a weird voice.  Could I date this voice?  I was not at all sure.   Sounded like he was in a tunnel maybe a research lab.   My imagination went wild.  What kind of lab?  A hospital lab?  A research lab?  Were there white mice?   Ewe.

After I couldn't reach him for a day or two he prompted me, via email, to try again.  He was me teasing me relentlessly that I was not successful at reaching him.  Told me to get one of the girls to help me dial the phone. Surely one of them could teach me. Finally, I emailed him that I'd just called him and gotten his voice mail.  Again.  Then miracle of miracles.  He said something like, "I've been here all morning and haven't missed any calls.  My number is 404-245-2300."

Wait.  404-245-2300 is NOT the number I'd been dialing.  You remember, the guy at the funky research lab?  The correct number was only a digit off.  I'd been dialing the wrong number all along. So, I held my breath and dialed the new number.  He answered immediately and with an attitude of  it's about time.  On the other hand I was relieved to hear that he sounded normal and not in a research lab kind of normal.

We had a very nice conversation and arranged a face to face date the next week.  We didn't wait that long.   He phoned me Friday morning and asked if I'd join him for lunch.  As I was agreeing I was also thinking about how this would be it.  You know me, the "one date queen."   Imagine my surprise when lunch lasted a little longer than my 'hour' that was allowed.  We set up date two.   My one date streak had been broken.

Date two was an all day event which lead to date three, four, five and eventually a proposal of marriage.  Twelve years later I search for words to tell of this relationship.  It's a lot of fun.  There is love, laughter, children and grandchildren.  I can't imagine how different my life might be if I had kept that "no more dating" decision.  How ridiculous.   

Date Two Hot August Sunday Afternoon