The Frustration of Not Knowing. . .

My co-workers are Rat. "Google It" is a quick response to almost any question that comes up. I hear it several times a day. I hate to say it, but between Google, Wikipedia, and YouTube, it really is amazing what you can learn. Never mind newspapers, will Universities become obsolete?

Best Houseguest Ever!

A couple of people have told me they've been looking here for updates about Mom's visit. I haven't taken the time to write anything and I'm sorry to say, we didn't take any pictures. It was so nice having her here, I did not want to spend the time at the computer. If 2 weeks was too long of a visit for her, she was too kind to let on.

She was totally a good sport about everything. She did not complain about being left at home with Eloise every day while we went off to work. She brought a fresh eye to my attempts at flower beds and pot gardening and she fixed almost all of our evening meals. I was in heaven eating my mother's cooking again! -- and so was Duncan.

Otherwise, we went to Charlestowne Landing and Folly Beach for walks, spotted a 12' alligator going into the pond behind Duncan's office building, had friends over for a dinner of fresh-caught flounder and mullet, went to the Farmer's Market at Marion Square, watched some movies, and just generally hung out.

One long day we went on a SCIway roadtrip to Hilton Head/Bluffton. It was a whirlwind trip -- not enough to do or see even a portion of what we would have liked to -- but enough to see that it was a really pretty area and know we'd like to go back.


While I was at work one day, mom greatly improved the appearance of this little bed at the bottom of our steps -- though the picture doesn't do it justice. She moved a very unhappy knockout rose to a place where we hope it gets more sun -- and put in this sweet grass, a pot of pansies, and some catnip especially for Eloise.

Despite every kindness, Eloise was her usual rude and aloof self until the last 4 days of the the visit. Finally, she condescended to spend part of her night on Mom's bed and let Mom scratch her ears. I would not nominate Eloise to work for the visitor's bureau.

Living Off the Land

September is "shrimp baiting" season -- when regular people, as opposed to just the commercial fisherman, try to fill their freezers with enough shrimp to last through the winter. The bait is a ground up fish meal mixed with clay -- pretty disgusting, but the shrimp like it and I choose not to think about it too much.






Duncan has had pretty good luck with his cast net in our tidal creek -- though you can never have enough shrimp in the freezer. One night this week, he brought the net in and found a nice flounder. Life is pretty good when you can have crab stuffed flounder with shrimp on the side and not even have to go to the grocery store.

Weekend in Savannah

As a late birthday experience for Duncan, we did a quick trip to Savannah over the weekend. We've lived here all this time and have never made it down there.

To my mind, it's a lot like Charleston -- historic neighborhoods, live oaks, Spanish Moss, pralines, shrimp and oysters. We did a couple of tours and felt Charleston tour guides needed to give theirs some lessons in customer service and general pizzazz. Have we already become lowcountry snobs? My favorite thing was just walking and wandering through old neighborhoods on Sunday morning.

Very pretty tree-canopied streets.


Gardens tucked away down alleys behind gates.


And of course, the famous "squares" -- this one; "To the heroic memory of Sergeant William Jasper who though mortally wounded, rescued the colors of his regiment in the assault on the British line about this city, Oct. 1779. Time has not dimmed the glory of the Irish American soldier whose last tribute to civil liberty was his noble life."

Wow, bet he wouldn't have called George Washington a liar during a speech to a joint session of Congress.

We drove a little further to the beach at Tybee Island and liked that a lot. We thought if we were to go back, we would want to go stay at the beach for a few days and make a day trip into Savannah instead of the other way around.

Tybee has an old fashioned feel to it, which I suppose means that there are houses on the beach instead of hotels and condos -- and some of the houses are older and smaller than what, sadly, has become the norm in such a fragile environment.

We were surprised by the incongruity of parking meters at an Arby's. Had not encountered that outside of a major metropolitan area, which I think Tybee Island prides inself in not being.

On the way home, we stopped at the Old Sheldon Prince William Parish Church about half way between Savannah and Charleston just off of 17. Though only a ruin, it was still very impressive.


Built between 1745 - 1755, burned by the British in 1779 and again by "the Federal Army" in 1865. Lots of civil war era graves surrounding the church and several with birth dates in the 1600s. It was a beautiful, quiet place, deep in the trees.

All in all, a fun, interesting little get away. We should do it more often.

Labor Day 2009

I can't tell you how glad I am to be ensconced in the American workforce this Labor Day.

My job with SCIway.net -- take a look if you haven't already -- is like working for the encyclopedia. Everyday I dip into random topics related to South Carolina history and/or culture. Everything from waterfalls in the Upstate, to historical churches in the Midlands, to keeping up with football results for Clemson and what they call "Carolina".

I write -- notices to advertisers, notes to anyone who contributes ideas, descriptions for the photo gallery, short newsletter articles AND I figure out how to translate nearly everything I do into computer code.

I get to ponder things like when to use an endash instead of an emdash, the proper use of semicolons, how to say something substantive in 140 characters or less, and how to load text with the words that help us in Google rankings without being too obvious or repetitious.

You have to wonder how the really crack English teachers are teaching writing these days.

For those of us who came of age in the 70s, there was The Prophet by Kahil Gibran. He had something to say about nearly everything, and about work he said:
". . . And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God.

And what is it to work with love?

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching. . .

Often have I heard you say, "He who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is nobler than he who ploughs the soil. . ."
But I say, the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;
And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.

Work is love made visible. "

I know I am fortunate to have found work at all, but to have found work that is interesting and satisfying and offers me opportunities to learn everyday is what I will celebrate on this holiday.

Good News Bad News

The bad news is that my cousin Donnie has died. He was a little older than Debbie and me and the "boy cousin" we saw the most. He grew up to be a real Carolina fan and sports nut. In many ways, neither of us ever had much in common with him, but for Mom and Dad he was a link back to Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Evelyn and precious for that alone. When he moved to Raleigh to teach, he joined Mom and Dad's church, which I always took as a nod to his esteem for them.

He has been very sick for a long time but has repeatedly rallied like the energizer bunny. But lately, he had outlived the possibility of regaining any measure of quality in his life, so I'm OK to let him go on to The Next Place.

Another cousin says so many people they know have died since Debbie, in April, that her children have asked if this is the season for it. I can see where they would ask. I was watching Ted Kennedy's funeral mass on TV today and found myself missing Walter Cronkite.

The good news is that my nephew, Jeffrey, graduated from his master's program at University of Chicago yesterday. I'm not sure exactly what he's going to do next, but I'm sure he's on his way to becoming Dr. Parker.

Work continues to be good and interesting. I love coming home across the James Island connector that swings over the downtown marina before it takes you onto Ashley River Road back into West Ashley. First I cross a vast expanse of marsh, which is bright green right now. Then the marina comes into view with huge yatchts and a mass of lesser sailboats. One day this week there was a group of what could have been Lasers clustered together in a spread-out circle; a sailing class, I imagine. One more turn of the road and you have to pay attention to traffic backing up again, but there's a nice stretch there where you get to really enjoy the view.

My Personal News of the Weird

Weird little things from my daily life these days:

The pool is closed by order of the health department. What's that about?

Duncan, who never goes anywhere on his own, will be out of town for his birthday. Since he's going south of Atlanta, it only seems to make sense that he should take the car -- that leaves me with The White Rocket for the weekend. It's been a really long time since I've had to use a clutch -- especially one that's nearly 20 years old.

Speaking of which, I've found a wine called White Truck that I've decided should be our standard house wine.

Last Sunday, a family at our church had their three sons baptized. I don't know the mom at all, but she is an artist and a yoga instructor. In my typical judgmental way, I had her cast as a groovy earth mother. Then someone told me that before she had a family she was a -- deep sea diving shark hunter! Wow!

At the exact moment of Debbie's death, I was getting my hair cut. Now, I find myself very reluctant to make that appointment. My hair is not quite out of control, but getting there.

At some point during the night, everyone in my house takes a turn snoring like a drunken sailor -- including Eloise.

When I was on my origami box tear, I made a pretty little triangular box from some very good quality, but old, wallpaper found in a closet during a clean-up day at church. A friend saw it, and said she knew the daughter of the person who bought that wallpaper. She took the box to her friend, who, in turn, gave it to her mother and sure enough, the paper was recognized and the box is prized. Tonight, I met the daughter.

Her mother was an interior decorator and remembers the house and room where she used that paper. She loves the little box -- Lucy said she looks at it and says "How is the world did she make that???"

Her mother is 93. She went to design school in New York City in the late 30s and worked in the city through the 40s before moving to Charleston. Lucy recently took her back to NYC for a few days and mom thoroughly enjoyed herself.

My little blog has turned 1 year old. Happy Birthday Fried Green Tomatoes -- and Duncan -- and Eloise!