Never Say Never | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Never Say Never | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Our Griswold Christmas Road Trips | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Our Griswold Christmas Road Trips | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Fra-gee-lay... That must be Italian | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Fra-gee-lay... That must be Italian | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Christmas Story, Charleston Stage

Charleston Stage Presents ~A Christmas Story~ I believe it was in September when I received the glossy card stock mailer from Charleston Stage. I scanned it quickly and then did an audible "Omg” Charleston Stage presents Christmas Story! I sat the card up by my computer and have watched the calendar days roll down since. Ok, it's my birthday and what do I want to do? Yup, Christmas Story! Not that it took convincing Don who could play Ralphie and his father simultaneously without a script. I am going to have to watch him to keep him from blurting out the lines. We anticipate couch night with the classic movie every year, but the play will be a first. I'm here to tell you they have a lot to live up to here. We carry the Christmas Story pandemonium a bit further and have adopted the tradition of eating Chinese on Christmas day as well. Julian Wiles, Cast and crew have surpassed my expectations of the this Christmas classic. in their very first presentation of Christmas Story and they knocked it out of the ball park. It may very well become another holiday tradition for my family. Becca Anderson as Ralphie's mother, Victor Clark as Ralphie's (old man) and Josh Harris as grown up Ralphie were phenomenal as were ALL of the actors from the Kid Stage Performance Troupe and Theatre Wings High School Apprentice Program. A special shout out to Joshua (Ralphie), Michael McCoy as (Flick) and Nikita Narodnitskiy as Scut Farkus. The stage sets were fantastic and magical, totally recreating the feel of several scenes in the original movie, if not better. I particularly liked the department store with Santa set. There are only 4 more performances. Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Hurry and get tix! http://www.charlestonstage.com/home.html I'll leave you with a few of my fave Christmas Story quotes; Fudge! Only I didn't say "Fudge." I said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the "F-dash-dash-dash" word! It's a Major Award! Mr. Parker reads a side of the box with the prize that he won Mr. Parker: Fra-gee-lay. That must be Italian. Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] Scut Farkus! What a rotten name! We were trapped. There he stood, between us and the alley. Scut Farkus staring out at us with his yellow eyes. He had yellow eyes! So, help me, God! Yellow eyes!

Over the river and through the woods~ Renae Brabham

Car serviced, gassed up, packed, Christmas presents tidily stacked in rear, Christmas bow on the front grill of car, hamster and aquarium fish overfed?
Well, that's the way the annual exodus to SC from NC for Christmas should start, but not for our gang. Most of the time we would pile into the car groggily after waiting for either Don or myself to finish a weird double shift at work. The overworked parent usually slept the whole way while the other drove. Five hours of bundled Christmas energy sat behind that driver.   Frequent kicks into the back of the seat or screeches of "She's touching me" made the driving parent envy the overworked parent. Touching wasn't hard to do when you have a Toyota Corolla and 2-4 kids in the back seat. Don was the sleeping parent on one particular trip and I was making good time. I remember thinking how jovial and spirited the other holiday drivers and passengers were this particular holiday season. As I weaved in and out of traffic they  smiled, grinned and laughed. I checked the rear view mirror to see if the kids were making faces at them while passing. The driver's and passengers seemed happier the further along we got. Then, I passed a lady who started beating the wheel and laughing hysterically. I glanced over at Don while checking my side mirror to change lanes and figured out why everyone was so entertained. Don slept, mouth agape....his face plastered to the window glass in drool. Geez..
The poor hamster and fish? We usually remembered about 100 miles down the road. The neatly wrapped presents in hatchback? Nope, never happened. We usually bought the Christmas presents at a truck stop off of I-77 when we stopped to get our boiled peanuts after crossing the SC state line. Toy Hess trucks, Pecan Logs and Budweiser Christmas mugs filled our Santa sack.
I always tried to save the license tag game for the last leg of the trip.  It usually ended minutes later with a argument. ex. "You already said North Hampshire!"
Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go, sounds nice, but our crew was all about "Grandma getting run over by a reindeer."
There were always so many people that we wanted to see but couldn't squeeze everyone in, we were destined to tick someone off with a no show. But we did try to alternate homes, this would be my brother's year. He had recently moved to a home we had not visited. I called him the night before we left and scribbled down the directions. Take a left on Main, right and third home on left...got it.  He told us before we left that he wouldn't be home, but come on in and he would see us when he got off work.
Whew, we were so ready to get out of that car. The kids were fighting over who was first to use the bathroom.  All four of them made it to the door at the same time. It was locked, my brother must have forgotten to leave the key. Don and I looked for a key in all of the obvious hiding places. Don found another way in, maybe not the right way, but nothing broke. Kids shoot off in all directions to find bathrooms. I plop on couch and Don goes straight to frig and gets a beer out. He plops on the couch with me, grabs the remote and flicks on the television . He is twisting the cap off of the beer. "Tim has got the place looking really nice" I said while  relaxing on the couch and looking about the room. Both of us noticed the framed pics on the entertainment center at the same time. Hmm...a balding policeman in uniform with a young boy.  Next pic. Policeman with family. Oh Fuuuuuudddge!  Only I used the F-dash-dash-dash word. Yes, the mother of all potty words. The kids come running. Go..go...go...get out!  We are herding everyone as we fly down the steps. That little Corolla peeled up some asphalt that day as we left. This was time before cell phones. I get to a pay phone and called my brother at work. He lives 3 houses further down. We parked the Corolla in the back of his place and anticipated a police cruiser pulling up the rest of the day to get us for B&E.
There always seemed to be a trip malady. We knew it was going to happen, just didn't know what it would be. Leaving the gas cap on the hood while driving off, heater quits working, car overheats, windshield wiper goes out. I was driving back on one trip when the windshield wiper motor went out in the pouring rain. We were still over 100 miles from home. Again, time before cell phones. I pulled the car over, got out and determined the motor was gone, the blade would return to it's down position every time I pushed it up. I got back into the car soaking wet and sat for a few minutes thinking about what to do. I pulled off my pantyhose, got out of the car and tied one leg to the top of the driver's side blade and threaded the pantyhose back through car window. I drove with one hand for the rest of the trip while yanking the blade up and letting it fall back so that I could see to get home.  
No, our memories may not be Hallmark card picturesque. But, they will always bring smiles.  The grill of our car was more likely to have a McDonald's cheese burger wrapper on it than a Christmas wreath or bow. We learned a lot from those road trips though. Hamsters are hardier without food than guppies. And those Budweiser mugs we bought at the truck stops are actually worth something today.

Hall's Chophouse ~ Charleston, SC

Well, this column was initially going to be about my birthday night downtown Charleston. Within a half hour of entering 474 King Street, I realized that I could not combine the experience that we had at Halls Chophouse with any other topic. The evening overshadowed every minute of the day and was the best experience of any kind that I have had in Charleston. Even my birthday became secondary. Halls Chophouse is everything wonderful about the Holy City nestled into one establishment. To fellow residents who have not had the pleasure yet, you are missing out. To my friends from out of state who plan to visit Charleston, put this on your itinerary. My birthday was coming up and I wanted to go downtown for dinner and a play. When we discussed where it would be, Halls Chophouse was my choice. We arrived early, 5:00 pm to be exact, from the minute we walked in, we were welcomed and patted on like we had been favorite customers for eons. An 18 inch butchers block sat on the corner of the bar filled with Prosciutto Ham, heirloom tomatoes, mushrooms, healthy wedges of Bleu Cheese and Brie with various other soft and hard cheeses cuddled alongside crisp bacon plunged into bowls of incredible dips. A couple at the bar could hardly contain their excitement about their upcoming meal. They explained to us that they were visiting from Texas and had cancelled events so that they could dine here all 3 nights before returning. They said that they rarely ate out back in Texas anymore and never ate seafood of any kind anywhere else since eating here. They promised many pleasures to come to our night. How many places can you say you have supped that by the end of the night you knew all of their names? This is the order of how we met the ~Family~ Carrie was our dream weaver. She presented a platter with steaks that had Don positively trembling in his seat. Carrie explained all of the cuts and the cooking processes of each. For instance, did you know that the prime strip of meat on the rib eye is called the deckle? It is the cap of the rib eye and favored by chefs and critics alike as one of the most flavorful and tender pieces of the steak. Carrie described all of the chef's creations with a zeal that would make Julia Child proud. She loves her job, says so and it is evident. Frank a GM, was a joy to talk to, he gave us tidbits of history and information about the restaurant and food preparation as well as ordering hints. Namely, not to eat too much. My birthday cake would be a grand finale. Tommy Hall GM & Proprietor is all that and a bag of chips. Fun, professional and debonair. He welcomed us warmly as he did soul after hungry searching soul from the sidewalk to the entry. In a casual yet professional way, Tommy assured us that the night was ours to enjoy and that he and the rest of the staff were there to insure just that. I hesitate to call them staff. Every warm body that wasn't sitting down appeared to be family and by the end of the night, so were we. The sun dipped behind King Street and the lamp lights were glowing outside the picture window. We watched the parade of locals and tourist. The dishes we ordered arrived perfectly timed, perfectly cooked and I will tell you that Don and I both concur that we have never had a more delicious meal. Chef Matthew Niessner came out after the first dinner wave, he was a charming man with a passion for his food quality, taste and presentation, all which was evident in each bite. Course by course, bite by bite, we exclaimed every adjective in our vocabulary. I believe at one point I went into social media jargon "OMG" and then spilling into a little jersey girl with "Shut the front door" followed by guttural sighs, ooohs and ahhhs. Finally we chewed silently with satisfied pleasure that had us just shaking our heads in awe. Billy Hall Sr. and his beautiful wife Jeanne arrived, completing the concerto. Each made their way around the restaurant, greeting and conversing with everyone. We proclaimed all of the wonderful things above to Billy, he positively beamed as if it was the first time he had ever heard the accolades. He took me upstairs to show me the other dining halls. Billy Sr. designed the restaurant. Jeanne was genuine, warm and hospitable. She also came over to chat with us. Even though we talked with all of these people, there was an absence of presence that assured us that we were alone to enjoy our evening. I watched as every single person that entered the restaurant was greeted warmly with handshakes and hugs. Even though the restaurant was full by now, there was never a push to rush a single soul. I didn't get to meet Billy Hall Jr, which means we have to go back! My Birthday Meal Halls Chophouse December 7th, 2012 Oysters Rockefeller w/Bulls Bay Oysters, 1/2 fresh jacketed lemon. Fried Green Tomatoes topped with a Shrimp Remoulade Halls Chopped Salad Petit Filet Mignon for myself, 16 oz Rib eye for Don. Cooked to perfection is an understatement. I literally could not believe it wasn't cream centered with butter. It was the most delectable piece of meat I have ever eaten. Don agreed unanimously. Creamy Sautéed Brussels Sprouts w/pork. I have long sat on the fence waffling to and fro with the tiny little cabbages. Not any more. Absolutely incredible Loaded Baked Potato Dessert: Frank asked me if I trusted him to choose for me. At that point, I would have trusted him with passwords for my offshore bank accounts. Frank and Carrie arrived with two dessert dishes. A flaming plate with a generous serving of 15 layer Caramel Cake w/Banana's Foster and candle for me. Frank explained to me that a lady in Georgetown makes these cakes layer by layer in her spring form pan for them. Don had the Whiskey Bread Pudding, New Orleans style warm bread, sun dried cherries, pecans & bourbon crème anglaise. It was equally as sinful as mine. To conclude. Don and I both have discussed this experience for days. We are still rendered speechless. Don finally helped me put the feeling into words today. He reminded me of a story I told him years ago about renowned violinist Nichola Paganini, circa 1813. Nichola was so incredibly good that acclaimed violinist were known to smash their own violins to bits after attending a concert of his. Few believed that it was possible to exceed the perfection they had witnessed. That pretty much sums it up for us. Coming from a gal who loves to cook and does so for over 300 days a year, I totally experienced that feeling. I didn't want to cook anything the next day. Anything and everything that I thought of paled in comparison. I leave you with this website and encourage you to experience what we did in Charleston on my birthday night. Halls Chophouse, Dock Street Theatre (story coming) Conde' Nast. You were dead on right. Charleston, SC. Best US city!

hallschophouse.com

Becca's Christmas Cards~Renae Brabham

Before I share this story there are a few things I would like to predicate it with. I have promised to share this true story in some way or another since the year that it happened in 2008. I believe we all know of friends and family who have gone through the uncertainty and devastation of cancer. There are many others who are stricken with other diseases, maladies and burdens. The intention of sharing this is not to make anyone sad. Actually it is a message of joy and strength and the true magic of Christmas. December 2009. I had this story saved on a computer that crashed recently. I took the hard drive to Office Depot, but the information on the drive was irretrievable. Go figure. So, I sit now at the keyboard to recall the events of the day. I didn't want to start because two very important parts of the story have eluded my memory. However, God has chosen not to re-reveal them to my memory and his way is better than mine. Christmas Season 2008. The economic downturn had hit our business extremely hard. I was cutting corners every way that I knew how. If it wasn't absolutely necessary, it wasn't coming into the house. It was a brisk cold Saturday morning, the perfect day to pull out those holiday scarves and sweaters. But, I knew that the list I had in front of me didn't call for any celebratory clothing. Saturday was my grocery shopping and errand day. Just the basics on my list, except for the Christmas Cards. I was held up it seemed all morning. A delay in walking out the door everywhere I turned. I was to the point of almost deciding to do this another day. I finally made it into car with my list. Singing along with the radio Christmas tunes, I drove right past Wal Mart. hmmmm. A thought popped into my head. "Let's go to Hallmark and get our Christmas cards." Where in the world did that thought come from? I can't afford Hallmark's Christmas boxed cards. Then, I drove right past Sam's Club too! hmmmm. Another thought, "Well it won't hurt to look at the pretty cards." I pulled up to Hallmark. The store is filled with people in Christmas sweaters and hats and scarves, Christmas music is playing and the tree is twinkling. "Well this is festive" I thought. The boxed card aisle is crammed with both people and cards. I'm looking at the cards and placing them back on the rack, trying not to gasp at the prices. I place them back with a nod of indifference that I hoped was telling others that it wasn't the price, but the wrong verse that made me put it back. I noticed a lady at the end of the aisle fumbling with one hand to turn over a box and look at the verse. Others were standing by her and she continued box after box. I had worked my way closer to her. She was trying to retrieve one in the back and struggled. It appeared she only had use of one arm. I reached down and handed the box to her. The next 15 minutes or so started with the illumination of her joyful face. I can't even type this a year later without getting emotional. She absolutely radiated joy. She was as colorful as any character in a Dr. Seuss book. Lime green and yellow scarf, a multi colored sweater hat, bright coat, bell earrings. She thanked me and told me still smiling that she had lost the use of her arm due to a brain tumor. I asked her if there was anything I could help her look for. She told me that she was looking for the most beautiful cards she could find with a Christian verse about joy. She wanted them to have Gold on them though and not the silver that was so popular this year. I plowed through them as we talked. She told me that she didn't have much money, but it was the best Christmas season she has ever had and wanted to find the best cards that she could to give to the special people in her life. She told me that she had found two of the greatest loves of her life that year. Jesus and a man that loved her dearly. She told me she woke up with a smile every single morning. She had been in a loveless abusive marriage for years, but had been totally devastated nonetheless when he walked out on her. She had stuck with him and now he was leaving. She said it was at this time she started having headaches. She passed them off as stress for a long time and then her vision was suffering. Test concluded she had a very large tumor on her brain. They performed surgery and she lost some vision in one eye and the use of her left arm. I told her how wonderful it was that they were able to get it out. We continued talking as she told me of her new loves. She said that God knew what she needed in her life and he sent this wonderful new man to her. She said she can see the love in his eyes every time he looks at her. By this time, all of the music and colorful sweaters and business of the holiday crowd subsided into the past. I was enamored by her and there wasn't another soul in this busy store. She talked of her kids and then we got to our plans for Christmas. I told her mine and she told me hers. Same exuberance as before, no change in mood or expression. She says "I may be with Jesus, the tumor has returned and it is inoperable." My eyes filled with tears and she stopped me and took me, a complete stranger by the shoulders in this store and turned me to her and said. "Don't be upset, I am the happiest I have ever been in my life and I will be happier yet when I am gone." She turned back to the cards and again said that she just wanted to find the best Christmas Cards that she could for those people so dear to her. We found those cards. They WERE the most beautiful cards. There were 3 boxes. She said she only needed two. I went to put the other box back, couldn't do it. I too had some special people to share with. We hugged, and both walked out of that Hallmark card aisle in opposite directions, both knowing that we would never see each other again. But, she left me with these true gifts of Christmas. God's love will sustain, Be happy in the moment, Share yourself with others, Cherish those who love you, Respect those who don't, Forgive those who hurt you, Live Purposefully. I adjusted the grocery list for that box of cards. There were two things I told you at the beginning of the story that I couldn't remember this morning. I couldn't remember her name, I have since named her Rebeccah. And, I couldn't remember the cards! I know now that it doesn't matter. She is God and the message is his love. I don't ever want to forget her spirit, her thankfulness and her joy at Christmas. My heart is full when I think of her.

Thanksgiving Whirlpool Whirlwind

Day 1) Twenty minutes after my first trip to grocery store for Thanksgiving dinner it began, my love/hate relationship with the Whirlpool refrigerator. I was so proud of my organization. I ripped up all unnecessary containers and hung my list with times and schedules on the frig door. The big white cube positively gleamed, then the pots start clanging and I start muttering. I have a depth perception affliction, so engineering space for pre-prepped meals in frig is about as appealing to me as folding fitted sheets but eight pounds of potato salad has to go somewhere. I shut the door finally and lean on it, exhausted, like I had just wrestled a bear. Don comes in and wants to know where the milk is. I answer "Far right behind the potato salad bowl, topped with plate of cranberry's and finial-ed with the deviled eggs. If you take the top two plates out, you can pull the milk out from the back." Day 2) I am clanging pots at 5:30 a.m. I watch the first hour of Macy's Thanksgiving Parade while choreographing the timing of the side dishes with the Turkey. Oops, times up, looks like the spiral ham will be for dessert. Yesterday's organization is history. I am stuffed and want the refrigerator to feel the same way. Mayhem. "Where's the .....? is answered with "It's in there somewhere, you'll have to look for it." Day 3) Gleefully, the garbage saw the carcass of the Turkey first thing Friday morning! Hmmm...that means I have yards of space in frig now. I went to the grocery store for drinks and came home with another turkey. I couldn't pass up a fresh turkey for ten dollars! So, I chops spices and brine it in the frig pace I just cleaned out. I start condensing. The 8 x 12 casserole dishes are now in one or two quart Pyrex bowls. The ham is off the bone ready to go into a pot of Pinto's. By the pm hours the deviled eggs are gone, the ham is history and we are talking zip lock containers now. yay! And to boot, The only traffic I encountered on Black Friday was the promenade to and from Mr.Whirlpool. Day 4) I am shocked that the light hasn't blown on inside of frig and I am certain I have a touch of frostbite from the repeated exposure to freezer and frig. Don't even mention Turkey right now. I am craving anything that comes out of a take out box. I tiptoe around the house in the early morning. Drinking coffee and trying hard not to wake up my family. I know the minute their feet hit the floor they are going to be hightailing it back to North Carolina. I open the frig door and shut it immediately. Ughh...Tin foil half covers dried out Macaroni and Cheese. Pies without lids beckon me to finish them off, I even left my spoon in the the Chocolate Pie dish last night. Day 5) I sit straight up in bed at 3:00 a.m. I had a few moments of anxiety before I realized what day it was. No pots to stir, nothing to thaw and the timers haven't been set for days. I lie back down sad. It's over. There are no bodies scattered around the house. I have a slight headache which I attribute to not enough wine or withdrawal from Tryptophan. Mr. Whirlpool and I go at it for a few hours. I put my apron on that my granddaughter handmade for me. She knows I love to cook. I wash up the last dishes while re-hashing the memories of the last few days. I take the Thanksgiving meal plans off of the frig and wipe the handle. Day 6) Grocery list. Wine, Cheese, Chocolate

Friendship Bread, Anyone? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Friendship Bread, Anyone? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Friendship Bread~ Renae Brabham

I was looking through an old recipe book and saw the recipe for friendship bread starter.  I had to laugh.  I have received the starter twice, I dutifully accepted the baggie of bubbly dough with fake smiles and an insincere thank you. The sensation was likened to that of receiving a chain letter. If you stick around long enough you are bound to get one.

A more modern interpretation of a chain letter would be the annoying social media situation of this post "If you really love Jesus, your sister or brother, share this with 10 friends in the next hour, see what happens"

Neither of the starters that I received were from friends, actually they gave the gift to me rather sheepishly as if they themselves had been dumped upon. The process is similar to re-gifting,just pass off a gift that you don't really want to someone it won't really matter to.

But...with the leavened bread starter, the recipient has to actually work the dough starter for a week or so into 4 batches. After which time, you are going to sheepishly walk up to someone and do the same as my "friends" did.
So anyway, there it sat, A sloppy glob gurgling on my desk with a worn instruction sheet on how I am supposed to "Love on it and others"
I thought seriously of a one handed swoop into the garbage can, no looking back. But, killing a starter. I mean, there is something about the activity in that bag that makes you feel like you would if you killed a lady bug or a small marsupial.

So... I took the starter home and followed the instructions.  Add a cup of this one day, a cup of this another, knead 20 times a day and then divvy it up into 4 bags. Ok, so now it's day 7 or 8 or something like that and I am anticipating the end of this process. I have my zip locks on the counter.Let's see, one bag I keep to re-start the whole process and the other I bake. Two bags are left. Now it's time to pick the lucky recipients. One was a co-worker "friend."  The guilt got the best of me after passing that one off so I decided to put a little more effort into it for the next offering. I thought of the pastors wife that worked with me in retail. I walked up to her and held it out, she threw both hands up like it was kryptonite and proceeded to tell me she didn't have time for that %#&t!
So I found another associate "friend" and handed it to her. I felt like the burden of the bread had been lifted. I concluded that if I were ever approached again, I would pull the sweet little pastors wife's two hand show out on them. And so it was for about 5 years.

And then, one Christmas a dear friend, an older lady that I cared for deeply, gave me the most precious gift. My friend knew the story of my previous starter experiences.  I had unexpected company late one evening. I opened the door and my friends daughter walked in wishing us a Merry Christmas placing a weighty solid package in my hand. The card read. "This cake was baked from a thirty-seven year old ~Friendship Bread Starter~ a family starter. I hope you enjoy it." Part of me didn't even want to eat it, but that passed quickly. The aroma, the richness and the beauty of that bread is forever etched in my mind.

I am here to tell you that I have never, and would venture to say, will ever eat another bite of bread while I am on this earth as good as that cake. So many things had to come together for that bread to be the best.  The quality of the ingredients, the time and care that was kneaded into the starter, for seven years to boot!, and finally the continuity, doing what we need to do each day, even when we don't want to. These are the things that make a bread like the one I was gifted the best I have ever had. A true Friendship bread. And aren't these the same ingredients that are in our true friendship's?

Unleavened bread has no past. No starter to pull from. No history to pass down. Dough without leaven represents haste, a break with the past, an absence of extra flavor, simplicity, inactivity, powerlessness and a lack of labor.
I am richly blessed with wonderful friends, with leavened bread. Our bread is good. We pull from the past, keep it tended and keep the starter alive.

What Christmas Is For: Chase Rivers & Rachel Owen

What Christmas Is For  Just beautiful!

Brabham's Painting is back!

Yeah I know, It's going to sound like I am tooting our horn. As an artist in any genre, you tend to look at the work of others in the same field with interest. It's just a thing we do. We see a new house, we check out the paint job. There are good paint companies out there. But, I seriously have not encountered the quality of work that Don performs with Brabham's painting. I believe it is because he brings with it a level of pride and professionalism that assures his customers a good working relationship. Brabham's Painting: Interior or Exterior Quality Painting. Please check out the before and after photo's,remembering these are novice photo's.Now imagine the true vectors of light. These clients were extremely happy. Well, we are one state down in the Carolina's now. SC has been out home for three years and we are back in the biz here. Check out the website. And click the links for a in depth feel of the company.

http://www.brabhams.net/

True Grit, Charleston Grit | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

True Grit, Charleston Grit | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Well Butter My Grits

I am telling you that I have truly enjoyed the Charleston Grit world this year. I wish all of Charleston knew what they are missing out on by not visiting daily. It is an amazing storefront window into the Charleston community. I feel like I am part of an exclusive club. Like a modern day speakeasy. Peephole in the door, secret knock, you get the picture right? Charleston Grit is fresh, visionary and runs the gambit with Arts...Sports, Fashion, Shopping, Expertise, Food and Adventure, just to name a few. As a middle aged (bottom of the middle) writer. I find there is something for everyone. A friend and I were discussing Cullen's Barber Shop experience this week. His Street People story was incredible as well. I You Tube the music that Devin Grant covers so that I can stay in the loop. Band names are dangerous territory for me. I have been messing them up since the 80's. I called Uncle Kracker that White Cracker for months before my daughter called me out. Three blind mice for by some blonde band from the era also. I make notes about shops, restaurants and events covered. I share them with family and friends. I vow to create meals like Holly Herrick. I try to imagine what hubby would look like in Desmond's styles. John Abess pulls me right onto the couch for a therapy session while Jane Perdue tells me to pull my big girl panties up and move on with it. Some days I am mentally in the chair, under the airbrush as Andrew Peterson fixes me up and tells me how beautiful I am. If I feel like sparring a little, I'll check out Prileoux, he knows how to stoke the fires. Natalie Mason inspires me to do projects that I probably wouldn't normally do, just because she makes them look so easy and fun. Her photo's are great as well. Carolyn Evans, well...you know. Rebeckah Jacobs, awe inspiring photography art. Different blogs do different things for me. Some days I am in the mood for some seasonal inspiration, others a pick me up on a melancholy day, and yet others a good laugh ie. E. Louise A bat in my Boudoir. Chastity, Courtney, Tara,and the list goes on and on. I am grateful for the standards of all the bloggers. I am motivated by quality of their writing. I shore myself up and am inspired by the wonderful reflections and optimal musings of these incredible bloggers. I tell out of state friends that long for Charleston, that it is one of the quickest and most informative ways to keep up on the happenings around the Holy City. It is so beautifully presented. Easy to maneuver and chock full of content. Serious kudos’s to the Grit staff. I can't wait to see what' in store for Grit for 2013!

Thanksgiving Fiascos | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Thanksgiving Fiascos | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Let's Talk Turkey R. Brabham

Well, it's on. I spied with my eye.... the first grocery store kiosk of Butterball turkeys. I have a love/hate relationship with the sacrificial poultry. I can't really blame the turkey for the Thanksgiving Fiascoes of years bygone. But, I do believe my concentration to get that trussed up bird presentable, flavorful and on the table at the right time may have contributed to other guffaws of the day. One shocker was the first Turkey I cooked for Don's family 25 years ago. The turkey just wouldn’t get done. An hour and a half over the scheduled meal time, Tom Turkey finally gave up the ghost. When it made it to the table, Don’s step mother, a rotund little shorty at 4 '10", chose her portion, a huge leg and started devouring it Flintstone style with her hands. We could hardly include her in any of the dinner table conversation for fear of laughing. I had to give the kids looks of warnings as they gawked at her. Club style, she worked that drumstick down to the gristle. Grease from the turkey skin smeared from one side of her face to the other. My very first Thanksgiving turkey turned out beautiful! I was so proud. A few minutes into the meal, my father-in-law tapped me on the leg. I peeked down as he graciously dropped the cooked bag of giblets into my hand. What the heck were the giblets doing in the neck? I didn't check that hole. He and I were the only ones that knew about it. One year I lined my kitchen counter with desserts. Pumpkin Pies, Cherry Cheesecake and a beautiful Chocolate Meringue Pie. My son-in-law came to me with his bowl and a quizzical look on his face. "When did pies start requiring batteries?" he asked. He had scooped out a big slice and while eating, pulled out a AAA battery. "Thank you, I have been looking for that." I replied while washing the battery off in the sink.

The battery had been sitting on top of microwave ready to re-load my camera, it apparently rolled off into the pie submerging itself into the thick meringue. Oh, then there was the year that I decide to change up a bit. I cooked 10 Cornish hen's instead of a turkey, the menu was a surprise....to say the least. My daughter pulled the foil off of the roasting pan and my grandchildren jumped back in horror. I believe they are still scarred. They thought grandma had succumbed to killing baby turkeys. Two years ago, a very costly pan of oyster dressing in a presumably faulty Pyrex baking dish exploded in my kitchen at 6 a.m. sending shards of glass into two rooms. It sounded like a shotgun blast! Don came running from bed. His concern was evident upon arrival and it wasn't the shards of glass on the couch and floor everywhere. Save the stuffing! He seriously pulled the center of the stuffing out claiming it was still good. He lives. Laughter waves from family and friends still reverberate in the Milky Way from Thanksgiving's bygone. I close my eyes and remember thankful prayers before meals that warmed my heart. I visualize the friends and family throughout the years. Moving, marriages, divorces, death and life have changed the faces gathered around the table. Some have passed on, some passed up and some are still saying "Pass the potatoes please." I am always grateful for each of them. I look forward to the whole day with the anticipation of a child. From the beginning of Macy's Thanksgiving Parade until the bodies start going horizontal on the couch, eyelids drooping from the effects of Tryptophan. Thanksgiving to me is as much about sharing and caring as it is being thankful. For years Don and I looked forward to the last tradition of the day with as much joy as the first. What is Thanksgiving without sharing it with a stranger, adversary, Pilgrim, Indian? When everyone was gone, we would package up a big helping and take it to Junior, a convenience store employee. He was a sweet country boy that worked every holiday for the other employees, because he didn't have any family. Junior would beam when Don walked in with his plate. I guess it was about 6 years into our tradition when Junior told me he wasn't going to be there for Thanksgiving. He had recently married and he told me proudly that his wife was going to cook. I was so happy for him. But, it left a empty place in my heart. On Thanksgiving day I packaged up a few plates and drove behind a shopping center and found a few homeless people sitting on crates. The next year, they had been chased away. I live in Mt. Pleasant now. I haven't seen many homeless. But, I have been casing out the neighborhood to find people who won't be home to celebrate with their families for some reason or other. I am humbled and so totally and thoroughly blessed with wonderful people in my life. I feel like this year, I was the Pilgrim or Indian. It was a rough year, a transitional year, a year of unexpected circumstances. Yet, it was one of the best years I have ever had. I have been held up, fixed up and propped up by the best this year. I wish all my friends at Charleston Grit and anyone reading this a very Happy Thanksgiving!

The Offense of Defense | Mount Pleasant, South Carolina | The Moultrie News

The Offense of Defense | Mount Pleasant, South Carolina | The Moultrie News

Procrastinate Much? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Procrastinate Much? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Who's To Blame for Sandy? Wait... Nobody? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Who's To Blame for Sandy? Wait... Nobody? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

The Offense of Defense ~ Renae Brabham

Assumptions, Vagueness, Presumptions. Are we are drifting from the era of politically correct to the broader axiom of presumptuously correct? Take for example the picture of NYC storm Sandy over the Statue of Liberty. I can't count how many times I saw this ~shared~ on social media before the parody photo came out. The (believers) presumed it's authenticity because of the timing and presentation. Absolutely ridiculous views started pouring out about Hurricane/Storm Sandy. Ex., God is punishing the US, God is punishing Donald Trump ~Atlantic City gambling~, Global Warming. Everyone got blamed for the natural disaster but O.J. Simpson. It feels like the atmosphere is literally ionized with a kinetic, frenzied charge of admonishment, bordering lunacy and possibly kindled by the election. I realized I was caught up in it myself. I watched two commentators go head to head for a half hour one morning on their views of the election. Neither, gave an ounce and when the show was over, I found myself to be exhausted and let down. There was no apparent victor. I could see the way the world was tilting this week. Defense is not my forte'. So I was considerably ticked when I chose not to participate in the negativity of offense this week, but was forced to do so anyway. A letter came in the mail from SCDMV. "Our records show that you no longer have sufficient insurance to operate your vehicle. Please surrender your tags." Well, lookie here..I have proof of my ongoing insurance which is debited from my account. But, that's not enough! Unless I call my insurance company and have them file form XYZ with SCDMV, they will penalize me. Presumptuously correct. The karma of the week continued with several experiences. For days it seemed like I answered "No I didn't, here look" or "Yes I did, here look!" I had literally spent hours plundering through papers, e-mails or in dreaded customer service calls. One that took 57 minutes. The burden of proof was on me. The offense of defense. I was the victim of an armed robbery and kidnapping years ago. Court day approached. No prob, got this. I'll just go in there and tell the truth and clap clap, he gets handcuffed and carted off in a Pumpkin orange suit. Open and shut. To say I was naive about court procedures is putting it mildly. These were the early days of video cameras. The footage of the antiquities made Sasquatch appear focused in comparison. The establishment I worked for that night didn't have the latest technology. Their defense was a sawed off shotgun under the counter and their evidence would be the body laying in the floor. Well, the day I was robbed, the shotgun had been taken out to get cleaned. So now, my description, his fingerprints, vehicle ID and name would have to suffice. Oh, and I drew a picture of him. He had gloves, so no prints, no problem. They find the van, they find him, he is wearing the clothes I described, he looks like the pic I drew, they find a knife, they find a gun, the masking tape he made me retrieve with my fingerprints on the roll, and a cord of rope. Cut and dry, right? Nope, When all else fails, use reasonable doubt. His lawyer ask me in court "Mrs. xxxx isn't it true that you and Mr. xxxx are related?" Jurors focus in on me. My eyes widened, startled. My prosecution lawyers chide in "Objection, your honor, leading the witness." Judge replies to defense "Rephrase." Jurors still locked in. "Mrs. xxxx are you and the defendant related, yes or no please?" I was so repulsed. "No!" I was so shocked, I could hardly wait to get in the chambers and talk with my prosecution lawyers. "What the hell was that?" I asked. The lead prosecutor told me "It is perfectly acceptable to throw out a question like that to instill doubt in the jurors minds by laying groundwork for presumption. Also, they want to see if they can rile you up, it portrays you in a different light to jurors. Don't let them put you on the defense of truth." I wanted to go in there and set the record straight. But, I complied. He got a hung jury. Re-trial scheduled and then a plea bargain for 15 years. We are wired I believe with a need to be vindicated. And if not we circle back to the flame like a moth until we are either one of the lucky ones that is plastered to a tree and sleeping it off the next morning or one of the cooked moth carcasses on the ground beneath the light bulb the next morning. The drama is repeated again each night. Because there clearly has to be a winner right? Once again natural law inspired me to conclude that all is indeed fair and balanced. On an evening stroll I saw one of my favorite majestic pine trees, opened up and charred with a zipper like lightning scar over 100 ft long. I loved to walk in it's path and look up on my evening walks with Snowy. The tree was so tall the squirrels didn't climb it and the buzzards got nose bleeds. It was amazing on a windy day to watch the elasticity of a several ton tree as it swayed in the wind. Now, it stands amidst a few other pines almost as tall. It's branches drooped, it's needles burnt and brown. Random acts of wrath. It didn't do anything to deserve the strike. It was just there. Sometimes, that's just the way it is.

Dark haunting violin : Ghost Song by Max Ablitzer

I found this amazing artist while searching for theme songs to accomodate a ghost story reading. Haunting, yet eerily comforting as well. I have found myself playing it over and over.

Come Down

Come Down
This song is incredible, I can't find a you tube version. Sadie Jemmett

Charleston Stage Presents Nevermore | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Charleston Stage Presents Nevermore | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Charleston Stage Presents Nevermore, Edgar Allan Poe, The Final Mystery

A gentle breeze wafted the succulent aromas down East Bay Street and straight into Don's flaring nose. He had one thing on his mind at the time. Oysters. We were soon seated at the Community Table at Pearlz Oyster Bar for a few Ales and Oysters. Shells cracked, bottles clanked and conversation cranked. The Community Table as it’s title suggest, soon becomes affably just that as Desiree, a traveling nurse from West Virginia visiting Charleston, shared her coned and newspaper lined home cooked fries with us. Soon it was time to hobble the cobble down Queen and Church Street to our destination, the Dock Street Theatre. I have been so excited about this event. Opening night of Playwright Julian Wiles ~Nevermore, Edgar Allen Poe, The Final Mystery.~ I mean really, Charleston, Halloween and Poe go together like Plough mud, Hermit Crabs and lost flip flops. The theatre candelabra lighting was wrapped in webs. The curtains hung silent without noticeable movement as we read our brochures. My anticipation climbed as the lights dimmed. A curtain between two worlds, givers and takers if you will. The view from Poe's world on the other side of the curtains, summed up with his own words. “And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before” Very little is known about Poe's stay on Sullivan's Island, records amount to fragmented paragraph’s. Perhaps it was the fear of producing a stage play of this enormity from those few paragraphs that caused Playwright Julian Wiles to hit the proverbial wall, writer's block to the point of almost canceling the production. In desperation Julian Wiles tapped out a scene about writer's block. This scene dissolved the clot of the pen to the stylus and provided the path that webbed together the story of Edgar Allen Poe's triumphs and tragedies‘. Stage sets and costumery were incredible. I was so enthralled with a particular magical appearance scene that it left me whispering to Don as we do when we watch David Blaine. "Did you see the switch off?" he shook his head no. New York Guest Equity Actor, Andrew Gorell's performance as Edgar Allan Poe was stellar, leaving me both as charged as the Energizer Bunny and as low as Davy Jones locker. He boarded us early onto the wings of the Raven, weaving the tumultuous ride of Poe's highs and lows brilliantly. Without mentioning the entire cast. I note that in addition to Gorell, Scott Gibbs as Captain Jeremiah Reynolds, Harrison Grant and Cathy Ardrey in their respective roles were standouts. The entire unmentioned ensemble performed well, albeit a few opening night jitters. We were on the last Scene of the play, Scene #7. Knowing a’forehand that the ending of Edgar Allan Poe's life was mysterious, dark and daunting, I had resigned myself to the dark horse finale. Julian Wiles, Cast and ensemble led us expectantly to the edge of Poe's pit. The veneer that lies between witnessing the very moment that a brilliant light dims and crosses over to the other side. Surprisingly at the point where you think you should start feeling around your seat and the floor for your purse and jacket, Julian Wiles erased the darkness that would have trailed with us out onto the gas lantern lit Charleston streets. The play ~Nevermore~ runs October 19 -November 4, 2012. Photo: Courtesy of Charleston Stage. Photo credits are as follows: Left to Right: New York Guest Equity Actor Andrew Gorell as Edgar Allan Poe and Charleston Stage Resident Actor Josh Harris as Captain Amos Nimrod.

Carving Out Memories, Boos, & Ghouls | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Carving Out Memories, Boos, & Ghouls | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Carving out memories Boo's & Ghouls

Charleston, what a wonderfully eerie city for Halloween.  Moss hangs like phantom apparitions from creeping old oaks, bones of twisted hurricane ravaged trees line secluded beaches. Concrete angels guard centuries old graveyards. Marshes are aglow with glowing red eyes, bats flutter hurriedly to chimney and steeple alcoves at dusk. Gas lanterns glow yellow on cobblestone streets. Porches with blue ceilings guard against haints and evil spirits. Pirate's bones rattle in the marsh. Holy and Evil dwell together veiled by the thin curtain of daylight. Yes, Charleston is a Mecca for the thrill seeker.
October first, the adrenaline rush is on for me. The first tree void of it's leaves becomes a haint at dusk. A fist full of candy corn and I am conjuring visions of witches on broomsticks, sheets hanging from tree's and masked men revving chainsaw motors. Although I have had my share of supernatural experiences (I don't mean colon cleanses or juicing) I am the biggest fraidy cat in the world. I can't hardly watch a scary movie with Don during the rest of the year. But mention Halloween and I'm ready to stick knives in pumpkins, play creepy music and scare the bejesus out of people. I know, it's shamefully pagan, but I can't help myself. It's make believe, the one time of the year that it's acceptable for me to be totally ridiculous. And that I do.
So make believe it is. Let Grandaddy be a bad ass unicorn if he wants.  My daddy is 74 years old. He lives out in the country amidst corn, cotton, soy beans  and pines. The only cars that go by his house on a daily basis are the mail lady and the neighbors at the end of the road. On Halloween he will scare the kids with a Halloween mask and then hook up the trailer to the tractor and take everyone for a ride down the country road. At Christmas he suits up in a Santa Suit, full regalia giving the kids rides on a golf cart or Gator. Once he bush hogged his field in his Santa suit.
I've followed suit, no pun intended. Even if there's not a soul coming over. October 1st through the 31st, the house is decorated for Halloween. Before moving here from NC, we didn't have a single trick or treater for five years, but I was in full costume. My ya ya's came to visit for Halloween once and we had so much fun, just the four of us, out in the boonies. That year I was a nun, with a few bad habits, hidden in my habit.
Now, my hubby Don loves a prank as much as I do and knowing the girls were coming, he concocted this escaped monkey Halloween drama from a evening news story about an escaped research monkey from Wake Forest Primate Center. http://www.wakehealth.edu/Research/WFUPC/Primates-at-WFUPC.htm?LangType=1033
 For weeks he worked on the prank. Rehearsing the timing, recording the grunts and screams of the primate.  He had the emphasis on the story telling down to a science. The night they arrived, it was already dark outside. He had everything in place. He told the story about the escaped monkey like he was reciting it from a scrolling news bar off of the TV screen.  The girls shuddered a little at the thought of encountering that monkey and then moved on to other topics. As rehearsed, I took the gals to my bedroom to show them some paintings while Don set up the personally recorded tape of monkey grunts and screams. He projected it like it was coming from the woodpile at end of house.
I cued him to our departure outside by flipping a light switch. We climbed the steps down to the outside patio to enjoy a glass of wine and some pumpkin lit atmosphere at the table. As we climbed down the stair into the darkness, the tape started we trained our ears to the direction of the distressed monkey sounds.  The gals were on alert.  While concentrating on the noises coming from the woods, the big Monkey (aka Don) rushed them from behind, crouching and grunting in full black attire and a realistic monkey mask. They took off up the steps to the house. Watching their escape and noticing there was no hand holding on the way out, I concluded this was everyman for his own. My sister did a frightful jig with a glass of wine before running but spilt nary a drop.
This year will be a doozie for sure. Do you remember your first Halloween outfit?  Mine was Yogi Bear and my brother was Casper and my sister was a baby lamb. I have characters floating around in my head for years out. Let's see... Pocahontas, Amelia Earhart, Linda Blair, Carrie, Grown up Toddler Tiara. I have realized of late that there is a time optimization for being some of these if they need to correspond with my physical attributes, other than my demise. Some costume era's have sadly passed, like nurse Goodbody. The one constant with my costumes would be luxurious tresses (a wig.) You see, as a fine haired friend expressed to me "I was supposed to have hair."  
You just have to love a holiday that doesn't require a trip to Hallmark, gift buying or re-gifting!  Happy Halloween!

Christmas Floorcloth's ~ Order Now~

A new twist to centuries old serviceable art. Floorcloths are quality hand-painted canvas rugs. They originated by early bricoeurs (people who make things out of otherwise useless objects, one description) The first floorcloths originated by these creative souls cutting the sails of ship's that were no longer usable. They primed and painted them and sealed them to use as floor cloths for hard wood or bare dirt floors in the early settlements. Some of these early pieces still exist today in museums and old homes. I believe the earliest one I saw in a magazine was in the home of John and Abigail Adams. Today's floorcloths are not as serviceable as these, but are just as valued and loved as their counterparts as art for their home. These last for decades. I have floorcloths that I created 8 years ago that are in just as good condition today as when they were made. Don't be afraid to walk on them. They are extremely durable. Each of my floorcloths starts with high quality canvas that I prime heavily (at least 5 coats) with quality primers. I then hand-paint the customers requested design onto the floorcloth and prime with 6 coats of quality Sherwin Williams polycrylic. The edged are both glued, sealed and corners mitered. The piece cures for several days and then it is ready to be shipped and enjoyed. Customer's care for floorcloth. Unroll when received. It may take a few days for it to fully unfurl and will become a part of your floor decor shortly after! You may speed it up a bit by placing books on the floorcloth to flatten. It is very easily maintained. Just wipe with a damp cloth to remove spills etc. If it is placed in a high traffic area, you may want to coat it with a polyurethane again in about 5 or 6 years. Otherwise, just enjoy for decades..or more. The creative process, You give me a idea or a design and I am sure I can duplicate it onto canvas. All of the floorcloths photo's in my albums are the end result of someone's design wishes. To view all of my floorcloths on my facebook page, go to https://www.facebook.com/floorcloths

Who Needs Chimney Smoke, Anyway? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Who Needs Chimney Smoke, Anyway? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Fall in Charleston ~R.Brabham

October 1st in Charleston. I came in from an evening walk sporting 50 shades of sweat. My head looked like an afro tribute to the Jackson Five band and my legs are blood spattered with mosquito parts. I tossed a dried brown leaf onto the counter, spouting off "There's our leaf change." Still grumbling about allergies to Palmetto trees , I head to the shower. I was missing October in North Carolina. The hillsides were ablaze with fall colors of crimson and orange and gold. The sound of the leaves skipping across the asphalt with a cool breeze whispered warnings oncoming winter. Signs crept up everywhere for Chicken Stews and fall festivals. September nights dipped into the 40's and a few chimneys start smoking. Sweaters and coats are pulled out and summer clothes packed away. You could smell smokehouses curing hams as you ride down the road. A clearer and tamer head prevailed after a shower. I recalled a 7 day week in NC only 3 years ago. We were snowed in solid, no getting out and without power for three of those days. I found my journal and leafed through it. Here are a few excerpts. ~It was 2 p.m. Friday when the power went out. I am sure some of the neighbors left to stay with family that had heat. However, from several nosy neighbor peeks, I noticed that two of the families have decided to rough it out. I took Snowy for an outdoor excursion, realizing quickly that the power will be down for a few days. Tree's are leaning with the weight of snow and there's a lot of cracking and popping going on in the wood line. The temp inside dropped rapidly and Don started a fire in fireplace. I love fires OUTSIDE. But try as I may, I cannot get over the fear of fire burning inside. This is much to Don's chagrin, considering we have 2 cords of hardwood stacked outside. I jump at every pop and crackle in the fireplace. I won't go to bed until the fire is almost completely out. Not that I don't trust Don completely to take care of me. A seasoned fireman could be sitting directly in front of the fireplace with hose in hand and I still wouldn't close my eyes. The house is beginning to warm, or at least the living room. We used the remaining daylight to round up candles, lamps, radio and batteries. I had gathered 6 gallons of water in a large crock in yesterday, just in case. We huddled together in front of the fire and on the couch for hours. After several hours and a few repetitious calls to the power company, we concluded that we were in the position we would stay tonight. I read, Don read, Snowy...well she wasn't handling the situation very well. She kept going to the window to search for the Calvary. (Second Day Without Power) Sunlight streamed into the window this morning, and the power came on!! I lept from the bed and ran for the coffee pot. Before I could get to the kitchen, the power went back off. I put on my heavy wool coat, scarf and ski gloves to take Snowy out. It feels the same outside as inside. I come back in to take a survey of emergency supplies. Down to 3 candles. The temp on my Coca Cola thermostat on frig says 33 degrees. No need to check for food spoilage. I sit in the living room and make a silent vow to remember this day the next time I am in a tropical destination with my toes dug into the sand. There is something alluring about studying a fire. It can be quite mesmerizing. Could it be that I am losing my fear of it? Well, it's 7 p.m. and another night is closing in on us. We pass the time talking about our favorite foods, which at the moment would be seafood in a warm port town with umbrella drinks. We reminisced, read and played Scrabble and Sequence. I am getting sleepy, but the embers are still blazing. I decide that the first two things I will do when the power comes back on is drink a pot of coffee while my shower water is heating. (Third Day Without Power) It was hard to pull myself from under the covers this morning. I got the fire going with newspaper. I called the power company. Possibly today they tell me. My sister calls, we have our morning chat. She is sitting outside in a light housecoat and says it is 70 degrees there in Charleston. Don bundled up and brought some wood in. I took a quick, freezing bird bath. I also found that toothpaste is extremely more refreshing with ice water than warm tap water. I checked the freezer, although most of the food is good and solid, it is getting softer and more thawed and probably wont make it through another day or two. Speaking of not making it, Don lost two of his aquarium fish. Don and Snowy take a nap and I sit in bean bag in front of fire. The power came back on that evening. As we sat in the living room bathed in light and sounds from the TV and heat rolling through the vents, I vowed to never forget those three days and not to grumble when it was hot. I look for the subtle nuances of season change in Charleston. Although Starbucks would like us to believe differently, fall isn't ushered in with the release of Pumpkin Spice Latte's. Let's see... Well the squirrels are busier than me. Acorns crunch on the ground everywhere. Sand is cool to the touch of my bare feet. Although I don't hear the sound of leaves skipping across the yard, the lower palmetto fronds rustle in the wind and the marsh grasses change colors. Oh..and there are fall colors all around me, albeit jerseys, Gamecocks Crimson and Clemson Orange. October 2nd. My daughter in NC calls to tell me that she is freezing. She forgot to check the weather and her toes and hands are frozen. I look out over the pond with my coffee in my flip flops and short sleeved gown and exclaim "Really? It's 75 degrees here this morning."

Literally, A Fork In The Road

Metaphorographer...lol..I am positive I just made up that word, Mic don't get out the dictionary. My definition would be... a photographer that pursues or creates photographic images of metaphors... Hence I've come to a ~Fork in the Road~

Sometimes the Word "No" Is All the Motivation You Need | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Sometimes the Word "No" Is All the Motivation You Need | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Don't Stop The Bus R~Brabham

There's a world empty and void of NO's. A place where I'll succeed because I never knew that I couldn't. But.... I have to run ahead of the crowd or live in the outlands in order not to hear them. A happy toothless woman in the back country of the Appalachians was asked by a photographer who found her shanty cabin one day. Why are you not depressed about your poverty? Her reply "What is poverty?" I think of the thousands of runners and walkers participating in the Cooper River Bridge Run annually, particularly about the first person and the last to cross it. The first knew it made them a winner, the last knew they weren't, but that same finish line was there for the last to cross as well as the first. So what inspires us as individuals? What motivates me? Motivational books, cd's? I've had my share. I could toss them all and never miss them with the exception of the one that inspires me the most, the ~Red Letter Edition~ Obvious flaws indicate that I am still working on that one as well. My favorite motivational speakers have always been self-effacing with a rags to riches story. But Anthony Robbins, seriously bro? Mind control to walk over hot coals? The only time that worked was in the Old Testament and I'm not Shadrach, Meshach or Abednego. When I finish, It's not going to be because I followed a guide book to the letter, I am going to look like I have been in the race. I am going to have scars from hitting every wall all the way ~UP~ and be questioned about the burns that look like I spent some time in Hell, which I will have to admit emphatically "Yes" to. Yet, painfully so. My predictable motivator is ~NO~ I just refuse to get off the bus early. On December 1, 1955, in Montgomery, Alabama, Rosa Parks refused to obey bus driver James F. Blake's order that she give up her seat in the colored section to a white passenger, after the white section was filled. I believe there is another controversial section on that bus, it's the pull cord, the stop button that tells the driver to pull over. The button that makes you get off the bus too early, because someone told you that you couldn't get to your destination from there. If you let them, every person who says you can't is your new bus driver. The best things that have ever happened to me have been because of a "NO." And, my biggest regrets in life have been because I pulled that bus cord early. I saw a quote this week on social media and was amazed at how many "Likes" it had. It went like this "I'd rather regret the things I did, than the things that I haven't done." Really? I'm all about living out loud, but their regrets must have been akin to getting a Big Mac instead of a pack of sliced apples at Mc D's. My regrets are HUGE! I don't want anymore. Like I said, follow the leader. Here's a life example of what happens when a NO becomes a YES. My granny was in the hospital. Bad heart. The year, 1977. I dolled up my little 2 1/2 month old daughter to go meet her great granny. It was late when I got to the hospital. I missed visiting hours by ten minutes and was turned down at the nurses station. The nurse doing her job. "No Maam...you can't visit now. You will have to come back tomorrow." I pleaded "But, I can't come back tomorrow, I know it's past time, I promise I won't be but a minute" She just shook her head no. In exasperation, I went the down the wrong hall, following a different exit sign. I passed a long hall that had the room numbers that included the one my granny was on. I eventually found another set of elevators. The doors opened and I pushed the button for ground floor. Which was where my heart was at the moment. I got to the bottom floor and looked at my sweet little baby's face grinning up at me. I unzipped my short little coat, slipped her inside. I played peek a boo with her for a minute and then hit the elevator button for the floor I just left. I got off that floor and scurried down the hall with my baby zipped up in my coat. I reached her room safely out of view of the nurses station. I opened the door quietly. The lights were off except for a dimly lit bathroom light, Granny was in her silky jammies. She was easing back onto her bed. Her eyes got so wide when she saw me. I pushed my fingers to my lips and unzipped my jacket. I pulled my baby out and sat on the bed by her. We ooohhhed and ahhhed over her for minutes and then babies do what they do, they giggle, they laugh, they make noises. A nurse cracks open the door, she see's us and my granny holds a finger up in warning. The nurse holds up three warning fingers back at her and mouth's, three minutes. We kiss and hug and I leave. I never saw my granny again. She left for Davis, NC shortly after. She died four months later Feb, 26th 1978. No regrets. "Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows." Pope Paul VI, born on September 26, 1897

My Favorite Blue Jeans: An Obituary | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

My Favorite Blue Jeans: An Obituary | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Ode to Blue Jeans R~Brabham

I believe I heard taps playing this morning as they left my fingertips to go to that old dumpster in the sky. My favorite jeans just died. Actually this is the second pair in 6 months to go. They gave up the ghost...gone...vamoose. The belt loops had pulled off years ago and the bottoms were frayed, reminiscent of my 70's jeans. They were perfectly faded in all the right spots. Crisp and form fitting, not saggy. There was that one peephole on the back at the bottom of the pocket, I always forgot it was there until poked and reminded by a friend that I had my lime green drawers on. For some reason my favorite jeans decided today was the day. I was assuaged by guilt. Was it that Hershey Bar? If only they had split on a seam, I would lovingly mend them. But noooo, a big L shaped rip, right in the middle of the leg. I frantically searched my stack of jeans to find their successor. After, tugging, squatting, mirror parading, butt checking, laying down to zip up and a few potty words, I was exhausted. I’ve got the ~Blues~ for sure. I kick the mountainous pile of jeans and swear to them that they are all going to Goodwill. The sad conclusion, I don't own a favorite pair of jeans. For the first time ever! I remember my very first pair of favorite jeans. Circa 1975, hip hugger bell bottoms, translated to modern day Flare. These matched my embroidered blue jean pocket book that I made out of another pair of jeans. I loved those jeans. They died too, at the knees. I remember the day well. I cut the legs off and made them into a pair of shorts, Re-birthed! My new favorite pair of shorts! I frayed the legs which were just barely covering the pockets. What a summer. And then, they disappear! Where did they go? I ransacked the house asking everyone, no help. They’ve vanished into thin air. Then late one evening, my Mom asked me to go take some food to our little Chihuahua mixed breed Bunny. Bunny had a little dog house in the fenced yard near the end of the house. While I am calling her and scraping her dinner into the bowl, I see a remnant of cloth that I recognized hanging out of her house. I pull it out...My shorts!!!!! I was ecstatic. I didn't even care how they got there, though I have a sneaky suspicion. Onto the back porch I go and straight to the washing machine. Let's see, a couple of cups of this Tide should do it. Wash, rinse, repeat and over again. And there they are. I had them back on again the next day. No one ever even mentioned their return. But, back to the present. I can't even look towards the garbage can. What was the process? How did those jeans become my favorite jeans? Were they my favorites from the beginning or did I love them into existence? Since they have died at the ripe old age of 6, I don't know which came first. But, I think they had me at Hello.

Spooky Halloween Floorcloth

Halloween Pumpkin Floorcloth

Sweet Potato As A Vegetable ~R. Brabham

Well, I had an interesting generational gap conversation with a young adult this week. Started off well with mutual interest,food. Told him I like sweet potatoes, but I like them as a vegetable and not a dessert. Told him "Here in the south we can turn a vegetable into a dessert before granny can get her panties off the clothesline a'fore a rainstorm." His reply, "What's a clothesline?" Me, "Seriously?, you don't know what a clothesline is? Him, "Naw, A clothes rack, like at Old Navy?" Uggghhh... Keeping a sweet tater a veggie. I wanted a sweet potato this week, but not as a dessert. Here in the south, you get them three ways..Laden with marshmallows and brown sugar, baked with 1/2 stick of butter when cut open or sliced like taters and fried like french fries. I opted gingerly for a new guiltless preparation.

One nice size sweet tater

2 tblsp EVO (extra virgin olive oil)

6 walnut halves

shake of nutmeg

shake of ginger

couple of shakes of salt

Wrap tater in plastic wrap

Nuke for 6 minutes

remove from microwave and wrap in foil

leave on counter while it continues cooking in foil  for 6 minutes

Slice open and drizzle evo

sprinkle walnut and nutmeg and salt..It's really pretty good. 

Beautiful Handpainted Nautical Beach Floorcloth

Battling The Little Indian In Me | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Battling The Little Indian In Me | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

My Contemporary Poppy Floorcloth Available At Etsy

Mermaid Floorcloth on Etsy

Mermaid Floorcloth on Etsy

Dealing With "The Little Indian In Me" R. Brabham

I feel more alive than any other time when I'm in a moment of decision making. I know that the decision I make charts another course of my life. Unfortunately realizing that I'm in one of those moments is usually when the train is leaving the station. By best thoughts are afterthoughts. I had recently made a decision to follow a certain course and it turned out terribly wrong. In all aspects. So much so that I questioned why I would have been allowed the circumstance to start with. I gained absolutely nothing from the venture with the exception of three pounds and a surmountable dislike of some choice humanity. I whined and wined with a friend this week and for several hours later I stewed over the situation, mentally vindicating myself of any wrong doing. Even though I had done nothing wrong and my angst fully warranted, I couldn't shake the situation. I felt like there would never be closure and I would always hold a grudge against them for their actions. If it had been 30 years earlier I would offered to share a little Cherokee pride with them. "It doesn't have to be that way." a little voice says. "Who said that?" Ok, time for my IPOD. Somewhere between Bruno Mars and Anna Nalick it bled through again. "It doesn't have to be like that, maybe you can forgive them." "What? Forgive them?" I dismissed the "Voice" all morning, it kept turning back up like a Palmetto Bug freaking me out each time. Forgive? I relished the thought with exuberance akin to eating a plate of fried chicken feet. I finally did what I do. Sitting down to the keyboard I typed out what I thought would be a good start at being nice. I vented, let them know exactly how I felt. After reading it over I realized it didn't sound very nice. But, I felt better. As the day wore on, I would creep back to WordPad replacing one word for another. By the time I edited me out of the situation and entered the author and creator, it became easier to do. By the end of the day the visions of their scalp swinging from my totem pole disappeared. Clarity replaced the angst. It doesn't even matter if I made a point anymore, actually none at all. What does matter is that I was an available appendix. A pawn so to say, submissive to the powers of a creator who could change a nasty situation into something for a kingdom, if I allowed it. And for now, the little Cherokee Indian in my veins is quieted. One of my favorite stories about ~The Little Indian In Me~ came from a discussion with my granddaughter about our heritage. My granddaughter was 7 at the time. One weekend visit we watched the Disney Classic "Pocahontas." Discussing the movie while driving home, I told her that Pocahontas was real. She replied "I didn't think Indians still lived" Being a small part Cherokee, I told her "We have a little Indian in us." She was quite thoughtful for the rest of the ride home. Two days later my phone rings and my daughter ask "Mom, what did you tell Abby about Indians?" I ask "Why?" She tells me that my grandbaby had a ~Red~ letter day at school, a note was pinned to her sweater to have her mother call the teacher. She had talked excessively in class and when asked what was going on with her that day, she replied. "I don't know, it must be that little Indian in me."

Mermaid Floorcloth ~ Renae Brabham

This is one that I always wanted to paint. The Mermaid and Seahorses Floorcloth measures about 25 x 32. I have been creating floorcloths for 10 years now. Quality is my number one priority. These pieces should last for decades with very little care. I consider them floor art and take pains to be exceptional in the creation process. Each floorcloth is primed 5 times, painted with quality acrylics and then polycrylic coated 5 times as well. I welcome your input in the creation process. You have an idea, I will try to work it out on canvas for you. There is no quick stenciling done. Everything is free hand pencil and painted. Perfect for a door entry or kitchen floor. Normally, they are produced in 10 days after payment received, THIS ONE IS READY TO SHIP! These are unique and genuinely gratefully accepted gifts as well. If you have an idea that you would like to spin by me for an original piece, feel free to contact me. Also, some floor cloths are available in larger sizes. Note: I accept money orders, cashier checks or personal checks only. These are intricate pieces and I am a one gal show. I don't rush art and your floor cloth will reflect this. Thanks!

Just Write

Waiting on the right circumstances to write will not finish that novel...a cool fall day, a day with a laptop in Starbucks sipping latte's ,divine inspiration, the right frame of mind, a day all to yourself, a chateau in a Hemingwayesque hotel...etc..etc.. I write if I am cold, if I'm hot, if I'm mad if I'm not, on keyboard or emery board.. wherever and whenever the thought's hit me

Closet Dixie Chick | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Closet Dixie Chick | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Closet Dixie Chick~ R. Brabham

I couldn't understand why I couldn't write today. I had a few stories floating around in my brain, but when I sat at the computer...blinking cursor. Hoping for inspiration, I grabbed the leash to take Snowy for a stroll on this crisp pre-fall morning. I came back inside, sat in front of the computer...crickets. And then it happened, a cool breeze wafted in through the open patio door. I looked out and up to the swaying treetops and cloudless blue skies. And then I remembered. I looked down at my date calendar, September the 11th. The weather was eerily like the morning of the tragedy in New York City when the terrorist flew their planes into the World Trade Center, Pennsylvania and the Pentagon killing nearly 3000 people. It almost feels sacrilegious to write about anything but the tragedy or at least memorialize it today. While sitting back and thinking of that morning, little tidbits of recent inconsequential moments start to append. The beautiful scarf I saw with the label made in Vietnam this week, Anne Franks diary and a Dixie Chicks CD. I realize as a nation and part of the human race. We forgive. As I touched this beautiful hand-woven scarf and saw the label ~Made in Vietnam~ I had goose bumps crawl up my arm. I recalled the documentaries and movies of the bloody battles and maimed bodies the Vietnam war left behind. A war indecisive in years, documented by most to span 20 years. Yet in 2010 we were trading with Vietnam to the tune of $376 million a year. According to Economy in Crisis, The United States was the second largest importer of Vietnamese shrimp in the world in 2010. Let's see, then there was Japan and Pearl Harbor. According to Wikipedia Japan-United States-relations, The United States has been Japan's largest economic partner, taking 31.5 percent of its exports, supplying 22.3 percent of its imports, and accounting for 45.9 percent of its direct investment abroad in 1990. Today, although US participation in the war in Afghanistan is over, we still have infantry and national guardsmen fighting Taliban forces and trying to stabilize the country. July 22, 2012 KABUL, Afghanistan -- This year's pullout of 23,000 American troops from Afghanistan is at the halfway mark, U.S. Gen. John Allen, the top commander of U.S. and NATO forces, said Sunday in an interview with The Associated Press. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/22/afghanistan-war-pullout-american-soldiers_n_1692992.html Yet at the same time on the same soil, their brothers in arms are refabricating the infrastructure of Afghanistan by re-building schools, providing drinking water and medical assisting. http://www.army.mil/article/38726/civil-affairs-soldiers-prepare-for-afghan-mission/ The healing has already begun. The greed and lust for power of a few doesn't necessitate hating a whole nation. I thought of the beautiful words written in the diary of holocaust victim Anne Frank “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” And it has already started. Then, there's this CD. I sifted through a box looking for a lost business logo. What's this? The Dixie Chicks. I packed their CD away when I tired of the mud slinging and controversy that ensued after Dixie Chick's (Natalie Maines) controversial statements about our US president on foreign soil and feuds with Toby Keith on opinions and positions on the war in Iraq. I realize now that it had less to do about what their opinions were and more to do with the fact than I just wanted to begin healing without the bickering. If I had owned a Toby Keith CD at that time, I would have done the same with his. I buy music for music's sake not for the personal lifestyle and opinion of the artist. My music collection would be quite sparse, especially considering that the list of wayward , outspoken opinionated musicians goes way back. I pop the ~Chicks~ Cd into the player. Those gals were incredible. I see a neighbor strolling past the patio near the pond and fight the urge to turn the volume down. I realize we have come along way and then again..not. There's a stigma attatched to the CD that time will have to erase. But darn they were good. I guess this makes me a closet Chick.