Wednesday, September 26, 2012

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.

Friday, September 21, 2012

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. 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

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."

Monday, September 17, 2012

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!

Thursday, September 13, 2012

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

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

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.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Fish Aren't Predjudice ~R. Brabham

We spent a day pier fishing at Mt. Pleasant Waterfront Park recently. We noticed a man that tirelessly worked the pier up and down with his rods. Each time he passed by us he was expectantly optimistic that the ~tide would change~ any second. But hours into in, he had only caught a few tiny pin fish. "They are going to start biting anytime," he excitedly told my hubby Don. Don asked "What time did you get here today?" he replied, "8:00 a.m." At 4 p.m. we started pulling our rods in. Another fisherman walks up casting his line just feet away from the gentleman who had been there all day. Almost immediately, he pulls up a big flounder, minutes later he hooks a nice Red Drum. Is it skill? Is it luck? Is it a numbers game, a wait out, a fluke, a test? "What about the person that comes and needs to catch their dinner and they don't catch it?" I ask Don. He looks at me wryly, without replying but implying "You're in Mt. Pleasant, not a third world country." Similarities, we all want to outsmart the fish and we are willing to spend an 8 hour day, bucket of minnows and several canisters of shrimp to do it. Whatever it is, I have the patience of Job doing it. I have fished until I got bed spin drunk at night after closing my eyes. The stirring waters and cork still bobbed behind my eyelids. There was a time that Don didn't like to go lake fishing with me. I could literally stay on the bank all day long feeding pinfish. On one such day, he sauntered over after several hours to peer into my red worm container. He dug a finger through to find that I was down to my last 3 worms. Contented with his find, he walked back to the grassy bank, stretched out and lounged, confident the end was near. I smiled, pulled out my knife and cut the worms into three pieces. Now I have 9 and another hour of fishing. I'm not an adept angler, I just love to fish. I do everything wrong. I jiggle my line, I talk the whole time and I'll hook myself and you too if you are near. Also, at the end of the day I do what is called stupid fishing. I thread worms halfway up the line, sometimes put a shrimp and a minnow together on the hook and I've used plastic lures soaked in shrimp juice. Once when I wasn't ready to leave yet but sadly out of bait, I threaded macaroni from my packed lunch onto the hook. I like cork fishing. And don’t' understand why it isn't done in the ocean. One summer we took a trip to Sea Level, NC near the outer banks. We were staying at the Sea Level Inn. I could hardly wait to get my Zebco 33 with yellow and orange cork in the water. Don told me several times "That's not the right set up for the ocean." He was right...... and wrong. I am on the hotel' s fishing dock before check in. My line wasn't in the water ten minutes when it whizzed out, I had something big on it! It jumped and splashed and we realized I had a beautiful Red Drum behind that cork. Don jumped in the water to help me get it up. The restaurant at Sea Level said that is was one of the nicest Drums they had seen caught there. The chef took it into the kitchen and they cooked it for us for our dinner. Delish. Our most recent fishing trip, Shem Creek Pier. Just glorious. Sailboats ease by the dock, they want to catch a breeze and so do I. Beautiful Hobie fishing kayaks ease beneath me idly trolling their lines while the lady fishing beside us has a fish so big on her rod that the line snapped. Dolphins ease through the creek to the delight of the boaters as two Manatee come to the edge of the marsh to feed to the delight of the pier fishers. Family pets sit at the helms of the boats while other pets stroll the pier with their owners, some lick our salty legs as they pass. The ocean, the creeks, the marshes. Pleasures are enumerable, unpredictable and unprejudiced. We pull in our lines, pack our rods and head down the pier. There's nothing in our cooler for dinner, no worries we say as we pull into Mt. Pleasant Seafood....Fresh Flounder!!