369 The Goose Drank Wine

I walk into my workplace to pick up something. I have my sunglasses on. My head throbs from the violence of virus I had picked up. I had been out of work for two days and traveled to work with a Styrofoam bait bucket in car ~just in case~ One of the employees sees me and smirks "Well, there she is Miss Hollywood" I was taken aback. I just kept walking. She walks into the vicinity of the task I needed to perform and stands directly in front of me, never once asking how I felt.
I recalled a few weeks earlier, my daughter had a spinal tap that ruptured, her spinal fluid leaked into her bloodstream and caused headaches so severe that she too wore glasses to work because of the migraine side effects. She saw a few people making fun of her out of these dark glasses. In all reality, she shouldn't have been at work. But didn't want to let the ~Team Down.~ It was her pain and the realization of how she must have felt that filled my eyes with water that morning. I remembered telling my daughters early in life. "When people react this way to you, it is because of their insecurities, don’t let them be yours as well. If you haven't done anything to injure or deserve their actions, don't accept the guilt for it. Move on. Kill them with kindness." I totally understand the blank stare the kids would give me now. It’s kind of like singing the Clap Clap song. 369 the goose drank wine the monkey chewed tobacco on the street car line..the line broke.etc… It makes you feel good to sing it, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing. And that’s ok.
Well, I ended up in the ER that same night, then surgery the next morning. I was out of work for 3 days. I go back to work. Again, total snobbery. One person wouldn't even acknowledge a hello. These two individuals were not affected in any way whatsoever with my absence from work and were not even in same department. But we had always talked cordially and had pleasant conversations. I tried to fight a pain that went deeper than where the surgeons knife had been. Amazingly, after all of these years I haven’t built up the first callous of resistance to that pain. Was it pain for myself, humanity? What exactly was I feeling? I just couldn't shake their lack of compassion and humanity. Is it so pervasive? It didn't discount the kindnesses bestowed upon me that week, but somehow I had let these two negative influences choke the crap out of them.
I ride the fence between the A & B as personality type's. But can easily claim the mantra "A glass half full, is full" I was angry at myself for having such a thin shell. Appearances may lead you to think I am a spiny, hard crustacean, but indeed if you poke me you will find a soft shell crab. I questioned God, lord help me he's going to zap me right out of this world one of these days. Once again, his goodness sand mercy reveal to me the compassion love and caring I had been shown for the past week. My hubby who was on vacation that week cared for me. He held wet cold towels to my lips and garbage cans and buckets to my head. I remember my hands being rubbed by kind nurses throughout the night before surgery. A doctor and friend worked me into an already crammed day of surgery and first on the list at that. The privacy curtains in pre-op opened to reveal another dear and kind friend who would be my scrub nurse and then another friendly acquaintance as my anesthesiologist. Did I mention Morphine? Faces of my family as anesthesia wears off. Hugs and love and gifts from old friends dropping in to see me and I was only in hospital 4 hours after surgery. Phone calls, e-mails and faxes and people that came through for me brought tears to my eyes. Customers when back at work that genuinely cared.
I can't say that it doesn't sting when I am in the presence of those that intentionally inflict pain. But, I will say that I feel more empathy for them now. This isn’t a public lash out on them, they don’t even know that I write. I really wasn't too excited about going back to work. I think my daughter sensed my apprehension as I dressed for work that morning. I get a text from her. "Kill them with kindness Mom" she said. I go out humming…3 6 9..the goose drank wine…Clap..Clap..Clap..Clap..
I got a card from the nursing staff at Roper St. Francis Hospital Mt. Pleasant. They all signed the card. I can hardly wait to go see them next week. I thought of each and every person who shows their kindness and compassion to others when I saw this quote.
~To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Does This Moon Make My Butt Look Big? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Does This Moon Make My Butt Look Big? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Does This Moon Make My Butt Look Small? Renae Brabham

I sped over the Isle of Palms connector bridge to the island. I had vowed that even if the moon had risen and peeked over the buildings I wouldn't look until my toes hit the sand. I fed the meter it's dollar and headed down the wooden public access planks at a good clip. My gait ended in a snails pace as a man guided his mother up the small incline. It was an obvious role reversal, contrast of life. She had no doubt held his hands tightly as he took his first steps and crossed roads and now he returned the caring. She minced her steps and he held her arm firmly. I was glad that I was behind them and wouldn't have sped on for the world. I shared in her son's reward when I heard her exclaim as she saw the peregrine moon before I did. "Oh my!" she stopped mid stride. Her son watched her face smiling and then guided her to the side railing. I stepped over to share her view at the exact second that the moon inched into the horizon. And there it was, a thin red line stretching over the horizon. Growing by the second and changing hues from red to yellow. In minutes it was casting a beam of iridescent light over the waves. The extremely high tide had forced everyone to crowd onto the narrow strip of unscathed surf beach. This lent an air of event as we all stood crowded in the narrow swath between the waves washing in and the few feet of embankment. Scores of people still swam in the tide at dusk. The light of the moon called to their carefree spirit, thankfully without a hungry fish feeding. I walked backwards as I was leaving, not able to take my eyes off of the phenomenon. Two granddaughters’ did the same with me last year in March at the super moon. Driving back home over the bridge, I concluded that I am indeed dangerous in situations of extreme beauty. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to watch the sunset out of my front windshield or the moonrise out of the back and contemplated a u-turn at the bottom of the hill to do it all over again. Once home I plug in my camera to download the pics. I was shocked at the tiny white ball that replaced the yellow gargantuan moon hovering over the pier that I left. I can understand that I am light-years away and the image would not show without proper magnification lens. But shouldn't the picture at least portray what my eyes had seen? I began questioning my perception. Which I have been told I should do anyway for years. I scroll through other pics of items in horizon that I had taken recently, they were all in proportion to what I had viewed. So I did the old google search. According to Wikipedia "For over 100 years, research on the Moon Illusion has been conducted by vision scientists who invariably have been psychologists specializing in human perception. After reviewing the many different explanations in their 2002 book The Mystery of the Moon Illusion, Ross and Plug conclude "No single theory has emerged victorious. The Moon illusion is an optical illusion in which the Moon appears larger near the horizon than it does while higher up in the sky. This optical illusion also occurs with the sun and star constellations. It has been known since ancient times, and recorded by numerous different cultures. The explanation of this illusion is still debated." Hmmm...Maybe I need to open the receptors to the illusions of the spiritual world that I live in while here on earth. Those moments when the veil is lifted and I'm left to wonder at the unexplainable. We are not earthly beings living in a material world. We are spiritual beings living in a spiritual world. Eternity is a curtain away, maybe we can slide back the curtains more by allowing ourselves to believe that we don't see everything, we don't know everything and wonder is bliss. In doing so we could possibly unclog receptors that would allow us to participate in more of life's tantalizing experiences. What else am I perceiving to be factual in the universe that may be skewed by my perception. Did the man beside me see the same moon? What if what I see is only what my eyes tell my brain to comprehend? That leaves a whole lot to imagination! Maybe the colors of life would become such prisms of clarity that a rainbow only suggest it's many hues. Maybe I'm thinner than the mirror says. But I'm incredibly comforted by words and phrases like inconclusive, debatable, undetermined. I don't want to know the answers to every little thing about this universe. I will happily transcend from here to there in my chimera's.

Get off of your Jack Arse

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” — Mark Twain

She Thinks My Crab Pot's Sexy ~Renae Brabham~

I am flitting around the house Saturday morning trying to ignore the brilliant sunshine streaming into the window. By 7 a.m. I have gathered clothes to wash, stripped beds and I am eyeballing the Hoover when Don calls from out of town. "I checked the tides and the wind on the charts, you should go fishing this morning." he says. I took one look at the pile of laundry and thought, heck yeah, I should go fishin. I throw on my ~go to heck hat~, pack a small cooler, grab my rod and tackle box and head to Pitt Bridge, stopping only long enough to get some frozen shrimp and coffee. I audibly breathe out an "Aghhhhhh" as I get out of the car. By 8:15 I am walking the planks to the end of the bridge. The air is still and so is the marsh with the exception of the gurgling hermit crabs in the plough mud. Herons swoop from the brilliant blue skies. I greet at least 30 runners and about as many walkers and dogs on the trek to my destination.
Coffee clarity reveals a few shapes at the end of the bridge in ~my spot~ No problem, there are side slips that I like as well. Two teens sit cross legged facing each other, they talk and laugh in low tones as they roll up and unknot line from a crab pot. They smile and we say our good morning's and howdie doo's and then I dart down the little slip to start fishing. My breath is almost taken away by the serenity of the morning. Cove Inlet is as quiet as I have ever seen it. No ships, boats or noises other than the slow ebbing tide gently pushing against the barnacled concrete pylons. I just can't start fishing yet.
After a few minutes the guy and girl get up and lean over the banister and ask me what I am going to fish for. "I'm not choosy, whatever wants a bite of these." I replied holding up the line that I am threading a shrimp onto. "How about you two? Any luck?" I ask. She looks at him with a coy grin and nods yes. He does the same. "Well, I had the pot out all night, but it didn't catch anything, I got it hung up in the pylons." he explains. But, it's ok, she said yes. It was then that I noticed the steel boxed crab pot with plastic coated signs on all sides that read "Prom?"
Bobby Roscne tells me how he rigged the signage and came to set the pot last night with hopes that he would bring Kirsti down here this morning to check the pot and hopefully pull it up brimming with crabs. But he hit a snag. Before daybreak, he enlisted the help of his mother and they scurried down to get it untangled and reset. They succeeded. When Kirsti Robertson came down with him she was surprised, but no crabs. I told Bobby the glitches made the gesture more endearing. The both agreed. We say our fare-thee-wells. They are heading down the bridge, him unashamedly carrying his proclamation crab pot and she carrying the lines. I am overcome with the magic and promise of their young love. I feel a twinge in my stomach, a reminder of an era long gone. Before they could disappear and become a memory, I call out to them to stop. I thank them for making an already beautiful morning fantabulous and ask them if I can take their picture and tell their story. As the picture shows, Bobby and Kirsti said yes. They attend Ardrey Kell High School in Charlotte. I fished on Pitt Bridge by myself until I left at 12 o'clock. As the tide crept back in that morning I watched two of the largest stingrays I have ever seen ease by me under the bridge. Dolphins dove and corralled their breakfast. Sailboats and cruisers slipped by as I fed the fish my frozen shrimp. The previous weekend I had been on the harbor looking to the shore from the Jabez yacht with the Ya Ya girls. I am so thankful for the blessings of Southern living. Seriously, all you have to do is show up. That crab pot beat the hell out of a dozen roses!

Wisteria Hysteria

A friend of mine recently coined the phrase Wisteria Hysteria. I loved it. We have a love/hate relationship with these southern vines don’t we? I was talking with a lady recently about the first signs of spring in the low country. Honeysuckle, Wisteria and Jasmine. I told her I loved the smell of Wisteria. I was dumbfounded when she asked "Does it smell good?" Honeysuckle,the same thing. You have never experienced anything until you walk down a country road at dusk when the heat of the day has vaporized the droplets of the tubular Honeysuckle plant and a soft breeze wafts the heady aroma into your path. Pure Bliss. I imagine that it was this aromatic euphoria,aided by inebriation that caused Washington Irving's character Rip Van Winkle to drift into a twenty year induced sleep in the woods. Several years ago I visited a plant store in the spring. I purchase this non-assuming sprig, Wisteria Sinensis, winding up a 12 inch stick. Getting home I wind the little sprig through the post of the first stairway. It climbed like Jack's beanstalk. Second year,it topped the stairwell at 14 feet, I thread it back down. Third year,the steps are encased with heady purple blossoms and then the honey bee's come. Don is allergic to bees,so year three, Wisteria is gone. About a month later,we plant an arbor on the other side of house and Don landscapes a dog leg shaped garden. With all the tilling done and soil prepared we head to the plant store. Don walks by a potted flowering vine that smells delicious,he puts it into the buggy. The tag says Wisteria Sinensis, hmmm..where have I heard that plant name before? We plant it at the base of the arbor and it takes off. By the end of the summer it is covering the top. By the next spring, It bends the arbor and is shooting 20 foot into the air searching for another structure to climb onto. We can't drive the lawnmower through the arbor anymore. I come home one afternoon and the Ford f-150 is full of tangled arbor. A chain saw, pruners and a chain that looks like it should have a cargo ship anchor attached adorn the ground. Minutes later the chain is attached to the truck. The tires struggle for grip and tear into the lawn as Don tried to pull the Wisteria root from the ground. We never got to the bottom of it. Don pours root killer on it's nubby stump and hauls off the arbor and vine to the dump. The best smelling load of garbage in the landfill that day. Before we moved back to SC from NC two years ago, we were still cutting tendrils of hope sprouting from the Wisteria stump in search of new footing. I don't cut the grass anymore,smiling as the landscapers cranks up their mowers, hedge trimmers and blowers. I don't plant large gardens anymore,but enjoy fresh local veggies from local vendors at the Farmer's Market's. On a quiet evening not long ago I walked the wood's edged, grass path around the pond at the condominiums. A breeze sways the moss, tiny tendrils of purple are on the sandy pathway. There it is, Wisteria. Pines and oaks are wrapped with gnarly thick vines, deep purple flowers sprout from the maze in the dark swampy terrain. I stand for a few minutes with eyes closed and may have accidentally snorted a petal as I inhaled. I clip several of the clusters and bring them home to put them in vials of water and place by my bed for ~sweet dreams~ While reading in bed. Don comes in the room, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?" he asked. I point to the Wisteria. He lifts the vases. I watch the petals seek his nostrils. "You need to cut a lot more of those" he says. I smile.... I spy with my eye...Jasmine and Honeysuckle on the Vine...Next weeks bedside vase.

Flash Back ~Renae Brabham

FLASH-BACK (condition when you find your hot flash isn't limited to just your neck anymore)

Ok, I'll admit I struggled with this story for a bit. I had a hot flash, left to go get some snacks, forgot what I was doing, remembered what I was doing and came back. I thought of the Jeff Foxworthy Line and replaced Redneck with Menopause. You might be going through menopause if:


You would like to start a focus group to study the benefits of providing menopausal parking spaces at the grocery stores, hospitals, malls and chocolate shops. Remember ~Tawanda~ in the movie (Fried Green Tomatoes)
You are absentminded, hmmmm, what was I saying? Oh yeah. Absentminded.
You are acting just plain stupid. e.g. Standing at the front door of my house clicking the unlock button on my car keys, trying to figure out why door won't unlock.
Your husband is sitting on the couch with a blanket rather than you.
You find yourself ripping open a bag of m & m's in the store before you get to the register.
You do things you wouldn't do, because what the hell, you're 50 and invisible anyway.
You feel sorry for your old make up brush when the hair starts falling out.
Won't pluck eyebrows for fear they won't grow back.
You don't want to brush the loose hairs off your shoulder, it's too final.
You think of spray painting your scalp to a more neutral color, like your current hair color.
You realize that you will have to go to prison to finish your latest projects.
You don't buy green banana's anymore.
 You wake up one morning and your hair has taken on the texture of a Brillo pad.
You talk to your body in the mirror, "What the heck is that!?"
You don't turn around when you hear a wolf whistle. Because you did once and it was a parrot.
You have a brief moment of "I've still got it" when a trucker honks his horn. Then pulls along side closer to motion that your gas cap door is open.
Your sister calls your mole a liver spot.

These were my "aha" moments. Everyone has their own I am sure. There were signs it was happening. You just ignored them, like you ignored that aged poofy person that mimicked your every move as you walked past the store windows. I'm not depressed about it. I just haven't embraced it yet. There are benefits I am sure. I just don't have enough material to write a page on it yet.