Fear No Weasel

There are some things I vowed that Don would never convince me to like. Anchovies, Texas Pete (on darn near everything), ketchup on beans,  Marvel comic super hero movies, scary movies, oscillating fans and the latest.... crickets chirping all night. 
Don has been creative as a weasel in winning me over to his likes. e.g, Accidentally getting hot sauce on my lasagna, the wrong cut with the pizza cutter equals a tad of anchovies, The fan logically became acceptable white noise as it drowned out the TV when I went to bed first and then the latest, the crickets... They came in stealthily one night after I went to bed. I heard them several times  through my dream fog and thought that a chirper was sitting on the window sill. When I woke the next morning I realized the chirping and was dronefully repetitive and coming from an app on Don’s Iphone and not the windowsill.
So after 25 years, Don has yet to convert me on beans with ketchup and scary movies.  He picks out the movies, mostly because I will scroll through the movie list for an hour, A to Z to find one. He does a good job most of the time. 9 out of 10 choices get a Siskell and Ebert-less thumbs up. But, I believe it is his mission to find the end all movie that will turn me into zombie loving, blood sucking, fear seeking adrenaline junkie that occasionally and accidentally shouts the F bomb at the TV.  So, every now and then a blacklisted movie will slip into the house in the guise of a misrepresented presentation that would go something like this.
Me: "What kind of movie did you rent Don?
Don: "It's a mystery"
Me: "Not scary?"
Don: "No, just eerie."
If I don't trust his shifty pose or non-committal gaze, I will further ask what the review says. To which his reply would be "Oh the usual, some violence, 13 or older with adult supervision."  A few have left him on the couch alone with a whole bowl of popcorn for himself, while I entertained myself in another room.
He seems to have realized he has used the same terminology for 25 years and needs to be more creative. Christmas was a good example. When I asked him what we were going to watch this year,  He answered simply "A western."  Well, he didn't actually lie. But Christmas Day...Django?????
Me a grown woman, sat with my fingers laced over my eyes and fingers in ears.  I looked around the theater at the wide eyes of other women, duped as well. When we got home, I didn't know whether I had seen the worst or best movie ever. I wasn't sure whether to take a shower, read the Bible or take a drink. I had to watch I Love Lucy re-runs to go to sleep.
Well, obviously enough time had passed since Christmas and it was time for the bandit to strike again. But, he stooped to new lows.
While getting drinks and a snack together I asked the usual. "What kind of movie did you find?"
He replied. "You will like this one. It's a romance, girlie movie."  I plop on the couch as the movie begins. The screen rolled the movie title "Warm Bodies" as a blue skinned, bloody mouthed zombie lumbered through an apocalyptic airport.
I give Don the eye, he throws popcorn into his mouth and says "Watch it, you'll see"
I just shake my head in disbelief. Girlie movie. I believe I have as healthy an affection as the next person for dead people. But, when I open my eyes, I want them gone. If not, I want a cache of silver bullets, garlic and wooden crosses. I just can't grasp the moaning and stumbling incessantly throughout the eternity and there is nothing sexy about pointy teeth and blue skin.
Saying that, somewhere after the young, possibly once good looking zombie ate the heart of the alive girls boyfriend and started having feelings for her, I busted out laughing.
I enjoyed the movie more than I thought, but mostly because of Don's tenacity to sneak one in. After all these years it's nice to know there are a few surprises left. I might even put a dot of ketchup on my beans this week.

Advice for Turning 16 | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Advice for Turning 16 | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Sixteen Candles

Sixteenth birthday, I often wondered what that day would be like - when I lulled her to sleep in an outside swing, when we talked about the cheesy moon and fireflies, when we stuck our noses in flowers so deep that we drew out pollen, when we drank the nectar of honeysuckles. 
Would she still want to hang out with me when she was 16?

• When she was 3, she put her shoes on when I pulled into the yard with a confident cock eyed stare at her mama that said "I'm going with grandma, just sayin."  
• When she was 5, we took a stroll one evening, Abby saw the dark cascading line of the mountains at sunset on the horizon. She wanted to walk to them. I explained that we couldn't make it that far. To which she replied "You sit down and rest Grandma, I will pick you up on the way back." 
• When she was 7,  On a drop in visit. "Grandma can I stay the night tonight?" she asked. "Sweetheart you didn't bring any clothes" I replied. "That's OK, I can wear a towel."  
• When she was 10, "Grandma I want you to be my roommate when I go to college." 
• When she was 11, "I don't want to go trick or treating. I want to stay with Grandma and Paw Paw." She just never grasped the whole trick or treating thing. She's the  only trick or treater I know that rang a doorbell and asked to use their bathroom, much to our chagrin.  
• When she was 12,  I was bringing the girls home for a Slip & Slide party/cookout when a  quick thunderstorm came up. Abby was frightened by the thunder. The conversation between the girls and their friends went like this. "Abby, it's ok it's natural, God makes storms." her younger sister Alana chided.  "I don't like natural." Abby replied, sinking down into the seat when as a clap of thunder rolled. "Abby don't you want to see God?" her sister asked. "Yes, but not today." Abby replied.  
• When she was 14, she would text me, Grandma, u awake? I miss u. luv u
• When she was 16.......My daughter called from NC and told me Abby wanted to spend her sixteenth with us. She brought two friends. During the fun teen time of the weekend, I realized we hadn't really been alone.  I had a brief moment of sadness, quickly broken by   peals of laughter from teen girls.  On the last night of their visit, we were driving away from Towne Centre when they saw a shop they wanted to go into. I pulled into the lot and begged out of going in. I rolled the window down and settled in for a good little wait. Minutes after going into the store, Abby came back out by herself and climbed into the truck with me. She said she had a little stomach ache. Or did she?  We sat and talked about life's dilemmas, I offered a little sage advice and we shared some giggles. When the friends walked out of the store. We glanced at them laughing and coming to us. We looked back at each other. Time froze briefly, I knew our bond was deepened in those few moments. I thought to myself later.. My life isn't a measurement of years or months or even days. It is a collection of  moments and what we choose to do with each. 

I can still see her clomping down the hall with my heels on, her mouth garishly painted outside of the lines with my L’Oreal #502.  Although she has physically grown into those big girl shoes, she has a few little girl hoorahs left.  As I pondered whether she was too mature for her age, I walked in on them emptying her huge ~Sweet Sixteen~ balloon that Paw Paw proudly wrestled through the store to purchase, they squealed "Hey Grandma" like hobbits and the worry is gone.
Abby, there are shut boxes beckoning to be opened, closed doors as well. Keyholes are portals. Mistakes are imminent and risk's are recommended. Never let money or lack of it determine your happiness. Look for life's magic  in the moments, the bubbles, the raindrops, the fallen feathers, equip yourself with the ability to see what's real and the audacity to imagine what's not.          

A Day at the Tire Shop: Cure for Frayed Nerves? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

A Day at the Tire Shop: Cure for Frayed Nerves? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Flat Tires For Stress

I have driven by Gerald's Tire's on Hwy 17 numerous times feeling sympathy for the people (mostly women, questionably) lined up on the bench outside, thinking what a terrible way to spend your day.
Karma, when am I going to learn.  As I was walking out of house last week, I noticed a flat tire on the truck. There is no such thing as -just a flat- on the this truck, I cringed. The tires on the big truck are costly. Visions of a month's worth of ramen noodle dinners floated through my head.
Don is out of town, so what should I do?  Memories of my last tire escapade came back. One morning years ago, I thought my front tire on the mommy wagon looked a little low. I pulled into a gas station and fed the air pump machine. How hard could it be? I figured you filled them until they were round and didn't have a crease on the ground. I got to work and offered to take a large delivery to a company in the back of the wagon.
When I pulled out highway, I thought I had been bombed. Two tires exploded and left me sitting on the road. Someone from work came and offed the important delivery and I was towed to a gas station for two new tires. The other tires luckily didn't detonate before the workers released air.
Nope, I won't be fixing this big boy. I bought a can of fix-a-flat and emptied it into the tire. It didn't inflate enough to get it to a tire shop. I flagged down a community maintenance worker on a golf cart.  He sent over another guy with an air tank to pump it enough to get to shop.
I pulled into Gerald's Tire shop and walked up to counter. They greeted me much like the cheesy commercials. I am thinking big bucks and having to cut back on chocolate consumption, so I am not so cheerful right now. Actually, downright cynical, I think to myself yeah you get paid to talk like that, no one is that cheerful at work.
The counter clerk tells me that it will take about an hour or a little more. Well, it's not like I can go anywhere. I have a flat tire. So, I plop into a chair. I was determined not to sit on the bench outside and become the subject of pity of the passerby's.
I spied a magazine rack and went and scarfed up my faves. Charleston Magazine, Garden and Gun and Towne and Country. That should do me.
Listening to the banter between the counter clerks and other workers that walked back and forth through the shop, I realized they really don't hate their jobs and they were actually having fun. They interacted a lot with the customers waiting.
I leafed through the magazine and felt my shoulders falling down a bit and just kind of settled in. I slid my feet out of my shoes and rested them on top, took a few swigs of water and started reading. I picked up the Charleston Magazine, surprised to find one that I didn't remember the cover. I was half way through when I saw Chef Brett McGee on a full page spread for the Oak Restaurant. Well, when did he go back to the Oak?  Then an article on favorite ice cream flavors of Charleston's chefs.  Mike Lata, you sure are looking good, I pulled the magazine up to my face to inspect closer. Dang, I think he's had work done.
Then it dawned on me. I flipped the magazine back to the cover. Spring 2009!  I laughed out loud. About 15 minutes into the wait, a lady walked in with an overnight bag. They told her that the work will take quite a little while, she smiled undaunted and replied "That's fine."  She sat on the outside bench and started pulling out yarn and needles, a bottle of water and commenced to work on her craft.
I looked around the shop. No one seemed harried, checked their watches or paced impatiently.  I had memories of the men that used to sit on benches outside the gas stations, burning barrels and shade trees. They may be on to something.
After three magazines, one bottle of water and a half hour of Food Network and 5 M&M's out of the vending machine for a quarter.... they called my name.
"Ma'am we patched your tire, there's no charge."  I thanked him sincerely grateful and left feeling better than I did after morning coffee, who knew.
By the way, ladies. I did figure out why all of the ladies sat outside. 2 hours in a tire shop does not a sweet cologne make.

Fishing Tales... And Heads | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Fishing Tales... And Heads | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Fishin Tales, Heads and Cats

Thank god for the sun peeping through this week.  Like everything on my back porch, I felt swampy..moldy.  I cautiously opened the patio storage door, standing back to avoid the escape of whatever the hell I had accidentally locked up in it since last November?  I imagined Palmetto bugs metastasizing on the half empty bag of fertilizer I left crumpled in the corner. When nothing lurched at me I gingerly poked my way around before entering. Spider legs tell me that something larger than it, but smaller than I claimed squatter's rights over the winter. I start looking up, not a natural reaction for most, unless you.. like I, have fought a bat off in a closed room.
Jerking the lawn chair out, I swat at the webs with the broom. Next, my tackle box. I take it out and pet it's handle. Oh my, should I open it now? Pandora's box, I look out at the bright blue skies and hesitate with my fingers on it's clasp. What will this do to my precisely planned day?
I clicked open the clasp, too late now. Neatly binned neon glowing worms, translucent crickets, minnows and spinners, line, lead sinkers, corks,  bottle caps and faded fishing licenses, all reminders of creek/river and oceans' of days past. I close the lid quickly when I feel the urge climb in me. "Soon" I promise the clam shelled box.
Not many people are brave enough to endure fishing trips with me, Don included. He is fine as long as we have a lot of space. I have snagged on darn near everything you can imagine - trees, sunken logs, turtles, eels, myself and midgets. Yes-you heard right. I don't make this stuff up, it just happens.
I knew at an early age that my fishing life was going to be interesting. My first trip was with a friend and her grandmother when I was 9. I was on what I think was the Gippy Plantation in Moncks Corner. It was a reedy inlet off of the Cooper River across from Mepkin Abbey. Anyway..I no sooner got a worm in the water than my pole doubled. When I pulled it up. My prize? A fish head, minus the body. The remainder of the fish that stared blankly up at me was caught by a larger fish. I was scarred, but curious. The tug on the line that day, that thing beneath the deep that little ole me with some type of worm finesse almost landed, had me hooked for life.
I am excitable. Never tamed. No fisherman wants me in their boat, unless it's big. I don't have to tell fish stories. They are always big. They are as much about what happens out of the water as they are what happened on the water. Here are a couple of excursions.
The Catfish Story. One Saturday morning years ago, Don and I packed the car, kids, cooler, rods and reels and tackle boxes. We headed for the soupy yellow waters of the Yadkin River. The Yadkin is known for it's big Catfish and I had just the thing for them, a shiny brand new rod and reel. I cast in, sat for a bit and then remembered I left something in the car. While climbing the steep banks of the river a fish hit my line. I turned and tried to run back down the hill, too late. The fish had taken off into the deep, dragging my new rod and reel with it. I was speechless, Don wasn't. "You know you have to brace that rod with something."  Now I am grumpy. I sat on the bank and watched the kids gathering tadpoles. One felt sorry for me and let me use their Spiderman Zebco 202 for a bit. A little later Don went to the store and left me his rod to fish with. He didn't pull out good before I got a big  bite. After I set the hook the rod bowed. I pulled and pulled and couldn't believe what came up! Don's fish, which snagged on my new rod and reel and still had my fish on the end of it's line!  Woo Hoo!
Exhausted when we pulled into our drive, sweaty children covered in red clay and tired parents clamored from the car, leaving fishing rods hanging out the cracked windows of the car. After showers and naps we decided to go get something to eat. I froze in my tracks when I walked out onto the steps to leave, unable to process what I was seeing. Blood curdling Tween screams brought me back, there was a cat spinning in the air two feet off the ground with a hook in his mouth!  I guess he got a whiff of the remnants of bait left on the hook and jumped up for a bite. We took the stray cat, rod and all to the emergency vet. They removed the hook, gave us the rod and reel back and charged us $200. Now we have a new cat. Ugly as sin itself, we named him Gremlin. Hence, I caught my third ~Cat~ of the day.  
The Midget Story. Gliding along a calm NC lake for the christening of our pontoon boat.  I was in heaven! My favorite thing on the boat at the moment was the fish finder. Don explained it to me, "It beeps if fish are beneath us and shows their location, quantity and size."
After a little cruising, Don pulled the pontoon up to the dock. He jumped onto the dock and headed across the parking lot to his truck to get something. I am now the "Skipper" of the boat!  Well, the fish finder went off, beeping like crazy. I sauntered over to look. OMG, it was displaying a huge frigging fish at the back of the boat. I scurry to the back of the boat, the line we had been trolling from the back of the boat is bowing.
Heart racing, I pick up the rod. I can't even budge whatever is on the other end. Then... all hell broke loose under the edge of the boat. Banging, thrashing foamy waters.... and just as quick as it started, it stopped. Like that quiet moment in a scary movie, where you think calm is restored I took a What the hell just happened? breath. Then.... the climatic moment, like a righted buoy a bald little head shot out of the water gasping for air. A midget surfaced in a small kayak!  Jesus help me, I have caught a midget! Wild eyes looked up at me. I didn't see a line hooked to him, it was then I realized that he wasn't on my line, Thank God, just the kayak. The midget caught his breath as he helped my unwind and untangle the line around the front of his kayak.  He told me that he was a novice kayak-er and wanted to practice rolling his kayak in shallow water, he didn't realize he had slipped under the pontoon. He floated off as Don returned to the boat. And weirdly quick, the world was normal again.
Yes, fishing is always an adventure for me.  I do everything wrong. I talk, sing, drink, eat, laugh and still somehow catch fish and "other things."  But the truth is..it's never really about the fish is it?
 Another day soon I promise the tackle box as I put it back into the closet. I can hardly wait.
I only used the term midget for lack of clarity in sentence. The favored termed for midget is little people, which would have had to been little person, which I would have had to explain...like I am doing now.