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.