A Southern Voice

I have only recently begun sharing my blog with a few friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. I have so appreciated their feedback. Yesterday, one of those new readers commented that there was an air of "southerness" in my blog. She could hardly have paid me a nicer compliment.

I am a true daughter of the South. Tim McGraw had a hit country song....Southern Voice. Well now, perhaps there's a contender for the name of my dream vacation house, the subject of an earlier blog. Yes indeed, Southern Voice.... a great name for the beach bungalow of a blogger! I smile (and try to sing) every time I hear McGraw's Southern Voice. I cannot help but identify with its soulful southern rock lyrics.... "Hank Williams sang it, Number Three drove it, Aretha Franklin sang it, Dolly Parton graced it, Tom Petty rocked it, Hank Aaron smacked it, Michael Jordan dunked it, Pocahontas tracked it......Dr. King changed it, Bear Bryant won it, Billy Graham saved it." And with a refrain that's, "smooth as a hickory wind that blows from Memphis down the Appalachian Trail," I'm thinking Rhett and Scarlett, camellia bushes, the Cooper River, magnolias and pine, giant oaks, moss and sand. Surely the it is my south, right?

Often as my family travels out of our native south, some new friend will inevitably overhear me (or Drew) speak and ask, "Georgia or Texas?" For a time, my response was, "Excuse me?" Now, with a smile, it's a quick and sincere, "Thank you." After all, both states are 'dee-cidedly' southern. More importantly, a true daughter (or son) of the south simply embraces the accent. What else can one do?

Along with Tim singing, "Sweet Iced Tea and Jerry Lee, Daytona Beach, that's what gets to me," I will proudly flaunt my southern voice and my southern roots. Wish I could do it in song as McGraw has. Anyone who has heard me sing will most 'dee -finitely' appreciate my promise to stick to the written southern word.

I might have added a few of my own joys of the south to Tim McGraw's list.....Sunday snow cones and chicken after church....grits...what was I thinking, shrimp and grits......mimosas on holiday mornings.....hummingbirds and hydrangeas....country music, Hootie, blues, and jazz. Yes, that's my south.

God richly blessed the south and those lucky enough to live here. There are God Sightings (as my children are discussing this week in Bible School)everywhere, from the beautiful and distinct southern seasons to the vast diversity in topography, from her Bible Belt foundation to the Triangle of cutting edge research, from an almost perfect climate to some of the best cooks anywhere, from authors Anne Rivers Siddons and Dorothea Benton Franks to Pat Conroy and John Grisham, this is my south and I love it!

I will admit to more than my fair share of wanderlust. Although travel always recharges my batteries, I also always find my spirit soaring as we touch down in beautiful Charlotte, and I know I am almost home.

I am, after all, most at home in the home of fierce football and basketball and budding baseball rivalries, breathtaking Carolina beaches, spectacular southern design and architecture, stately southern college campuses, church steeples everywhere. And if this 'Song of the South' should inspire a move to our lovely area, I even know a 'dee-finitively' Southern realtor!

A Healer in Honduras

In the last weeks, we have celebrated my father's birthday and, of course, Father's Day. June is my dad's month. This June has been a special one as he excitedly prepares for a mission trip to Honduras. He has had to work for this trip. Something funky occurred with his application for a passport. How could that be for a man who grew up in Pageland, has lived only in the Carolinas, attended Clemson and UNC, served his country, not to mention a man of medicine who has been in the USA all his life? Oh well, I guess things happen. A tip of the hat to Congressman Mick Mulvaney who lent a hand to help correct the problem.

My father had no luggage. He has for the most part been unable to think of travelling over the last ten years as he gave everything to the care and needs of my ailing mother. Size 4 Banker Sister proposed that we three daughters take care of the luggage issue for Daddy's birthday. So, we did. (Note to readers: we don't often say no to Size 4 Banker. In all fairness, that is because she usually has pretty good ideas.)

By the way, Daddy, surely you are filling one of those new travel bags with Tiger Rags and orange pom poms. I want to see your Honduran friends doing 1-2-3-4-C-L-E-M-S-O-N! No doubt, you and Pastor Joel will find a way to spread the gospel according to Dabo. I'm just saying.....

Next problem....oops, Drew tells me there are no problems, just opportunities..... Daddy had no camera. Now, you might surmise that predicament is easy enough to fix. Harder to address was the issue that he had absolutely no idea what to do with one. My precious, patient, undoubtedly one day to be a teacher niece provided a "photography for camera challenged photographers" Father's Day tutorial, complete with her trademark encouraging and supportive demeanor...."You turn it on here, Pop....Good, Pop....You did it, Pop," etc. She at least got him started. He actually took two pictures! But being the intuitively astute person that I am, I quickly took note of his look of total bewilderment...you see, in real estate, I see that look often. As by far the ....ummm most helpful sister, I brightly told Daddy that if all else failed, he should just hand the camera to a Honduran and let him or her take the pictures. Again, being the astute daughter that I am, I am quite sure Daddy failed to appreciate that remark. He is, after all, not only a physician, but a credentialled civil engineer, and most importantly, a diplomaed Son of Clemson. This is a learned man, a holder of multiple advanced degrees from.....my Gamecock friends will appreciate this.....the most respected halls of higher learning. But, I digress. Suffice it to say Daddy was not particularly pleased that I questioned his ability to manage a point and shoot. I do hope that he was not so offended by my remark that he will not provide me with some blog worthy photo journalism. And Daddy, don't worry. We will learn the art of downloading (or is it uploading...why can I never remember) when you return.

At last, all hurdles overcome, we believe Daddy is set to go to Honduras. As a physician, my dad will bring a special set of skills to patients often and sadly lacking for medical attention. More importantly, my amazing father will bring them the power of his testimony in action. You see, before he was a doctor or a husband or a father, or a Clemson or UNC grad, he was a man of God. My father lives his faith. Beloved in and by the town he calls home, my often introspective dad casts a giant and imposing shadow without trying to do so. Size 4 Banker Sister says he is a rock star. That may be so, but he certainly doesn't want to be. He doesn't need or want or enjoy hoopla. Likewise, he doesn't trumpet his faith; it just is who he is .

The Hondurans whom my daddy meets and who are lucky enough to meet my dad will not soon forget his healing hand, his kind spirit, his warmth and compassion, or his faith. His medicines and bandages and knowledge will bring them relief. His smile and his Christianity will win their hearts.

The people of Honduras are soon to know what Pagelanders and residents of surrounding counties have known for decades and what his three daughters know beyond doubt. This man is special. We are truly blessed to call him our father. We are so humbled by the man that he is. He set an impossible standard for the men who would marry his daughters, simply in being exactly who he is.

I wish you health and peace and success on your trip, Daddy. I love that you are sharing your most special gifts with a country in such need. I can already hear you saying upon your return, "I was the one who was blessed by this trip." And, my sisters and I will know, without even having been there, that is only a part of the truth.

The Blind Puppy

A young friend recently took care of our dogs (and yes, Kate's cat) while we were away. He fell in love with our sweet black, brown and white cocker spaniel....our blind puppy. Today, sadly, our blind cocker left us for doggie heaven.

Now there is a small freshly dug grave under my bedroom window. My blind cocker is at rest. His grave is near those of Kate's bunnies Flopsey and Grey Bird. There is no marker. I will work on that.

Koko was one of the sweetest dogs I have ever known. He wasn't an inside dog, though sometimes we thought he should have been. When cataracts or some similar malady took his vision, he almost seemed to get happier. His tail was in perpetual motion, wagging anytime anyone was in proximity. He shuffled around our yard and did pretty well finding whatever it was he was looking for. He did occasionally run into a tree or a swing. He adjusted. He overcame.

My husband thinks Drew named Koko. If that is so, Drew must have been barely talking when he did. Drew couldn't have been more than two years old when Koko joined our family. I do know that we spelled the name with K's and actually registered him as Kate's Koko. I also know that today it was Drew, not Kate, awash in tears as he heard the news of Koko's passing.

Koko deserved better than he got from us. As our children grew bigger and our time for pets grew shorter, Koko had to fend for himself much of the time. As the eldest of our canine crew, Koko tried to rule the roost, or should I say rule the kennel, in our little dog kingdom. And for much of the time, he had things under his cocker control. Lately though, I just don't think he felt like being bothered with leadership responsibilities. After all, being in charge is not always everything it is cracked up to be.

We will miss you, Koko. We already do. I hear your dog brothers barking for you. I know they don't understand.

I hope this day you are running and romping and seeing everything you've been missing. But when I think about it, Koko, I am not sure you missed much. I so hope you saw and knew how much we loved you.....

Drewisms, Drawisms, and The World According to Drew

Drew, whether intentionally or not, provokes thought, interest, laughter, on occasion parental chagrin with his questions, supposings, and outlook on life, living, and all things Drew. His questioning mind and willingness to say or ask anything that comes to mind has most definitely led to more than a fair share of, shall we say, moments in time.

At the beach last week, Drew and several cousins spent a late evening playing Pictionary. Drew took a card and quickly announced that he didn't know if he could draw this one. When an adult cousin asked what his card was, Drew responded, "biological clock." Drew was hastily allowed to draw another card. I was simply relieved my precocious prepubescent son didn't think to draw his mother!

I was reminded of a "drawing" memory from Drew's four year preschool when he came home with an assignment to draw his family. Of course, Drew's artistic endeavor started with Daddy. With Drew, everything always and still today begins and ends with Daddy. After all, his Daddy calls Drew his "number one youngest son in the whole wide world," and the sentiment is most decidedly mutual. But back to the preschool art, retribution was sweet this time as Drew's immediate first question was, "Mommy, how do you draw a bald spot?" (I must admit that I found more humor in that than the daddy with the bald spot did.)

We rode through my sister's beautiful North Carolina neighborhood recently. As my mind drifted and we passed a huge and imposing home, Drew announced, "Mommy, the White House isn't white anymore!" Startled back from, well from wherever I was, I prepared to launch the requisite lecture on being politically correct and culturally sensitive. Before I could begin, Drew pointed out the car window and said, "Look, that house was white last time we were here. It's tan now." Whew.....one less lecture to deliver.

Drew and I recently watched Jaws. I know, I know, it is probably a little intense for a ten year old. I shouldn't admit that Drew has loved this movie since he was about six. At some point as we watched, the unmistakable Jaws musical score started. Drew shouted, "Mommy, something bad is about to happen. Something bad always happens when that music starts." Drew paused, then said, "I wish that music started whenever I was about to do something bad." As do I, Drew. As do I.

Drew's great fascination with sharks, dinosaurs, and other predators has been characteristic of him since his early years. I arrived for a parent teacher conference during Drew's first grade year to learn that when he and his young classmates were asked to draw their favorite animals, Drew's choice stood quite alone. Amidst the puppies and kittens and goldfish and teddy bears was Drew's favorite....a killer whale.....complete with properly spelled tag line. "Should I be concerned?" I asked the tired teacher. "No, no," she responded. "Drew is a sweetheart." Indeed, a sweetheart with a thing for stegosauruses, and yes, he can spell it!

I remember telling Drew a few years back that his Aunt "Anna" was going dogsledding. Without hesitating, Drew asked, "Sadie or Bogey?" Now, Bogey and Sadie were and are Anna's slightly spoiled, positively pampered, quite beloved beagles. Bogey must be about 15 years old (only a slight exaggeration) and Sadie so low to the ground that I 'pawsitively' cannot imagine a less likely or more incompetent dogsledding pair. But Drew was sure one or the other or both must be pulling that Colorado slider!

I am quite certain I will never lack for blog material or for that matter for the pure joy of the world according to Drew if I simply watch and wait for the next Drewism. Bring it on, Drew!

Not a Good Morning

There is a teenager in our midst. Sometimes it makes me crazy! Yesterday morning was one of those times. My day started with the beloved cat of my teenager, who was not supposed to be in the house (point of clarification.....that's the cat, not my teenager), upchucking on my pillow. Note to readers: If I were not already rethinking the "cat person" classification for myself, I most certainly am now.

My teenager slipped a new set of earphones in my drug store shopping basket without asking, as is often the case these days, just assuming it was okay. It was not until we arrived back home, and I started wondering how our Walgreen's tab had mounted so that I realized she had added and I had unknowingly purchased a little something extra.

We had barely returned home when she asked if I could take her to Taco Bell. The chauffeur job is enough to send any parent to her wit's end. And why did this particular request not cross my teen's mind while we were out minutes before?

I asked her to unpack a suitcase that has been home a week. I asked her to clean her room and to put things away where they belonged, not in her favorite hiding place under the bed. I asked her to help make my bed. No, no, no.

I admit it, I lost my cool. I shouted at her lack of consideration and her presumptive attitude. I shouted at her teenagerish ways. That's what Our Ruby called them. For the precious (and apparently clairvoyant) Ruby, Kate was "teenagerish" before her years were. Oh, My Dear Ruby, if only you could see (and hear) her now!

When next I saw Kate in yesterday's post meltdown moments, she was erasing from our fridge an earlier penned dry erase love note from her to me. She erased with purpose. She erased with vigor....and sniffles. I guess I deserved this pointedly demonstrative erasure by my teenager. I haven't been very lovable this morning. But wait, what is she doing? Is she.....could she be....she IS.....my Kate Bug is rewriting her message.....only bigger!

Her tone is unacceptable at times. On some days, her jeans are a little tighter than I would like. Her shorts and skirts may be a little too short as well. But I am pretty sure my teenager's heart is a perfect fit and in exactly the right place.

I am crazy.....about this girl!

The First Year

My blogging adventure has spanned a year. I remember so well the timing of my first blogs....the 2010 NCAA Baseball Tournament was underway. I found inspiration in the terrific performances of the Great State of South Carolina's Big Three. Clemson, Coastal, and Carolina were all in the thick of things into Super Regional week-end. This year, only Carolina remains standing.

I posted a very few blogs last summer, struggling to find a rhythm for my writing. I wrote an entry. Weeks and sometimes months passed before I was moved to write another. Summer became fall and fall winter, and still my writing was sporadic at best. But with 2011 and from an unknown and somewhat uncertain source came more depth, more soul, more passion, more about which to write and an oft present voice in my head saying, "You can do this."

My year has brought me happiness, hope, sadness, loss, disappointment. Through it all, I have found an unexpected outlet and a source of surprising strength in my blog. The intimate innermost circle who share my adventure have encouraged and supported the Dee Initiative. They know who they are and what they have done for me. All my love always to each of those among the first to meet and, both literally and figuratively, embrace Dee.

I will push on with my writing. As I reach this one year mark and as I did last year, I will do that which is so difficult for this Tiger girl.....I will wish the South Carolina Gamecocks the best of luck in the NCAA's. Will they again find the magic that last year led to a national championship? Possibly. Will I continue to find my own voice at least in part thanks to the the one I hear inside my head......the one I am most sure is my mother's? I will try. Will I find inspiration and magic to pump into Definitely Dee? Well.......definitely! Happy Birthday, Dee.

"Koastal" Krispy Kreming

What is it about doughnuts at the beach? Perhaps this is another reason I love the coast. I rarely if ever eat a doughnut. But, at the beach, let me just say three little words.....hot and now!

I was in a class at the beach a while back with a great friend of mine from work. I cannot reveal her name....she would vehemently deny this story. In all truthfulness, however, ten pm found us in our hotel room in pj's wolfing down wonderfully still warm doughnuts. A life passage has definitely occurred when savoring these doughy delicacies in my pj's is preferable to an excursion to hot beach club 2001!

Drew has Daddies and Doughnuts at school once a year. Moms are invited to the still nice but somehow less enticing Muffins for Moms. Whether muffins or doughnuts or for that matter seafood or steaks, nothing tastes quite as good at home as it does at the beach, does it?

Drifting back to the coast, on this trip and on my cousins' recommendation, we discovered a great little spot called Mr. Fish. Located in a Myrtle Beach strip shopping center and all indications that it at some previous time was a deli, Mr. Fish served up one of the most fun and varied seafood menus I have ever seen. Mr. Fish must have offered a dozen at least fresh catches ranging from mahi to roughy and everything in between. There were tilapia and tuna, flounder and fish tacos, salmon and shrimp and grits, grouper, cheesy crab dip....I even think I spotted sushi. Sassy sides included red beans and rice and cabbage and squash (that's cabbage and squash as in one dish). Mr. Fish also offered great tee shirts at great prices. Readers will be happy to hear that I passed up the wicked double entendre of the "If it smells like fish, eat it" version, but take my word that those were selling fast. (Imagine that!) With an appealingly wide selection of beer and wine, the only 'dee' lights I didn't find there were....you guessed it.....doughnuts!