A Lunar Valentine

(Photo Credit to Frank Mottek.....)


A very young Drew always called her Luna....that especially beautiful, most brilliant  moon that always captured his imagination, as she always has mine.  And, yes, I saw her the other night....the if not full then almost full Luna rising in majestic glory amongst our tall backyard trees.  She has become and forever will be Uncle Check's Moon.....Uncle Check's Moon thanks to a story his beloved wife told me. 

My Dear Aunt Teeny recently 'wrote' with her words a Valentine....a Valentine with imagery so beautiful I could not possibly hope to match.  For she told a story of intimacy....a story of love.....a story of friendship.....a story of what marriage should be.  It was a story of a moment and of a gorgeous moon that rose on one of Uncle Check's last evenings.  As this wife of sixty plus years sat carefully, quietly on the edge of her ailing husband's bed, she chatted softly, not sure what he heard and what he did not.  She soaked up each remaining moment with her very best friend, trying to remember everything said and done in those precious minutes, minutes she, in her own word, held sacred.

Suddenly, rising outside the window, there she was.....the breathtaking, almost magical Luna.....perfectly framed in the glass beside my uncle's bed....Luna.....bright beyond belief.  My aunt blinked.....then breathed a quiet sigh.  She prompted Uncle Check to lean or turn or at least look up as he could to see the spectacular moon in the window, so he could just once more share one of nature's most spectacular shows with her.  He declined at first and again....weak and tired, eyes almost closed.  But, his wife and soul mate persisted and continued to prompt until.... finally.... her weary husband looked out the window and upward.  His eyes lit up with the wonder of this moon.  A near twinkle.  A weak smile.  A momentary peace.  A moment in time......

Years before when his beloved grandsons were young, Blake and Louis had astounded us all by recognizing and identifying a waxing from a waning moon. Even earlier, Andi declares that Louis' first word was not Mama, not Dada, but moon.  I suppose Luna had already cast her spell on this next generation of young Blakeneys, these boys so adored by their doting granddad.

Many years later, in the weeks after losing this special man, I see a television commercial.  I am not even sure what is being advertised....a car I suppose.  But a quiet Dad and his very young perhaps sleepless son ride along a winding road, Dad driving,  boy behind in his car seat.  Suddenly through the vehicle's front window, a massive moon rises on the horizon ahead.  The wide-eyed wonder in the little boy's eye....the enormity of this creation of lunar marketing, but more originally of God, well it is simply stunning.....

And now, for now and forever, each and every time I see that stunning moon, waxing or waning, a lover's moon or a harvest moon,  even the much beloved Goodnight Moon ......whether in print, on screen, or in person, I will think of my Uncle Check, and I will know beyond any doubt that my precious aunt will be doing the same.  This special woman with whom I share so many memories and so many bonds will share yet another with a niece she taught French, albeit French with a 'dee-cided' Southern twang on my part, and Advanced Composition and, much more importantly, lessons about intimacy and love, and friendship and what marriage should  be.  This aunt and her niece will now share this precious Valentine moment....our moment in time.

I know my Uncle Check is out there sharing the singular magic of the moon....just from the other side.  To my beautiful aunt and my amazing cousins, Happy Valentine's Day.......

Caramel, Cousins, and Hard Conversations

Today I visited with my 'Blakeney Cousins'.  On most occasions, that would be reason for joy, for eager anticipation of the stories, laughter, and love, even of the Carolina Clemson banter we would share.  Not today.   Although I treasure every moment spent with these girls, today is quite different.  Today is surreal.  Today is heartbreaking.  Today, there just aren't words.

We've tred this path before, have my cousins and I.  We have plowed this ground together.  It never gets easier.  I think of how oddly often such visits and conversations as these  are accompanied by caramel cake.  Perhaps not so odd,  for Pageland folks know that many of the Blakeneys love caramel cake.  So, when the hardest, most trying of times hit, caramel cake is frequently part of the equation....part of the talking through....part of the tears.....part of the nervous laughter....part of the memories.....part of the healing....part of the love.

My cousins are ALWAYS there for me.  I want to be there for them.  We are a generation of all girls...only girls.....five girls......five Daddy's Girls of two brothers.  We face an unbearable loss.  We aren't ready.

Too many of these most painful of losses for my cousins, my sisters, and me have come at Christmas.  The holidays will never be quite as they once were.  Years later there is still the widower husband who cannot bear to decorate a Christmas tree.  Years forward, there will be the wife of more than sixty years who searches for the simple joys of Christmases past, the daughters who find it so painful to remember yet so impossible to forget, and the cousins who wish to make it better but can't.

Uncle Check was (and is) my 'Uncle' crush,' you know....in the vein of a girl crush or boy crush or star crush.  Handsome, impeccably well-dressed, wonderful laugh, great smile, athletic, special.  Even this week as I visited, still that almost chiseled face; that one forehead curl.  Love..... my dad's only brother.....my dear uncle.  His stories over the years of panning for semi-precious stones and of elderberry wine, of travels and  memories delighted and intrigued me.   To him, I was always "Neesie;" never ever 'Denise.'  Somehow, I always found such peace and happiness in that.

So often when spoken words aren't there for me, I turn to the private time with my keyboard and my blog, to say what it hurts too much to say out loud......yet another good-bye.  We understand if you have to leave us, My Sweet Uncle, and it is okay.  But, we so wish you didn't have to go.  Family will never be quite the same.  Christmas will never be quite the same.  I will never be the same.

I left my visit with my cousins.  I've cried 'til there are no more tears.  I shudder every time the phone rings, for I know a call is coming.

Three cousins will try to comfort two cousins.  Three without their mom, two without their dad.....five girls will find a way to share the hard conversations and maybe some caramel cake this Christmas.

PS:  On my last visit, I wondered if my uncle knew who I was.  Just as I determined he probably did not, Uncle Check grinned at me and mumbled that I needed a good spanking.  I had to smile.  Clearly, he knew exactly which of his nieces was visiting that day.

DMV Due Diligence

This morning, I dutifully arrived at the local DMV to renew my license.  In all fairness, in South Carolina, this process is only required once every ten years.  You'll forgive me if I have forgotten some of how it all goes down.   I was given the required paperwork and a number.....number 307 to be exact.  Knowing that couldn't be good, I took my seat, completed my form, and waited....and waited....and waited....

Finally I heard the computerized and weirdly sexy voice, "Number 307, we are ready to serve you at Window 8."  Okay, now we are in business.

Dee to DMV Person:  Good morning.  Hope you are having a good day.  I need to renew my license.

DMV Person (not smiling):  Who is your insurance with?

Dee (smiling):  I really don't have any idea.  Luckily, I haven't had to use it....knock on wood.....

DMV Person (not smiling and interrupting):  M'am, I will have to know who holds your insurance.

Dee:  Oh, well that would be George.  (Reaching for my cell), I can call him if you would like to speak with him. 

DMV Person (sighing):  M'am, I can't speak to anyone on your phone.

Dee (beginning to smile less):  Ok, well I will talk to him....Minutes later, we have insurance information.

DMV Person:  You'll need an eye test.  Press the bar at the top of the machine.

Dee (pressing furiously with my finger):  I'm sorry; your machine doesn't seem to be working.

DMV Person:  M'am, press your FOREHEAD against the bar; not your finger.

Dee:  Oh, well I guess that would  work better, wouldn't it?

DMV Person (now seriously tapping his pencil and clearly frowning):  Read Line 5, please.

Dee (reaching for readers)....

DMV Person:  M'am, this is distance reading.  If you don't wear glasses or contacts, you should be able to read it without your readers.  Line 5, please.

Dee (feeling both readerless.... which for me borders on nudity.... and totally intimidated):  Okay, Okay.....PAQ  TRE  YOL  MTV  ODB

DMV Person (still frowning):  You're missing one....

Dee (feeling VERY successful):  Only one....that's pretty good; I am surprised because....

DMV Person (again interrupting):  I MEAN you are missing one out of every group of three.  Would you like to try again?

Dee:  PAQ

DMV Person:  That is NOT a Q!

Dee (looking again):  PAO  TRE

DMV Person (exasperated):  M'am, that is not an R.

Dee (equally exasperated):  P then, is it a P?

DMV Person:  M'am, I cannot tell you if each letter is right or wrong.

Dee (under my breath):  SOB

DMV Person:  Excuse me?

Dee:  ODB

DMV Person:  M'am, are you sure you don't wear contacts?

Dee:  No, are you sure you don't have the slightest sense of humor?  (Alright, alright, Dee Readers, I didn't say it, but I thought it.)

Finally DMV Person (sighing):  M'am, would you step down to the lady at the last counter for your new photo?

Dee (thinking to self,  finally  the opportunity to speak with someone a little more laid back....Geez).  Just as I step up to the appropriate window, the DMV photographer says, "Honey, it's my break time; could you wait just a moment for my relief?"  "Sure," I respond, just as I glance over my shoulder to see Guess Who making his way down to take my photo.

So glad to be wearing my Keller Williams name tag today.  Think he will ever be calling me for a listing?  Oh well, it's only once every ten years.......

When Dreams Die......

It's so hard when dreams die, isn't it?  This past week-end was one of dying football dreams all over the state of South Carolina.  Football isn't just a sport here.  It is almost a religion and most definitely a way of life.  It fosters both love and hate.  It bears pride and shame.  It is nearly indescribable in its wicked hold on the Sandlapper State for thirteen weeks each fall.

South Carolina will get over its almost certain loss at their shot at the SEC East Division title.  Clemson will get over its certain loss at an outside shot at the National Title and their goal of an ACC Championship.  South Carolina's dying dream came amidst a gritty performance by an improving Tennessee team.  Clemson's loss came at home, before legions of Tiger fans, in The Valley they hold almost sacred.

That either team lost was not totally unexpected.  But the way in which the Dreams of the Orange died....that was the surprise.  The Tigers did not even show up.....in their own house.   Over and over silly mistakes, penalties, and miscues doomed Clemson's efforts to get back in.  The truth was it was over, completely over,  just a few minutes into the game.  And the Death Valley crowd knew it.

Some had speculated the team would make their breathtaking appearance at the top of the hill wearing all orange.  It didn't happen.  Some thought the Florida State Freshman Phenom would fold under the pressure of a hostile road stadium and a senior led high energy Clemson team.  It didn't happen....the high energy or the folding.

All day the dream had built......built....built toward a fevered crescendo when the beloved Tigers would finally appear at Howard's Rock.  All day building.... building, and yet something seemed a little different from the Georgia atmosphere of six weeks prior.  Maybe it was the sheer magnitude of what was about to happen....maybe it was everything riding on this one....Divisional Championship, ACC Championship, outside shot at a National Title Game.  Maybe it was the endless pre-game hype.

ESPN Gameday back in Tigertown......Guest Prognosticator Bill Murray tackling Lee Corso for Lee's most unpopular pick of the Seminoles......Press everywhere.....Drew's frantic search to buy a sharpie, just so he could get Tajh's autograph after the game......A frenetic Tiger Walk for Clemson's 'Boys of Fall'.... Band Parade past Johnstone toward the stadium.....massive 'fan jams' at the gates.  Clouds and cool yielding to that orange sun peeking through just in time for gametime.

Suddenly, the moment was here.  Here 'where the Blue Ridge yawns its greatness,' the awaited blue lights appear at the top of the hill.......buses of Tigers chomping at the bit to show what they could do....Tiger Band marching, almost skipping, toward the end zone and the hill........Memorial Stadium aglow in orange....fire batons in air....massive bouquets of orange balloons straining at the seams of the wrappings trying almost hopelessly to contain them.  The crowd was amazing; the stadium nearly shuddered with the weight and tension of the moment.  A thunderous rendition of "We Will Rock You" sung by 85,000 would be musicians.  The cannon fires.  The run down the hill....the roar was "pawsitively" deafening.....kick-off....and suddenly in only minutes....it ended.  The crowd was out. The Tigers trailed by 17.  Flashback to West Virginia two years ago.  This just was not going to be a Clemson night.  A rattled and possibly injured quarterback.  Skill players way off their game.  Defense gashed for big play after big play.  And an opponent the likes of which we had not seen and were not at all ready for.  Who ever would have thought a freshman quarterback and the grandson of the elegant Jack Nicklaus would combine to be the total undoing of the Tigers in their own den on this day when dreams became nightmares?

We will find out who this Clemson team is next week.  We really wanted to know last.

Dreams die so hard sometimes.....

 

Why Not Believe.......

Lee Corso, how could you not believe....

On this Saturday when not only hundreds of thousands of Tiger faithful but also America's 5th and 8th ranked teams, ESPN's College Gameday, and a national prime time television audience converged at The Valley?  On this Clemson day that started Southern sunny and hot, then turned silver gray with rain and lightning (Thunder and Lightning, maybe?) then just in time for kickoff  became clear, a little less steamy than before, breezy and beautiful with  could it be a pale orange sky? As an aside, I for one was most glad for the clouds and cooling showers, as I had begun to worry that my stick on brassiere was not going to remain....well "stuck on" in the sweltering August heat. 

Lest I digress, on this day when historic Bowman Field, where soldiers once drilled and where Homecoming Floats have for 100 years since welcomed Clemson masses back, turned into a sea of Solid Orange?  On this day when, decades overdue, Danny Ford joined the Clemson Ring of Honor?  On this day when my middle sister, who bleeds just as orange as the other two of us but never, ever wears it showed up in her own orange ensemble....thank you, Janie, for making sure there was at least something orange in Di's wardrobe........Lee, how could you not believe?

There were moments I will admit that made me wonder if the football gods were actually smiling on Clemson....when, for instance,  the stadium announcer brightly announced during Pre-Game festivities that sadly our stadium flag flew at half staff tonight because of a "polling malfunction."  What?  Surely not on this night.

Or when the...no pun intended.... 'cocky' Georgia fans strolled through with signs and decals reading....."They couldn't even protect the rock!"  Even I will have to admit that one was pretty good.....

Or when the inebriated fan three rows back from Pop and Grandmommy's seats, seats on this auspicious day occupied by daughters and a granddaughter, became overly excited and fell four rows forward, taking down the gentleman behind us, my lovely and hopefully future Clemson coed niece, and two young men in front of us in a frightening version of vertical human dominoes,  one after another, row after row, plunging frantically forward.

Or when a live ball bounced frighteningly loose in the Clemson end zone just waiting for a Bulldog to pounce.  Or when a back named Herschel or Gershel or Gurly or something of the sort ran all over our defense.  Or when the Dogs lined up for a tying field goal....

But somehow, even if Lee didn't know it, somehow even if he couldn't find it in himself to believe, on this  day, a coach, a staff, a team, nearly 100,000 of Tiger Nation in the stadium and possibly that many more again in the 'parking lot party' crowded around tailgates and coolers and TV's did.

We knew.  We believed.  Today, tonight, could be special.  And it was. The Tigers  managed to do enough.  Tonight the glow in Death Valley was dee-cidedly orange.... from the famed run down the hill into a Clemson crowd this day worked into a frenzy from the heat and the wait and the moment,  until the final gun sounded, it was something special indeed.

Work to be done?  Absolutely.  A couple of breaks that clearly tonight went Clemson's way.  Yes, indeed.  But, on this day, at this moment in Tigertown, Lee Corso, how could you not believe?

How To Live

I love Kate's writing assignments....definitely. Needless to say, Kate does not, but seeing as we agree on virtually nothing, who is surprised by that?  Kate was to write her own "How To Live" piece, following the template of Charles Webb's How To Live. Excerpts from Webb's writing spoke to me....

Go fly fishing every chance you get, with friends
who'll teach you secrets of the stream.

Read Dostoyevsky, Whitman, Shakespeare and Twain.

Snorkel with moray eels and yellow tangs.

Try not to lie; it sours the soul. But being a patsy sours it too.

Have kids if you can afford them,
but don't make them your reason to be.
Spare them that misery. Take them to the beach.

If you get sick, don't thrive on suffering. There is nothing noble about pain.

Listen to Elvis....and Bach.

Own Perlman's ""Meditation from Thais."

Don't be too sane. Work hard. Loaf easily.

Have good friends, and be good to them.

Be immoderate in moderation. Spend little time anesthetized.

Smile for the camera. Don't say "Cheese."

So, what was Kate's perspective on How to Live?

Eat Jamaican chicken, cheese ring, and peach cobbler. (the latter two being the only things her mom can cook)
Dive from the cliffs in Negril.
Visit Atlantis Paradise Island.
Soak up some sun on a Jamaican beach.  (I'm sensing a developing theme)
Soar above the clouds on an airplane. (relieved that wasn't some other high)
Go on a no budget shopping spree.  (She is her mother's daughter)
Meet a famous person.
Take a picture with the Hollywood sign.
Surf some waves in Hawaii.
Scuba with sharks if you're not scared.
Own a Lab, they'll be by your side through everything. (love to Ella and Marley and Bart and Bailey and Sunny and Footsy)
Drive a sportscar and reach maximum speed.
Kiss in the pouring rain.
Ride a rollercoaster and don't hold on.
Read The Bible; it'll teach you about life.
Learn right from wrong and left from right. (Extremely important before upcoming driver's road test)
Try to learn algebra, even though you'll probably never use it.
Trust yourself more than others because in the end you're all you have.
Figure out who you're meant to be regardless of others' input.
Watch The Proposal, The Blind Side, and Finding Nemo.
Remember 9/11, Michael Jackson, Whitney, and fallen soldiers.
Remember that you're perfect just the way you are.
Don't stay stuck in the past; it'll only hold you back.
Don't waste your breath arguing with mom because she will make sure she is always right.
Don't mourn.  You'll meet again one day.
Don't look back and wish you had done something; life is too short to live with regrets.
Be a friend, a sister, a girlfriend, and a child of God.
Be yourself because you're youer than you, and there's no one alive who could ever be you.

Yes, Charles Webb spoke to me.  My daughter spoke to me even more.....

Nephewisms

I am remarkably blessed by and with the nothing short of amazing kids in my extended family, and particularly it seems, with nephews of both the Pettit and Blakeney lineage.  Let's see.... one finished Clemson with a perfect 4.0 in Engineering, there are two nephew Eagle Scouts, a star high school athlete who will soon work his magic in a pool of swimming Gamecocks, a Demon Deacon who I am most modestly convinced will be President, a very young budding athlete with an undeniable competitive side, and now a drummer .....a drummer seemingly on the verge of something spectacularly special with his band Autopilot.

Autopilot.  Admittedly, there is a gorgeous blonde with the face of an angel and a gift for vocals, for the guitar, and for lyrics.  There is a talented and smooth indie guitarist or two.  But, this is about nephews, in this case my nephew..... a nephew drummer, a young star.  So pardon me, but  for  me, the doting aunt, he, my nephew, is Autopilot.  With Corey and Hunter,  he soars.....they soar.  With Autopilot, they become dream chasers, weaving their collective gifts into a truly remarkable one.

I love this Autopilot.  I hear Sheryl Crowe. I hear a little Carole King. These kids may not even know who she is. I hear moody and expressful guitars.  But, there is something....something I cannot quite verbalize....something....why yes of course, ...it's my nephew, the drummer!

I'm a wordie and unashamedly drawn to the lyrics.....the imagery of dancers in her eyes, the strength of I'm perfectly fine without you, the Southern simplicity of Sunday Driving.  Autopilot....speaking to and for a young generation....a day gone by.....days ahead.....love lost....new confidence found...... teenage hope.....teenage despair.....helplessness.....struggle.....strength.  I love them.  I truly do.

But, when you get right down to it, I most love the beat....probably because I most love the drummer who provides it. He's that special mix of handsome and sweet, of grace and awkwardness, of funny and serious, of introvert and extrovert, of humility and swag.  He always has been.  And he's mine.  Named for both his physician great grandfather and his physician grandfather....one who birthed half a city,  one who ministered to at least the other half, this boy like his mother's grandad and his mother's dad has, as our aunt would say, a certain je ne sais quois,  and it is indeed special.  This Vans wearing, skateboard stunting, tennis playing,  rather strange headgear sporting kid has his own.... very Carr version..... of it.

I love that Carr and Autopilot are chasing...chasing a dream...chasing their very own fireflies.  From a Durham basement, something special is born. Something special takes flight. From long working nights amidst North Carolina's almost mystical moonlight and magnolias comes legitimate hope of a Triangle music success story.  Like the lure of lightning bugs, a future success in Southern lights and maybe even beyond is calling.....calling Autopilot. 

A near term future holds Boston and LA, an excited father reliving his own youth and dreams through and with his son, and a mom finding a new, very chic sort of "indie hip."

My drummer nephew may someday be a star, like many of the other nephews in my family.  But, for Dee, he will always be that precious boy, the younger of her amazing sister, with a shy but slightly mischevious grin and an undeniable sparkle in his eye....a sparkle that, at least for Dee, has 'dee-finitely' said special since long before his drums.