Lions, and Tigers, and Duck Snorts....Oh My!

Duck Snorts. My South Carolina friends, family, and fanatics will appreciate the tip of the hat....or feather as it were..... to their remarkable former baseball coach, now Athletic Director, Ray Tanner and his personally coined phrase.....I assume it is his; I had never heard it before.

Tanner deemed duck snorts those special bounces of a ball your way, the sometimes unexpected, often unearned little pieces of luck that when combined with undeniable talent and preparation turned his teams into NCAA champions twice over and oh so close to a third. I love that. Tanner is too smart not to know that it takes a few 'duck snorts' to accomplish something special. It always does.

This morning, I heard an old, really really old....I would guess circa 1950.....interview with favorite of mine the late, great Andy Griffith. Andy was asked by the wonderful Edward R. Murrow what it took to make it, as Andy had, in a relatively short period of time. Andy's response with his slow southern drawl, perpetually twinkling eyes, and huge toothy grin was, "You've gotta have the talent when the time comes to carry the ball. But there's a lot of luck involved....being in the right place at the right time...being ready."

Ray Tanner would agree with Andy's homespun wisdom, and with possible exception to Andy's reference to football instead of baseball, they may be saying the same thing. What Andy called luck, Tanner called duck snorts. Either way, they can make all the difference, can't they? Both Andy and Ray were wise enough, and honest enough, to admit it.

Football season is upon us, and although first articulated by a baseball man, I "dee"-finitely think the duck snort will transfer, or should I say waddle, easily over to the pigskin setting. What's the saying, "If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...." I am thinking this season it might be a duck snort that is that makes all the difference. I am hoping it might be possible for a Tiger team to experience a few of those sometimes elusive duck snorts....that call that maybe shouldn't have gone your way but did.....that ball that bounces off three defenders into the hands of your receiver for a touchdown.....the extra point blocked that gives you a one point win. Surely Gamecocks and Panthers are hoping the same. Per Andy's recipe, our big three may be in "the right place at the right time, ready with the talent when their time comes to carry the ball." In these parts, they carry more than a football. They carry the nearly frenetic hopes of hundreds of thousands of rabid fans. The question just might be are they lucky enough to garner a duck snort or two. At any rate, let's tee it up, kick it off.....my favorite time of year. Go Ducks.....Go Teams. Let's Do This!

"Calling Passenger #26C7D8"

Dedicated to Aunt Di, Uncle Mark, Matt, Carr, Fielder, Mishi, and Sadie for giving Kate a memorable summer break.



After much deliberation and first a no, then yes, then no again, I was finally persuaded by my more worldly sister to let her put Kate alone on the Amtrak for a train trip from Durham to Charlotte. And since Diane didn't want to bring Kate home, and I didn't want to go get her, we were quickly running out of other available options...unless of course Diane was interested in adopting.

I was told when I called to purchase the ticket that my daughter would be interviewed, and the station supervisor would determine if Kate would be allowed to travel alone. I hesitated at this revelation, for Kate has been known to on occasion stretch the truth, tell tall tales, etc. I thought back over the many, many stories born in that limitless imagination of Kate's that she has told me and others over the years. What questions would the supervisor ask, I wondered. More importantly, what responses would Kate give? I would learn that her interview consisted of one question......"Do you follow instructions well?" Kate answered yes, yet another of her tall tales, to be sure.

At 11:45 am.....Kate was to board the Piedmont 75 in Durham at 12:10 pm .... I received my first in the very predictable series of phone calls. Kate, in a hushed voice..."Mommy, I'm in the custody of a weird woman." Well, I thought, that should be easy. My daughter is in the custody of a 'weird woman' every day of her life.

Kate proceeded to share that she had an ID bracelet with numbers and must constantly report her whereabouts (restroom, snack bar, etc.) to the....ummmm.....'weird woman.' I'm liking this person already...I cannot get Kate to constantly report her whereabouts to me when she is at home. You go, Weird Woman!

Kate's next comment was that she wouldn't be surprised if they made her change into a uni with her numbers across the front.....surely a phobia birthed from three years of middle school required uniforms. But alas, to the great relief of my suddenly fashionista child, that request never came.

The next call was classic Kate. "Mommy, the only things they have in the snack bar are cookies and crackers, and I waited to eat lunch until I was on the train." Well, Kate My Darling, did you expect prime rib? Undoubtedly, when Aunt Di mentioned Amtrak, Kate heard Orient Express.

Next call, also predictable..."Mommy, why can't I ride in first class?" Does Amtrak have first class? No matter, coach is fine on a plane....coach will do on the train.

Periodically during her trip, Kate says a booming voice over the intercom announces "Kate Pettit, report your whereabouts," at which time Kate as instructed presses a button from whatever location she currently occupies. I am telling you, Dee Readers, I think there is something to this system.

Kate also called to report that she had never seen so many pigs, cows, and corn fields as she did on her rail adventure through rural North Carolina. Surprising with her roots in Pageland and Lancaster, but I guess I have a city girl on my hands. I had to wonder if that was really corn, to which Kate would respond, "I know it is corn. I saw the scarecrow." That's my girl!

Flash forward two hours in real time. I have, I might say, in most uneventful fashion, made it to the Tryon Street Amtrak station to meet Piedmont 75 bearing its very special and, as previously noted, hungry passenger Kate. Those who know this realtor and that she gets lost going around the block can appreciate the magnitude of that accomplishment. And, other than seeing unbelievably few people wearing pants on their waists.....sorry, I shouldn't judge.....I am very comfortable here. Granted, it is not Grand Central Station, but I find myself wondering why more people don't travel by train. Except for the station location a little too close to Charlotte's infamous intersection of Trade and Tryon, this really is pretty great.

Admittedly, before today, I had pictured Charlotte's Amtrak Hub to be exactly like Chicago's stunning Union Station just as I remember it from one of my favorite movies The Untouchables , so I am a little disappointed in the decided lack of architecture, missing sweeping staircases, or especially the notably absent Kevin Costner and Andy Garcia who should certainly be here to protect me. But, it is fine.

And making it even better, just then an announcement. "Piedmont 75 is approaching the station." And with it, my suddenly so very grown up daughter.....Passenger #26C7D8.

August 1

August 1....my stepson Joseph's birthday.......our Miss Ruby's birthday.....and my mother's birthday. Odd that three such integral and important people in my life shared the same birthday.

I have told my dad and my sisters that my "mother blogs" will be happier now, not the tear jerkers of a year ago. But my mother's birthday....her day....August 1 continues to bring me overwhelming feelings of love and loss and what might have been and worst of all what was.

Caught amidst scattered remembrances of her laughing so hard she cried.....Drew once commented, "Grandmommy smiles so hard she squints" (isn't that a great phrase; good job, Drew)..... I am haunted by remembrances of my mother's final cries to go home, upstairs, to her bed.

But then, I also remember at 16 years old, those teen years when I know I so often disappointed her, looking out from the stage where I had won a hometown high school pageant. The pride and excitement in my mother's face were such that one might have thought I had just been crowned Miss Universe. I guess mothers are like that, right?

Mother had a weak stomach and often when the issues to be dealt with were of the sick children variety, it was Daddy who got the duty call. It was indeed fortunate that my mom was blessed with the physician husband who had seen it all before. But, I recall when so nauseated during my labor with Drew that I couldn't hold my head up, it was Mother there beside my hospital bed, holding my hand while Daddy, my OB-GYN, and even Adrian checked a ballgame score on tv. Note to Dee....I am glad I remembered that one......another blog for another day.

From decades back, I vividly remember Mother's agony as she shared with me the horrifying news that she had accidentally backed over and killed my sweet English Setter Scamp. I remember with equal agony how completely unforgiving I was as we sat at the little round table in the close confines of her Garden City condo and she broke the news to me.

More recently, I and my sisters will recall a Christmas gift of a "fake fur" jacket to my mother. Remember those? And the way she reacted, you might have thought it was mink. Mother broke into one of those squinty smiles Drew had noticed and happily modeled the Target .....that's Targe' of course....coat for us all.

Pastor Joel spoke of prisms during Mother's funeral services. I think again of that description as I have so many times since. My mother's strength, stubborness if you will, versus her weakness and frequent dependence on my dad......my mother's love of clothes and shoes and fashion but the cruel irony of her later near inability to dress in anything other than sweatsuits.......my mother's frequent tardiness but her arrival at Matt's graduation a full hour early.....my mother's sedentary life and yet her childhood chore of watering turkeys (ongoing apologies to my mom that I was so sure in her confusion she had somehow inexplicably inserted herself into an episode of "Little House on the Prarie")....my mother's seeming few friends..... yet her impassioned love of those she had....my mother's unending correction of my/our grammar....my doing the same with my children today.....my mother's oft evident disdain for the kitchen.....mine today.....my mother's fierce devotion to her family.....my lioness like protection of my children.....my mother's love of Clemson and football....my hopes that Drew will attend or even play there.

When did the torch pass? When did I absorb so much of my mom? Why is that suddenly less bad than I once thought it would be? Instead of rebuking the piles of newspapers in her den that drove us all crazy, I now think of how voraciously she read and how much she absorbed of two newspaper publications and numerous magazines every day. I remember the maddening two and a half hour meals because she ate so interminably slowly, but now my wish would be for just one more dinner that might last who knows or who cares how long.

Sunday afternoon I sent Kate off for a few days with Diane. Likely my precious daughter and this one of my beautiful and beloved sisters will be together this Wednesday when Diane's and my mother's, Kate's grandmother's, birthday rolls around. Perhaps this daughter and granddaughter can share an August 1 story, a memory, a laugh, a tear, a "Patism."

We are still missing you, Mother.....still figuring it all out with you gone. But it is getting better. I stood alone for a moment at your grave on Sunday. I know my sisters and our dad had been there earlier, but this was my minute, our minute, yours and mine......our moment in time. Diane, Donna, and I think of you all the time, but never quite so much as on August 1.

Photo by Frank Mottek. A quick post script, I chose this photo for my post, then noticed yesterday, August 1, 2012 there was a full moon. Happy Birthday, Mother.....

Catfish and White Chocolate

I have blogged before that I find nicknames fascinating and fun. My feelings about nicks versus propers have definitely evolved. In my earlier years I always said that I would never want my children to have nicknames. I thought their given names should be the names they were called. Why go through the stress, time and trouble of choosing the perfect name only to use a different one I thought? But, as they.....whoever they are....always say and as fate would have it, you can never say never. Alas, both my children are called nearly exclusively by their nicknames. And I have come to think there is something about a nickname that says you have arrived. So many iconic sports figures had the great nickname to complement their game. Great generals, world leaders, CEO's so often sport befitting nicknames. The beguilingly beautiful Kate Middleton now taking the world by storm has seemingly embraced a nickname. Even our newly adopted pup Audrey aka Batgirl, Wonder Woman, W is now, courtesy of our 21 month old grandson, Aubeeeeeee. She has 'dee'finitely arrived.

Yesterday, Drew and I watched new Today show cohost Savannah Guthrie proudly report on her brother's Green Mountain Boys air national guard unit. In addition to the famous nickname of their group as a whole, all the flyers had individual nicknames, some decidedly less than flattering. Let's see, there were Catfish, Pooter, and Booger.....shall I continue? My very quick son very quickly said, "Ooh, I would want Catfish." Good choice, My Little Man, considering the other alternatives.

This week at our local high school mini football camp for youth, Drew was dubbed "White Chocolate." White Chocolate..... I've had to think about that. He is definitely sweet enough is my precious boy. We are often complimented on his polite mannrs and respectful attitude. And, isn't it true that there is no nicer compliment for parents than to hear their child's manners are what they should be. But White Chocolate ? What does this mean? Fast, runny, slow, goopy? Aromatic.....Drew does have a decidedly boy odor at times. I might call it odiferous rather than aromatic. Thick.....I believe anyone who knows my super slim Drew would find that a definite misnomer. Gritty.....now there's one I hope Drew is or will be. Smooth.....he certainly can be. Melty.....I think not. They called Walter Peyton "Sweetness." Is that where Coach was headed? Are we talking here about Drew's moves or his personality or perhaps both?

Lancaster's legendary African American football coach Bennie McMurray thinks my son is White Chocolate. Wonder how he would have felt about Catfish?

Mamma Mia Mayhem

So my fourteen year old daughter is definitely looking nineteen these days.....not a good situation from any point of view. Saturday, a new twist. She and I were walking through South Park, the mall of choice (her choice, that is) in nearby Charlotte. A kiosk operator shouted and motioned in our direction, as he called, "Sisters, come on over. I have something you will love." Kate was mortified and nearly ran past the smiling.... then not so much .... kiosker. Once I managed to catch up, I asked my oh so sensitive, not to mention still quickly moving, daughter what was the problem. "Momma," she said, "I can't believe he thought we were sisters. That makes me so mad." "Why?" I asked. "I should think you would be pleased, maybe even proud if someone thought you and I were sisters. Wouldn't you like to think you had a younger looking mom?"

Kate hesitated, then said, " Well if they think you are my sister that might be okay. But if they think I am your sister....that would be horrible." What did she say? My Junior Beta Club President, AP Honor Student daughter (ummm except perhaps in algebra), certainly you might think in line for the "words gene", sometimes has trouble putting an even remotely logical thought together. But after continued and determined query we finally understood each other. If I look young enough to be her sis, that is okay. But if she looks old enough to be mine, that in her mind is another and totally different matter altogether.

At Kate's high school orientation night last spring, a Lancaster High School assistant principal asked Kate if I were her sister. Kate decided then and there she should attend Indianland High...or AJ....or Buford....anywhere but Lancaster.

I sympathize with Kate's conundrum. It is hard to be a barely teen caught in a college coed body. I think I was in a similar predicament, although with me it was not so much the body that looked older than my age, it was my face. I was often in my high school years mistaken for an older girl. Kate is finding, as I did, that can be a blessing and just as easily a curse.

What I didn't tell Kate was that the kiosk person wanted to sell something and the assistant principal was trying to score points with a prospective parent. She wouldn't have wanted to listen anyway. Her humiliation was total and complete. Someone said she and her mother looked like sisters. The motivation didn't matter. That they simply dared to publicly utter the words was more than enough devastation for my teen daughter.

The trouble is I am not sure who is having the greater identity crisis in this symbiotic mom and daughter thing. Kate tells me on the one hand, as in when she wants her nose or belly button or ear cartilage pierced, that I should be more cool, more hip. But, on the other hand, if I look kind of...well, sort of.... with it, that is totally unacceptable to her.

So, as my teen and I continue to navigate the often treacherous waters of a mother/teen daughter relationship, I find myself wondering not so much who she will become, but who I at the moment am. Funny, I thought I had this figured out years ago.....

Que Pasa.....

So, it was not our best night at the local cantina Mexicana. Allow me to set the stage. We eat there twice a week....at least twice a week. Waiters, hostesses, owner, probably dishwasher know us by name. Kate actually grabs the marker from the hostess and ceremoniously circles her own table and waiter selection as we arrive in the tiny lobby. Of course, Kate probably earned the privilege as she has done everything from 'shadowing' there for a school assignment to, on a recent visit, teaching the owner 'The Wobble.' That wasn't pretty, but she definitely is doing her part to share a touch of Americana with this Mexican contingent. Perhaps a career in the UN is in her future. But back to the blog......

Last night happened to be one of our bi-weekly Mexican dinner nights. We had a delicious meal, including our new favorite guacamole prepared tableside. All had gone well. Adrian had even asked if they would be willing to sell their mucho good margarita mixer to go, and they graciously complied. I think as much as we are there if we had asked to be given the youngest child of the owner, the affable Fernando would have graciously complied.

As we rose to leave our favorite table and our favorite waiter, Adrian with jug in hand, and indeed it was a large jug of mixer....Fernando said it would make 125 margaritas....of course we saw not just one but several parishioners of our church. May I say as a child of a Baptist upbringing, some days it can be a benefit to be Methodist.....

One friend, enjoying the Mexican cuisine minus the margaritas, looked over at the jug somewhat disapprovingly, or perhaps jealously, and coyly remarked that the party must be at our house. Then, as she glanced at me, she commented...."Looks like maybe the party has already started!" Puzzled, I followed her gaze and glanced downward only to see that both of the meager two hooks and eyes on my new shirt had somehow become disconnected. My lovely new summer blouse was entirely, and I do mean entirely open.

Our friend gamely commented, "I guess your dinner was free tonight." Trying to make the best of an increasingly bad situation, I verbally responded, "Actually, since my shirt came undone, we had to pay double," while internally questioning por que' I seem to be experiencing so many wardrobe issues of late.

Why do nights like this and wardrobe malfunctions like this and other embarrassments like these always happen at places you frequent and never in those spots whose doors you will never darken again? I noticed in entertainment news recently that Madonna had flashed both her upper and lower endowments during concert appearances. I had wondered upon reading the story why a fifty something singer would feel a need to do this. I stopped myself to consider if I tonight, in one of my twice weekly cantina appearances, was just as bad. With my sometimes ADD thought processes, my mind flashed.... so to speak... to the country song, "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off." Scary, isn't it, how true to life country music can be?

Well, the blouse is off to the tailor for more, many more snaps. Adrian is planning a margarita party, and I am sure next week will bring our usual two visits to Mariachis. I can't wait!

Banana's and the Beach

All who read Dee or know me know that the beach is in my blood. In this sense, I am truly my mother's daughter. The sand and sea revitalize me. I feel my spirits soar whenever I can grab a few days at the coast. So it was that, although not exotic or luxurious, I could not wait for our mini Memorial Day vacation. Much of our trip was business as usual....the pool, the sand, the surf, the fights over who would sleep where or whether it was Dunkin or Krispy for doughnuts.

This year, in the midst of the madness, I discovered a new spot....one that reminded me what it is and why it is that I love the South Strand of the Carolinas. Nestled in the Wachesaw area just south of Murrell's Inlet but not quite to Pawley's Island, specifically at the Wacca Wache Landing.....I am not kidding.....the Wacca Wache Landing, was Hannah Banana's Sunshine Cabana. I just knew driving the long road in canopied by beautiful Southern trees (wish I had a more thorough description than 'tree' but an arborist, I am not) that we were on the path to somewhere special. And special it was. Surrounded by boats.....some more accurately yachts.....and elegant southern oaks....and moss.....and decks for outside dining, a two man band playing guitar and harp guitar, supposedly one of only twenty six harp guitarists in the western hemisphere (who cares if it's a tall tale), and harmonica and belting out everything from Steely Dan to Jimmy Buffett, from Making Whoopie (not sure how to spell whoopie...) to Cheeseburger in Paradise I loved it! We sampled crab bites and potato pancakes. I savored a Wacca Wedgie Salad with blue cheese, bacon, skewered grilled shrimp and, of course, a margarita.....who could resist with Buffet...well, almost.... in the background.

Go in shorts or swimsuit at lunch, almost as casual at dinner. Note the menu entry that a grilled cheese can sink their tiny kitchen into total chaos in the on season, so a $25 surcharge will be assessed and the "Life is Good" signs because here it truly seems to be. Sitting at our deeply shaded table and peering out across the still as glass water, it almost looked like Deliverance .....as a friend of mine says, "the good Deliverance, not the bad Deliverance."

After our sumptious summer supper, we explored the Wacca Wache....love writing that.... Marina with its fidgety resident new momma cat and the weirdest turtles I have ever seen. Unfortunately, and I shall blame the one margarita, I failed to realize until after the purchase that Kate's new tee shirt referenced 'everything being legal at Hannah's unless you get caught'....oh well. Maybe this one can mysteriously disappear in our washer..... I cannot count how many of her clothing items have mysteriously been eaten in the rinse cycle......those disgraceful cut off jeans, that way too bikini bikini, her deep vee tee. Someday she will catch on.....

Back to the beach.... sandwiched between the oh so touristy kids' arcade and slick track, the pier and the cafeteria, the outlets and the mall, even Dunkin and Krispy, we found a southern coastal treasure....thank you, Hannah Banana! You are a local secret no more.