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.

The Tassel Tradition

I am a traditionalist. I love classic clothes, classic homes. I love pen in hand and beautiful note paper as opposed to the keyboards and e-mails of today's writers. I suppose I am a throw back of sorts. I love the graduations of spring, ceremonies always seeped in the traditions of decades. From the music to the march to the tassels, I love it. And so I looked forward to this year of 'graduation' ceremonies as Kate finished middle school and Drew elementary.

First on our busy Graduation Tuesday itinerary was Drew's primary school graduation. I proudly attended the early morning ceremony. Sitting between Daddy and Adrian, I eagerly awaited the pageantry. Yes, even for 11 year olds I never imagined that I shouldn't expect graduation tradition. As the principal asked attendees to stand and honor the graduates, I steadied myself for the always emotional but especially so when one of your own is pro- or re-cessing Pomp and Circumstance. As the doors swung open and the 5th grade processional began, I stood a little straigher, head held a little higher and thought.... and thought.....what is that music? Is it....surely it isn't.....but it is Fame. You know, " Fame! I'm gonna live forever; I'm gonna learn how to shine. I'll catch the moon in my hands. Baby, remember my name......Fame." I suppose on some level it was inspiring and probably far more familiar to these fifth grade fledglings, but where was my pomp...my circumstance....my tradition?

Same day, now evening. As we drove to Kate's graduation ceremony, she excitedly announced, "Mommy, you know that Tim McGraw song you like so much? That is what they are playing as we enter the gym." Kate, surely you don't mean, "Live Like You Are Dying? "That's it...that's it, Mommy! I knew you liked it." Like it, I do, I love it....but where is my Pomp and Circumstance? Even for middle school, I should think a processional just isn't a processional without "P and C."

All week as we celebrated both Kate's and Drew's accomplishments, I had this nagging feeling. Something just wasn't as it should be. Something was amiss. Something had changed. One of life's most recognizable rites of passage had seemed a little....well....unrecognizable.

As Friday evening, the end of the work week, school week, and in this case school year arrived, I sat outside enjoying the beautiful late spring early summer night. I thought back, considering the oddities of this season of graduations. Suddenly, I heard it.....faint at first.....then building.....building with the growing breezes as a summer shower approached. There it was, rising above first bleachers, then homes, then trees.....Pomp and Circumstance emanated softly but clearly from the local high school football stadium as graduation began. Here finally was my tradition, and with it that moment I had fought all week ...that first of quite a few tears as I thought of my son and my daughter and their own tradition of tassels to come.

Maybe it is just as well that this year, my Pomp and Circumstance came in the privacy of my own back yard.

Memories, Mirrors, and Mother

Mother's Day, 2012....the second Mother's Day that I and my sisters have been without our mom. And anyone who has, as we have, experienced this particular loss knows that Mother's Day is one of the most difficult of the holidays that follow.

Mother's Day and the season of spring in this our year two are beginning to bring me happy memories. The disconsolence and despair of 2011 are beginning to be replaced by remembrances of moments with my mother. It's God's cycle of healing and hope...."a time for every purpose" as my memories become mirrors, reflecting my mother back to me.

Mother's Day had a very specific, almost ritual like routine in our mother's world. We daughters did not miss church with my mom on Mother's Day. In some years, one or more of us drove in excess of 150 miles to arrive just in time to hurry down the church aisle, rushed family in tow, and slide into our designated pew at Pageland First Baptist for the 11:00 Mother's Day service. We grumbled sometimes as the years went on that our mom seemed to forget we too were now mothers and that this special day was in our honor as well as hers. But, Mother's Day was her day. And as my sisters' and my families grew, on this day to honor all moms, we each year faithfully filled that center pew, the Blakeney pew, to overflowing with Pettits and Bonners and Joyes. Mother loved it. She basked in it. I honestly believe she informed Pastor Joel that she expected him from the pulpit to single out her family, her visiting daughters, because he always did. I am certain other parishioners had family present. They were all around. But the minister almost always welcomed us by name.....Denise....Diane....Donna....and my mother's Mother's Day was complete. For it was in her daughters that she found her sense of self.

Memories.....mirrors....

Service over and it was home for Sunday lunch. Our Hickory Street home always greeted us on Mother's Day with the competing scents of our mother's fragrant long stem roses, a gift from my dad, and southern green beans (you know the soft ones) on the stove. Unfailingly, some generous Pageland soul provided other vegetable sides or a decadent dessert or salad to complement the core menu my mother had planned. Planning the menu, up until her last year or so, was Mother's job and no one else's. I remember a couple of times my sisters and I tried to take that responsibility. Mother quickly let us know that she wasn't sure who had put us in charge of her Mother's Day Sunday dinner. As my mother's health began to fail and she allowed, however reluctantly, my sisters and me to do some of the planning, we were ever more appreciative of what our neighbors and friends in the Watermelon Capital always contributed to our menu.

Memories...mirrors....

Mother's Day signalled oncoming especially special times in the life of my family. Graduations from whatever school, and with the wide disparity in ages of grandchildren, someone was always graduating....from high school, from middle school, from elementary school and kindergarten.....I even graduated from real estate school...... graduations were ever on the horizon in May. Most recently, Mother was so proud to be a part of Matt's graduation from high school that she was in her designated seat an hour before the ceremony started. All who knew my mother knew what a feat and more importantly what a gesture of love and pride that was. This year as both Drew and Kate 'graduate,' the former from elementary school, the latter from middle, I find myself wishing Mother were here, wondering if she would have found a way to their ceremonies and shared in their mother, her daughter's pride of passage.

Memories...mirrors....

Hannah Our Dancer's recitals often closely follow Mother's Day. This was another occasion my mother simply refused to miss. In later years, when she attended such a select few events, this one remained always on Mother's calendar, circled in red and never to be overlooked. Hannah's recitals took Mother back to the days of Diane's and Donna's dance. Yes, it was her granddaughter's amazing performances, but even more, I believe Hannah's recitals transported Mother back to days she felt better and did more, back to the days her own dancer daughters were young.

Mother loved all her grandchildren in ways special to and different for each. But I think there was a unique and singular place in her heart for Matt, her first, and for Hannah, who inherited Donna's love of dance and whose talent brought joy and pride and memories to my mom.

Mirrors....

Mother's Day for us also heralded the soon to be arrival of summer and, in days of her better health, more frequent trips to Garden City Beach. Especially on more recent trips, my mother hardly left the condo. It didn't matter. She was there, at the beach, in her tiny corner of the world, and she was happy. She found a contentment there in the smallish condo that changed notably little in thirty years. Now this, this is the gene I inherited from my mom.....that is along with the hips and hair I might prefer that she had passed to another sis. But my mom and I were and are decidedly kindred spirits in our shared love for the coast.

Memories....

And, of course, right around the corner from the summers kicked off by Mother's Day......the start of Clemson football. Whether Mother was walking with cane or wheeled in a chair, if the Tigers were playing she wanted to be there....there in the Valley as Hartwell breezes blew her popcorn all over herself and surrounding fans.....there even when weather advisories forced stadium evacuation......there when the inconsistent Tigers had their heads handed to them by visiting opponents..... there so that long time stadium friends could hear her precious Davis sing the alma mater and national anthem almost before he was talking. And, on those Saturdays when she absolutely couldn't make it, Mother still wanted Daddy to drive to their Anderson hotel, so they could be closer to Clemson even if only able to watch the game on TV. Of course, Daddy did just that.

Thank you, God, for sending Mother's Day memories to mirror my mom. I wish this Mother's Day could find Diane, Donna, Daddy, and me back on that crowded Pageland pew with Mother as, my apologies to Pastor Joel, her mind wandered to thoughts of her green beans on the stove for lunch, Hannah's recital and Garden City, of her beloved Tigers and graduations to come. O Mother, I so wish......

For better or worse, she's a Pettit.....

One last Audrey pic...for awhile anyway. The white star on her chest that soon after her adoption became a 'W', as we surmised she was a Republican following in the heralded Bush tradition, now looks like a double 'W'. I have dubbed the amazing little lady Wonder Woman. Kate calls her Wild Woman... perhaps more appropo. And, Adrian, who may have had a beer too many, noted that the 'birth'mark to him looked like a bat (I would love to see what he did on the Rorschach Ink Blots) and has nicknamed our Audrey Bat Girl. I love the nicknames. After all, isn't a nickname the true indicator that someone or something belongs?

Landen The Cat is on a hunger strike. Our slightly irritable and sleep deprived family is rotating every 4 - 5 hour (day and night)potty trips. My house is a disaster. But, all is right with our little world as Bat Girl or Wild Woman or Wonder Woman or Audrey has seemingly twice kicked the Grim Reaper in the teeth. Now, if only she can survive her upcoming introduction to our 150 pound Newf Joe.....

Photo by Kate.

She's Home!

With Apologies to Marilyn, "My Week With... Audrey"

Last Thursday, we took the plunge. We rescued a lab mix puppy from our local shelter. We rescued Audrey and in doing so rewarded Kate for a nothing short of miraculous turnaround in algebra.


My sister says rescue dogs are grateful, and that's why they make such good pets. Maybe. Sounds like a bit of a stretch to me, Banker Sister. But admittedly, my sister had perhaps the most wonderful dog I have ever known. She rescued Bogey, and in return, he brought smiles to her family for more than ten years. Bogey and My Banker Sister inspired me to adopt. And seemingly following in Bogey's footsteps, Audrey definitely was well-behaved, smart, sweet, loving, happy....playful. At least until Tuesday.....some five days post rescue......she was well-behaved, sweet, loving, happy...playful. Suddenly, Tuesday night, everything changed. Audrey changed. Audrey became violently sick. She stopped eating or drinking. Even scarier, Audrey stopped playing. She was, almost instantaneously, a different dog. We all knew. We knew before the adoption that she might have been exposed to parvo. We knew, but five days with this pup made us forget. This sweet, playful dog couldn't possibly be sick. But suddenly, she was. We couldn't bear to think it. No one dared to say it. But we knew.......



Wednesday morning at 6:00 am found me calling every vet in the area. Who opened earliest? Who could see us soonest? I had a scheduled meeting. It would have to wait. Audrey and I were at the vet at 7:45. The usual check-in questions. Roll call of our other pets. Yes, we still have Joe, Satchmo, and Landen. Sadly, Koko passed away. How old is Audrey....I don't know. What breed is she......lab....I don't know....lab something. They gave up with questions. I couldn't answer them anyway. They tested. They didn't need to. I already knew. And when they confirmed the worst, I still broke down. A fifty year old woman in sweat pants and no make-up before 8:00 on a day she is scheduled to be in a meeting crying as if there were no tomorrow....over a puppy I didn't know a week ago. How could this baby pup who had in a week brought so much joy to Kate and to our family be sick and fighting for survival? How could my Kate Bug be faced with yet another of life's catastrophes? How and why is so much thrown in one young girl's....in my girl's.... direction?



I barely heard the vet say 50% chance of survival. In the back of my mind I remember him asking if we wanted to try....if we wanted to treat. I wasn't about to give up on Kate's pup, on Audrey, without a fight. Yes, of course, they would do all they could. I vaguely remember a veterinary assistant saying perhaps Audrey's mom was a floosie. How do you spell that anyway, and was it absolutely necessary to question Audrey's lineage at this particular point in time?



I left Audrey at the vet. I clung to the empty blanket I now carried, wondering what the next few hours and day would bring. I tried to imagine how I could explain to Kate if Audrey didn't survive the treatment. I knew there simply would be no words. I dreaded the prospect. She and I have had far too many of these conversations already.



Thursday, one week post adoption, brought us a new outlook and a little hope. Audrey is improving. Still not eating, but no longer nauseous. Now standing, where yesterday she could or would only lie. And is that a wagging tail....yesterday, I wasn't sure we would ever see that.


We aren't there yet. We have a ways to go. But today is a day of optimism and hope for more "weeks with Audrey" in our future.