The Man....The Myth....The Music (or at least the iPod)

I've been walking a few times a week, and with no iPod of my own, I have commandeered Adrian's. Not just the fact that I usually walk first thing in the morning, but also the fact that this particular iPod houses a very wide array of music ... well the combo has led quite literally to more than a few eye opening experiences.

This iPod, like the man, is a mystery of the highest order, and listening to its quite extensive playlist has been....enlightening, to say the least.  Perhaps confounding is a better description.

I am, using the term in its loosest possible translation, working out one day, enjoying a spectacular seasonal morning as I walk, smiling, waving at passers by (you  know the queen wave, right...although I must say it doesn't come off quite the same with sweats and sleepy eyes), and listening to the inspiring strains of  "Here I Am, Lord "  from the Ipod.  Truly getting in touch with my inner zen, I breathe deeply.  Again in the spirit of full disclosure, more truthfully I pant a little.  I travel on, taking in my beautiful neighborhood, thanking God quietly for all my many blessings when suddenly and most unexpectedly, Clarence Carter bursts into my "in touch" moment with his anything but zen "Stroking".... more accurately "Strokin".  And, trust me, this was not CC's PG version, if he even had one of this particular blush worthy masterpiece.  I was so suddenly and shockingly jolted back to reality from my almost meditational state that I stepped off into a ditch and barely maintained any balance...or propriety...at all.  The 'queen wave' became a frantic swat as I simultaneously tried to pull out the ear buds and find the change button all while keeping myself at least semi upright.  But, the iPod run amuck had already moved seemlessly on from "Strokin" to ...."Skanking."  With the now fascinating change ups between beer and blues country and R if not X rated Tupac rap, between Billy Joel's prolific and poignant piano and Marley's soulful reggae, from the King of Pop to Reba, from "Cover of the Rolling Stone" to "Fat Bottom Girls" (this latter definitely not a favorite backdrop to my walking workout), I find myself wondering what possibly could be next. But then I think...with this man, I often wonder exactly the same thing.

There have been a few golden moments...my discovery of  the studio version of  "Rainy Nights In Georgia" by Sam Moore and Conway Twitty took my breath away.  Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis"....do I detect a bit of a traveling theme in the man's iPod?  I definitely identify with that.  And I LOVED finding jewels like "Jesus and Momma Always Loved Me....even when the devil took control"  I could have written that one myself....ah, yes, not the easiest child was I.  You just have to love country music for its uncanny ability to hit the nail on the head, don't you?

Speaking of  'Momma', Pastor Joel rightly compared mine to a prism, but I find myself currently convinced by the iPod that Adrian, at least as go his musical inclinations, is even more a prism. His downloads have both delighted me and mortified me.  One note, just please tell me that with volume full on, no one else can hear what I am listening to, for I have discovered.... forgive me, Pastor Joel... that "Strokin" does indeed have a great beat for walking.

I am not sure what the proper iPod etiquette is here.....do I tell Adrian that much of his music is vastly inappropriate?  Or do I just 'let it be.'  (Yes, the Beatles classic is on the playlist. along with the incredible "Imagine.")  This is, after all, Adrian's music.  He is, out of some probably delusional support of my half-hearted efforts to shape up, letting me borrow his device because I do not have one of my own. Hmmm.  Finally deciding to broach the subject I ask my hubby where on earth he found this eclectic assortment of music and why is it on an iPod that our probably not as naive as I would like to think children can easily access.  His answer....short and sweet....."Joseph did it."  Ahhhh, another question to ponder....when did it become so easy for a father to sell out his eldest son?

Photo Credit to Internet

Mamma Had A Six Pack

When does that time come.  When exactly does it happen that so many things seem suddenly to be in 'past tense'?  We were so looking forward to our summer vacation...a return trip to gorgeous Round Hill in Hanover, Jamaica...a place we all love and the site of some of our most favorite vacations ever.  As we so often do, we pulled out old photo albums to remind ourselves of past trips and favorite spots in this special resort.

So, we were gathered around the coffee table....flipping through albums, laughing and recalling, excitement building as our travel day drew near when Drew suddenly pointed at a pic and exclaimed,  "Momma (that's me) HAD a six pack!"  Well that's just great.  Already wondering why we didn't choose a diving vacation requiring full on scuba gear...... or better yet,  that ski vacation where appropriate attire would have been snow suits instead of the unavoidable swimsuits for this trip, I suddenly felt very inadequate.  Momma HAD a six pack....yes, it hurt a little, and reminded me not fondly of a trip to Garden City a few years back, when the then ten year old Drew proudly announced to everyone poolside on that particular day, "Mommy's jiggly!"  Reference Definitely Dee blog of  April, 2011....yes, it happened just the way I recorded it.              .

Recently, ironically also occurring as we looked through old photo albums, we came upon pics of a litter of pups we had while living in our previous home in North Lancaster.  Photo after photo of precious cocker spaniel pups...all curly eared and nub tailed.  I thought Drew would be fascinated by the puppies.  His comment..."Momma, we HAD grass then?"

Not quite sure when the "has" and "haves" becomes "hads".....probably about the same time things get jiggly..... and the grass dies.

Hose and Toes

(Photo cred to internet)

I n-e-v-e-r  wear hosiery.  Hose pinch, run, rip and ruin my day.  They are a fundamental scourge on all of womanhood and quite simply an expense and a bother I think I can do without.  At least I thought I could.  But recently, the liver marks...I think that is what they are called.....guess I have gotten to the age I need to know for sure.......and various and sundry other signs of aging are telling on my legs.  So, I told myself a pair of hosiery might be in order.

It has been many moons (and the lunar theme from my last post continues) since I last bought hose.  I  first asked Kate to go to Belk and buy the hosiery now deemed necessary by her mom.  Kate's response, "Momma, what are hose?"  With that, I quickly knew this one would be on me.  I honestly had to ask someone where in the department store I might find hose.  And, after searching and searching for what I was looking for, even though I had no idea what in fact I was looking for, I found a seemingly lovely toeless pair of almost nude stockings.  (Interesting how I wanted to cover up, but didn't want it to look like I was covering up.  Again, welcome to aging, Dee.)  Proud of my shopping prowess, I bought two pairs.

Now, and perhaps this too is a symptom of the many years that have passed since I last bought hosiery,  I interpreted toeless to mean no reinforced toe.  Wouldn't anyone?  Imagine my surprise when upon opening the packaging, I learned toeless meant absolutely no toes...notta....nothing.....big holes in the 'foot ends' of the hose! 

As I told Diane in one of those conversations you can only appropriately have with a sister.... or in a blog.... I could think of absolutely no use for hose with no toes that did not involve a decided measure of kink.  I mean seriously, other than having those suckers available for....pardon me, sucking.....why would anyone want hose with no toes?  I will be the first to admit, this world is changing, and I am not always at the very forefront of the change continuum.  But, Ladies, if you want to show off that new pedicure, legs, feet, and toes must be bare.  Not just toes.  If, on the other hand.....or should I say other foot....you choose to wear stockings, the classic pump with toes demurely hidden is the choice for you.

I LOVE .....oh who is the band with the Toes song.....oh yes, Zac Brown.  And I think Kenny Chesney also had a "toe" hit a while back.  But, I can't imagine that either was envisioning the lingerie anomaly that is toeless hosiery when he crooned about toes in the sand or wherever. 

I cannot  fathom hosiery covered legs and feet and naked toes.  If you are willing to bare your toes,  you must be willing to bare your legs.  This toeless hose contraption undoubtedly was invented by a man.

Today, when I journeyed back to the store to return the one unopened pair of toeless hosiery, I just had to ask the sales associate, "Who buys these things, and why?"  She just  looked at me with an all-knowing smile and nod.....and that was it. 

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.....