Not a People Person Per Se?

Bluffton Today Column
February 3, 2010

While watching a segment on Inside Edition last Monday, I totally lost it. I cried my eyes out while a fire fighter rescued a German shepherd who was caught in the raging waters of the California floods. As the fire fighter, via helicopter, was lowered into the water to save the pup, I couldn’t control my sobs. And this was a happy ending!

The next story was about Haiti and the 150,000 lives lost and how they were burning bodies in the street just to get rid of the stench. And oddly, I didn’t shed a tear.

So, it begs the question. Am I a heartless you know what?

I pondered that question that evening and into the next morning when, while packing my lunch for work, I heard my cat Skye vomiting in the living room.

Skye puking was not a normal occurrence, but she has, on occasion scarfed down her food so fast that it has come right back up again. So, I was not alarmed. Until I got to the living room, where I found my sweet girl vomiting, shaking, struggling for breath and balance.

As her legs went limp beneath her I lost it. My dog, Darby, sat close with his eyes darting back and forth from me to Skye as if to say, “Mom, what are you going to do now?”

Well, as any good “mom” would do, I called my Mom to ask her what to do. The sobbing commenced again as I told her that I thought I was watching Skye die in front of me. And, luckily my Mom snapped me into reality and yelled to call the vet. Duh!

I called Bluffton Vet’s emergency line and Dr. Davison called me back immediately and told me to head right over. I put Skye in her carrier, and paused for a moment by the door while Darby gave Skye one last sniff. I guess I subconsciously had a feeling it might be the last time he saw her.

When I got to the Vet’s office they whisked Skye into the back and immediately started an IV and began a battery of tests. It happened so quickly that I never took the time to consider what the outcome would be. I guess I hoped it was a virus, the kitty flu, something treatable and I would walk out with a prescription and my Skye.

Unfortunately that is not how this story ends. I had to say goodbye to Skye with little warning and no preparation. They gently brought her back to me so I could say my goodbyes. I whispered in her ear and told her about when I first brought her home fourteen years ago, and how she used to sleep right on my chest. I reminded her that I loved her, that she was my first “baby” and will always hold a special place in my heart. And, I apologized for yelling at her the night before when she missed the litter box. That was utterly heartbreaking. If I had known I would be saying goodbye, I would have cuddled her next to me all night and given her the pillow that Darby has since claimed as his own. (He’s pretty lonely these days.)

Skye drifted to sleep, with my hand on her head, and my nose to hers. There I was again, a mere fourteen hours after the Inside Edition incident, crying like my heart was breaking. And, it was.

Bob Bromage: Cold Case Files

CH2/CB2, February 2010

At first glance, he is your typical cop. Cop hair. Cut short, a sprinkle of salt among the pepper. Cop shirt. Tan not white. Cop tie. Tan and green—no contrasting colors.

At second glance, Captain Bob Bromage is all business. In his twentieth year with the Beaufort County Sheriff’s Office, Bromage is Criminal Investigations Branch Commander, responsible for all detailed and technical criminal investigations not assigned to the Enforcement (Uniformed) Patrol.

Originally from Connecticut, Bromage entered the Army after High School and was stationed in Savannah, where he became familiar with the Lowcountry and Beaufort County. After leaving the Army, he moved back North and began his search for a position in law enforcement with the Connecticut State Police. At the time, however, available positions were few and far between, and a job posting would attract 2,000 applications. Rather than waiting to be the needle found in the hay stack, Bromage journeyed south once again and was hired in 1990 as a patrolman for Beaufort County, working the midnight shift.

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T.M.I.

Bluffton Today Column
January 20, 2010

I woke up last Friday morning to a Google Alert notifying me of the Naughton v. Naughton final divorce hearing in Beaufort County Family Court. As if I didn’t have enough stress surrounding the day’s proceedings, now even my Blackberry has to taunt me?

I spent my drive to the courthouse mumbling under my breath, crying on the phone to an extraordinary friend, and cursing technology. Of course, I was also simultaneously thanking the technology gods for allowing me to listen to my favorite radio personality via satellite during my drive. I was a little out of sorts, to say the least.

I realize that I am a technology addict. I can’t imagine life without the internet, my laptop, my Blackberry or my iPod. Seriously, how did I exist without them? Over Christmas break when the track ball on my beloved b-berry broke I had a momentary panic attack and addressed a series of questions in rapid succession. Do I call IT? Are they in the office? How quickly can I get a new Blackberry? Is it under warranty? Should I go to the Verizon store?

I am over-exposed to technology. We all are. But, I do believe it makes me more efficient and a little smarter in that I know where to go for information and I don’t have to battle the Dewey Decimal system to find it. But, it also makes me - all of us - less personal. We can easily lose our personal connections by hiding behind an email or a Facebook status update.

So, in an ironic twist … while my wake- up call was like something out of “2010: A Space Odyssey,” my divorce hearing was like an episode of Little House on the Prairie. (Well, if Ma and Pa had indeed decided to divorce.) The role of the court – in their not so humble opinion – is to reconcile the husband and wife. Two strangers to the court whom the judge knows nothing about. Smart, right?

I do give them some credit. I mean, if you embarrass easily, the line of questioning may be enough for you to run right back into the arms of your betrothed. In my case, even though I knew the question was coming (special thanks for the heads up from my attorney), I was still taken aback.

“When was the last time that you and your spouse had sexual relations or last co-habitated together?”

Apparently the court system is all about getting personal.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to answer the question. I also had to provide a witness who could swear to the same. So, there sat my brother-in-law – selected as my witness because of the close proximity of his office to the court house – answering whether or not my ex and I had rendezvoused at any point over the last twelve months.

Suffice it to say, my face was as red as a Jersey tomato in July when I marched back down the courthouse steps, a little worse for wear.

I’m thinking it may be time that we update the ol’ South Carolina law books and maybe bring things into the twenty-first century? And, while we are making the bold move to not care about who people live with and/or have sex with we may also want to address why dance halls may not operate on Sundays; why horses may not be kept in bathtubs; why merchandise may not be sold within a half mile of a church unless fruit is being sold; why every adult male must bring a rifle to church on Sunday in order to ward off Indian attacks.

And why, if a man promises to marry an unmarried woman, the marriage must take place.

Um, I’m pretty sure that’s how I got into this mess to begin with.

This column is in no way meant to disparage the wonderful state of South Carolina. Check out www.dumblaws.com for more state law hilarity, even New Jersey.

Victory, Valentine, Vagina

Bluffton Today Column
January 6, 2010

Vagina.

Does that make you uncomfortable? The word vagina? Is that inappropriate? The word vagina? Is this bothering you?

It shouldn’t.

What should bother you is that a woman is beaten by her boyfriend or husband every 12 seconds in the United States. Not convinced yet? In 2008, 32,889 victims received services from a domestic violence program or shelter in South Carolina. A 2006 SLED report indicates that Beaufort ranks 9th of the 46 counties in the state for domestic assaults.

Need more? Statistics show that one in every three women will be a victim of abuse – physical, sexual, financial or emotional. Look around you right now – your neighbor, your colleague, your teacher, your student, your mother, your sister, your daughter. Are the odds with you or against you?

I understand that we don’t like to talk about taboo subjects, or things that make us uncomfortable. Like violence against women. But, what is more uncomfortable, talking about it openly and honestly or being a victim, or knowing a victim, or ignoring a victim?

I speak from experience. Right out of college I was with a guy who liked to control me, to intimidate me, to accuse me, to call me every four-letter word in the book, to push me … All in an effort to keep me down when, in fact, he was so down on himself. And I was in a committed relationship with him, wearing the love blinders.

Eventually I had to escape. I ran back to my parents with all of my belongings in tow - including two cats and those two damn oversized sofas that haunted me for years.

I was lucky. Sadly, I’m not alone. Fortunately, there are people in Beaufort County who find this issue as disturbing and important as I do.

Enter Megan Roberts, University of South Carolina Beaufort junior, student life intern, and orchestrator of USCB’s “Stop the Violence Week” slated for March 22 – 27. “Stop the Violence Week” is a part of the global V-Day movement created to call attention to and stop violence against women and girls.

The “V” in V-Day stands for Victory, Valentine and Vagina. No coincidence since we are talking about overcoming the fear and the stigma, loving ourselves, and well I think we all know what the latter represents.

Roberts is bringing her A-game. And she has brought her passion for women’s issues to the USCB campus. This makes us – as a community – lucky. Lucky that a young woman is willing to voice her opinion and rally the community around an important cause. Lucky that she is not afraid to have her voice heard. And lucky that she is providing a venue for women to have their voices heard as well.

V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls. Through V-Day campaigns, local volunteers and college students produce annual benefit performances of The Vagina Monologues and screen the V-Day documentary Until the Violence Stops, to raise awareness and funds for anti-violence groups within their own communities.

Roberts’ efforts at USCB will include educational forums, self-defense training courses, creative outlets for participants to express their feelings, and yes, a three-day performance of The Vagina Monologues.

The Vagina Monologues (the inspiration for the V-Day movement) from playwright Eve Ensler has been performed in cities all across America and at hundreds of college campuses. The Monologues give voice to women's deepest fantasies and fears.

Roberts is excited about the diversity of the fifteen cast members for the USCB performance who range from 17 to 60 years of age, and include both students and community members.

The first performance is scheduled for Thursday, March 25 at the USCB Performing Arts Center in Beaufort. Two additional performances are planned for March 26 and 27 in Bluffton and Hilton Head. However, there is one hiccup. They need a venue.

Now, I don’t want to speak for Hilton Head, but I think we – Bluffton – can come up with a venue to offer? Town Hall has an auditorium. An auditorium that seats a couple hundred people. An auditorium that is empty most nights of the week. An auditorium that our open-minded and ever-loving (yes, I am kissing ass) Town Council would be willing to donate for the one-night performance to support USCB and the women in our community who are silently suffering?

What say you Town Council? What say you?

Let’s do it for our neighbors, our colleagues, our family, our friends. And, let’s do it to support Megan Roberts a passionate student leader who is working with her community and her fellow students to bring awareness, health and balance to us all.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."

Let’s not be silent. Let’s speak up.

Writer’s Note: Women are not the only victims of domestic violence and/or assault. If you or someone you know is in need of help, Citizens Opposed to Domestic Abuse (CODA) is a Lowcountry resource. Visit www.codalowcountry.org or call 843.770.1070 or 800.868.2632.

Man on a Mission

CH2, January 2010

“Strive for Success”; “Chamber Recognizes Year’s Best”; “Just One of the Guys”; “Intriguing Islanders”; “Good Men”; “Fruits of His Labor”…These are just a handful of the headlines that decorate the walls in Tim Singleton’s office at Hilton Head Island High School. After spending time getting to know Singleton, his colleagues, his students and his supporters, you realize that no headline is an exaggeration.

CONTINUE READING

Roger Pinckey and His Reefer Moon

CH2, January 2010

He lives his life by the tide, the sunrise, and the sunset. His way of life is the Daufuskie Island way. Laid back. Sand and sea soaked. Preservation focused.

With a gruff exterior and a questioning eye, Roger Pinckney may not endear you at the outset. However, I warmed to him almost immediately the first time I met him three years ago. When he calls you “dear” in his sweet Southern twang it’s hard not to.

But, I think it’s fair to say that some folks may be put off by his pointed commentary regarding those who have invaded his beloved Lowcountry, where he was born and raised.

CONTINUE READING

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Bluffton Today Column
December 23, 2009

Growing up in our house, Christmas Eve was much anticipated. This was the day our entire family – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins - would gather to celebrate.

We’re a sarcastic family, as you may have gathered from moi, so it only made sense that some torture be included in our annual holiday gathering. You see, tradition with my Mom’s side of the family was that Santa would visit on Christmas Eve. However, in order to get your first gift, you had to sing for Santa. This was especially fun when a new and potential significant other would be introduced to the family and be put on the spot. We lost quite a few good prospects over the years!

So, each year as the Christmas decorations would come down from the attic, so would the song books. My sister, Sharon, and I would pore over the books making our selection for the “big show.” For years and years (and decades before we were born) we placated Santa with musical mumblings of “Jingle Bells”, “O Christmas Tree”, and “Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer”.

But one year it all changed.

Maybe it was the eggnog.

Maybe it was the festive green Jell-O-mold decorated with maraschino cherries.

Whatever it was, Uncle Al and Aunt Madeleine upped the ante. That year, Santa didn’t just get lyrics. He got a choreographed routine that would have put the Von Trapp children to shame - hand gestures, fancy footwork, and a little miming to boot. Uncle Al and Aunt Madeleine stole the show and the competition was on.

After that year, it became each family unit’s mission to out sing and out dance the others. We added background music, dance steps, lip-synchs, and song parodies. This was serious business. And, it became a new tradition. One that we continued until the year our “branch” of the family tree migrated south.

Our branch will celebrate our fifth Christmas here together in the Lowcountry tomorrow. And the tradition will continue. (If your dog starts howling around 7:00 p.m. it is because I am singing and I am most certainly off key.)

But this year as I prepare - by practicing in the mirror with a hair brush as a microphone - there is an angel on my shoulder.

You see the matriarch of our tradition, Aunt Madeleine, passed away two weeks ago. And I know that Christmas will have a new meaning for our family this year.

In the eulogy my Mom wrote honoring Aunt Madeleine, she talked about her favorite memories and the best way to memorialize Aunt Madeleine.

“As I took my Christmas ornaments out I realized I had a treasure trove of memories from her. And they are, right now, adorning my tree. For Christmas I'll give Courtney and Sharon the felt stocking ornaments she made for them when they were little and the rest I'll keep for myself and every year I will pay tribute to the kind, loving, wonderful woman who made them. You know how we all sang Christmas songs on Christmas Eve and sometimes changed the words to our favorite carols? Well Aunt Madeleine ... ’Sleep in heavenly peace’.”

So, from me you’ll get no sarcasm for Christmas this year - just a wish for silent nights, holy nights, and peaceful sleep.

Merry Christmas Bluffton.

The Shallow End of the Bluffton Dating Pool

Bluffton Today Column
December 9, 2009

Disclaimer: this is not a personal ad.

However, in case you are taking notes, I do like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

You may have noticed that my byline has two last names. This is my gradual transition back to my maiden name upon commencement of year-long, state-required separation, which will result in the finalization of my divorce this month. Special thanks to South Carolina for making this process so damn long, much appreciated. Cue religious right who abhors divorce and is adding another slash mark to my trail of sins. (Get in line!)

This all means that I am newly single. And I recently had my first foray into the art of letting someone down easy.

Last time I dated, oh a decade ago, there was no Facebook, no Twitter, no blogs, no Google Alerts, and no newspaper column where I trounced my life out in print for the world i.e. Bluffton to read. Meaning I was able to live my life without someone being able to “find me online”. Well, the times they are a changing.

Last month, a member of the opposite sex, let’s call him Mr. X, sent me a message on Facebook.

Hi Courtney. My name is Mr. X and I live in X-town. I'm originally from X-state and moved here three3 years ago. I just finished reading your Proust Interview in CH2 magazine and was really impressed with what I read about you. I don't know if you are married or if you are in a relationship but you sound like a really intelligent and down to earth woman and the type of person I would be interested in getting to know and I wanted to know if you would be interested in meeting me for coffee sometime. If you are presently in a relationship I apologize for the intrusion.

If you're interested in learning more about me please feel free to email me via Facebook.

Best wishes, Mr. X.

So, in keeping with my salty sarcasm I replied with a little challenge.

Hi Mr. X. Wow. I was definitely not expecting that, but I am flattered. And, if you learned anything about me in my interview ... you know that I am now questioning whether or not you are an axe-murderer or a nice guy?

So, I'll offer this challenge. If you can provide three references, I'll think about it.

My hope was that my obnoxious wit would immediately stall his efforts but alas, one hour later I had three references in my Inbox. What to do, what to do?

Well, upon review of the references I realize that neither his high school best friend, nor his realtor who he hasn’t spoken to in four years, nor the elderly couple who he befriended up North, are what I was looking for. So I decided the best plan of attack would be to ignore, ignore, ignore.

Five days later Mr. X appeared again requesting an answer to his inquiry. So, despite every instinct to the contrary, I was a lady, I curbed the sarcasm, and I simply said that I was once again flattered, but extremely busy and did not have much time for a personal life. All true!

Then Mr. X turned on the obnoxious with a simple response, “Your loss.”

Now I thought I handled this appropriately. I was kind and gracious. When what I really wanted to say was, listen buddy with that Hawaiian shirt and spray on hair, it would never work between us.

So, it is my hope that this was merely a floater in the shallow end of the Bluffton dating pool. But regardless, now I face the million dollar question … join a convent or jump in?

A Bluffton Tradtion

CH2, December 2009

What started last year as my family’s annual ritual to the Bluffton Christmas Parade ended with a muddied shoe and a bruised ego. That’s the day I fell into a drainage ditch along May River Road.

Now, I didn’t take a header straight into a pile of muck and mud. No, I teetered precariously along the edge as I trekked from the Promenade to “our spot” at the Squat & Gobble corner.

You see last December there were no sidewalks along that stretch of road. So I stepped over dogs, strollers, lawn chairs and a small child or two (lest someone move out of the way and find themselves in the ditch) – all jammed along the roadside with nowhere to go, but down.

CONTINUE READING

I'm Back ...

Bluffton Today Column
November 25, 2009

I’m back.

Perhaps you hadn’t noticed?

But yes, it’s me. The Jersey Girl. The Cranky Yankee.

After a one and half year hiatus, I have returned to the Bluffton Today ring. And yes, I fully expect a smack down via VOX and blog. (In fact, it has already begun. In record time) But, this time will be different. I won’t read the blogs or peruse the VOX comments. No this time, I am only going to take the feedback offered by my Mom. She loves everything I write.

In all seriousness, when offered this opportunity to return I grabbed it without a second thought (ok, I had one second thought). Heck, I even updated my Facebook status to reflect my return to BT. The comments included a mix of “I can’t wait” and “oh, no”. Tell me about it people.
However, I shall prevail. At my first public event since my re-appointment I offered a little smack down of my own. Last month I participated in the “Toss for the Cure” corn hole tournament at Monster Pizza.

In the first round my partner and I were pitted against Bluffton Today publisher Tim Anderson and his wife Jill. We beat them in straight sets … or the corn hole equivalent of straight sets ... successive holes?

Either way, it was extremely embarrassing for Tim. So, I wanted to publicly apologize for publicly humiliating my new (again) boss.

But, while we are talking corn hole. Everyone who is anyone is doing it. And I know this because well, I am someone.

Ryan and Leah McCarthy owners of the Downtown Deli, Downtown Catering and Monster Pizza started a corn hole league over the summer and it has been growing with increasing fervor. More than 30 two-man teams gather each Wednesday night at Monster Pizza on Burnt Church Road for friendly competition. This is a brilliant move on the part of the McCarthys whose Wednesday has become the new Saturday. I mean, they are guaranteed that sixty people will eat pizza and drink beer. That my friends, is brilliance.

But it is more than the food and drink.

In fact, it is the only time all week that I don’t have my Blackberry with me. I disconnect for three hours every Wednesday, which in turn allows me to actually connect with people. Real live people. Standing right there in front of me. And I talk to them face-to-face. And without my right thumb rolling feverishly over the track ball of my Blackberry to see if a new message has arrived.

If you don’t know what corn hole is, I invite you to come and check it out. The new league starts Wednesday, December 2. Stop by Monster Pizza to register and come see what everyone is talking about.

I promise you it is quite a scene, and the place to be seen. And heard. After all, when you get sixty locals together there are bound to be some column ideas brewing there.

Until then, Happy Thanksgiving!

Let Pooping Dogs Lie

Bluffton Today Column
November 11, 2009

“Pet owners are to have their dogs urinate / defecate in their own lawns prior to taking them for walks. If you cannot control the animal from urinating/defecting while being taken for a walk, then you need to find another place to walk your dog.”

This quote is taken from a recent update sent out by my Property Owners Association. Pardon the pun, but I expect that this may insight a $hit storm.

Let me shed a little light on how dog walking works.

The moment I lace up my sneakers my dog, Darby, begins spinning in maniacal circles. He knows that we are going for a walk. When I open the closet door and reach for the leash, the spinning is joined by jumping and an audible increase in breathing rhythm. So now I have a spinning, jumping, out of breathe dog who if he was a little smarter would realize that we can’t go for a walk until I put on his leash. And, I can’t get the leash on while he is spinning and jumping.

Eventually good sense kicks in and I am able to get the leash around his neck and us out the back door. Where we pit stop in our yard for the first “go”. I hope the POA is watching!

Then, we begin our trek through the neighborhood to the main entrance. Now, because Darby is a dog he does stop at almost every mailbox to take a sniff, each stop sign to take a whiff, and every fire hydrant to take a … well, you get it. In some instances he is marking his territory and in others checking out an already pre-marked locale. I think it is because he is a dog!

Once on McCracken Circle we get moving at a pretty good clip. And undoubtedly each time I hit my stride, Darby hits a mandatory pit-stop and practically separates my shoulder. Again, I think it is because he is a dog.

Believe me I am the first one to complain when I see a steaming pile of poop that someone didn’t scoop. But, I do think the POA needs to be a little more realistic. It isn’t as easy to control a dog’s bathroom habits as they may think.

So, I pose this scenario to Mr. POA. Imagine you just had a huge Mexican dinner. Beer, tacos, salsa, hot sauce, re-fried beans. About half way home you start to feel the rumble in the tumble. You park the car haphazardly in the driveway, fumble with the keys, and race through the front door only to find that your wife is in the bathroom. You dance around outside the bathroom door, holding “it” in agony pleading with your wife to hurry.

And, she says, “honey can’t you hold it just a little bit longer?”

Better yet, she comes out of the bathroom, ties a leash around your neck and tries to drag you to somewhere that she deems better for doing your business.

I don’t know about you, but I’d bite your wife and bust through the bathroom door. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.

Proust Interview

I love writing, but was super-excited to have someone write about me. For about a minute. Then I got embarrassed. Then I re-considered all of my answers. Then it was over. Then I emailed the writer to change my answers. All is all, she did a hell of a job ...

Read my "Proust Interview" in CH2/CB2 here ...

And ... is Photography By Anne not pretty darn talented? She made me look good!

College Life Comes to Bluffton

CH2, November 2009

She laughed. She cried.

She is Kate Torborg, Student Life Director for the University of South Carolina Beaufort.

She is one of the first people students meet when they arrive on campus and it is her job to make sure their college experience is everything they’ve imagined, and for the traditionally-aged student, everything their parents have hoped for.

She is helping to transform Bluffton into a college town and I am pretty excited about it.

CONTINUE READING

Town Council Grudge Match

Bluffton Today column October 28, 2009

Why is it that in high school whenever there was a fight in the halls everyone would gather in
close and chant “fight, fight, fight”?

What is so entertaining about two people going head-to-head verbally or non-verbally that forces us to stop, watch, and listen?

Does reveling in the embarrassment of others make us feel better about ourselves?

Where am I going with this, you may ask?

Well, to an outsider looking in, Councilmen Charlie Wetmore and Fred Hamilton are bitter rivals. They talk at each other, not with each other. There are stare-downs and pare-downs, as in "we’ve heard enough from you, let’s move on.” We witness verbal jabs and non-verbal stabs.

In fact, sometimes the show they put on is almost entertaining enough to make you want to return to another council meeting.

So, despite the fact that their barb-exchanging, chest-puffing, finger-point behavior is indeed entertaining to me, I thought it was also worthy of some further investigation. So, I called them both to uncover the real story behind the perceived tenuous relationship.

And it appears that things aren’t always as they seem.

Fred says, “I don’t go along, to get along”. He’ll admit that many times he and Charlie don’t always see things the same way, but he respect Charlie and believes that Charlie has the best interest of the town in mind. Further, he appreciates the fact that the council is diverse, in background, approach and communication style. “Everyone is different, but I am very comfortable with the fact that we are a working council. We make decisions. We disagree. We forgive. We forget. We move on.” (I think that means they “get ‘er done”!)

Charlie was equally as diplomatic (note: I actually believe both of them) and says that he would consider him and Fred friends who have simply agreed to disagree, “we are both passionate about the cause, and you can’t get upset with someone who is passionate.” But, Charlie admits that every once and awhile they both need to be reminded not to cut each other off. Charlie also says, “The public doesn’t see that we talk before and after each meeting. And, just like any relationship, it’s not always ideal, but we make up in the end.”

So, it sounds like they have mutual respect for each other even when they are both being a P in the A.

Damn! I was so hoping for a Town Council Grudge Match.

Now entering the ring …

Chesty Charlie, frocked in flip flops, khaki shorts, and a wrinkled golf shirt and weighing in at 27% sarcasm, 32% Yankee and 41% I don’t care what you think.

And, his opponent … Fearless Fred dressed in spit-shined shoes, suit, tie and handkerchief and weighing in at 54% local, 29% pointed eye contact and 17% frustration.

Let’s. Get. Ready. To. Rumble.

Read the column online

A Tour of Bluffton with Mayor Sulka

CH2, September 2009

What do you get when you mix a pile of old tires, a half-naked mannequin, and a butcher’s knife?
Believe it or not, these are just a few of the things you may find at Bluffton Mayor Lisa Sulka’s favorite haunts.

In celebration of the magazine’s third birthday, I ventured out with Mayor Sulka to check out her favorite Bluffton spots – three old and three new. Each comes with a story of its own.

CONTINUE READING

Love Him or Hate Him: Bluffton Town Councilman Charlie Wetmore

CH2, August 2009

Charlie Wetmore is a jerk.

Or at least that is what I thought before we sat down together for a drink, at my request.

So, I am sitting at a bar with Bluffton Town Councilman Charlie Wetmore. He’s having a coke (ah, a man of the people) and I am juggling a Corona and my pen.

We’ve been here before, at the same bar that is. And those nights when we happened to be at the same place at the same time – whether it be corn hole night at Monster Pizza, open-mic night at Station 70, or live music night at Corks – endeared me to Charlie. He can throw ‘em back with the best of us. And I like that. (In fairness, who don’t I love when I’m throwing them back?)

Continue reading

Enter Sandbar

CH2, June 2009

Spring in the Lowcountry seems to last for about fifteen minutes, but summer is endless. And in Bluffton, summer begins and ends at the Sandbar.

To put it in perspective for you … less than a week after our first trip to the Sandbar with friends, my husband and I bought a boat. Two years later I am sans husband, but the boat is still mine. Continue reading

Hell Hath No Fury ...

OK, the title has nothing to do with the actual post. But, I am going down the religion road and well, "hell" seemed appropriate. I'm rambling, I know.

Moving on. I went to church last week. I know, I know. You are shocked. I was too. I will admit that I went for a memorial service, not because I was seeking the good Lord. Baby steps people, baby steps.

I've written before about being ex-communicated from the Catholic Church. It is kind of hard to buy that whole forgiveness thing when the church as an entity won't forgive a divorce. But, I'm not bitter.

Anyway, Church is a big deal down here in the South. When I was interviewing for jobs, the first (yes, the FIRST) question I was asked by someone was, "what church will you attend"? I was struck by the odd question and couldn't believe that someone thought this was the most important detail I needed to attend to. My focus was on a place to live, maybe a job. Silly me.

Since that first question, I have been asked a number of times to attend church with some Southern folks I have met. And while I always turn them down (can't teach an old dog new tricks), I am always honored by the request. They respect me and are trying to bring me into their fold and that is a nice gesture.

When I entered Church of the Cross last week for the memorial service, I grabbed a seat next to a friend who said, "should I be worried that lightning is going to strike"? Clearly, he knows my position. But, I didn't embarrass him and in fact, I was proud of myself for remembering all of the words to the Apostle's Creed. I haven't uttered that prayer since my confirmation in 1980-something. I guess that Catholic guilt is good for something.

Religion is a touchy subject. And unless you are discussing it with someone who is on the same page as you, it can get heated. I recently had a conversation with a friend about the topic and I think it was the first time I truly felt like someone understood what my position was.

I don't think you have to go to church to be religious or spiritual. In fact, I give thanks every weekend when I am on May River breathing in the fresh air. And when I cut fresh flowers or herbs from my yard. And feel my niece's head on my shoulder. And can walk just five doors down to see my Mom. I have a good life and I am grateful. But, I haven't quite figured out who I should be thanking ... other than myself.

Goodbye Bauer

On Thursday afternoon I had to say goodbye to my cat. Sweet, sweet Bauer.

Bauer (Bow Bow as he was affectionately called) was a gentle, snuggling little boy who slept on my legs for the better part of the last twelve years, rendering me immobile most nights.

Bauer came into my life almost twelve years ago ... joining my other cat, Skye, who hissed at him for two weeks straight. Suddenly one day they warmed to each other and were inseparable - often spooning the days away - until the end.

Part of the difficulty of the decision to say goodbye to Bow Bow was how Skye would feel. It is important to note that she is taking it like a champ (by sleeping on my legs and well, rendering me immobile).

Yes, he drove me crazy at times ... he liked to play in the fireplace and spread soot and ash throughout the house and many a time, I had to drag him to the sink to wash the soot from his glorious white fur.

Speaking of that fur, Bauer may hold the world record for shedding and as such thought it important to prove his skill by laying on the couch immediately after I would vacuum his hair away.

If you opened a door and Bauer was nearby he would almost always scoot past you to get a taste of the outdoors. He would stride through the doorway and immediately fall to the ground where he would proceed to lay on his back looking up at the sky. He didn't seem to need to go far, but he just wanted that little escape.

Of course at the end of his life, Bauer was too heavy to make it up the stairs to bed most nights. He just wanted to be left alone. The diabetes caused him to drink inordinate amounts of water and then pee them all over the floor. But, I could never yell at him. He was just so darn cute. And, I knew he was sick.

Bauer came into my life at a time when the other "man" (and I use that term loosely) in my life was anything but reliable, caring or sweet. I know he was a cat, but Bauer filled a void with unconditional love. He had a purr that could lull you to sleep and make you wish for that kind of happiness.

On Thursday when we arrived at the Veterinarian's office I hesitated outside the door, I opened it, closed it, wiped my tears, and finally went in. I was red-eyed and sobbing before the doctor even entered the room. Bauer laid on the table -- tense and a little agitated. I couldn't help but think that he knew what I was about to do to him and that feeling was unbearable.

As the sedation began to take hold, he lay there weakened but he wouldn't stop looking at me. I put my hands on his face and my head to his and I said goodbye as he slipped away, quietly, peacefully.

And now, as I sit here typing, with tears streaming down my face, my other "man" (ok, dog) Darby sits at my feet, with his head on my knee offering me the comfort that only a pet can. Unconditional love, even in the worst of times.










Rest in peace Bauer.

Mishaps, meltdowns and other previously unreported stuff...

Every good movie has it's blooper reel, and for me, every great trip has one too. Here are all the great little ditties that I didn't share in my daily recaps ...

I cried intermitently throughout the flight from Atlanta to San Francisco ... no idea why, totally random, but once I was in my rental car I was like Wonder Woman on a mission.

If you sleep through food service on Delta, there are no make-ups.

When flying to the West Coast on Delta, you will be asked to pay $6.95 for your movie. However, if you hold out you can see the same movie for free on the way back East. Explain that to me.

I successfully alluded a stalker at the Cooking for Solutions Gala. Definitely not my type since, I don't really like stalkers.

I overflowed my bath tub at the Intercontinental in Monterey not once, but twice. On the second try it took one oversized bath mat, two bath sheets, 1 robe and 4 hand towels to sop up all of the water.

A deep breath, some well timed tears (I had just dropped my 60 lb. suitcase on my foot -- when the handle broke), and a slightly askew t-shirt will save you $90 in "over-weight luggage fees" at SFO. You just have to know how to work it.

I am an over-packer. On my next trip, and before I ever make it out of my bedroom, I hope to realize that I will never wear 80% of what is in my suitcase. And hopefully, I will go back into the closet and pack a smaller bag. Bruised feet and egos (see crying at Delta check-in)do not make for a happy Courtney.

Finally, Moms really do know best. When I told my Mom that the handle broke on my suitcase (again! the second of the set of three) that she bought me, she said ... "do you think maybe the handles break because you have so much stuff in your suitcase and it weighs 10 lbs. more than the airlines will even allow..." Honestly, that fact never occurred to me. And, I wonder where I get my sarcasm.

Sea lions and tigers and bears, oh my...

Back on my own again today and off exploring.

Little did I know, Monterey is more than just Cannery Row, there is a whole lot to do out there. The editors of Coastal Living provided tip cards of their favorite things to do in Monterey, so I took a small stack of the cards with a mission to tackle their list.

First up -- The Coastal Recreation Trail which led me to Fisherman's Wharf and the lesser known "Wharf No. 2". So, I walked, enjoyed the views and did a little people watching. And had a blast watching a gaggle of sea lions sun and swim, two of my favorite pasttimes -- so we connected immediately.


For lunch I hit Lou Lou's Griddle in the Middle where crab cakes and a Corona hit the spot. For entertainment I watched a group of six men try to extricate themselves from their Ford Expedition after parking too close to my rental SUV. Granted I was over the line, because the car next to me was over the line. See this is why dining alone is fun, you make your own entertainment.

From Lou Lou's I headed downtown to check out the Monterey Museum of Art. They had a great collection of Ansel Adams photography and one painting that reminded me of moonrise on the May River ... and made me anxious to head back home tomorrow.

Across from the museum, the class of 2009 was graduating from the Monterey College of International Something Another ... so, I hung out and watched. Again, you have to make your own fun!

Then, I did the accelerated and speedy tour of the Aquarium ... sea horses, sharks, kelp, screaming kids... all the makings of my ideal day.

I was dying to dive back into my book Still Alice, which I hadn't picked up since Calistoga. So, back at the hotel I sat on the patio overlooking the bay and read uninterrupted for two hours straight with the sun on my face. Pure heaven.

Tonight, I hooked up with the Coastal Living crew again for drinks and a quick bite at The Sardine Factory, famous for the scenes of Clint Eastwood in "Play Misty for Me" which, of course, I have never heard of.

We made fast friends with the piano player and made him play every favorite song in our books ... Piano Man, Mrs. Robinson, Walking in Memphis, and of course, Sweet Home Alabama. And after all the torture, he still allowed us to capture a picture. It was the perfect end to a perfect vacation.


From there it was on to Sly McFlys, a jazz and blues club with a fabulous singer. There, we met two thoroughly entertaining guys from Holland who allowed us to tease them about tulips, wooden shoes, and windmills and in exchange they bought us drinks. All in all, a good night.

Now at 1:50 a.m., with aching feet I finish my final post and ponder how the heck I am going to a) get up in the morning and b) get all of my gear back home.

Alas, I am tired. What a long, long week it has been. But, totally worth it. This trip was the best gift I could give myself. And, I've come along way. Not just in miles traveled and towns passed through...

I realized today, that my fear of eating alone in a restaurant was really a fear of being alone. And now, I relish the time alone and realize that no one is looking at the chick by herself, because she is smiling. She is happy by herself.

Excuse me Sur, you're beautiful...

Happy Birthday to me. I have managed to go the whole day without caring how old I am. That is a good day my friends.

Today's itinerary included Pebble Beach, Carmel, and Big Sur. I truly don't understand how each town I visit is more breathtaking than the last.

This morning Ashley, Wes and I took a leisurely drive further south on Route 1. We did the "17 Mile Drive" around The Inn at Spanish Bay and Pebble Beach ...

We stopped at Pebble Beach for a look around (and to buy $80 golf shirts) and spotted a chimney sweep in top hat and tails tending to the chimneys of the Inn at Pebble Beach. Its a tough job, but someone has to do it. In other "you don't see this everyday" news, there were fifteen guys doing maintenance on the putting green, all at once. That is hard core golf there...

From Pebble Beach we scooted a little further south to Carmel. What a fabulous town. Quaint, sleepy, story book. Until! We ran into Clint Eastwood. He invited us to join him for a cup of coffee and we talked and talked.

Ok, I'm kidding about the Clint part. I was the most famous person we saw.

Back in the car and along the winding "one". Waves crashing. Cows grazing. Pacific gleaming. Artists painting. I just took it all in.

Our destination was Big Sur and the Nepenthe restaurant on the recommendation of Coastal Living (the mag recently did a piece on the place). The food was great, the Bellini hit the spot, the company wonderful, but the views... let's just say I have spent a lot of time speechless on this trip.

I enjoyed a leisurely few hours at the hotel before dolling up to head out to the "Cooking for Solutions" Gala at the Monterey Bay Aquarium tonight. The $250 I "donated" to that fabulous shop in Healdsburg for the fabulous dress that I had to have was all for naught -- even though I packed 19 t-shirts, it seems that my undergarment choices were not as varied and unfortunately I did not have anything conducive to making the dress "work". Are you following me here?

This intimate affair of 2,200 people was not a bad way to spend my birthday. Food and wine samplings from one hundred plus chefs and wineries. I am full and happy. The piece d' resistance was the Eiffel Tower constructed of cream puffs. Just after I took this picture, the photographer from the local paper stopped and asked me if I would be in the shot of the Eiffel Tower Chef serving the crowd, ahem, me. See, now I am famous (see Clint reference above).

Side note -- so glad I didn't wear the dress because apparently "cocktail attire" in California can be cowboy hats, camouflage sweatshirts, flip flops with socks and of course there was the women in gold lame with her girls hanging out and my personal favorite the woman dressed as a mermaid. Ok, the soiree was at an aquarium but the goal was not to blend in with the decor lady.

And, as exhaustion sets in - again - I accidentally took this picture of myself (in the mirror, while at the computer typing this) when trying to email the cream puff Eiffel Tower picture to myself.

It is indeed time for bed.

Life is a Highway

CA Route 1 is freakin' spectacular. Despite the protests from Map Quest and my GPS, both of whom prefer the quickest route versus the most scenic, I stuck with my guns and traveled Route 1 from San Francisco to Monterey.

First though, I felt like I had to get back and see the Golden Gate Bridge again. I needed pictures. So, I somehow (with no help from my GPS) navigated myself to a park at the base of the bridge and was able to see her again in all her glory. Another (rare) clear day, so I was able to capture the moment.

Then, on to Route 1 for the spectacular drive down the California Coast. The fog set in just as I got started, but it cleared quickly and the drive just got more and more beautiful the further south I went.

I stopped at three state beaches/parks (the first of which was a nude beach, thanks for the warning park service!) to take photos and revel in the exquisite beauty. I was truly blown away. And I had to at least get my toes wet. At 50 degrees it was a brief encounter with the Pacific. But, totally worth it.


This is Santa Cruz, I haven't seen water this beautiful since Bermuda.

Then, on to Monterey. The hotel, the Intercontinental - The Clement Monterey is also celebrating a birthday this week. The bathroom (my barometer for fine hotels, kind of like the bread being the barometer at a restaurant) is heaven -- deep soaking tub, separate shower, luxurious linens. Heaven for a weary traveler with a sore ass. (Yeah, it still hurts...) And, the fireplace in the room doesn't suck either.

I had lunch at the hotel, overlooking the Bay, and had a lobster bisque soup that will give "Carmen Miranda's" in Bar Harbor, ME a run for its money.

When I got back to my room for a little rest, there was a knock on my door. Surprise! Champagne and chocolate covered strawberries from my "girls" Terri and Lani. Brought tears to me eyes. I have good friends. The only thing that makes a deep soaking tub better is a glass of champagne in hand. So hell, I am on vacation ... I drank most of the bottle.

Then, it was off to the Monterey Bay Aquarium for the first night of the "Cooking for Solutions" event, sponsored by my pals at Coastal Living magazine (my hosts for the weekend). It was great to rendezvous with Ashley, Julia, Sara and Wes, who work with me on the Lowcountry Celebration event at Palmetto Bluff. We had great food, great wine, and we met Alton Brown (one of the celebrity chefs hosting the event this weekend). Wes took a great shot of the girls and Alton, but my camera phone was full and I couldn't save the image. Luckily, Ashley has a back-up ... so, I can add it to my celebrity chef wall of fame (I don't really have one of those...).

Ashley, Wes, and I are headed to Big Sur in the morning. It will be nice to have traveling partners after five days of solo travel.

Stay tuned.

The San Francisco Treat (Er, Feet...)

My feet are killing me -- a lot of walking today.

First, a quick note about my funky, fun hotel in San Francisco. I am staying at Hotel Union Square right in the heart of the city. Erin, marketing diva for Personality Hotels hooked me up with a great room and a super sweet welcome gift. It's good to know people!

So, this morning I trekked down Market Street to the Ferry Building ... it was about a mile stroll, the weather was crisp and clear (apparently I have been blessed with fabulous San Fran weather which isn't the standard), and I loved walking through throngs of people ... and all of the activity.

Grabbed a bagel for breakfast (haven't had a good bagel in SC in 4 years so that was a nice treat) and rendezvoused with my tour guide for my "Gourmet Walks" chocolate-themed walking tour of the city.

There were eight of us on the tour and our guide, Brenna, was fun and energetic. By the third stop on the tour, I couldn't eat another piece of chocolate which is good news for everyone at home ... lots of chocolate samples coming back to the right coast with me. All in all, a great three and a half hours around the city with a fun group of folks from Ohio, Michigan and Hawaii.

Since my feet were not yet throbbing, I decided to keep on trekking up and around Union Square and then back down to the Ferry Building for a quick bite and to breath in some bay air.

I finally made it back to my room around 4:30 -- that was seven and a half hours of walking - and crashed. Feet throbbing, I fell into bed and I was asleep in minutes.

Luckily I woke up in time to meet marketing diva, Erin, for drinks at Cantina -- really cool bar on Sutter with a really unique drink menu and a fabulous margarita. Erin and I talked non-stop for two hours (non bad since we never met before!) ...

I realized while walking to Cantina how much there was that I didn't get to do while in San Francisco. I think this is another must return destination. Alcatraz, Golden Gate Bridge, Pier 39 -- all things I wanted to do, but never got to. There are only so many hours in a day.

I realize too that SF has great restaurants and I didn't really get to experience them ... I've been mostly partaking in the liquid concoctions that the city has to offer. Don't judge! So, I am currently eating a slice of pizza that I grabbed on the walk back to the hotel. I love that a 10 p.m. there are hundreds of options for a quick bite. You don't see that in B'town, SC.

I am off to Monterey in the morning ... looking forward to the drive down Route 1 and hoping to stick my toes in the Pacific.

P.S. I miss my dog.

On the Road Again

Up early again today ... I think me knees are somewhere between central and mountain time.

I drove into St. Helena first thing for a little breakfast and some shopping. I spotted a lot of cute shops on my way through St. Helena to Calistoga and knew I wanted to stop on the way back. I was not disappointed.

To make up for my lack of wine tasting, I did something even better. Olive oil and balsamic vinegar tasting. Even at 10:00 a.m. my taste buds were totally into it. I cannot wait to get home and enjoy my purchases for the next few months ... a little taste of my trip, right in my own kitchen. Luckily the good folks at St. Helena Olive Oil Co. ship for free when you spend more than $50. Since I spent enough to put their first child through college, I expect that they are hand delivering my goods.

From St. Helena I drove through Sonoma to Mill Valley. What a beautiful drive. Utterly breathtaking. Unfortunately the route through Sonoma was not as tourist friendly as the Alexander Valley meaning there were no dirt turnarounds for me to pull into and whip out the camera. Hence the photo through the windshield, classy right?

On to Mill Valley for lunch with the Tyler and Tolan Florence and my pal Reid. Great lunch at Balboas where I salivated over Tolan's burger for 60 minutes while eating salad. But, I knew there may be some increased calorie consumption via beer at the ballpark tonight, so I was saving up.

Back in the car again and heading into "the city" I was stunned by the beauty as I approached the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a clear day with bright sunshine and didn't know where to look first, but since I was driving I decided on straight ahead with minimal glances out of the corner of my eye. I hope to walk the Golden Gate Wednesday to truly appreciate the views.

Driving in San Francisco was not as bad as I though until I hit the block that my hotel is on. I was a little surprised to be sharing the road with the cable cars. I had a minor panic attack that I turned down a "no entry" street but nope, that's how they roll.

So about that ballpark...here is a story for you. I took the "muni" (subway-esque transportation mode - not scary like NYC, easy to navigate like Boston thank goodness - that runs above ground for part of the route) to AT&T Park and met Reid at Momo's for a few beers. The stadium is gorgeous -- we had Club level seats which gave us an indoor place to eat and drink and a spot to escape the cold. Brrr. I made it until the 7th inning before frost bite set in. And that is when the real comedy began.

Here is the short version of what happened next. We were getting ready to leave, the Giants were up and it was the 8th inning. Then, the Nationals hit a three-run homer so Reid said, "Man up Court and get a beer (I had already switched to water), it is a one-run game.

So, we got beers and as Reid walked in front of me sloshing his beer all of the floor, I slipped, I fell, I spilled my beer. Then, I got up, I slipped, I fell, in my beer.

Bottom line? My ass is killing me. The good news? Not even a stain on my pants, that is one clean stadium! The funny part (other than me falling on my ass twice in ten seconds)? Last time Reid and I hung out I also fell ... that time I ended up on crutches for a few days, so I think all in all this was a better outing.

Day Two, Two Words

Outdoor Shower. Stay tuned, I'll get there...

I was awake at 7:00 a.m. today. I was thrilled that I quickly adjusted to PST. So, I donned my sneakers and decided to jog into "town" - Calistoga. Well, it seems that all these mountains perhaps add a little altitude hence, I was out of breath before I hit the gate of the resort. The only other answer I could come up with is that my trusting pace dog, Darby, was not by my side. I never jog without him, so maybe that was the reason for not being able to catch my breath.

Whatever.

It was a cool morning and perfect for a brisk walk and after, a steam shower (yup, still solo).

Then, it was off to the Solage Spa. First on the agenda was a lava-colada scrub -- sea salt, pineapple, and all kinds of yummy stuff that made me semi-curious about what it might taste like it. But, in an effort to adhere to spa etiquette, I didn't eat any of the products.

So, the scrub is over and before my massage the therapist tells me to step outside and take a shower to rinse the lava and the colada away.

Two words. Outdoor shower. Oh my god. I know it is only day two, but it is possible that this could top the list of memorable moments. As a pretty modest person, I must admit I had no quandaries about losing the robe and taking this shower. Did I mention it was outside? Sun streaming down and hitting my back. Heaven, absolute heaven. The hot stone massage that followed was pretty damn good too. Once complete, the massage therapist did comment that I could really benefit from regular massages. Um, why? Because I am always so stressed and going at 100 miles an hour? Is that what you mean? Huh? Huh?

Post spa, I programmed the GPS and made the 45-minute drive north to Healdsburg (and through Alexander Valley which was gorgeous and captured in this pic). I did a little retail therapy to go with my massage therapy and had an awesome lunch (and dessert) at Charcuterie.

So here I am in the Napa Valley and I don't really like wine. And, I definitely don't like drinking alone. I mean where is the fun in that? So, I really see this quick stop in Calistoga as a research trip for a potential return (perhaps not solo) trip to be able to give Napa and Sonoma the justice they deserve.

I was back poolside late afternoon and had another fabulous dinner (and wine flight -- ok, I like some wine) at Solbar.

In the morning I depart and I'll drive through St. Helena en route for Mill Valley and a little visit with the Florence clan before settling in at the Hotel Union Square. Giants game tomorrow night. Stay tuned for more.

The Journey Begins

Up at 3:00 a.m. for a 4:00 a.m. pick-up (courtesy of Mom, what a saint to roll out of bed pre-dawn on Mother's Day to take me to the airport) for a 5:40 a.m. flight. Having only gone to bed the "night" before at 12:45 a.m. (reasons for which deserve their own post re: the most spectacular full moon on the May River...) it was rough going.

I fell asleep before my short flight from Savannah (where I learned that a bag over 50 lbs. will cost you $90) to Atlanta was even airborne. And I woke only when we slammed (not exaggerating) into the runway upon arrival. It was a jarring landing, but perhaps the pilot was also up way past his bedtime. I'm on vacation, so he was forgiven.

Scooted into ATL, hit the Dunkin' Donuts and was back in a window seat an hour later for my cross-country flight.

Now, if you haven't been keeping up, this trip is my gift to myself for well, living with me for the past 36 years. The plan -- two nights in Calistoga; two nights in San Francisco and three nights in Monterey. A drive down Route 1 for good measure and lots of visits with friends in between. (It took 36 years for me to have enough friends on the West Coast to stretch a trip over seven days.)

To the two people who read this blog ... no offense but my chronicling every minute is really for me. This is a big milestone - my first solo travel, ever - and I don't want to forget anything. But, please keep reading!

So, here is what Day One looked like after a smooth landing in San Francisco.

I expected that the approach to SFO would be tantamount to flying into NYC - with landmarks surrounding the plane at every turn. Um no. Who knew San Francisco was surrounded by mountains? Who was my geography teacher anyway?

In the rental car and over the Bay Bridge where I could see the Golden Gate bridge (and wondered how I could drive over that one) and Alcatraz off to the distance made me excited for my return to San Fran in just a couple days.

Next came the traffic as I attempted to get out of the city. It was like Route 18 in New Brunswick on a Saturday in the fall when the Scarlet Knights are playing at home. If you're not from New Jersey, that means it was a cluster f*ck. Bumper to bumper, traffic light after traffic light.

Just as I was perfecting my breathing and trying to stay calm, I hit Route 29 and everything cleared. Welcome to Napa Valley. 30 miles of vineyards and I hit my destination. Solage Calistoga. I wasn't disappointed. The General Manager upgraded me to a suite with private patio and jacuzzi (which would be so much more exciting if I wasn't here alone) and a steam shower that dreams are made of (which also would be so much more exciting if I wasn't here alone).

My plan for day one was to simply re-charge and I did. A few hours poolside with a great book, a lunch of spicy shrimp and lettuce rolls, a quick bike ride around property, a short nap and off to dinner at Solbar at 8 p.m. (a stretch for me, since it was already 11 p.m. on my clock) where I had the most spectacular salmon I have every tasted.

One of my students this semester who travels a lot told me that whenever he gets to a new time zone, he lays on his stomach for 20 minutes and lets the sun hit the back of his knees. He said it automatically readjusts his clock. I gave my knees their 20 minutes earlier in the day at the pool.

Perhaps it worked because I drifted to slumber at 10 p.m. (PST) and slept until 7:00 a.m. I think my clock is back in order.

Class Dismissed

Sadly the spring semester at USCB has ended. I shed a few tears, as I walked to my car after the final speech was presented, feeling empty.

The final speech assignment was to present a special occasion speech paying tribute to one (or all) of their fellow classmates and reflecting upon the journey they all took together ... traversing the fear (and mastery) of public speaking. And, they blew me away with poise, confidence, clarity, humor and nostalgia.

Never in eight years of teaching have I been so moved by a group of students. So moved, that before the final exam and for the first time ever I prepared a parting speech. But left speechless after the finals I never presented it. So, I share it here ...

Author Keith Harrell said …

“You are successful when you remember that somewhere, sometime, someone gave you a gift. That gift is what started you in the right direction. Remember that you are blessed when you pass that gift on to help someone else.”

So, with that in mind I’ve tried to give you the GIFT OF CONFIDENCE -- to stand right here -- week after week -- and tell us exactly what you are thinking with your head held high and your words strung together like music lyrics.

And, in turn you gave me a gift. And whether you know it or not, that gift was laughter.
I never left this classroom without a smile on my face and a funny anecdote to share.

You were my perfect escape. The perfect end to sixteen weeks of days.

You smiled, you laughed at my jokes, you sent me funny emails, and you crafted sometimes sweet and sometimes sour (yet funny) thought cards.

You worked hard and you proved yourselves to me (and you!) over and over again.

You are all seasoned public speakers.

You took the tools provided and you used them.

And you should be proud.

So, as you move on to bigger and better things, I want to leave you with some final words of wisdom, courtesy of one of my favorite teachers. Dr. Seuss –

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
As you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
With many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
And remember that Life’s
A great balancing act.
Just never forget to be ‘deksteras’ and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.
And will you succeed!
Yes! You will indeed.

Kid, you’ll move mountains.

So …
Be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
Or Modacai Ali Van Alley O’Shea,
You’re off to great places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So … get on your way!

Class Critic

My guest column in the April 19 Bluffton Today. Read it here. Let the comments fly.

Writing Project

Ok, so I participate in the "Lowcountry Blog Jam" http://www.lowcountryblogjam.blogspot.com/ - a compilation of blogs from the area.

Per our Blog-Master, it has been slim pickens in the arena of new material lately. And as such, he has requested that we post something, anything to get this thing going again.

He has assigned all of the participants a writing project - an easy one to get us back on the horse again. So, to make him happy I will comply.

Per his request -- here are the 25 most played songs on my iPod.

1. Heat of the Moment, Asia
2. Slide, Goo Goo Dolls
3. Jessie's Girl, Rick Springfield
4. It's My Life, Bon Jovi
5. Southern Cross, Crosby, Stills & Nash
6. Come on Eileen, Dexy's Midnight Runners
7. Brandy (You're a Fine Girl), Looking Glass
8. Closer to Free, BoDeans
9. When The Sun Goes Down, Kenny Chesney
10. Summer, Highland Falls, Billy Joel
11. My Kinda Lover, Billy Squier
12. Runaway, Bon Jovi
13. Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen
14. Home, Daughtry
15. Cowboy Take Me Away, Dixie Chicks
16. Everything Falls Apart, Dog's Eye View
17. You're My Home, Billy Joel
18. Half-Life, Duncan Sheik
19. Missed It By a Mile, Blue Dogs
20. Shattered (Turn the Car Around), O.A.R.
21. My Next Thirty Years, Tim McGraw
22. Who Says You Can't Go Home, Bon Jovi & Jennifer Nettles
23. I Am, Kid Rock
24. Love You 'Til the End, The Pogues
25. Into the Mystic, Van Morrison

I realize as I complete this assignment, that it is one I should assign to my students as an ice-breaker. I think a lot of inferences can be made from an iPod song list. So, what does this say about me?

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

Typically my inspiration for posting is based on the idiocy or humor that I find in others. But yesterday, I inspired myself.

While shopping at World Market, I wandered around somewhat aimlessly adding things to my basket - sea salt, new rug for the front entry, chocolate, candles, etc. And on a whim I shuffled over to the Halloween area in the hopes of finding some inspiration for a costume. Nothing earth shattering there, but I did find a cute little pair of devil horns. I figured worst case scenario, I wear jeans, a black t-shirt and devil horns. Perfect.

So, I get to the register and the woman checking me out feels it necessary to discuss every item I am purchasing with me (no, this isn't the idiocy yet). As I am focusing on my wallet she says, "Aw ... and you didn't forget your pooch. How Cute."

Awkward silence ensues.

And then, the "aha!" moment.

I was wondering why the devil horns had a chin strap, but I figured with a bobby-pin or two I could make them work.

Um yeah, the chip strap is for my dog's chin. These horns are for the dogs.

So, everyone makes mistakes. And I ain't afraid to admit it.

On that note, a couple little mistakes that the fine folks of Bluffton have let slip out of late ...

Town Meeting, September 17. There must have been something in the water that day.

The disgusting gentleman who sat behind me for 90 minutes burped out loud for 89 minutes. The icing on the cake was that with every belch he would blow a breeze my way. Lovely.

Almost as disturbing, but so much funnier because well, I didn't have to smell it ...

The woman sitting a few rows in front of us must have felt a rumble in the tumble because she abruptly jumped from her seat and sped to the door. All the while passing gas loudly. I am ashamed to say that I laughed and laughed and laughed at that one. I don't know who should be more embarrassed, me or her? Ok ... me.

Since no one has shit their pants in front of me this month, I guess I will leave it at that.

Courtney Naughton is STILL in South Carolina?

My furor over a local elected officials statement that boils down to "new residents go home, I don't care what you think" received some press in Bluffton Today and the Island Packet.

But, considering the apathy in our town regarding local politics I didn't expect much in the way of a response. I got a "Go Jersey Girl" cheer and then one commented that baffled me, printed in Friday's BT. It went something like this ...

"Frankly, I am surprised that Courtney Naughton is still in South Carolina."

Come again? I think the point is being missed on this one. This isn't about me. It is about one of Bluffton's Town Council Members saying in public and on the record that he doesn't consider the opinions of the "new people" in town to be valid.

Well, wake up people. 80% of Bluffton is made up of new residents. Why don't you care?

Saying Goodbye to a Favorite Pair

It's been weeks now. I guess I knew it was coming.

But, they have been so loyal,always standing with me, that I just couldn't let them go.

So, I worked them hard in those last weeks knowing our time together was short. And as a result - as they began to come apart at the seams - they lost the dignity that they deserved. Even crazy glue couldn't have held them together.

It was one day too many -- a long 12 hour day -- and they just couldn't stand up to the pressure.

At 7:16 p.m. on Tuesday, September 2, I said goodbye to my high-heeled, black, patent leather, strappy sandals.

Today, I will wrap them carefully in tissue paper, place them in their original box (yes, I save them) and after a moment of silence (i.e. consideration as to when and where the next pair may come) I will toss them into the big,green, plastic after life.

Can I get an Amen?

And the Hits Just Keep on Coming

In Wednesday's paper(s) one of our Town Council Members basically offended 80% of the town's residents -- yup, you guessed it - the new people i.e. those from New Jersey, Ohio and New York.

Me being well, me ... I couldn't resist a letter to the editor on the topic. Not sure if it will make the cut, but this is what I submitted.

Dear Editor(s) –

I am disappointed that Councilman Fred Hamilton would publicly state, “I'm not going to let people who have not been here long decide” during the Council discussions regarding a public referendum.

Not only is this a disregard for the democratic process but folks, when you ask yourself why there is so much distaste for Northerners here in Bluffton, well here is your answer. If a representative of our town government is not willing to welcome the folks (Northern or otherwise) who relocate to Bluffton, well then this problem will never be resolved. What a horrible message we are sending to all of the people visiting or passing through – why would they ever come back? I guess we can tell the Chamber of Commerce to stop positioning Bluffton as a destination. And, we might as well close the Heyward House. We don’t need a Welcome Center in Bluffton because well, we’re not welcome.

How sad.

Is that yer ass hangin' out boy?

Seriously?

The Jasper County Council (our neighboring county for the folks reading from afar) passed "on second reading a proposed ordinance Monday that would make it unlawful for any person to wear his or her pants 3 inches below the waist".

Scheduled for a third reading on August 15th, if passed the ordinance would call for a maximum $500 fine and 30 days in jail if violated.

I expect a huge run on belts and string at the local Piggly Wiggly.

I'm Pissed

I wasn't sure where I should post this ... I consider a Letter to the Editor or a VOX or Blog on the Bluffton Today website, but ... people are idiots and I knew that there would be backlash of the "damn Yankee go back home if you don't like it" persuasion.

So, I'll post it here ... how many people actually read this anyway?

So, let me start again.

I'm pissed.

As I've mentioned, I have been running and/or walking every morning. I walk just as the sun is coming up and the street lights are going off for the day. I walk through my neighborhood and along the new walking/bike paths on Buckwalter Parkway. And, twice in the last two weeks I have been harassed.

The first incident was on Buckwalter, a white contractor's van (yes, I saw the name of the company) slowed down and the passenger felt it necessary to hang out the window and whistle, hoot and holler. It spooked me and I high-tailed it home.

The second incident was yesterday in MY neighborhood. A white mini-van slowed and passed me and then turned around to pass me again ... this time though, the driver and/or passenger made it a point of slowing and sending me a kiss -- you know, a loud, wet, smooch. Disgusting.

And again I was spooked -- I kept my eyes ahead and focused on the house where I knew a Marine lived and most likely would be awake and have a gun. When I passed his house, my Mom's house was in sight and her next-door-neighbors police cruiser was in his driveway. Safety for just a few more houses. Then, I rounded the corner to my house, where two Sheriff's officers live just doors down.

Whew. Home. Safe.

And that is when I burst into tears. Listen, it is easy to piss me of and get me rilled up. But, it is pretty hard to make me cry. I was scared, this was a fear cry.

Once I got over my fear -- and Joe took off in his truck to try to find the white mini-van (not the brightest move)-- I got pissed.

Someone please explain why men feel the need to hoot, holler, and blow kisses. This wasn't broad daylight with neighbors out and about and kids playing in the street. This is daybreak - most of the East Coast is sleeping and I am exercising. It used to make me feel good -- I am a morning person and a morning workout gives me energy for the day. I can only imagine that the perpetrator's (yes, they are now criminals in my mind) intention was to scare me.

Now, I am afraid. And I am pissed.

Wood I?

In my never ending search for freelance work, I pitched the idea of a profile on Paul Raines, friend and expert craftsman, to Coastal Antiques and Art and they bit. The story appears on page 13 of the July issue http://www.coastalantiques.com/ (complete with a picture of moi!).

He's Making Wood Work
As you turn into the driveway of Paul Raines’ workshop the first thing you see is a boat. Stately, proud, and polished the vessel rests there as the unofficial welcoming committee. As you start to talk to Raines you understand why. “I went to sea at 13”, he tells you.

This is a statement that one would expect from a man raised in a small Alaskan fishing town, not Miami, Florida. However, if you dig deeper you will learn that Raines’ mom made the decision to “send him to sea” – her attempt at a scared straight program. Admittedly, he “wasn’t the best kid” and his mom did what she thought she needed to do. Today, Raines sees that decision as one that shaped him and his love for woodworking.

“On the boat, I was lower than a deckhand,” he says. He started out as a mechanic’s assistance, a mere teenager working in the bilge room of an 88 foot tug boat. But, hard work is rewarded and soon Raines found himself working on boats all along the eastern seaboard where he was given the opportunity to refine his skills in woodworking, joinery and carpentry.

In 1990 the Hilton Head based boat he was working on was sold. He was stranded, if you will, on the Island. Raines quickly took his experience and started his own company – Wooden Expressions - restoring boats. Ten years later, his business expanded to private homes where he has been creating inimitable living spaces ever since. “I never copy myself,” he shares. Instead he concentrates on finding interesting design aspects that will suit the needs and personalities of his clients.

On a recent tour of the Beringhause home in Berkeley Hall, Raines showed us the range of his work – spectacular mahogany front doors that make you feel special just walking through them; a wine room built into a converted elevator shaft with a handcrafted hard wood floor; a theatre room that reminds you of days gone by; and a wet bar designed to feel like the galley of a boat but with the smooth lines and craftsmanship of the finest yacht.

Raines is a true artisan but jokingly describes himself as a mediator – between husband and wife who can’t always see eye to eye on what will work best for their home. “Some ideas are born on a cocktail napkin others take months and months of refinement. Regardless, I lay in bed at night and I picture the piece I am working on. I ask myself how will it fit, how will I put this together, what it will look like.”

And then Raines says with a chuckle, “I think about the finances, the schedules, the employees, and the next job … until I fall asleep.”

And the next day, he wakes up and does it all over again.

- Courtney Naughton for Coastal Antiques & Art

I've Done It

I have finally made the final, final decision that I do not want to (or need to) move back to the ol' homeland.

A week in New Jersey reminded me of all the things I love about the Jersey Shore -- the beach, the boardwalk, the shops of Spring Lake (where I did significant damage), the pizza!

It also reminded me of all the things that I don't miss ... the traffic and the traffic and the traffic. Oh, and that one little detail of snobbery.

I got up most mornings and walked on the boardwalk for almost an hour. That's more than five hours of walking and one, count 'em one, person said hello to me (even when I smiled first!).

To put it in perspective, I walk/jog at home most mornings at 5:30 a.m. and everyone that I see (putting out the garbage, jogging by, walking their dog) says good morning. Everyone. (Did I mention that it is 5:30 a.m.?) Now, I'm not going to jump on the Bash the Yankee Bandwagon, but I have to ask why?

Of course I have also seen my fair share of tongue-lashings in the Lowcountry (see archives of my column) and these folks can be meaner than any Jersey Girl you ever met.

The bottom line is ... I am staying put. This Yankee ain't going home.

You Can Go Home Again

And I have. I woke up this morning at the Jersey Shore. I walked out the front door of our beach rental, walked the 3 short blocks to the boardwalk and walked along the ocean for 45 minutes. And the past comes rushing back.

Well, it actually rushed back yesterday as we prepared to land in Newark. Now, 90% of the time when you approach Newark airport you fly over the loading docks of Port Newark, or the "factory district", or if you are lucky the Budweiser factory. But, yesterday was different, we banked right and out of the left side of the plane the NYC skyline came into view - the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty stood proud. I got a little chill as the past came racing back.

I whizzed through baggage claim and was in my rental car in 30 minutes flat.

Then, it hit me. Well actually, it cut me off.

"It" being some guido in a 1997 black camaro who drives the Garden State Parkway for sport. Weaving in and out cars as if racing a slalom course. Yeah, this I don't miss.

Now I thought the guido epidemic was one of the past - reserved for the 1980s and for some poor souls it unfortunately spilled over in the 90s as well. I am here to tell you that it is still alive and well at the Jersey Shore. Lord help us.

On that note, I discovered a really interesting blog last week - "Cajun Boy in the City" (not for the faint of heart or kids under 18). Basically the anti-Courtney. A Southern guy living in NYC. Check out his take on Guidos. http://cajunboyinthecity.blogspot.com/2008/06/affirmative-proof-that-guido-is-indeed.html

If I wasn't married, he could be my perfect match!

More to come as my adventures at the Jersey Shore play out over the week.

Walking Like a Duck

So, how does the old saying go ... if it looks like a duck and it walks like a duck it must be well, a duck.

Not in these parts. I've recently discovered that if it looks like a cockroach and it walks like a cockroach then it is indeed a ... (wait for it) ... Palmetto Bug!

Um, what?

Just a testament to the Southern culture I guess. I imagine the conversation going something like this ...

"Bless her heart, we can't call her a cockroach ... that's just not polite." A few minutes of rocking in the chair, and an iced cold sweet tea and suddenly ... "I've got it! We'll call her Palmetto Bug."

I wish the Yankees had it so easy. I'm still waiting for someone to call me a nice name.

I rock.

I sip.

And nothing.

Holy Shit I am 35 Today

“Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.” - Jennifer Yane

I am still trying to decide how I feel about this. Five years ago, I cancelled my 30th birthday celebration during a spell of denial. So my hunch is that 35 is not going to go any smoother than 30 did. We’re talking a lot of years here.

In trying to come to terms with this milestone, I did a little research on some other things that are turning twenty-fifteen this year.

The cell phone. Yes, believe it or not in 1973 Martin Cooper, leader of Motorola's cell phone team, called Joel Engel, research head of rival AT&T's Bell Labs to say, "Joel, I'm calling you from a real cellular phone."

The interchangeable head screwdriver.

The MRI.

The Sears Tower.

The Jet Ski.

In entertainment news, Elvis Presley's Aloha From Hawaii television special was seen around the world by more than 1 billion viewers. The Young & the Restless, The Bobby Darrin Show, and Concentration all made their television debuts in 1973 and George Jefferson made his first appearance on All In the Family.

Is it fair to say that most things just get better with age?

Yeah, that is my story and I am sticking to it.


Source: http://www.thepeoplehistory.com/1973.html

You Go Dad!

I have been teaching for six years now and despite the obligatory annual request from the Dean, I had never attended a graduation ceremony.

This year was different. One of my public speaking students, Reece, was selected as the student speaker for the graduation ceremonies. This was big! I suspect that Reece had the gift of public speaking long before he entered my classroom, but regardless I was extremely proud.

So last Friday, I made the trek to the Parris Island Chapel for the Technical College of the Lowcountry (TCL) Graduation. As I suspected, Reece's presentation was flawless and inspiring.

Despite the fact that I selfishly attended just to hear Reece's speech, I was actually touched by something else that I witnessed.

The graduates were of all ages, races, backgrounds and majors but one thing was consistent - the pride that their family members had.

Despite etiquette instructions on the school website that indicated that "guests should not clap, cheer, or make other excessive noise as names are called" this crowd was rowdy! (And who could blame them?)

As one gentlement crossed the stage and his name was called the entire row in front of me rose to their feet clapping and cheering as one called out, "Yeah! Way to go Dad!"

I was truly touched -- watching a child cheer for his father who accomplished his goal, when it is so often the other way around. And that is why I love teaching.

A little respect for her majesty please ...

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Grace Lady Courtney the Philomath of Divine Intervention Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I know, I know. This is a lame excuse for a blog post, but it is a start. My friend Patrick (Venerable Lord Patrick the Random of Dramble Buzzcock) had this on his blog and I stole the idea.

However, now that I hold this royal post of ridiculousness, I pledge to post more often. I do have a few ideas brewing so stay tuned for --

"Yeah, You Go Dad"
"A Little Humility Please"
and my personal favorite ... "Holy Shit I am 35 Years Old Today"

Later kids.

P.S. If anyone can find the definition of "philomath" let me know. The American Heritage Dictionary on my desk does not show a listing.

A 25 Chicken a Day Alligator

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Yes, Alex I know it.

"Phrases I never thought I would hear in a meeting!"

Where am I? And, what does that mean?

Apparently it is just more of my indoctrination into the South. My boss (E.T.B.) calls it my "Southern Education". He is a Southern Gentleman through and through and has been working for a few years now to soften the Yankee. Secretly, I know that he loves the 'tude sometimes. He is the good cop, I am the bad cop -- it works for us and I think it is why we work so well together.

I have copies of the Foxfire Books in my office courtesy of good ol' E.T.B, all of the issues of Garden and Gun magazine (which I love! it's the only mag I have every read cover to cover, every issue.), music selections, and random quotes, articles, movie titles, and books that I am supposed to digest in his quest to acclimate me to the South.

I think it is working.

I can't even remember the context in which "A 25 Chicken a Day Alligator" was used, but I know that next time I hear it, my jaw will not drop. I'll be able to play it cool.