My Secret Shame

It's funny how life works and seems to always come full circle.

I walked into the market at work this morning and Christopher Cross was on the radio "getting caught between the moon and New York City" and I had to chuckle.

When I was young we used to vacation all summer. Mom was a teacher and Dad was a firefighter who would save up all of his vacation time for the summer. On the last day of school we would pack up and take off for a long adventure. To keep us company on the long drives, Dad brought along two friends. Christopher Cross and Neil Diamond would fill the silence of hours of travel.

Later in life, when I had my own car and my own radio I would be taken back in time when one of the songs of my childhood would be on the radio.

And then, in college I discovered my secret shame.

Her name was Delilah.

Delilah was a DJ on 92.7 / WOMB. There, folks could tune in each night to be serenaded by love songs. I would listen at night and enjoy the freedom to sing along to ...

"Wind Beneath My Wings"
"I Will Always Love You"
"When You Say Nothing at All"
"Everything I Do I Do It For You"
"Always"
"Right Here Waiting"
"More Than Words"

Fast forward more years than I care to admit and I am here in South Carolina driving home from teaching a night class and I hear a familiar voice.

Delilah right here in my new backyard?

Not so much. Apparently Delilah is syndicated nation-wide, which really means just one thing. My secret shame is for sure shared by millions of other hopeless romantics who may be looking for love in all the wrong places.

So as Christopher Cross serenaded me while I got my coffee this morning, I told my summer vacation story to my colleague, Jen.

Sure enough that led to talking about Delilah and guess what? Jen thought that Delilah was a local DJ on her small town South Carolina station and was shocked to learn years later that she too was sharing love songs with the whole U.S. of A.

And, we've come full circle again.

I Spooned a Black Lab Last Night

I couldn't help it. It is cold!

And, with those words it is possible that I have finally and fully acclimated to my new surroundings. I'm a flip-flop-loving girl destined for monthly pedicures and my tootsies aren't toasty.

The South is in the midst of a cold snap and I can't stand it anymore. A little chill in the air was nice around Thanksgiving and Christmas -- made me think of holidays past, but once the tree is down I am ready for the temperature to go up.

I remember going to my cousin's wedding in Florida fifteen Decembers ago and prancing around in shorts and a t-shirt while the FLA residents shivered in the (mere) 70 degree temperatures. I couldn't figure them out.

And now I have to wonder, did I just turn into Grandma Noon?

So, on nights where I typically whine that Darby is taking up too much space in the bed, last night I welcomed him to curl right up there with me - under the covers and all.

I slept through the night and woke up refreshed and covered in dog hair, but it was worth it.

I spooned a black lab last night and I loved every minute of it.

Rednecks and Yankees

Like cowboys and angels ... we can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Check out this great column by the Island Packet's David Lauderdale.

http://www.islandpacket.com/news/local/story/127969.html

My Husband the Candidate

Yep, you heard right. Joe is vying to make me the first lady of Bluffton. This morning he officially filed to run for Bluffton Town Council.

Joe just got his blog (Yes! Joe has a blog.) up today. Check it out for all the details - http://joenaughton.blogspot.com

Now, you've gone and pissed me off ...

Why are people late?

Always late. On purpose late.

I understand getting stuck in traffic late, a last minute emergency late, wearing two different shoes and having to go back home to change late.

But to show up late um, just to be late. I don't get it.

(Note: If you tell me that you will be late, we have no problem.)

When my students are late I try to ignore their disruption, I flash them the evil eye and then at the end of class remind everyone that my pet peeve is late arrivals. This usually results in said late student writing an apology on their thought card (submitted each class as a way to communicate with me) and sliding it to the bottom of the pile as they skulk out of the room. Mission accomplished.

But in theory, I can do that with my students.

The question is how do you broach this subject with friends?

I've come up with a few options:

1. Force them to stand on the porch peering in the windows to see all of the fun that they are missing. (the rest of us will point and laugh)

2. Make them clean up when the party ends - dirty dishes, floors, the whole package - whilst I lay on the couch eating bon bons.

3. Put all of the empty beer and wine bottles in their car on a warm day and let them bake in the South Carolina sun.

4. Pull them from the invite list.

My list of tortures goes on, but it is just that - a list. (I talk a big game)

To all friends reading this blog who are coincidentally often late - I am of course not writing about you.

And, to "Margarita Gill" - who I know is reading -- thank goodness you and "Wyoming" showed up on time last night!

On a Serious Note...

It isn't all fun and games, although I like to pretend that it is.

And, it is not everyday that one is featured in the newspaper.

This morning I woke up to read the story of my life. Island Packet writer Maureen Simpson captured the essence of our struggle and deserves kudos for telling the story just like it is.

The Realities of Infertility
For couples who can't conceive on their own,

the road to pregnancy can be hard to travel
By MAUREEN SIMPSON

Melissa Schoenstra said some women know, even as children, they want to be mothers. She was one of them. So when she was told she would not be able to get pregnant due to a variety of complications, the news didn't just shatter her dreams. It broke her spirit.

"I had planned my whole life around having kids," Schoenstra, 37, said. "I even got a teaching degree because I wanted to be around kids and have a work schedule that allowed me to be a mom. It was hard."

Though her desire to start a family was difficult to push aside, Schoenstra said she and her husband, Tom, still got married under the assumption they would not be having any children. But after a couple of years, news of hope for couples struggling with infertility started popping up more and more in the media. And while she and her husband both took notice, he was the first to suggest checking out their options.

At the time, the couple was living in Lexington, Ky., and started their journey toward potential parenthood at the Kentucky Center for Reproductive Medicine. They moved to Bluffton three years ago.

"We did everything under the sun," Schoenstra said of the long, emotional and expensive process. Though they began with the medical options covered by their health insurance -- fertility drugs and artificial insemination -- the couple eventually turned to in vitro fertilization.

POWER TO PERSEVERE
The procedure, called IVF, involves surgically removing numerous eggs from the ovary and mixing them with sperm in a petri dish. Some of the eggs that are fertilized and grow into embryos are implanted into the womb. One cycle of IVF can cost $12,000 or more and often is not covered by health plans. To pay, the Schoenstras refinanced their home.

IVF comes with about a 50-50 chance of success that typically declines as the age of the patient increases. Schoenstra, who was 32 when she first tried the procedure, was successful after one cycle. Though she was pregnant with triplets, only two girls survived.

Multiple pregnancies are not uncommon with IVF. According to the S.C.-based Southeastern Fertility Center, twins occur in 20 to 30 percent of cycles, while triplets occur in less than 5 percent.

Beyond the statistics, Schoenstra said her biggest fears and frustrations during the process came from what couldn't be communicated -- to her doctor, her family, her friends or even her spouse. "Nobody has really done anything in depth on how emotional it really is," she said of the complicated quest to get pregnant. "People will say, 'Oh, it's hard,' but we were pretty much at the breaking point when we finally got pregnant that first time. It consumes your life. It's everything you do. You're on the doctor's schedule, so nothing is spontaneous. It sends you over the edge."

When Dr. Grant Patton, founder and director of Southeastern Fertility Center, spoke at a fertility seminar the clinic hosted on Hilton Head Island last month, he told a room of nearly 25 couples inquiring about available fertility treatments that no matter how hard it is, maintaining a positive and game day-like mentality when going through the process is vital.

"It's kind of like detective work," said Patton, who was responsible for South Carolina's first IVF pregnancy in 1984. "We're trying to put together a diagnosis to see which treatment will be most effective and simplest for you. Try to make it a good experience, and remember you are not alone."

When her now 4-year-old twins, Anna and Emma, were about 18 months old, Schoenstra and her husband tried IVF again through the Georgia Center for Reproductive Medicine. She got pregnant after one cycle, and gave birth to Olivia, who now is 18 months old.

STILL A CHALLENGE
According to the Center for Reproductive Medicine, infertility affects one in every six couples of childbearing age. There is a female problem in 35 percent of the cases, a male problem in 35 percent of the cases, and a combined problem in 20 percent of cases. Of the 28 million couples in the United States affected by infertility, 50 percent seek treatment. Of those, approximately
85 percent conceive.

The numbers have not been on Courtney Naughton's side.

Now 34, Naughton has lost both of her fallopian tubes due to complications from ectopic pregnancies, and can only become pregnant through IVF.

During an ectopic pregnancy, a fertilized egg has been implanted outside the uterus without the mother being aware. As the fetus grows, it eventually bursts the organ that contains it, endangering the expectant mother's life.

The first time this happened to Naughton, she lost the child and nearly lost her life. Doctors told her that her chances of becoming pregnant again were slim.

The pain of the experience created a rift in her marriage, she said, and eventually led to a divorce.

"We just didn't communicate about it at all," she said. "Nobody did. No one knew what to say."

At the time, Naughton was attending Monmouth University in New Jersey for a master's degree in corporate and public communication. To make sense of her own experience, she chose to write her thesis on the communication breakdown between spouses following pregnancy loss. For her research, she turned to an online support group she had joined for women who had
ectopic pregnancies.

"I asked them to tell me their stories. It was part of my healing process," Naughton said. "When I presented my thesis, it was the first time I really shared my experience and felt like people were finally listening and wanting to talk about it."

HARD CHOICES
In 2001, Naughton remarried, but she lost her second fallopian tube after suffering from another ectopic pregnancy while on vacation in Florida. So far, she and her husband, Joe, have gone through three IVF cycles with no success. Because New Jersey is one of seven states that has laws mandating IVF coverage, the procedures were covered by the couple's health plan. But South Carolina does not have laws requiring IVF coverage, and a move to Bluffton in 2005 has left them in both an emotional and financial quandary.

"It's this constant battle in your head of, 'Do we take everything out of our savings account for something that's not guaranteed to work?' " Naughton said. "I'm probably better prepared to handle it now because I'm older and more mature, but it's like, 'Can I do this one more time?' "

Though she is undecided about whether she and Joe will pursue another cycle of IVF, Naughton said she has made it her mission to push for more conversation regarding infertility. "I'd love to get some legislation going so that 20 years from now, someone in my same position doesn't have to go through all the isolation and hurdles that I did," she said.

"My advice to anyone going through this is to keep the communication lines open. Talk about it to whoever your partner is, because it's going to be an emotional roller coaster."

http://www.islandpacket.com/lowcountrylife/story/83810.html

Cool Beans?

Ok, this is driving me crazy.

In the last week, I have heard the phrase "cool beans" uttered on numerous occasions by numerous people (business associates - yikes!).

Did I not get the memo? Is "cool beans" making a comeback like gaucho pants and long sweaters paired with wide belts?

What did I miss? Why didn't anyone tell me? I know I am busy but geez, this is huge!

I had to do some research to get to the bottom of this new phenomenon. So, I turned to my pals at Wikipedia, which is kind of a real source and they told me --

Cool Beans is a curious phrase that uses nonsense to bring humor into a joyful exclamation. It originated in American pop culture during the late 1960s. Slang of this time is known to center around illogical phrasings of words, and "cool beans" is among the most durable lengthy late 60's era terms. It is used when referring to something with a positive connotation, for example, "That party was cool beans." Much like other hip slang words "cool beans" has faded with the times.

See, I was right, it faded and no mention of a resurgence on the horizon.

Now, how do I break the news to these pop-culture-offenders who are trying to jump start this little ditty when it should actually remain in the vault?

I am sure with a little thought I can come up with a really groovy idea.

Why I'll Never Be Southern

According to Benno Johnson "Southerness" Is …

... Surviving the sweltering summer thanks only to short sleeves and seersucker.

… A Smidgin of sweet talk, chewin’ the fat, a dollop of gossip and some powerful recollectin’ about good times not forgotten.

… Deeply felt and deeply fried.

… Raisin’ hell on Saturday night and beatin’ the devil to your family pew come Sunday morning.

… Saying “No thankee” to all things Yankee.

…The “Love y’all” legacy of Scarlett & Rhett, Pocohontas & John, Forrest & Jenny, June & Johnny, You & Me.

… A minister, a priest and a rabbi walking into a delta juke joint and nobody noticing.

… Carrying tomato aspic to the bereaved to help them carry their burden.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have no idea who ol' Benno is.

The above was found in a recent magazine article (Garden & Gun, The Atlantan -- I'm not sure) however, I can find no biographical information on him. Granted my research is limited to Google, but I am light on free time.

Regardless, I will believe that Benno is indeed Southern. And since his wisdom and wit is clearly over my head or beneath my radar, I will accept the fact that despite my geographic locale, I will remain a sucker for all things Yankee.

Because "Yankee" Is ...

... well, me.

Heathen Bound for Heaven?

Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been 20 years since my last confession. (It has been awhile, so shoot me.)

This was my planned introduction for when I finally got back in the swing of church going. I was raised Catholic. Mom dragged us to church every Sunday until we were Confirmed and then felt bold enough to put up a fight.

Surprisingly, I ended up at a Catholic College, but somehow avoided all but one religion course in 4 years. (That one was required.)

But, lets get to the heart of the matter.

NEWS ALERT: Scandal! I am divorced.

And since I am divorced and therefore a sinner, I have been banned from the Catholic Church.

When Joe and I first got married we visited the Catholic Church in Freehold, NJ (where we were living) and inquired about joining. We were told flat out that we could attend, but we could not be members because I am divorced. So, we said $crew this and we moved on. Meaning, we haven’t been to church in oh, seven years save for a few weddings and christenings.

When my sister got married I could not be her maid of honor, because I was not Catholic. Really? I’m not Catholic anymore? If I start eating Italian food does that make me not Irish anymore?

But, I digress.

When my niece was born I could not be her Godmother because I was not Catholic. Or so we thought … After new Godparents (I call them the B Team) were selected and it was discovered that the Godfather was not Catholic (more scandal) we learned that only one Godparent had to be Catholic. Now, you tell us!

So, my sister gets knocked up again, asks me to be Godmother and I say, “of course” and then go on to suggest that despite the fact that I do not have to be a member of a church, maybe we will re-visit joining the Catholic Church. Surely, there must be some wiggle room …

So, I draft a lovely letter to the local church – an excerpt of which is provided below…

"Dear Father:

Now, we both understand the rules of the church, but we had hoped that there would be some level of forgiveness and that we would be welcomed back – after all isn’t confession and forgiveness a key component of the church?

We realize that we were divorced and are remarried, but it is rather upsetting when we are told that we cannot be a part of our family sacraments because of circumstances that took place many years ago.

So, I am writing now to see if we would be welcomed to join the church.

I attach our completed Parish Registration Form and look forward to your reply..."

Well, we were shocked to receive a “Welcome to the Parish” letter just days later. Really? We’re accepted woo hoo! Oh, and look they even included offering envelopes in our welcome package – I guess they really want us to start “participating” immediately.

And then, the phone rang. Um yeah, they forgot to mention that in order for us to really be members I would have to track down the dead beat that I married in the Catholic Church 10 years ago and get an annulment. Oh, and I would have to pay for my sins to the tune of $1,000. Really? What a bargain!

We just received our second set of offering envelopes.

I think it is time to break the news to Father Flanagan. It’s a no go father. I paid enough in that marriage.

Red Sox Naughton: My Life with a Red Sox Fan

It all started six years ago when I went against the grain and married a Red Sox fan. As the daughter of a devout NY Yankee fan and having grown up in a Yankee household this was considered a "mixed marriage".

Six years ago though, the Red Sox still sucked and the Yankees were still in the midst of their reign.

But, I'll admit I caught the fever. I've always been a fan of the underdog. I'll always pick the losing team in the hopes of a momentous comeback. I love watching grown men rush to the middle of the field and cry. It is hard not to get caught up in the moment.

I can remember sitting in my living room in October '86 watching game 6 of the Mets / Red Sox world series. The rest of the family was asleep and I was stunned as the Sox' first baseman let the ball roll threw his legs. (I was secretly rooting for the Mets that time 'round, which is why I waited for my Dad to go to bed before I turned the game on.) Nothing like a blooper to change history.

Ironically, later learned that Joe's greatest heartbreak wasn't a result the girlfriends who came before me, but instead it was a man named Buckner who broke his heart in '86. Yes, his deepest heartbreak came from an unwavering love of the Red Sox.

When the 2004 playoffs rolled around pitting the Red Sox against the Yankees I chose the Red Sox (much to my family's dismay) -- after all they were the underdog. And, I cheered right along with Joe as they broke the 86 year curse.

This past January as Joe's 40th birthday loomed, I decided to give him the best gift of all. You see, my love had never been to Fenway to see his love.

We purchased tickets for three games opening week. We flew out of Savannah in 70 degree temperatures and landed in Boston amidst snow, sleet, and rain.

That first night, we got off the subway and started the short walk to Fenway from the station and I could sense Joe's anticipation. As we rounded the corner and the Green Monster came into view Joe stopped dead in his tracks and stared. He was brought to tears and admittedly so was I. He was finally living his dream and I was honored to have been standing by his side. I never believed that the love of the game could be this powerful.

Joe worries about his Red Sox hat rotation with the same fervor that Francona worries about the pitching rotation. Today, Joe selected the Saint Paddy's Day green hat. Hopefully, Francona's decision to start Lester will not find Joe in his old school blue wool hat tomorrow night.

Here's hoping. Go Sox!

When Grown Men Cry

Ok, they weren't crying, but it looked like they wanted to.

I speak of Joe, his best friend Joe P (we call him Pickles) and Billy Mentor, the two Joes's friend since grade school.

The highlight of our trip last week was not the air travel, as you may have guessed, but instead was witnessing the reunion of these three life-long friends.

It was moving, it was entertaining and it was downright hilarious to watch the three of them try to play touch football in the street. Just like the old days with seventy-five collective years added on ...

Grown men in their forties trying to turn back the hands of time with a little pigskin ...

Here is what I learned:

1. 40 is not the new 30 (This was actually Joe's quote.)
2. Men, in some cases, forge stronger relationships than women (a surprise to this communication scholar.)
3. The time between visits with good friends feels like minutes. It has been a year since our last visit to Pickles' & Ev's, but when we walked through the front door it seemed like it was yesterday.
4. Laughter is the best medicine.
5. No matter how much you love where you live, there is no place like home.

The four of us - Ev, my Joe, me, & Pickles.

Billy, Joe, & Pickles.

Note: My Joe is the only one with hair that isn't gray or missing!

They sure look winded to me!

Air Travel: The Threequel

Ok, I lied. I said we were done traveling for the year, but we had one more trip left in us. So, we packed the bags in preparation for a long weekend in the ol' homeland to visit with old friends and party like rock stars (well actually, old rock stars, who went to bed by 10:00 p.m. 2 of the 3 nights.)

It is no secret that I am less than thrilled with the status of air travel today. I don't know if it is the airlines or my fellow passengers that tweak me more, but I digress...

All our bags were packed, we were ready to go and then our flight from Charleston to Newark was cancelled. Yup, completely wiped from the board. Weather had backed things up pretty bad in Newark so rather than try to work out the problem, Continental started scrapping evening flights all together. This is when the stress began to mount...

"Um yes, we were booked on flight 2874 scheduled from CHS to EWR this evening and it has been cancelled."

"There isn't another flight for two days? Are you kidding me? You can't just cancel a flight and tell us it will be two days before we can get anywhere. Ok, thank you for checking."

"Fly out of Savannah tonight? That would be great! Can you change our return flight so that we arrive in Savannah as well? No, well then we would have to get sometime to pick us up in Charleston and drive us two and a half hours to get our car in Savannah, is that something you would like to do for us? No, I didn't think so. Yes, I'll hold."

elevator music -- elevator music -- elevator music

"Tomorrow morning is fine, Charleston to Newark, fine. Noooo, thank you!"

Fast forward 60 hours and we are back at Newark airport.

Rental car returned; bags checked; 60 minutes in the security line (this is when you really appreciate little ol' Savannah and Charleston airports) and we are at the gate ready to board.

"Ladies and gentlemen on flight 2322 to Charleston, we have oversold this flight and we are looking for volunteers to give up their seats ..."

Can you see the steam coming out of my ears? How do they "over sell" the flight"?

Dear Continental - 19 rows at 3 seats to a row = 57 seats. Once you hit 57 seats sold, STOP for the love of Pete, STOP!

Fast forward 60 minutes ...

With two $300 continental vouchers in hand and eight bucks a piece in airport food vouchers we are on our way back to Hertz to re-rent our car and re-drive back to Joe and Ev's to re-sleep one more night in the homeland.

This my friends, is our final trip for the year.

Reality Bites

It’s official. I am addicted.

And yes, my mental health is being affected. Thank you for asking.

But what do you expect to happen to someone who wiles away her free time (mind you, it is limited) with an unhealthy reality T.V. obsession.

My obsession is less about the shows and more about the behavior of the reality “stars”. (There is a difference right?)

Frankly I am shocked that Survivor participants (cast members?) have yet to realize that there is a really good chance that once the cameras are rolling for the first time they will be informed that the show starts now and they should drop all their luggage because they are going in with the clothes on their backs!

Are they really surprised?

Did they think that going without a bra this particular day was the right move? Yeah, nothing like running through an obstacle course with un-restrained Double-Ds.

Did anyone consider that fishnets and combat boots could slow you down a bit? Not to mention that they offer a wonderful habitat for all kinds of festering bacteria while in 90 degree temperatures with 100% humidity every day.

Did they not think that their lip, belly, nipple rings may get a little funky after 39 days with no shower?

Whew. I am feeling a little better now that I got that off my chest (which by the way is supported by a bra today).

Once I do enter treatment for this debilitating addiction and in the spirit of full disclosure I guess I should also state for the record that I am strangely intrigued by Classmates.com and Reunion.com. (See my post of March 16, 2007 for more.)

They’ve got me just where they want me – on their mailing lists!

They email me two to three times a week just to let me know which of my former classmates are looking for love, celebrating a birthday, or have visited my profile! My profile! They are looking for me? Well then, certainly sign me up for another year’s worth of gold membership privileges.

And, since I am a member it is only natural that I would take full advantage of the benefits and browse. Heck, I may even search for you who I just met today for the first time. Why not? If you have a profile, and its public, why wouldn’t I have some interest in your high school years?

Folks, this is a cry for help.

A Long Time Waiting

It's been awhile.

Ironically, nothing drives me crazier than visiting a blog I love and finding no updates. So, today I turn over a new leaf. And sadly, a new keyboard -- I spilled coffee on it this morning, and spat water out all over it this afternoon. Good times.

Summer -- which used be "down time" in NJ to offer Jersey girls and guys maximum opportunity to visit the beach -- is actually just as busy as any other season here da South.

So, what did I do on my summer vacation? Ooh, ooh, I'll go, I'll go! (Flashback to 3rd grade, tipping forward in your desk/chair combo and assuming that the closer you got your hand to the teacher, the more likely she was to call on you -- yeah, that was me.)

Traveled a lot this summer -- learned a lot this summer. Namely, no matter how much I mumble under my breath people will still continue to try to board a plane before their row is called. Damn, that pisses me off.

We traveled West to Portland, OR for my dear friend Patrick's wedding. Portland was
fabulous and apparently even "green" cities have transvestites, homeless and meth-heads. On the upside, I got to see Patrick and watch 4.5 consecutive hours of Food Network programming on the flight there.

Next stop -- Bermuda. "Good morning, confirmation number please." I slide our confirmation and passports across the counter. "Great, we do have a number of seats available in First Class, do you care to Uh --". Me: "Upgrade? Yes, definitely yes!"

And, that is when I became a snob. Ok, a born again snob (who am I kidding?). It didn't matter how many people clammered to board, I was the first one on the plane and the first one off. (And, of course I got free Heineken to boot. Well, 4 Heinekens divided into the $300 to upgrade. Ok, I got 4 $75 Heinekens. Best I ever had.)

A short jaunt to Birmingham, AL for business and finally a trip to Washington, DC last weekend for Aunt Madeline's 80th birthday party and my travels for this year are over.

Two coasts, two countries, a half a dozen airports and one thing always remains the same. People don't listen. If you are in Zone 6 for boarding, don't board until they call Zone 6. Why is this so hard to comprehend?

Since bitch-slapping is against some crazy airport etiquette policy, what recourse do I have?

Our Conundrum

So, that is the name we are considering for our new vessel. Yes, you read correctly. I let Joe buy a boat. I mean... Guess what? We bought a boat!

Here is how it went down. Just prior to Memorial Day, Joe and I went out with our friends Paul and Carla on their new boat one Sunday afternoon. We headed to the "Redneck Riviera" (our local sandbar that appears in the May River at low tide) and had a blast. Paul put his persuasive powers into action and 4 Coronas later I was agreeing to buy a boat.

Of course, I didn't really think Joe would run out and do it, but alas he did. He called me at work on Monday to "say hi" and "oh by the way, I have some paperwork for you to sign."

Five days later my heart was beating a mile a minute as we tried to get our boat on the trailer (sans anyone with experience) at the boat landing. Now, we are old pros. I mean once you hit the dock the first time, the next few times don't really seem so bad.

The only thing we have yet to do is name our new vessel. We have a few options ...

"Irish Wake" - either you get it or you don't, if you don't we don't want to be your friend anyway.
"Latis" - the Celtic Goddess of Water & Beer

Any of these, because we can't think of anything better -
“On the Rocks”
“Fish n’ Chicks”
“Southern Belle”
“Southern Comfort”
“Northern Exposure”

So, that leads us to "Conundrum" -- get out your dictionary folks, it means a dilemma, which we seem to be in.

When we mentioned that name to the women who is to do the lettering for the boat, she said, "the Coast Guard may get confused if you ever have to make a distress call over the radio - they might think you said 'Condom'."

Seriously, this is what we are dealing with ... if we say Conundrum and the Coast Guard hears Condom, chances are they will never find us anyway.

So, we are still open for suggestions -- the more the merrier.

Say What?

It is no secret that since I've moved South, it has become necessary to change my style. My speaking style that is. I've adopted some key terms i.e. iced tea is ordered as "sweet tea" and "y'all" is beginning to roll off the tongue. Heck (also a recent addition to my vocabulary), when in Rome and all.

Today, the Bluffton Today website had a great post regarding linguistic styles.

Say what, you say?

Well, apparently I say what I say in 45% General American English, 35% Yankee, and 15% Dixie. (No Midwestern or Upper Midwestern in my profile.) Interesting that my numbers only equal 95%, I guess 5% of me remains a mystery ... well that or the test is complete hooey.

So now that I know, that you know, that I know what I sound like ... I thought that you may want to know, what I already know you sound like.

If so, click here - http://www.blogthings.com/whatkindofamericanenglishdoyouspeakquiz/

Two men, a crowd, and an airport terminal

Applause suddenly erupted from a few gates away.

Since we had been sitting in the airport for hours, waiting and hoping that the impending Nor’easter would spare us and we would soon be back on our way and on time - I could only surmise that the applause was in response to a flight that was finally beginning to board.

But the applause continued to build and haggard travelers began to stand.

And then I saw the reason why.

Two lone soldiers were making their way through the crowd. Dressed in camouflage and with their heads dipped, I believe in modesty, they emerged.

Hundreds of strangers – no doubt all with differing political views and thoughts on the war in general – came together if only for a few minutes to salute two young men.

We started the day with one common thread - we were all flying Delta. But we ended our day together in pride, strength and with a sense of community - all formed right there in an airport terminal.

Tears streamed down my face as I made eye contact with one soldier. He nodded, smiled and strode on his way.

I hope the rest of their travels bring them the same respect and gratitude.

Breaking News

The time has come ... my Bluffton Today column is no more.

No swan song is scheduled (or requested from my Editors), but I thought you may enjoy the last column I wrote, which will not run. Apparently, my editor felt this would launch Pancake Gate II and I guess I have to agree. Ironinc that the paper allows anonymous blog posts and vox messages to spew vitroil, but a columnist is not allow to draw negative attention to anything. So much for the power of the pen.

The real reason behind my departure is based on philosophical differences – my philosophy is that the VOX (a method that allowsd anonymous caller to leave voice messages and then the paper pritns them) is a horrible medium for public opinion. BT disagrees with me. Bottom line, I just wasn’t having fun anymore. No, being ridiculed in the paper by anonymous callers is not fun, in case you were wondering.

But, I have paved the way for another unsuspecting Yankee to open their mouth and insert foot. It should be fun to watch!

Hot Pepper's Goes Cold

Now, I don’t like to complain (cue, laugh track), but I gave my heart to Pepper’s Porch and it

has since been broken.

In November 2005, I penned a column about the allure of this Lowcountry treasure –

“Pepper’s Porch was lit up like a Christmas tree with strings of white lights and caught our attention. Once inside, it felt as if we were sitting in an old friend’s dining room – it was casual, a keyboard was being played in the corner and artwork smattered the walls…

… For the remainder of my stay, we dined at Pepper’s Porch each night. When I finally arrived in Bluffton permanently it was our first stop, and remains at the top of our list. The “Back Bar” reminds me of a spot in New Jersey that Joe and I used to frequent often, and I know that if we ever convince our friend Neil to make the trek to SC for a visit, it will be the first place we take him. We have sat outside under the giant oak and watched old men “pick” (a term I picked up recently) at their mandolins and young children fly through the air on the swing that hangs from that oak.”

Again, in August 2006, I sang the praises of Pepper’s as #1 on my Happy Hour Hot Three List –

“We’ve been heading to Pepper’s most Fridays this summer. The new Back Bar opened a couple of months ago and the outdoor venue is a hit! I could sum it all up in two words – dollar beers. Yes, you read correctly, happy hour on Friday nights ‘til 7:00 p.m. features $1 beers, and $3 pitchers. … … Pepper’s Porch screams Lowcountry and that is what makes it a hit in my book.”

Well, I fear I have to take it all back and ask what happened to Pepper’s Porch?

Perhaps what I always loved most was that you could grab at drink at the Back Bar, sit down at a table upon a bed of oyster shells, sit back, relax, maybe order dinner, and just listen to some music.

Well, times they have changed.

Now, when I approached the bar I was told that if I was sitting at a table I would have to wait for a waitress. Ok, I’ll wait. And, I’ll wait. And, I’ll wait. I’ll flag her down, and I’ll wait some more. Hmmph. I’m getting thirsty over here.

Now, I’d like to order some food. Can I get a menu? Ok, I’ll wait. And, I’ll wait.

Hmmm? Where is our food? Ok, I’ll wait. And, I’ll wait. Here it is, except that steamed oysters aren’t supposed to petrify, they are supposed to be sweet and succulent and, can I get a bucket for my shells? Did she just say, “not right now”? Ok, I’ll wait.

No, we aren’t ready for our check yet. No, still not ready for our check, but I’ll have another drink. And, I’ll wait. And, I’ll wait.

I understand that the purpose of my trip was a relaxing, casual night out. But there is a different between laid back service and oh my gosh, I may die here waiting.

When I can’t stand it anymore I finally agree to take the check, upon which the waitress has added a tidy little tip of 18% for herself. For a party of two? You have got to be kidding me, right?

The good news is (yes, there was a little), Snow Bird Mike never disappoints. He provided great entertainment as always. And I have to say, I love the fact that the beer pitchers now have built-in ice compartments, a brilliant invention!

However, it saddens me that my “go to” hangout is lacking its luster.

And that got me thinking, what happened to Pepper’s Porch? Am I alone?

Let the VOX calls begin.

The Starbucks Generation

Bluffton Today column, March 30, 2007

I stood with my head tilted back, my neck atrophying from the awkward angle as if watching the big screen from the front row. There was little room to step back to better my view with the crowd as large as it was. And as I strained to peruse my options, I panicked. I was not familiar with the lingo and with buzz words flying about I worried that I was not up to the task. With my proverbial tail between my legs I sheepishly asked the women behind the counter, “is a frapaccino the frozen kind?” “Yes,” she replied haughtily and with a look of disgust in her eyes.

And then it struck me. I am getting old.

I am of Generation X.

I grew up with a cassette player, a cabbage patch kid, and an Andre Agassi poster (with the long hair) on my closet door.

I applied for college the old fashioned way – with a handwritten application and essay. I didn’t use a computer fluently until I got to college and I didn’t email until I was in my twenties.

I bought my first cell phone in 1997, it cost me $30 a month and for that I got about 60 minutes of talk time. Oh, and did I mention it was the size of a paperback novel?

But now I am living in a world where coffee drinking is a cult activity. Where the company you work for can track your every movement with the GPS system on the company phone that they so graciously offered you. Where ten year olds have cell phones, home pages, and buddy lists and don’t have to watch commercials because they got TIVO for their ninth birthday.

The Starbucks Generation will never sit down with a photo album on their knees, flipping through the pages of their lives. Instead, they will simply send their grandkids a link to their blog. And that makes me a little sad, but I too am a victim.

A photo collage dons the wall in my master bedroom – a small collection of pictures from vacations Joe and I took to Jamaica and the Bahamas, pictures from my sister’s and my cousin’s weddings, my niece’s christening, and some other family events. But, those are the only real pictures I have to commemorate the last seven years of my life. The rest exist on CDs jammed into my desk drawer, or as saved images in random folders on my hard drive or better yet in online photo galleries somewhere in cyber space.

The times they are a changing.

I remember the family photo albums that stocked the shelves when growing up. I can still picture the pages vividly and I know from memory which album commemorates which events.

A few months ago when I started a bike safety project with my Leadership class I called my mom and asked her to find the picture of me at a bike rodeo when I was six. She found it and the picture was just as I remembered it.

Last week as I watched my niece, Erin, take her first tentative steps I thought, wow she looks just like her mom. And, so I paged through a photo album of my sister’s childhood and found that picture that I knew was there of her in a white dress, with little pink flowers with a face that mirrors that of her daughter’s.

And that makes me wonder how in the age of technology and all things digital - where will my past go?

Holding Court

Bluffton Today column, March 23, 2007

Last week my Mom, the retired physical education teacher, saw the Bluffton Bedlam brackets in the paper and called my sister immediately to tell her all about my placement. You see, my mother didn’t realize that this was affiliated with the NCAA basketball tournament. Instead she thought that somehow I was ranked among the sixty-four best people in Bluffton and that some sort of competition would ensue hopefully with me being crowned Ms. Bluffton.

Funny right? Well, it got me thinking.

If we had a contest for Mr. or Ms. Bluffton, who would be the victor?

So, without further a do, I nominate the following for consideration:

Jacob Preston. Salt of the earth. Great guy. Bluffton’s “tallest potter” is one of the most kind and welcoming folks that I have met since my journey south. I see him everywhere and each time I do I truly feel like a part of this community.

Kim Abbott. As Director of Athletic Development for USCB, Kim will lead the charge to bring athletic teams to USCB’s New River campus and certainly spark some camaraderie and good ole fashioned competition here among our neighbors in the South. (A golf tournament to raise funds for the athletic program is slated for May 21 at Palmetto’s Bluff May River Golf Club.)

Doug Hancock. The first local I met. Doug gave me a tour of Bluffton via the May River and he narrated the entire trip, telling tales of all of the original Blufftonians as our vessel cruised past their backyards along the May.

Mary Vaux. We met quite by accident, but formed a quick bond tending to her daughter Emily’s last minute wedding details. Mary brought Joe and me into the fold of her family friends, having only known me for a few weeks. Mary has a huge heart and is involved in everything that is good about Bluffton.

Jim Wheeler and the two guys named Bill. These are the guys I start most mornings with at the Bluffton Coffee House. They are always good for some local gossip, a great story and of course many a column idea. Thanks boys.

Bill Herbkersman. I have to say, I like the guy, a lot. He is accessible, he responds to email; he is one of the few down to earth politicos that I have met. Now, this doesn’t mean I am a convert, but yes I may even vote for him next time around.

Sharon McMahon. Wife, mother and middle school math teacher. Need I say more? Ok, she is also my sister, but I am always amazed by the amount of time and energy she puts into her students. She really cares. It is her and the hundreds of other educators that we should thank, rather than complain about in anonymous Voxes and blogs. (I knew I could find away to get a Vox dig in. Mission accomplished.)

And Mom, since my opening paragraph was intended to tease you, you deserve tribute as well. As I said at your retirement dinner … “Often times you hear people say, ‘oh no, I am turning into my mother’, well I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather become.”

So, here is an idea folks, let’s pledge to spend at least today, maybe even a week thanking and paying homage to the Blufftonians that we are lucky to have. Let’s leave the complaining on the shelf if just for a little while and focus on what matters. Our neighbors, our friends, and preserving our state mind.

And until Donald Trump arrives in town with his Miss Universe posse in tow, I’ll be practicing my elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist-Miss America-wave in the hopes that I will wear a crown one day. And of course, I will continue to wish for world peace.