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.