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.

Body & Soul

I recently had the opportunity to write for a new publication, Coastal Antiques & Art. My first assignment was to interview an artist (duh) about his process and body of work.

Before I could accept I had to come clean to the Editor -- telling her that I hated Art History class and really didn't consider myself an art connoissuer. I didn't tell her that up until a few years ago "art" in my house consisted of prints I bought at Michael's and framed myself -- we are doing much better now, thanks.

Lucky for me she liked my writing style (so now there are three people who do) and gave me the assignment anyway.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing painter Bruce Knecht. He got the same confession as my Editor and he was still game. Here is how it all turned out in the February issue of Coastal Antiques & Art. Click the link below and enjoy!
http://display.savannahnow.com/SS/Page.aspx?sstarg=&facing=false&secid=39108&pagenum=9

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.