An Aside

Rain on a tin roof.......childhood, grandmother, comfort, warmth.

A Truly Lovely Evening

Thursday, June 2

A Truly Lovely Evening

My dear friend Harry Wright was feted this evening; he was being honored upon his retirement from the faculty of the Medical College of the University of South Carolina where he had been for over three decades in the Department of Neuropsychiatry and Behavioral Science and as Director of Infant and Pre-school Programs. 

The event was held at the Columbia Museum of Art, which has muchly changed since I trudged through its dreariness 40 some odd years ago.  Today it is open and airy and spacious, and a simply marvelous location to honor Harry.

I haven’t lived in Columbia for going on 45 years; I skidaddled as soon as I graduated from Carolina (THE Carolina—not that fake one up north). A few years ago, I saw photos of my 40^th high school reunion and didn’t recognize a soul.  So, I certainly didn’t expect to run into someone from my deep, distant past.  And I would not have recognized him athough he’s still as handsome as ever, but, lo and behold, I saw the nametag with Louis James on it and my eyes looked up and up (Louis is still tall), and sure enough, there he was. 

And right next to him was Sammy Backman.  I didn’t know Sammy in college.  He was Harry’s freshman roommate.  Sammy told me he’d gotten the card that said his roommate was from York and Sammy assumed it was a misprint and his roomie was really from New York.  Sammy hailed from Charleston, SC, a good 200 miles south of York, SC.  Upon meeting, they cleared that up and have remained friends every since.

The University of South Carolina admitted its first black students in 1963.  Harry, Sammy, and Louis came in 1966.  South Carolina public schools were absolutely segregated, more than 20 years after Brown v. Board of Education.  Until my senior year of high school, 1967, I had never sat in a public school classroom with a black student.  That year, one brave young man joined my senior class and one brave young woman joined the junior class.  That young man attended an after-graduation-party at the house of my best friend, where I spent the night.  The next morning, her mother woke us up to tell us that his presence had been inappropriate.

Such was the mindset of many of the white students at the University of South Carolina, the ethos that daily confronted Harry and Sammy and Louis and many others.

Both Harry and Louis stand over 6 feet tall.  At Carolina during those turbulent days, days sometimes tinged with violence, those days of the antiwar movement and the women’s movement and the civil rights movement, Harry was the quiet voice of sweet reason, Louis the pounding thud of intense reason.  Carolina was fortunate to have Harry and Louis and Sammy.

The gala retirement party was bittersweet, not because we’re growing older, but because Harry’s health precludes him from continuing fully to participate in and contribute to the issues to which he’s devoted his professional life, particulary the care of children 0 – 3, and, especially, autism spectrum disorders.

I sometimes cannot believe my good fortune in having the friends I've had.

Movin' On

Wednesday,  May 18

Winery Waitressing

Arrived at the winery to stay for a few nights to discover that a cousin was on the injured reserve list so Suzanne was short of help for a dinner on Thursday evening and over the weekend.  Schlepping dirty dishes from table to dishwasher is a talent I acquired young and then honed waiting table in college, after college, after after college….interspersed with cocktail waitressing wearing what we called “hot pants” (I had the body for them back in the day) and a stint at the donut shop.

Many of the winery’s food events are buffet rather than plated and served, and this one was fairly simple.  The drill:  Ron picks up the food from Celebrity in Norton and runs by the grocery store for ice and ice cream.   I’ve put out salt and pepper and cut flowers – hydrangeas this time-- for the tables.   Water goes into the food warmers;  iced tea and lemonade get made.

I’ve changed into black pants, a Mountain Rose Winery t-shirt, and a white apron. 

Salad, lasagna, and bread are put out. 

Women ranging in age from early twenties to the eighties – members of an education sorority from Kentucky – begin arriving.  They mingle and chitchat, renew acquaintance.  Forming a circle, they recite the sorority pledge, and someone says a prayer.

They go through the buffet line.  Iced tea and lemonade they pick up from Tori, Suzanne’s 13 year-old granddaughter, who’s evolved into quite a pro at these events.  As the diners chat at their tables, I circulate, refilling tea and water.   Someone wants coffee, so Suzanne runs to make it in the slowest coffee pot this side of the Appalachians.  

A rather disgruntled group of latecomers arrives.  They’d taken a group of 4 and 5 year-olds from Whitesburg, KY,   to the Hands-On Museum in Johnson City, TN, and not only had they been trapped in construction traffic in Gate City, VA, some dilatory parents stranded children at the pickup point.  We feed them and they begin to wind down from their very frustrating day.

As plates begin to empty, I begin bussing tables while Suzanne and Tori dish out berry cobbler and ice-cream.  I’m a whiz at getting those tables cleared!

Bunnies

Tori disappears.  Baby rabbits are the lure – seven little ones, with three adults.  Six year old cousin Sydney brought them home from her school and Tori has become captive to three cuties.  A rabbit hutch, painted bright red, and already stocked with food and litter, awaits their arrival, once they are weaned in a few more weeks.

Unfortunately, the next day, while bunny babies are out sunning on the top of Sydney’s hutch, an English Springer Spaniel named Rascal, lived up (or down) to his name, and snatched one of the babies, dashed it against a rock, and then rollicked his way into a nearby stream with the poor little thing in his mouth.  Rescued by Sydney and her grandfather, little nameless was restored, living, to its mother, though it’s highly likely to require special education should it survive.

Thursday, May 19

Daddy's Stone

Sometimes it takes a while to place the stone on the grave; the ground has to thaw.  Ron mowed the cemetery today and told me the men had been there to place Daddy's stone.  I must have missed them by only a few minutes, as I'd been up there chatting with Daddy.  He was a tad disgruntled by the obnoxious barking dogs, but glad for the warmer weather; he's never liked being cold.

Flowers are leftovers from earlier visits.  Time for a good cleanup.

Friday, May 20

House Hunting

Ron and I were dispatched to Dot, VA, to look over the log homes at Old Virginia Log Homes. He was looking for a truss for a new overhang on the front of the winery; I, of course, was looking for a new home, since I am, for the time being, essentially homeless.

Old Virginia Log Homes does not do trusses, so Ron’s question was easily answered.  I, however, became more confused – not that it is difficult to confuse me.   Trusses support roofs.  While it may appear unreasonable, I want a roof over my head.  Old Virginia does not do trusses; ergo, OVLH does not do roofs on one story log homes.  Mom and I want one story, and, we want a roof.  Nor does OVLH do internal framing…or windows…or doors.  OVLH does walls. Only walls.  They do put up the walls on your site, but that’s it.  I envision a walled stockade structure

with the blockhouse added at a later date. 

A while back, I’d checked out  Mountain States Log Homes, Inc., which, for those of you old enough to remember, provides a log home version of a Jim Walter’s Home:  walls, roof, windows, doors, subflooring, internal framing….something I could understand, especially the roof part.  However, Mountain States doesn’t do the installation.  They simple put together the tinker toy package, dump it on your lot, and provide instructions for putting it all together.  Since I can’t put together an IKEA computer desk, the rather crazy notion of putting together  an entire house sent me into gales of laughter.

And, several years ago, Mother and I investigated All-American Homes, a modular home outfit with a local representative/builder.  One of Suzanne’s brothers had just materialized a quite-nice modular from All-American.  I say materialized because modulars are built at the factory, trucked to your site, and erected by cranes.  Takes only  a couple of days before you’re sleeping in your own bed:  bed not provided by the modular company.

Poking ‘Round with Ron

After we’d completed our assignment, we headed back home….sorta.  First stop was a tiny, mobile, log hut that could be brought to the winery for an event.  Next was a turtle stop. Yes, I stop and rescue turtles in the middle of the road.  Ronnie was quite obliging.  Then we stopped at a log house that had a big “Vacation Rental” sign in front of it, which we’d seen on our way over to Old Virginia.  This time, folks were mowing the lawn.  Turns out they were the owners.  Ron and Suzanne are always on the lookout for places that might be attractive to winery visitors from out of the area, so this place was a good find. 

While I felt a tad guilty about abandoning Suzanne to the winery, poking around with Ron is a lot of fun.

Sunday, May 29

Time to head south, to Mother’s, and to Fripp.  I hadn’t planned on going to Fripp, but Cousin John and wife Kathy were going to be there and I wanted to see them. 

It felt like old times.  Go to Mom’s, do some laundry, eat good, homecooked meals—then head out.

But this time, Mom would join me at the beach.

Tuesday, May 31

Fripp Island 

Cousin John is a true chef.  His food is creative and delicious.  I’m fortunate not to have him around too often, or I’d start wearing a burqa to hide the results of my lack of portion control.  Kathy was still at a conference in Florida, for legal administrators, but we were joined for dinner by Allen Thames.  Allen and Mother worked together for many, many years at a brokerage firm, and he’s been a friend for years.  He was hanging out at Fripp, and golfing buddies with John…. And a good cook himself.  But tonight was John at the stove throwing together a simple little pasta dish with anchovies, shrimp, a little olive oil, garlic, freshly grated asiago, accompanied by Splashdam , a delightful white Mountain Rose award winner. 

We waddled away from the table.

Forced by the Canines

It isn’t accurate to say that the canines are spoiled.  They’re spoiled rotten!  For those who have not yet encountered them, here they are.

 Abbey

 

                               Tobey

              Son of Abbey







I never said they were smart!  Daddy referred to them as the "little hemi's", aka Little Hemorhoids because they were pains in the tookus.  Abbey was named by my younger step-daughter Melody.  Melody is a namer, like Daddy.  She looked at the little black and tan and said, "Abbey."

The naming of the little 3/4 pound puplet was the responsibility of Chantal, older step-daughter.  Her first choice was "Big Butt" as that was all we could see of him, tucked under his mother as he was.  Unacceptable to me.  We then waltzed through everything from Grzyk to Bldyrk to....You get the picture.  OK, she WAS only 13 at the time.  Finally, I said enough and named him Tobey, rather than have him go through life as Big Butt. 

And, yes, they're eating corncobs. Tobey also likes raw cabbage and rabbit poop.

When we're at Fripp, they force me every day around the cocktail hour to take them for a ride in the golf cart.  Tobey sits in the seat or—preferably—on a lap.  When it’s cold, I put them in their jackets and wrap Tobey in a blanket with his head sticking out.  Abbey seems impervious to the cold, at least when she’s being chauffeured in the golf cart.  However, this time, we didn’t have to contend with the cold….it was about 90+ in the shade.   (pix to come, I hope)

And here be a pix, shot by Cousin John.