Note to My Old Friend

"This song, those words, are as close as I can come to let you into my head right now.

We are not going to be forever and ever except as friends, and I've known this
since that time you asked me, "so, do you want to try this?" on our second date.
I am a little angry with myself for opening my heart up and getting it all
tangled up, but these past 5 years have been a little gentler and sweeter
because of the nice days that we spent. Last night I kept a little filmstrip
running in my head. Going to Lowe's, The Biltmore, The High museum, driving
through Texas, the Red Sox game, the movie theater, Kalmia, etc. Just nice little movies in my
head. And I could have avoided getting tangly with you, listened to my instinct
that this wasn't going anywhere, and if I had, I wouldn't have those nice
memories.

And now I do need to avoid you for a while because my heart is really aching for
forever and ever, the true love that comes from having someone just want just me
and only me forever. That is what I need to be waiting for. And that is what
you need in your life too. Although you are healthier and are sure to get that
far before I do.

But we were pretty close, and are certainly the best friends anyone could ever
have. You will be happier by moving, and your talent will be wasted here in SC.
And in three short years I will be free from SC too, and my commitments to being
near my children and my mother will something that I will continue to be making
in my life choices.

But I am a girl that wears her heart on the outside, and it really really hurts.
Maybe I'll always be the lonely girl that doesn't get married again, that would
really be sad but it would be better than living in a marriage that was not
right again. That was the loneliest time in my life and I am terrified to
repeat that.

No matter where you go or how old we grow, I will always have a part of me that
wants to lay my head on your shoulder and fall asleep curled up next to you."

Kitty Makeover.....

One sweet white kitty, Mouse.

A male kitty, #4 in our home.... got glamourized by his Mama, home for Labor Day.



"Mama, did you put something on me?"



"Oh, so, I'll look even more fabulous?"



Sammi: "Actually, you look like an idiot."
Mousie: "You're just jealous."



"Meow. I know I am fabulous."


The End.

To Be Like Sam

If you are lucky, you meet people along the way that you admire. They have a certain quality, a special light, something about them that is so good that they inspire you to be a better person. You just know that when you see them, you can't help but smile.

One of the people that I admire most here in Hartsville is Sam Ingram. I met Sam when I worked at the Darlington County Disability and Special Needs Board back in 2001. He was working for the yard crew back in those days, and was in charge of cutting the grass at the Scott Center location on Damascus Church Road. He bounded over to my truck, the infamous late junky Sally Suburban, and extended his hand to me. "Hey there, I'm Sam! Pleased to meet ya!"

From that day on, Sam has never ceased to make me smile. He'd tell me when I needed an umbrella, told me about his dream of having a full time job, and about how people "just don't work hard". He eventually went on to work at Winn Dixie, riding his bicycle from his home in such good time that he was always early. He did his job so well that people would request him to bag their groceries. He was worried when Wal Mart opened, fearing it would hurt Winn Dixie. All the while, he shared his goal of getting a full time job one day, "One with forty hours a week and benefits, that's all I'm prayin' for."

Two years ago, his prayer was answered. Sam got his dream job, delivering furniture for Badcock Home Furnishing & More. I'll never forget how proud he was when he told me the good news! You've never seen anyone more proud. He stops me in town every so often to tell me tales of bringing orders to far-off customers, of the beautiful new furniture, and of every sale. Since the new building first broke ground, he has been looking forward to the grand opening.



Badcock Home Furniture & More Grand Opening
(Grand opening of the Badcock Home Furniture & More, 310 Hartsville Crossing Blvd, Hartsville, 11:00 a.m. September 8, 2006)



Badcock Home Furnishing & More Grand Opening, Ribbon Cutting
(Sam, grinning in the back row during the ribbon cutting at the Badcock Home Furnishing & More Grand Opening)

Sam brought me over to meet Ruth Thomas, the new Executive Director of the Darlington County Disability and Special Needs Board. She told me how proud she is of "her baby", and posed for a photograph.





Proud Pair at the Badcock Home Furnishing & More Ribbon Cutting
(Sam Ingram with Ruth Thomas, Executive Director of the Darlington County Disability and Special Needs Board- Scott Center..... shortly after the ribbon cutting ceremony for the store's new location in Hartsville Crossing.)

Sam's mother watched him, proudly, and agreed that Sam is "such a hard worker- he never slows down!"



Mother and Son
(Sam Ingram with his proud mother inside the beautiful new Badcock Furniture Store.)

Since I was at the ceremony at Sam's request, and wouldn't have ordinarily attended such an event, I didn't know what to expect. What happened is that I learned that the store's owner has a big heart: owner Joe Banasiewicz thanked the crowd at Badcock's, proudly acknowleged the compliments from the Badcock's corporate heads, and presented a large check for $1,000 to the Good Samaritan Community. (they are the folks that do that great BBQ Fundraiser at the new location just as they used to do at the old location on 5th Street) And, best of all, he hired my inspirational friend, Sam Ingram- proudest member of the Badcock Home Furnishing & More team in Hartsville for 2 full years.



Badcock Home Furnishing & More, a furniture store with heart
((left to right) The proudest employee of Badcock's, Sam Ingram, with his boss, Joe Banasiewicz.)

If we were all like Sam, we'd be excited to go to work each day; we'd be proud of where we worked, get there early, and put in 100% effort. With a smile and a friendly wave, it's people like Sam that make life in Hartsville a little sweeter.

What Makes Community Theater Work?

One definition of community theater: ...a very popular form of theater in which all or most of the participants are unpaid or "amateur" in the most literal definition of the word.

In the US Community theater generally resembles professional theater in all ways except in the unpaid nature of the artists. Community theater provides the opportunity for diverse individuals, many of them in other professions, to create plays and have the satisfaction of being part of an active social and artistic community. excerpt from Wikipedia

My definition: a group of people that enjoys behaving like teenagers, thrives on equal amounts of stress & humor, and enjoys entertaining others.

The recent Hartsville Community Players show, "Sylvia", dared to put a non-traditional comedy with a lot of off color NYC language and humor on a small southern city stage. To do that took a lot of substitution... a few sprinkles of swear words (excuse me, "cuss" words) and a few other tweaks here and there to not shock the patrons too much while preserving the humor of the way a dog nearly ruins a 22 year old marriage.

Who are the stars of a community theater play?



Sylvia-Hartsville Community Players

Standing, left to right: Director Marty Barry; Elayne Mahn as "Leslie"; Tracy Price as "Phyliss"; Greg Vaught as "Tom". Seated, left to right: J.E.L. as "Kate"; Jim Gruber as "Greg", and Tina Powell as "Sylvia"

Are the stars of community theater the directors? The leads? The entire cast?

Nah.

They are all much too temperamental, sometimes tyrannical, and as for the actors... Patrick, my Stage Crew Genius nephew, has always called them "walking props"...they sometimes spoil a perfect set.

The real stars of community theater is and always will be the stage crew. And in Hartsville Community Players case, it's this guy, Joe Moree.



Joe Moree- Hartsville Community Players

He has a family, works at Sonoco, owns a campground, but you'd swear Joe lives at the theater when there is a show about to go on. From building sets, arranging the microphones, doing the lights and sound, unlocking and re-locking the theater, hauling in props and furniture, Joe pretty much does it all.

And he doesn't get the roses, the applause, or a chance to climb down from the booth to take a bow.

For this show, he did finally get some help from the wonderfully talented and brilliant Coker College professor & playwright Rhonda Knight, and some assistance from (the newest HCP Board member/actor/husband of the lovely actress Tracy/music instructor) Ron Price... but for weeks and weeks of rehearsals, it's been Joe.

He's the kind of guy that if he drives by and sees you have a flat tire, he'll pull off the road and put a plug in it for you... because his truck has every tool known to man. If you need anything at the theater, you'll hear him say, "I got that in the truck, just a minute." And he does it with a generous heart and a smile.

So, thank you, Joe. Because of your infinite amount of hours, my cast mates and I were able to perform on the arena you created for us of wood, lights and sound... and Marty Barry was able to see her vision as a director come to life.

The applause goes up to the booth to you first, each time.

Memories of Memorial Day in Maine

Memorial Day in Maine as a child always meant one thing- the lilacs would bloom again.

My friends and I would bring a quilt to the back yard, and drag it beneath the old lilac bush in my back yard. The smell of lilacs is as close to heaven as one can get on earth, sweet and intoxicating. Smelling that heady scent makes you feel as if you are enveloped in a sweet purple cloud from the angels. Picking a blossom and touching the tiny tip to your tongue is as sweet as the smell, and a delight to a small child. My dolls and I would have tea parties under the lilac bushes, and I would pray that they would bloom all year.

But of course, this being Maine, the long winters and unpredictable springs would make the adults worry each year. Would the frost get the lilacs this year? Was there enough snow cover to protect the roots from a deep freeze? Would they bloom by Memorial Day?

More often than not, they would bloom. And we would attend a Memorial Day parade, and would attend a service at the Memorial to Veterans of Foreign Wars. And the stories would begin.

My father would tell stories about being in the Korean War, and his funny tales of boot camp in North Carolina. My mother would roll her eyes, and whisper, "He never even left the United States, he was was a ski instructor in Colorado. Don't believe a word."

Stories of Bath Iron Works working 24/7 to build Destroyers for the U.S. Navy would overlap with tales of how hard everyone worked to keep their families together during WWII. My mother and her infant brother were raised by her grandparents after both her parents died in the 1930's. This was the Depression, and times were hard. Many of her uncles were away in the war, and the family photographs showed the handsome young men in their uniforms, and the mothers hung stars in their windows for the sons that were fighting an ocean away.

No story was more poignant than the one of my Great Uncle Bud. He was a quiet, sweet man with silver hair always cut in a crew cut. The legend was that he fought in the U.S. Army during World War II, and stormed the beaches of Normandy during the Battle of the Bulge. He was wounded and received a Purple Heart. My mother always told me that when Uncle Bud returned home, he told the story of being shot and laying on the ground with his dying friends. He pretended to be dead, and didn't react when kicked by the steel toed boot of a Nazi soldier. He lay there for hours until he saw from the slit of his eye a Red Cross truck drive by... he raised one hand and was saved. He told that story one time, and one time only, never to speak of the war again.

One time when my children and I were in Maine for a summer visit, Uncle Bud stopped by to see his beloved niece, my mother. As Uncle Bud sat on the couch talking to the children about how they liked the south, and telling them funny tales about the birds he loved to watch, a program came on television about the Battle of the Bulge. He watched mesmerized, his eyes misting over. I looked at my mother, and our gaze seemed to echo..."Will he be able to handle this show?"

Uncle Bud watched, and began to talk. I scarcely think I dared to breathe as he relived the horror of the war, and how much he prayed and prayed that he would live through it to return home to his beloved Maine. After he finished talking, he sat for a long time, quiet in his memory. As if they understood, my then-young children sat respectfully, and we all waited to see what Uncle Bud would say next. "Don't ever forget how hard we all fought for those poor souls over there. That was my proudest moment to let them free."

Uncle Bud passed away last week, and his obituary spoke of his sacrifice to the U.S. Army. On this Memorial Day, I honor the men and women that fought so valiantly, and for those who are fighting today in a war that I do not understand. I pray for a peaceful world one day where we can all work together to help feed and protect the children all over our planet, that they may enjoy the simple pleasures of the beauty of a fragrant flower.

Hartsville Soup Kitchen Mission

This piece was picked up by my local paper from HVTD, here is the

story

.


The time is jovial while the cooks prepare the meal of the day. They hurry against the clock to make the drinks, roll the silverware into the napkins, and setting out the trays and small plates of dessert. A few early birds wait outside the door, just waiting for 11:30 a.m. when the sign is rolled out front and the serving may begin.

A call to prayer is announced, and everyone holds hands in a large circle, old and young, black and white, Hispanic and Asian. The prayer is for the meal, and for all that enters the door that day, that they are blessed to the glory of God.

The tall man wears a long coat, even in the middle of the summer. He walks a little slower now, and he is usually the last one in the door. He walks in alone, not making much eye contact with others, and signs his name carefully into the book at the table near the door.

Tray in hand, he accepts the plate of food or bowl of soup politely, and says thank you. And he means it. He gets a drink and dessert, and slowly makes his way to his seat.

This man is a regular at the Hartsville Soup Kitchen Mission, and has been coming as long as the doors opened in 1998.

He will speak if spoken to, but prefers to eat his meal quietly. Some say he is a Vietnam vet. Some say he is much older. It’s hard to place his age, as he appears to be timeless, a gentle soul.

As the noon time rush slows down, and the last people clear their trays and say their last thank you and goodbye, the tall man continues to eat slowly. His voice is low and quiet, and he smiles at you when you smile at him first. The history of his life is hidden in his kind eyes, and his large hands are scarred with years of toil.

The aging couple walks in together, and the gentleman helps the frail woman to her seat. She cannot walk very far without tiring, and the walk each day is hard on her. He gets two trays for her, and the regular Soup Kitchen workers know this and offer to take hers to her. She thanks you sweetly, and sometimes touches your hand with hers while she does so. He gets her more to drink, and another napkin if she needs it. He loves her with every fiber of his being, and it worries him when she is not hungry… as she certainly will need to eat now, as the days are long.

The young woman is heavy with child, and her pregnancy is beginning to make her weary. She enjoys her meal immensely, and rubs her stomach with her thin hand as her unborn child moves a lot when she has her lunch. She appears nervous for the upcoming birth, but says she is ready to meet her baby.

“Ma’am, would you please fill this water jug for me?” another young woman asks, and retrieves a small plastic jug from her bag. It needs a bit of cleaning, which is done for her in the kitchen and the jug is filled with cold water. She smiles at the clean jug, and holds her head up with pride as she proclaims that today has been a good day, she may be getting a new job. “It’s been hard having no work,” she explains, “it’s been really hard.”

A few groups of people look through the free clothing donated to the Clothes Closet; three free items are allowed out per person, per day. A young woman is proud to find some wonderful school clothes for her son, and proclaims, “He will be so happy when he comes home from school!”

The Soup Kitchen empties and the workers begin to sweep and clean up the kitchen for the next day. All are humble and quiet, counting their blessings. This place does this for you.

Call Pat Sadauskas at 383-9431 if you have time to spare to help serve, cook, or donate. She and her husband have devoted years of their lives coordinating the volunteers, and are quick to say this is “Hartsville’s Soup Kitchen”, not Wesley’s- everyone works together to make the program work. A hot meal each week day, and enough prayers and respect to our fellow neighbors to last a lifetime.

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Norm Miner is the coolest guy I know.

He isn’t cool in the rock star, movie star kind of way, he is the coolest guy in the humanitarian, “shoulda-been-a-preacher”, someone you’ll never forget kind of way.

He doesn’t turn down any request to help, ever. And that drives his lovely wife, Jane, crazy!

You see, when someone asks Norm to do something, he puts 110% of his time and effort into it. Maybe it’s his Yankee upbringing, I hear his father was a minister, but I think people like him are just born with it.

Take Black Creek Arts, for example. They want to do a fundraiser with a birdhouse theme; he goes into his shop and constructs scads of them. BCAC staff notices a beautifully constructed easel he made and ask him if he’d make them some for the studio, and he says “yes” (in that quiet way that ….of course… makes his wife Jane have to roll her eyes, because again, he’ll be in his shop for hours) and then this year, the cars for CarTrek have to be mounted somehow… guess who came up with the way to mount these guys? And who put in hours and hours doing so? Yup, Norm.

Car Trek

And remember Jan’s ramp? That wouldn’t have happened without his gentle urging, and the help of his loyal friends. He is the Kokopelli of the woodworking aficionados of Hartsville.

The house that Wesley UMC did for Christmas in April was not a one-day job; it just finished, and by my calendar its June, right? Norm met the elderly woman, walked through her home with his careful eye, and started writing a list. The woman now has a home that has brand new soffits (I don’t even have a clue how to spell that!) trim boards, new kitchen floor, new kitchen countertop, new bathroom floor, repaired shower enclosure, safety bar installed, and more stuff than I can remember. Again, he does bring along a band of loyal troopers that help. And even they shake their heads at how much he takes on.

Norm finally got to where he thought he was done with the Christmas in April house the other day, and said he only had one more morning to do a “few things” and couldn’t possibly ask his helpers to come another day. Grady Sullivan, another quiet humanitarian for another post, told me with a chuckle that Norm stopping by to pick up some caulk for the tub enclosure at his house resulted in Grady helping him that last day until 2:00 p.m. Grady chuckled when he told me about how when his wife, Brenda asked Norm’s wife, Jane, how the Christmas in April house was going a few Sunday’s ago, Jane took her fingers to her mouth and mimed the “closed with a zipper” sign. Grady said he asked Norm if they’d taken their camper out to go bird watching and camping this summer, and Norm told him the camper is “a little dusty”.

So now you have met my coolest hero, Norm Miner. There is probably more that he does that I have no clue about, and in fact, he just finished up a week as a delegate for the lay leaders at the SC United Methodist Conference. Ironically, the founder of Methodism, John Wesley, was a lot like Norm, and his famous quote really sums up Norm pretty well.

“Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.”
~ John Wesley, (English Evangelist, founder of Methodism. 1703-1791)

With any luck, he will be traveling soon with Jane, giving her some of the attention he is so generous with. He won’t want any attention for what he does; he doesn’t turn down a request to help, because everything he does is “the right thing to do”. If you know him, don’t mention the article to him, it’ll just embarrass him- and for goodness sake, don’t ask him to do or make anything for you- this is Jane’s time…finally.

A Tale of Soup

The bag boy’s grandmother told me the story, and her eyes misted with tears.

Her teenage grandson is working his first “real” job, a bag boy at a grocery store. He enjoys his job, and doesn’t even complain about the heat that surely makes collecting shopping carts even harder in the South Carolina hot afternoons. He does his job, and listens well to his boss. At the end of his shift, he drives home to eat his meal, and certainly a snack or two before checking his MySpace and going to bed. If his parents aren’t home, he can hop in his car and drive to his grandparents’ house… Granny always has something good to eat.

Last week, around 6:00 pm, when the sun was starting to lower itself into the horizon and the heat of the day still made the back of your neck sweat, another teenage boy entered the store.

He was hungry, and hot, and had no money with him. He walked through the automated door into the icy coolness of the air-conditioned store, and into the building full of food that his stomach so desperately craved.

No one seemed to notice him, or, maybe he was watched the whole time. He walked through a few aisles, and then, down the aisle of soup.

He took some soup, and ran. If it was a package of Ramen Noodles, or a can of Progresso Soup, the details were not given. But the boy, soup in hand, ran from the store.

A worker of the store yelled, “Stop him!”

And the new bag boy did what he was told, and ran after the boy holding the soup. He never hesitated; he did what he was told, with adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The boy with the soup, heart nearly busting out of his chest, ran with all his might. A man, about to enter the store, saw the scene before him, and grabbed the boy with the soup, never hesitating.

The boy with the soup drew out a knife, “a switchblade”, the Grandmother said. He waved it in front of him, and cut the man- or stabbed- or both. The man’s son ran up, and grabbed the boy, and threw him to the ground, and held him until the police arrived. Someone had the sense to call 911 during the melee, and the police department is not so far away.

The bag boy stood in wonder, and will be forever changed. The man and his son were dazed, and marveled at how a simple trip to the grocery store could end up this way.

And the boy with the soup… all he wanted to do was to eat something.

The grandmother lamented that fact. “If he had been hungry, and had told someone, surely someone would have bought him some food. I would have bought him some groceries myself.”

Thievery affects small and large businesses, and is certainly above reproach. What drives a young man at such a young age so able to pull a knife so quickly and expertly? When you study Maslow’s hierarchy of needs you realize that by not fulfilling your basic needs, you can’t think of much else. And to need a knife to protect yourself may be the case as much as a way to ensure that the food was taken.

When we say our prayers, we need to pray for an end to violence and an end to hunger. We have come to a realization that we need not leave the country (nor the state) for a “mission project”.

We have young men that need mentors, and children left unattended. We have hungry people that are going unfed, and violence that is spreading. We hear of more and more weapons on the street, in the hands of far too many people- and now, even children.

And we hear these stories, shake our heads, and feel powerless.

All we can do is pray, and be guided to do the right thing at the right time and to be a good example. And use our votes wisely in each election to have the right people in office to advocate for the individuals in our communities.

We all deserve to be safe, and deserve to be fed.

Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat. ~
Mother Teresa

Sunflowers in June

Every June, I feel like wearing a “I (heart) sunflowers” tee shirt… all because of Mr. Pressly Coker, and the field he plants on 14th Street Extension (between Golf Course Road and Home Avenue).



He plants these amazing sunflowers that you can see on 14th Street Extension. Laura Crouch told me who planted them last year, when I first posted on HVTD about this amazing sight.



This morning, the sunflowers were all tipping their heads towards the sun, so I pulled over the van and walked down into the middle of the field.




And if I could have played music while walking through the field, this song would have been the one.




Once again, thank you, Mr. Coker, for planting these sunflowers!

Come Home With Me

My family and I have lived in Hartsville, SC since December 1994, and we are happy and proud to call your fair city our "other home".

Come visit my other home, my beloved home town of Bath, Maine.



Bath is known for it's shipbuilding heritage, and Bath Iron Works is the major employer in town.



The downtown area is lively, and you see flowers everywhere in the summer- even the lampposts.



Nostalgia abounds, from the many antique stores to the original clock from Hallet's Drug Store.



My late father's family made their living on the sea, fishing for these guys even in the cold winter months.



The temperatures are cooler up here, and that is one of the reasons why we choose summer to visit rather than January!



But of course, the best reason to go home is family... how many 72 year old mothers do you know that have a summer job landscaping? (During the school year, she works at the Moulton Union at Bowdoin College.)




Yes, my Mom is "wicked cute". She is so healthy, doesn't take any medicine and is so healthy that her doctor just shakes his head when she comes in for a check up. She even has a good sense of humor, and didn't get too mad when the grandkids stuck a live lobster on her shoulder:



More stuff from vacation, originally posted on HartsvilleToday:

This is the Alliquippa Harbor in Phippsburg, Maine. There used to be a summer camp here that ended in 1982. It's a secret little hideaway that we love to visit each summer, and my Dad's favorite place in the world.



Where else but Maine can you find old wooden lobster traps and buoy bird houses for sale on the side of Route 1? These were spotted in Wiscasset.



We've all been to the infamous "South of the Border", here is the Northern Version...looks a wee bit different, don't you think?




Buoys are just for lobster traps anymore, these are a decoration on a restaurant in Boothbay Harbor- I saw a professional photographer take photo from this angle, thought I'd try my hand at some "fancy photos":



My mother's favorite pasttime, shopping...it's awesome here in Boothbay Harbor.



I immediately thought of "The Kayaking Latham Family of Hartsville" when I saw this young lady preparing the kayak rentals:




It's good luck to kiss this fish in Boothbay, you may find the man of your dreams... here's my Mom giving it a try:





It worked for me, here's me with my new Maine boyfriend!



On our drive home from Maine to Hartsville, this was by far the most interesting site we saw on the highway... this was the topic of much conversation at a rest area in Virginia:




Nothing woke this guy up, even the crazy folks like me that whipped out cameras and cell phones to capture his unusual snooze!

We drove to the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina to see the eldest Longfellow boy, taking summer classes and working an internship at ropes course. The mountains are just gorgeous! We took a bunch of photos at the Smoky Mountain Parkway, then at the Dry Falls on the way to Highland NC.





To describe how it felt to have your kid drive STRAIGHT UP A MOUNTAIN to feed his friend's two dogs (a Great Dane and 1/2 Wolf, 1/2 Alaskan Malamute) could be summed up as "terrified". He told us, "Buckle up, I have to gun it to keep traction when headed up."

When I looked out the passenger window, all I saw was how far down I'd be falling, and ahead, nothing but a trail almost 90 degrees pointing up, gravel flying, a few little ledges to the right and left.dotted with a few cabins here and there.



Here is my proof that I actually made it to "Lauren's Cabin" in my kid's car and back in one piece.



Differences between Bath Maine and Hartsville SC:

Sunrise:

Bath
Twi: 4:34am Yes, indeed, the sky got light and birds were chirping that early!!
Sunrise: 5:09am
Sunset: 8:20pm

Hartsville:
Twi: 5:45am
Sunrise: 6:14am
Sunset: 8:36pm

Temperatures:

Bath:
morning 61 degrees, high today of 74 degrees, tonight's temperature 57 degrees; tomorrow, 77 degrees. humidity: 90%

Hartsville:
morning 73 degrees, high today of 92 degrees, tonight's temperature 72 degrees; tomorrow, 90 degrees. humidity: 98%

Most popular summer meal:

Bath: steamed clams, lobster, corn on the cob

Hartsville: barbeque, corn on the cob

Distance to the Beach:

Bath: 10-20 miles
Hartsville: 90 miles

Windows?

Bath: Wide open, to let the cool breezes blow in at night, and to help the ever present fans do their summer magic.

Hartsville: Closed at the first sign of pollen, and the AC on full blast!

Memories

This little stone is near my great-grandmother's grave at Oak Grove Cemetery in Bath, Maine.

In our family, especially when you live far from home, one of the rituals is to go to the cemeteries to water the flowers planted at the grave sites of our loved ones. This year was a little sad, as I recently lost my Dad and my Great Uncle Bud.

My father is buried at the Morningside Cemetery in Phippsburg, Maine. It is small, and the hill rolls down towards a salt water marsh. As I walked along the cemetery with my kids and my mom, we stopped and read the stones of strangers. Now and then, I'd recognize a family name, and Mom pointed out a few that she thought I would know. Mom, the ever-present gardener, bent to pinch off the dead blooms from the geraniums and impatients planted on my father's grave.

"I can't believe I am fixing the flowers on my ex-husband's grave.", she muttered to herself, making me laugh. Come to think of it, Dad would have thought that was pretty funny, too.

We all know that the person is not "there" at the cemetery. They are not "there" during the visiting hours or the funeral, either. But you have a comfort in visiting those places just the same.

We saw children's graves with little toys left by grieving grandparents and parents. A stone with a collection of seaglass and pretty shells and stones. Near the grave of a young man who just died last year, his pair of fishing boots and his clam hoe. No one had disturbed a thing, and the sun shone brightly on this little grassy knoll so full of the memories of so many families.

Walking through the cemetery, I thought... "I don't really feel Dad here." We got back into the van, and I drove to the Alliquippa, a tiny harbor where he used to moor his boat. The ropes are still strung to the old apple tree that he used to sit on an overturned 5 gallon bucket, drinking a beer after a day fishing. The rocks are steep and spikey with barnacles, and I climbed down them barefooted to search for pieces of seaglass that always collects at the base. Expensive "summer people's" sailboats went by, small yachts, and the dirtier, worn looking lobster boats of the locals. Dad used to wait patiently for me to find my sea glass treasures, and would call out to me, "did you find any blue ones?" It seemed strange to not have him there.

I looked out over the harbor, breathed in the salt air, and closed my eyes. I thought to myself, "This, this is where I will come for the rest of my life to really feel close to Dad."

He was a man that didn't make it much past the 8th grade, survived the Great Depression, and worked really hard to care for his family. He was quiet and had a hard time coming up with the words to tell you how he felt, but the pride he had for his children was strong. He once named a boat after me, the "Jana E.", and now as a woman nearing 40 I realize that may be the greatest way he had to tell me he loved me, the surprise baby they had when their older children were nearly all teenagers.

This morning I went to my old little childhood church. The minister gave a neat children's sermon; he showed the children some fossils, and told them what they were, and the age of the fossil. Then he asked them, "what kind of mark will you leave during the years God allows you to live?" I thought about that all day. As the little plaque on the cemetery stone says, "those who loved them know who is buried here"...whether there is a mark left behind or not.

Thank You, Miss May

The sultry hot summer day gives way to dusk...and in a city burgeoning with new places to shop and eat in buildings lit with artificial light and made comfortable with artificially cool air, there lies a park that was once a dream.

After spending so much time indoors today, complaining of the heat and humidity, and longing for the cool Northern breezes of home- my mind wandered to the most beautiful place in Hartsville.

There wasn't much time before dusk, would the gates still be open? Should I just drive on back home with my purchases, tend to the chores and fold laundry? A quick coin-flip of a shiny 2007 penny, and off to Kalmia Gardens I drove. The first gate was closed, my spirits sunk, but the second gate was open.

My car was the only car; I thought I was alone, but a couple talked in the garden arbor area near the fountain. I took the path by the house, and found a new treasure- a young Chinese Parasol Tree, never noticed before.

The path to the pond was soft, and spread with freshly spread mulch. The marvel of the garden, so close to the city yet so natural and untouched, immediately made my decision to stop the best choice of the day. The garden looks even more magical in the waning light, and the smell from the trees and plants seemed somehow deeper.

At last, the pond! The softest grass in the world is in front of this pond, and begs for bare feet...which I am always willing to oblige. The turtles and the minnows swam about, and the insects began their night music. Just me, feet dangling in the water from the dock, just me all alone in the circle of quiet that is the pond at Kalmia. To wish, perchance to dream?

Tonight, I thank you, Miss May Coker. Thank you for dreaming of this public garden, and to the many people who helped create it and continue to maintain it.

It's the best thing about living in Hartsville.

For goodness sake, don't put off a visit to Kalmia. It will restore your soul.

Reality Check

It was so hot today, it nearly made me faint. As I laughed about the heat with our sexton from our church... she hates the heat just as much as I do... she said something that has been haunting me all day long.

"Just imagine those soldiers in Iraq, I hear it gets over a hundred every day....and they are wearing all that heavy equipment...And all those babies dying over where you want to visit, Jana, over in Africa..."

Indeed.

The temperature in Baghdad, Iraq will be 111 degrees tomorrow, and up to 122 in other areas of the country. No air conditioning for the soldiers, no Route 44 Cherry Limeade, no relief.

We have an obligation to keep these men and women in our hearts and in our prayers every morning, noon and night... and pray for their safe return as soon as possible. Here in the comfort of our safe homes, lulled by the media that celebrities being sent to jail is newsworthy, we have grown complacent to the fact that a war is waging.

We need to pray for them, and for the children and innocent victims of the terrorism around the world, villages ravaged by war, natural disasters, famine and drought. We are all pretty darn spoiled living here in the U.S.

Thank you, Miss Joyce, for reminding me.

Watch this video with images from the beauty of our planet and the lovely words of a late singer that would have been singing songs of an end to war and hunger if he were alive today.



Now, pray. And vote responsibly each and every time there is an election day. If you don't attend a church that contributes to a charity (and I believe they all do), then get out that check book and start your own "tithing". There are charities that need your support, whether it be local charities, national, or global.

Forget sensationalized and money making books like "The Secret" and make some positive changes in your own life by donating, volunteering, and advocating for causes that you are passionate about. Whether it be for humans or animals, who cares, just create your own positive energy by giving back. And thank the angels on earth that wake you up like Miss Joyce did for me today, they are seem to say the right thing at the right time when you are feeling all "me, me, me" and remind you that you are but a speck on this big blue planet.

Get Outside and Play!

The large building at Lawton Park is being renovated, but the park is open for play! As hot as it was today, the breeze off the Prestwood Lake felt delicious this morning. Be sure to drop by, grab a swing, bring a picnic to the tables, walk along the remaining dock, and enjoy the summer day! And by the way, grown ups have just as much fun on those swings as kids do.



The kids all had a great time showing off, "Look Miss Jana Banana, I can do all the monkey bars!"



We were a bit careful of not falling off the dock into Prestwood Lake, as all of these children are below the weight of the poor dog that was recently ..."consumed"... by the resident alligator(s). One little guy threw a few pinecones in just in case, to let the alligator know that "We will NOT get eaten by a 'gator today!"





A neighbor dog wandered over and captured the hearts of all the children. They named him "Charlie". Here he is with his angels, Susan and Jasmine. If anyone knows who the real owner is, please tell him that they almost lost him, as the kids tried to lure him onto the van and take him back with them... they were that much in love with this little dog! He has an itchy back, and went under the rail of the picnic table and the benches to scratch his back- they thought that was hilarious.



After a long morning of trying and falling off, Zion finally was able to cross a few of the monkey bars!




Here's our future... these kids know that the most important thing is love.

Sally Suburban

My favorite car was, R.I.P, "Sally Suburban". She was an old diesel blue and silver Chevy 4wd Suburban Silverado. When you started her engine in the morning it sounded like a jet plane ready for flight. The diesel fuel didn't like the cold, so in the winter I had to plug in the glo-plugs each night... imagine, a vehicle with an electric cord hanging down from the front grill? That car drove me to Maine and back for years, and I always delighted in pumping gas in that 40 gallon tank along the big rigs on the highway truck stops.

She was dented and scratched so much that she was easy to find in the parking lot, and even more easy to recognize by the 20 or so Maine bumper stickers plastered on the back. Once when I was really, really broke and really, really late getting my tags renewed, all those bumper stickers saved me from a ticket as a cop followed me for miles, apparently reading the stickers.

By the end of our time together, she had a lot wrong: a back door that wouldn't open from the outside, so you'd have to reach through from the passenger side; no air conditioner (horrible in this SC humidity!); problems with leaking oil, so much so that an old friend of mine suggested that I "not park in his driveway"; and a penchant for blowing fuses.

The car loved me, I truly believe. I was the only one that could pop her hood...punching it "Fonzie-style", and if anyone else tried to work on her engine, they'd fail. In that big old car, we were safe from other vehicles as I learned how to drive on the highway all by myself, and the sheer size of the vehicle always allowed us plenty of room from little fancy cars that didn't dare get too close. Her looks always allowed me to see a person's true character, too, for if someone proclaimed her a cool car, they got instant acceptance...and those that turned up their nose at her were dismissed for being a snob.

For all her problems, and all my complaining about her, I cried when her engine finally died beyond repair. I still miss hoisting up into the driver's seat and driving with all the windows rolled down, playing music and singing along. She was sold for parts to a guy in Bishopville, and when I drove out there to retrieve the small check I got for her, I cried again. He shook his head, and said, "It's just a car, little lady." I guess he never really loved a vehicle.

The worst part is that I never bothered to get a good photo of the back with all the stickers. If Sally is still sitting out in the field at the junkyard, maybe I'll go buy that back panel...and hang it on the wall of my future barn as "art".

Random Acts of Kindness (and Senseless Acts of Beauty)

Sometimes my heart gets heavy. I take kids to a park and notice vandalism, an obscene object spray painted on the side of brand new playground equipment; I read the news and grow weary of the war, and stories of hateful crimes around the world; and even closer to home, listening to a family member on the telephone say one pessimistic thing after another. The ball of negativity can get pretty large when times are tough, and it’s hard to find anything positive.

For some, life is even tougher; we've all been in that dark side of life where we think we cannot go on. That's when even the smallest ray of light can give you hope and allow you the strength to face another day. I've been there; although those times make you stronger, they are never easy.

How do some people seem to go through life and “make the best of it” and celebrate what they have, rather than what they have not? A very wise older man told me one time that I can "choose to see beauty, or choose to see ugly". That advice is one that I think of often.

That advice came from a man with a spinal cord injury which left him paralyzed from the neck down. At the time, I was an intern at the Darlington County Disability Board, and had gone on the road with a woman who was a HASCI SC (Head and Spinal Cord Injury Service Coordinator) to visit some of her consumers. This was in the fall of 2000, well before our world changed a year later. We were driving that day to talk to this man and his wife about things he needed to make his life easier, and to preserve his health. I had been warned on the drive that going into his home would change my life..."It's like going to church", the woman told me.

When we went in, the fellow was in his wheelchair; he was wearing a soft blue sweat suit, and his arms were positioned over some foam cushions on the armrests. He had some support near his head, not unlike the headrest that we became familiar seeing when the late Christopher Reeve made a public appearance. His chair was near a window overlooking his back yard, and the sun shone in on him in such a way it made my eyes fill even more.

He smiled as I was introduced, and told me about the bushes and trees that were in his yard outside the window. As his SC spoke with his wife, he shared stories of his grandchildren, the types of birds that frequented the bird feeder near the window, and the weather we'd been having that fall. He told me that "Life is good. The good Lord let me live to see my grands be born, to hear them laugh, and to see my wife's beautiful face each day. You can choose to see beauty, or you can choose to see ugly. I choose beauty. I am blessed."

He could have sat in that chair and cursed the day that left him paralyzed, lamented over what he could no longer do... yet he made a choice each day to remain an optimistic man. How dare I, with good health, strive for any less than he could? I tried hard to be an optimistic person, but my cynicism and sarcasm was pretty thick and some days it was just as easy to not bother notice the good around me.

At that time, I had a bumper sticker on my old car "Sally Suburban" that said,
"Commit Random Acts of Kindness & Senseless Beauty". It was really popular in the early 1990's, and that sentiment went around the world. There are now books, groups, and even a foundation, The Random Acts of Kindness Foundation. I had that sentiment on my car, but I didn’t always practice it.

Years later, I’ve made it a point to notice more. Do more. I am delighted when I notice people quietly living their lives who are like this man, and others like him that we find along our path that move us in such a way.

Just last week, a woman called from a company in Hartsville, one I had never heard of, and asked where a donation would be sent for the Hartsville Soup Kitchen Mission. I told the woman the address to Wesley UMC, thought to myself, "how nice!", and went on to finish the project I was working on.

Imagine my surprise on Monday when our administrator told me that a large check had just come in the mail for the Soup Kitchen from that same company...in the amount of $5,000! Imagine the good that that random act of kindness can accomplish!

I shared that event with a friend of mine. She told me an extraordinary story about when her husband was a "new Christian", as he had been introduced to faith when he was in college. She was dating him at the time, and found a bank book in his car and asked him about it; he told her that he had met a missionary during a campus crusade that needed a car. He had taken him shopping...and BOUGHT him a used car. When she gave him a shocked response, he said innocently, "Isn't that what Christians do?"

Flabbergasted, she told him that normally a committee would be formed, funds raised, and that no one ever just did THAT on their OWN!

Needless to say, she fell even more in love with him and married him. The car payments weren't much, and the missionary went on to marry, and raise children that are now also working in the mission field like their parents.
There are so many inspiring stories like these that go on every day. Some are so grand and newsworthy that we all hear of them, and some are quiet like those two examples, shared among a small group of people.

Some don't involve money; random acts of kindness may be helping a stranger, bringing food to someone through Meals on Wheels, caring for elderly family members, opening a Bible at a restaurant and witnessing to troubled waiters and waitresses, or lending a shoulder to cry on. Some are even smaller, like smiling, holding a door open for another, sending a thank you note, complimenting someone on a job well done. The extraordinary thing is that even an act of kindness that may seem small to you may be huge to a person who hasn't received a glimmer of kindness their way all day.

Sharing stories of acts of kindness is not only heart warming, it is inspirational. Bad news may travel fast, but good news creates a chain of good deeds that transcends time.

None of us know how long we have here on this earth, but we all have at least one opportunity each day to connect with one another and slow down enough to notice the opportunity to be kind. Act on it! And notice others that are doing this. Celebrate the beauty of kindness- "choose to see beauty".

Here are a few great quotes from Albert Schweitzer:

* "Constant kindness can accomplish much. As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate."

* "Do something for somebody everyday for which you do not get paid."

* "Do something wonderful, people may imitate it."

Yeah, being 40 is gonna rock this year.

Okay, my hormonal overbalance is over and I am back to center.

And over it.

I told my ex boyfriend about what happened with the ex husband and he said, eloquently,

"WELL, STOP IT."

Indeed.


Now I am just stopping it, moving on once again, and entirely ready to begin the era of my 40's with a bit more sense and more passion.