Happy Birthday to ME!!

Finally old enough for Social Security!!  Finally finally finally!  

I do not understand all these people obsessed with youth.  I've been there and done that and it was a LOT of work.  I'm ready to retire!  I can not wait!  One more week of work.  One more week.

I just love birthdays.  Don't you?  Such special magical days.  I've been thinking about all my past birthdays this morning so I thought I'd share some photos of me from many birthdays with you.  They are in no particular order.  I'm over 40 in all these photos.  Enjoy!

1999 (age 44) in my apartment in North Charleston

In Cherokee, NC early 2000s

My brother, Tom and me. 2015 at Oscars in Summerville, SC

At the Button Museum 2015

At Bee City 2016

At the aquarium in Myrtle Beach, SC

2003 or 2004 at my apartment on James Island in Riverland Terrace

Sixty-Two Years Ago Today My Mama Was Pregnant

Sixty-two years ago today, it was a Friday, in the little Upstate South Carolina town where my parents lived with my three brothers and my older sister.  My Mama was nine months pregnant and it was June and HOT.  

Oh, the old Victorian house up on the hill with its wrap-around porches where they lived had its twelve foot ceilings to trap the heat up high and its many tall windows to let the air pass through, but if you're nine months pregnant with no air conditioning, it was hot.

Now.  My Mama had to have been pretty miserable what with her being "in the family way" and all. It being a small town and most of the people kin didn't help her misery much.  I'm sure they all stopped by to ask her why she hadn't had that baby yet and such, as if she had a choice in the matter.

Mama wanted the baby to come today because she used to work for and with a couple who lived up in Cliffsides, North Carolina who were both born on June 24th.  They were good friends and both were delighted when she told them the new baby was supposed to come on their birthday, but there was no sign of the baby.  Not that day, but that night brought a trip to the hospital.  

Aw...you probably already guessed.  That baby was me!  I was born on a Saturday morning after keeping my poor Mama up all night long the night before.  Born a day late and a dollar short they always said. 

When I was still right little, Mama took me to Cliffsides to meet the couple she knew who were born on June 24th.  I remember them.  They were a happy pair.  Both were thin with dark hair and big laughs.  The woman was a good bit shorter than the man.  They lived in a house that was "neat as a pin" Mama said, but all I remember about that house was there was one of those old telephones on the wall that had a crank on the side and you put the piece to your ear and talked into the other piece.  I remember standing on a little stool and playing with that phone that day.  It kept me busy quite the while.

Their phone looked like this, but it was black.

The lady asked me why I didn't come a day sooner?  I didn't know what to say.  This made everyone laugh, but I didn't get the joke.  I felt embarrassed and wanted to leave, but Mama was having a high old time with her friends so we stayed till almost dark.

I wish I could remember their names.  They were very nice people.  I think I saw them once more during my childhood.  I think they visited us one time, but we never went back to their house in Cliffsides.  Mama didn't like riding in the car much.

Isn't it funny what the mind remembers?  Not sure why this memory popped into my head today, but I thought I would share.

Philip Simmons

Many years ago I had the honor and great privilege of meeting and spending a little time speaking with a living legend.  Yes.  A walking talking piece of history.  His name was Philip Simmons.
  

Philip Simmons in his workshop behind his house in downtown Charleston, SC.

One Christmas season years ago a group of friends and I all went on a Gullah Tour in lovely Charleston, South Carolina, led by the incomparable Alphonso Brown.

Alphonso and Philip Simmons were good friends at the time, so Mr. Simmons allowed Alphonso to bring groups to his house and workshop to see him as part of the tour!  I know...unbelievable, but I promise you I am telling you the truth.

If you ever find yourself in Charleston, SC, I would recommend you take a Gullah Tour even though Philip Simmons is no longer with us.  His gorgeous ironwork survives all over the city, and you will see it on this tour.

Philip Simmons was a blacksmith.  Born on Daniel Island, SC, June 9, 1912.  He moved to Charleston at eight years old and attended the Buist School.  During those tender years he became fascinated with the blacksmiths and ironwork in the area, and he ended up doing an apprenticeship in one of the blacksmith shops thus beginning his long and prosperous career.

Mr. Simmons' work is presently displayed in the Smithsonian as well as many other museums and places of honor around the country.

If you'd like to read more about him, click HERE or simply watch the video below.

Enjoy!

Remembering Gayle McCaffrey 5 Years Later

As I prepare to end my time at The Citadel, I find myself remembering all the people I've known here.  Of all those people, the one I'd most like to see walk through my door today is Gayle McCaffrey.

Five years ago Gayle was 36 years old. She and I both worked at The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina, located in lovely Charleston, SC.  We worked in different buildings, but I'd often see her on campus.  She was quiet and sweet.  The kind of woman who would go out of her way to help you.  Always a smile and a "Good morning!" to share.

Then one Monday Gayle didn't come to work.  Everyone just thought she was home sick, or maybe she had a sick child that day.  No one was really upset about it.

Then that same Monday night there was a press conference.  Gayle's husband said she is missing!  What???  We couldn't believe it.  Gayle was a wonderful mother.  It was just unthinkable that she would leave her children without an explanation.  What happened to Gayle?

We still don't know.

Her body was never found.  She never returned or contacted anyone.  We all suspect she was murdered, and I, personally, believe her husband did it based on the police investigation, but without a body, he was never charged.

Husband or not, someone obviously got away with murder. 

Click HERE to view a timeline of events surrounding Gayle's disappearance.

Gayle McCaffrey

Yes. I'm remembering Gayle today. I pray someday her children will have closure as to what happened to their mother. In the meantime, I'm sharing this with you.  Lest we forget.

Alice and the Orient Express

It is almost my birthday again, which always reminds me of previous birthdays.  Today I'm thinking about my 50th birthday back in 2005, a dozen years ago now. For that particular birthday I received a "once in a lifetime" type of gift that included an overnight ride on the Orient Express.

Yes.  The REAL ORIGINAL Orient Express train in Europe.  No.  I didn't have to murder anyone during the trip.  -grin-

The Orient Express ride part of the trip went from Paris, France to Venice, Italy, overnight, through the Alps and the wine country.  It was as wonderful as you imagine it would be or maybe even better.

These photos were taken in the train station in Paris as we were about to leave.

Dinner on the Orient Express was formal and delicious.  Men in tuxedos and women in formal wear.  It was held in the dining car with cocktails in the piano bar car afterwards.  Just wonderful.  The service on that train was the best I have ever experienced.  It was like they only hired psychic servers because they anticipated your needs and took care of you almost always without you having to ask.

I'm with the man I dated from 1998 until 2008.  This trip was my birthday gift from him.

I met a lot of interesting people. The gentleman beside me with dark hair was traveling with his wife.  She was taking the photo.  They were from Australia. 

It was fascinating to experience how the 1% get to live everyday. I'm thinking I could get used to living this way.

I am truly blessed and I know it and I am truly thankful.

Here are some more photos for you.  Enjoy!

Our Cabin on the train.

The Alps

Our personal servant.

Employees on the train who served us.

Our "Water Closet"

Fathers, Be Careful What You Teach Your Sons

Recently my youngest son, who is 39 years old, visited and we went to Walmart to pick up a few things.  As we were walking through the store, I noticed that he always positioned himself about four to six feet in front of me.

We have shopped together many times.  I'm guessing he has always done this, but this one night I was tired and I noticed, and it occurred to me that I also knew why he did that.  His father taught him to do that to me.  I can only hope he never does that to any other woman, but I fear he might.

As I was walking along looking at his back, I couldn't help but notice how much he looks like his father from the back.  I know this because his walking like that reminded me of the 22 years I was married to his father, which was 22 years of my having to walk at least four to six feet behind him wherever we were.

My sons' father always kept me looking at his back if we were in a store or walking anywhere really, at an amusement park, hiking in the woods, etc.  He used to say it was my place to walk behind him.  He also used to say I was his.  He said he had my title laying around somewhere talking about our marriage license.  I endured this for my sons.  I never realized at the time how their father was treating me was teaching them how to treat women. 

The key words in the above paragraph are "used to say."  I divorced my sons' father 22 years ago.  The incident at Walmart made me try to remember if anyone else I ever shop with has made me walk behind them, but in those 22 years since the divorce, I couldn't think of anyone else who has done that to me. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks that night at Walmart.  My son was treating me just like his father treated me.  He never even thought about it.  It never occurred to him that he was being disrespectful of his mother.  If I walked faster to catch up with him, he would speed up...just like his father.

I wanted to tell him he was being disrespectful, but I knew it would cause a fight and he was leaving in a few hours, so I held my tongue.  Whatever I say now won't change all those years of his father's behavior teaching him how to treat women. 

I used to try to get his father to walk with me those first few years of marriage, but the silent punishment he doled out when I mentioned anything like that just became not worth it. 

We never argued.  Not once in 22 years.  We NEVER argued.  He would always say, "I'm right and you're wrong and that's it," and then he would not speak to me for sometimes weeks on end.  He would also make big messes in the kitchen for me to clean up, and do other passive aggressive things to punish me, so I just walked alone...a few feet behind him...for 22 years of marriage because that was the less stressful thing to do.  It never occurred to me that one day my own son would treat me the same way.  I know.  I know.  I should have known.

My advice to you, my friends, is to always be respectful of others.  Walk beside people if you are shopping with them.  Engage in conversation with them instead of grunting a yes or no reply to questions.  Treat people as you would want to be treated.

Husbands, walk next to your wives.  Sons and daughters, walk next to your parents.  They are not your servants.  Treat them with respect.  Talk to them.  Parents, stay beside your spouse and children when they are little and never model disrespectful behavior.  Never.

That is my advice to you today.

When you make a woman walk behind you, this is the message you are sending.
You are basically telling them they are not as good as you. They are second class citizens.
This is NOT true, and this is NOT acceptable. Be aware.

My Cousin, Judith - Mid-1960s Memory

Today I can't stop thinking about a day back somewhere in the mid-1960s.  It was the day my cousin, Judith, nearly lost her life.  She was 12 years old.

Isn't it crazy the things you remember?

I'm about four or five years younger than Judith, so I was around 7 or 8 years old when this happened.  

It was picture day at the local schools that day, so Judith was all dressed up.  Pressed and curled and pretty, but honestly Judith was such a pretty little thing that she would have looked lovely wearing blue jeans covered in mud.  She had long dark hair and that type of milky white skin you read about in romance novels.  Her smile could make you forget what you were about to say.  

Judith was as sweet as she was pretty, and I will never forget her 12 year old self.  I tended to idolize my older cousins back then and often wished I could be more like them.  

I grew out of that, of course, but I digress.

Judith's brother, Steve was in high school at the time and had his driver's license, so he was driving himself and Judith to school that day when the wreck happened. If I am remembering correctly, I believe someone ran a stop sign directly in front of Steve's car, and there was nothing he could do but hit them. 

Steve was not harmed.  He hit the steering wheel hard enough to break it, but he was okay.  Judith?  Well, these were the days before seat belts were in cars.  Judith's sweet face went through the windshield and one of her knees broke the dashboard.  

The day I'm remembering, Mama took me with her to see Judith in the hospital.  The wreck had happened that morning.  I'm not sure why my younger sister wasn't with us, but I don't remember her being there.  We arrived at the hospital in the afternoon.  I'm thinking they took Judith to the Greenville, SC hospital.  I had never been there before that day.  Aunt Julia Mae, Judith's Mama, was crying.  I don't think she stopped crying that whole day.   

I was left alone in the waiting room for a very long time because I was too young to go upstairs in the hospital.  A Top Cat re-run was playing on a television somewhere.  I could hear the music: 

Top Cat!

The most effectual Top Cat!

Who's intellectual close friends get to call him T.C.

Providing it's with dignity.

Top Cat!

The indisputable leader of the gang.

He's the boss, he's a pip, he's the championship.

He's the most tip top,

Top Cat.

Yes he's a chief, he's a king,

But above everything,

He's the most tip top,

Top Cat.

Top Cat!

The song sounded so happy and out of place that it made me feel even worse.  I was so worried about my cousin, Judith, but no one would tell me anything. I was either alone or surrounded by strangers, so I was afraid to ask lest I get a whipping for bothering people.  It was not a happy day.

After we left the hospital, Uncle Bob, my Mama's brother and Judith's Daddy, took us to see the car before we drove home.  It was horrific.  I was literally horrified.  The steering wheel was broken in two, as I had been told, but I was not prepared for all the blood. 

My sweet cousin's blood was all over the place, especially the windshield and the dash.  Uncle Bob reached inside and took out one of Judith's bloody shoes.  It must have come off during the wreck.  He just looked at it with the most sad look on his face.  No one really noticed me.  Children were to be seen and not heard.  But I felt just about like Uncle Bob's face looked that day.  

Judith recovered.  It took many years and a lot surgical procedures, but she has lived well into her 60s so far, with children and grandchildren and everything!  They saved her leg and fixed her face and time moved on, but on the day in my memory that recovery was not a given.  All we could do back then was pray...and pray...and pray...so that is what we did.

Not sure why I'm thinking about this today other than it reminds me to cherish each and every day I'm given.  Life is a gift with an expiration date.  Cherish your life.  Cherish your children.  Love your neighbor as yourself.  

Enjoy these days you are living right now.  They are fleeting and as changeable as the tides.  Embrace the good and release the bad.  The only thing that will matter in the end is how well you have loved and been loved in this life.  Love is the only thing you can keep.  Nothing else really matters.

Why I Moved to James Island in 1999

In 1999, when I had lived in North Charleston for four and a half years, new neighbors moved nextdoor to me, and things started going missing in my apartment.

The things that were taken were things people might not miss.  Old cups, old dishes, old towels, old blankets and other bedding went missing from my kitchen cabinets and from the back of my linen closet. Even old clothes disappeared.   Unfortunately (or fortunately) I am a freak about having a place for everything and everything in its place, and I noticed.  

At first it was little things I would notice.  There was a large footprint in my kitchen.  Too big for it to have been mine, and I could have sworn I bought a can of my favorite soup the last time I went grocery shopping, but I couldn't find it.

At first I ignored the footprint thinking it was maintenance spraying for bugs or something.  They never let me know when they were coming and they had done this before.  

No.  It was not maintenance.

When too many things disappeared, I decided I had a thief visiting when I'd be at work, so I contacted the apartment office and told them to be on the lookout.  They checked out my apartment thoroughly and said there were no signs of forced entry at all.  No one could figure out how anyone could be getting inside to take my things.  The office people promised me that the master key was well protected at all times.

We were stumped, and all of us (including me) started thinking I might be a little crazy.

It never even occurred to me what was happening nextdoor.  I noticed a lot of people going in and out of the apartment, but they were extremely quiet and reclusive.  Then one day I was talking to the couple who rented the apartment and one of the other people living there opened the front door, and I saw inside.  

Wow.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  There must have been at least thirty people sleeping on the floor in there.  Packed in like sardines.  I asked the couple, "Visitors?" The man said, "My wife, here, has a large family from Colombia. We are helping them get jobs in America.  They will leave when they can afford a place of their own.  

I asked them what kind of jobs they were looking for because I might be able to help.  He said the women cleaned houses on Kiawah Island, and the men were mostly...get this...locksmiths!!!

That is when I decided I had to move right away, so I started looking for other apartments.  I looked at a bazillion apartments.  They were all too small or too expensive or located in a part of town where I would need a gun and a bodyguard.  I just couldn't find one anywhere.  

I became desperate.  Seriously desperate.  I was afraid one or more of those men would come in my apartment when I'd be there alone late at night.  I couldn't sleep.  

Finally I started calling realtors.  No one could help me until I got in touch with a realtor named Alice.  Now, I don't know if she helped me because we had the same name or not, but I suspect it may have played a part in her decision.  

At first, when I told her I presently lived in North Charleston, she said she didn't have anything, but when I decided to tell her my life story...how I moved to Charleston with nothing...how I was a former school teacher...how I was presently (at that time) working in the MUSC Library...how I always paid my bills, lived alone, and had no pets (at that time), etc.  She finally said, "Well, there is this one thing."

She showed me a house in Riverland Terrace on James Island that she owned.  She rented three apartments in that house and the upstairs apartment was for rent.  It had no washer and dryer hook-up, but it was in a very safe neighborhood close to MUSC, so I took it, sold my washer and dryer, and moved.  

That is how and why I moved to James Island.  It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.  I lived there five and a half years and loved my little upstairs apartment until...

I ended up falling down those rickety, curved, and rotten stairs. My arm and hand was in a cast for eight weeks; and my ankle was in a brace for longer than that.  That is when I started house hunting and bought my present house, but that is another story.