Charleston, South Carolina - Part 1

Hey ya’ll from beautiful Charleston, South Carolina, the epitome of southern charm and hospitality. Home of Rhett Butler, the Battery, Rainbow Row and Fort Sumter, Charleston, is the destination of choice if you are looking for a real Southern experience. MDH and I are actually staying on Folly Beach about eight miles from the downtown History District. As I type this post, I am listening to the ocean’s surf and squawking seagulls. It is still early in the morning and I am beginning my day with hot coffee and laptop time.

We arrived yesterday (Tuesday) around 5:00. When you pull up to a hotel in a shiny Red Cadillac Deville, valets come running. Not that we expect or want the valet services it is just a fact. While MDH goes to check in, Beverly, a handsome African-American man rushes to my aid. Upon opening my car door for me his first words are, “Oh baby, your toe nail polish matches the color of your car. How cool is that.” I laugh and agree that it is indeed cool. “Pop your trunk baby and I’ll unload this stuff for you and get you settled.” I pop my trunk; he loads everything onto a cart and proceeds to try to take my laptop and purse from me. I smile and say no thanks, I’ll manage this. He laughs. I pat him on the back and ask him what he is laughing about? He just smiles. We have an automatic understanding. He thinks that this white woman is not turning over any valuables to a black valet. I know what he is thinking so to put him at ease I begin talking. He begins to open up. “Baby, where are you from?” East Tennessee, I respond. “Man I had you pegged a Georgia Peach, but you are too fine for Georgia. Da** baby you smell good, what is that you are wearing?” I laugh and say black current vanilla from Bath and Body. “Man I love that B/B stuff. My first wife used to tell me I used more of it than she did. I’d tell her, look woman, I landscape for a living and I want to smell nice after a hard days work.” He loaded me into the elevator, took my room number and key and led me straight to my door. He then proceeds to point out a number of good local places to eat and get margaritas. He unloads all of my stuff into the room, opens the drapes, turns on the air, gets me ice and proceeds to smile and say, “Now baby, if there is anything I can do for you during your stay, please let him know.” It is about this time MDH arrives at the room. I smile and ask MDH to please give the man a good tip because he did his job extremely well. I am going to find Beverly today and have my picture made with him. He is a sweetheart!

Later in the evening, after a walk on the beach, a stroll out the pier and dinner at a local dive, we head back to our room and bump into a couple getting on the elevator. They strike up this conversation with me. “This ocean breeze wreaks havoc with hair.” Yes I agree, but it does not matter, we are at the beach after all. “Yes, but we have been into Historic Charleston today, our first time ever. We are so overwhelmed by its beauty.” Yes, I agree, Historic Charleston is one of the most beautiful places in the USA. I was here 23 years ago on my honeymoon and we came back this week to revisit. The man sizes me up and down. “Twenty-three years!!!! Did you get married when you were nine?” Why yes I did, I say. My parents believed in young marriages. In fact, I was getting too old for marriage by their standards and they were desperate, so here (pointing to MDH) is who I ended up with. He studies me for a second until I smile and laugh. He then rollicks with laughter, punches MDH on the arm and says way too go guy! I have him so flustered; he cannot get the elevator floor number correct. His wife/date is cracking up. We get off the elevator MDH looks at me, “How do you do that?” He questions. Just keeping it real I say. People always respond to real.

More later……

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

Pitchers

Number one-hundred-seventy-five! This post makes 175 blog posts to date. Never did I imagine I would still be blogging when this journey began nearly a year ago. If I live until May 19th, (questionable in my mind some days), I will celebrate my one year blogging anniversary. Woot! My goal is 200 posts. If I reach my goal ------ GIVEAWAY ------ old stuff, new stuff, jewelry. Whatever strikes my fancy and maybe all three. I need your encouragement!!!!! Cheer me on! Leave a comment even if just to say "you stink" and maybe it will inspire me to do better. Yes, I am bribing you for comments. What can I say! I'm shallow and have a big ego. That is a joke y'all.

I do not collect anything. Really, I don't! When I tell you that "things" just find their way to me, that is the honest to goodness truth! I rarely purchase anything vintage, but I often fall into conversations with people who share my adoration of vintage items. Apparently, my passion for this topic convinces people that they can trust me to value and keep forevermore something that their great aunt Myrtle gave them forty years ago. Who am I to say NO! I have complimented waitresses on their aprons and they have taken them off and given them to me on the spot. I swear that is true! Blue haired ladies and gentlemen have given me vintage jewelry. Aunts, uncles and cousins six times removed have given me dishes, books, linens and these beauties.......PITCHERS. Water, milk, juice, cream, decorative, tin, and tiny pitchers.

I wish I could remember who gave me each one, but that information left the recesses of my mind long ago.

Here are my favorites. The baby blue pitcher was given to me by MDH's grandmother. They served milk in it when she was a girl living in the mountains of North Carolina (she is still living and feisty at 90). The big brown water pitcher belonged to my own grandmother. I do not remember where the ruby-red glass pitcher came from, but I love it.

I adore colored glass cream pitchers too. The red creamer was a Christmas gift from a co-worker and has a funny story behind it, but I won't bore you. The royal creamer came from my klepto Aunt Audrey, an independent prissy Katherine Hepburn type lady. Lord, I miss that woman!

Happy VTT and be sure to visit Colorado Lady. She is showing a beautiful quilt and has a "name that photo" contest happening. Don't miss it.

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

Birthday, Cows, Tadpoles and a Tasmanian Devil

Nineteen years ago today I gave birth to the ugliest baby you have ever seen. Born with a pointed head, purple bruised face, and dimpled chin, he cried loudly and refused to nurse for the first forty-eight hours of life. I fell madly in love with him. He is now my handsome, well-spoken, intelligent, basketball-freak-of-nature oldest son Carter. The dimple is still in his chin although occasionally hidden from view by his beard. He has grown into a well respected young man and I am proud to call him my friend. I ask his advice on a regular basis and trust his opinion. What more could a mother want in her oldest son? I love you Carter and am so proud of you!

Now let me tell you about the whirlwind weekend I just experienced! I agreed several weeks ago to babysit for some dear friends. Several weeks ago meaning two months. Two months ago seemed like a long time, well, two months ago. I now realize two months is just a blink. Quick and gone. Early Saturday morning the Tasmanian Devil arrived at my house, rested and energized from a substantial nights sleep and eager to greet the day with a fury. My own boys, grounded for the weekend to lend their assistance, helped me greet the little angel into our home. It has been a few years since I had a four-year-old boy in my world. I had forgotten the damage that can be ensued in forty-eight hours. Physically, emotionally, and structurally. The little blond haired blue-eyed dynamo that looked so innocent at my back door packed a vicious punch. Oscar, my miniature dachshund wanna be pit bull, climbed in his kennel whimpering and locked the door behind him. MDH had conveniently scheduled to teach a CPR class, one that could not for any reason whatsoever, even death, be rescheduled. The big sissy! There he was teaching CPR to a group of folks (including infant CPR), while I was home experiencing cardiac arrest (have I mentioned that I have a few OCD problems). OCD and a four-year-old boy are not heart or sanity healthy combinations.

Saturday was a beautiful day in my dot-on-the-map and to fill some time, we took little mister to the family farm. Our plans were to feed the cows, fish, hike and generally waste time enjoying the sunshine. Turns out the cows did not realize they were the Saturday afternoon matinee. Not only did we have to walk all over the 100-acre wood to find the beasts, we had to run from them when they spotted us. Our giant bovine pets were happy to see us; they stampeded us back to the barn for sweet feed. Ever seen a woman run from cows wearing flip-flops and dragging a screaming four-year-old? It is not pretty.

The pond was murky and the banks were muddy from recent rain; yet, this fact did not stop us from fishing. I had forgotten that fishing takes quiet and patience, something that a four-year-old boy does not possess. He and I ended up sitting in the quaint musty barn, amid the straw, dirt, barn swallows, cow manure and other barn paraphernalia playing with Matchbox cars while the more mature fellows tried their fishing luck to no avail.

Peace eludes me wherever I go, I just cannot leave status quo alone. Really, if I would occasionally weigh the consequences of my actions, the forces of nature might work for me instead of against me, but where would the fun in that be. A girl has to do, what a girl is compelled to do and for me that meant catching tadpoles, which meant walking along a muddy pond bank, again in flip-flops, carrying a five-gallon bucket. I wanted to view the wonder of nature up close and personal in her metamorphic greatness. The ponds edges were thick with black tadpoles. I have always been fascinated with these little sperm like creatures (just keeping it real). I have tried several times to keep tadpoles and watch them morph into toads or frogs (you cannot tell at the sperm, I mean tadpole stage, what they are going to be you know). I have actually kept them alive until back legs begin to form, but they eventually die. I figured that if I could catch several of the little wigglers, one might survive. And that is exactly what I did! On my hands and knees, in the mud, I scooped up several hundred of the little things, along with pond scum, and if you believe in evolution, a person or two.

I placed my homeschool science experiment in the five-gallon bucket. I then gathered chairs, kids, Matchbox cars, drinks, sippy cups, and secured the whole mess in my red Cadillac Deville and took the winding curving back roads home at a good 50 mph sloshing tadpoles, pond water, and chocolate milk as I drove stopping only for fried okra at a local diner, the only food that little mister will eat. For what purpose was all of this, you may ask. To wear little mister out so that he would sleep Saturday night! And he did...with me...along with fifteen matchbox cars, two stuffed dogs, and his blankie. He smelled sweetly of baby lotion from his bath. He curled up in the crook of my arm and occasionally tickled his cherub face with the tag from his blankie. The little stinker had the nerve on Sunday to complain that I snored too loudly! All but about twenty tadpoles disappeared into oblivion. Did they eat one another or did a local raccoon have a midnight snack? It will remain a mystery. Life is sweetly back to “normal” in my world today, but what fun it was to play for the weekend.

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

Vintage Thingies Thursday - Lays, Lipton, Maxwell, Dominio and Flapper Girl

Oh how I have missed participating in VTT for several weeks. Although I have taken the time to check out most links, I have not had time to link myself. It is good to be back this week.

For those of you who do not explore my site beyond the VTT page, my 80 year old dad is battling lung cancer. It is a terrible battle. A battle that he was told going into he probably would not win - only hold at bay for a bit. He took his 45th chemo treatment this week and still has a fierce sense of humor! What a man! What an example! Toughest time in his life and in mine. I love you Dad.

My Vintage Thingies this week actually do not belong to me, but a co-worker who reads this blog and wanted me to post her tins. They are unique and I have never seen them anywhere.

If you do not live in the South, you have probably never eaten Lay's Potato Chips. "Nobody Can Eat Just One." This large tin is representative of how they used to be packaged years ago. Being a red/white/blue freak, I may not return this one.

These are original tins for Lipton Tea, Maxwell House Coffee and Domino Sugar. They are gorgeous.

This is an embroidered pillowcase. Isn't this gal stunning? My co-worker has no idea how old this is or where it came from. Someone gave it to her. I think she looks like a "Roaring '20's Flapper." Any ideas?


For more great Vintages Thingies Thursday, please visit Colorado Lady. She is a swell hostess!

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

A Sibling Moment

If you have a brother or sister, you probably have experienced a Sibling Moment. Of course, a Sibling Moment depends on your relationship with your sibling. My relationship with my much older brother has always been close. Despite our eight-year age difference, we understand one another. Being his baby sister, I was attached to his hip growing up. He knows all the words to several Monty Python and Beatles songs and gets British humor. In addition, he goes morrell mushroom hunting in the spring and cooks them to accompany Easter dinner. What a guy!

Anyway, a Sibling Moment is experienced when a comment is made that sparks the same thought as your sibling and all you have to do is glance at one another and the laughter explodes. This is exactly what happened to my brother and me at Easter dinner on Sunday. Understand that I am 43 and he is 51, should this immaturity still be happening? My mother, the epitome of worse case scenario, piped up in the middle of a pleasant conversation my brother and I were having regarding our dogs eating grass. BTW, did you know you could purchase pods of dog grass? Weird. Mother interrupted to announce that our aunt had recently attended a class on self-defense for women. One self-defense approach that was suggested for a woman if threatened by an attacker was to drop on the ground and begin eating grass which would eventually make her regurgitate thus causing the attacker to leave her alone. What??? As if dropping to the ground and eating grass would not freak the attacker out enough. This statement caused my brother’s eyes and mine to meet and that is all it took. Really, I have never seen two people laugh so hard. It was one of those “nobody else gets it moments.” Snort laughing, tear flowing, choking, having to eventually leave the table to go blow our noses that left everyone else sitting at the table in stunned silence staring and wondering “what the heck just happened” events. We could not even sit back down at the table together and look at one another. My mother was completely insulted and we could not explain for the life of us what was so funny. Just writing this now places me on the edge of hysterical laughter. I know if my Yankee Aunt is reading this post, she can relate because we have talked about this phenomena on several occasions. Does anyone else have these occurrences with their siblings?

Hey Yankee Aunt….thanks for the phone call Saturday….I love and miss you and can not wait to see you in May. After that, we are going to meet somewhere in the middle and girl talk for a weekend. Hugs and Kisses.

Thanks for reading, Rosie.