Stormy Weather Erodes Folly Beach

Hurricane Irene caused severe damage to our beach, completely eliminating parts of the shoreline. Even though she just skimmed by us, large storm swells destroyed sea turtle nests that were ready to hatch. Sand dunes are so battered that sea water flows into parking lots at high tide.

The ends of the island took the brunt of Irene’s force. On the west end of Folly, the County Park took the hardest hit. The park is still without water and power. High waves pushed water under the park building and flooded the parking lot. The boardwalk collapsed into splinters. For now, Folly Beach County Park is closed. 

The east end of the island—toward the Morris Island Lighthouse—was damaged as well. The last public access and parking lot is blocked and houses that surround the area are on ‘limited access,’ which means homeowners can come in to make repairs but are not allowed to rent the houses to vacationers. 

We walk our dog on Folly Beach every night. It’s heartbreaking to see the damage Hurricane Irene caused. Since the storm, we have to plan our walks around the tide table because it’s impossible to walk the entire beach when the tide is rising. Even though parts of our beach are washed away, we know it could be so much worse.

I hope our friends on the northeast coast are recovering. 

____________________________________________

This post is in participation with the Blogging for Fun group, and this week’s prompt is stormy weather. If you want to blog with us, go to the BFF Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

Sell Already, Damn House

I am abundantly blessed. The word prompt for this week’s Group Blogging Experience is longing and when I search my heart, there’s not a lot of longing going on in there. I’m happy with what I have, I love the people in my life and I’m creatively stimulated by what I do for a living. I’ve tried to think of a deeply meaningful and profound way to approach the subject; maybe a patriotic post about longing for world peace, or a direct post about longing for a robust economic recovery, or a haunting post about longing for a lost lover…

Fail.

The only thing I am REALLY longing for is a new house. The house we live in has been on the market for 3, yes, 3 years. 3 years! We want to downsize our house and upsize our yard. We want to scale down, simplify. We want to organize our life to where my husband can retire soon. But we can’t sell this damn house.

Here’s why it’s bugging me to the point of distraction:

Strangers want to enter our house at a moment’s notice

We live in our house, it’s not a showroom. We have a cat and a dog that live here too. We’re not slobs but we’re not top notch, everything-in-its-place-at-all-times kind of people. When we get notification of a showing, I drop everything and clean like a maniac for as much time as I’m given. It’s mayhem.

At the advice of our realtor, we de-cluttered and moved personal things

The family photos, framed kid’s artwork, craft projects and cool stuff are rotting in the basement; most of it is ruined by the extreme weather shifts. We never dreamed the good stuff would languish in the basement for 3 years! It’s sad.

I want another dog

Yeah, I know. But I do, really badly. We have no yard here and we’re trying to sell the house so it just doesn’t make sense. The timing is off. Still, I want to rescue another dog, and I have for the last 3 years. We’ve always said we’d get a friend for Frosty when we moved. I’ve been waiting for a long time. It’s maddening.

I could keep writing about this but I don’t want to be a complete downer. For those of you in our predicament, I wish you swift and good luck. For those of you that pray, please send up a few. If praying is not your thing, please light candles or dance naked or do that manifest thing or send positive thoughts, mojo, juju, or anything else that may help.

I am longing to sell this damn house.      

________________________

This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is longing. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

Hurricane Irene is Growing Wild

My cousin, my mom and I are having a girl’s weekend at the beach. We’re mourning and celebrating the life of Aunt Dot—and having a big time. One thing we’re not doing is keeping up with the news.

If it wasn’t for Facebook and telephone calls, I wouldn’t know that Hurricane Irene is coming to the coast of North Carolina and South Carolina. So whether I stay at Ocean Isle Beach, N.C. or go home to Charleston, S.C., I’ll likely face an angry tropical storm, or worse.

Hurricane Irene is growing wild; she’s up to a Category 3 storm with 125 mph maximum sustained winds.

Over the telephone, my husband and I made plans; we try to have a week’s worth of supplies on hand when a storm is coming—enough to get us through a week with no electricity. He’s going to find candles and matches, our transistor radio, flashlights, and batteries. He’ll also get our canisters of propane filled, get a full tank of gas in his car and get cash.

I went to the grocery store here on OIB for basic canned food that can be eaten hot or cold. I also got peanut butter, fresh fruit, bread and water. We’ve already got enough dog food and cat food at home.

For now, my plan is to drive from Ocean Isle Beach, N.C to Charleston, S.C. tomorrow morning. When I get back to Charleston, we’ll fill the bathtubs with water and canvas the outside of the house. We’ll bring outdoor furniture, potted plants, yard art (not that we have any, ha) and anything else that can go projectile inside. 

So we’re as ready as we can be. If the storm continues to grow wild, on into a Category 4, we’ll hit the road and travel west. Wish us luck.

________________________

This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is growing wild. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

 

Girls Raised in the South = G.R.I.T.S.

Maybe you've heard of grits the food (delicious!) but do you know about the GRITS acronym? Girls Raised in the South. That's me.

I'm from the south; born in North Carolina and now living on the coast of South Carolina. My rich and random life's journey has taken me all around the world. I've lived in many places and seen many things. Now I'm back to my roots. I'm southern born and southern bred. I'm one of the true GRITS, baby.

One of my life adventures found me and my thick southern accent <bad grammar on purpose> living in New York City and working in midtown Manhattan. I loved it. The Pakistani street vendor had a crush on me and my bagel was ready every morning when I arrived at Grand Central Station off of the 8:05 train - the Hudson River Express. (Wait, maybe it wasn't a crush... maybe he felt sorry for me, or protective of me? Maybe the sound of my voice made him laugh? Who knows. At least I got my bagel).

When I placed my order in a restaurant, a hush would fall over the crowd. Sometimes I heard giggles, snickers. I always got special attention; not many folks sounded like me up there.

Locals either thought my southern accent was charming (in a cartoonish way) or ridiculous.

Regardless of the subcategory they put me in, my accent placed me squarely in the dull category. Dull as in slow, not all there, not on the ball, not quick-minded. I won't go so far as to say I was considered dumb but, well, people had a big reaction to the sound of my dulcet tones.

Upon first meetings, (after recovering from the accent), the person would often slow their speech to match the pace of mine. As if my drawl made me hear slow! And think slow! It was all I could do not to bust out laughing. The condescension. No kidding, some people would talk to me as if I was an 8-year-old. But that was okay. I had a big job and used their low expectations to my advantage.

Did I mention how much I loved it up north? If used wisely, being underestimated can be a powerful tool.

Yep, that's how GRITS roll. Dumb like a fox.

True Friends

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

And so we were. Stupid may be harsh, but we sure were silly with each other.

A few weeks ago my oldest (um, length of time we've known each other...) friend preformed a one-woman show in front of thousands. She's a pro, in fact we met in the theater department in college (Appalachian State University - go Mountaineers) and continue a lifelong friendship. The night was big for her, and several old friends traveled to see the show and offer support. It was a blast, she wowed the audience. In addition to the joy of hearing Starr sing, I got to see a handful of friends I have not seen in over 20 years (don't bother doing the math, we're old).

Starr, my singing friend, earns a nice living with her voice. She has a second home at the beach near my house. As things work out sometimes, she is at her beach house this week. Another friend from the ASU theatre department came through town with her husband last night. The first time I've seen Kim since college was at Starr's show. Now I had an opportunity to see her (and her wonderful husband, she picked a good one) again in less than a month. Happily, we managed a dinner together. It was hilarious. And heartwarming. True friendship is when you can pick back up, right where you left off, no matter how much time has passed. 

I am blessed with true friends.