CityWords

Blog move

2006-05-11T09:47:00.000-05:00

So I have moved my blog and have been making entries when I had a "duh" momment. In case there is anyone frequently or infrequently visiting, and wondering where I am, you can find me at:

http://citywords.thecolumbiarecord.com/

It's a little more local although a lot harder to hide. Please come for a visit, and leave a comment if you like what you read.

Flavors of the World

2006-04-01T21:26:00.000-05:00

Today we had lunch in Turkey, Peru, India and the U.S. We finished up with desert in Italy and Russia. The food was great, but the people were better.

Because other cultures are fascinating to me and the kids, we headed to the State Fair grounds after tap class this morning to check out the International Festival. I was a little hesitant at first-only because I don't like juggling three kids in a crowd alone-but it was well worth it.

We spent time at booths representing different countries first. Each had several volunteers dressed in traditional clothing, many who also spoke the language. There were samples of money, fabrics, handmade items, foods, books, you name it. Many of the volunteers showed tremendous enthusiasm for sharing their country's cultures; it was wonderful to observe.

When we got tired of the booths, we went to the international food court and selected several different items to share. Hands down, our favorite foods were from Peru; although the Jamaican and Thai booths were popular with others. While we ate, we sat in front of a tall stage where there was performance entertainment from a broad range of countries. We saw flamenco dancing from Spain, several Mexican dances, a Caribbeann steel drum band and others.

Then came a group called "Legends of West Africa". This was a drum line and dancers, so full of energy that it was powerful. When they started, the drums pounded and the dancer's bodies twisted; first slow, then faster and faster. There were four women dancing and drumming with true joy in their faces-their performance was more than just a job to them. Many in the audience couldn't contain themselves and stood up to dance and move; or else clapped their hands and tapped their feet. It was captivating. The music and dancing went on and on, with none of the performers showing any signs of fatigue. When it was finally over, the children and I felt incredibly lifted up and exhilarated.

Just watching and listening to the people around us was an experience. Individuals attend the festival for their own reasons-solidarity, education, heritage pride, interest in others. At one point, I went back to Peru for more chorizo (sausage) and flan. I stood next to a young mother and son, both with lovely dark hair and long eyelashes. She was watching the stage where girls with long ruffled skirts were performing a dance that looked like something out of the old west. The mother had a far away look in her eyes and murmured under her breath

"I haven't seen that in a long time."

When I asked her where she was from, without taking her eyes from the dancers, she said Puerto Rico, but that she had lived in the States since she was twelve. This dance was from her childhood. She watched silently for a long time, but then moved on as the line shifted.

It made me wonder how many people attend the festival to get a little flavor of home. I am thankful that they shared it with us.

Barbie

2006-03-26T10:52:00.000-05:00

I often listen to my children playing. It can be very informative and it’s a good way to hear what they are picking up at school. It’s also quite funny. Children are naturally humorous in their innocence and serve as good reminders for adults to chill out, and quite worrying about life so much.

My girls love Barbies. Actually, that’s an understatement. They are Barbie freaks. They each would like their own personal copy of every Barbie ever made, plus accessories. So let’s clarify; every doll, car, horse and buggy, ball gown, castle, shopping mall, pair of shoes, bicycle, airplane, swimming pool and any other item Barbie takes it in her little plastic head to have manufactured. Multiplied by two. I would worry if I hadn’t gone through the same thing myself as a kid.

At first I considered not allowing Barbie for play because of all the studies relating to young women having unrealistic body image initiated with Barbie play. Fortunately for my girls, I got over this by their second birthday; just in time their first Barbie from grandma. Yes, I have unrealistic body image and played with Barbie as a child. However, I chalk this up to wanting to be a small size after having three kids-two of them at the same time. This also qualifies as an unfulfilled desire.

But I digress.

We now have forty-leven Barbie dolls. Many of them have different names, facial features, hair colors, and outfits. However, it is not necessary for me to keep up with their individuality, because my girls call them by one name only; “friend”. When I listen to their role play, this is what I hear:

(sample conversation between two Barbies)
“Friend, are you going to the ball tonight?”
“Oh yes friend, the Prince will be there!”
“Well friend, which dress should I wear?”
“Oh friend, why don’t you wear the pink dress while I wear the purple one?”
“That is a great idea friend!”

And so on. It almost sounds like a Quaker Society if you don’t know the details.

There is always a ball to go to at our house. We only have two prince Ken’s, but my son also has a GI Joe Firefighter and a generic police officer that are the right size to attend the ball. The police officer is quite handsome, and is invited out often, but GI Joe has a poor social life. His scar makes him look mean you see, and everyone knows that a prince is supposed to always smile.

Every so often, their brother will actually join them playing although there is never a ball when he is around. He scorns the Princes and goes straight for the Policeman. Tie a ballet skirt around his neck for a cape and with a paper sword, the policeman is now a knight off to fight a dragon. The policeman doesn’t have a name when my son is playing; he really doesn’t need one. He is too busy hunting dragons, flying, or leaping through the air to need a name for casual conversation.

I have met grown men who would like that job.

Grandpa's Zamboni

2006-02-07T09:49:00.000-05:00

At this time of year, many people find Lake Murray a little depressing. I can understand this-you can’t ski or swim, fishing is pretty difficult as well. A boat ride in a cold, whipping wind is a miserable experience. The water is very low and there are mud pits around the docks. The whole area is gray, and looks used up and thrown away.

However, many people are wrong. When the lake is down, you can find treasures that were once thought lost, such as a fishing pole or sunglasses. You can sit on a porch deck bundled in blankets and feel the silence. You can watch the squirrels and birds clearly on the leafless tree branches. You can just exist, without worrying about what task or errand needs to be done next.

When our dad is working long weekend shifts (restaurant guy, remember?) we like to plan an escape to the grandparents lake house. I often call my oldest friend to join us with her two children. The lake house is way out in Saluda County, where cell phones only work sporadically and there is no email. We will cook ahead so that we can eat healthy, and there is always a bottle of wine for moms to enjoy after kids are in bed.

The lake house has toys and games that aren’t seen very often, but mostly, it has the benefit of wide open spaces, inside and out. This includes an unfinished basement. Now my parents are clean freaks who like every thing in its place and looking nice. Therefore, the basement isn’t typical; there are several coats of light grey paint on the floor, the walls are bright white, and it is well lit. There is a locked storage room for tools, but the main area is empty. When our five children went down to play last time, we figured they would get bored in minutes. We were wrong.

It turns out that the painted basement floor makes an excellent ice skating rink when thick socks are worn. The children loved skidding around the brick supports, pretending to spin and doing tricks. However, the best part was the Zamboni, really large green push broom that ordinarily sweeps up wood shavings. As the children experienced pure, uninterrupted fun, the noise factor grew louder every minute-but who was around to hear it? We had to force them to come up for bedtime. The first thing that they wanted to do when they got up the next morning was troop down to the basement for a quick game of Zamboni tag before breakfast. By the end of the weekend, the only way we could get them to leave was by promising a return visit at the next school holiday.

When I called Grandpa to tell him how much we enjoyed his Zamboni, he was understandably a little confused. He didn’t realize that his clean basement area was really an ice rink. It’s a shame how your vision changes when you get older.

The Eternal Why...

2006-01-18T23:07:00.000-05:00

If you have any anwers to these questions, please feel free to leave them in the comments section so you can put me out of my misery.

Why is it that cookbooks are absolutely inspirational to read, but cooking dinner is a drag?

Why do health food stores smell funny? Am I unable to recognize the true scent of health?

Why is it that kids can be rotten all day long, making you want to snatch a knot in them; then look like angels while they are sleeping, making you want to hold them in your arms?

Why is it that the train is never sitting on the tracks across the road when you are early?

Why is it that when the dishwasher is completely empty and standing open, somebody always put the cup in the sink?

Why is it that Krispy Kreme has their “hot doughnuts” sign on whenever I am broke and dieting?

Why does it not shame me to put five dollars worth of hot doughnuts on my credit card?

Why doesn’t the color of the new paint on the wall look like the color in the picture?

Why does the dog need to bark at dust floating in the air, but will only snore when a stranger comes to the door?

Why do these people keep calling to offer a better phone plan? Why don’t they just do the right thing in the first place?

Why do I keep buying celery so that it can die in my refrigerator instead of the grocer’s shelf?

Why is it always in the hundreds instead of tens when the car has a problem that need professional help?

Why does the car only have a problem when I REALLY need to be somewhere?

Why is it that a husband always wants to have meaningful conversation when the wife is concentrating on a book or the computer, but will barely answer in monosyllables when the TV is on?

Why is it always so cold in the movie theater?

Why is it cheaper to throw away an electronic gadget and buy new, rather than have it fixed?

Why can’t you ever find someone to fix these gadgets?

Why do they all break at once?

Why don’t Hershey bars taste good anymore?

Why is it impossible to keep your eyes open at four in the afternoon, yet at nine you get your second wind until midnight?

Do I Hear A Waltz?

2006-01-12T10:07:00.000-05:00

From the time that the children were babies, we have listened to classical music. We began with basic tapes featuring quiet songs to help with colic. As they grew, we moved on to a great collection created by Classical Kids; composers stories featuring selections from their work. The tapes are now family favorites, playing often in the car. I am also a big believer in the Mozart Effect, so we started piano lessons when they were three years old. We all love music.

Now that they are school age (and can theoretically sit quietly for a given length of time) we looked for a good concert to expose them to their first symphony production. We found it last weekend when the South Carolina Philharmonic presented “Viennese New Year”. We chose this concert because we knew the children would recognize at least some of the music. In addition, two ballroom dancers and a soprano were performing with the Philharmonic.

When the soprano, Margaret Kelly Cook came on stage for her first song, she announced that she was singing a section from “The Magic Flute”. We got very excited-we know that one, it’s from our story tape! Ms. Cook looked the part perfectly; she wore a strapless velvet gown with matching elbow length gloves, and had flawless skin, long flowing hair and a lovely smile. Her voice was beautiful, we barely blinked when she sang.

The ballroom dancers also held us transfixed. They were so elegant, sweeping and swirling on an impossibly small area of the stage. Always smiling, they flowed rather than stepped. I could watch a good dancer waltz forever, it is my favorite.

However, the best thing was the music, waltzes and polka's by Strauss and others. There was a young pianist who performed a concerto, her fingers literally skipping over the keys. The Philharmonic played a number of unique selections, including one with a real train whistle. An added treat was the conductor, Nicholas Smith. He was full of passion and had a very expressive face while he conducted; it was fascinating to watch him work. He also periodically would turn to the audience to explain a musical piece or technique. He had a charming sense of humor and just seemed full of fun. This was reflected by the musicians themselves, they played with lots of verve and very obvious enjoyment. My son leaned over at one point to whisper “I can’t tear my eyes off of the stage”.

We left feeling exhilarated, and with a greater appreciation of both the songs we knew and the dedication of musicians who played them. It was almost a shock-we never realized what a treasure we have in this organization. By the way, they are doing Mozart in February. We will be the ones who are glassy-eyed near the front.

A Time Machine

2005-12-30T01:18:00.000-05:00

For Christmas, my sister gave me a time machine that really works. When I opened my package from her, there it was; a DVD of the first season of "21 Jump Street".

For those who may not be in the know, this was one of Fox Televisions first shows. It launched the careers of Johnny Depp and Holly Robinson, as well as many others. The story line was basic-young looking police officers became part of an undercover unit placed in local high schools. The cops were actual students, at least until the crime was solved and the bad seeds kicked out of school. The recurrent theme was big hair, torn acid-washed jeans, and long earrings (all for both boys and girls).

When I started watching the DVD's, my first thought was "good grief, how cheesy was this?" But, I kept it on as I folded laundry, and pretty soon, found myself drawn in. The memories came flooding through, and off I went; back in time.

The year was 1988, and I was floundering, undecided about my future. College had become too confining, and at this point, it didn't have a purpose for me. I ended up working as a bartender and made several friends, also working in the bar and restaurant business, who were in the same boat that I was. We knew that our current career paths were temporary (we hoped) but none of us had any direction; we drifted together.

It happened that "Jump Street" came on Sunday night, our only consistent night off. Six or eight of us would congregate at my apartment, or at another friend's double-wide trailer. One of us would cook if the others contributed the food and drink. We always ate the cheap meals that would feed the masses; spaghetti, hamburger helper, sloppy Joes, and so on.

When it was time for Jump Street, we all piled on the couch or floor. It started with the organ music, then the buzzing neon 21 and we were glued-total silence except for commercials until it was over. Afterward, we would sit around and shoot the breeze for an hour or two while cleaning up, then gradually leave and go our separate ways. Week after week, we always connected at the same time, to do the same thing. This routine lasted amazingly long, particularly in the transitional world of bar and restaurant people; I really can't remember when it stopped. The feeling of camaraderie is still very strong when I think about that time. I can easily close my eyes and visualize heads on pillows or someone's feet draped over the side of a chair. I am not sure why this show held our interest; maybe because it was us, Generation X before the label.

I am sure that I could come up with some deep, philosophical conclusion for this entry. However, I just don't have time. I have to jack up my hair and put in the next DVD. My young adult self is waiting for me.

A Member of the Family

2005-12-14T15:22:00.000-05:00

This is my B4B entry.

She is family; we simply cannot do without her.

We actually knew her mother first. Her father was no longer in the picture; still alive, but living elsewhere. We were told that he was competitive on a professional level, and quite successful at it. Her mother’s only real claim to fame was all of her children; but she seemed very nice, one of those calm, quiet types.

We have known her since she was a baby, and have watched her grow. She has turned out to be very attractive with lovely brown eyes and a well muscled body due to an active youth. Her personality is different than her mother’s; she enjoys people and seeks them out, always wanting to get to know them better. She has a strong work ethic though and takes her job very seriously. She is protective of her space and is not willing to encourage any takeovers. However, she is always happy to meet newcomers on neutral ground.

She has lived with us for nine years. Initially it was an adjustment on both sides. Over time, we have worked out our differences, and now find it very comfortable sharing living space. I enjoy sitting in a quiet room, knowing that she is close by.

My son is the closest to her-she has been there all his life. She watched over him as a baby, helped him learn how to walk, how to play, and how to love and care for animals. In fact, she is the reason why all of my children are animal lovers. However, the two have a special bond, probably because he makes a point of spending time with her every single day. They are also two of a kind and enjoy goofy playtime best.

She has her flaws of course. She can be a little neurotic and whiney if she feels slighted. She loves to snack and has a tendency to overdo it. She can be clumsy, knocking people aside when she isn’t looking, or stepping painfully on bare feet. Her kisses are way too juicy. She snores like a buzz saw which can be very annoying when you are in bed trying to read. And, like many of her kind, she has terrible gas if she hasn’t been out for a good run during the day.

Regardless, we all love her very much. She is our 65 pound Boxer; she is a person to us,and she is family.

Opening Night

2005-12-10T19:20:00.000-05:00

Last night was the first scheduled performance for The Nutcracker. Because we have family arriving in town late, we chose to attend the Sunday matinee rather than opening night. I hated missing their first night, but figured that by Sunday, they would be flawless in their roles (if they weren’t too tired by then). Instead, I volunteered my husband backstage and myself for lobby sales, a fundraising effort for the company.

When I arrived, I met some very nice ladies who were old hands at being “Nutcracker Moms”. They gave me a quick rundown of how the booth worked along with a canvas apron to hold money. As I tied my apron on, I wondered if they were as excited for their children as I was mine. They didn’t look it, but I am willing to bet that they were just better at hiding it.

The attendee’s started to arrive and there was a lot of traffic around the booth. However, when the announcer stated that it was five minutes until start, the crowd thinned quickly. I gathered up enough nerve to ask the volunteer coordinator if it was possible to peek in during the performance (I was supposed to be there to work, you know). I had already told her that my three would be on stage. She had assisted with the dress rehearsals and knew exactly who they were.

She grinned, and that was the first time I really saw her excited. “You are going to like where we peek” she said.

We spent some time straightening up the booth, then at one minute, she jerked her head in my direction and said “Come on”.

I followed her up a hallway and found myself in a small room with large windows looking out over the theater seats. In the corner sat (I assume) the stage manager, wearing a head set and focusing on an electrical board and a laptop. We sat down as some of ballet administrators came in, introducing themselves in low voices. Then I listened as the manager did his last minute checks, and started the production.

It was fascinating; this one man was coordinating everything that was happening in front of and behind the curtain, everyone was listening for his voice. You could tell he was concentrating, looking intently at the stage or his boards and responding to the music and any comments over his headset. I was riveted by him until the music changed and I recognized the sound of party scene-this was my son’s role!

My attention jerked to the stage and I watched for my little guy. After a minute or two, he emerged from a corner. He was wearing little brown knickers and a matching short jacket-and looked about four years old. He was exuberant, running and jumping across the stage as if it were the most fun in the world. One of the older dancers swept him up onto his shoulders and my little fellow just laughed with joy.

The stage darkened and I knew what was next. I leaned forward to better see into the darkness, barely hearing the manager muttering directions on my left. Then I saw them-a row of little grey mice wiggling their whiskers. They wore headpieces with ears and had face makeup but I recognized the ballet bun of a red head-my little girl! They gathered around the sleeping Clara, and then scampered to line up. One by one, they did a forward roll; mousie number six had a very recognizable rollover. Then they jumped in a row and dashed off stage.

At the end of the act, we hurried back down to our table so that it would be ready for intermission sales. The next fifteen minutes took forever to pass; I was ready to see my third child.

At the start of Act Two, angels mark the entrance to The Land of Sweets. Dressed in white and gold, with long trains of silk held high in the air, they are truly beautiful. I settled into my seat, not daring to blink-the stage was very full and I didn’t want to miss her. At last there appeared a row of cherubs, all bare feet and chubby legs. With her long red hair waving behind like a banner, there was my third child! She kept perfect time skipping back and forth, not showing the least bit of stage fright. She looked just like a merry little sprite with the wreath of flowers on her head. I saw her again at the end at the back of the stage holding a very serious first position with other cherubs, as the principal dancers took a bow.

As I saw each child, I became teary eyed with pride. I am nothing if not sentimental. This has been a great experience, and one I know they will remember for the rest of their lives. I am willing to bet that we will be back next year.

Rehearsals

2005-12-05T14:10:00.000-05:00

Watching The Nutcracker ballet is a magical event for me, and I really didn't want to know how it all came together. I just enjoyed getting dressed up and sitting in my comfortable seat, watching dancers float across the stage. With all of the frequentrehearsalss scheduled for my three children, I was worried that I would be sick of the whole thing when theperformancee came around. As a mom, I knew that my time would be spent watching and waiting.

We arrived for our first rehearsal on time-amazing since parking can be really tough. When we walked in, we found chaos. The front room was full of parents getting kids ready. In the back, company dancers were eating in the break room. There was no sign of health food, no organically grown veggies. However, there was a surprising amount of fast food fries and chicken nuggets-blowing my firststereotypee. They wore a hodgepodge of exercise clothes, leotards, and warmers. Pointe shoes were smooth and clean, or raggedy and worn. All of the females had their hair in buns, men and women both wore bandana's as well. Some had exotic makeup, others none at all.

Upstairs there are two studios. In the smaller studio, three female dancers were warming up. All were holding the barre, back arched, arms extended, fingers carefully spaced. They stood with their feet separated, heels turned inward, held one arm out to the side and rose..slow..slow...slow... until they were fully on the tips of their toes. Talking a mile a minute, they stood and held the position for an eternity. Finally, completely in sync, still chattering, they came back down...slow......slow....slow...until their heels rested on the floor. Smoothly, still in sync, they turned and repeated the exercise on the other side, just as slow and together.

Another dancer joined them to stretch. This girl laid flat on the floor, and proceeded to lift her leg, completely extended, high over her head. Her heel ended up around her ear. She did this alone, over and over, also very slowly. A male dancer stood across from her and began to warm up with a jazz combination; kicking and spinning to music only he could hear in his head.

In the hall, I watched a dancer preparing to put her pointe shoes on. When she took off her shoes and socks, I wanted to gently pat her poor feet and ask her if she was in pain. The joints above her toes were bony and hyperdeveloped; they looked like an arthritic old lady's feet. She carefully packed the space between her toes with padding, then wrapped gauze strips around the end of her foot.

In the big studio, it didn't seem like there was any organized activity; at least, until I really started watching. As the director was working with one group, the others were practicing their own roles. Each dancer had the abilitity to shut out what was occurring around them and focus on their own particular part. I realized there was a lot of concentration and a tremendous amount of personal discipline.

When he was finished explaining steps to new dancers, the director sat on a chair that was elevated so he could see the entire room. As I watched, the individual work gradually evolved into Scene One, with every dancer participating. I saw it happen, yet I don't know how it happened. I heard instruction being given, but I observed dancers moving into position without direction. Even this early into rehearsals, the ballet was smoothly coming together.

Facinating. I think that The Nutcracker will be even more magical this year.

Local Books

2005-11-30T14:13:00.000-05:00

I am a big advocate of patronizing small and local businesses whenever possible; especially because they add flavor to the community. If we only have Target, Dillard’s and Olive Garden-type places to patronize, what makes us unique? Don’t get me wrong, I shop and eat at the chains too, but I try to put my dollars toward the little guys when I can. With the economy tightening up and jobs and manufacturing going overseas, it’s more important now than it ever has been.

When we moved downtown, I started visiting the Happy Bookseller shop on Forrest Drive. They do a big fundraiser at our school every year, but I had no idea what treasures this store had until I made an unplanned stop; and then kept going back. This store is stuffed with neat books-all over the place. The shelves are positioned so that I have to meander through the sections (like that’s a problem). There are frequent author signings and they promote and support book clubs and teachers as well.

The children’s section is always my favorite part of any bookstore, anywhere. At the Happy Bookseller, this area is shaped like a teardrop. You enter through a somewhat narrow aisle, which eventually circles around a table display. The young adult books are one aisle over, presumably so they are not embarrassed by being in "with the kids”. I like that the books are neatly displayed and alphabetized, and that they have a big variety selection rather than tons of the same copies. They also have groupings such as books about ballet or science-I bet the grandma’s like that. I can get lost in the stacks back there and have forgotten the time more than once.

The thing I like best though, is that the employee's are just plain nice. I shopped with my girls one day and of course, we needed a bathroom. No problem, they ushered us into the back where the bathroom was very clean and well stocked-how unusual. Another day, I walked by the lunch café in the corner and saw that the manager brings her baby to work. She was able to attend to her customers and her child; all were happy and enjoyed each other. Very cool. Most important though is that whenever I walk in the door, they smile. They speak. They don’t act like it’s break time, or that your patronage isn’t needed. Every time I have been in, there has always been at least one person offering their help. Think about it-this common courtesy, a basic customer service, is now very unusual.

I recently met one of the owners, Carrie, by accident in a totally unrelated setting. She didn’t even know I was a reading freak or a customer. We talked about mom stuff, and life. You know what? She is very, very nice.

This is where I buy my books.

Black Friday

2005-11-23T22:47:00.000-05:00

We all have different things that we love about Thanksgiving. Our holiday is spent with extended family at my sister’s house in Charlotte, NC; she loves having us all there. My sister and her husband are TINK’s (two income, no kids) so my children love reaping the benefits of their high tech electronics system. My mother loves coming back home to the south. My husband loves the big dinner (he often says that eating is a sport). My sister-in-law loves seeing her nieces and nephew. I love having the time to prepare for the next day.

I am one of those crazy women that shops on Black Friday.

For Thanksgiving Day in Charlotte, I will bring two things, pumpkin pie and my newspaper. After the meal is over and dishes cleaned up, I will spend the afternoon going through the newspaper, page by page. I will tear out ads and set aside circulars. I will create a list in a spiral notebook, being careful not to let anyone see it. I will have a plan before the day is over.

On Friday morning, the alarm will go off in the dark. While I am getting ready, the coffee will be brewing. My snacks will already be packed, and my coffee thermos will be filled to the rim. Depending on the type of store I have chosen to start with (never, ever Walmart-I am not that crazy) I will be standing in line, stamping my feet in the cold at 4:45am. I will not be alone.

A lot of Christmas spirit occurs on Black Friday. In line with me will be mostly women. It will be mothers and daughters, sisters and friends. Everyone without exception will be wearing something Christmassy- a sweatshirt, socks, earrings, jewelry-sometimes all of these together. Everyone will have that sleepy-eyed morning look, but all will be excited as well. Most will be clutching circulars; many will also be reviewing lists and game plans. Although nobody will come out and say what they are in line for, most are friendly and engage in easy conversation with strangers. All are happy to be out, and the chatter in the line will reflect it.

The sales clerks are surprisingly cheerful at this time of the morning too. Maybe it’s because they know that the busyness will make their shifts go by quickly. Maybe they are responding to the early morning goodwill of the shoppers. Whatever the case may be, people will be smiling a lot and enjoying the holiday preparation in the early hours of Black Friday. This is what makes it worth it for me; this is where the fun begins.

The Audition

2005-11-15T10:01:00.000-05:00

Every year since I was young, I have loved watching The Nutcracker ballet at Christmas time. Later, my son and I continued the tradition with Sunday matinee “dates” that began when he was four. His sisters and father started coming with us a couple of years later, and now we all watch the story unfold together.

This year promises to be different.

All three of my children have taken ballet lessons for a variety of reasons. The benefits are multiple; it is fun exercise, they learn about their bodies, self discipline, how to follow directions, build muscle and joint strength, and improve memory. Every year they have expressed a mild interest in trying out for Nutcracker; it is open to anyone in the community and there are roles for all ages. This year especially, they all really wanted to go for it. We had a long discussion about how we would feel if someone didn’t get a part when others did, as well the responsibilities that come with accepting a part. Once that was straight, we were ready.

Auditions were at Columbia City Ballet on a Sunday afternoon. There were a zillion other kids and their parents (including a surprising amount of dads). They auditioned in age groups, which guaranteed that I would be there all day. The kids were all excited, but so were the adults. Older students shepherded groups of kids to the upstairs studios, where no parents were allowed. As I waited, I listened to talk around me. Some adults were discussing work or daily life, others networked about upcoming local productions, and parts they wanted for their child. It was an interesting spectrum of parenting, all in one room.

When I asked my children how they did, they were all confident. Not only that, they enjoyed themselves. One of my girls said “Mom, there was a rock star at try-outs!” At first I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about, but then it hit me. The ballet director, William Starrett is somewhat flamboyant in appearance and seems to enjoy trendy clothing, jewelry and hairstyles. I had to grin, wondering what he would think of her comparison.

Overall, auditioning was a positive experience for them regardless of outcome. We had to wait a few weeks to find out the results, which was a good lesson in patience as well. The worst of it was when we got two letters on Saturday and had to wait until Monday to see if there was a third. I exercised mom judgment and didn’t let anyone know about the mail until Monday afternoon.

We can now say that we have three professional dancers in our family-a party boy, a rollover mouse, and a cherub. Now we have to see if we can make it through rehearsals; held all Saturday afternoon, every week except Thanksgiving. It’s been great fun so far.

Harvest Time in the City

2005-11-07T08:57:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning to the smell of beef. No, this is not a typical morning, although many Midwesterners eat steak for breakfast. I am making stock, something that I enjoy doing in the fall. It tends to heat up a kitchen and also has a rich, heavy scent while cooking, so this is not a job for hot weather. However, it’s easier to do this than most people think.

I was at Publix on Rosewood yesterday (the people are so nice there) when I saw some beef bones on sale. I bought two packages, along with some carrots, onion, leeks, and celery. Yesterday evening, I browned the bones in hot oil, then roasted them and the veggies in a hot oven for about an hour. After that, I put the pot on top of the stove, filled it with cold water and brought it to a boil. After reducing the heat to simmer, I went to bed.

This morning, I pulled out all of the bones and veggies and turned the heat back up. I am reducing the stock now so that the flavors will concentrate. After that, I will chill it in the refrigerator to de-fat, then divide the liquid and freeze. It smells divine, and will be a great base for soups, stews and other recipes.

I also baked two pie pumpkins on Saturday. Another easy task-just cut in half, cleaning out the strings and seeds. Place cut sides down in a baking pan with about an inch of water and bake at 350 until soft, about 45 minutes or so. Peel off the outer skin, and put through a blender or food processor to break up long fibers. I like to freeze these in one cup amounts and use the pumpkin puree for pies, cookies and fancy breads. I also found a recipe for pumpkin custard that the children are crazy about. This is a good veggie source for them that they think is a treat.

As I am doing all of this, I can look out of my windows to watch the signs of autumn. All over the Shandon area, there are oak tree’s losing their acorns. They drop with a startlingly loud crash, and sound like they could take out a windshield or even a small adult. As fast as they are falling though, the squirrels are racing out to eat their fill and gather the rest for storage. I guess those prep-for-winter instincts are a part of all living things.

Date Night at Saluda's

2005-10-26T10:04:00.000-05:00

One thing that we always try to budget for is date night. As parents of three, this can be difficult, especially this time of year. In the fall, there are school fees and related expenses, dance and piano lessons, and assorted other unexpected miscellaneous items. As a result, our date night had been delayed and was long overdue. We finally planned dinner at Saluda’s in Five Points-close enough to walk to if we wanted (which we don’t). We juggled schedules to accommodate his restaurant manager hours and grandma-the-babysitter’s retail hours and decided on a Thursday night.

Saluda’s sits above a Starbucks and a small pub just across from the fountain. The building used to be the local VFW after World War I, but needed extensive renovation before opening the restaurant in 1996. The restaurant is owned and operated by two brothers, Jeff and Chris Diehl. Jeff is the General Manager, Chris the Executive Chef.

It was little difficult locating the main entrance so we came in through the dining patio entrance; they didn’t seem to mind. My overall impression of the décor was lots of clean white walls and linen with lovely dark wood accents. There are some big colorful paintings for interest, and the main room is dominated by a beautiful grand piano. They offer live music, but not on Thursday. Instead they had light jazz playing in the background. I am a jazz junky so this suited me just fine. We had a great waiter with a dry sense of humor. He checked on us frequently with interrupting our conversation. This was good; I can’t stand it when we get someone who who thinks he is an entertainer rather than a waiter-usually he is wrong and that alone can ruin a dinner.

Our meal was very good. We were both tired from work so we really didn’t want a lot of courses, but we always plate share. I had super fresh rainbow trout and risotto-which I love but never cook. My husband had a taste for seafood and tried the mixed platter called the SOS. Everything was fried, which raised some doubts in my mind; I had visions of Captain D’s. However, Chef Diehl does a great job with a light coating so the flavors of the shellfish are still present and it turned out to be quite good. Dessert was a triple chocolate cake which I could have eaten as a main course; it was incredibly smooth, not to mention a pretty presentation. Chef Diehl made a table visit and we found him to be extremely personable and genuinely interested in pleasing his diners. He does a nightly tasting menu that sounds very appealing and is our definite pick next time.

Although good food is usually a primary focus for us (we love to eat), that night was different. We really needed to get away from home/kids/work and just talk, and had found an excellent place to do so. Date nights are an escape as well as a connection for us in a big way and we always feel recharged afterward. It’s worth the effort.

http://saludas.com/

Observations of Tools

2005-10-21T10:11:00.000-05:00

Why do men need so many tools?

Just about every man I know has a selection of rusty tools and related items in the truck of his car. This also includes a full color assortment of bungee cords in case something needs to be secured. I could understand jumper cables, and even one bungee to hold the trunk closed over the Christmas tree, but the rest I don’t get.

This phenomenon filters into the house as well. In the corner of our mud room, there hangs a caulking gun. It’s not really a gun-not even in the broadest sense of the word. However, no man on the face of the earth is going to walk into a hardware store and ask for a caulking squirter. Anyway, it hangs there in the event of a caulk emergency. We have been in the house for over a year and haven’t experienced one of these yet but, should it occur, we are ready at a moments notice. No walking ten steps out to the shed for us-no sir.

Also in the mud room, there is a variety of screwdrivers, paint brushes and related tools, a drill with bits, and spackle (in case holes suddenly appear somewhere). I have added to this collection. In every load of laundry that contains his pants, I find a selection of nuts, bolts and screws. I place all of these items into a jar that is rapidly getting full. I figure that in five years, I will be able to operate an EBay site for these products right out of my home.

The expandable shed (see previous posts) is loaded with tools. This is mainly because tools are an easy gift giving idea-especially for the “impossible to buy for” man. I spend a lot of time at Northern Tool at Christmas and manage to check off grandpa, husband and brother in law all in one stop. However, I believe the tools are reproducing in the dark. The tools are starting to take over the shed, and I really don’t remember buying this many.

EBay may be sooner than I think; I wonder if he would notice?

Preparation

2005-10-03T18:49:00.000-05:00

We can see the progress, little by little, as we pass it every day on our way to school. The blue iron poles are attached to the red track rising high into the air. Cars on impossibly thin wires hang swaying gently in the breeze. They slowly rotate in a line from one end of the lot to the other. Huge flatbed tracks arrive bearing loads of parts and machinery, looking like giant tinker toys. The trucks will empty quickly, as unseen mechanics race to assemble the parts in time.

The parking lot will fill this week as the workers arrive. Carrying with them their own culture, they come in from small towns and big cities. This is harvest time for them and they are prepared to work (and play) hard. They seem faceless, but definitely have sound when they cajole the crowds to spend their money and win a prize. They bring their homes attached to cars and trucks; and when the work day is done, no one outside of this tightly knit community is allowed in.

By contrast are the people in the competition buildings. We dropped off a sewing entry for our aunt and stopped to observe the ladies come and go. All were flushed with enthusiasm, bearing carefully polished jars of canned goods or pressed clothing. Some were dollmakers, others knitters creating unbelievably lovely blankets and throws. The ladies are all ages and backgrounds but share a common respect for each other and their craft. This is a club where any are welcome.

The scent of the food will fill the air on Thursday, our mouths water in anticipation. It is a warm smell, somehow comforting, that drifts along the main roads for miles. Something that tastes this good couldn’t possibly be bad for you. When the food is brought home for later, the scent lingers in the car, reminding us of our day.

We began to watch last week and will continue to do so well after it’s over. This is part of the excitement. The state fair is coming.

Losing The Trolley

2005-09-27T13:08:00.000-05:00

I read today in The State newspaper that the bus company is going to pull the trolleys off the streets of Columbia. It seems that they are running empty most of the time and that the cost is more than the revenue. I think that this is a blasted shame.

When we moved downtown last year, the kids began to notice the trolleys as we waited at red lights or were on our way into the library. They started asking me why weren’t there any people on them, and if we could ride them someday. That first summer, was just too hectic, and we never found the time. This summer, my goal was to ride them before school started last month.

Figuring out how to do this was a challenge. The city of Columbia has a website, but the trolley info was not accurate; phone numbers and responsibility seems to change constantly in our city. I have to be in the mood to deal with being transferred over and over, so weeks went by. Finally I found the bus website with trolley routes drawn out. This helped me figure out where we would be riding, but still not how to get on. The instructions said if we saw a trolley, we could just wave them down and it would pick us up. With three small children, I am not comfortable having faith that this will happen. I found the correct phone number on the website and called, but it seemed that there was only one person who could answer questions and she was unavailable. After a few tries of phone tag, I gave up.

Finally, the day before school started, we decided just to give it a shot. My husband was off so we loaded the kids up and searched around for a little blue trolley sign on a street corner. We saw one in front of Dianne’s On Devine so we parked and waited. The instructions on the website state that a trolley comes around every 15-20 min. Well, after 20 min, we gave up. They have been rerouted periodically due to Five Points construction mess, so we guessed it wouldn’t be coming by that stop. We were wrong; as we pulled around the block, we saw one in the opposite direction, impossible to catch. Strike one.

We thought that surely the trolleys would be all around the Capital building. We found another stop, parked and waited. And waited. And waited. We saw two buses come to the same stop, but no trolley. After 20 minutes, we gave up again. Strike two.

By this time, the kids were fidgety. We headed up Gervais for one last look before going home when we saw a trolley on a side street. Figuring it was just behind us, we pulled off and parked at another stop. And waited. It never came around the block. We decided to take a chance and pulled away from the stop, intending to chase it down. When we went around the corner and came up behind it, we realized it was parked. I hopped out and knocked on the door, startling the driver who was reading the paper. She said she was on duty so we climbed on board.

The ride was wonderful; we had it to ourselves and could see out on all sides. The trolley was lovely, all shiny wood with a sense of the olden days. We circled the city and watched workers getting coffee, female college students going through Rush on Sorority Row, people riding bikes or walking. When we were back at our car, my son pulled the cord to let the driver know we were ready to get off. The kids absolutely loved riding the trolley and want to go again; I guess we better hurry.

Reading this article makes me thing of all of the moms and kids, not to mention other people in our city who may like a ride on the trolley and just don’t know how to start. The trolleys have been poorly promoted and riding them seems like more trouble than it’s worth. What a waste, they provide flavor for our city.

Autumn's First Day

2005-09-22T21:12:00.000-05:00

Today is the first day of fall-my favorite season. Because I work from home, I don't often allow myself to just sit idle and enjoy life. Work is always there, plentiful and waiting.

Today was different.

The Fresh Market sells fancy coffee that I love. Death By Chocolate is my year round favorite, but in the fall, only through October, they also sell Pumpkin Spice. It has a wonderful cinnamon flavor that I can't get enough of. On the first day of fall, I always have fancy coffee ready.

This morning, I got all the kids up, fed, and into the car. Before I left, I started the coffee brewing. Total trip time to and from school (not to mention flinging kids out onto the sidewalk) is 25 min. By the time I walked back through the front door, I could smell that lovely aroma in the air. The dog was waiting for me, wagging her stub tail as hard as she could. She likes this time of day too.

I poured the coffee, and added a wonderful Danish from The Gourmet Shop in Five Points (2 min trip, easy). Then, the dog and I went out to the screened porch at the front of the house and sat down. I watched mothers with jogging strollers, college students with bikes and backpacks, and trashpickers going through the cans at the curb looking for castaway treasures. The street had it's own activity and the day was heating up fast, but me and the dog? We were experiencing fall our own way. We just sat. I must do this more often...

Letter to a Kindergardener

2005-09-13T12:18:00.000-05:00

On your first day of Kindergarden, you seemed quiet.

Up until this point, I never worried about you finding your own comfort level. You are the one who always does the right thing when she is supposed to, and never has trouble fitting in. You always seem to make friends easily and are universally liked.

I must remember not to take that for granted.

Your quiet worried me so I watched you carefully for the first few days. You seemed to be taking your own time to find your way. You chose your new friends selectively and you already have a favorite. You have discovered new things to learn and do, along with new-found independence. Your tentative beginning accelerated into routine. You have established yourself and your place in your new little world.

How can my heart be sad and joyful at the same time?

Sounds Like Ah-Chooey!

2005-08-25T20:16:00.000-05:00

On Saturday afternoons, my kids and I love to watch cooking shows on ETV. Last week, we learned about ratatouille (a dish that sounds like a sneeze) and how it is a good base for a healthy meal. My kids went crazy for it; which made me crazy. This particular dish is nothing but veggies, something that doesn’t usually go over well in our house; although fruits are our friends. However, they all assured me that YES they would eat every bite if I would just make it (with their help). I have been down this road before, and was suspicious as a result, but decided to give it a shot.

The following week, we had a food adventure. We got an early start in order to circle part of the city for the best and freshest fruits and vegetables. We started at the Seeds of Hope farm stands where we found corn, green beans and plums. One of the farmers had such a musical low country accent, we could have listened to him speak for hours. Next we went to the Farmers Market for plums, tomatoes, squash, eggplant and sweet bell pepper. The farmer at this stand was from Pickens, where he had worked in cotton fields since childhood. One look at his big gnarled hands told me that this man was no stranger to hard work. Finally, we stopped at The Fresh Market for a chocolate dessert; vegetables always need balance.

Once we got home, we started chopping and slicing. The ratatouille is very pretty while it cooks and it smells delicious. I had kids all over the kitchen, ready to eat as soon as it was done. We mixed it with some cooked chicken breast and served it over rice. However, once we sat down to eat, the complaints started.

“I don’t like eggplant” one child wailed. “Squash is yucky!” said another. (Nobody had taken the first bite yet). I gave them all the hairy eyeball, a look that usually means “enough with the whining and do what you are told”. Most of the time it works. I also threatened to take away dessert. Whoever said that food should not be a reward or punishment obviously didn’t have picky eaters.

They grudgingly ate their dinner, muttering that it actually tasted ok. That’s good because the recipe made enough for at least two more meals. I think that the kids will eat it with less complaints next time. However, my husband-who came home as dinner was almost over-stuck with cold cereal after the kids were in bed. I guess I better make the veggie dish on a night that he is working late.

They're Baaaack.......

2005-08-11T21:09:00.000-05:00

When I look out of my dining room window, I see the beautiful two-story quadruplex next door. Its rose-colored brick is covered in ivy and the side yard is a mass of overgrowth that makes a great bird sanctuary. Across the street is a true Craftsman bungalow trimmed in authentic turquoise, with a covered carport that seems to cry out for an old style caddy. Behind me is a small house that surely started out as a garage. It is long and narrow, and when I see it from the street, it doesn’t seem to match its backside.

All of these houses have something in common. They are rental properties that will, for at least a little while, shelter returning college students.

I have been watching their return for the last two weeks. Coming in from jobs at the beach or just mom and dads, they drift back; slowly at first, then a more rapid surge (classes start Monday morning). The street has begun to fill with U-Hauls and pickup trucks loaded to the gills; you must slow down and pick your way through carefully; pausing for oncoming cars. Often, there is a strange vehicle parked in front of my house; I had forgotten that it wasn’t MY exclusive space. You can’t be stingy in the city.

I love to watch out for the students next door; I am the ultimate nosy neighbor as I sit here entering my words. I know very little about my neighbors, only that many of them are female. One of the lone males is a scientist with a specialty major; impossibly young for the degree’s he already has. There are a couple of free spirits who arrived in July, then started disappearing early on Fridays with canoes strapped to their car. There is a female who loves plants and has a collection of pots with greenery arranged on her front stoop. They grow and thrive with no apparent attention since I rarely see her gardening.

Sometimes there are loud voices or music from the street, but nothing really outrageous. Off campus students tend to be a little older, maybe they have gotten their partying out of their system for the most part and are focusing on their studies. Perhaps though, I should withhold judgment until after football season.

Welcome back gang.

The Library Lady

2005-08-06T11:05:00.000-05:00

We go to the library every week without fail. To us, fresh library books are as important as milk and bread. Our library is the Main Branch, downtown on Assembly. The library is a large glass building that has won a great deal of recognition for design and services. The children’s floor has endless rows of books, and there are always several librarians at the desk, eager to help anyone who needs them. We look forward to our weekly trip; enjoying the library started at an early age for us.

Our old library was the Irmo branch in Lexington County. When I was growing up in Irmo in the late 70’s, this library was actually a trailer parked near Seven Oaks Recreation Center. After much fundraising by the Lake Murray Women’s Club, the library finally moved to a small building close to Quail Valley. It was part of a cluster that also consisted of the magistrate’s office and the Irmo Fire Department. A kid could make a day of it, checking out a book, then visiting the firehouse where the firemen were always friendly and ready to show off their trucks. When the library moved farther up St. Andrews Road due to lack of space, local children (and firemen) were disappointed that the Fire Department couldn’t go too.

The newest building opened up shortly after I had my first child. To help with the building fund, we purchased a brick that had our name on it; and it was placed in the sidewalk at the front door.In the new building, the children’s librarian is Miss Becky. She is perfect in her role and I can’t imagine her doing anything else. She is young, with a soft voice and ready smile. She grew up on a farm outside of Lexington and says that she was always a reader. In addition to remembering the name of every child who passed through her door, she knows all about each book on the shelves. You can give her a topic and she will instantly go to the stacks and pull five related books without even touching the computer; it was fun to test her on this. She is never too busy to listen to the children’s doings and is always quick with a hug. Miss Becky celebrates books and never grows tired of watching children bloom into readers.

I love books and wanted my children to embrace their magic as well; Miss Becky helped me do that. She first met my children as babies, and watched them grow into individuals. My son attended storytime with Miss Becky at age two and learned to sing “Freckled Frogs” and “Twinkle, Twinkle”; along with how to sit still and wear a nametag. His sisters were soon participating as well. On the rare times that she wasn’t at the library, Miss Becky’s staff and volunteers stepped in, and were as loving as she was. My children were always eager to see her and tell her about their adventures. Every time we left the library, we stepped on our brick in the sidewalk for good luck.

When we decided to move, the thought of leaving our library gave me pause. When someone is present for an important part of your life, you hate to leave them for the next change. We knew we could visit, but she wouldn’t be helping my children grow and that seemed like we would be missing out on something good.

On our last visit, she was there for a final hug. True to her nature, she made us promise to check out the big library downtown, and even gave us the names of some of the librarians so that we would know who to go to for help. We returned our books without finding new ones, and stepped on our brick one last time.

I cried when we left Miss Becky.

Standing on Cars

2005-07-22T22:47:00.000-05:00

“I have a thought.”

These words always send my kids into a tailspin. When I say this phrase, this is the signal for them to instantly start running around in circles while asking me a million questions. They have learned that when I have a thought, this means we are about to have fun.

Thoughts began when we were bored. Because the dad in our family is a restaurant guy who works odd hours, there are a lot of evenings when it’s just us. Everybody else is doing family stuff and the day is pretty much used up, so the kids tend to be a little crabby. I started having thoughts as a form of self defense, and they have occured in a variety of forms. Once my thought was to get in the car to visit Ben and Jerry’s (the best ice cream in the world) for cones and shakes. We have also piled into my bed with stacks of books and tons of pillows for a reading frenzy. Thoughts have been popcorn and movies for dinner, or driving to the lake for evening swimming. A thought doesn’t have to mean spending a lot of money or even going somewhere, it just has to be different and unexpected.

Today my thought was standing on cars while they were traveling up a main road.

I piled the children into the van where they strapped themselves in much faster than usual. I told them that I felt like standing on a car. My son the inventor immediately described this jet propelled skateboard that he was going to design in the future so I could do this. I told him that I wanted to stand on cars today, right now. He was speechless. My daughter, the rule follower, attempted to kindly explain that we weren’t allowed to stand on cars because it wasn’t safe and there were no straps. I told her that we were all going to do it together. Nobody else had anything to say.

At one of our main intersections, the University of South Carolina has built the Strom Thurmond Wellness Center. It is a huge building, very pretty, with two suspended crosswalks that are literally, bridges in the air. They allow the college students to access the entrance to the Center from parking lots without putting them at risk when crossing extremely busy roads. I pulled into one of these lots and parked, telling the kids to hop out. At we approached the crosswalk, they “got it”.

We stood right in the middle of the crosswalk and watched the traffic flow. When we focused on the cars that were almost underneath us, it feels like we were moving; i.e. standing on the roof of a car. We watched for a while, then crossed sides and watched from the other bridge. We looked at the Wellness Center and wondered what it was like inside (it’s for USC students and faculty only). We looked at the lovely, unused pool that seemed like a waste-we know a lot of kids that would enjoy the swimming. We watched pigeons landing on the rails that were almost tame from the students feeding them so much. We ran from one end of the crosswalk to the other. Then we piled back into the car and took the long way home.

The children absolutely love standing on cars. I encourage everyone to try it.

Mid Summer Break

2005-07-19T15:15:00.000-05:00

Being that it's summer, we did what other families do. We took a vacation together. This year, we packed up the three kids, a few suitcases, a cooler, several bags of groceries and my mother in law, and went to Myrtle Beach. I am not sure why we take all of the groceries since we stop for milk and bread once we get there, but who am I to argue with tradition? This is what Southerners do-we don't want to get to where we are going and find out that the store doesn't sell grits. Even if we are staying in the south.

Have you noticed that vacations are not really a huge benefit to moms? The kids love it; they swim, eat fun foods they don't otherwise get, swim, watch TV until their eyes bug out of their heads, swim, go to amusement parks, swim, build sand castles, fish, swim, and stay up late every night. Dads watch all of this activity and occasionally blow up a float or bait a fishing hook.

Moms on the other hand are constantly sweeping up sand, hanging up bathing suits and towels, planning the next meal, straightening up the tiny condo which looks messy two seconds later, and shlepping down to the laundry room every other day to wash clothes for something to wear.

My husband wanted to stay another week-I would too if I were him.

Anyway, it was truly was nice at the beach, especially since we didn't have a hurricane to worry about(a real concern this time of year). However, when we got back to Columbia-and away from the nice ocean breezes-I thought we were in the jungle! Evidently it had rained daily since we left and the humidity was about 200%. I could feel the air sloshing around as I walked from the car to the front door. Looking at the side of the house, I realized that the funk was back. That along with the hurricanes, occurs every summer. Green mold/mildew/funkiness creeps over brick walls and paths, wooden porches and basically anything that will hold still. Bleach is a large part of our lives; it's the only thing that really takes the funk off. Of course, it also kills other living things as well, mainly grass and plants. This doesn't please my husband. Oh well; in this heat, it would have died anyway.

The grass I mean.

Summer Harvest

2005-07-10T08:48:00.000-05:00

I have always wanted to learn how to can fruits and veggies. I think that this is a lost art, and I am convinced that I can't just read a recipe and do it. I have a friend that makes all sorts of jellies and whatnot, and she has told me that she would teach me while she does it. However, she is on her second trimester of pregnancy, so I am not holding my breath for a lesson in this summer heat.

I enjoy the summer harvest with my children. Like most kids, they are fruit crazy and will eat almost anything. We love to stop at the roadside markets on the way to the lake. In addition, many church's in the area have a mini Farmers Market in their parking lots on Saturday's to help small growers and raise funds for their programs.We also have a big Farmers Market on Bluff Road, but it is a bit of a disappointment. The market is very dirty in terms of litter and rotten produce. Many of the growers keep their individual stalls clean with attractive displays, but overall, the market is pretty shabby. The plan is for it to relocate,which could be a reason for the lack of cleanliness. There is so much potential in a farmers market, both for the growers and the community; I really hope we see improvement. We have many fine chefs as well as home cooks that would love to be able to pick out high quality foods at a well maintained market. Not to mention the learning opportunities for our children.

In the meantime, I will continue to support the local growers and enjoy the summer harvest while I can.

The House

2005-06-19T16:49:00.000-05:00

It all came together for a closing on Friday evening. Afterward, the movers were waiting in the truck at the new (old) house when we got there. Everything was in by 9 pm, and all we could do was stand in the chaos and look at each other saying what have we done?

The best trick was yet to come. My husband spent Saturday putting up blinds and hammering things to give us a minimum of privacy. Sunday was Fathers Day and my birthday. It was also the day he left for training in Atlanta. I got to tackle all of the boxes with the kids.

Renovation had to start immediately; the house is 80 years old and is very authentic. We had to have a new roof within 30 days according to our insurance company. The kitchen had one row of cabinets, most way too high to reach (10 ft ceilings) and NO DISHWASHER! This was almost a deal breaker for me-I am not the happy housewife. Many of our belongings were still in boxes and stored either in the dining room, the attic, or in the shed out back. The shed is a wonderful place with nice stretchy walls that expand as needed to accommodate more stuff. We wondered why we didn?t live there instead of the house-there is obviously more room

While going through all of the headaches of finding contractors, making decisions, and screwing up paint color choices, I started to question our decision making abilities. Not being our first house, or first renovation for that matter, we thought we knew what to expect. However, the interesting part was living in the mess with three young children running around, all wanting a specific toy that was still packed up, stored in the shed of course. The kids were happy to make the move and found all of the workman coming through an exciting experience. In fact, the plumbers were here so often that the children began to look on them as uncles, or at least resembling some distant relative that always shows up at big events (Christmas, Easter, Drains Backing Up Into Shower).

The biggest stuff was done by September. I unpacked the boxes, finding a place for our stuff either here or at Goodwill. All of the sudden we had windows instead walls of boxes. Our rooms were bigger than we realized. This was all just in time for my husband to come back home after training.

Funny how it worked out that way.

The Move

2005-06-12T22:04:00.000-05:00

I am married to an easygoing sort of fellow, so it wasn’t hard to convince him to move. There were multiple reasons for our decision to leave the suburbs for the city. Ultimately, the reasons all boiled down to the same thing-road time. It seemed as though we were always headed downtown for ballet class, school, a museum trip, a job, and so on. Our life already seemed to be based there, so why not our possessions?

Plus, when I am bored or stressed, I embrace change. Extreme change. This little personality glitch has sometimes created a few problems in my life.

We decided that we would find a house in the city that needed updating, and that my husband would do the work while going to school part time. I would continue to work full time. We put our house on the market and it sold in one day. This sounds better than it actually is. The buyers were ready to move in immediately, but settled in for the usual 30 days to close. On the other hand, we were expecting the house to take at least 30 days on the market TO SELL, then another 30 to close. Plenty of time to find the perfect fixer-upper in the city. Feeling a bit pressured, I took some time away from work and started looking for somewhere to live the very next day.

A week later, my husband got a call from a large company who needed a manager. He interviewed-why not? We already had a plan but it’s always good to stay flexible; interviewing periodically is good practice. In the mean time, we found an 80 year old house in the heart of Columbia that had been rental property for 20 years-the ultimate fixer upper. We made an offer and it was accepted. Two weeks into this adventure, the company that needed a manger wanted him, and made an offer that was just too good to refuse. So OK, our plan changed; I like change, it energizes me. They wanted him to start training immediately but allowed him to delay by two weeks in order to close and move.

Oh by the way, training was for ten weeks, in Atlanta, GA. This is four hours away. Did I mention that we also have three young children?

The Beginning (backstory)

2005-06-11T21:23:00.000-05:00

We have been here for a year.

I live in Columbia, South Carolina. Many people do not recognize it for the cultural hotspot that it is; it's a secret of the south. We are the capital city. We don't have the historical flavor of Charleston, the artsyness of Greenville or the universal vacation appeal of Myrtle Beach. We are in the middle; in more ways than one.

Still, I love it. My husband and I have both lived here for over 25 years each, but this is our first year in the city. It was an unexpected enjoyment, although the romance of city life appealed to both of us.

When most people think of city living, they imagine New York, L.A, or Atlanta. Columbia is probably not in the top ten. However, as we have adapted to this very different lifestyle, I find myself immersed in the changes. A city is alive, with a pulse, regardless of where you are. It is a living example of the American melting pot, yet individuality is alive and well. There is much to see and experience, if you open your eyes.