Sasee April 2012

S p e c i a l P u l l O u t B r i d a l G u i d e

Say Yes!April 2012

Pricelesswww.sasee.com

Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place. Zora Neale Hurston

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49156-McL Choose Wisely Sasee.indd 1 3/7/12 4:29:06 PM

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whos whoPublisher

Delores BlountSales & Marketing Director

Susan BryantEditor

Leslie MooreAccount Executives

Amanda Kennedy-ColieErica Schneider

Celia WesterArt Director

Taylor NelsonPhotography Director

Patrick SullivanGraphic ArtistScott KonradtAccounting

Bart Buie CPA, P.A.Administrative Assistant

Barbara J. LeonardExecutive Publishers

Jim CreelBill HennecyTom Rogers

April 2012Volume 11, Issue 4

PO Box 1389Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

fax 843-626-6452 phone 843-626-8911www.sasee.com [email protected]

Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. For subscription info, see page 41. Letters to the editor are welcome, but could be edited for length. Submissions of articles and art are welcome. Visit our website for details on submission. Sasee is a Strand Media Group, Inc. publication.

Copyright 2012. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any material, in part or in whole, prepared byStrand Media Group, Inc. and appearing within thispublication is strictly prohibited. Title Sasee isregistered with the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office.

featured articles8101224263034363840

I n T h I S I S S U ERead It!. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14Women & Men Who Mean Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42Rocking Chair Renegade. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .45Scoop on the Strand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46

We Dont Always Get What We Wantby Lynn Obermoeller

Rain on my Wedding Dayby Melissa Face

Fearlessby Margaret Bishop

Southern Snapsby Leslie Moore

Tightening the Knotby Maura Troy

He Married Me Twiceby Linda OConnell

8 Honeymoon Dos and Dontsby Janey Womeldorf

The Yes-Manby Pam Hawley

Mama Birds Egg Custardby Kim Seeley

DNA Stands for Does Not Apply, Well, Maybeby Diane Stark

17Special Pull Out Bridal Guide

Say Yes!

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Margaret Bishop and her husband, Matt, reside in Camden, South Carolina, with their three children, David, Olivia and Thomas. Margaret is a full-time, stay-at-home mom and an occasional freelance writer.

Melissa Face lives in Virginia with her husband, son and dog. Her stories and essays have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and Cup of Comfort. E-mail Melissa at [email protected].

A native South Carolinian, Lisa Hamilton is the direc-tor of the First Presbyterian Church Preschool and Kindergarten. Of course she loves reading, but also finds time for cooking and walking her dog, Hurley.

Pam Hawley is a humor and short fiction writer from Baltimore, Maryland. Her work has appeared in eFiction Magazine, The Spirit of Poe Anthology, and will be included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Here Comes the Bride due out in May 2012. She also

blogs at hawleyville.wordpress.com.

Lynn Obermoeller is an author of articles and essays. She resides in St. Louis, Missouri, where she is a member of St. Louis Writers Guild and Saturday Writers. Find Lynn at lynnobermoeller.blogspot.com.

Linda OConnell is a preschool teacher and freelance writer from St. Louis, Missouri. As Linda waltzed through the decades, she discovered her age of elegance was in her forties, but she isnt

complaining. Linda resides in the Midwest but her heart and soul hang out at the beach.

Kim Seeley lives with her husband, Wayne, in Wakefield, Virginia. She has just published her first national article in the new volume of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series entitled, What I Learned from the Dog.

Diane Stark is a former teacher turned stay-at-home mom and freelance writer. Her work has been pub-lished in 16 Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies, A

Cup of Comfort for Christian Women and dozens of mag-azines. She loves to write about the important things in life: her fam-ily and her faith. She can be reached at [email protected].

Maura Troy lives in Connecticut and is president of her local chapter of Romance Writers of America. She enjoys writing, knitting and hiking, and is currently working on a novel of romantic suspense. Visit Maura on her website at mauratroy.com

Janey Womeldorf is a freelance writer who thrives on writing about the humorous, the poignant, and the continually-surprising sides of everyday life. She drinks too much coffee and scribbles away in

Memphis, Tennessee.

letter from the editorIn this months Women & Men Who Mean Business feature, I asked business owners to tell me their favorite Easter or Passover memory. After hearing all the wonderful stories they had to tell, I thought about my own celebrations. I come from a traditional Southern home, and church was always a big part of our Easter celebration, but waking up on Easter morn-ing, knowing the Easter Bunny had come was almost as much fun as Christmas. The day before Easter was spent dyeing Easter eggs, and, to this day, I still love swirling hard-boiled eggs through little cups of dye until they are the perfect shade of yellow or blue. These days, Easter is much more sedate, spent visiting with family and enjoying Grandmas perfect potato salad, but it is still one of my favorite holidays.

April is also the month Sasee celebrates weddings, and I know youre going to enjoy reading the wonderful essays submitted by our talented writers. I believe this issue is best read on the porch, enjoying our delightful spring weather, with a glass of something cold by your side. I would love to see a photo of you reading this issue in your perfect spot you might just be published in an upcoming Sasee!

Happy Spring,


contributing writers

cover artistWildberry Farm, by Chiara Rizzo-Hansen

Chiara Rizzo-Hansen was born and raised in Padova, Italy, and studied at Venices Academy of Art and Design. At the age of 17 she began painting and showing her work. The artist moved to Myrtle Beach in 1984 and was hired as an interior designer at Rose Arbor Fabrics in 1995. In 2002 she started CRH Interior Designs Inc., located inside Rose Arbor Fabrics.

Chiaras work has been featured in Home Style Magazine, Carolina Business Journal, Myrtle Beach Herald and others. She was nominated Interior Designer of the Year by the Myrtle Beach Heralds Readers Choice Awards in 2004-2005 and won Carolina Forest Chronicles Readers Choice Award in 2011. Along with her busy Interior Designer schedule, Chiara continues to accept commissions for original works of art. Her work can be viewed at Villa Romana Restaurant, The Little White Dress, and at her studio by appointment. Contact the artist at [email protected], www.crhinteriordesigns.com or 843-446-2832.


The black-eyed Susan is my favorite flower. The deep golden yellow intensified by its dark brown center begs for attention. The blossoms droopy, pouting nature cries out, Look at me! See my beauty.

In my previous home, these golden wonders multiplied in the sunny part of the front of the house. When I moved, the first thing on my list was to plant black-eyed Susans in the sunny part of my new yard. I just knew theyd take off, multiply, and Id have a hill of black-eyed Susans.

But every year, theyd dry up before the season was over and the fol-lowing year, they wouldnt show their face. After doing this for several years, I finally gave up and took pleasure in all of the other beautiful varieties of peren-nials that grew in my yard. Nothing seemed to bring joy to my heart like the sunny black-eyed Susan.

Then one year while tending to the back yard of mostly shady plants, I saw a mounded clump of leaves that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. A weed, I thought. What else would grow so fast and look so good? I started to pull it, but remembered my sisters advice: its only a weed if you want it to be. I liked how the leaf looked and left it alone. This prevented me from planting something else since the asters nearby had also met their end. I noticed another

clump in between the boulders in a small section of ground near the waters edge. The lime green creeping Jenny invaded this area, so this cluster of darker green made a nice contrast.

As the heat set in and some plants started to find their way back into the ground, I noticed my weed had buds. I clapped my hands and wondered what kind of flower might bloom. Now I was really glad that I didnt pull that so-called weed.

The next time I looked after the garden, much to my surprise and delight, there it sat, pouting proud the black-eyed Susan. Stunned, I stood there and felt my heart open a little wider. The plant flowered for the remain-der of the season. Every time I stepped outside, gratitude washed over me.

I learned a valuable lesson in the process its not necessary to try and force something whether its a plant to grow or for a child or anyone to do what you want, but to let nature take its course. If there is something I think I need and if I truly need it, it will be given to me in Gods time in the natural scheme of things.

So when Im having trouble growing something, I just surrender because I never know what gift may pop up!

We Dont Always Get What We Want

by Lynn Obermoeller


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I woke up and looked out the window. It was cloudy; but so far, nothing was falling. Conversation from my bridal shower replayed in my head. Its bad luck if it rains on your wedding day, a friend said. Nonsense, another guest argued. A rainy wedding day is good luck.

Good luck or bad, I wasnt going to obsess about the weather. In fact, I promised myself months earlier that aside from my cake crashing to the floor, I would not allow anything to tarnish my special day.

I threw on some old clothes, laced up my running shoes, and went for a jog around my neighborhood. When I returned, I ate French toast for breakfast while my dad had his cereal. We chatted about the days upcoming events and about how my fianc might be spending his day with his grooms-men. Then, it was time to get moving.

My mom checked on the decorations at the ceremony and reception sites while I went to my hair appointment. By the time my hair and make-up were done, I needed to go to the church to get dressed. My bridesmaids and I dressed together and made sure everything was in order before the big moment.

When it was time, my dad took my arm and led me down the aisle. I gazed at the crowd of wonderful people who came to support us, and then I bit my lip so I wouldnt cry in front of all of them. We rounded the corner, and I locked eyes with my fianc. He looked genuinely thrilled to see me, and I felt I couldnt get to him fast enough.

Our ceremony was traditional and special. We lit candles for those who couldnt be with us, and we lit another as a symbol of our new union. Finally, we were pronounced husband and wife.

I remember a warm and wonderful feeling when we walked down the aisle together as life partners. Everyone in the congregation applauded and seemed truly happy for us.

Following the ceremony, we took a few pictures of our families and tried our best to recap some of the special moments from the service. We had no problem smiling, posing with our rings or recreating our kiss.

We gathered our belongings to head to the reception site. Dont for-get your umbrella, my dad said. Ill pull the car to the back door so your dress wont get wet.

I was surprised to see all the puddles when I walked outside. Everything around us was drenched, and I hadnt even noticed it had been raining.

It rained throughout my entire wedding. It drizzled as I walked down the aisle, it rained steadily as we said our vows, and it poured while we drove to our reception. I hiked up my dress and jumped over puddles when I got out of our car. Then, it rained harder. It poured during dinner, while we danced and as we ate our cake.

Seven years have passed since my special day. Every now and then, people ask me what I think it means when it rains on your wedding day. I tell them, It means you might get wet. And that really is all that it means. In terms of weather, there is no good luck or bad luck. And if you are enjoying your wedding as much as I was, you probably wont even notice.

Rain on my Wedding Day

by Melissa Face



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Fearlessby Margaret Bishop

This year, my daughter began a rite of passage for thousands of young girls across the country. She became a Girl Scout! Along with this honor, she also was tasked with the important responsibility of selling Girl Scout cookies, and boy, did she take her responsibility seriously. When she attended her troop cookie training, she came home with two pages of notes of all the things she needed to do to ensure a successful sale. Ask only people that you know; never sell cookies alone without an adult; give a Girl Scout smile and say thank you! Armed with that information, she was ready for business.

On the opening day of cookie sales, she was so excited that she could hardly stand to wait until 10 am the time that I had designated as acceptable to ring our neighbors doorbells. When the appointed hour arrived, she was out the door and literally running down the street to sell to our closest friends. As expected, they were enthusiastic buyers, and from that point, nothing could slow her down. While selling to the family of one of her younger friends, she was invited over for a play date, but no thanks, she had more customers to approach and preferred to tag along on my errands.

Along the way, we decided to pick up lunch to bring home, and natu-rally, she wanted to know if she could approach the restaurant employees with her cookie sheets. I dont think thats appropriate, I replied and tucked the sheet under my arm for safekeeping. Imagine her satisfaction when the restau-rant owner noticed the sheet and asked that we come back at a slower time, so that they could make purchases. Why on earth would I think that anyone would not be interested in buying cookies? Shows how much moms know!

When we went back to the restaurant, the owner shook her hand and invited my daughter to sit down with her as everyone placed their orders. She treated her with such professional courtesy one businesswoman to another that I, too, began to wonder where my reticence came from in trying to direct whom she could or could not approach. My daughter had started her cookie sale with a strong belief in her product and in her own ability to be successful. She wasnt weighted down by the fears of rejection or presumptions that rattled around my 37 year old brain. She was fearless!

After selling almost 90 boxes in her first day out, she was satisfied with a job well done and was at home playing with her babysitter and brothers when the phone apparently rang with more orders. I looked at her cookie sheet on the counter confusedly when I returned home and asked from where the additional orders (written in a 2nd graders hand) had come. Casually, she replied, Oh, Mrs. Michele from the restaurant called. There were more people that wanted to order cookies. I looked questioningly at my teenage babysitter who shrugged. She said that she had an important call.

When my daughter started her cookie sale, I subconsciously tried to direct her to the easiest route. I only offered to drive her to friends and family that I knew would buy; people that I knew wouldnt mind; people that I knew would not reject her offerings or crush her enthusiasm. I didnt want her to experience rejection, but in trying to protect her, I almost let her miss out on the wonderful feeling that comes from unqualified success, from giving some-thing your all and being rewarded with a yes! Thank you, Mrs. Michele, and thank you my fearless daughter, for reminding me that giving it your all is always worth it!



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The lovely ladies at Litchfield Books assured me The Time In Between, by Maria Duenas is a great read and they were right! This very well researched historical novel of fiction that travels from Madrid to Morocco to Portugal and back again will keep you captivated and intrigued to the bitter end.

Sira Quiroga is a seemingly ordinary girl who is following in her mothers footsteps as a seamstress, content to marry a local boyfriend and live out her mediocre life in a com-mon neighborhood in Madrid at the onset of the Spanish Civil War. That is until she meets the cosmopolitan Ramiro who sweeps her off her feet and into an exciting life that lands them in the beautiful Northern African

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country of Morocco. As Siras unexpected inheritance is stolen by Ramiro, she is also left alone, pregnant, and in severe legal trouble in the streets of the city. With determi-nation and some help from the most unlikely of characters, Sira reinvents herself with skills taught by her mother years before. Duenas masterfully recreates the fabrics and fashions of the 1930s and 40s and makes you think you can actually feel and see the craftsmanship unfolding before your eyes. As Siras business grows, so does the demand for her talent. From the aristocratic women in prewar Europe, to the Nazi officers wives, Sira rediscovers herself in ways that would make her family and country proud.

The Time In Between is a satisfying novel of historical fiction the reader will enjoy, and from it will learn a great deal about Spain in a time of civil unrest just before WWII. Duenas writes with detailed descriptions of wonderful characters and glamorous fash-ions. A beautiful story.


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Two couples were married in April: Sixty-three years apart. Much about their lives is very different, but the love they share is unchanged by the passage of time.

The first boy met the first girl, and they fell in love. He asked, and she said yes. Thus began their life together. The boy was handsome, just out of the Navy. He bought a Harley Davidson motorcycle and was driving it home from Conway to Little River when he spotted her on the side of the road, talking with a group of girls. Sweet sixteen, pretty and perfect in his eyes, it was love at first sight. They were married two weeks

before she turned 17. That was 64 years ago this month. The boy was Merlin Bellamy, well-known as the North Myrtle Beach Police Chief for many years, and his love for his wife, Joyce, has been the guiding

force of his life.The pride of my life is my wife, said Mr. Bellamy while we

visited in Myrtle Beach Manor where he was a patient. [Mr. Bellamy has since returned home.] I saw her that day when I was coming home

from Conway on my motorcy-cle, and knew I had to have her as my wife.

Young Merlins family attended the same church as Joyces, and he asked his sister to bring that Hunt girl home for dinner after church so he could begin his campaign to win her heart. Unfortunately, his sister brought home the wrong Hunt sister! She was such a beauty, I knew I had to act fast or someone else would snap her up, Mr. Bellamy remembered. After my sister brought home the wrong girl, I started hanging around my cousins store on Hwy. 90 because it was across the street

from her house.Fortunately for this love sick

young man, Joyce felt the same way, and he began visiting her at home. They used to laugh and say that Joyces father had to sweep me off the steps at night to get rid of me, he said laughing. The couple were soon married and settled in Little River to begin their life together, raising a daughter and a son, and now have five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

Mr. Bellamy began his career in law enforcement as a Special Deputy Sheriff in Horry County, serving the Ocean Drive area. When North Myrtle Beach incorpo-rated, he became the new citys first police chief, serv-ing until his retirement in the 1970s. Today he is still known by many as simply, Chief. I never had to shoot anyone, said Chief Bellamy. I was cautious about what I said and was always making new friends. I didnt want to give anyone a record if it was not necessary.

Chief Bellamy was loved and respected by his community, but became a true hero on October 14, 1954. That day, I received a call from a weather forecaster in Charleston. He asked if I knew that Hurricane Hazel was coming our way and would hit North Myrtle Beach at around 8 oclock the next morning. Until that phone call, we all thought the storm was going to pass out to sea and leave us mostly unscathed.

This courageous man immediately recruited local firefighters, and the group began going house to house, evacuating the entire town. Through Chief Bellamys efforts, many lives were saved. My siren blared all night while we knocked on doors. I didnt lose anyone under my juris-diction. Hurricane Hazel leveled the Grand Strand and, years later, Chief Merlin Bellamy would again tell his story on national television when he was featured on The Weather Channels Storm Stories.

Through it all, Joyce was by his side, raising their family and making a home. I dont believe weve ever had a really bad argument, Mr. Bellamy said, glancing at his wife who nodded her agreement with a smile. We lived together in unity.


Southern SnapsTwo April Weddings

by Leslie Moore

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After Hurricane Hazel, Chief

Bellamy tried to learn everything about hurri-cane preparedness and it became a family tradition to keep up

with storms. After Hazel, I started helping the weather bureau and gave hurricane preparedness talks with Diane DeVaughn Stokes. We spoke all over the community, and I enjoyed knowing I was helping save lives.

A talented musician, Mr. Bellamy played guitar and harmonica for many area square dances, and he and a group of friends would get together in his garage on Friday nights to pick and sing bluegrass tunes, eventually recording several CDs. He remembers well the first song he played for his beloved Joyce, My Filipino Baby.

Merlin Bellamys love for his wife has remained strong. Ive never been sorry I married Joyce and have never seen another lady I wanted, he began. The secret to a good marriage is love without love youre in trouble. If God said I could have another life, Id say lets keep it the way it is. Im proud of my past.

Fast forward to the 21st century and love blooms for another

young couple. Their lives are very different from the Bellamys, but the love is much the same cute boy knows pretty girl for years, a spark ignites, boy asks, girl says yes and two lives are joined together. I knew Jewell growing up, began ONeil McCoy, General Manager of Broadway at the Beach. Our best friends are brother and sister, and they set the whole thing in motion.

Both Myrtle Beach natives, ONeil and Jewell McCoy might have never gotten together if not for some behind the scenes intervention by their friends. Im six years older than Jewell, and she was in her senior year at USC. I had already finished my graduate work at Clemson and had just ended a relationship. I told myself I was just going to date and have fun famous last words.

Love will have its way. ONeil had always thought Jewell was cute, but didnt know she was interested until he heard she might have a crush on him. I decided to call her out of the blue at school. It was the most awkward conversation you can imagine. I had written an outline with bullet points so I wouldnt forget what I wanted to say but she still agreed to go out with me, he said laughing.

After that first date in January of 2009, ONeil knew he wouldnt be just dating Jewell. She graduated in May and moved back home to work at South Atlantic Bank. I never dated anyone else, ONeil

said. In May, 2010, ONeil and Jewell took his niece and nephew, who call him Uncle No No, to the beach to collect shells. Later, ONeils nephew confided that he wanted to surprise Jewell with a necklace made from the shells.

I told Jewell about the necklace we both thought it was ador-able. What Jewell didnt know was that I had decided to propose to her during our upcoming trip to the Bahamas. The kids made a box and dec-orated it with seashells. Inside the box was a shell necklace that I had made, and on the lid was written Will you marry No No? I taped the ring on the last O.

Jewell said yes, and the couple came back from their vacation excited to begin planning their wedding. We wanted a small wedding with just our family and close friends, said ONeil. We looked at several desti-nations, but chose Bald Head Island, a small island located off the south-eastern shore of North Carolina that is only accessible by boat or ferry.

The big day was planned for April 9, 2011, and everything went off without a hitch. All I cared about was delicious food and a great band. Jewell and her mom planned everything else. I am the outgoing one, and Jewell is somewhat reserved. I thought she would have a hard time being the center of attention, but it turned out that she was calm and collected, and I was a total wreck!

After a honeymoon in Jamaica, the McCoys returned to Myrtle Beach and moved into ONeils condo. Their first year of marriage has been good. We cook together a lot; Jewell has become a great cook, began ONeil. And we ride bikes together. We dont take advantage of the beach as much as I would like, but thats true of many locals I think.

ONeil and Jewell are surrounded by family living in the area, including both sets of parents. The family is very close and spends a lot of time together. Jewell has left banking and gone back to school for her Masters in Counseling.

Its been a fun first year of marriage, said ONeil with a big smile. We like each other I married my best friend.

Kevin Teachey of Gene Ho Photography

KnotSay Yes!B

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Tightening the

by Maura TroyMy husband never married me. Thats okay since I never married

him, either. But he is my husband, and I am his wife. We have been together for twenty-five years, and I cant imagine my life with anyone else.

So why not actually tie the knot?

I jokingly tell anyone who asks me that question that marriage is a very serious step, and we want to be absolutely certain before we take the plunge. But that is, indeed, just a joke. Hes the one for me, and I know his feelings on the matter are reciprocal. It has never been a question of doubting our love for one another.

The honest answer is neither he nor I see any pressing reason to make our relationship official. I suppose there might be some financial advantage to filing our taxes jointly, but Im not even one hundred percent sure if that would work for us or against us. And as we are getting older, I do think about things like whether or not we have a legal voice regarding each others treatment in medical emergencies.

Neither of those sound like very romantic reasons to get married, do they? But they are practical ones, and I suppose we should start consid-ering them more than just in passing.

Still, we are very happy as we are. Its never been something either of us has worried about. Im sure I thought about it a lot more when I was younger. I most definitely had my fair share of daydreams of having a big, beautiful wedding, complete with a gorgeous white dress and a little plastic Maura and Larry on top of a multi-tiered, butter-cream frosted wedding cake.

We still consider doing it now and then. But Ill confess, some-times my motives are far more mercenary than romantic. Heck, having a wedding might be worth it for the chance at registering for gifts alone. Imagine, all those people going to Williams-Sonoma to buy all the stuff on my wish list! Sigh.

Over the years, there have been a lot of people who have told us we must get married. That having a wedding and standing up in front of all of our family and friends to declare our love and commitment will make a difference, will prove we really want to be with each other. Seeing as how my husband and I have lasted longer than many couples who have had an actual wedding, I cant quite bring myself to believe that argument.

Arent you worried he could just walk out and leave you? Thats another question Ive been asked many times. Ive never quite understood it.

Spouses leave each other all the time. Having a wedding doesnt stop them, I respond.

Yes, but if youre married, its not that easy to just walk away. Theres work involved. It costs money to get divorced.

I must say, this argument always has me scratching my head. I wonder if the folks who have presented it would really be happy if they were ever to discover their partner stayed with them only because they were the lesser of two evils, not to mention being the cheaper evil.

Dont get me wrong. Im not anti-marriage, and I love going to weddings. Sharing the joy of a couple as they vow to spend the rest of their lives together is a wonderful experience. And I know full well how little girls long for their own big day. Believe me, I, too, fastened a white towel on my head and took those sliding yet halting steps down the long hallway of my childhood home, clutching a bouquet of dandelions plucked from the backyard. But as the years have gone by, and my rela-tionship with my husband has grown deeper and deeper, not having an actual wedding anniversary to celebrate has long since ceased to cause any pangs of regret.

My crystal ball is on the blink, so I cant say for sure if Im ever going to get to wear a real veil and walk down the aisle carrying a real bou-quet. Its always a possibility. But if I dont, Im okay with that, too. Larry and I will just continue to tighten our own special knot.


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Most brides-to-be plan every detail of their weddings and consider their grooms their prize. I didnt have to plan a single thing because I won the grand prize! On a whim, I entered my favorite local radio sta-tions Valentines Day contest. I penned new lyrics to an old song about my fianc. Two weeks after sending my entry off, I tuned in as I headed to work and listened to the disc jockey announce the winners.

I screamed when I heard my name announced. The driver next to me yelled too and asked if I needed help. I

shook my head and laughed hysterically. The poor woman must have thought I was a lunatic not a bride-to-be. I arrived at school with my mascara running from tears of joy. I took the steps two at a time and ran into my classroom. I frightened my students

when I hockey-yelled to my teachers aide, Guess what? Im getting married!

I know, she said, and remind-ed me that my wedding was still two

months away. No, you dont understand. I

just won a contest. I won a complete wedding package.

Does Bill know? she asked.Well, he knows we have a small wedding and reception planned

in April. I guess I should tell him that were moving the date up, and there will be a few more people on the guest list. I shuffle-danced and giggled nervously. Then I telephoned my intended at work.

Honey, take off early and meet me at home. We have to get to the court house before five oclock.

Why? What happened? He was genuinely confused.We need to apply for our marriage license. I was so giddy he

could hear it in my voice.Honey, calm down, we have plenty of time, two months.Hurry home; we dont have as much time as you think. Were

getting married next week! So tell your boss you need Valentines Day off. I just won a complete wedding package from our local radio station.

I listed all the things Id won: matching wedding bands, his tuxe-do, my flowers, a complete reception and hotel room. And honey, were getting married on the air.

In the air? What do you mean? You want to get married in a

hot air balloon? Where did you win this wedding?

Not IN the air, ON the air. It will be a huge media event. Once again, I told him about all of the things I had won. What I didnt tell him was that ninety-sev-en other couples also won the exact same wedding package, and our mass marriage was going to be aired in its entirety on the radio station, the one that had 98 in its call letters.

Late that afternoon, we drove to the county court house. I sang my winning ditty to my honey as he weaved his way through rush hour traffic. I dont know if it was the lyrics, my singing would make Simon Cowell cringe, or the lack of a near-by parking space that made him frown.

On the way home, with our wed-ding license in hand, I asked if he was happy about getting married again, since wed both been in previous long term mar-riages and divorced for a few years. He assured me he was thrilled and mentioned that he hoped our marriage would be the final one. Then it hit him. Uh, you dont mean, well have to do this again in April as

planned? I smiled sweetly and shook my head affirmatively. Imagine ninety-eight happy-beyond-belief brides of all ages in

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My step-daughter videotaped the event from a balcony with a very shaky hand. Later as family members gathered to view it, my four year old granddaughter tilted her head this way and that as she watched the jerky film. She said, Wow, Nana, I did not know that there was an earthquake at your wedding.

The earth did move for me and ninety-seven other couples that day, and I have been dancing with my big guy ever since. At age forty-four I married my best friend, a man who taught me in middle age how to dance, love completely, and trust at long last. And two months later, we repeated our vows in a small ceremony before family and friends. He married me twice.

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Take a piece of the beach home with you

by Alex & Ani


If people took their honeymoon before they got married, would they still get married? The problem is, one unavoidable reality lurks beneath the pic-ture-postcard ideal they have in their minds: When you spend every claustro-phobic moment of every blissful day in the company of your beloved, whether you like it or not, each others quirks and flaws will rise to the surface like enemy torpedoes.

Welcome to the magical, vertical learning curve we call marriage, and what better place to start that journey of love than on vacation. Yes, that week-long celebration of laughter and love guaranteed to unite couples and bond families nothing tests a couples patience or tolerance like it. Even decades-married couples can crack under the pressure.

Blinded by love and anxious to christen their new life together, the happy lovebirds giggle with dreamy excitement about their long-awaited trip. Practical clothing has no place on this vacation, and eye-candy outfits bulge from their pristine suitcases. As they fly off into the sunset, visions of together-ness, laughter and harmony warm their hearts. They dont need rose-tinted sunglasses; tension, sulking and miscommunication will not happen on their honeymoon. Their love will conquer all.

For extra fireworks, they embark on this eye-opening, joyous adven-ture into togetherness by obtaining passports they fear daily of losing, staying in a city they dont know, using a currency they cant calculate, surrounded by a language they dont understand, and eating food they cant pronounce and will later discover does not agree with them.

But all of this pales in comparison to their ultimate challenge: Sharing the same bathroom for the first time ever. Is that the smell of romance in the air?

Do not fear, tropical sunshine awaits at the end of that love tunnel. Whether you are a future honeymooner or a married old timer, here are some basic dos and donts for vacation success.

1 . M a k e U p.Men dont realize how much stuff it takes to look good. As you start

unloading your collection of pink, dusty make up, he may go into shock. Dont elevate his angst by relegating his razor and deodorant to the far corner of avail-able space while you recreate the make-up counter at Macys in your bathroom.

2 . G e t t i n G R e a d y. He will try not to get impatient but will fail. The truth is, men just

dont understand what takes us so long. He will crack. Train yourself to notice the signs loud huffing while he looks at his watch, taking his shoes back off or switching the TVs romantic-music channel over to sports and blasting the sound to drown out his frustration. Preempt his mood crash by pouring him a beer and suggest he drink it on the balcony while you beauty-up. Tip: If you are a high-maintenance woman, just do yourself a favor and book a hotel with an on-site bar. Life is short.

3 . d o n t b e s h y a b o U t G i v i n G h i M w a R d R o b e G U i d a n c e .

Its time to go out. Youre dressed to the nines, and hes wearing shorts and his favorite college t-shirt. Dont ruin an evening by sulking over his per-ceived lack of wardrobe consideration. Hes on vacation, and his priority is what beer to drink not what shirt to wear. Speak up or shut up, and embrace the learning curve. Pull out the collar you secretly hoped he would choose, gush how good he looks in it, offer to buy him a beer and go have a fun evening.

4 . n e v e R , e v e R a s k h i M t o p i c k o U t y o U R o U t f i t f o R t h e e v e n i n G .

He will pick the wrong one. This leaves you two choices: One, wear his outfit and suck it up, (serves you right!); or two, shatter his ego by unsuc-cessfully sugar-coating the fact that you are over-ruling him and wear what you really wanted to wear anyway. Either way, you will ruin the evening. Twenty years of marriage later, there will be misguided moments when you are still tempted to do this. Drop this romantic notion. This is a game few men want to play and even less men win.

5 . n e v e R a s k : d o e s t h i s M a k e M e l o o k f a t ?

He may say yes. Instead, live by the following rule: Dont ask the question if you might not like the answer. I didnt. I asked, he told me, I cried.

6 . p R e p a R e f o R b a t h R o o M n o i s e . It will happen, so save yourself a lot of cramping. Embrace and accept

it or pack the spare iPod-and-speaker set with the best volume.7 . d o n t s U c c U M b t o t h e s U l k ,

s U l k , h e - s h o U l d - h a v e - k n o w n t R a p.If you want him to do something, tell him. If your wine glass is

empty, ask him to pour you another. If you are cold, and he hasnt offered you his jacket, ask for it. Stay warm, drink wine, and save yourself a lot of disap-pointment. He is not clairvoyant, never will be, and when you feel yourself going to the sulky place, twirl your ring and admire his collar.

8 . b e wa R e M a k i n G b l i n d - l o v e d e c i s i o n s .Many a regretful (and costly) honeymoon and vacation decision has

been made in the name of love. (Timeshare anybody?)I only did it because I thought you wanted to.Well I only did it because I thought you did.Learn to speak up now; its better to negotiate through a few minutes

of awkward discussion sooner, than waste an evening or suffer a lifetime of expensive regrets later. And embrace compromise. Admit youd rather order room service than eat out, (romantic dinner on the balcony?) and if you want red but he wants white, get both.

The honeymoon is the cusp of the learning curve, and life runs smoother if you prioritize magic over melodrama. Dont assume, expect or hope; start as you mean to go on, learn to communicate calmly, and compro-mise. And remember practice makes perfect; besides, it will all come in handy on that first vacation with your in-laws.

And you thought your partner had quirks!

by Janey Womeldorf

HoneymoonDos and Donts


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Yes and No were the ones he used the most. Yes, hed like the back yard mowed. No, he didnt want spaghetti for dinner. The third word was a four-letter one he reserved for when no didnt just mean no, but not in a million years!

Now, I was talking with a preacher in a funeral home in a rural town in West Virginia, my heart aching and my legs and back still cramped from our four-hour drive to get there. Although Granddad had lived most of his adult life in Baltimore, we all knew hed want to come home at the end. Thats where we had taken him.

The room was full of family I hadnt seen in years and the cloying smell of flowers. I couldnt help but think that my grandfather, who had never liked being the center of attention or wearing suits, was wishing he wasnt at the front of that room. Hed rather be sitting outside on the steps with my great-uncle, talking in short man-sen-tences about hunting, fishing and foot-ball while the wives and daughters chat-tered on like magpies inside.

The preacher smiled encour-agingly, his blue eyes kind and crin-kled at the corners. I felt a soothing warmth and comfort in those eyes, but what he was asking of me still made my stomach lurch.

Your Granddad didnt live here, so I never had the pleasure of getting to know him. I think it would be nice to have someone who knew him well say a few words too. Your grandmother said you would be the best one to do it.

Of course she did. My grandfa-ther was the quiet one in the family, I am the word weaver. I write daily and give public speeches as part of my job. Like my grandmother herself, I can be a chatterbox. As a little girl, I traveled to West Virginia with my grandparents on the weekends. Granddad drove, and Grandmom and I would talk and sing through the entire trip. When wed try to get Granddad to join in, hed just say umm-hmm, or nuh-uh, his eyes focused on the road.

Id giggle, call him Grumpy and tweak his mustache as soon as we were out of the car.

Hed listened to me prattle on for years, and now the minister wanted me to give him one more dose of my chatter.

You dont have to say yes, my mom said gently. It wasnt that she didnt want someone to vocalize our familys love for Granddad. She just knew that Granddad would understand if the sudden request was more than I could handle.

I looked away from the minister and the hopeful eyes of my grand-mother and lost myself in thoughts for a moment: Granddad spending long days by a river with a bag of sandwiches and a fishing pole. Granddad in his

garden, tending his tomatoes. Granddad in his garage workshop, building me a dollhouse, or a backyard swing for my mom and grandmother. Granddad showing up to pick me up from work when I had no other way home, even though hed just finished a long day at his own job. Granddad spending his precious Saturdays running my grandmother from department store to depart-ment store, contenting himself with a ballgame on the car radio since he wouldnt be getting out with his fishing buddies. Granddad driving to my house every day for a week to tend my menagerie of pets while I vacationed and not uttering a word of complaint when one of my ferrets had the audacity to crawl up his pants leg.

After the stroke, Granddad said no an awful lot. But before it, his answer had always been yes.

He didnt tell long stories or give advice or express his feelings in words. He didnt have to. Someone who spends their whole life dropping every-thing for those he loves, even when what theyre asking is more of a want than a need, has already told you how much he loves you without opening his mouth. Someone who takes joy in building beautiful and personal things that he knows will make his wife and child and grandchildren happy doesnt need a mushy card to go with the gift.

The way granddad lived his life could be summed up in one word yes. Yes, I am here for you. Yes, I care enough to help you. Yes, the world is a beautiful place, if you know how to walk quietly through it instead of disturbing its peace. See?

My eyes blurred with tears, but I met the kindly ministers gaze and took a deep breath. I had made my decision.

My mom was right. Granddad would completely understand if I didnt walk up to that podium and speak. He already knew I would carry him in my heart forever.

But when those he loved needed something, he stepped up to the plate. He didnt need my words, but my grandmother did, and perhaps my father and my aunts and uncles and his old high school buddies did, too. I realized that understanding this had not only helped me come to my decision, but had given me the words about Granddad that needed to be said.

I put a hand on my grandmothers shoulder and smiled at the minis-ter, who was patiently awaiting my answer and trying not to put pressure on me through the hope in his own eyes.

Yes, I said. My speech came from the heart, and I think Granddad would

have liked it. But nothing I said afterwards summed him up better than that one word.

by Pam Hawley

YesThe Yes-Man

For the last twelve years of his life, my grandfather was limited to a three-word vocabulary. He was always a man of few words. A stroke had robbed him of the rest of them.


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I married the baby of the family. I should have known what I was get-ting into, but I jumped headlong into a relationship with a 27 year old hand-some, kind, intelligent, good man, a fellow teacher, who just happened to be the youngest of four siblings. I am the oldest of four siblings. My family posi-tion did nothing to prepare me for the emotional turmoil I was about to wit-ness as I robbed Mama Bird of her baby.

The first problem was that my husband had returned to his child-hood home after finishing college and lived there until the day we returned to our new duplex from our honeymoon. Mama Bird had grown dependent on her 27 year old baby boy for companionship and conversation. Now, mind you, Daddy Bird was still in the picture; he was simply a rather reticent man, and Mama Bird got more information out of her baby.

Problem number two was that much of Mama Birds life had centered around cooking special meals for Baby Bird and doing Baby Birds laundry. I had no concept of the importance of laundry until the day of our engagement. Upon showing my future mother-in-law my new diamond ring, she burst into tears. Now I wont be ironing his shirts anymore! She sobbed, inconsolable, despite my offers to bring the laundry over to her. We had a short engagement, choosing to be married the following month in order to set up our house before school started in the fall. All five weeks of my engagement were fraught with tears, all of them belonging to Mama Bird.

I was thankful for my sister-in-law, the oldest sibling. She tried reason-ing with her mother. Mama, do you want Wayne to be alone for the rest of his life? Dont you want him to have a family?

Mama Bird refused to answer the question. Her reply focused on one area of interest. What am I going to do without Wayne around the house? Who will I have to talk to? Im sure there were other comments that my future sister-in-law was too kind to pass on to me. I know that my housekeep-ing and cooking abilities were suspect from day one, and rightly so. I knew very little about either.

My wedding day arrived. It rained which I have always heard was an unlucky omen but thirty-five years of marriage have been undaunted by that storm. No, it wasnt the rain from the heavens that shadowed our wedding day it was the rain from my mother-in-laws eyes. To her credit, she didnt have an actual outburst during the cere-mony; she managed to quietly weep into her handkerchief the entire time. Nevertheless, she made it through the ordeal, and we took off for our honey-moon in the mountains of Virginia.

We had a pleasant honeymoon, visiting the caverns, hills and valley towns along the Shenandoah Parkway. Upon our return, my new in-laws paid us a visit, bringing along an extra wed-ding present an Electrolux vacuum cleaner. I took that as the sign it was intended to be a sign that my husband was used to a clean house, and it was my responsibility to see that he had one.

A few days later, my husband

became ill. He took to the bed, feverish and achy, moaning and miserable. Do you need a doctor? I asked. He didnt think so; it was probably a virus. I tried out my new wifely responsibilities. What can I get you? Do you want me to make some Jell-O? Do you want some chicken soup? What can I do to help? My new husband turned up his nose at all of my profferings. The entire day passed with my husband refusing to eat. The next day, he showed little sign of improvement. I was desperate. I picked up the phone and called Mama Bird.

What? Wayne is sick? Wayne hasnt been sick in years! I could hear the recriminations in her voice. My husband had received perfect attendance certificates all the way through school. He hadnt used one single sick day in six years. I had done this. I had made him sick. He had never been sick when she was taking care of him. Ill be over in a little while. Ill get him to eat. I hung up. I prodded my husband once again to eat a little Jell-O or pudding. Nothing doing.

A few hours later, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Mama Bird with some sort of dish in her hands. She set the dish on the stove and immediately went to check on her baby. What is wrong? Why arent you eat-ing? Do you have a temperature? Mama Bird needed no real response. I brought you something that should do the trick. I know how fond you are of egg custard.

Mama Bird went to the kitchen and scooped some of her homemade egg custard in a bowl. She returned to the bedroom, bearing her offering. I waited for my ill, grumpy husband to refuse it, knowing that he had no appe-tite. I watched in disgust as he feebly lifted his head from the pillow and opened his mouth for Mama Bird to shovel in some egg custard. I was livid, furious beyond all belief. This man, my husband, had refused all of my offers of food for over twenty-four hours. I needed some air.

Making sure that Mama Bird was going to hover over Baby Bird until I returned, I took the car for a spin. I needed to calm down. I had never heard of egg custard as being grounds for divorce, but this might establish a precedent. What? I could hear the judge question my husband. You refused all of your new wifes offer-ings and then sat up in bed and ate your mothers egg custard! How dare you? Divorce granted on grounds of cruel and unusual punishment. Surely the people in the courtroom would cheer me on as I left with my decree. New wife wins divorce in egg custard case! the headlines would proclaim.

I calmed down and returned to our new duplex. I checked in on my husband and found Mama Bird sitting by the bed, placing cool cloths on my feverish husband. She was happier than she had been in weeks. Her baby still needed her. All was right in the world. I ignored the Electrolux vacuum cleaner and sat down on the sofa to read a novel. Weaning Baby Bird might take some effort, but we had plenty of time. Now, what page was I on?

Mama Birds Egg Custard

by Kim Seeley



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How would you guys feel if we got married? Eric and I asked our children in early 2007.

Our his-and-hers kids, whose ages ranged from 12 to 4, were thrilled. They actually happy danced.

So that summer, Eric and I took the plunge. We had a small wedding, with our children as our only attendants. We went on a Caribbean cruise sans children but the day we returned, our ready-made family began.

While talking with the kids one evening, I was struggling with how to refer to my new husband. Eric, I mean, Dad, I stumbled. Finally, I looked at my children and said, From now on, Im just going to call Eric Dad when Im talking to all of you. You dont have to call him that, but itll be easier if I do.

To my surprise, four-year-old Julia said, But can we? If we want to? And seven-year-old Lea piped up, Can I call you Mom?

So it was settled. Eric and I became Dad and Mom, and we tossed biology out the window.

We were determined to become a blended family where biology sim-ply didnt matter. We decided that we would love all four of the kids the same, no matter whose blood ran in their veins. We even joked that DNA was no longer the acronym for deoxyribonucleic acid. In our family, DNA now stood for Does Not Apply. Loving each child equally, regardless of their genes, was the key to making our situation a success.

For a while, our just-ignore-biology philosophy actually worked. And Eric and I could hardly believe how easy it was. This blended family thing is a piece of cake, we decided.

Since I had my stuff so completely together, I decided to use my infi-nite wisdom as a brand-new stepmom to help other women in my shoes. I put my writing skills to work on a magazine article. I interviewed two experts, both of whom had written a book on blended families. The first one I talked to was a really well-known author, and I asked him how to suc-cessfully blend two families. His response was, Blended families dont blend. They collide. Yikes.

The female author I interviewed gave just as bleak a picture. Being a stepmother is the most difficult and thankless job on the planet, she told me. Stepmoms do a lot of the work in raising the children, but the biological mother gets all the love. No matter what you do or how much you give, youll always be second to her. Ouch. That one hurt. A lot.

Their advice wasnt what I wanted to hear, so I ignored it. I wrote the article using only the quotes I liked the Pollyanna ones that said, If you love each other enough, everything will work out just fine. The article sold and was even reprinted several times, but Im not sure it really helped anyone.

Including or maybe, especially me.Shortly after school started, it was my stepdaughter Leas turn to be

the Star Student in her classroom. She was supposed to take in pictures of her

family, and a family member was invited to school for the afternoon. Eric had to work, as did her biological mom, so I became the available family member.

When I arrived at school, Lea introduced me as her mom. Things were going really well until the pictures Lea had brought started circulating the room. Who is in this picture? A kid would ask, holding up a picture of Leas biological mother. I could tell Lea felt uncomfortable with the question. After all, shed already introduced me as her mom.

And things got worse after the kids began to ask me questions. What was Leas first word? One girl asked me. Another said, What was Leas favor-ite food when she was a baby?

How should I know? I felt like saying. Ive only known her for eight months! Instead, I stumbled along, finally admitting that I was Leas other mom, and I hadnt known her when she was a baby.

When I finally owned up to my other mom status, the kids lost interest in asking me questions. But I know lots of things about Lea, I want-ed to say. I might not know whether she preferred strained peas or pureed sweet potatoes as a baby, but I know she likes sour cream and onion potato chips and that her favorite color is green.

But the kids didnt care. Their message was loud and clear: Youre not her real mom and therefore, you arent important. In other words, biology matters.

In the car on the way home, I apologized to Lea and said, I hope you werent too embarrassed.

She shrugged and said, It doesnt matter. I was just glad one of my parents could make it today.

One of her parents. Thats how Lea thought of me. I smiled to myself and decided that despite everything, Id count the day as a win.

By that Christmas, I was pregnant. When Baby Nathan was born, the kids were as proud of him as Eric and I were.

Nathans biology was an often-visited topic in our family. One day, Lea said, Nathan is the only person in our family who is related to everyone else in our family.

Yes, thats true, I said. He has a little part of each one of us.Nathan is like a little string that ties our family together, she said.Thats an awful lot to expect of a baby, I said with a smile.She grinned back and said, Yeah, youre right. Its a good thing weve

already got something to tie us together.Oh yeah? Whats that?She gave me a funny look and then said, Well, duh. We love each

other, Mom.Ive learned that biology does matter and pretending that it doesnt

only complicates things. Yes, biology matters, but not nearly as much as love.

DNA Stands for Does Not Apply, Well, Maybe

by Diane Stark


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BUSINESSChiara Rizzo-Hansen

Sheila Wright and Kelly Maddox are co-owners of Two Blondes on the Beach in North Myrtle Beach. Mother and daughter packed up and moved here from Kentucky eight years ago and opened their business. Since then, Kellys daughter, Charley, joined her mother and grandmother, becoming a part of the business. Charley was married in February of 2011 and gave birth to the first man in the family in December. Like many today, the family is a blended one. Were blended in so many ways and the best thing is that everyone loves each other, said Sheila. Kelly and Sheila enjoy their alone time; these creative blondes spend it doing the things they love, including a golf game every Tuesday. I enjoy painting new ideas on canvas, fabric and woodwhatever I can find, said Kelly. We have a great time with family on Easter, said Sheila. Of course we have the tradition-al foodsham, deviled eggs, potato salad, and we always hide Easter eggs. Sheilas favorite Easter memory is taking her family to Destin, Florida. We hid Easter eggs in the sand, she said laughing. It made them really hard to find. Two Blondes on the Beach is filled with beautiful new items this spring. Sheila and Kelly are excited about their new merchandise, saying, We have a great new line of jewelry with lots of color. Everyone loves these big metal piecesthey have lots of pizzazz! We also have a wonderful line of very flowery skirts, tops and dresses. These are not just for blondes either! Our blonde cookbooks have been very popular, so now were bringing in blonde aprons.

Sheila Wright & Kelly Maddox

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Two Blondes on the Beach, 214 Main Street, North Myrtle Beach 843-281-1089www.2blondesonthebeach.com

Chiara Rizzo-Hansen, owner of Chiara Rizzo-Hansen Interior Designs, Inc., was married ten years this past Valentines day. Larry and I work together a lot; he is a master carpenter and furniture maker. We love working together on the same projects. When not working, the couple enjoys the simple life: gardening, grilling, entertaining, listening to music and traveling when they can. Our family is an international one. I came to Myrtle Beach from Italy in 1984 with two suit-cases and nothing else. Our daughter, Isabella, was born in Mao Ming China, and we adopted her when she was 13 months old. We call ourselves the C.I A. (Chinese-Italian-American). We usually spend Easter together at home. It is an opportunity for us to give thanks and spend time together. When the weather cooperates

Sasee April 2012

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