Sasee - October 2010

October 2010Priceless

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

There are always flowers for those who want to see them.

– Henri Matisse

In tradition of providing subspecialty orthopaedic care to the Pee Dee Region, Pee Dee Orthopaedic Associates announces the arrival of Dr. Matthew D. Welsch, Hand and Upper Extremity Specialist, and Dr. Jason B.

O’Dell, Foot and Ankle Specialist. Dr. O’Dell is the Pee Dee Region’s only orthopaedic Foot and Ankle Specialist. Pee Dee Orthopaedic Associates has provided subspecialty orthopaedic care to the Pee Dee region for over 40 years.

901 East Cheves St. Suite 100

Florence, SC843-662-5233www.pdoa.com

1580 Freedom Blvd.Suite 100

Matthew D. Welsch, MD

Hand and Upper Extremity Specialist

Residency Training:Indiana University

Fellowship Training:Indiana Hand Center

Pee Dee Orthopaedic Associates, PAPee Dee Spine Center

Announces the arrival of…

Jason B. O’Dell, MD

Foot and Ankle Specialist

Residency Training:Louisiana State University

Fellowship Training:Tampa General Hospital

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I n t e r I o r D e s I g n s e r v I c e A v A I l A b l e

2 www.sasee.com october

2010 A m e r i c A n H o s pi tA l A s s o c i At i o n W i n n e r

A milestonein our ongoing quest

for quality

McLeod

The 2010 Quest for Quality Prize is an honor that the whole community can be proud of. Presented annually to only one U.S. hospital in recognition of its quality leadership, this top national distinction is a testament to the relentless commitment of McLeod Regional Medical Center to excellence.

The efforts of our medical staff and employees are viewed across the healthcare industry as models that create the highest quality care. The McLeod philosophy of safe, patient-centered care comes to life every day through timely diagnoses and effective, efficient treatments, based on the best knowledge available. The results are outstanding: a faster path to care and treatment, and more time with patients and their families. Fewer complications and a return to healthier lives.

At McLeod, quality is not a project. It’s an integral, never-ending process. Because the trust and confidence we earn from you and your family are the highest honors we can ever achieve. For more information, visit McLeodHealth.org.

46750-QuestKraininSasee9x10.125.indd 1 8/2/10 9:03:29 AM


who’s whoPublisher

Delores BlountSales & Marketing Director

Susan BryantEditor

Leslie MooreAccount ExecutivesKimberly Dahlin

Amanda Kennedy-ColieKim Salyer

Erica SchneiderCelia WesterArt Director

Taylor NelsonPhotography Director

Patrick SullivanGraphic ArtistScott KonradtAccounting

Bart Buie CPA, P.A.Administrative Assistant

Barbara J. LeonardExecutive Publishers

Jim CreelBill HennecyTom Rogers

October 2010Volume 9, Issue 10

1357 21st Avenue N., Suite 102Myrtle Beach, SC 29577

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 46. 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 © 2010. 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 articles8101416183234363840

I n T h I S I S S U ERead It!. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12Sasee Gets Candid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28Scoop on the Strand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44

The Margaret Lettersby Marsha Tennant

A Garden of Friendsby Melissa Face

86,400 Secondsby Diane Stark

Getting Up Slowlyby Joan Lovelace

The Hand of Friendshipby Margaret Bishop

Southern Snapsby Leslie Moore

Don’t Worry, Be Happy!by Sue Fretwell

Eat, Pray, Love – Think, Talk?by Janey Womeldorf

Seeking Exuberanceby Kim Seeley

Petticoats, Parrots and Other Talesby Reagan McDonald

19Special Pull Out Bridal Guide

Fall into Love

october www.sasee.com 5

Main Office607 Briarwood Drive, Suite 1

Myrtle Beach, SC 29572

Market Common Office2922 B Howard AvenueMyrtle Beach, SC 29577

www.maguirelawfirm.com

M E843-361-7549

Nursing Home NegligenceWorkers’ CompensationSerious Personal Injury

letter from the editorMost people who know me are aware that I love my volunteer work with ani-mal rescue, mainly dogs and mostly Jack Russell Terriers. Unfortunately, it is easy to become overwhelmed with the sheer number of unwanted and abused animals who need homes, so, for the past year or so, I had been taking a break. Rescue is one of those things that you can never really get away from though, so when a friend of mine, the founder and head of Wild Heir Labrador Retriever Rescue, needed someone to care for eight Labs one weekend while she went out of town, I was glad to be able to help a friend. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love – eight times over. Oakley, Evie, Boone, Sadie, Joey, Roman, Callie and Rosebud came into rescue for many different reasons, and they are, indeed, fortunate to be living in this comfortable shelter. But, no mat-ter how good the care, a permanent, forever home is what each one longs for. I visit them often now, and each dog clamors for attention, to be the one that receives the most love – leaving me humbled by these incredible animals, who always give back so much more. Visit www.wildheirlabradorrescue.com, and see the ad in this month’s Sasee to learn more.


cover artistBride in the Garden of Eden, 48 x 52 Oil on Birch, by Janet Davis

With subject matter ranging from landscapes and dreamscapes to the in-between, Janet’s works express a visual language of vibrant color and playful imagery.

Living in upcountry Maui has provided an unlimited source of inspira-tion for Janet, who says, “It’s easy to paint the landscape here in Hawaii. It’s power-ful, lush and ever-changing. Living on this island is visually like being in a dream.”

Born in Monterey, California, Janet grew up in the United States., Europe and the Orient before set-tling with her family in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She studied art at the University of New Mexico and began exhibiting soon thereafter.

Her works have been purchased by the Hawaii State Foundation on Culture and the Arts and are in many private collections throughout the world. Some of her collectors include: Ed Bradley, Goldie Hawn, Hunter S. Thompson, Bill Murray, Jimmy Buffett and the Hilton Corporation. Contact the artist at (808) 280-5860 or [email protected].

contributing writersMargaret Bishop is a stay at home mom living in Camden, S.C. with her husband, Matt, and children, David, Olivia and Thomas. She is also the Stay at Home Mom’s Tipster for www.theimperfectparent.com.

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

Sue Fretwell’s photographs and articles have appeared for about three years in the now online Southcoast Magazine, www.south-coastnc.com. She has photographed and published the Southport Calendar for the past 4 years and is a retired teacher of English as a Second Language. As a founder of a 100+ member singles group in Southport, Sue has a passion for sharing her 20 years of experiences and ideas for living a full and rewarding single life.

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

Joan Lovelace worked as a television news anchor for twenty years, from 1980 until 1999. She spent most of her years at WSVN-TV in Miami and WBBM-TV in Chicago. A series of personal struggles, including the loss of her husband, forced Joan into an early retirement to care for her children. She is now working on a memoir, teaching part time, and writes because she likes to.

Reagan McDonald is a graduate of the University of Missouri-Columbia, where she completed a degree in Creative Writing. Currently, she and her husband reside in Houston, Texas, where she teaches high school English. Contact Reagan at http://

reagan-thecuckoosnest.blogspot.com.

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 wife, a mother of five and a freelance writer. Her work has appeared in publications like Chicken Soup for the

Soul: A Tribute to Moms. She loves to write about her family and her faith.

Marsha Tennant is the author of the children’s book, Margaret, Pirate Queen, and lives in Calabash with hubby, Randy; dog, Callie and cat, Clara. After 40 years in education, Marsha will be retiring in June to write the second pirate book that takes place on the Outer Banks. Marsha and Randy plan to travel and sleep in until 7 am!

She can be reached at [email protected].

Janey Womeldorf is a freelance writer who drinks too much coffee, talks to herself regularly, and sometimes snacks at mid-

night. She scribbles away in Memphis, Tenn.


Laugh

Love

Liv

eEnjoy

Fun

Forgiv

eFrie

nds

Family

Recover

Grow

Change

Apprecia

te

Gratit

ude

Flow

Power

Move

Excit

eIm

agin

eD

ream

Release

Joy

Work

Play

Determin

eAdvance

Release

Thrive


“Oh, Marsha, get over it…I am going to die. Just name a damn dog after me.”

Margaret and I met in 1980 in Atlanta, Georgia. We were on the same teaching team. She was six years younger, but we were partners in (crime) thinking outside of the box, having fun and being full of ourselves. We con-nected from the moment we laid eyes on each other. Together we were a torna-do cut loose in the middle school where we taught. Looking back I realize that we were both ahead of the educational curve – if the student needed it – we did it! We were good at pleading ignorance if we were questioned by our administrator (who secretly applauded what we did).

I moved in 1984, but Margaret and I remained friends through phone calls and letters. There was no social networking like today. Margaret loved my daughter, Alice. They shared a passion for horses. Margaret wrote several letters to her over the years. I have them, too.

When Mallory and Zach were born, Margaret shared the joys and challenges of having TWO children within twelve months. I can still hear her saying, “I was nursing Mallory – how did this happen? But I am so excited. They will be so close.”

Little did she know how prophetic those words would become. In the late ’80s Margaret called me and said that she had a brain tumor. The children were toddlers. She was scared, but determined to beat it.

Over the next few years she underwent experimental treatments and sur-geries. With each letter that arrived, I knew the challenge was becoming

more grueling. “I am going to beat this. I don’t want to leave my babies.” Margaret’s Georgia grit kept her going.

I made several visits to see her during the next few years. I had the privilege of meeting her children. She saw Alice growing into a teenager. No

matter the time lapse, we were able to remain close. The letters were a link and comfort for both of us.

In the summer of 1992, Margaret was losing her battle with the last of several tumors that would finally take her away from us. She had gone through all the stages of accepting death. She was at peace. I was not.

During one of our last phone conversations I was no help to her. I told her I loved her and didn’t want her to die. She was too good, had small children and it wasn’t fair. In her wonderful, slow, Southern drawl she admon-ished me. That is when she said “to name a damn dog after me.”

I have no idea what made her say that, but it must have remained in my subconscious. In 1997 a stray hound dog with her tail cut off bounded into my life. She was Margaret from head to toe. I heard my friend’s voice – the dog stayed and had a name! The canine had Margaret’s love of adventure and fearless attitude. Many times I said to my dog, “this is not funny, Margaret.” I meant my friend!

In June 2010, Margaret’s legacy came to life. I wrote a children’s book – Margaret, Pirate Queen. I connected with Mallory and Zach on Facebook. I told them that if they wanted to see their mother’s magnificent spirit as a young woman; they would find her traveling through the pages of the signed books I was sending to them. The pirate queen and their mom were one in the same.

The Margaret letters are on my writing table, along with the little book about my rescue pirate dog. A picture of Margaret sits quietly beside it. When I enter the mystical writing place, my dear friend, my dog and I race out into the beautiful coastal waters – searching for the next adventure.

To learn about Margaret, visit www.piratedogs.weebly.com

The Margaret Letters

by Marsha Tennant


2 0 t h A N N I V E R S A R Y

Funded in part by

Thank you SponsorsThe Pawleys Island Festival of Music and Art gratefully acknowledges its dedicated corporate and media sponsors for their generous underwriting, which enables the Festival to maintain its commitment to quality arts programming at affordable ticket prices.

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A very special thank you goes to Litchfield Plantation and Litchfield Beach & Golf Resort for hosting this year’s events.

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Some of my previous friendships, though, are more similar to cut flower arrangements. Bright and beautiful, they arrived at the perfect time and served as: college roommates, study partners, summer camp pals and former neighbors. They bloomed, lifted my spirits and eventually expired. These friends fit the occasions of my life like lilies at Easter. And when they were no longer decorative, they were tossed aside.

A few friends have been lost to moves I have made throughout the years. I left behind a couple when I returned to Virginia, in 2006. There was Angie, for instance. She couldn’t come with me. She was an Eastern purple coneflower, native to South Carolina, and it was unlikely that she would have survived being uprooted. And then there was Richard, my Conway cattail. Life too far from the lowcountry wouldn’t have suited him either.

Others have left me – because of jobs, men and petty disagreements. They abandoned me, and for some time, I was lonely. I missed their vibrant colors and striking blooms. But after a while, I realized that these friendships were artificial. They appeared near perfect from a distance; but up close, they were comprised merely of silk and plastic. There was no real friendship, no solid root structure.

I have also been victimized by the prickly pears of the world. I stood helpless while they devoured all the good around them. I knew they were dan-gerous, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued. So I became a bit too trusting, leaned in a tad too close, and their spines pierced my skin.

I spent valuable time tending to the cacti and artificial flowers in my life. I dusted their plastic leaves and admired their pincushion hides. But I will not regret that time. I will not be sorry. For without them, I would never have learned what actually belonged in my garden.

My dear friends John and Meredith are my faithful perennials. Beneath the stormiest of skies, our friendship blossomed and proved constant. Each year, John and Meredith visit from Greenville, North Carolina. Their trip is as brief and lovely as azaleas in springtime. And though I always wish they could stay longer, I find comfort in knowing that because of their very nature, they will return.

Dawn and Pat are the wildflowers in my life, the blazing stars. They are spontaneous, exciting and fun. Our time together is sporadic, but nothing short of memorable. When I am with them, I feel free and alive. Together we are uncultivated and uninhibited.

Then there are my sturdy daylilies. Their leaves are bent and their stems are brittle. Yet they hang on, tolerating the shade and the lack of water. Named the “cast iron beauties” of the plant world, they have not given up, even though I abandoned them. Their strong roots run deep; they are my closest friends.

I am fortunate that they have survived, and that it is not too late for us. I may have time to save them, but I won’t get a second chance at every-thing. There are some things in life for which there is but one opportunity: attending a wedding, welcoming a new baby, going to a 30th birthday party.

I have learned my lesson. From now on, I will be a better gardener. Weeds will not distract me. I will water frequently and provide plenty of sun-light. Phone calls and written notes will nourish my friendships.

I will reserve a plot of land for seeds of new friendship while main-taining the ones that continue to bring me joy. All of my friends add some-thing different to my life; they each serve a purpose. Luckily, I have room for all varieties in my garden – and in my heart.

by Melissa Face

Like neglected plants, several of my friendships are beginning to wilt and wither in the shaded corners of my life. They have been around for years and have received minimal attention at best. Now, deprived of the elements that nourish and sustain existence, they are showing signs of exhaustion. I am worried about them.

AGardenof Friends


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Read It!Lisa Says…Read The Heights, by Peter Hedgesby Lisa Hamilton

Many of us seek a happy relationship or marriage and the love of family and friends. What happens to us when we find these things may not be satisfy-ing? Peter Hedges (What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, 1991) tells an often humorous, yet tender story in The Heights, a novel with sympathetically real char-acters in present society.

Tim and Kate are happily married with two chil-dren living the urban dream in Brooklyn Heights. Tim is a history teacher at an exclusive school, and Kate is a stay at home mom. Despite tremendous

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financial strains, they think their lives are almost perfect. Almost, being the prediction of things to come. When a wealthy socialite moves into the build-ing, with her eye on Tim, and Kate decides to go back to work, attitudes change and deception on many levels begin.

When interviewed about his book, The Heights, Hedges says he wants to be sure his characters are people you would want to spend a lot of time with. These characters certainly are; they are classically real and emotional. Hedges is able to pinpoint truths we often see in others, but not necessarily our-selves. This book is a testament to good writing and an enjoyable read.


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“Cars,” my not-quite-two-year-old son, Nathan, said, pointing at the hanging display of Matchbox cars at our local grocery store. He smiled sweetly and said it again.

“Yes, I see those cars,” I said.But Nathan shook his head.

“Need cars,” he said.“You already have lots of cars

at home,” I said.Nathan shook his head again

and said – quite loudly this time – “Mommy, cars!”

I glanced around the store and noticed a few people looking our way. But before I could even feel embarrassed, Nathan hollered again, “Need cars!”

“Nathan, we’re not going to buy a car today,” I said in my most soothing voice, “but you can play with your other cars as soon as we get home.”

Nathan nodded and seemed to calm down. Satisfied that he’d understood me, I turned around to grab some chocolate chips. In that instant, Nathan decided to help him-self to a car or two. He reached out to grab the coveted toys, but the plastic hanger they were on caught on a bag of sugar. Nathan kept pulling and ended up knocking three bags of sugar off the shelf. They fell to the floor where they – of course – broke open, dumping sugar everywhere.

“Uh oh,” Nathan yelled. “Mess, Mommy! Mess!”

I think half of our town was at the grocery store that day, and all of them were in the baking aisle, staring at me and the mess my son had made. A bag boy came over, saw the mess, muttered an expletive, and called for a “clean-up on aisle ten.” It was beyond embarrassing. All I needed now was for an old boyfriend to appear and want to “catch up.” That didn’t hap-pen – thank goodness – but the entire fiasco was bad enough.

When we arrived home from the grocery store – which I will not be going back to until after Nathan goes away to college – I put away the few groceries I managed to get before the sugar incident. I laid Nathan down for a nap, praying he would sleep for a long time.

Then I sat down on the couch and cried. I’m not sure why. I just did.

But just moments into my pity party, the phone rang. I sighed and muttered, “Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?” I grabbed the phone and barked a hello.

“Um, Diane? It’s Margaret from church. I’m calling because you’re on the prayer chain.”

Uh oh. Mid-week prayer chain calls always meant an accident or other emergency.

“What happened?” I said.“Matthew passed away this

morning,” she said. Matthew’s family attended our church. He was five, and he’d been battling leukemia since before his second birthday. We’d all known he didn’t have much longer, but still, the news hit me hard.

Margaret gave me the funer-al arrangements as I choked down more tears.

When we finally hung up, I returned to my spot on the couch, crying once again. I cried for Matthew’s parents. They were more acquaintances than friends, but my heart broke for them all the same.

My tears were sad, but they were also guilty. Guilty that just moments before, I’d thought I had problems. I’d been in a rotten mood because my son – my healthy, won-derful son – had embarrassed me at the grocery store. It was nothing com-pared to what Matthew’s mother had been through.

In fact, she’d probably give anything to go through that experi-ence, just to have her little boy back.

The funeral was heart-wrenching. It was only the second time I’d attended one for a child, and it hadn’t gotten any easier. I was crying before we even entered the church. One of the pall bearers handed me a program. I glanced down and read

Matthew’s name, along with a quote by William Ward. It said, “God gave you a gift of 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to say thank you?”

Matthew’s parents had cho-sen that quote because of Matthew’s love of life and gratitude for every day he was here, no matter what that day brought.

I thought about my own life and how often I found myself in a bad mood over something relatively minor. I realized how little gratitude I felt for the many blessings in my life. All of my children are healthy, but I hadn’t thought much about that. Instead, all too often, I focused on the small, but daily, frustrations of having young children – the messes, the tem-per tantrums, the noise, never getting to hold the remote.

But when I think about Matthew and his family, none of that stuff matters. My kids are a blessing, and I’m lucky to have them. No mat-ter what.

So today, instead of becom-ing annoyed at them for leaving toys on the floor and arguing over the last fudge pop, I’m going to spend some of my 86,400 seconds being grateful for them.

And I’m going to spend even more of that time enjoying them.

86,400 Seconds

by Diane Stark


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When he died that October morning eight years ago, it was hard to believe I would not see his vivid colors again. I imagined he had run off, like nature, blooming somewhere across the world, still living, just not in front of me. I thought I would see him again. After all, I’d seen him nearly every day for more than half my life. After his death, year after painful year, the irratio-nal thought persisted. I would wait for him. I would raise our children, then twelve and nine, while he did what he had to do and finally, re-appear. Letting go is not for the faint of heart.

It was eight years ago this month. A random heart attack in the middle of a short daily jog sucked every hope and joyful breath I’d ever taken from my lungs. I sob even now as I think of it and miss him. But I am not here to focus on the pain. I am here to focus on the restorative power of perseverance.

I began gingerly, with one tiny, practically minuscule step, every day. Sometimes I still ended up doubled over on my bedroom floor cursing him for “copping out” on me. But I got back up, made dinner, helped with homework, took a shower, read a book and went to bed. I did the same things over and over, day in and day out. I found comfort in routine, if not excitement. The days turned to weeks. Weeks to months and you know how it goes. At first I did everything for my children. If it weren’t for them, I would gladly have thrown myself on his grave and melted into the earth to be with him. I was dramatic, but certainly not brave.

The only thing I could say to myself was, “One thing at a time.” Some days the best I could do was curl into a ball and call a babysitter. After awhile I could, and did, do much better. Focusing on our children kept me from my selfish grief. Helping others saved me from myself. Three years ago, five years after he died, though there had been joy and family fun with just the three of us, I realized I wanted something for myself again. My daughter,

through her own herculean efforts, walked through her fear and is away for her third year at college. My son is a high school senior with more options than most. As this time approached for them, I pursued a master’s degree in writing. I am teaching my first class.

A strange thing is happening. I am afraid again. Routine comforted me. Focusing on my children kept the focus off of me. But that little spark that sur-faced those few years ago and led me to further my education now has me call-ing its bluff. I am alive. And the only thing I have to decide is what I’m going to do about it. It is both a privilege and a precarious place to be. A paradox, as they say.

So I am back to putting one foot in front of the other. I have learned a lot about myself in these last eight years. I am strong. And, I have choices. I can be a victim or I can be not only a survivor, but a person who thrives. I choose the latter. It is ridiculous to me that I am as nervous as I am teaching a class of first year college students about public speaking. It is what I did for two decades in the television news business

before my husband’s death derailed me. But fear no longer stops me. The thing about being afraid is that is accomplishes nothing, so I try to give it very little space. I feared all kinds of things as a younger woman, but I never feared I’d become a widow with two young children. The things I worried about never came to pass. The things I didn’t? I would have missed what we had by the haunting pain of knowing it would end.

As I approach fifty, I have a freedom I have never known. I am not afraid of failure. I am not afraid to be alone. I am not afraid to try new things. I am not afraid of death. Life can hurt me, but I can handle it. I’ve learned that if I am patient with myself, and not blinded by anger or self-pity, life makes up for what it takes away – maybe not in the same way, but in some way.

Getting Up Slowly

by Joan Lovelace

My husband died one fall in the cruel way that Mother Nature always does. Before we lose her, she bids farewell in breathtaking reds and golds, soothes us in breezes cool enough to invite companions beneath light blankets, but not cold, never cold. Jeffrey was autumn to me – gentle, calm. He was the warmth in my often restless, frightened heart.


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The Hand of

Friendshipby Margaret Bishop

Shortly after moving back to my hometown of Camden, South Carolina, I answered the telephone one afternoon to the friendly greeting of a woman at least some 50-plus years my senior. “Margaret Rose,” she inquired after my childhood moniker. “I just wanted to let you know that the man I saw working in your yard has been known to steal from people around town.” Given the fact that he’d been hired after knocking on our door unsolicited with a rake in hand, she was correct in assuming that we hadn’t done any reference checks. At home with my two small children, I peered nervously out the win-dow as she gave me a complete rundown of his prior history along with the names of the local families he’d scammed. When I hung up the phone, I real-ized that only in a small town does an acquaintance ride by your house, exam-ine the person in your yard, identify said person, and then follow up with a personal phone call to provide you with a complete work history. Some people may find this sort of helpfulness intrusive, but now that I’m an adult, I like to think of it as the extended hand of friendship.

Don’t get me wrong, there was a period of time in my life when I thought the idea that everyone knew who you were and what you were doing was suffocating at best. When I went off to college as a teenager, I was grateful for my picturesque childhood, but I had no intentions of returning to Camden to live – EVER! Living in complete anonymity in Knoxville, Tennessee, as a young newlywed, was freeing somehow. I never had to worry about stopping to speak to someone in the grocery store, hurting someone’s feelings when making out a party list or thinking twice about leaving the house sans makeup and a shower. After all, the chances of randomly running into someone I knew were slim.

When I moved back to Camden at the age of twenty-nine, I was preg-nant with my second child, and even though I was happy to be home, I still had reservations about what daily life in Camden might bring. Would my hus-band be happy surrounded by folks that had known me since childhood? Would I always be “little Margaret Rose?” In those first few months, I wasn’t sure. It seemed that every trip to Wal-Mart brought me into contact with someone that I hadn’t seen since high school. Many of these chance meetings were a pleasure, but a few left me wishing that I’d abandoned my grocery cart for a hiding spot.

Six years later, I can hardly imagine raising my growing family any-where except Camden. I still shudder when I stop to consider the potentially tragic outcomes that might have occurred the day my then-2 year old daughter

let herself out of the house and wandered into traffic, all in the time it took me to go to the bathroom. In a bigger city, cars may have zoomed by unaware and unconcerned, but the minute I spied my open back door and darted outside, I was greeted by the most welcome voice I’ve ever heard calling: “Margaret, she’s okay. I’ve got her.” A friend driving down the road with her own two children spied my mischievous offspring strolling along and immediately stopped traffic completely to come to her rescue. That particular kindness is probably still the most vividly etched incident in my memory, but it is far from being the only time that my neighbors in Camden – be they friends, family or total strangers – have offered assistance in the best spirit of friendship.

When my family goes out of town, we never have to worry about the safety of our home. With a watchful uncle two doors down and neighbors keeping an eye out from both sides of the street, we are always covered. From packages on the doorstep to phone calls about suspicious vehicles, we always have a sense that someone is watching out for our well-being. Of course, all this caring does come with its share of comedy at times. For instance, there was the vacation that my brother-in-law left a message reporting that there appeared to be smoke coming out of the chimney of our unoccupied home. You can imag-ine the frantic phone calling that ensued until we confirmed that it was a false alarm. But, I wouldn’t have it any other way. As a parent, my first and foremost concern is the safety of my children, and how lucky am I to have a whole com-munity helping me in this most important endeavor.

The woman that called to warn me about my potentially criminal yard man has passed away now. However, I hope that in remembering her ges-ture, I can remind myself to never get so caught up in the grind of my everyday life that I forget to look out for those that have been so kind in looking out for me. Life in a small town has its ups and downs, but I truly believe that there is no better place to look when searching for the hand of friendship.

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Determine what the bride wants you to wear on the big day and find a gorgeous mother of the bride dress. Then, consult with the groom’s mom on what you two will be wearing. You’ll both feel more comfortable if your elegance is in sync. Start looking for the perfect dress.

Attend (and possibly help organize) the bridal shower and the rehearsal dinner.

Escort the bride down the aisle if the bride’s father isn’t planning on it. (In a Jewish wedding both parents accompany the bride.)

In a Christian wedding, be seated in the first pew directly before the cere-mony and leave the chapel first afterward.

Stand in the receiving line to greet guests; traditionally, as reception host-ess, the mother of the bride heads up the line.

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Remind the bride often how special she is and that she’ll be the most beautiful bride in history.

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gets candidMeet Sasee Bride, Shannon Camp

Blond and beautiful, Shannon Camp is full of smiles and energy – and she needs lots of energy for her busy life! Originally from Rutherfordton, North Carolina, for the past fourteen years Shannon has worked as

Systems and Information Analyst for the Jackson Company, is known throughout the Grand Strand as a devoted, tireless volunteer and, at 36, is

planning her dream wedding to Ben Detzler.

Shannon, we know you are very committed to making our com-munity a better place, please tell us a little about what you do.Currently, I am on the Board of Directors with the Myrtle Beach Area Chamber of Commerce; I am the past chair of the gsScene for Young Professionals and just finished a nine-year term on the Leadership Grand Strand Board of Regents. But, my heart is truly in my work with the Grand Strand Miracle League. When I was younger, I babysat for a child with Williams Syndrome and went to her games. The kids love getting out there and playing ball – we can come and go as we please, but these games are their big outing for the week. I cried for the first fifteen minutes of the first game I attended after I started volunteering, but it is so rewarding.

I am very fortunate that my employers encourage and support my vol-unteer work. I have big shoes to fill. Our CEO and General Manager are both involved with so many nonprofits and strongly believe in giving back to the community.

OK, we all want to know about your upcoming wedding, please tell us about it!When Ben and I sat down to make the guest list, it came to 470 people! (laughing) We knew we could not afford to have a wedding that large, so now it’s down to a manageable 127 people. We want a very traditional wedding. My dress is white, with a heavily-beaded bodice, an empire waist and a satin and chiffon skirt. We’re holding the wedding on October 2nd, in Pawleys Island Chapel at sunset, and the reception will be in Litchfield by the Sea. One of my close friends is a former pastry chef, and she is making my cake and catering the reception.

How did Ben propose?We started dating in February of 2009, and he proposed in February of 2010. It was during the big snowstorm we had the day before Valentine’s Day. Ben and I were at his grandparents’ house on Ocean Isle and had gone for a walk on the beach. When we came back, Ben wanted us to work a jigsaw puzzle. I noticed that he kept a few pieces in his hand, and he would not tell me what the puzzle was! Finally, I saw it. Ben had a puz-zle made from a picture of his dog, Muttley, dressed up and sitting beside a sign saying, “Will You Marry My Dad?”

And, that’s not all – that night we drove to Uptown Myrtle Beach to see Carolina Improv Company perform. I had worked with Gina Trimarco, the founder and manager of Carolina Improv Company, and was excited to be going. What I didn’t know was that half the show that night was about us! They re-created our first date, the proposal and us in fifty years. Our families were all there. It was amazing!

So, you’re pretty sure you’ve picked the right guy…I am positive. I knew for sure when I had surgery at the end of last sum-mer, and Ben waited on me hand and foot. He still loves me after seeing me at my worst – screaming and yelling, no makeup, it was pretty bad. This is true love.

To see Shannon’s wedding album, visit www.sasee.com later in the month.

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S o u t h e r n S n a p s

Tammy Mills:Living The Best Life Now

by Leslie Moore

Tammy Mills is the picture of health – pretty and petite with glowing skin and a bright smile. Our meeting in a local restaurant was filled with laughter, fun and a few tears. Why the tears? Tammy has Stage 4 breast cancer that has metastasized to her liver. She’s been told it can be treated, but not cured. “I just want to live,” Tammy told me, after we sat down together. “I want to live out my bucket list!”

A routine mammogram late in 2006 first revealed a suspicious calcification in her right breast. It

was tiny, and Tammy had never felt a lump or had any problems. However, the risk had been a part of her life for many years. Tammy’s mother is a three time survivor of breast cancer and is now being treated for lung cancer. “I was not shocked by my diagnosis,” Tammy remembers, “I was the same age as my mother was the first time she was diagnosed.”

After having an array of tests, Tammy was diagnosed with Stage 1 breast cancer and started treatment. She had radiation every day for six weeks and was then put on an estrogen blocking medication. Life went on as usual, and Tammy worked every day at her job as a medical assistant for South Strand Internists. Single, Tammy was surrounded by a loving group of friends and sustained by her strong faith.

After being treated for breast cancer, check-ups are given every three months for the first year, every four months the second year, every six months during the third and fourth year, and then, if everything stays normal, only annual checkups are required. By April of 2010, as Tammy was nearly ready to be released to annual check-

ups, the cancer came back.“The last part of 2009 was very

stressful for me,” said Tammy. “I lost my beloved Yorkie to a freak accident, moved and ended a relationship. But, by the spring of 2010, I had finally gotten through the grief and was ready to move on. I was going to the beach, playing volleyball and had started rowing in local Dragonboat races. Life was good.”

Tammy’s oncologist, Dr. Carol Bogdon, had run tests for tumor markers in her blood and, even though her mammo-gram was normal, her tumor markers were very high. After a PET scan, a test often used to detect tumors, Tammy learned that the breast cancer had recurred in her liver. In the blink of any eye, she went from having Stage 1 to Stage 4 cancer.

Of course, Tammy was devastated.



“I had no symptoms at all. All I can remember feeling was shock and disbelief; I couldn’t see or feel anything wrong. It was very hard to take it all in.”

More tests were run, including one very painful liver biopsy, and a trip to Duke University for a second opinion, before the deci-sion was made to begin chemotherapy. While Tammy has been for-tunate to not have some of the more severe symptoms of chemother-apy, she still suffers from flu-like symptoms, fatigue, bone pain and severe gastric distress. But the worst thing for Tammy was that within two weeks of receiving her first treatment, she lost her hair.

“I started losing my hair on a Thursday, two weeks after the first treatment,” Tammy remembers, “and by Saturday it was very noticeable. That was when I had my biggest cry, somehow losing my hair made it real. Losing my hair was awful, more than awful.”

Fortunately for Tammy, she is surrounded by friends who will not allow her to walk this path alone. On that following Monday, one of her close friends went with her to a “Look Good…Feel Better” program, sponsored by the American Cancer Society, designed to help alleviate the appearance-related side effects of cancer. She and her friend dressed up, wore beautiful scarves and big earrings and it was there that Tammy made the decision to buy a wig.

“Glenda Stark, owner of The Wig Shop in Murrells Inlet, where I bought the wig I wear now, made me feel so welcome and so beautiful. My wig has made so much difference in the way I feel. The first one I saw is the one I ended up with, but we tried them all on and laughed and had fun! I realized that I could still be beautiful without hair.”

Another friend had suggested some time back that Tammy contact the Cancer Treatment Centers of America (CTCA), but Tammy vetoed the idea because she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave home for treatment and didn’t want to miss even more work. But, one Saturday, after losing her hair, Tammy broke down and called CTCA and talked to an Oncology Information Representative for nearly an hour. Within two weeks, she and a friend were flying to the center in Oklahoma for a consultation.

“I realized that I am important, and this is my life. I want to live!”

Cancer Treatment Centers of America has four cancer treatment hospitals in the United States and offered Tammy a wide array of services. She now flies to the center in Tulsa, Oklahoma, every three weeks for her chemotherapy treatments and has learned other ways to be healthier, such as changes to her diet, a better vitamin regimen to protect her immune system, which is crucial to fighting cancer, and ways to alleviate stress. Tammy is very pleased with her treatment, telling me, “I see an oncologist, a naturopathic physician, a dietitian, a spiritual counselor and a psychologist every time I go. They treat me like a person, not a patient and respect whatever decisions I make.”

Steve Mackin, president and CEO in Tulsa, said, “We listen to what patients want and value in their cancer care. We listen because treatment deci-sions are among the most important decisions a person living with cancer will ever make. We listen to fully understand what patients hope to achieve – their individual life and health goals. Understanding these goals helps us to see

cancer patients as people not protocols; and allows us to uphold our commitment to provide clear information and powerful and thorough treatment options, all based on the needs of the patients we serve…The term ‘patient-centered’ is used heavily nowadays, but patients truly are at the center of all we do. In fact, we just introduced Patient Empowered Care, an advancement in the patient treatment delivery process that empowers patients to be active participants in their care. Cancer affects every person differently. No two patients are the same. No two cancers are the same. No two treat-ment plans are the same. Therefore, we have tai-lored our integrated care model which combines state-of-the-art medicine to aggressively treat the

cancer with scientifically supported complementary therapies to manage side effects and improve quality of life.”

Tammy’s last visit to CTCA showed a small shrinkage in her tumor. She feels good most of the time and continues to work and spend time with her friends. “I surround myself with positive people. My friends and my Women’s Life Group from church keep me upbeat and happy. I learned that I do not have to go through this alone. When people ask me how I am able to be so positive, I tell them that God is bigger than cancer!” This support system includes her co-workers as well, who held a fundraiser for Tammy this past June, raising over $8,000. They called it, “For the Love of Tammy.”

To learn more about Cancer Treatment Centers of America, visit www.cancercenter.com.


A man has made at least a start on discovering the meaning of human life when he plants shade trees under which he knows full well he will never sit. – D. Elton Trueblood

My 88-year-old friend, Hilda, exemplified positive thinking. She loved to laugh and to hear others laugh. One of her favorite songs (and her life philosophy) was the chirpy reggae tune by Bobby McFerrin, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”…and, to my great good fortune, one of her special projects toward that end, for over 40 years, was ME.

We met in 1970, through our spouses. I knew her as “Sam,” a nick-name given her by her husband, Asa, when she learned to golf back in the 40s. We were 21 years apart in age and as different as could be. She was the con-summate Southern gal, fun-loving, outgoing, glamorous and colorful. I was a northerner, and back then, rather serious and introverted.

On the outside, it would seem Sam had little to laugh about after Asa died, leaving her alone in her late 70s, with her own meager Social Security to live on. But she never bothered others with financial, emotional or health problems. She described an evening with fellow residents of her low-income senior complex, saying that as they told tales of their ailments and aches and pains, someone turned to Sam and asked, “What about you, Hilda, Don’t YOU have any ailments?” She replied emphatically, “None that I talk about!”

Her many friends and a beloved niece far away in England were her only family. We loved her philosophical nature and outspokenness and could always count on her to provide no-nonsense guidance for whatever issues we had. She imparted her strength and wisdom to me in weekly phone chats,

Don’t Worry,

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always stressing that things don’t just “work out,” but that WE must work them out. Her main mission, however, was to instigate laughter and promote the joy of living.

Last November Sam became ill after not feeling well for almost a year. Chronic bronchitis, the doctor she eventually fired thought. But it was not bronchitis. Advanced lung cancer…a matter of weeks was the diagnosis.

Even as she faced her final days in a run-down nursing home on a coastal island far from her friends, she still found and created reasons to laugh and rejoice. She brought new life into the place, though her own would end just ten weeks later. She’d never stepped foot in the home prior to her illness, but she’d told me for the past nine years. “When it’s my time, there’s where I will go!” She cared only about spending her last days “at the beach,” even though what little beach view the home had enjoyed a decade ago was now obliterated by beachfront condos.

A Google search revealed the home to be the lowest ranked in the state and the subject of an ongoing investigation. Touring it before her move I was reduced to uncontrollable tears. Sam stood her ground, however, when I tried presenting other options and pointed out that she couldn’t see the beach from there.

“But I shall see the sea birds flying overhead, and I shall feel the ocean breeze,” she pronounced.

Amazingly, Sam came alive the day she went to the nursing home, emaciated after two horrific weeks in the hospital. “The ride over was just wonderful!” she gloried, as I met her and the hired transport she’d insisted on using…a badly battered Buick driven by a rough looking woman with two kids in tow. From her wheelchair in the parking lot, eyes twinkling, she chor-tled, “Can you believe it? I’m finally living at the beach!”

The dreary room was not made up and half of it was piled with the belongings of a departed resident, the first of many upsetting discoveries for her friends. But looking out the window, Sam cheered at seeing a palm tree through the banged up blinds hanging at odd angles. Two large stern-faced nurses came in and told her to strip so they could do a skin check. I turned my back, but kept a listening ear. Unfazed, it didn’t take long before Sam had them both laughing and cracking jokes. Later, these two became her best advocates, even risking their own positions by confronting the adminis-trators on her behalf.

Many bad things happened over the next two months, but even then Sam did not want to be relocated to the posh Hospice facility when we tried to convince her. Always, she focused on the positive and found a rea-son to make laughter happen. When the end became imminent, we were amazed at the steady stream of tearful staff members and residents who came into her room throughout the day, giving her hugs and kisses and say-ing their heartfelt goodbyes.

In the seven months since Sam left us, remarkable things have hap-pened. The nursing home staff joined with her friends to organize a beauti-fication of the home’s courtyard in her honor. The donations and enthusi-asm were such that it grew into a major landscaping project and will soon bear a plaque in Sam’s name. The friends befriended each other, as well as the staff and patients. Both residents and workers have expressed great joy in the improved quality of their environment. In a place where there were few smiles, now there are many.

Sam requested that any money left in her meager account be given to the local Tree Society. She donated her body to a local medical college, giving new insights and knowledge to others, even after death. Probably not much laughter there, but that is for her friends, old and new, to carry on. She would insist on it.


Eat, Pray,

Love – Think, Talk?

by Janey Womeldorf

It took just one sentence of Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Eat, Pray, Love, to stop me in my tracks. The words leapt off the page at me, and I felt my whole body sag.

“No, no, not now,” I pleaded to myself, “all I want to do right now is not think.” I was desperate for mental “quiet time” and had come to my favor-ite bookstore for a decadent, lazy afternoon of nothing but me, myself and I. Mental silence is a rarity for me because I am never not thinking; the chatter inside my head is constant. I believe my brain only sleeps when I do, and even then it’s really just on hold. The rest of the time, it analyzes, makes lists, pon-ders and talks to me. In fact, conversations with myself have become such a normal part of my day that I find it hard to make decisions anymore without discussing it with myself first. In public, my brain and I carry out these conver-sations privately inside my head; at home though, I just chat away. Some peo-ple call it talking to yourself; I call it thinking out loud. At times, I wish I could turn my brain off. This, of course, will never happen, so instead, I seek mental quiet time in bookstores.

I spied the perfect, secluded, comfy chair, marked my spot with my stash of magazine brain-fluff, and trotted over to the café for my indulgent drink of choice. Any book with “eat” in the title has instant appeal, so along with my stack of magazines, I had also picked up Eat, Pray, Love, a previous Oprah favorite now on the best-seller list. I sank into my inviting, oversized chair, sipped the creamy foam off my chocolate-sprinkled cappuccino, and two cooking magazines later turned to chapter one.

I heard myself exhale one of those audible, whole-body sighs; even my heartbeat felt slower. My brain was still, and it felt cathartic and delicious; sadly, it would not last long. Elizabeth Gilbert’s book is a journey of her self-discovery and in chapter nine, she mentions a great philosopher who would have his students write down the three things they most wanted in life. It jarred me upright, and I took a deep, sharp breath before repeating the words to myself, “The three most important things in my life.” I presumed her three things turned out to be eat, pray, love – hence the title – and knew instantly my mental slumber was doomed. My philosophical mind thrives on this type of question, and the sudden need to determine my own three things hijacked my idling brain. My lethargic body screamed, “Ignore it, ignore it,” but it was useless; my brain was back open for business, unleashing with it unwanted thoughts of dinner, laundry and to-do lists. With my concentration shattered, I closed the book, breathed the other type of sigh, gathered my belongings and cursed Elizabeth for crashing my party. I shuffled out of the store mumbling, “Three things,” like a mantra.

To the untrained ear, talking, or as I prefer to say, thinking out loud sounds like a real conversation. It took my husband years before he realized that when I stand in the kitchen, hand on my chin, staring blankly at the con-tents of the well-stocked but uninspiring pantry asking out loud, “What shall I do for dinner tonight?” that I wasn’t talking to him. In the beginning, he would answer:

“What about that one creamy pasta dish?” My response was always the same, “No, not in the mood for that.”It was such a shame – I was never in the mood for any of his sugges-

tions, so he gave up trying. I endeavor to remember this when I accuse him of leaving dinner ideas up to me night after night.

My husband’s the opposite of me; he’s an internal thinker who con-


templates everything in his head first. It gives me mental constipation just thinking about it. He once asked me if I am ever “not thinking.” My immedi-ate response was, “What must that be like?” I have the same response whenever someone tells me they don’t drink coffee.

Back at the house, the laundry, mail and the looming dinner that I still don’t have figured out distract my thoughts.

“Where’s the other sock?” I moan. Seconds later, “Found it.” I shut the dryer door and walk past the kitchen en route to the bedroom. “What about that chicken-rice dish?” I ask the stove. “No, had that the other night,” I reply. I reach the bedroom and out of nowhere three words ground me. “Travel, love, health,” my inner voice yells. As if it were perfectly normal to be standing in the middle of the bedroom, fixed to the spot, holding my laundry basket, I grin and shriek to no-one, “Yes, that’s it – travel, love, health.” The surge of excitement gets me moving again, but my brain is not finished.

“Is your answer in order of priority, because if it is, shouldn’t travel come last?” I tut, desperate to ignore the question and figure out the more pressing what-to-do-for-dinner issue. I return to the kitchen and stare blankly into the pantry before blurting, “Creamy pasta dish.” I sigh with relief, the din-ner-dilemma saga solved for yet another day. Instantly, my brain defaults to my three-things dilemma, and I repeat again, “Travel, love, health.” The words wash a reassuring calm over me and I smile, comforted by how it feels.

Rather than curse Elizabeth, I now want to thank her. She inspired me to take time out of my merry-go-round and concern myself with things more important than creamy pasta and socks. In doing so, I smelled the roses, and gained a priceless reminder of what’s important in life.

As for their order, well that’s another conversation.One I daresay, I shall have with myself.

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Exuberanceby Kim Seeley

I was perusing a magazine, while at a beach cot-tage last spring, when I first saw it. It seemed so simple, yet it drew me in, it spoke to me. It was a full page photograph of three white-haired ladies splashing in the surf. The photographer’s expertise was impressive, capturing the spray of the water, the blue of the skies, the very fabric of their bathing suits. But I am no photography scholar; it was not the artist’s technical skill that seized my imagination. What captured my attention was the ability to express the zest, the smiles, the absolute joy of the moment that these older ladies were experiencing. I walked across the room to show the picture to my daughter and then to my husband. “This,” I said, “is how I want to feel when I am old.”

I wanted to take the magazine home with me, simply because that pic-ture made such an impression on me. But I didn’t. I didn’t need to. That picture still pops into my mind every now and then. The ladies’ white hair gleaming in the sunlight, and their infectious smiles flash upon my “inward eye” just as Wordsworth’s daffodils appeared to him. Were the ladies lifelong friends? Were they all residents at the same retirement home? Did they all own splendid cot-tages along this rocky coast? I will never know. It doesn’t really matter.

None of these ladies seemed particularly beautiful. Their bodies had rounded with age, their waistlines protruded rather than indented. Their faces were creased with wrinkles. No doubt they awoke that morning with some of the aches and pains that old age seems to bring to us all. But what the photo-graph shows is that they still had the zest for living. They had not forgotten how to play, and they had not lost their exuberance. That is what I long for – I want to feel that zest for living, I envy their joie de vivre.

How do I capture that exultation in life, when I am still living in the shadow lands? I am not quite so much in the dark as I was, but I realize I am

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still in the shadows. In a few days, it will be the seventh anniversary of my 19-year old daughter’s death, a split-second of time that plunged me into the valley of the shadow where only the grieving dare to go. And only a few of us make it out.

I know of a local woman who shut out life completely after her teen-age daughter was killed by a drunk driver. No one in town ever saw her again. Her husband did the grocery shopping. She quit attending church. She became a recluse.

People more experienced in the ways of grief attempted to soothe me. “Time will make it easier,” one lady told me after church. “Before long, your daughter will be just a pleasant memory.”

I was not in the mood for reassurance. “I don’t want her memory,” I replied. “I want her here. Now. In the flesh. I want her back.” The lady didn’t know how to respond to that. I didn’t expect a response. I hadn’t received a response from God Himself, so I certainly wasn’t counting on one from a mere human.

The woman’s comment did contain an element of truth; I just wasn’t ready to hear it. Time does assuage the pain. Life helps to assuage the pain. But the grieving must choose life. There were many times after my daughter’s accident when I thought about the grieving mothers who refused to get out of bed for months after losing a child. But I chose to get up every day. I remem-ber reading an article about grief that was entitled, “First, you tie your shoes.” How true. First, we grieving people must choose to continue our own exis-tences here on earth.

Friends and family also help in those first steps out of the darkness. One of my husband’s friends just came over at night and made conversation with us. Hearing news of the community and local school helped us see beyond our pain, if only for a little while. My family and friends invited me to go shopping with them or to sample a new restaurant.

Day by day, month by month, life itself helps ease the pain. I had started a new job; I was teaching seventy-five students. There were people who needed my skills. All of those demands helped pull me out of the abyss.

Then three of my girlfriends and I planned a cross-country trip. The natural and spiritual wonders I experienced on that trip brought me moments of joy I did not think would be possible for me again. Nature helped bring me out of the shadow lands and into the light.

Last year, I took a trip to England. That was another item on my bucket list. I had been an English major in college, and visiting the birthplace of Shakespeare and Poet’s Corner in Westminster Abbey were just two of the highlights of a trip that brought me closer to rapture. I wept with joy and grief on my last day in London when our taxi passed the Queen’s carriage, with its royal insignia and prancing steeds. I knew I might never pass that way again, but I was thankful for the experience.

A person cannot travel forever – at least not a person with my modest income. I have experienced great joy from my travels, but the joy of the ladies in that photograph did not come merely from new scenery. Their faces expressed such delight in the present moment, in allowing themselves to feel, truly feel, the cool water, the ocean breeze. That is the type of joy one may find in any location. That is the exuberance I truly seek. Let me be mindful of the joys of this day, wherever I may be. Let me be fully present in this moment. Let me feel the optimism and love of my much-anticipated grandson when he arrives this fall.

I have tied my shoes. I have started the walk. May I continue the journey from the shadow lands of grief into the light of joy. Grant me the exuberance of the white-haired ladies, and give me the presence of mind to be grateful for it.


Petticoats, Parrots and Other Tales

by Reagan McDonald


Weddings are funny things. Not that I believe that getting married is a unique idea – just that it is a unique and new experience for every brave soul who embarks upon that journey. And…as I stand at the brink of my own, in full bridal regalia (because, let’s face it, if you’re gonna do it, do it all the way), no one looking back in my direction can tell that underneath layers of tulle and satin – under all of those damn crystals I had to have – I have sweat rolling down the backs of my legs in torrents. In fact, even as my father and I step down the aisle, my ridiculous petticoat has twisted around each thigh and scrunched all the way up to my waist. Sexy, right?

I forget to look forward towards Joe the whole way down the aisle. In fact, I forget he’s the actual “end game” until my father stops and passes me off to him. I’ve been waiting for countless months to see his expression when he finally sees me coming down the aisle, and I missed it. We kneel in front of the priest, and he says, “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” And the answer is yes. Yes, we certainly have.

Not that Joe and I have been together so long that it’s been such a journey. On the contrary, we dated a respectable year and a half before he pro-posed. Fourteen months after that, and here we are. Joe doesn’t like to waste anyone’s time, and I appreciate that, because I’ve wasted too much already.

While my darling husband focused entirely on school, and then his career, he really never sweat the relationship thing. I, however, have been sweat-ing it since Michael Tomayo bestowed my very first kiss upon me at the age of thirteen, upstairs, in my bedroom, with the door open, our pre-algebra books on the floor in front of us. I thought it was a defining moment in our “relation-ship.” He defined it further later on that afternoon when he chose to bike over to my friend Christin’s house to share algebraic moments with her as well. Thus began two patterns that would remain steadfast throughout my life – first, a passionate hatred of all things math-related. The second was relationships that just wouldn’t last.

Don’t get me wrong. Some seemed to be interminable. In college I dated a really nice guy for four years. Four years, as it turns out, of wasted time. By the time I got out of college, I became too busy to pursue much, and that is when my mother (as always, full of bright ideas) suggested I join an online dat-ing site. She even paid for it, believing it to be an investment. She invested in my love life for three years. That’s right, three years of a few one- to two-month relationships, but mostly just a bunch of really bad dates. Looking back on it now, I consider it all to have been a social experiment. The mortifying anec-dotes that I could tell the ladies at lunch about, in outrage, had to be kept to myself around my mother. Let’s face it, my mom didn’t need to hear about the coffee date who asked me to go back to his place and give him a spanking. She doesn’t need to know about the man who told me he’d been in prison for eight years over an icy frappaccino as innocuously as if he were discussing the weath-er. Apparently, Dr. Whatshisface never considered adding those kinds of issues to his “27 Points of Compatibility.”

The last straw was a guy who had suggested we go to a happy hour to meet. He pounded drinks down and told me that if he got too wasted, he was always responsible. His idea of “responsibility” was to call a tow truck to come haul him inside of his vehicle to his driveway. He said he did this “all the time.” While that was enough of a turn-off for me, the fact that he had two Macaw parrots was the real clincher.

“Wow,” I found myself saying. I felt my eyebrows furrowing, and tried to iron out my expression. “So, those things live like, forever, don’t they?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to will them to someone when I die.” He said this like it was the coolest thing in the world, but all I could think of was beaks and claws scratching around in cages. I thought about the commitment this man had already made to these birds, and the fact that they would not just be his pets, but that he would then, in turn, thrust them upon someone else when he died. I thought it was really inconsiderate. It was like, Hey, I’ve got two tod-dlers that will never grow up, and when I die, they get to be yours! What a jerk. Needless to say, when I “closed” the relationship after the date, there was no reason under “Closure” for “parrot-loving drunk,” I just had to improvise and select “other.”

The day I decided to pull the plug on the ridiculous farce that had become my love life, I had one last guy who had eked through to the email phase on my profile. It was Joe. I went on our first date with no expectations whatsoever; I was jaded. He told me to meet him at the zoo, which was a huge chunk of time to be potentially around someone you didn’t know. I mean, cof-fee or drinks can be done in forty-five minutes, but there’s no way you’re get-ting out of the zoo in less than a couple hours without being rude. I was leery, to say the least. My brain buzzed with all of the potentially awful things a per-son could say or do when confronted with zoo animals and an audience. I made a mental note to avoid the talking bird section at all costs. However, Joe wasn’t disgusting or crass, and he certainly didn’t own any parrots, which was a huge checkmark on my mental list of pros and cons. I cleared him for another date that same night. I was hooked.

Not to say that Joe doesn’t have his faults. He watches Bill O’Reilly every day, he rants at the news, and he literally turns purple over getting cut off on the freeway. He is so tightly wound that if something happens to his rou-tine, it will ruin his day completely. I, on the other hand, like the variety of doing different things. I’m so flexible with my schedule that I really don’t know what I’d do without him to remind me about where we need to be. I don’t like conflict, and I don’t like worrying about anything. Somehow this works for us.

So, as we grab the flowers to bestow upon the Blessed Virgin (because Joe is uber-Catholic, and I respect him enough to just go with it), and I walk with him to the statue to the far right, I feel as though my petticoat is literally trailing out behind me from underneath my gown. However, I’m not worried about the fact that I didn’t see his expression. I don’t even think about the fact that Fox news is the new soundtrack of my life. I don’t have any reservations about having my schedule locked down for eternity. I’m content to know that while my journey to this point was as twisted as my undergarments, this man was my destination the whole time.


History, Hayrides,and Horses Add to the Fun of Harvest

Home Weekend,October 16 & 17!

Harvest Home Weekend is two days of family friendly fun with a scare-crow building contest,

pumpkin painting and hay rides.

New this year, Team Marsh Tacky will saddle up and ride

for festival-goers and show this breed’s easy going nature and natural athleticism. Colonial Camp, will provide engaging

activities for children and adults to experience the daily life during

the early 18th century.Go online for a complete

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or visit us online atwww.Brookgreen.org

16th Street Salon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31Abrams Department Store . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11Accents by Carol . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15Brookgreen Gardens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42Burroughs & Chapin Art Museum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42Butler’s Electric Supply . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31Coastal Carolina Breast Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43Croissants Bistro & Bakery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12CuriosiTees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43Dickens Christnas Show & Festivals Week . . . . . . . .17Eleanor Pitts Fine Gifts & Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13Evita . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15

First Trust Mortgage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37Fresh Cut Florist & Decor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31Go Fish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12Hammock Shops . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11Hannah Bs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .41Homespun Craft & Antique Mall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .39Indigo Landscaping and Construction, Inc . . . . . . . .13Island Breeze . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31JJ Rich . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17Long Bay Symphony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46Maguire Law Firm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Maintenance Task Providers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .39

Marina Inn at Grande Dunes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11The Market Common . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9McLeod Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3Palm Shoes & Collections . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17Palmetto Ace Home Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art . . . . . . . . . . . . 9Pee Dee Orthopaedic Associates, PA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2Personal Touch Med Spa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48PuRPLEologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37Rose Arbor Fabrics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2Sassyfras . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

The Strand Styling Studio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17Studio 77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35Totally Chic Salon & Spa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35Trost Jewelers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43Wild Heir Labrador Rescue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .47WEZV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46Wild Heir Labrador Rescue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .47

Bridal GuideBarbara’s Fine Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23Bright & Beautiful . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24Burroughs & Chapin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20Calabash Garden Tea Room . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29

Advertiser Index


One out of seven women will develop breast cancer.Turn to the area’s only surgical practice dedicated solely to breast health, offering the latest in detection and treatment including HALOTM screening and SAVITM - an innovative device in radiation delivery.

A mastectomy is no longer your only choice.

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N. Craig Brackett, III, MD, FAC Imaging Center at Waccamaw Medical Park4181 Highway 17 Bypass, Murrells Inlet, SC

Francis B. Ford Cancer Treatment Center 2405 North Frasier Street, Georgetown, SC

(843) 651-3308 • coastalbreastcenter.com

Coastal Carolina Breast Center Celebrate with Us!100 Years in Business

Hidden Village (Across from Cagney’s) • 9902 N. Kings Hwy., Myrtle Beach, S.C.843-692-9018

50% off everything in the store for the month of October

Since 1910

CuriosiTees7645-5 High Market Street, Sunset Beach, NC 28468 • Just past Ingram Planetarium • 910-575-7605

Fall Fashions - Timeless GiftsCarolina Coastal Plastic & Reconstructive Surgery 23Christian Counseling Clinic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20Christopher’s Fine Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .21Coastal Bridal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25David E. Grabeman, D.D.S., P.A. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .21Delectable Occasions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29Fancy Frocks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .27The Gentle Cycle Boutique . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29Grady’s Jewelers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23Habibis Cafe & Market . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26In Style Hair Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25Island Shoes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22K9 Cabana . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26The Kangaroo Patch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29

Lazy Fish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26The Little White Dress . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30Operation Happily Ever After . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22Pawleys Island Bakery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20Peaches & Cream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .27Physicians Weight Loss Centers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24Salt Aire Bakery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .27Silver Coast Winery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26Smart & Sassy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .25Stephanies, Inc. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24Studio 77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24Taylor’s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .21Ursula Designer • Seamstress . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26Waynes View Photography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29

october


Lost in Yonkers, Murrells Inlet Community Theatre, shows Fri., Sat., Sun. For times and ticket info, call 843 651-4152 or visit www.mictheatre.com.

Italian Festival, sponsored by The Sons of Italy Lodge #2662, Broadway at the Beach, Italian food, continuous entertainment, Italian souvenirs, arts and crafts vendors,

free. For more info, call 843-902-7469.

9-10

2010 Race for the Cure, 7 am, Daniel Island, S.C. For more info, call 843-556-3343 or visit www.komenlowcountry.org.

22-31

Into the Woods, Theatre of the Republic, 337 Main St., Conway. For times and ticket info, call 843-488-0821 or visit www.theatreoftherepublic.com.

Fall Garden Festival, Inlet Culinary Gardens, 8 am-5 pm, featuring herbs and vegetables selected for our fall and winter growing season. Members of the Lowcountry Herb society will be on hand to answer questions. For more info, e-mail [email protected].

Tuesday Treasures Concert Series presents Dr. Jeffrey Jones and members of his voice studio, Holy Cross Faith Memorial Episcopal Church, 7:30 pm, free. For more info, call 843-237-3035.

13-31

Art in the Park, 10 am-4 pm, Chapin Park. For more info, call 843-448-7690. 9-10

22-23

1916

Couture for the Cure, Fall Fashion Show and High Tea to benefit Brides Against Breast Cancer, Pine Lakes Country Club, $35. For ticket info, contact the Little White Dress at 843-449-4940.

22A Haunted House of Fashion, Fashion Show and Luncheon, presented by the Long Bay Symphony Guild, 11am, luncheon at noon, Dunes Golf and Country Club, $35. For more info, call 843-650-3002 or 843-448-8550.

30

St. Francis Animal Center Masquerade Mutt Strut, on the grounds of St. Paul’s Waccamaw UMC, 10 am-1 pm, $10 registration. 23

The

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Visit www.sasee.com for a full calendar and

more Sasee events!

Creative Exchange Series, “The Art of Muralism and Faux Painting,” Marilyn Kerney, Sunset River Marketplace, 10283 Beach Drive, Calabash N.C., 11 am-12:30 pm, lunch included, $5, RSVP required. For more info, call 910-575-5999.

13

27th Annual Taste of the Town, to benefit St. Andrew Catholic Church, 4-10 pm, Myrtle Beach Convention Center, $5, $6 at the door. For more info, call 843-448-6062.12

november The Scoo

p

7th Annual Murrells Inlet 2020 oyster Roast, Spud’s Waterfront Dining Parking Lot, 11:30 am-3:30 pm, $25 for all you can eat oysters. For more info, call 843-357-2007.

Moveable Feast, Mary Alice Monroe discusses The Long Road Home, 11 am, DeBordieu Beach Club, $25. For more info, call 843-235-9600 or visit www.classatpawleys.com.5

creative Exchange Series, “Fashion Accessories and Artisan Jewelry,” Betsy Russell of B. Russell Designs, Sunset River Marketplace, 10283 Beach Drive, Calabash N.C., 11 am-12:30 pm,

lunch included, $5, RSVP required. For more info, call 910-575-5999.

13

“Symphonic Blockusters,” Long Bay Symphony, Myrtle Beach High School Music & Arts Center, Robert Grissom Parkway, 4 pm, Myrtle Beach, $35 & $45. For more info, call 843-448-8379.

Shop ‘Til You Drop Expo, CB Community Center, 10 am-3 pm, Rt. 179 and Hwy. 17N at S.C. State line in Little River, dry or canned goods accepted for donation to local food bank . For more info, call 843-756-3494 or 843-504-4271.

29th Annual Dickens christmas Show, Myrtle Beach Convention Center, Thurs.-Sat. 9 am-6 pm, Sun. noon-6 pm. For more info, visit www.dickenschristmasshow.com or call 800-261-5991.

6-7, 13-14

7

Bag Ladies Luncheon to benefit the Art Museum of Myrtle Beach, Marina Inn, 11 am-1 pm, members $35, non-members $40. For more info, call 843-238-2510.

Women2Women Ministry presents “Dealing with the Big Ds,” Grace Church Waccamaw, 9 am-noon, $30 if preregistered 7 days before the event, $40 at the door. For more info, call 843-655-9380 or visit www.women2womenministry.com.

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MB Annual Direct Sellers christmas open House, open to the public, 9 am-3 pm. Holiday Inn West, free. Shop for Christmas and win door prizes! For

more info, call 843-997-1017.20S.c. State Bluegrass Festival, Myrtle Beach Convention Center, $35 & $40 daily admission, $20 & $25 children 6-12, 3 day passes available. For more info, call 706-864-7203 or visit www.aandabluegrass.com.

25-27

Dancing with the Horry county Stars, to benefit BE2 and the Long Bay Symphony, Marina Inn, 7pm, $125 or $3,000 per table. For more info, call 843-449-9675 or e-mail [email protected]. 20

Visit www.sasee.com for a full calendar and

more Sasee events!

Art in the park, 10 am-4 pm, 6-7 Chapin Park, 13-14 Valor Park, Market Common. For more info, call 843 446-7471.


Give Your Mom, Sister, Best Friend orYourself the Gift that Lasts a Year!Special Introductory Offer 12 Issues for $24

NameAddressCityState Zip

Send check or money order toSasee Distribution

1357 21st Avenue North, Suite 102Myrtle Beach, SC 29577

843-238-3622w

ww

.homespuncrafters.com

AntiquesAvon

CollectiblesCountry Decor

Fabrics + Notions GlasswareHandbags

JewelryUnique Handmade Crafts

Vintage ItemsWood Products

WoodWick Candles

114-A Hwy. 17 N.Surfside Shopping CenterSurfside Beach, SC 29575Mon - Fri: 9 am to 6 pm

Sat: 10 am to 5 pm • Sun: 1 to 5 pm

Sunday, november 7, 2010

SymphonicBlockBuSterS(featuring violinist gleb ivanov)

Symphonic masterpieces containing some of the most recognizable melodies in the repertoire, from the brilliantly majestic opening of the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto to the noble energy of the brahms Symphony no. 4 (part of which was transcribed and performed by the rock group “yes.”)

Call 843.448.8379 or viSiT www.longbaysymphony.com

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Sasee - October 2010

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