Thought for the day: Regret won't change the past. Anxiety won't change the future.
Hi-ya, guys. So how are things going with you? I know... I know... some days, it feels like a tsunami of anxiety is threatening to engulf the whole darned planet, but hang in there, okay? Just grab yourself a gnarly surfboard so you can ride that wave with a big ol' smile on your face.
So to speak.
I mean, we may not be able to change what's happening in the world... or in our lives... but we always always have the power to make the best of it. And we can always always search for the bright spots, the humor, and the hope. If it's too hard to smile, fake it. Whistle a happy tune, people, because we're gonna get through this. Really.
Me? I'm doing okay. I miss the crap out of my husband, but I don't reckon that'll ever change. There's a big ol' empty spot in my heart, but I still have the privilege of knowing a bunch of caring people, and the world doesn't feel empty to me at all. Just... different. It will always be... different. But the stark truth of it is, the long and beautiful saga Mike and I wrote together is over. The ending sucked, and he's gone, but it's time for me to write a new story. My own.
Yep, time to reinvent myself, because my life ain't over. Not yet.
Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself. [George Bernard Shaw]
Mr. Shaw was a brilliant man, but I don't think I need to create myself so much as I need to figure out who the heck I am. See, I've been Mike's wife... or Mike's girlfriend... for well over half a century, and after decades of bending over backwards to accommodate him and keep him happy, I kinda lost myself in the process. Now I'm taking baby steps to find out who I am and what I want. Simple things like putting yummy mushrooms in the lasagna sauce... which he never liked... and getting rid of some stuff he liked... that I secretly hated. As stereotypically 1950s-like as I was as his wife, he was equally as 1950s-like stereotypical in his role, too. He took care of things. Fixed everything. Took care of the financial planning. Paid all the bills. And I've gotta tell ya, as scared as I was at being thrust into the position of suddenly having to do all of that stuff myself...rising to those tasks has given me a sense of accomplishment. I'm a tad surprised... but also proud.
I don't know how extreme my makeover is gonna be, but I think it's gonna be okay, and so am I. For quite a while, the changes are mostly gonna be in our house. My raison d'etre right now is getting rid of a bunch of stuff and simplifying everything so it'll be easier for my kids to handle when I shuffle off to join their dad. Oh, and I want to turn one of Mike's many storage areas back into a bedroom... and fit it with a couple of bunk beds. Then, the grandkids can stay with me from time to time. Once the coronavirus has passed and a certain amount of normality has returned to everyday life, there may be more changes. Like... I might like to join our local community theater group. Maybe take tai chi classes. Heck, maybe I'll even learn to tap dance. Who knows? It's a new adventure, and I can set my own path. (Hopefully, my woeful sense of direction won't prove to be too problematic...) The jury is still out as to whether the new me is gonna be a blogger... or a writer. I think so. Maybe. Then again, I might be too busy learning how to play the saxophone...
Heck, maybe we all need to reinvent ourselves to some extent. No matter how old we are, or what our circumstances may be, it's not too late to climb out of that rut to explore new things and learn how to bloom again. How about you? What new things might you try?
Don't ever feel like your best days are behind you. Reinvention is the purest form of hope. Make today your best yet. [Phil Wohl]
Okay, so I'll be Edison... who wants to be Tesla...?
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Still feeling a little blah? This video's guaranteed to lift you up.
Thought for the day: All good things must come to an end. (sigh)
No matter how beautiful a day may be, the sun has to eventually set, and no matter how much fun an experience may be, it, too, must end.
So I promise this'll be the last post about our 50th anniversary trip to Charleston. Then I'll find something new to bore you with.
This last post will be about two plantations in the Charleston area. Boone Hall, located in Mt. Pleasant, has been dubbed the #1 plantation by USA Today, and called a must-see destination by many, so that was our first plantation stop. But that wasn't the only reason. I'd seen pictures of the entry to that plantation... and there's a good chance you have, too, because it's a rather iconic shot. If you saw the movie North and South, you might remember the scene with Patrick Swayze riding on horseback down that entryway road. The plantation was also featured in numerous other flicks, like The Notebook. So me being me, even though we'd already visited the mighty Angel Oak, I wanted to see this impressive line-up of live oaks in person.
Boone Hall was founded in 1681 by Englishman Major John Boone, and it was his son who planted the 88 live oaks in 1743. It took nearly two centuries for the trees to become large enough to form a canopy over the road, and this Avenue of Oaks extends for 3/4 of a mile.
A view of the canopy from the car. Believe, me, it looks a lot more impressive in person than it does in this picture.
This one was taken on foot. A little better.
The Avenue of Oaks offeredthe most concentrated grouping of live oaks on the plantation, but they weren't the only ones in sight. They were all over the place... and they were all gorgeous.
Last shot of the trees. I (ahem) tend to get carried away...
The old cotton mill (circa O-L-D) is an impressive-looking building. As you can see, it's currently undergoing some extensive restoration.
It's kinda funny that I took a picture of THIS, but not a single photo of the plantation house. Without a doubt, it is beautiful, but what I would've really liked to capture is its interior. The furnishings are magnificent, and the sunroom-like area is fabulous. Unfortunately, taking pictures inside was a no-no. The McRae family purchased the plantation in 1955, and a year later, the family began allowing tours. Family members still live on the upper level of the home... which was not part of the tour. Although the number of farmed acreage has shrunk over time, Boone Hall remains America's oldest continuously working plantation.
A handful of original slave cabin remain, and they're all made of bricks... which were made by the slaves themselves. In fact, millions of bricks were made on the plantation, and they were used to build many important buildings in Charleston and far beyond. Ft. Sumter was constructed of bricks that were made at Boone Hall.
Each of the remaining cabins has been converted into small museums, each one telling a different chapter in the story of African Americans. This gal in the picture told the story of the Gullah people, and her presentation included some awesome music. Man, does she ever have some pipes! And she sang a little bit of everything...
I delighted in the music of Africa, the earliest of the slave plantation songs, the transformation into Christianity and all that Christianity brought to the lives of the Africans who were forced to come to America. [Harry Belafonte]
I'm a little sorry I didn't take more pictures. I guess I was too busy taking in the experience to bother recording much of it. Sorry... how selfish of me not to think of you guys. HA! Here... maybe this short video will make up for it. (And I don't know how the sneaky fella got away with taking a couple shots inside of the house. I wish he would've gotten the darned sunroom!)
Pretty cool, huh?
The other plantation we visited was the Charleston Tea Plantation... the ONLY large-scale commercial tea plantation in America. There, we toured the area where the tea is processed, sampled all kinds of their awesome teas, took a wagon ride all around the plantation, learned a ton of stuff about tea, and... came home with a whole grocery-sized bag full of teas. (Which I'm drinking my way through quite handily. I just ordered some more of their loose leaf tea from Amazon. The peach and mint are my favorites.)
This is one of the many fields of tea. See how flat the plants are on top? That's because the process of harvesting entails skimming off a couple inches of new growth at the top of the bushes. Every plant on the plantation today is the offspring of the plants originally brought to South Carolina in the 1700s, and for hundreds of years, each plant has been grown from shoots, which are nurtured in greenhouses for four years before taking their place in the fields.
This funny-looking contraption is called the Green Machine,and it was built specifically for harvesting tea. There are only a few of them in existence in the world, and each machine can do the work of 500 people. Where people would have to carefully pick the new growth leaves from each bush by hand, one at a time, this machine gently slices off that new growth and tosses it into a bin.
Did you know the three basic types of tea all come from the same plant? The difference between black, oolong, and green tea lies not in the tea, but in how long it's processed after it's picked.
SOME FUN FACTS ABOUT TEA:
Tea-drinking dates back to 2700 B.C. Not sure how it was first discovered to be such a tasty beverage, but rumor has it that some tea leaves accidentally fell into a pot of water that was being boiled for his consumption, and Chinese Emperor Shen Nung was so pleased with the taste, he mandated that they be purposely added to his water every day after that.
Tea became immensely popular in China and Japan, where it was considered both health-enhancing and mystical. It wasn't introduced to the Western world until the time of Marco Polo's explorations in the 1600s.
Tea is a member of the camellia family. Its proper name is Camellia Sinensis.
America provided two innovations for tea: the tea bag, and iced tea. Tea bags are now popular all over the world, but iced tea? Not so much. About 85% of the tea consumed in the U.S. is iced, but it has never become popular anywhere else in the world.
Tea is the world's most popular beverage after water.
Approximately 6 billion pounds of tea are produced every year, enough to provide every man, woman, and child with 200 cups per day. (I'm doing MY part... are YOU?)
The boiling water you pour over your tea bag or loose tea releases the caffeine. To reduce the amount of caffeine by 65%, pour boiling water over your teabag or loose tea... and then dump it out and pour some fresh water on the bag or tea. Ta DA!
Gee... suddenly... I'm very thirsty...
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
P.S. Many thanks to all of you who left a comment on my last post, even though I wasn't available to respond. I appreciate the heck out of it. And you. We were chilling in western North Carolina with some friends who live at the top of a mountain. Lots of fun, and after seeing bear scat up there, I won't be grumbling so much about the piles neighborhood dogs leave in our yard. And Geo? Your comment gave me cause to pause, but although your account is terrific, our Huong was most definitely trying to get a rise out of me. :)
Thought for the day: I was in the first submarine. Instead of a periscope, they had a kaleidoscope. 'We're surrounded!' [Steven Wright]
Yep. A submarine. That's what I'm sitting inside of in that photo. (Way to go, Ian!) Not the FIRST submarine, mind you, which was built way back in 1620 by a Dutch engineer named Cornelius Jacobszoon Dribbel, but it IS an accurately-sized cross section of a mock-up of the first submarine that successfully sunk a ship. And that occurred during the Civil War.
Kind of a tight squeeze, huh? That crank in my hand? Believe it or not, that's how the crew members propelled the sub.
Have you ever been inside of a submarine? A modern one, I mean. The quarters are tight enough to drive a claustrophobic person insane. The very idea of being sealed up in a vessel while UNDER the water has always given me the creeps. (I can't hold my breath very long, for one thing...) Even so, the history of submarines is a fascinating topic. If you have any interest in the role of subs during the Cold War, I highly recommend the book Blind Man's Bluff by Sherry Sontag and Christopher Drew. It contains a lot of declassified information about submarine espionage, and some of the stories about things submariners endured while UNDER the water more than justifies my trepidation.
Okay! Back on topic... back to the Civil War submarine. The size of that tiny vessel takes tight squeeze to a whole new level. It's forty feet long, and as illustrated in this pic, only four feet tall and 42" wide. And in that small area were eight hunched-over hand-cranking crew members! Wait... that's not entirely true. Only seven were actually cranking. The commander, Lt. George Dickens, who was over six feet tall, was situated in the front of the sub... the eyes of the mission, so to speak.
A picture showing a size comparison. The Housatonic, part of the embargo preventing goods from getting into Charleston, was selected as a target primarily because its hull was constructed of wood. In spite of the odds against the little sub, the mission was a success, and the much larger ship sunk in approximately five minutes.
But the Hunley... never returned to shore.
Its location remained a mystery until 1995, when a team of divers found it. Five years later, it was oh-so carefully raised from its watery grave, and it's been undergoing a meticulous restoration ever since. Smarticus and I have seen a number of documentaries about the sub's recovery and restoration progress, so it was an absolute thrill to visit the Hunley Lab and see this piece of history in person.
A visual of how the Hunley's hull has been revealed during restoration. When the vessel was first brought up, it was filled with silt and sediment, and the exterior was entirely crusted over. The tools the scientists are using for this work are about the size of dental instruments, so as you can imagine, the work is very slow and tedious.
Many personal effects were removed from the interior, and the restoration process on them has been phenomenal. Items buried in muck and silt for nearly 150 years have been restored to almost like-new stature.
Just look at these things! That pocket knife is beautiful, isn't it? There's a very cool story about the gold coin. It belonged to Lt. Dixon, and was given to him by his sweetheart as a good luck charm. See how bent it is? It was in his pocket during the Battle of Shiloh, and was struck by a mini-ball... likely saving his life. It was recovered with his remains. A candle was also recovered... along with the match that was probably used to light it.
Forensic scientists built models of each crew member's face, and they were able to determine each man's approximate height. Through DNA testing, the remains regained their rightful names, and they were all laid to rest at the Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston in 2004.
Today, the Hunley rests in a huge tank of water mixed with NaOH. Sorry I couldn't get a very good pic of it for you, but I'll share a short video that can tell... and show... you a lot more about this sub's story and recovery.
Of all the branches of men in the forces, there is none which shows more devotion and faces grimmer perils than the submariners. [Winston Churchill]
And that's as true now as it was one hundred and fifty years ago.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for. [John A. Shedd]
The U.S.S. Yorktown has an illustrious history. Commissioned in 1943, she initially saw service in World War II, and was later modified to handle jet planes, and then was converted to be an antisubmarine carrier.
Now? Alas, now her active days are behind her, and she remains in dock as a mighty museum ship. Not what she was built for, but she fills her retirement role quite admirably.
Like ships, WE weren't built to stay in the safety of the harbor all the time, either. I must confess, the older I get, the more content I am to simply hunker down in the comfort of our own home with Smarticus. Yeah, I know. We're getting to be old poops. But that doesn't mean we don't still love adventure... it's just more difficult to pry us out of the house nowadays. Which made our 50th anniversary trip to Charleston all that more enjoyable.
This is a 1969 honeymoon pic of me at Appomattox Courthouse, where General Robert E. Lee signed the papers of surrender, which effectively ended the Civil War.
That wasn't the only Civil War... or other historical site... we visited on our honeymoon, and we've gone to many many more over the past fifty years. Not because we romanticize war or long for the past, but because there's something sacred about stepping on old battlefields, and in general, there's something humbling and edifying about studying the past, whether by visiting actual sites or by haunting museums. Both activities stoke our imaginations and instill a grateful appreciation for and better understanding of those who have come before us.
You could say that learning about history is like crossing an invisible bridge into the past, and when we make that crossing, it gives us a better perspective on the events happening in the world today.
The bridge in this picture? If it has a name, I don't know what it is, but it's strikingly beautiful, and believe it or not, a guide on the tour boat said it was completed ahead of schedule and under budget. (That it itself is worthy of an historical plaque!)
This is the tour boat, which we boarded at Patriot's Point, where the U.S.S. Yorktown is berthed. From there, we took a warm and breezy ride to the remains of Ft. Sumter, where the first shots of the Civil War were fired. Kinda cool, isn't it? On our honeymoon, we visited the place where the war ended, and this time around, we saw where it all began.
Approaching Fort Sumter, which lies about a mile offshore from Charleston. It was one of many forts built by the federal government to protect the eastern coastline after the War of 1812.
Once docked, we crossed this long pier to get to the fort, where we had a full hour to explore as we saw fit. That might seem like a long time, but it wasn't nearly enough. There's a terrific museum housed within the fort, and that alone was worthy of a longer visit.
There was no smoking on the boat or in the fort, so Smarticus stopped to grab a quick nicotine fix before we strolled across the pier. That meant we had the pier pretty much to ourselves. What a view! And the weather was absolutely marvelous, too. Lots of sunshine, and a brisk breeze, as you can tell by the flag in the background.
Now part of the National Park System, Ft. Sumter is but a remnant of its former self. Originally three stories tall, much of it was destroyed during the war, and very little of the upper levels are still intact. When Major Robert Anderson moved his 85-man garrison into the fort on the day after Christmas in 1860, the fort wasn't even completed yet. Just six days earlier, a special South Carolina convention had voted to secede from the union, so the arrival of federal troops wasn't met with joy. One of Anderson's former students at West Point, Brig. General Pierre Beauregard, was in command of the Confederate forces in Charleston. As little stomach as he had for firing on his former mentor and friend, it was his mission to evict the federal forces from the fort. Alas, mere talk and saber rattling didn't work, so in the early hours of April 12, the first shots were fired on Fr. Sumter. Two days later, the Union forces retreated and the Confederates took over the fort.
Some of the crumbling ruins. (But at least she's still wearing a smile...)
We chose not to tour the Yorktown. We already knew, benefit of our earlier tour of the U.S.S. Alabama, just how many narrow ladder-like STEPS are involved in that kind of tour, and our knees weren't feeling up to the task. Too bad. There are lots of old planes on deck, and each of the hangars houses a unique museum... one for Medal of Honor winners, one for the Apollo 8 mission, and one for cold war submarines. Maybe next time. (Seeing's as how we're getting younger and all...) We did, however, walk through the Vietnam Experience. It was supposed to be included in the tour package for the Yorktown, another ship and a submarine, but when we asked if we could just buy a ticket for the Vietnam exhibit, the gal noticed the Vietnam Veteran hat Smarticus was wearing and told us we could go in for free. I thought the exhibit was pretty good, but Smarticus wasn't impressed, because there was absolutely nothing about the ground-pounding grunts who spent their time in the bush. Personally, I think that was for the best. I don't think most of us are prepared to get immersed in the kind of experiences he had. Just thinking about them is bad enough.
Just for fun, anybody have any idea what the heck I'm sitting inside in this picture? Any guesses?
Don't worry. I'll tell you all about it... next week.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: ♪♫Let me tell ya 'bout the birds and the bees, and the flowers and the trees, and the moon up above, and a thing called lo-o-o-o-ove...♫♪ [from the song The Birds and the Bees by Jewel Akens]
There's one thing I can tell you most authoritatively about birds. They poop. A lot.
We'll get back to poop in a minute. (I bet you can hardly wait!) In the meantime, it's time to tell you about our awesome 50th anniversary trip. I wanted to go to the water... any water, but preferably, the ocean, somewhere we'd never been before, and someplace with lots of things we'd like to see. Oh, and not too terribly far away.
So we went to... (ta-DA)... Charleston, South Carolina. We actually stayed on Folley Island, and our room looked out over the ocean. It was absolutely perfect!
Except for those... birds.
Now, I love birds. They're beautiful, but as I mentioned before, they poop. A lot.
Some years ago, I wrote a post about how birds had mysteriously selected my poor little red car as their facility of choice for an entire summer. It was ridiculous.
I mean, we had the audacity to drive their potty away for a couple days, and when we got back home, there was a whole bunch of ticked-off birds waiting for us... lined up all across the yard with tiny bird newspapers tucked under their wings, while glaring at us and shifting their weight from foot to foot. Then, as always, they took turns sitting atop the passenger side mirror and bombing away to their heart's content.
But it was just that one summer. I dunno why, but I was very grateful when the birds moved on to some other hapless target. We don't have that little red car anymore, but I thought maybe its bright fire engine red color was the attraction.
But maybe not.
The car we took to Charleston was Smarticus' spiffy silver Challenger. It's definitely not red, but it was most definitely a target. I mean, a targeted target.
The morning after we checked into the hotel, when we went to the parking lot, there were cars, lots of cars, parked out there. But OURS was the only one speckled with copious circles of poop. All over it, like an abstract painting comprised of polka dots. The cars to the left of us? Nothing. To the right of us? Nothing. Just ours.
So either the birds love us... or they hate us. Funny thing was, we did see one another car targeted while we were there. It also happened to be a silver Dodge, and it was parked right next to us. Out of the entire parking lot, as far as we could see, just our TWO cars were bombed. Go figure. (Maybe our feathered friends are Chevy fans...?)
It's kinda hard to tell in this picture, but these are four of the brown pelicans that were pulling security duty for our hotel. Around and around the perimeter they'd fly, ever vigilant, as though checking out the grounds. Their approach would be forewarned by their ominous shadows, and then there they'd be, floating overhead.
To me, they look like distant cousins of the pterodactyls. Very cool. And they reeeeally look cool when they swoop down into the ocean to snatch a fish from the water.
Here's a better picture of them, courtesy of unsplash. Don't they look cool?
One verrrry peculiar thing about shore birds, though. They squawk. All the time, as though they're complaining non-stop. Not a single sweet song to be heard from the bunch. I ask you, living in such a gorgeous area, what in the world are they complaining about???
Enough about the birds. Now I wanta tell you about a tree. An absolutely fantastically gorgeous tree. Before we even went to our hotel to check in, Smarticus indulged me by making a small detour so we could see the Angel Oak, the largest tree east of the Mississippi. It's a live oak, and even though it's only 66.5 feet tall, it spreads out in every direction like no tree I've ever seen. Oh, I'd seen pictures of it, but they're nothing compared to seeing the real thing. Nonetheless, I'm gonna show you... what else?...some pictures of it.
There are lots of live oaks in and around the Charleston area, but the Angel Oak is the granddaddy of 'em all. The oldest... nearly 500 years old... and the biggest. Its trunk is 28 feet in circumference, its shade covers 17,200 square feet, and its longest branch is an astonishing 187 feet long. We did lots of fun things while we were in Charleston, but visiting this amazing tree was one of my favorite things. (And not a single bird pooped on our heads while we were there!)
I've got nothing to say about the flowers, but let me tell ya about the moon up above.
This was the view from our balcony. (One of these days, maybe I'll figure out how to make the darned zoom function on my camera work...) The moon was full or near-full the entire time we were there. On this particular night, it was bright orange. (sigh) Just beautiful. (That string of lights is on the fishing pier.)
And finally... a thing called love. Well, it was our fiftieth anniversary trip. (duh!) As strange as it may sound, it kinda felt like a honeymoon. So yeah, lots of warm fuzzy feelings. Life is good.
Next time, I'll tell you about some of the places we visited. The Charleston area has lots of stuff for history nerds.
By the way, in case you aren't familiar with the old song The Birds and the Bees, just for you...
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
