Sasee Magazine - July 2016

July 2016

True heroism ‌..

is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.

Arthur Ashe

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Volume 15, Issue 7

July

who’s who Publisher Delores Blount

Sales & Marketing Director

2016

Susan Bryant

Editor

Leslie Moore

Account Executives Amanda Kennedy-Colie Erica Schneider Gay Stackhouse

Art Director Patrick Sullivan

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16

Graphic Artist Stephanie Holman

Photographer & Graphic Artist Aubrey Plum

Intern

Heather Combs

Web Developer Scott Konradt

Accounting

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22

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Featured Don’t Mention It by Diane Stark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 In a Moment of Happiness by Rose Ann Sinay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 I’ve Been There by Janeen Lewis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Rescued by Diane DeVaughn Stokes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 An Unlikely Teacher by Arlene Shovald . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 The Amy Gift by Cynthia Cavanaugh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Crossing Lake Ontario by Phil LaBorie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Notes from Outpatient Surgery by Tyann Sheldon Rouw . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Love It or Leave It by Erika Hoffman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54

In This Issue

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Read It! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 A Drop in Every Cup: The Heroes of NMB Public Safety by Leslie Moore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Butterflies & Birds by Leslie Moore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Sasee Takes A Look: North Myrtle Beach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Healing Help: Kim Kelaher, Pharm. D, Pure Compounding by Leslie Moore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Fun Fitness: Kelsey Stone, Pure Barre, Murrells Inlet by Leslie Moore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 July Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56

Kristy Rollar

Administrative & Creative Coordinator Celia Wester

Executive Publishers Jim Creel Bill Hennecy Suzette Rogers

PO Box 1389 Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 www.sasee.com • info@sasee.com Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. 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 © 2016. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any material, in part or in whole, prepared by Strand Media Group, Inc. and appearing within this publication is strictly prohibited. Title “Sasee” is registered with the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office.

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readers’ comments RE: June Sasee I just found your magazine, and I love it! Not only is it beautiful, but I read every word!

-Melanie

RE: “Mosquito Legs,” by Erika Hoffman Great essay! I think you should write some modern day fairy tales for our children and grand-children! I like your version so much better.

-Rose Ann

RE: “Beautiful Successes,” by Leslie Moore

letter from the editor This month we have showcased several of our local heroes who spend their days serving others. I was humbled by meeting these women and started thinking about all of the people I come in contact with on a regular basis who serve others with so much joy. My favorite grocery store has employees who take the groceries to the car for you. They are not allowed to accept tips and even give me a coupon after they load up the car. This is their job, I know, but there is one man in particular who really enjoys his work and makes sure his customers leave with a smile on their face. He makes taking groceries to the car fun, if you can imagine! I encounter people like this everywhere, and I’m sure you do too. In spite of the tragedies our country is experiencing, in spite of the awful scenes played out on the news and your Facebook feed or Twitter stream, good, kind and loving people outnumber the bad by an overwhelming number. They open doors for the young mother who has her hands full or the man walking with a cane; they always offer a smile or a hello and are quick to offer help when needed.

These are our everyday heroes. I believe we all have the choice to live as heroes, sharing our gifts as best we can. Kindness is not always easy, but it is always heroic.

Happy July!

These were great interviews. It is always interesting to discover fun facts about locals.

I love that question: What would you tell your 20 year old self?.

-Linda

RE: “Among Family,” by Diane Stark Very dear story. It brought a tear to my eye, literally. I am always impressed with your writing.

-Erika

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Strength through Love, by Brandi Cannon From an early age, Brandi Cannon experimented with a variety of styles and mediums. Eventually finding a love for acrylics and opaque watercolor, she has since spent years developing her own style, what she calls abstract surrealism.

Often beginning unplanned and without intentions, led by flow of thought, her original work varies from sobering symbolism and political expression to whimsical and carefree. With years of countless commissions including portrait, landscape, seascape, fantasy, astronomical art and murals, her work is showcased in homes, businesses and galleries around the world.

Originally from New Orleans, Louisiana, Brandi currently lives in Lexington, South Carolina, with her husband and two young children. A busy house and a full time job have done little to curb her creative drive, and there is always a canvas on the easel ready for the next commissioned piece or inspired original.

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Don’t Mention It

by Diane Stark

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” my six-year-old son, Nathan, whined from the backseat.

The other kids in the car seconded his complaint. I’d picked them up from school, and now we were headed to the hospital to see their Grandpa. He’d just suffered his fourth stroke and had spent an entire week in the ICU. That morning, they’d allowed him to be moved into a regular room, which meant my children could finally see him.

“I know you’re hungry, guys. We’ll get something in the cafeteria at the hospital,” I said.

“Why can’t we stop on the way?”

“Grandma has been sitting with Grandpa all day, and I’m sure she hasn’t eaten,” I said. “It’ll be nicer for Grandma if wait and eat with her.”

When we arrived at the hospital, my mother-in-law was standing in the hallway. “Is he OK?” I asked.

“Yes, he’s fine,” she said. “He is using the bathroom, so I stepped out for a minute.”

She updated me on my father-in-law’s condition and then I asked if she’d had anything to eat. She shook her head and Nathan went into whine mode once again.

“Can we eat now? I’m so hungry.”

“Didn’t you eat lunch at school, Nathan?” My mother-in-law asked.

He scowled at me. “No, the lunch today was a burrito, and I don’t like that. Mommy was supposed to pack my lunch, but she forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” I said. “I just couldn’t remember what day it was.

I thought they were serving pizza, and you like pizza.”

The scowl grew. “But it wasn’t pizza. It was a burrito, and I hate that.”

My mother-in-law patted his shoulder. “It’s been hard on all of us with Grandpa in the hospital, and your mommy is doing the best she can right now.”

I smiled at her, appreciating her efforts. It wasn’t her fault that even my best wasn’t very good.

Before I could say anything else, a woman poked her head out of an office across the hall and crooked her finger at me. “Can I talk to you for a second?” She asked.

I moved quickly, terrified that my father-in-law’s condition had deteriorated. But when I walked in, she was holding a package of graham crackers. “I overheard your son saying he was hungry,” she said. “I know it’s weird to take food from a stranger, but would you like to have these?”

She was a hospital employee, and the crackers weren’t opened, so I thought it was all right. “Thank you very much,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

She waved her hand through the air. “Don’t mention it,” she said.

“You’re here at the hospital, so that automatically means that things aren’t going your way right now. If I can make your day a little better by giving your kids a snack, I’m happy to do it.”

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She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out three Ziploc bags. “This will make the crackers easier to divide,” she said. “And I’ll grab three cups of water for them.”

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When she returned with their drinks, I thanked her profusely. “Don’t mention it,” she said again. “It’s not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal. As my kids ate the graham crackers, she asked each of them where they went to school and what grade they were in.

Nathan’s whining stopped, and I knew we’d have a much better visit with my father-in-law because of her kindness.

When she got ready to leave, I thanked her again.

She shrugged and said, “I was just doing my job.”

I glanced at her name tag and shook my head. “Amy, giving your snacks to other people’s kids isn’t part of your job,” I said.

“Maybe not, but I’ve found that in a hospital, small kindnesses mean even more than they do in ordinary situations.”

I smiled. “Then I’m glad you’re here to help people that way.”

The next day was Saturday. Amy wasn’t working, so I just hung the grocery store bag on her door knob. The bag contained a thank you note and a few boxes of graham crackers.

I didn’t buy them because I felt like I owed Amy anything. I bought them so she’d have plenty to give the next time someone needed her small kindness.

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That day, a few graham crackers had made a hurting family feel just a little bit better, and I knew that Amy was right. In some situations, a small act of kindness can make all the difference in the world, and Amy’s kindness was definitely worth mentioning.

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Lies and Other Acts of Love

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Lovey is entering a new phase, having raised five very different women with her soulmate; she is now faced with the possibility of life without him. Her once grandiose life has now become a whirlwind of nurses, caregiving and latent fear. Lovey’s darling granddaughter was once the pride and joy of the family, always doing what she was supposed to do. However last year, just days before her idyllic wedding, she called it off and married a traveling musician.

Now, as everyone’s routine is getting back to normal, Annabelle’s life is thrown upside down. As she tries to piece together the truth, she learns that her family has been hiding their own secrets. Will Lovey and Annabelle be able to sort out their lives and keep the peace or will their family be forever dissolved?

Kristy Woodson Harvey is an incredible author. The short chapters make it easy to read during the most chaotic of schedules and at night, as every reader tries to squeeze in one more chapter before sleep. However, each chapter tells its own tale and is chock full of emotions and adds another layer to the overall plot. This story is told from both Lovey and Annabelle’s points-of-view, with

Lovey reminiscing about her past as well. Readers will be taken on an epic journey through the decades as they live vicariously through these women.

I loved Kristy Woodson Harvey’s first book, Dear Carolina, which I read in one sitting, but this was an entirely different story. As I have mentioned before, I love it when books tell two stories in one, and this book was definitely a page turner. Getting to know Lovey’s past, while dealing with Annabelle’s present, kept me on my toes. I could feel the build-up within my bones and knew it was going to be a wild ride, but I couldn’t figure out how it would work out for this matriarchal family. Fans of Southern literature and books that bring out a family’s deep-seated secretive history – this book is for you.

Nicole McManus

Nicole McManus loves to read, to the point that she is sure she was born with a book in her hands. She writes book reviews in the hopes of helping others find the magic found through reading. Contact her at ARIESGRLREVIEW.COM.

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A Drop in Every Cup:

The Heroes of North Myrtle Beach Public Safety

by Leslie Moore

Lieutenant Dana Griffin

Lieutenant Dana Griffin, Patrol Officer May Lauzon and Firefighter Hannah McLaurin embody everything that is right about law enforcement and public safety. Learning about these three women and their work was not only an education for me, but an honor. And, fortunately for all of us, there are many, many more just like them. If you’re in North Myrtle Beach, please stop and say thank you…but, if not, stop and thank any local public safety officer. These are our real life heroes.

Lieutenant Dana Griffin, North Myrtle Beach Police Department When I contacted Lieutenant Dana Griffin of the North Myrtle Beach Police Department about talking with Sasee for our “Everyday Heroes” issue, I was immediately taken with her engaging, friendly personality. But, after I sat and listened to her stories, my admiration grew into something much bigger, it grew into respect and awe for this woman who chooses, everyday, to serve her community as a law enforcement officer.

Patrol Officer May Lauzon

Dana grew up, and still lives, in Loris. “My husband, John, who’s also a fellow officer, and I live on family land, a horse farm, with our three girls, ages 15, 10 and 9.

When I asked her why she became a police officer, Dana told me, “I’m the first officer in my family; it’s something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid.” Dana has been on the force for 14 years and is now a Lieutenant and member of the Command Staff, supervising Special Events, Beach Patrol, Community Services and Victims’ Rights Divisions.

For the first three of her 14 years of service, Dana worked as a patrol officer, and then she trained to become a K-9 officer. She and her canine partner, Syndi, served together for ten years. Police dogs live with their handlers and when Syndi recently passed from natural causes, it was a huge blow for Dana. “I really miss her,” Dana said with obvious emotion. “I didn’t realize how much she was integrated into my life. I walked a certain way, sat at my desk a certain way, drove a certain way…all to accommodate Syndi.”

Firefighter Hannah McLaurin

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“I do think there are more challenges for women in law enforcement,” Dana began when I asked her about being a female police officer. Dana went on to explain that mentorship is one of the ways a new officer succeeds in law enforcement, and when she started there were no women above her. “I was very blessed with several supervisors who took me under their wing and made sure I stayed on the right path, and our director is extremely supportive with all minorities in public service.” Today, Dana mentors new female officers, helping them become the very best they can be.

Serving with the North Myrtle Beach Police Department is an honor for this seasoned officer, and with good reason. During the recent Memorial Day Weekend, the department received no complaints from the community and actually received over 100 compliments from motorcycle groups and citizens. “Our agency is a true service agency. Frustration with law enforcement is at an all time high throughout the country, but we haven’t really experienced that in North Myrtle Beach. Our philosophy is treating people fairly and with respect.”

Southern Snaps Being a police officer means dealing with stressful situations on a daily basis, and I asked Dana how she relaxed and kept the joy in her life.

Most of us living in our beautiful area will relate to her answer. “My favorite place, and the only place I ever feel completely relaxed is the beach. I love the country where I was raised, but I’m in awe on the beach. When I’m there, I feel completely calm.” Her busy life leaves little room for recreation, but Dana does enjoy time with family in North Myrtle Beach. After a beach day, the Griffins love to go to Ian’s on the Waterway and sit at the picnic tables for a family meal. Dana and John both love the House of Blues. “John and I met at the House of Blues when we were both working there before we joined the force. We were married there!”

Relationships are also more challenging for law enforcement officers.

Dana told me that legally, law enforcement officers can’t talk about their work with their spouses, and the stress of the job takes its toll. “It’s easier for me because I’m married to someone in law enforcement. I can go home and talk to John about my day.”

North Myrtle Beach while still in college. “I was halfway through school and decided I wanted to move south. I got in my car and drove with no particular destination in mind.” When young May got to our area, she looked around and liked what she saw. “Everything I owned was in my Jeep,” she said laughing. Even with no family or friends in the area, May knew this was her new home.

May finished school at Coastal Carolina University with plans to become a physical therapist until she realized graduate school would cost $100,000!

“I was working as a lifeguard at the time, and our lifeguard agency is actually run by the police department. I really admired the police officers and decided to apply, not sure I could make it because I have always trusted people a little too much.” May not only made it, but has consistently excelled in her three years on the force. “I hope to transfer to Beach Patrol eventually. Beach Patrol Officers do general law enforcement and also ocean rescue.” Already well qualified for the job, May is an American Red Cross Lifesaving Instructor and hopes to soon become certified as an EMT. “I have done many ocean rescues; we are the first responders, and our job is to give people the best care possible until the EMTs arrive, which is usually within minutes.”

Law enforcement officers see the very worst, and sometimes the very best, humanity has to offer. I asked Dana how this work had changed Busy seems too mild a word to describe May’s schedule. She works full her and she shared this moving story. time as a law enforcement officer and serves as president of the Myrtle There’s a local businessman who purchases gift cards, food and more Beach Triathlon Club, which works to promote the sport and organizes for those less fortunate. I met this gentleman on a call one day, and we races. “I’m currently training 8-18 hours per week for my fourth Ironman became friends. Soon, I began helping him give his gifts anonymously. race.” If that’s not enough for one person, May is also in school full time It was around the holidays, and we received a call from a woman who at Columbia College studying Criminal Justice! “It gives me a different had no way to feed her family Thanksgiving dinner and asked for help. appreciation for the job,” May explained. She added, laughing, “I thought I purchased dinner for her and delivered it to her home. I didn’t know it would be “Catch a Criminal 101,” but it’s definitely not!” who it was before I got there, but I recognized the woman as a known May is young, attractive and amazingly fit and I asked if this made her job drug user. It was very disheartening to me to think that this woman more difficult. “Our work is definitely more challenging for women,” she spent her money on drugs while others had to feed her children. This began. “Our department is great – as long as you do your job and keep your job can make you jaded and not trust people – I was having a bad day. head, you are treated as one of their own. I find it’s more of an obstacle Later, I was talking to my friend and telling him how disheartened with the public.” May shared a story of making a traffic stop at night and I was, and he gave me his testimony. I would’ve never guessed that someone asking her if her parents knew she was up that late, and other he had been in prison and was a recovering drug addict himself. He similar incidents, but she said the majority of people are accepting. “I have looked at me and said, “You know what your problem is? You want to work extra hard, and I have to work smarter.” to help people and see the change that you make immediately. You get The dedication this young officer has for her work is inspiring. May’s work gratification from seeing the changes resulting from your help. You have is her calling, and an incident last summer left her sure she was in the right to realize that it’s going to be rare for you to see these changes. Every place, doing the right thing. time someone was kind to me, every time a police officer helped me get off of the streets when it was cold, it put a drop in my cup. Eventually Beach Patrol officers train our lifeguards to do CPR. They’re very young, my cup had enough drops and it ran over. You’re not going to be there in high school, and don’t realize that they may actually have to use this when most people’s cups run over. You just have to make sure that you training at some point. One day last summer, we did have an incident put a drop in everyone’s cup and never take one away.”’ and someone was pulled out of the water, unresponsive, and the lifeguard had to perform CPR. These young lifeguards, that we trained, handled This changed my whole perspective and way I police. I want my this incident with so much professionalism. It was very rewarding for me interactions with people to be as positive as possible and to help as to see how well they did. Can you imagine being 17 and having to pump much as I can. In every interaction you’re either taking something from someone’s chest? Their life in your hands? Afterward, there was a debriefing someone, doing nothing or giving something. For me, the first two are not for the lifeguards at the station, and I was so proud and honored to work an option. I want to leave a drop in their cup and hope that it’s leading beside them knowing they can save a life. them in the right direction.

May Lauzon: North Myrtle Beach Patrol Officer Everyday heroes do their job quietly and efficiently, with little fanfare, never expecting to be recognized for the excellence with which they live their lives. North Myrtle Beach Patrol Officer, May Lauzon spends her 12 hour work shifts protecting and serving the community she loves with kindness and respect. Originally from New Jersey, May moved to

Lieutenant Griffin is very proud of May’s work as well. “The kids in the Junior Lifeguard program adore May. She taught 65 young people about ocean and beach safety last summer, giving up her time off!” The senior officer went on the say that May rode a bicycle to Washington DC last summer with Law Enforcement United to honor fallen officers. “She wore a ballistic vest the entire ride to highlight the importance of wearing one.

They are extremely hot and cumbersome.”

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As an extreme athlete, May does understand the importance of self care.

A vegetarian, she loves to cook healthy meals and play with her silver lab, Jake. Her quick wit and good sense of humor also keep her grounded.

“This job will make you crazy if you don’t laugh.” May also finds peace at “The Point,” a northern stretch of beach. “It’s a different world out there, and because it’s such a long walk, not as many people go.” When she does go out, May prefers a casual atmosphere, like Molly Darcy’s. “They have great veggie burgers and sweet potato fries. Plus the patio is right over the dunes!”

“North Myrtle Beach is a small town, but has a lot of resources and the outlook of a much larger city,” May began when I asked why she loved her adopted hometown and her work as a patrol officer. “It’s an open door. I know I can always talk to my sergeant.”

“I think it’s very possible to be both fierce and kind simultaneously,” May told me as we were finishing up. “A lot of people think you have to be one way or the other, but it is possible to be both.”

Hannah McLaurin: North Myrtle Beach Firefighter With a heart as open as her smiling face, Firefighter/Paramedic Hannah McLaurin shared her story with Sasee, never considering that her life choices were both humbling and heroic. “I figured out while I was in active duty that I belonged with people having their worst day,” Hannah began. “For some reason, I never panicked.” Immediately after high school, Hannah joined the Coast Guard and served for four years and is now in the Coast Guard Reserve, working one weekend a month. She also serves as a full time firefighter for the North Myrtle Beach Fire Department. And, if that isn’t enough for one person to do, Hannah also works part time as a Paramedic for Brunswick County.

“I was the first person in my family NOT to go to college,” Hannah laughed when I asked her why she chose a life of service. “I wanted to be in law enforcement since I was 18 years old and gave up a full ride to college to join the Coast Guard.” Hannah, who had planned to become an atmospheric engineer, chose instead to pass her scholarship along to the next person in line and enlist. That fall, instead of moving into a dorm, Hannah left for boot camp. “After I left active duty, I switched to firefighting because I realized I can physically do the job and mentally be there as well.”

A native of Charlotte, North Carolina, Hannah, her older sister and her parents spent weekends and vacations in North Myrtle Beach while she was growing up. This close family actually built their beach house themselves and moved here permanently while Hannah was in high school. “It was my mother’s dream to live in a beach house, and my dad wanted to give that to her. He sold his airplane and used the money to build her dream home.”

Also an extreme athlete, Hannah developed a love for surfing as a young teen and soon became an expert, competing nationwide. That led to her fourth job as a surfing and paddleboard instructor. “I’m one of the only certified paddlefit instructors along the East Coast,” Hannah told me.

“That job really doesn’t count though,” she said smiling. “They pay me to be on the beach!”

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Last fall, Hannah and her then boyfriend, North Myrtle Beach Patrol Officer Bobby Hall, took a 40 day dream camping/hiking trip across the United States. They started in New Orleans, hiked the Grand Canyon and camped in some of the nation’s most beautiful spots. When they reached Glacier National Park in Montana, Bobby surprised Hannah with a proposal. Luckily, another group of hikers were willing to take a few photos with Hannah’s mobile phone and even videoed Bobby putting the

ring on Hannah’s finger. The couple will be married this October. “We only had one argument the whole time,” Hannah told me laughing. “And it really wasn’t that bad! We’re best friends.” The couple did the entire trip with a rooftop tent and a special drawer system in their truck for storage.

“We have the best camping kitchen in the world.”

“We knocked a lot of things off of the bucket list with this trip,” Hannah went on to tell me. “For our honeymoon, we’re going dog sledding in Canada. We’re adventurists and always like to take the road not traveled.”

In three years, the couple will again hit the road, with tents and backpacks, to explore the northernmost parts of Alaska. “We’ll take a logging road as far as possible and hike the rest of the way,” Hannah explained. “Mother Nature is so gorgeous in the United States; there are so many things to see.

In a few hours, you are in a totally different world.”

The only female on her team, Hannah admits it’s harder for women to succeed as firefighters. “You have to pull your weight. Actually, I believe we, as women, should be held to a higher standard. I can do the job, and I believe I can do it better. We have to be physically strong enough and mentally prepared.” Hannah is one hundred percent dedicated to her work and this standard of excellence is shared throughout her department.

I asked Hannah if her two and a half years as a firefighter had changed her.

“I do see people at their worst, but it’s always the hardest with children.

I was still on probation when we had a call involving a child with a serious allergic reaction. It wasn’t looking good for that child – it was very traumatic, and I’ve never forgotten the experience.” Hannah went on to tell me the child did make it and even remembered her when, two weeks later, she took the time to visit and bring a toy.

North Myrtle Beach requires all police and firefighters to be basic life support certified, and everyone works at the EMT level. And, while Hannah is a trained Paramedic, she does not use that training while serving as a firefighter. All police and firefighters are also required to be qualified to use a gun, and both departments are trained to work as police and firefighters. “I could work under a Class 3 Officer like May [Patrol Officer May Lauzon] as a Class 1 Patrol Officer, and May could work under me as a Level 1 Firefighter.”

Hannah is very proud of the camaraderie between the city’s departments.

“You don’t always have that other places. In North Myrtle Beach, from city managers down, we’re no more important than any other department. We look out for each other as a family, and no questions are asked if one of us needs help – we’re just there.” The City of North Myrtle Beach has also inspired tremendous loyalty in Hannah. “Our new chief has been here for a little more than a year, and he’s doing a great job. It’s a family. My crew and I might joke around all day, but when there’s a call, we’re there for each other.”

Hannah does take time for self care, even though I was never able to figure our when! She loves to surf. “I get into a zone and just go – it’s so relaxing.”

And girls’ nights are a monthly event as well. A woman with many layers, Hannah loves red wine and, if she’s free, goes to local wine tastings on Fridays. Special occasion date nights will find her at Sea Blue, her favorite, and on top of everything else, this energetic woman loves to get in the kitchen and make her signature red velvet cheesecake or chocolate peanut butter cake.

As we were finishing up our time together, Hannah told me, “When it comes to personal goals, don’t ever say can’t.” After our time together, I cannot imagine this amazing young woman ever uttering that word. If you’re in North Myrtle Beach, stop and say thank you to Hannah and every one of the real life heroes who serve the City of North Myrtle Beach with so much passion and dedication.

2016 Schedule of Events

September 24 - October 15 2 5 t h

A N N I V E R S A R Y

Georgetown Historic District ~ Saturday, September 24, 9:00am - 3:00pm

4th Annual Seaside Palette Featuring “The Healing Force” & 7th Annual Chalk Walk Wet Paint Sale 9/24, 3:30pm - 5:30pm

Thursday, September 29, 7:00pm

17th Annual Pawleys Island Wine Gala

Thursday, October 6, 7:00pm

Zuill Bailey

Thursday, October 13, 7:00pm

Marcus Anderson

Friday, September 30, 7:00pm

Saturday, October 1, 7:00pm

Friday, October 7, 7:00pm

Saturday, October 8, 7:00pm

Friday, October 14, 7:00pm

Saturday, October 15, 7:00pm

Shana Tucker

The Company Men

John Brown’s Little Big Band

Peabo Bryson

Barrett Baber

The DooWop Project

For Info & Tickets • www.pawleysmusic.com • 843-626-8911 All events at The Reserve Golf Club of Pawleys Island unless otherwise noted. Tickets now available.

Butterflies and Birds

Southern Snaps

Patricia “Sissy” Price: Radiation Therapist

by Leslie Moore Everyday heroes are all around us, serving and helping with little fanfare. One such hero is Sissy Price, a bright spot of hope for cancer patients who come to her for treatment.

“This work is what I was meant to do,” said Sissy, a Radiation Therapist at Carolina Regional Cancer Center in Myrtle Beach.

Kind and empathetic, Sissy has worked at the center for 36 years, since the facility opened in 1980, helping thousands of patients and their families.

A native of North Myrtle Beach, Sissy began her career as an X-Ray technician, working at McLeod Regional Hospital in Florence. She knew she wanted to advance her career by training to be either an ultrasound or radiation therapist, but when she saw her uncle die of cancer, she knew how she wanted to spend the rest of her working career.

“I received my training at the University of Virginia and went back to work at McLeod in their cancer center,” Sissy began. “The doctors I worked with in Florence, along with several doctors from MUSC, felt there was a need for a cancer center in the Grand Strand area. They went to the hospitals, but at the time, they weren’t interested.” The group of determined doctors decided to build the center on their own and opened Carolina Regional Cancer Center in 1980. Sissy wanted to move back to her North Myrtle Beach home and asked to transfer to the new facility. “When we opened, we only had two staff members, me and a receptionist,” she remembers.

The center kept growing. In the early years, Sissy would see an average of 7-10 patients a day. Now, Carolina Regional Cancer Center generally treats between 95-120 patients daily. A satellite office in Conway has recently opened, giving cancer patients in that area another option for treatment. I asked Sissy why she thought there were so many more patients getting radiation therapy now. “The population has increased, of course, but people are being diagnosed earlier now as well. We routinely treat approximately 50% of all cancers diagnosed in our area.”

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“Radiation therapy has come a long way,” Sissy told me. “With early detection, and better technology, we can pinpoint treatment to the cancerous tissue and minimize side effects.” She uses intensity-modulated radiation therapy (IMRT), an advanced mode of radiotherapy that can pinpoint and deliver precise radiation to the affected area. “Years ago, people were ashamed to have cancer,” said Sissy.

“Many times, by the time I saw them, the cancer was very advanced. I would see women with breast cancer come in with their breast eaten away with disease.”

Sissy went on to explain that today’s breast cancer patients do very well, mostly due to early diagnostics such as mammograms and ultrasounds. “With IMRT, healthy tissue is spared.”

When Sissy’s sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, it changed not only her

personal life, but her professional life as well. “I was always empathic to the patient and would spend as much time as needed to explain everything to them,” Sissy began. “But after my sister was diagnosed, I really saw what families go through.

My sister went into remission for eleven years before the cancer returned, and she was able to see her daughters grow up and even the first birthday of her grandson.”

“It is gratifying to know I am helping,” Sissy told me when I asked about how this work had changed her life. “I remember, years ago, a woman coming in with head and neck cancer. She had a one year old daughter and no family support.

One day, the doctors sent her to Grand Strand Hospital for a scan, but she had no way to get there. I asked her to wait until I finished working with my current patient and I would take her. I’ve never forgotten that woman and am always so thankful that I have always been healthy and got to see my daughters grow up.

Many are not so lucky.”

She went on, saying, “Working in this profession helps you keep your priorities straight. Most of us have a tendency to forget how blessed we are, but if I’m having a bad day, all I have to do is look in the waiting room.”

Mother to two daughters, Kim and Katie, Sissy’s main focus outside of work is her two grandchildren, Addison, age 7, and Maddox, age 2. The weekend before our meeting, she was helping her daughter move to Charleston. It was hot and the work was hard. “I was starting to complain when I stopped and realized how blessed I am to be able to work hard. People come into the center and they look great, you’d never know they have cancer. But, I know what their diagnosis is and watch them go slowly downhill over the next few months. Life can change in an instant. Always be thankful.”

Carolina Regional Cancer Center’s standards of excellence are a great source of pride for Sissy. “We offer the most progressive treatments available so people won’t have to travel so far.” After a patient is diagnosed, they will come into the center and meet with a radiation oncologist who will develop a treatment plan. If the patient is a candidate for radiation therapy, they will come back for a simulation, which includes a CT scan to determine exactly where to mark their skin for the upcoming treatments. The doctor then reviews the scans and brings the patient in again to plan their treatment, making sure the IMRT is optimized.

After a trial run and an x-ray to ensure absolute accuracy, the patients begin an average of 22 treatments.

If she’s not with her grandchildren, Sissy will most likely be found outside gardening, and her yard is a showplace. “All I’ve ever known is to work hard,” she laughed. “When my children were young, I would sometimes work ten hours a day, then come home and take care of my husband and children.” Of course, as a native of North Myrtle Beach, Sissy does go out shag dancing about once a month. Duck’s is her current favorite dance spot, but Sissy remembers taking shag lessons at the iconic Fat Harold’s years ago.

“North Myrtle Beach is my home,” she told me. “There’s nothing about my home I don’t enjoy,” she said laughing. “But it’s the people I love that are the most important.”

Sissy’s work is demanding, humbling and often very sad. A strong faith keeps her upbeat and positive. “My granddaughter asked me if I was going to die, and I told her, yes, I would die eventually, but I would come back. I might be a butterfly or I might be a bird, but I would be there, watching over her and Maddox.”

Sasee Takes A Look:

North Myrtle Beach This month, Sasee is drawn to the sparkle and shine of one of the Carolina’s finest beach communities! The entertainment capital of the Grand Strand, home of the shag dance, a premier sporting destination and a fun place to spend your beach day or date night – take your pick and fashion one of the many fabulous beach hats North Myrtle Beach has to offer. Those of us sitting beachside on the south end don’t always make it up this way, but I promise you it is worth the trek! With a “smalltown” city feel, the welcoming community takes you by

the hand to show you just what they have to offer. Once four independent beach communities (Cherry Grove, Windy Hill, Ocean Drive and Crescent Beach), in 1968 they combined to form one. And by taking Highway 31, our south end friends can beat the traffic and spend the day as a Carolina northerner. Already a part of this seaside gem? Then you already know all the adventure, happenings and hangouts that await. So grab your best girlfriend or pack up the family station wagon and hit the road to beautiful North Myrtle Beach.

See you there!

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Sasee Takes A Look: North Myrtle Beach Whether you grew up on the oceanfront streets of North Myrtle Beach or even if you are new to our area, you have most likely heard the Hoskins name! A longtime family-owned, diner style hotspot, Hoskins, has been serving an American seafood and steak menu three meals a day since Hubert and Leona Hoskins opened their doors in 1948. A Sasee favorite and an eatery tradition, remaining in the same family and in the same location, third generation owners have a table for you at their “family home” for a traditional meal that is tried and true!

We always love the road less traveled, and off the beaten path, across Kings Highway from Barefoot Landing, is Hamburger Joe’s, home to some of the best burgers and prices on the Strand. Family owned and operated, it is a fun lunch and dinner eatery serving…you guessed it, the best burgers in town! Housed in a roomy, down-to-earth cabin, Hamburger Joe’s grills up fresh, never frozen burgers and the classic American diner fare with always homemade sauces. Another local’s favorite, with prices so cheap, you will want to leave your change on the wall – a Hamburger Joe’s trademark.

I don’t know about you, but we have been known to throw a few pitches, kick a few soccer balls and caravan our sports loving little ones to a tournament or two! North Myrtle Beach Park & Sports Complex has been known to hit it out of the park. Offering a diverse selection of sporting event facilities and outdoor recreation, this premier venue can accommodate a range of activities – such as baseball, lacrosse, soccer, softball, quidditch (yes they do!) and flag football. The sports complex is also equipped with an array of facilities and fields, each with a wide selection of amenities adding value, fun, comfort and ease to your sporting event or tournament. And when the game is done, the day is not over, you and your loved ones, and even your furry friends, can head out and enjoy the trails, playgrounds, picnic shelters, dog park, 25 acre lake and 10 acre meadow.

Living by the beautiful Atlantic with gorgeous maritime forests and flora, a gorgeous view is easy to find! But what if you could see such beauty from the treetops? South Carolina’s first Zip Line and Treetop Adventure course, Go Ape is set within the woods behind the Sandhills Bank Amphitheater. An adventure-activity venue, you can explore the forest canopy via a treetop rope course. But more than just a canopy tour, the course is made up of numerous rope ladders, 40 exciting crossings to include the Spiders Web, ZigZag Bridge, Flying Carpet and Jungle Crossing, two Tarzan swings and five zip lines. An adrenaline rush and a sight to behold, two zip lines take you across a 25 acre clear blue lake on the Southeast side of the park. The views are simply stunning as you zip over the water from one side of the lake to the next.

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Sasee Takes A Look: North Myrtle Beach Okay history lovers, this one is for you! A strong sense of community is the heart of North Myrtle Beach and remembering and honoring the history behind this “small-town” city is the value behind the North Myrtle Beach Historic Museum. Opened in April 2013, the Museum’s mission is to foster a deeper appreciation for the culture, history and science of the North Myrtle Beach area. Acting as a hub of activities for visitors and locals of all ages, the Museum offers events and exhibits to learn about the exciting legacy of this beautiful region.

The Sasee staff loves to dance, and I am sure a few of you do as well! Grab your dancing shoes and head to the beach-themed club of Carolina Shag Dancing at Fat Harold’s – North Myrtle Beach’s living tribute to another time. The heart and lifework of Harold Bessent, aka the “King of Shag” and the “Fat Man” who’s passing in 2015 left a hole in the hearts of many, this hot spot has remained a statement accessory in the downtown district since opening its dance floor for the first time in 1962. Generations of locals and visitors continue to flock to North Myrtle Beach to sway to the tunes at Fat Harold’s. Hosting many shag festivals and SOS (Society of Shaggers) retreats, this museum of beach music and dance continues to welcome novice and expert shaggers alike to bask in the legendary establishment that keeps the spirit of shagging alive. And when all that dancing makes the body hungry, curb your cravings in the Shag City Grill with great burgers, hot dogs and much more.

We’ve danced, we’ve eaten, we’ve adventured, but there is still one more thing you must do in North Myrtle Beach. You can journey to Main Street and delight in the sounds of a live band every Thursday. Presented by the North Myrtle Beach Parks and Recreation Department, you can dance ’til you drop at the 2016 Music on Main concert series. Always fun and always free for all ages, come downtown after work or after a long day on the beach to experience the many happenings on Main Street and kick back and relax in your beach chair to the sounds of some of the most talented performers in the region.

We would love to know your favorite North Myrtle Beach hangout!

Send your favorites to Leslie at lmoore@strandmedia.com!

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Healing Help Kim Kelaher, Pharm. D.: Pure Compounding Pharmacy

by Leslie Moore

Do you do any volunteer work?

I like to volunteer in activities that I can do with my family. I volunteer to help at my child’s school because it gives me an opportunity to help out and to be a part of her world. My husband is a member of Surfside Rotary, and we hosted an exchange student from Sweden. Our family also volunteers at a soup kitchen when time allows.

Growing up, who was an important role model?

How did this person influence your life?

An important role model that I had growing up would be my grandmother or “Nanny” which is what we called her. She was born in the upstate of South Carolina. She lost both of her parents by age five and was raised at an orphanage called John del la Howe, available for children like her at that time. My grandmother experienced many hardships throughout her life, but I never heard her complain or speak poorly of anyone. She had a trusting and consistent faith in God, and one of my most treasured possessions is her tattered Bible that we would read together when I spent the night at her house.

What makes a person a hero?

To me, a hero is someone that voluntarily trades their own best interests for the calling of civic duty, service to one’s family, military service or any similar thing that God has called them to do. The acceptance and humility to obediently follow those callings, when they come, are heroic ways to live, even in our typically ordinary lives.

What are a few of the most rewarding aspects of your job as a pharmacist at Pure Compounding Pharmacy?

As a compounding pharmacist, I get lots of calls about hormone replacement therapy from men and women, and with a doctor’s prescription, formulate a specific prescription for each patient based on labs and medical history. It’s rewarding to see patients come in and say, “Thank you, I feel better and my immediate family and those around me see a difference too.”

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How can a compounding pharmacy help our readers?

A compounding pharmacy can help patients that have an allergy or intolerance to an ingredient. If a commercially available medication has been discontinued, we can often find a supplier for the raw chemical and compound a similar product, and also make a product more palatable through flavoring or easier to take by changing the dosage form. This could be a flavored tablet or troche for a person or a flavored treat for a pet. In some cases, we use topical cream to be absorbed through the skin or change a tablet to a liquid.

Stop by Pure Compounding Pharmacy and say hello to Kim, located at 3072 Dick Pond Road, (Highway 544) Suite 2, call 843-293-7979 or visit www.pure-compounding.com.

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In a Moment of Happiness

by Rose Ann Sinay

“What better place to spread love and understanding,” Linda said when I expressed my doubts. The organizer of our group, she was a bright and chatty free-spirit – a flower child without the flowers. Just being around her was like standing in a sunbeam.

I wanted to project that same positive energy to the people I would meet.

There were six of us, three girls and three guys. We were ready to bravely step up and make a difference in the world. But we cowered as we walked into the stone building, half expecting someone to jump out at us.

We gathered in a large empty room; a few small tables and orange plastic chairs were scattered here and there. The nurse in charge gave us brief instructions and a bit of information about the patients who would participate in the program.

We shouldn’t spend too much time with just one person.

We could go outside in a fenced area if the patient wanted a cigarette. And most importantly, don’t argue with a patient.

Other than that . . . just have fun.

The summer I turned sixteen, a friend invited me to join her group that visited hospitals in the area on a regular basis.

“We try to cheer up the patients up by talking to them, reading to them, playing checkers . . . whatever works,” Linda explained.

I enthusiastically agreed. It seemed a more grown up endeavor than the high school car washes and fund raisers. I accepted the invitation without asking about our assigned hospital. I found that out when my friend picked me up.

“The State Hospital?” I asked, scandalized at the thought. I knew the history and had heard all the stories. Originally named The State Hospital for the Insane, it was the setting for many scary stories told around local campfires.

The mental facility had housed the criminally insane and provided treatment for people that suffered severe mental illness. Eventually, the hospital came to include geriatric patients, tubercular patients and drug dependent individuals. As teenagers, it was the place that we all rubbernecked as we drove down the road, afraid of what we might see. The massive stone and brick buildings and park-like grounds were beautiful and eerie.

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Finally, a dozen men and women arrived. I heard a collective sigh of relief from my friends; the patients were not as we had imagined. They spanned the ages between our parents and grandparents. In fact, they looked like our parents and grandparents.

Joe, the first in the door, was a little Italian man who liked to talk and tell corny jokes. He also loved to sing love songs, but when he did, he began removing pieces of his clothing. While we were there, he never removed more than his shoes and socks before a staff member intervened. Needless to say, we stayed away from group sing-a-longs.

Dr. Smith was dressed in a shirt, tie and jacket. At first, we thought he worked at the hospital, but he shared with us that he had an insect phobia and admitted himself from time to time, when his thoughts became overwhelming. Thankfully, we never saw any sign of the condition. Dr. Smith became our unofficial guide to helping patients who were unhappy or having a bad day. Dr. Smith gave us information about mental health issues that we never knew existed.

Mary, a woman in her early forties, had an obsessive compulsive disorder, constantly counting and touching door knobs. One of our volunteers brought in Salsa records. He and Mary made up their own version of the cha-cha by adding extra dance steps and singing the numbers out loud. Mary loved it and counted out her steps as she danced out the door at the end of our visits.

The number of patients changed each week, but there were the “regulars” who made us feel like we were important to them . . . that they were happy to see us. And, of course, we all had our favorites.

Michael showed up halfway through our program. He was a big man in a wheel chair pushed by an aide. He didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on around him.

“Dementia,” Dr. Smith told me as I pulled up a chair and tried chatting with Michael. The only thing we knew about him was that he had been a military man and no one came to visit him. He sat with his eyes to the floor – at least when people were looking. Occasionally, I caught him listening intently to what was being said, engaged and interested.

I broke the first rule – I spent all my time with Michael, chattering about everything and nothing – sure that I could get him to talk. I told him all about me and my family. I brought pictures from home, pointing out every family member and friend, determined to get a reaction. He never said a word.

One day, something I said struck a chord. We made eye contact. He put his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out an old black and white

photo. A younger, thinner, confident Michael stood next to a young man. His arm circled the boy and rested on his shoulder. They were both smiling. There was no question that they were father and son.

Michael smiled. Three teeth were missing, but the smile was brilliant, nonetheless. For the rest of my visit he starred at the picture. For once, I had nothing to say. He was happy in that moment, and so was I. The summer ended, the program was over, and we went back to school.

We had all changed. A silly dance, a funny song, a shoe flying over head, a toothless smile – little moments of happiness that we would talk about around a campfire with fondness and empathy. Lessons learned from the most unlikely of sources.

Rose Ann Sinay

is a freelance writer typing away in sunny North Carolina.

Her articles/stories have been published in The Carolinas Today, The Oddville Press and The Brunswick Beacon.

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Fun Fitness Kelsey Stone:

Pure Barre, Murrells Inlet

by Leslie Moore

Growing up, who was an important role model?

How did this person influence your life?

My mother has been and always will be an important role model. As a kid, it was harder to see how much she really did for us all. But by the time I was in middle school, I began to understand the impact she had on not only my life, my brother’s life and my father’s life, but also our friends, extended family, neighbors and even stranger’s lives. She worked, cooked, cleaned, sewed, took us to volunteer, scheduled outings with our extended family, played with us, stopped to talk to strangers who looked lonely and helped people at a drop of a hat. She taught us the importance in making time for what or who you love, and how to make everyone feel welcome. She did all of this with a smile on her face and rarely with the sense of being rushed from one stop to the next.

One of the major influences she has had on me is the ability to separate work from play and knowing when to call it a day. She taught me to get up early and work hard, but that it’s also important to take an hour for lunch with someone you love or maybe even an afternoon pampering yourself.

This work/life balance and knowing which responsibilities to prioritize has truly shaped me into the woman and business owner that I am today.

What makes a person a hero?

To me, a hero is someone who does the right thing when no one is watching. Someone who takes the extra step to make everything “right” even though no one else may ever find out about it. Whether that be making sure you flag down the person who dropped a five dollar bill twenty feet in front of you, pulling over to help the person who just fell off their bike, or cleaning up trash from the beach – no little act of kindness is ever fully unnoticed. You may not know who to thank when you notice that the beach is clean, but you notice that it’s clean. Taking care of the rest of the world matters.

Why did you fall in love with Pure Barre fitness?

What should our readers know before trying a class for the first time?

I fell in love with Pure Barre the minute I realized that it never actually gets easier (which happened for me after about ten classes). Pure Barre is a technique that stimulates my mind-body connection unlike anything else I have ever experienced. The other major plus – it works! I was able to see changes in just those first few classes. At first it was only small changes, but, after a while, it was inches off my waist and improved flexibility.

As a Registered Dietitian, I’ve never had a hard time eating healthy. That said, incorporating Pure Barre into my daily routine made it even easier to make other healthier choices like going to bed earlier, parking my car a

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little further away from the door to get in more steps, or taking the effort to prepare meals for the week to ensure I have a healthy snack on hand. Pure Barre is a 55-minute class where you focus on making yourself stronger, healthier and happier – it’s not surprising that these positive feelings resonate outside of the studio as well.

Don’t get discouraged after your first class! We use a very special language and technique that takes time to fully understand – you wouldn’t expect to master yoga in a day, and Pure Barre takes time, too. Give yourself at least ten classes to find your mind-body connection, understand the “flow” of class and start seeing results. We recommend coming at least three times per week, but you can come daily because it is so low impact. Some other minor things to know before your first class is that we wear pants that cover our knees to keep our muscles safe, and we only wear socks in the studio!

Other than that, we provide everything else you need except the clothes on your back! (But we can probably help you there too!)

Contact Kelsey at Pure Barre Murrells Inlet, located at The Shoppes at Tournament Boulevard, 11897 Hwy 707, Murrells Inlet, or call 843-299-0848 or visit purebarre.com/sc-murrellsinlet.

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I’ve Been There

by Janeen Lewis

I watched the frazzled mom pick out grocery items, steer an enormous car cart, and try to keep two children under control.

When her daughter ran right in front of my buggy, the mom apologized.

“Oh, no problem,” I said. “I understand. My two are at home.”

Those words lit a spark of commonality in the mom’s eyes and she laughed. “You managed to get away by yourself. Good for you!”

I smiled and continued on, thinking about the frazzled mom, and remembered one day years ago that changed how I treat other parents I meet in the grocery store.

My son Andrew was four at the time, and my daughter Gracie was one. It was a gray, wintry day when I realized that the only edible things we had in the house were one thin slice of turkey, a black banana and a heel of bread. I stopped postponing the weekly grocery trip and took the children with me instead of waiting for my husband to get home from work.

Before I set one foot out of the house, I stocked Gracie’s diaper bag with snacks, diapers, wipes, cloth books and small toddler toys.

The bag was so full, I walked through the door sideways.

Then I asked Andrew an all-important question: Did he have to use the bathroom? He assured me that no, he did not.

Finally, I strapped the children into car seats. As I put the key in the ignition, I heard Andrew from the backseat.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” he announced.

“I thought you said you didn’t have to go.”

“I didn’t feel like I had to then, but I do now.”

He was too afraid to go inside the empty house by himself, and I didn’t want to leave a 13-month old unattended, so I undid everyone’s seat buckles and we trudged back inside.

After two false starts, we were finally at the carts at the entrance of Wal-Mart when I realized Gracie needed a diaper change. I lugged my twenty-two pound daughter and a diaper that felt like it weighed the same amount into the restroom while cajoling a wandering Andrew to stay with me. Finally, I got Gracie onto the changing table and reached for the wipes. I kept on reaching because the wipes weren’t there. The car! I left the wipes there when I cleaned hands and faces. I didn’t want to walk back to the parking lot, so ​I lugged Gracie and cajoled Andrew back to the baby section to buy more wipes.

I got in line at the registers at electronics. There were already two people in line, but the man ahead of me said, “Is that all you have?

Why don’t you get in front of me? You look tired.”

Not only did he let me in front of him, he noticed I was tired. He had my vote for Time Magazine’s “Man of the Year.” I thanked him and explained about the wipes.

“I understand,” he said. “I’ve been there.”

Finally, I paid for the wipes and changed Gracie. We had been in the store twenty minutes, and I didn’t even have a cart, so we walked back to the front to retrieve one. Andrew was too big for the buggy, so he walked next to me. When I searched for something on a shelf, he got behind me. When I put the item in the cart, I couldn’t see him and immediately panicked – I had lost a child!

Spinning like a dog

32

chasing its tail, I looked all around as Andrew turned with me to stay out of view. Eventually, I turned fast enough to find Andrew, and both boy and baby laughed hysterically. We were on aisle one.

I muddled on. Slowly, I made it through three more aisles, reminding Andrew to “Look, not touch” and to “stay with me.” We rounded the bend of the pasta aisle and passed a woman about my mother’s age who smiled at me. I’d seen her in some of the other aisles we shopped, but this time she spoke.

“You must be a good mother because you have good children.”

She must not have heard me, no less than one hundred times, say “No!” to Andrew’s requests for sugary, artificially flavored products. How did she miss me correcting him in every aisle for hanging off of the cart?

Then I realized she probably didn’t miss it. Maybe she’s a mom herself.

She remembered when she was in my place, and she understood. And she was right. My children were good children, and I was being the best mom I could be, considering the situation – trying to shop with young, restless children in a store full of bright, beckoning products. Like the man in electronics, maybe the woman in the pasta aisle was saying in her own way, “I’ve been there.”

It felt like that shopping trip lasted for hours. We spent 20 minutes in front of the fish tanks. I made a complicated detour past the toy aisle so we would make it home in time for dinner. I had to say “No!” to candy at the checkout while blocking the display with my whole body,

unloading the cart, and balancing a crying Gracie on my hip. But I was okay through all of this. The kind words of the other shoppers buoyed me up. In fact, if my children hadn’t come with me, my path wouldn’t have crossed the paths of those who encouraged me and validated what I do as a mother.

From that day on, I’ve made a conscious effort to say something positive to other parents at the grocery. Sometimes I tell them they are doing a good job, or I compliment them on their children. The words don’t matter as long as I pass on the kindness I received from strangers one day long ago and say in my own way, “I’ve been there.”

Janeen Lewis

is a freelance journalist​, part-time STEM teacher and mother of two. When she isn’t spending time with her family, she loves writing about them.

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August 2016

Kindred Spirits 35

Rescued

by Diane DeVaughn Stokes It’s been one year since Cagney came into our lives. Her previous owner was a man Chuck and I knew all of our lives, but when he had a stroke and had to go to a nursing home, Cagney was headed to the animal shelter in Florence. Having been in her company on many occasions, I knew she was a perfectly behaved dog, with the sweetest disposition.

So after forty years of owning multiple cats, off I went to rescue her.

Cagney’s gentle spirit and presence in our lives has been a Godsend. She goes everywhere with us, even to work.

She is not a barker or a jumper, never bothers our two cats and simply wants to be petted and loved.

As a guardian for an elderly memory care friend at Brightwater, I thought it would be neat to take Cagney there for a visit. Sylvia, and her husband, Harry, who is now deceased, had lots of pets over the years, and even though Sylvia cannot tell you what she ate for breakfast or what day it is, she tells me all about her pets and their names whenever Cagney is there for a visit. She even told me that Cagney resembled a little deer that she use to love as a child that she would sneak into her house at night when her parents were asleep. Before I knew it, all the residents wanted to spend some time with Cagney.

So, I got this wild idea about getting Cagney trained to be a therapy/service dog. With papers from her vet, and a few lessons from a trainer, she is “official.” The trainer actually told me he thinks she was a therapy dog in a previous life because she qualified in every way with very little prompting. Or maybe she is just plain brilliant!

Weekly I take her to Brightwater Memory Care, and the residents love her. BJ, a feisty woman in her nineties actually lies on the floor with Cagney and puts her arm around her saying how nice it is to feel a warm body next to hers once again. Mae, another resident, says Cagney reminds her of all the dogs she used to have when she was young child in Ireland. She then tells me all about the country she left behind when she married an American many moons ago. And Tommie, who really can’t communicate well any more, just likes to hold Cagney’s leash and keeps saying the word “horse.” I figured she was just mixing up the word dog and horse. But one afternoon Tommie’s daughter came to visit while I was there with Cagney, and she told me that Tommie was an avid horse rider right up into her seventies and holding the leash must remind her of holding her horse’s reins.

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I have seen these residents come alive and fill with joy when Cagney and I come to visit. And dare I visit without her; they all want to know, “Where is the dog?” She produces instant smiles wherever we go.

Yesterday, we visited the rehab area, and every single person wanted to touch her and have her lick their faces with doggie kisses. And when I take Cagney to preschools, the little ones adore her and listen intently as I tell them how to behave around a dog, and how to slowly approach each dog with gentleness because they differ just like people.

My mom lives at Covenant Towers, and the residents there all love Cagney, too. Mom babysits for her when we are out of town and that forces her to walk Cagney several times a day, getting exercise Mom does not normally get. Bingo. Another perk for owning a dog.

And recently I received some therapy myself from Cagney. You see, she loves to go to the office with Chuck every morning, but when I was home sick last month with a staph infection in my nose, she knew I was under the weather and did not leave the foot of our bed all day. Is it possible that we have the smartest dog in the world? Is it possible that not having children has made us completely obsessed over this dog? Is it possible that all our friends are sick of hearing Cagney stories and seeing her photos on Chuck’s Facebook page? Yes to all of the above. But please bear with us. When people told us there is nothing like owning a dog, we would say we have cats, and we understand. But we did not. Yet, now we know just how precious doggie love can be. When Cagney looks at us with those big brown eyes, we both just melt. Now I am positive that I did not rescue her, she rescued us from missing out on something really big in our lives that we did not even know we were missing.

Diane DeVaughn Stokes

Diane DeVaughn Stokes and her husband Chuck own Stages Video Productions in Myrtle Beach. Diane is also the Host and Producer for TV show “Inside Out” as seen on HTC channel 4, and “Diane on Six” on EASY Radio. Her new book Floating On Air- A Broadcasting Love Affair is available on amazon.com.

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The only worry was Mrs. Sandstrom. She was our landlady and lived next door, and I was warned by several people that she was impossible to get along with. She was “crabby” and would probably stop by regularly to inspect the apartment to see if I kept it clean enough.

What I had heard about Mrs. Sandstrom proved to be totally unfounded. Two weeks after I moved in she did stop by to “inspect” but instead of reprimanding me to keep it cleaner, she actually told me I was keeping it too clean!

“You don’t need a dustpan,” she said. “You could sweep this dirt onto a bottle cap.”

She was talking about the round cardboard stoppers that used to come in glass milk bottles in the 1940s and ‘50s. It took me a minute to realize what she was referring to.

“You need to rest more,” she said, referring to my “condition” since she knew baby number three was on the way. She warned me about sitting in a “cross draft” with screen doors in the living room and kitchen both letting a pleasant breeze into the house. I never did understand the superstition of the “cross draft,” but it had something to do with my “condition.”

An Unlikely Teacher

by Arlene Shovald

One of my favorite teachers was not really a teacher at all. Mrs. Sandstrom was an elderly Swedish woman who probably didn’t finish grade school and she was my landlady in the early 1960s.

When I was married in 1959, we bought a small house with one tiny bedroom. That house was soon overflowing with two babies and another on the way, so we found a bigger apartment we could afford to rent and put the little house up for sale.

I was overjoyed. Moving into a two bedroom downstairs apartment was like moving into a spacious palace. Rent was $15 a month and affordable on my husband’s income of $118 every two weeks. With two babies there was no way I could work and besides, “working mothers” weren’t socially acceptable at that time.

40

“Condition” was Mrs. Sandstrom’s word for pregnancy – a “four letter word” in her day. She told me that when she was a young girl in Sweden, her mother took her and her three sisters aside one day to tell them about the birds and the bees. That proved to be simply a stern warning to “never let a man touch you.” When she fell in love and followed her fiancé across the ocean to marry him, the wedding night was quite a shock, and she was totally unprepared!

Coffee with Mrs. Sandstrom was always a treat. I made mine in an electric percolator I bought with Gold Bond stamps, but there was no comparison to her coffee. She made hers in a big blue and white enamel pot and would scoop out the exact amount of coffee she needed. (It amounted to about a tablespoon per cup.) She mixed that with an egg, shells and all. The first time she did that I couldn’t believe it. It looked like something that should go in the garbage.

Once the water was boiling, she would dump the coffee and egg mixture into the pot; let it simmer awhile, and then pour a cup of cold water into the coffee, causing the egg/coffee mixture to sink to the bottom. After a few minutes she’d pour the coffee and it was the smoothest, best tasting brew I have ever had.

Mrs. Sandstrom was a recycler before the term existed. When I was short on cupboard space, she suggested I make use of an old icebox in her shed. It was an ugly green, but a coat of white paint and some contact paper to line the shelves transformed it into a cupboard. I wish I still had it.

When our little house finally sold, we were able to buy a two-story house two doors down from Mrs. Sandstrom. That was good because I would have missed her if we had to leave the neighborhood. We moved out on October 7, 1964, the day baby number three was born. A few days later she came over with an envelope that held $10. It was a refund on the $15 rent we’d paid for that month. I knew she could have used it, but she also knew we could use it with the new baby.

As crippled as she was with arthritis, she’d walk downtown and shop at three or four stores in our small town to save money on groceries.

It might be 10 cents on a bag of oranges or five cents on a bag of that freshly ground coffee from the A & P Store that she always used. She reinforced the lessons in the value of money that I had learned from my parents.

When the baby had diaper rash, she recommended Bag Balm, a product used for cows with mastitis, an infection of the mammary glands. She even brought a tin of it over to our house. It sounded bizarre but with her standing there, I couldn’t refuse to use it. To my surprise, that Bag Balm cleared up the diaper rash in no time. Another thing she recommended was browning flour in a pan on the stove and powdering the diaper area with it. That worked too.

When she passed away, new neighbors with a young family moved in.

But I will never forget the lessons I learned from the “crabby and mean” old landlady I had been warned about. She was a wonderful mentor, and I miss her still. It just goes to show, you have to make up your own mind about a person. It’s kind of like cleaning out an attic. One person’s junk is another one’s treasure. And Mrs. Sandstrom truly was a treasure.

Arlene Shovald

lives in Salida, Colorado, and has been a newspaper reporter and freelance writer for about 40 years.

She is also a clinical hypnotherapist and past life regression therapist.

843-237-3773 • 11412 Ocean Highway • Pawleys Island • www.christophersfinejewelry.com

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43

The Amy Gift

by Cynthia Cavanaugh

But this was early fall, and the leaves had just started their annual makeover. We arrived at the little house with the fake brickpatterned tar paper and wide porch where my grandfather had kept his “viewing” chair. Aunt Amy’s house hadn’t experienced the cosmetic changes of some of its neighbors, and in the big, sloping back lawn sat the clothesline never replaced by a modern dryer.

Ringing the doorbell was the entry card to the perfect time-warp.

We were moving back “home” to the west coast from our three year stint in a mid-western city. So, I called Aunt Amy in Lincoln, told her we’d be passing through, and we’d like to take her, along with Cousin David, to dinner. No, she insisted, she wanted to cook dinner for us.

We arrived in town and settled into our motel room before heading over to “College View,” the part of Lincoln where Aunt Amy lived. Historically a bit down-trodden, houses in this neighborhood were built in the early years of the 20th century. Over the decades bathrooms had been added, a kitchen remodeled, or a basement paneled. Later it evolved into the “Historic College View Neighborhood” with its own Association and plans for a farmers market. Still, in the 1990’s, sidewalks needed repair and gentrification had yet to begin. But, gracious old trees shaded the quiet streets, and the scent of Midwest grass and blooming lilacs filled the air in July.

44

My mother’s favorite sister answered the door and we entered 1957. Amy sported a stylish wig, but otherwise, at 90, she was still the slightly overweight aunt with the Saunders eyes. The living room had hardly changed in 40 years. The sofa was different, but had never moved in my lifetime. Shelves of knick-knacks, the TV, dining room table and organ all stayed in their places of origin.

Ceilings were high, rooms opened off of other rooms with no hallways to separate them, the claw-footed bathtub hadn’t been replaced, and Grandpa’s basement bedroom had become a workspace for David’s stonework. In the kitchen, a new stove, refrigerator and washer had been installed a few decades earlier, but the rectangular dinner table still sat in the middle of the room, with the single hanging light above it creating a sort of interrogation room glow. The icing on the time-warp cake was the unmistakable smell of heating gas.

We sat in the “front room” and caught up on Amy’s life, along with David’s craft fairs and his cockatiels which he paraded around town on his shoulders, as the “Birdman of Lincoln”. Two cousins who lived in town each called to say they wouldn’t be showing up after all. So much for our mini family reunion. Nevertheless, Amy and her son were interesting company.

I offered to help my aunt with the last preparations for dinner.

When I arrived in the kitchen, Aunt Amy had donned a plastic shower cap over her wig. She obviously saw the look on my face: shock and awe. What purpose could a shower cap possibly serve in dinner preparations? “I wear the shower cap to keep my wig from catching fire when I’m taking the chicken out of the oven,” she explained. Yikes! How far was she planning to stick her head into the oven to retrieve the chicken? And why wouldn’t the shower cap catch fire anymore than the wig? Ruth Buzzi’s LaughIn hairnet came to mind. I had to get my laughter-quaking body out of the room immediately. An excuse was made, and I exited to the bathroom with the claw-foot tub.

When I returned, dinner was hitting the table, and David and my husband were joining us. David reminded his mother to remove the shower cap, and we all sat down to a slightly under-cooked chicken in the “Bates Motel” kitchen. My laughter barely subsided; I just wanted to leave and share the shower cap story with Sid. Dishes were cleared and we settled back into the living room. Aunt Amy slipped into her bedroom and brought out a large charcoal drawing of an eagle that I had drawn, and apparently gave to her when I was about 10. More than three decades later, she still had it. And she wanted me to know how much she treasured it.

At that moment, the visit turned. The requisite visit with kin, a trip down memory lane and funny stories to share with my friends suddenly transformed into a deep connection with a woman I’d hardly known. Far away from most family, I’d grown up without much adult confirmation of my worth; without heroic grown-up figures to tell me that I was special and important. And now this darling woman shared a piece of me that I had shared with her so long ago. She had cherished something that I had created and, unknowingly, was giving me a gift I’d never received: a stamp of approval of my 10 year old self.

Aunt Amy died a couple of years later, followed by Cousin David not long after. My Christmas letters to Amy during her last years were more personal and heart-felt. I fantasized that, had we lived closer, she might have been the aunt I would have wanted; the one I could go to for outside support and nurture. Having grandchildren of her own, she may never have been that aunt. That didn’t matter. Her gift to me changed some perceptions of my childhood, and I looked at family photos of all those trips to the Midwest in a new light. I saw myself surrounded by a big, loving family who embraced me and, in my adult years, I would reach out to them for even stronger connections. I found myself several aunts and an uncle, along with numerous cousins, who brought the family ties I wanted. A sweet woman and a drawing made all of that happen.

Cynthia Cavanaugh

is a textile designer who lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with her husband and three furry friends. After a career in the art world, she found her writing voice and inspiration from the big and small moments of her life and the world around her.

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47

Crossing Lake Ontario

by Phil La Borie

An advertisement for the upcoming Wooden Boat Show in Georgetown this fall put me in mind of my own wooden boat adventure, or as it turned out, my misadventure.

Well, a little more than just a spin. He had the bright idea that we could easily motor straight across Lake Ontario to Oz, or if not to Oz, at least to Toronto, a mystic city that we’d heard much about but had never visited.

The story goes like this:

“Look,” he said, pointing to his handy McMillan road map, “it’s just 60 miles straight across the lake to Canada, and this boat can do 45 mph. We can make it there and back before my dad even knows it’s gone! We’ll be home in time for dinner!”

One of my high school friend’s dad had a glorious wooden speedboat.

He periodically took the boat out on Lake Ontario near Rochester, New York, and my friend and I served as his passengers/crew with all the benefits thereof, namely preparing the boat for departure and cleaning up afterward.

The boat was a Century Arabian – a beautiful runabout built in the mid1950s. For those of you who are unfamiliar with runabouts, they are small motorboats, usually with an enclosed engine and hold between four and eight people.

So much for the facts.

But the facts don’t begin to describe the majesty of this craft. The Arabian was a sleek, sculptural masterpiece. It was capable of very high speeds and seated in one of the comfortable rear seats, dancing across the waves, you felt like you were the king of the world.

As you might imagine the boat was also very expensive. Something my friend’s dad often pointed out to us. The owner also admonished us to always treat the Arabian with the utmost respect, because it could be fickle and become unstable if not handled carefully.

But leave it to a couple of teenagers to figure out a way to disregard wise advice from our elders.

One hot summer day (it was always either boiling hot in Rochester or freezing cold), my friend suggested that we take the Arabian out for a spin.

48

At this point I have to pause in my story to reveal that neither of us really knew how fast the boat could go, what the lake conditions could be, had no idea of seamanship and worst of all, were somehow able to overlook the fact that Toronto actually lies more than 90 miles to the northwest of Rochester.

But why should all of that stop us?

I quickly agreed with his idea, and we began to make preparations for our sea voyage.

A proper lunch was a necessity, of course, so we built two towering baloney on white bread sandwiches. We’d need something to drink, so we packed away two bottles of soda. A box of cookies completed our larder.

Naturally, we would want extra gas, so we found two empty ten-gallon cans and planned to fill them the next morning prior to our departure.

Did we think to include a nautical chart of the lake, extra sunscreen or perhaps even a compass? Sissy stuff, no need for any of that. We’d just head somewhat west of north (the Arabian had a small compass mounted on the dashboard) and in a couple of hours, we’d be sampling the wonders of Toronto.

Early the next day we met at the dock, gassed up the Arabian and the extra

gas fuel cans – all under the suspicious eye of the dock-master, which, as it turned out, proved to be very providential.

The day was sunny, there was no wind and the lake was dead calm. Of course, we couldn’t actually see Toronto, but we could feel the city’s magnetic pull.

To the throb of the mighty Arabian engine, we set out. Once past Charlotte Harbor into Lake Ontario, my friend opened the throttle and we soared away. It was a glorious feeling. At least at first.

Settling back to relax, we decided that some lunch was in order, so we wolfed down the sandwiches and drank a good portion of the soda.

Big mistake.

Mistake number two occurred sometime later when we encountered massive waves.

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Looking out from the shore, Lake Ontario appears to be flat as a pancake.

However, this proved not to be the case as we approached what we later learned were the lake freighter lanes.

As the Arabian rose alarmingly high on the wave crests, teetered on the top and then plunged down the far side with a velocity we’d never known, our stomachs did the same.

Lunch soon went overboard, and we felt like going with it.

But our worries were far from over. As we experienced a combination of terror, vertigo and seasickness, we suddenly heard a loud, authoritarian voice shout, “You there in the runabout. Come about immediately and return to shore.”

We were scared to death.

The voice came from the Coast Guard who had arrived like some Deus Ex Machina from a Greek tragedy in a helicopter, having been alerted by the dock-master who had anticipated what the two numbskulls were up to.

The consequences of our stupid sea voyage included learning that the lake freighters would have no way of seeing our small craft wallowing in the waves and that it can take up to a mile to bring one of the monsters to a complete stop.

We simply would have been run down and smashed to bits, ex-baloney sandwiches and all.

That might have been a preferable fate to the wrath of my friend’s dad.

There’s anger and then there’s really angry. Not pleasant to say the least.

The Coast Guard was not pleased either, considering the amount of time and money they’d spent rescuing our sorry behinds.

Bottom line: The next time anyone tells you can easily cross 60 miles of open water in a small boat, just tell them they’re full of baloney. At least temporarily.

Phil La Borie

is an award-winning writer/artist based in Garden City, South Carolina. His work has been published in AdWeek, The Kaiser-Permanente Journal ,Westworld Magazine and online at smilesforall.com. Phil is the 2015 winner of the Alice Conger Patterson Award offered through the Emrys Foundation. He can be reached at plaborie@voxinc.net.

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49

Notes from Outpatient Surgery

by Tyann Sheldon Rouw

Just thinking about bringing my 13-year-old son Isaac to the hospital for outpatient surgery caused me to break out in a cold sweat.

I was devastated when our dentist told us Isaac had a cavity that would need to be filled at the hospital. My husband and I decided as long as he’d be sedated, we’d have a mole removed from the sole of his foot at the same time. I had heard about similar outpatient surgeries from other families who have kids with special needs. I prayed it wouldn’t be a disaster.

When the nurse from pre-admission called to discuss Isaac’s upcoming surgery, we were leaving to run errands. It was difficult to hear her because Isaac screamed, “Go in the car! Go in the car!”

“Has he ever been diagnosed with diabetes or asthma? Has he ever had MRSA?” she asked.

She assured me every patient at the hospital was special, and the staff would do everything in their power to help Isaac have a positive experience. I hoped Isaac’s screams would get the message across: this upcoming surgery might be difficult.

“Please assign a nurse to Isaac who has a calm demeanor – someone who has a soft voice and a laid back personality,” I said. “He

has limited language and occasionally unpleasant behaviors due to his autism. He has difficulty waiting, so we’ll be there at the latest acceptable time. We prepare for the worst and hope for the best, and I hope you’ll do the same,” I said.

She thanked me and said she’d make a note of it.

We arrived at the hospital early the day of surgery, rode the elevator to the second floor and checked in. Sharon, a nurse who has been in the field for 46 years, announced Isaac’s name. I waved my hands and smiled. She asked where she could find him.

“He went into the elevator,” I said. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.

Elevators are one of his favorite things.”

She looked puzzled but smiled. Years ago Isaac went to therapy in this same building several times per week. He fell madly in love with the elevators when he was a small boy.

We spent about two hours with Sharon. She was pleasant, helpful, understanding and non-judgmental. This woman was living proof angels exist on earth.

“Do you think he’ll let me put in an IV?” she asked.

It was the million dollar question. Would he let anyone poke him with a needle? Would he stay in the room long enough? Would he be upset when we shut the curtain and he could no longer see the action in the hallway? Would he pull out the IV? You’d have better luck playing pick-up sticks with your butt cheeks, I wanted to say.

Isaac roamed the halls wearing his gown. Occasionally he screamed in protest, but nobody seemed alarmed by his cries. Sharon told us she’d call the operating room and attempt to put in the IV 15 minutes prior to the surgery, which we thought was a great idea.

She asked another nurse to help.

“I’m good, but Beth is better,” she said.

Beth was upbeat, fun and hungry to find good veins. “Oh, look at that good one over there!” she said, as she poked his arm. I rubbed his back and within a few seconds, his IV was in place. Beth made it look easy.

Isaac sobbed briefly but was okay. He reclined on his portable bed, covered with blankets. Based on the look in his eyes and his intermittent tears, he seemed to know what was ahead.

Isaac seemed sad and serious as he was wheeled down the hallway.

Leanne, the thoughtful operating room nurse with the calm voice,

50

made sure he was able to wave his hand in front of the sensors to open the doors, which he loved. It’s hard to know what Isaac understands sometimes, but I was confident he knew exactly what was happening.

“We’ll see you in a few minutes, buddy,” I said, as I kissed his forehead and pulled him close. Isaac clutched his digital alarm clock, which he brought from home as a comfort item. Suddenly Isaac was gone. He was wheeled down the white long hallway that didn’t seem to have an end. It was like saying goodbye at the airport. I had a lump in my throat.

The only consolation was that he was in good hands. The nursing staff was exceptional.

As we headed back to the waiting area, Sharon walked past and said, “How is your sweet son doing? You’re all wonderful. I was really impressed.”

“Please tell me you’ll never retire!” I said. If we ever found ourselves back here again, I wanted Sharon by our side. She didn’t mention Isaac’s screams or his repetitive behaviors. She only focused on the positives.

When I learned the surgery went well and Isaac was heading back to his room, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. According to the doctors, it couldn’t have gone any better.

While we sat in his room for a few hours watching Isaac sleep, I noticed his chart on one of the chairs. A post-it note stuck to the front said “Calm demeanor needed, soft voice, laid back.” It was written in ink and highlighted in bright yellow. I was grateful the nursing staff had gone the extra mile.

The nurse on the phone had assured me every patient was special, and the staff would do everything possible to help Isaac have a positive experience. Nobody had met Isaac prior to the day of surgery, but it didn’t matter. They respected him, listened to him and considered our needs.

They presumed he was competent. They talked directly to him and let him answer questions, as much as he could. I am forever grateful to the nurses at the hospital whose outstanding care made our first outpatient surgery experience a positive one.

Tyann Sheldon Rouw

is a contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series. Her work has appeared in Yahoo Parenting, Brain, Child Magazine, Scary Mommy, and The Mighty.

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51

Back By Popular Demand

The asee

SHat!

Sasee has had tons of fun seeing all the wonderful hats our readers are wearing with so much style!

Everyone’s hats were gorgeous!

Our Sasee Hat Winner is Teresa McDavid!

Teresa made all nine of these hats for the Surfside Beach Ladies Luncheon.

Congratulations Teresa!

Teresa’s prize package includes: a $25 gift certificate to Croissants Bistro & Bakery in Myrtle Beach, Two passes to Brookgreen Gardens and a Bottle of Wine selected by our wine-loving staff.

Please keep sending us your hat photos! We will have another winner in the coming months!

Send your favorite photo of you and your friends in your most stylish hats to Leslie at lmoore@strandmedia.com!

52

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53

Love it or Leave it?

by Erika Hoffman

Havana has been dubbed the city of columns. For me, it was the city of tripping hazards! I’d have loved to peer upwards to view those Ionian columns, but if I took my eyes off the pavement for a nano-second, I’d fall over an upturned sidewalk or tumble into an open manhole or step in dog poop or horse dung, which I did once, in flip-flops no less. Everything’s askew; everything’s on the verge of crumbling. It’s like walking on a slanted, moving floor of a carnival’s funhouse.

I’ve heard Americans urge: “Go now. See the place before it changes – before it becomes like every other tourist destination in the Caribbean.” They act as if this city will be restored to its previous splendor overnight. “Not so fast,” I’d reply sadly. “The infrastructure is ruined.” For instance, you can’t flush tissue down a commode.

It will cause a major blockage. You can’t drink tap water because it is unfiltered, and it will cause the opposite of a major blockage.

Everywhere there is an uneasy sense, a foreboding sense, a “dis-ease,” a feeling of impending doom of apocalyptic proportions.

I didn’t see children begging. I did see the elderly with outstretched hands. Most were black. One elderly white man, skin and bones, scavenged through one large, metal, green garbage container after another. I gave him one “CUC,” and he grinned gratefully at me with a footlong stream of drool hanging from his lower lip. One CUC is about a dollar for us, but it is 24 Cuban pesos (CUP) for them, and they can buy a lot of food in the open market with their local peso currency. Foreigners are not supposed to use the local currency. We must trade with the Cuban Convertible Currency, the CUC. We were advised to exchange our greenbacks at the airport because it is difficult to find places to exchange American dollars or Euros elsewhere. If you have Euros, you get a better rate than if you exchange dollars.

54

The Cuban gals who work at the airport aren’t friendly; they wear black, lacy stockings with designs, making them look like streetwalkers. We were instructed not to take pictures at the airport and told that the government sometimes takes folks’ cameras away if they snap a photo. I really wanted to photograph the cute Cocker Spaniels that were sniffing everyone’s luggage. These drug dogs were well trained, affectionate and loyal to their handlers. One even rode on his soldier’s back. Cubans and their dogs seem to have an unusually close bond. Even the “street dogs” seem nonaggressive and polite, like the beggars. The mendicants are pesky in tailing you but always courteous. They’re not addled by drugs like the menacing, homeless beggars of San Francisco, California.

The Cubans are nice, nicer than those you run into at the Miami airport, but it may be because these islanders are desperate for help. It’s like the expression: When you’re in a deep well, you reach to grab any hand extended to you. Beggars can’t be choosers.

In the Miami airport, Cubans wait in serpentine queues with their belongings wrapped in thick Saran wrap. We Americans were escorted through a different way because we were part of a tour – a People to People Cultural Exchange; we were not on our own. They are cautious – the Cubans. They are afraid things will get stolen. They bring back TVs, fenders, huge automobile replacement parts. They have to procure spare parts for their ‘30s classics. Everything is jerry-rigged. Watching the behemoth–like Cadillacs zooming down the street in front of the Malecon, that long sea wall, may seem “enchanting” to Anthony Bourdain as he said in his CNN special On Parts Unknown, but, on a sultry night with oppressive humidity, it isn’t “enchanting” for that guy lying on his back on the dirty pavement, under the chassis of his unwieldy car, in the middle of traffic trying to get his ride to work. He’s on a busy street. Folks go around him. It is routine.

Cubans can’t trust the banks. They have no savings. A rainy day fund is a foreign concept. They live hand to mouth – not only the laborers but the professionals too. A professor at a university gets paid 35 CUCs per month. One confided to us that to run her air conditioning wall unit in her apartment costs more than her entire month’s salary. She lives on the second floor with her husband.

Below her landing are her folks. In another apartment of the house reside her uncle and her sister and her sis’s husband. They feel lucky to own a house with so many floors, built by their grandpa before the Revolution.

Educated people, proud people, hard-working people live in rack and ruin in Cuba. One is paid next to nothing, but there’s nothing to buy. You wait in line for 25 minutes to buy a soda and a packet of cookies at what they call a grocery store. Mostly they shop at open air markets. Flies surround the fruits and vegetables and swarm the meat hanging in the sultry breeze. It is October and stinking hot!

If you want a good meal, don’t eat at the government-run hotels.

The food is lousy. You are served potatoes, rice and something that looks like the Hawaiian poi – tasteless and white. Raul has only very recently allowed family-run restaurants called paladars. Here you dine on red snapper, a salad and flan. They serve mojitos and beer called Cristal or Bucanero and even wine, but not good wine.

This is not how Cubans eat. It would cost them a month’s salary to feast at a paladar.

Eager to return to The States, I felt thankful my ancestors had the good sense to come here centuries ago. I’m grateful that subsequent generations haven’t blown a good thing – this dreamland!

Sometimes, you don’t know what you have until you travel and see what others don’t have that you take for granted.

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Erika Hoffman

views most travel experiences as educational experiences and sometimes the lessons learned are revelations about oneself.

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55

July 2016 1 3 10 17 24 31

1-29

Ocean Isle Concert Series,

Fridays, 6:30-8 pm, Museum of Coastal Carolina parking lot, E. Second St., Ocean Isle Beach, N.C. For more information, call 910-Â 579-2166.

7-28

Music on Main,

Thursdays, North Myrtle Beach, 7-9 pm. For more info, call 843-280-5570 or visit parks.nmb.us.

22

Moveable Feast, Julia Franks discusses Over the Plain House, 11 am, Carefree Catering, $25.

For more info, call 843-235-9600 or visit www.classatpawleys.com.

56

1-9/10

The Art of the Brick,

exhibit of Lego art by Nathan Sawaya, The Art Museum of Myrtle Beach, 3100 S. Ocean Blvd., Myrtle Beach, 843-238-2510 or visit

4 11 18 25

5 12 19 26

6 13 20 27

2-30

Georgetown Farmers Market, Saturdays, 8 am-1 pm, 122 Screven Street, Georgetown.

For more info, visit www.visitgeorge.com.

www.myrtlebeachartmuseum.org.

9

Second Saturdays at the Kaminski House,

Georgetown, 11 am-2 pm.

Sweetgrass Basket making by local craftswomen. For more info, call 843-546-7706.

22-24, 29-31

The Musical of Musicals,

Brunswick Little Theatre, 8068 River Road SE,Southport, North Carolina. For tickets and

more info, call 910-447-2586 or visit www.brunswicklittletheatre.com.

12-17

Junior SOS,

OD Beach and Golf Club, Shag dancing workshops for youth with dance contests, club socials and more. Visit www.juniorshaggers.com or call 919-682-4266 for more info.

29

Shem Creek Boogie Band,

7 pm, Brookgreen Gardens, free with garden admission. For more info, call 843-235-6000 or visit www.brookgreen.org.

7 14 21 28

8 15 22 29

2 9 16 23 30

4-25

Coastal Kayaking,

10 am-noon, Mondays, Huntington Beach State Park, $35. Call 843-235-8755 by 4 pm the Sunday before to reserve a spot. Visit www.southcarolinaparks.com for more info.

15

Paul Grimshaw Band, Sounds of Summer Concert Series,

NMB Park & Sports Complex, Little River, 7-9 pm. For more info, call 843-280-5594 x 3 or visit parks.nmb.us.

29, 30, 31

Craftsmen’s Classic Arts and Crafts Show, Myrtle Beach

Convention Center, Fri. & Sat. 10 am-6 pm, Sun. 11am-5 pm. For more info, call 336-282-5550 or visit www.gilmores.com.

843-235-3009

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BENEFITING THE PAWLEYS ISLAND FESTIVAL OF MUSIC & ART

Your Ticket Includes

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Tickets must be purchased in advance at pawleysmusic.com or 843-626-8911

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P.O. Box 1975, Pawleys Island, SC 29585