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May 2013 Priceless

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4/12/13 11:49 AM 3

featured articles

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May 2013 Volume 12, Issue 5

who’s who

Out of This World

Publisher Delores Blount Sales & Marketing Director Susan Bryant Editor Leslie Moore Account Executives Amanda Kennedy-Colie Donna Roy Erica Schneider Celia Wester Art Director Taylor Nelson Photography Director Patrick Sullivan Graphic Artist Scott Konradt Accounting Ronald Pacetti Administrative Assistant Barbara J. Leonard Executive Publishers Jim Creel Bill Hennecy Tom Rogers

by Diane DeVaughn Stokes

Walk With Me by Beth Wood

A Wonderful Day at the Cemetery by Liz Pardue-Schultz

Best Friends – Forever by Felice Prager

The Non-Existent Right or Wrong of How to Travel by Margo Millure

Southern Snaps by Connie Barnard

As Mary Goes ‘Round by Jennifer Lynn Cary

From Khmer to Krispy Kreme by Selina Kaing

Feeling Ten Feet Tall by Diane Stark

Full Moon Fashion Maven by Lynn Ingram

PO Box 1389 Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 •

I n T h is I ssue Read It! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mother & Daughter Teams Who Mean Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sasee Gets Candid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scoop on the Strand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. For subscription info, visit 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.

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Copyright © 2013. 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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may 5

contributing writers Connie Barnard traveled the world as a military wife and taught high school and college composition for over 30 years. She has been a regular contributor to Sasee since its first issue in 2002.

letter from the editor My mother loved to sing. She sang while she worked around the house, especially while she was cooking, belting out hymns and popular songs at the top of her lungs. Unfortunately for me and my dad, the woman couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Once when I was a teenager, I asked my mom to stop singing, telling her that she sounded awful. She turned and looked at me, smiled and told me that her mother used to sing just like her, and she would give anything to hear that voice again. I got the message and never said another word. And, today, I would love to hear my mom sing “How Great Thou Art” just one more time. Her songs, no matter how off key, let me know that all was right with the world and dinner would soon be on the table. When my children were small, I would put the music on and dance, picking them up and swinging them around. Like my mom’s voice, my dancing leaves a lot to be desired, but I hope my children will remember the joy in my steps, rather than my two left feet. I wish you all a Happy Mother’s Day. If you still have your mother, tell her how much you love her. If, like me, your mom is gone, share a precious, happy memory of her with someone you love. They’ll hear the joy in your words.

Jennifer Lynn Cary has written for various anthologies including God Answers Moms’ Prayers, Life Savors for Women, The One Year Life Verse Devotional and Christmas Miracles. She resides in Arizona. Lynn Ingram loves sunsets over the Cape Fear River, early morning public radio, strolls around downtown Wilmington, strong coffee and fresh oysters. She teaches psychology at UNCW, works as a clinical psychologist and tries to make sense of her world by writing about it. She is the author of Necessary Things, a collection of nonfiction essays. Her work has appeared in The Charlotte Observer, Progressive Farmer, Southern Experiences To Be Read Aloud, The Blotter, Lake Wylie Magazine, and other publications. Selina Kaing is a closet writer who squeezes in a paragraph or two in between her day job in the tech sector. She currently lives in Northern California and favors cupcakes over donuts. Margo Millure believes nothing comes close to getting out of town every now and then, as a means to fully appreciate and engage with the amazing world we live in. She is a writer/editor/photographer and publisher of the popular online travel magazine for women, www. The Travel Belles will be offering small group trips to Italy and France starting with a trip to Champagne, France, in May 2013. She lives with her husband, two teenage daughters and labradoodle in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Felice Prager is a freelance writer and multisensory educational therapist from Scottsdale, Arizona. She is the author of five books: Waiting in the Wrong Line, Negotiable and Non-Negotiable Negotiations, TurboCharge Your Brain, SuperTurboCharge Your Brain, and Quiz It: ARIZONA. Her essays have been published locally, nationally and internationally in print and on the Internet. Learn more at

cover artist Flower Lady, by Squeakie Stone James Stone has been called “Squeakie” for as as long as he can remember. He was born in Georgetown County, South Carolina, and, growing up, the family moved every year or so because his father was a sharecropper and carpenter. From the age of five, Squeakie worked in tobacco fields. He worked in a few factories and grocery stores over the years, and began work as a house painter about thirty years ago. Squeakie’s Uncle Henry “Squirrel” Stone had been painting folk art for twenty years when he suggested to Squeakie that he try his hand at painting a picture of a church from a photograph. He always felt there was something else he should be doing, but never knew what it was until that first painting. That day, in 2002, Squeakie became a folk artist. Since 2007, the artist has painted full time and his work is sought after by collectors from as far away as England. The artist paints constantly, working in acrylics on wood. Squeakie’s work is displayed in numerous galleries throughout the state, but to see more of his work locally, visit Grey Man Gallery in Pawleys Island or visit Squeakie’s work is also displayed in his outdoor “gallery” near Andrews, South Carolina, about 25 miles from Georgetown.


Liz Pardue-Schultz lives in Fuquay-Varina, North Carolina, where she passes herself off as a sane mother, wife, freelance writer, and karaoke superstar.


Diane Stark is a former teacher turned stay-at-home mom and freelance writer. Her work has been published in 16 Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies, A Cup of Comfort for Christian Women and dozens of magazines. She loves to write about the important things in life: her family and her faith. She can be reached at Diane DeVaughn Stokes is the President of Stages Video Productions, Host and Producer for the TV show “Inside Out” as seen on HTC, and “Diane on Six” heard on EASY radio. She loves traveling and scuba diving with her husband Chuck, acting in community theater and is the proud mom of three awesome female cats. Beth M. Wood is a mom of three, marketing professional and freelance writer. Her work can be found in Sasee and various Chicken Soup anthologies. A social butterfly, she juggles multiple blogs and can be found on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Foursquare. Follow along at

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Out of A This World by Diane DeVaughn Stokes

“Roses are red. Violets are blue. Flowers wouldn’t do for a Mom like you!”


s I travel down the memory lane of Mother’s Days past, there is one that really stands out in my mind as bigger than life. The celebration was not for me of course, as I am only the mother of cats. Four years of fertility drugs, sex in weird positions, boxers for my husband rather than jockey shorts, temperature taking, artificial insemination and two shots in the butt for two weeks straight, got me nothing but beautiful four-legged children, whom, I must admit, I truly adore. It was about 1980 when my sister Donna and I decided to do something very special for our very crazy mom as her Mother’s Day treat. Oh, you have probably read some of my previous articles about how my mom is very non-traditional to say the least. Just recently, on her eightieth birthday, she showed up at my house for her birthday party with her stomach all bulged out as if she was pregnant, wearing lots of rhinestone jewelry and decked to the hilt. When I questioned why the baby bump, she said that she wanted to do something that no other eighty year old had ever done! Well I guess she did. What can you get for a mom like this year after year? It had to be over-the-top. So, on the Saturday before Mother’s Day, we got Mom’s Christmas tree out of her attic while she and my dad were at a picnic, and set it up in the front yard. And yes, we decorated it to the hilt with all sorts of tacky ornaments. But the best part of all was a sign we made for her that read: “Roses are red. Violets are blue. Flowers wouldn’t do for a Mom like you!” The neighbors loved it, knowing Mom as the person who might hang underwear on their tree while they were out of town, or fill their mailbox with popcorn, or put a yard-sale sign in their yard early on Saturday morning. But no one loved it better than Mom. She relished every car that drove by and beeped the horn, giggling like a little kid. She even had a note from the mailman saying how much he liked the Christmas/Mother’s Day tree. And she left it up for nearly a month! Each year I am more grateful to have my mom when so many friends have lost theirs. I can’t imagine life without her. She has been my rock, my head-cheerleader, my guardian angel and my best friend. Most of all, she is my biggest source of laughter, as you can imagine. At the most serious moments Mom will have something to say that will crack me up. Right before her cataract surgery last week, as I kissed her goodbye as they wheeled her out of the waiting area, she said “Tell the doctor to be careful. I am not wearing a bra!” And even though I try to make each Mother’s Day special, it’s been hard to out-do that 1980 whiff of genius, for a mom who is not only “out of the box” but “out of this world.”


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Celia Says…Read Good Grief, by Lolly Winston by Celia Wester 10

In Good Grief, by Lolly Winston, Sophie Stanton finds widowhood baffling, after all, she’s only thirty-six and has just gotten used to being married. Her tumultuous journey leads her to quit her public relations job and move to a new town to reinvent herself where she befriends a thirteen year old pyromaniac, Crystal, and, eventually, a handsome actor who helps her remember that she is still alive. Winston allows Sophie to move from widow to survivor with humor and grace. Waiting to board a flight to Texas, I searched the may

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airport bookstore for something that would hold my interest for a three hour flight. The words “Good Grief” and pink bunny slippers on the cover caught my eye. I understood the words…grief for losing both parents before I was 40, grief for being a single mom and grief for children leaving the nest. I even understood the “good” part in conjunction with the “grief” part. From the first paragraph of this book, words tumbled over themselves, and I couldn’t read fast enough. I was pulled into a kinship, watching the life of Sophie grow and change, as she struggles to be a “good widow.” My life changed that day as well, sitting in a dark plane, beside a stranger, and Lolly Winston caused my tears to rise up and fall on her pages.

may 11


“Walk with me?”

With Me by Beth Wood


my mom asks as she laces up her Reeboks and grabs the dog’s leash. My mom had been walking nightly for a few months, in addition to the Jane Fonda tapes she’d forced herself to sweat through a few times a week. Occasionally I’d join her as she’d bend and twist with Ms. Fonda, grunting and swearing under her breath. I’m sure it didn’t help that my young, thin frame could bend every which way, and hold a pose while I ate a slice of pizza.

I did walk with her sometimes, my steps a bit faster in an effort to keep up with her long legs. After a few minutes of walking in companionable silence, we’d start to talk. About school (mine, as a student, hers, as a teacher), homework, friends and anything else that was on either of our minds. It was the early ’80s and things were changing across the country and in our home. President Reagan was shot, the ERA amendment failed, and my parents were getting divorced. Jane Fonda and Reeboks provided a safe outlet for some unwanted change heading into my teen years. As I focused on high school dances and weekend mixers, my mom continued her walks. Our relationship was a rocky path – a teenage girl trying to find her own way, one preferably far from her mother’s. Joining her on her walks was something I did less and less. She continued to ask though, just like always. “I’m going for a walk…” she’d say, hinting that I was welcome to come along. If I was angry with her, my refusal to join her stood as a reminder of my growing independence, my ability to tell her no, and maybe, sometimes, even to hurt her. There were times, though, when she’d walk out the door, and I’d feel guilty. I’d wait a few minutes, until I knew she’d made it to the top of the street and turned the corner, heading towards the main road. Then I’d run through the back yard and take the shortcut through the woods, coming out on the sidewalk just behind her. My mom would pretend not to see me, and I’d pretend I’d been there all along. But we both knew, once our strides lined up, that everything was okay again. Every night, season after season, year after year, she walked. Old age took our beloved dog, and I earned my coveted driver’s license, but still Mom walked. She walked through my engagement and marriage, the birth of my three kids, my separation and later divorce, college degrees, (hers and mine), and her own career changes. Looking back now, as a mother of three, I realize that those walks weren’t taken just for her physical health. She walked – and still does – to clear her head, to take a short reprieve from the demands of a busy, single-parent household. And she invited me on those walks not just for companionship, but as a way to get me talking, to keep us connected in ways that became more difficult as I grew up – and apart. As a single parent myself, I know about needing a time-out from the daily grind. I know about needing to clear my head and about wanting to stay connected to my own three kids, who are growing faster than I can keep up. So I lace up my own walking shoes and turn to them. “Walk with me?” I ask the room at large. My daughter takes my hand. And we do.


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may 13

A Wonderful Day at the Cemetery by Liz Pardue-Schultz

After three weeks of hearing her beg, I finally took my 5-year-old daughter to a graveyard. Please note that this was not in apropos to Halloween, we had not recently known anyone who passed away, nor had death or burial come up in any sort of conversation around her. Chloe simply wanted to go after passing one every day on her way to school. Admittedly, it sounds awfully macabre from the outset, and my knee-jerk reaction was to be worried. I immediately assumed I should keep the experience to myself at the risk of terrifying her playmates’ mothers – what kind of parent wants their child playing with the world’s only “Goth” preschooler? However, the more I thought about it, I realized that, to a young mind, this was just something else to explore. And so, for our first excursion, I decided to take her to an old cemetery in a small riverside town that features headstones dating back to the 1850s. On our way, she couldn’t contain her excitement, asking an endless stream of questions as we pulled up to the tiny white church. “How many graves will there be?” “Do we know anybody here?” “Will we see a skeleton?” “What does a ghost look like?” Needless to say, she practically burst out of the car. Centuries-old oaks dangled Spanish moss overhead, and the quiet sound of water passing on the Waccamaw River quickly swept away the chaos of modern society. We rounded the front of the church and opened a wroughtiron gate that seemed to transport us into another realm, where the dead rested peacefully in the shade, away from the bold Southern sun. With bright, wide eyes, Chloe ran to a headstone and pointed, “What does it say, Mama?” Hesitating, I explained that the tombstone told the name of the deceased and the dates he was born and died. She asked how old he had been. “This boy was seven years old when he passed away.” I felt myself cringing despite myself. She scrunched her face, “That’s silly, Mommy.” Breathing deeply, I realized there was no turning back, “Well, honey, back when these people were alive, they didn’t have doctors who were as good as ours, so if they got sick, they didn’t always get better.” She thought for a minute before speaking; then she pointed to the gravestone next to the boy’s and asked, “Whose grave is that?” “It was his mother’s.”


She smiled, “That’s happy. This family gets to be together forever.” We spent the next hour going around to each of the headstones and reading about the people buried below us. Objectively, I explained that there were only bodies in the ground; our spirits leave us when we pass away. I explained family plots and what the Confederate flags on some of the tombstones commemorated. With piqued interest, she took in everything I said before bounding over to show me unique statues and carvings, exclaiming that she “didn’t know dead people liked art, too!” After we’d seen everything in the small burial ground, I spent a few moments wandering through the garden, trying to make out the engravings that had slowly been worn away over time. Suddenly, I looked up with a panic, realizing that Chloe was being unusually quiet. I called her name and was running toward the front gate when I saw her placing bright fuchsia camellias in front of headstones. “Honey, what are you doing?” “You said people put flowers on graves to tell them we love them. But these graves don’t have any flowers,” she said as she walked back to the tree where the ripe blooms lay scattered on the ground. I agreed to help and gathered a few dozen to carry in my skirt for her to distribute. After we were finished, she paused for a moment and declared, “Mommy, graveyards are sweet places; you get to remember people you love, and they sleep in a garden.” My eyes filled with tears and I gasped, realizing how right her simple observation was. It took the candid opinion of a preschooler to show me that somehow we’ve allowed a serene gesture to become tarnished with connotations of demons and ghouls; of course cemeteries are a beautiful tradition.  Why on earth had I felt so ashamed about taking a little girl to experience something so sacred and important? Living in the past may not be healthy on a daily basis, but remembering that we all come from real people who struggled through lives before our own is something we do less of as we move into an age overwhelmed by technology. How fitting, then, to be reminded of the importance of protecting memories and tradition from someone who still has so many to learn about. Chloe has asked to visit a different graveyard soon, and I’m looking forward to spending another beautiful afternoon among the tombs. I wonder what she’ll teach me next time.


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may 15

Best Friends – Forever by Felice Prager

I signed onto Facebook to help sell more of my books by creating a page to market them. Other authors said that it helped spread the word without a financial investment. I set up my page with photos and links to my website. I realized that I needed a network of friends who could share my information, so I added people I knew. I saw no increase in sales. I then started to explore what Facebook had to offer. I started searching for people I knew from my past: old friends, old boyfriends and relatives. I found many. When I requested a friendship connection, they responded positively, and we caught up. Then, I saw one name I recognized from whom I wasn’t sure I would receive an equally upbeat reaction: Debbie Harmon. With Debbie, it was different. Though we had been best friends for more than a decade, we had a friendship-ending argument and never spoke again. Debbie and I met in 1960 when our families moved to the same apartment complex in New Jersey. We were both seven years old. We did everything together. We bought matching outfits, had crushes on the same boys and had sleepovers. We rode our bikes and roller-skated together. We went to movies and bowling together. We were inseparable. Every night, we spoke on the phone until we fell asleep. As we got older, we remained friends. We were better than best friends – we were like sisters. When we started high school, something changed. Debbie was more popular than I was, and I was jealous. Debbie went on dates. I sat at home. Debbie was outgoing. I was not. Debbie noticed that I was often sulking and unfriendly to her. I couldn’t help myself. I did not know how to react to the changes. One afternoon, we had an argument – THE BIG FIGHT. We did not argue about what was bothering me. We argued about something totally unrelated. We both said things we wish we hadn’t. We stopped talking to each other. We passed each other in school and pretended to ignore each other. We went in different directions socially. This continued until we finished high school and went our separate ways. I went to college in another state. As a freshman, my dad called to tell me that Debbie’s father had died. I loved Debbie’s father. He was funny, and he teased Debbie and me. I hadn’t seen him in years, but I knew I would miss him. I wanted to do something. I wanted to write a


letter to Debbie. I wanted to call her. I did neither. Instead, I went on with my life and put that episode behind me. I finished college and then worked as a teacher. I learned more about myself. I met my husband. We had children. When the children were young, we moved to Arizona. I began writing stories and articles for magazines and newspapers, and then, I starting having my work published. One story I wrote was about friendship bracelets Debbie and I had bought for each other. They said “Best Friends Forever” long before people started using the phrase “BFF” for their best friends. I still had mine. It was tucked away with old photos and trinkets I had collected over the years. I had never even considered discarding it or selling it or giving it away. I wondered if Debbie still had hers, and if she didn’t, I wondered if she remembered the bracelets – or if she even remembered me. I decided to take a chance. After almost forty years, I finally sent a message to Debbie. In less than an hour, I received this message, “Do you remember when we bought those friendship bracelets?” Debbie wrote. “I still have mine.” I felt as if she had read my mind. I replied, “I have mine, too.” Then I sent her the story I had written about the bracelets. “OMG,” Debbie replied. “It seems like just yesterday! That was fun. Wasn’t it fun? Wasn’t it great?” With that, our friendship began anew. We caught up on each other’s lives. We were honest with each other. There was no need to exaggerate or play anything down. This was the Debbie I remembered. Debbie had been married young, and her husband had died when they were both 35 years old. With two small children, she moved in with her mother, but she remarried twice – once unsuccessfully, and after that to a man she said she would be married to forever. Then, Debbie and I began talking on the telephone again. Her voice sounded like her mother’s voice. She said I sounded like my mother used to sound when she called and my mom picked up the phone. We talked for hours just as we did as kids. After about a year, Debbie and her husband flew to Arizona for a vacation. I invited them to our home for a barbecue. My husband and her husband got along great. They had a lot in common – especially the women in their lives who talked on the phone for hours at a time. When they arrived at the door, Debbie was wearing her friendship bracelet. I was wearing mine, too!


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may 17

The Non-Existent Right or Wrong of How to Travel by Margo Millure

A Travel Belle’s Guide to Making Memories My number one rule for having a memorable vacation is “over-prepare, then go with the flow.” Easier said than done, right? Perhaps you think “over-preparing” is too much trouble and not really necessary. Or maybe you are among the perpetually prepared who has a difficult time “going with the flow” once travel time actually rolls around. And what does being well-prepared for a big trip have to do with making memories, anyway? When it comes to travel, showing up is indeed important, but it is not everything. Here I will let you in on a few of my hardest earned travel secrets. As soon as your reservations are made: Buy travel insurance: No one wants to think about having to cancel their trip or having something go wrong, but buying travel insurance is remarkably easy and surprisingly inexpensive given the peace of mind it brings. Get a passport or check to be sure it isn’t expiring anytime soon. Start researching your destination: When it comes to research it is easy to procrastinate and remarkably easy to avoid altogether. I recommend buying a hard copy of a good guidebook. I love a Kindle for traveling as much as anyone, but a guidebook placed in view in your home will serve as a visual reminder and will better the odds that you will use it ahead of your trip. One month before: If you haven’t cracked the guidebook yet, it’s okay! There it is right on the coffee table. But now’s the time to do the minimum. Make list of activities on your must-do list and familiarize yourself with local customs and styles. Make arrangements for pets (and, if you haven’t already, children). Re-schedule any appointments that may be lying in wait on your calendar to stress you out on the days before, during or immediately after your travels. Be sure to find or acquire a coat, other outerwear and a purse suitable for your destination. One week before: Check weather at destination. I confess I am a weather nerd, and I like to add the destination to my weather channel webpage. Email yourself everything: confirmation numbers, itineraries, and a copy of your passport. Make a hard copy of your passport and put it in your suitcase, where it will stay for the duration. Email itinerary and a pdf of your passport to a friend or family member. If you are planning to use your mobile device while abroad, contact your carrier. If you’re planning to use it beyond making emergency phone calls and don’t want to come home to a bill the size of a mortgage statement, be sure to purchase a data package. Acquire any last minute instructions for activation steps to be taken before you leave the U.S. Pull out your suitcase and start a trial packing run. This will get you thinking about what you might need throughout the course of each day during your trip. There is no need to zip and no need to travel light in


this “pretend” stage.” Make note of anything you may need to purchase. (Socks. I always need socks.) During this last week before takeoff, there inevitably will be some added feelings of stress. Resist the temptation to ditch good dietary and exercise habits and try to get several good night’s sleep. Three days before: Take care of any last minute laundry. Be sure any prescription medications are filled. Charge your camera batteries. Buy those socks and memory cards. Now is the time to pack for real. The saying “take twice the money and half the clothes” pretty much covers it. I know you are determined to take those three pairs of black pants, those ankle sprain inducing high heels and that flowery skirt that doesn’t fit because you can just so see yourself flitting in it around Paris. Well... you know what has to be done. Pop that guidebook in your carry on bag so you can read it on the plane. During the trip (aka – the “go with the flow” part) If you’ve made some attempt to do the above before your trip, you will have gifted yourself with the chance to best be in the present moment and enjoy your trip. Be free! Enjoy! However, it’s a simple matter of biology that “going with the flow” can fly in the face of remembering. We often talk about “having a good memory” as being something akin to “having good eyesight” or “good hair,” but storing your travel memories is a conscious act. The challenge is to learn to be an active memory maker while at the same time “going with the flow.” In order to remember your trip years from now or even next week, it is imperative to reign in your flowing, “Zenny” travel method here and there. Take photos – not of the postcard scenes, but the things you want to remember and can’t find anywhere else. Take a picture of signs – road signs you don’t understand, street signs, so you will be able to figure out where you were. Take pictures of people. When leaving the restaurant, grab their business card. If writing is more your style, take 15 minutes or so sometime during the day to jot down a few things about your experience while they are fresh. One of my favorite things to do is to buy postcards, not to send, but to write down a few details about what I have done that day. The act of doing these things will help “put” what will be your most treasured travel experiences in your long term memory. Now “Bon Voyage!”


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may 19

Southern Snaps A Mighty Heart: Sue Cranford by Connie Barnard

Ask anyone in Sue Cranford’s huge circle of friends to describe her, and most will just start laughing at the memory of a funny prank, a salty joke or the mere thought of her mile-wide smile and mischievous eyes. Many have known Sue and her husband Jimmy since they moved to Myrtle Beach over 35 years ago. Sandra Adams says, “Sue and I have laughed, cried, danced, prayed and raised our children together. I admire her for many reasons, but her ability to lighten up a situation is one of her most admirable talents. That woman can find the funny in anything and help you realize that as dark as something looks, you’ll get through it.” “Sue’s sense of humor runs from G-rated to an occasional R, and I love her for that.” Billie Hudson adds, “That smile rarely disappears. You can be in a real funk and one talk with her makes it all go away.” These BFFs love Sue’s sunny, funny approach to living all the more because they have traveled with her through the very depths of despair and found joy and laughter in the midst of deep grief. All who know her will tell you that Sue’s heart is as big as her smile By natural instinct she is drawn to help those in need, particularly young people. With a degree in special education, she worked with the profoundly disabled, then taught pre-school for many years. When her sons Chad and Shaun were in school, Sue began helping out, lending a hand whenever needs arose. Myrtle Beach High School Guidance Counselor Cookie Goings, says, “Long before Hope House, Sue and a few ladies were conducting an ‘underground railroad’ to help our kids.” Jackie Hendrix says, “We call ourselves the ‘church ladies.’” Over the years they have assisted with countless individual emergencies as well as larger efforts to provide basic supplies for needy students in the Myrtle Beach schools. Sue claims no credit for these good deeds. “None of this is about me. It is said that we all have a gift from God. Mine must be the gift of gab. When there is a need, all I have to do is talk and others give. This is an incredibly caring community.” Sue’s close friends admit that sometimes they call her “Saint Sue” when she is on one of her crusades. They’ll also tell you she can be stubborn. Cookie Goings says, “If she tells you she’s not going to do something, trust me, she ain’t gonna to do it.” Billie Hudson adds, “Sue truly listens to you and hardly ever judges. But boy, will she tell you the truth, whether you want to hear it or not.” It is that direct honesty that makes her friendship special. Flo Calliham says, “When I need someone to act as a barometer, Sue is the person I know I can call. I trust her to tell me when I’m wrong and know that I love her for


it…She will go head first into the lion’s den if she believes she can bring comfort to someone who has suffered a loss.” These good friends also share tales about Sue’s love of ACC basketball, and her former life as a teen-age roller skate diva – complete with pom poms on her skates. She also enjoys nothing more than a good prank, often intended to lift the spirits of a friend who’s down. Just ask her close friend Susan Usry about that sometime! Those who know Sue Cranford will also tell you that, above all else, she is brave, daily displaying a courage forged in the fire of tragedy. On December 10, 1996, her son Chad was completing his first semester at Clemson. In the midst of exams, he walked into his dorm room, said to his room-mate: “I don’t feel…,” then collapsed and never regained consciousness. Tests revealed that Chad had suffered ventricular fibrillation, a medical phenomenon in which his heart skipped a beat and failed to kick back into its natural rhythm. The Cranford family and the Myrtle Beach and Clemson communities were in deep shock. At Myrtle Beach High School pre-holiday halls were strangely silent as words of Chad’s death spread through the school. Then, in silent tribute, photos of Chad in his multi-color “Sweat Hog” spirit wig appeared on walls throughout the school. Friends and family clung to one another in shocked disbelief. Sue says it was fifteen year old Shaun who helped the family hold on: “It was Shaun’s faith that got us through those days. We held on to one another, and Shaun held us together.” In the weeks and month to follow, Sue drew on the support of her friends and her early roots in her North Carolina hometown, the rural community of Midland, where faith and love were infused with an understanding that life is fragile, and God is not to blame. Sandra Adams says, “Sue was acutely aware of the statistics regarding how losing a child can destroy the family unit. She told me from the get-go that she would not let this happen. I knew even in her darkest hour that she would fight to hold and heal her family, and she did.” Shaun also found support from a network of caring friends throughout the greater Myrtle Beach community. One extraordinary gentleman in particular, Billy Dillard, became close to Shaun through his work with the Episcopal faith journey, Chrysalis. Over time Billy became both a mentor and guardian angel to the young boy and, unbeknownst to Shaun, kept Sue apprised of how he was handling the burden of grief and loneliness for his brother. Even after Shaun went off to Clemson, Billy was still there for him, occasionally driving up


for a quick visit just to check on him. Today Shaun is an attorney living in Columbia with his wife Allison and their little boy Will (whose middle name is Chadwick). They are eagerly awaiting the July arrival a baby girl who, no doubt, will share her Grandmother Sue’s loving and lively spirit. Looking back, Sue says, “Even though I have led grief workshops, I can clearly say that there are no rules, no roadmaps. Time and faith can lead to acceptance. When the time is right, move beyond yourself. Cherish something.” Sue and Jimmy came to realize that the best way for them to move from bitter to better was by channeling their grief into positive energy to help other young people. Jimmy volunteered with the Myrtle Beach High School football program, and Sue became involved wherever there was a need. Shortly after Chad’s death, she worked with Horry County athletic directors to equip schools with defibrillators. When Sue and Jimmy became aware of a hunger problem among students who did not qualify for assistance, Sue says, “Once again, I just used my mouth, and we quickly collected $2,000 for meal tickets. It is this incredible community that gives so much. I just send use my mouth to relay the needs.” While still deep in the valley of the shadow of grief, Sue and Jimmy did not hesitate to assist when they learned about the heart-rending challenges faced by a young MBHS football player whose mother was terminally ill in Columbia. Each Friday night he would ride the bus to care for her, sleep in her hospital room, then ride back home to care for his sister. Sue helped out financially and stood in for his mother when she was too ill to attend Senior Awards Night, and even presented him with a yearbook he’d not had the resources to order. The young man’s mother died a short time later, and Sue

and her “church ladies” moved him into new housing. They were there during his final year of school and helped him attend Horry Georgetown Tech. The Cranfords wanted to create a lasting way to keep Chad’s memory alive and assist worthy young people. With the support of many friends, they established the Chadwick Kyle Cranford Memorial Scholarship which provides a deserving Myrtle Beach High Senior with a $1,000 scholarship annually for four years. Of all the honors presented at the Awards Night program each year, this one is probably the most highly coveted. Beth and Tommy Campbell’s son Wilson was its 2009 recipient. Beth said, “The monetary help was wonderful, but to receive a scholarship in memory of a fine young man like Chad made it more special.” Wilson is about to begin a doctoral program in physical therapy, thanks in part to this special honor.” Cookie Goings, whose son EJ received the award in 2012, said, “Before writing the required essay, EJ learned a lot about Chad’s quiet sense of leadership. He was so honored because he felt a true spiritual connection with Chad.” Today Sue and Jim Cranford have moved on – literally. The spacious Dunes Cove home where they raised Chad and Shaun will now belongs to a young couple with little children of their own. In preparation for the move, Sue tackled the one challenge she had yet to face: Chad’s room – untouched since that December day over sixteen years ago. One treasured item given a place of honor in their new home is Chad’s architectural engineering class project given to the Cranfords by his professor: an airy formation of connected triangles symbolizing the bond between Chad and his brother – strong invisible connections of support and love, like those shared by his mother with all fortunate enough to know her.

may 21

As y r a M oG es d n u ‘Ro by Jennifer Lynn Cary I heard it again at one of those mixers. You know the kind. The speaker gives you so many minutes to find someone you don’t already know, exchange names, basic information, and then share something that most people don’t know about you. My partner and I covered the list quickly and were trading pleasantries when a voice over my shoulder said, “I have twelve children, twenty-eight grandchildren and five great-grandchildren…and I’ve never been pregnant!” I smiled and whispered to my partner, “That’s my mom!” Life wasn’t always so smooth between us. We’ve gone through some pretty rough times, but I am grateful that rough times now means we are praying together toward the same end. My mom, Mary, came into my life forty-three years ago when I was a motherless fourteen-year-old, and she was a hardworking single parent. She wasn’t “Mom,” or even “Mary” then, but “Mrs. A.,” my little brother’s speech therapist. She and her first husband, unable to conceive, had adopted a baby boy. However, a few years after, the marriage fell apart, and Mary soon found herself back at college, determined to get a degree that would help her support her son. Gaining an MA Degree with a concentration in Speech Correction, she accepted a small-town job in a neighboring state. On the other side of that town, my own mother had realized my baby brother would need speech therapy to get him ready for kindergarten the fol-


lowing year. But before she could get all the particulars in place, her cancer returned, and she passed away. The principal at our school later contacted my dad to finalize the plans, thus introducing Mary to a woebegone father and his four-year old imp with a thick speech impediment, curly-curly hair and twinkling eyes behind coke-bottle glasses. She broke her own cardinal rule on the spot: Never give therapy in the client’s home. My dad, however, wanted to make sure things looked as above reproach as they really were. He was never at home when it was time for speech lessons, but left my grandmother in charge of greeting the teacher and seeing she received her payment. So, it took me by surprise about six months later to find out my father and the speech teacher were dating! Another six months passed, and we became a blended family. (By the way, that matchmaking principal played the piano at the wedding.) Now families with teen-agers bring a whole set of challenges worthy of a canonization hearing. Add to the mix that this is a stepfamily with four kids, three of which are teens, and you are just beginning to get the picture. For added color, have them move across the country to Arizona. In the middle of the summer. And, oh yeah, the father turns out to have developed earlyonset Alzheimer’s disease in his mid-forties. And did I mention that of the three teens: one gets pregnant while in college, one moves in with her boyfriend, and one quits high school and runs away? Life around our house was never boring. I think it was then that I first heard Mom say, “I keep thinking I should write a book about my life since it is so much like a soap opera. I’ve decided if I ever do, I’ll call it ‘As Mary Goes ‘Round.’” But instead of writing, she just continued to gather more material, all the while holding our family together. Two weeks before my wedding, my father succumbed to the damages of Alzheimer’s. Mom had taken care of him at home for as long as she could. I was amazed at her fortitude as he was not the meekest of patients. And then, once in the nursing home, she continued to be there with him daily to make sure he was well cared for and loved. She was there with him, holding his hand, as he drew his last breath. And, yet amazingly, she was there with me, helping to put my wedding together in the midst of her own grief. I was beginning to realize the depth of her love for me (and mine for her as well). As if that wasn’t enough, though, she also lost her own father to colon cancer two months later. Yet she faced every difficulty with amazing grace. Then, with only my youngest brother at home and no longer needing to care for my dad, life became lonely. So, without telling any of us first, Mom put an ad in a singles paper. She told me a lot of prayer for wisdom and guidance went into it. From among those who answered, she found herself a winner. Norman’s general bio might have put a few off before they got to know him. He was a self-employed divorcee with eight children. But Mom saw something in him that was extra special. They married in 1983. Since then, my siblings and I have also seen what is so special about our Norman. And, though his eight children still have their own mother here, they have developed a friendly relationship with Mom – and she considers them hers as well. A few years ago, Mom and Norman both retired, and he built her a beautiful house up in the mountains outside of Phoenix. That finally should have meant a quiet existence for them, but no. They are still as active and busy as ever. At Norman’s seventieth birthday party, I overheard her say again, “One of these days I need to write my book, the one I’ll call ‘As Mary Goes ‘Round.’ I mean, how many women do you know that have twelve children, twenty-eight grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren and have never been pregnant?” I know the answer to that – one. And I’m proud to call her Mom.


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may 4/15/13 7:29 AM 23

From Khmer to Krispy Kreme: How a Donut Shop Brought My Family Together


by Selina Kaing

rowing up, I never questioned my parents’ silence about their past or how our family came to America. I never asked them what it was like to work under the hot sun in the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge or to fear for their lives as they made the long, arduous trek through the Cambodian jungle to the Thai refugee border camp where I was eventually born. Not once did I ever utter the words that would give shape to the profound hurts and nameless fears rooted deep in my parents’ hearts that I suspect, even to this day, time cannot really ever mend. How could I, brought up in the relative ease of a middle class American lifestyle, understand something as horrible as the Cambodian genocide? After all, I grew up in a city surrounded by beaches and palm trees, and my world was eons away from the horrors of a small country halfway around the world. But for my parents, those memories, those experiences, formed the cornerstone of their lives here in America and served to fuel their ongoing determination to own their own business and earn a living from the fledgling Cambodian donut shop industry in California. They worked hard to succeed, and their struggle only made me that much more conscious of what I had to live up to. It should come as no surprise then that I felt keenly the weight of my parents’ expectations growing up, a tangible, living thing that permeated my childhood and wound its sticky arms around my psyche in a bewildering mixture of love, disappointment and fear. Even the weekends and after school hours I spent working alongside my parents, in the donut shop they had toiled so long to build, reminded me daily of their sacrifice. Between homework and apple fritters, I told myself that I had to be better, stronger and smarter because my parents demanded – no, deserved a daughter who was worthy of them. I learned to quickly operate a cash register and up sell just about any customer who walked in the door, knowing that one extra pastry or an upgrade to a larger sized coffee meant that maybe my parents wouldn’t have to worry so much at the end of the month. I boxed donuts, mopped floors and even gritted my


teeth and smiled when someone would complain that I burned their bagel. After all, it was a small price to pay for the youth I was privileged to have. I’m older now and no longer spend my time behind racks full of donuts, but those growing up years are still printed indelibly in my mind, the obligation to embody everything my parents had hoped for still firmly embedded in my consciousness. But life


has a way of sneaking up on a person, the quiet moments often more poignant because they’re so easy to overlook. After several years of studying and working away from home, I found myself back in the city of my youth making that familiar trip to the donut shop to see my parents. As I pulled up in front of the store, I thought to myself how strange it felt to see the same neon sign and bright, yellow counters. Yet when I got out of my car and looked around the parking lot, the same parking lot my mother once had to chase a customer across for trying to pay her with a counterfeit bill, I felt much more relaxed than I had in years. I could smell the deep frying of the donuts as my father prepared for the next day’s rush, the unforgettable scent of hot oil and proofing dough assailing my senses and carrying with them memories of other nights much like this. I felt the past and the present blur together, the scene a little surreal as I ran my fingers across the Formica table I used to do my homework on in between helping customers. I heard the door open and as I turned to watch my mother rush to fill another order, I too found myself automatically picking up another pair of metal tongs to help the next person in line. There was comfort in the usual rituals, bagging donuts, getting coffee, ringing up the cash register. Oddly enough, nothing had really changed and everything was where I remembered it. The conversation was lively, a lilting mixture of Cambodian, English and Teo Chew, as I checked prices with my mother and asked my dad if he had any extra jelly donuts in the back. As the last of the customers picked up their purchases and walked out, I felt my mother reach over and give my arm a quick squeeze. No words, just that one light, surprising touch. But to me it spoke volumes. My family had never been particularly demonstrative, and I realized at that moment that my parents were just happy that I was there – and surprisingly, so was I. It’s been several years since then, and I never did find that grand gesture to thank my parents for all they’ve done. But I know now that my parents neither desired it nor needed it. They gave me the gift of the choices they didn’t have themselves, and the debt I thought I would never repay I had already done so a thousand times over by simply living my life for better or worse. Sometimes when I find myself home, I still walk into the donut shop that my family used to own. However, I do so now with awe and pride for what my parents accomplished rather than thinking of it as an embodiment of my shortcomings and misplaced sense of obligation. The donut shop currently belongs to another Cambodian family, and while I do miss it, I hope the shop gives a new generation of daughters the same chances I had – burned bagels and all.

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may 25

Ten Feeling

Feet Tall by Diane Stark

“Daddy, can we give Mommy her present now? Please…” My threeyear-old son, Nathan, begged. He looked at me and sing-songed, “You’re gonna like your present.” My husband Eric grinned. “All right, Nathan, go get your brothers and sisters. We’ll let Mommy open her present.” Nine-year-old Julia came downstairs first. “Mommy, we made you a list for your present since we know how much you like them.” “Well, it’s not so much that I like lists,” I muttered to Eric, “as that I need them or I will lose my mind.” Eric chuckled, but little Julia’s smile dropped off a bit, so I quickly added, “I make my lists so that I don’t forget things, Sweetie. But I really do like them.” “Oh, well, you’ll totally love this list,” she said, brightening again. “Because it’s a present list.” “Ooh, I like presents even more than I like lists,” I said. My three older kids came downstairs, and Eric pulled a large gift bag out of the coat closet. My oldest son, Austin, pulled a sheet of paper from the bag and read, “In honor of Mother’s Day, we wrote a list of reasons why we love you. Number Ten is because you’re really sweet.” Nathan pulled a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from behind his back and handed them to me. Before I could comment, Julia said, “Get it, Mom? The candy is sweet and so are you!”


I smiled. “I do get it. It’s very cute and thoughtful.” Austin handed the list to Jordan, my middle son. “This one is my favorite,” Jordan said. “Number Nine is because you give really good back scratches.” Julia presented me with a package of nail files. “Get it, Mom? Nail files for the finger nails you use to scratch our backs?” I couldn’t help chuckling. “Jules, you were right when you said I would love this list. I totally love it.” Lea, my older daughter, read Number Eight. “You are a really good cook.” Nathan handed me an oven mitt covered in pink hearts. Julia read Reason Number Seven with her usual enthusiasm. “You brighten our lives with your thoughtfulness.” After Austin handed me a scented candle, Julia said, “See, Mommy, candles brighten things.” I nodded. “That was very clever, Baby. Did you think of that one?” She wrinkled her nose. “No, Daddy did. The candy was my idea.” I hugged her and assured her that I loved all of it.


The kids went through the list, taking turns reading the reasons why they love me and giving me the associated gift. I got a picture frame, some nail polish, a bottle of hand lotion, some colored pens and a couple of books. (Because I’m smart, they said.) When they reached Reason Number One, the kids did drum rolls on their thighs and then Lea said, “Because you take such good care of us, we wanted to take care of you!” Eric grinned and handed me a gift certificate for a day at a local spa. “This is the Best Mother’s Day ever,” I said, hugging and kissing Eric and each of my children. The following morning, I was still high from our Mother’s Day Love Fest. That’s why I was taken aback when Jordan came into the kitchen and said, “I’ve been thinking about something, and I wanted to ask you what you think. If I could change one thing about you as my mom, what do you think it would be?” Wow. And I hadn’t even had my first cup of coffee yet. I swallowed and said, “Well, Bud, I don’t really know. I’m doing the best I can to be a good mom, but if you think there’s something I need to change…” He nodded earnestly. “Yes, you are a good mom. But there is something I’d like you to work on.” He took a deep breath and I could tell this was important to him. “I really like talking to you about football. You like to watch football, and you know a lot about the teams and the players. None of my friends’ moms know about football, and they think it’s cool that you do. I love that we have that in common, but, Mom, the football season is over now.” I nodded to indicate that I was listening, but I was totally lost. Surely he knew that I had no control over the length of the football season. “I’m worried that we won’t be as close now,” Jordan continued, “so I was hoping you could try to learn about baseball or basketball. You know, so we’ll have something to talk about.” I couldn’t help laughing. “So that’s the big change you want me to make? You’d like for me to learn about another sport?” Jordan nodded. “Will you try?” “Of course, Buddy,” I said, suddenly tearing up. Noticing my watery eyes, he said, “Aww, Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” “Oh, you didn’t, Jordan,” I said quickly. “I’m crying because I’m happy.” “You’re happy that I want you to change something about yourself?” “No, I’m happy because my 13-year-old son’s biggest complaint about me as a mom is that I only know about one sport.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “And you want to make sure we stay close.” Jordan laughed and then hugged me. “You’re a great mom, and I like hanging out with you.” I wiped my eyes and smiled. “Thanks Honey, for one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. You made me feel ten feet tall just then.” “Speaking of ten feet tall, there’s a basketball game on. Wanna watch it with me?” In front of the TV, I could hardly concentrate on the game. Jordan’s compliment kept replaying in my mind. Jordan’s team scored and he reached over to high-five me. “Thanks, Mom,” he said quietly. And in that moment, I realized that yesterday hadn’t been the best Mother’s Day ever. Today was.

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11115 Ocean Hwy., Pawleys Island (Next to Habaneros) • 843-237-8447 Monday-Saturday 10 am-5 pm • 27

Full Moon Fashion Maven by Lynn Ingram

Last night I looked up at the full moons and thought how beautiful they were, perfect silver globes just shimmering up there, overlapping each other’s heavenly brilliance. Wait a minute. Moons? Plural? Okay, it was Saturday night – but no, I had not been partaking of the fruit of the vine. Still, I did see four moons up there, where there ought to have been just one. I guess this means another trip to the optometrist. It’s not like I’m going to need a road map to find my way. For the past few years, I’ve made more trips to the eye doctor than I have to the bathroom. Here’s how this started. Some decades ago, Mama noticed that I either sat two feet from the television screen or squinted when I tried to watch from the couch. To the eye doctor I was whisked and home I came with glasses to remedy my severe nearsightedness. Baby blue horn-rimmed eyeglasses. Whoever designed those things should have been arrested and charged with child abuse. They were hideous. This was fifth grade, when other kids hone their skills at saying mean things. I took off those glasses. Being unable to see much of anything, except how to walk without falling down, I earned myself a reputation as stuck up. Childhood is hard. I could either be plumb ugly or stuck-up. Which would you pick? Salvation arrived at age sixteen in the form of contact lenses. I was instructed to wear them 30 minutes the first day, then an hour the next day,


with increases of 30 minutes a day until I could wear them all day. I put mine in the second I got them and didn’t take them out again for 20 years. Contact lenses solved all my problems (at least the visual ones) until about five years ago, when they started printing the phone book in those teensy letters that require the use of a magnifying glass. Soon thereafter, the numbers on my credit cards and the ingredients list on the back of cold remedies started disappearing into lines of gray fuzz. I knew what was happening, and I knew it was not fair. I was born near-sighted, and now, as a welcome gift to middle-age, I was also now far-sighted. And I knew that the cure for having both conditions is a swear word: bifocals. Glasses with lines down the middle that shout “I am OLD.” There had to be another way. To the optometrist I went. To me he said, “The simplest cure is a pair of reading glasses.” Not on your life. I put glasses down at 16 when I got those lovely little glass discs to pop in my eyeballs, and I was not about to pick them up again. Okay, he said, we can try two things: bifocal contact lenses or I could have a near-vision lens in one eye to read and a distance-vision lens in the other for concerts and plays. He recommended the second option, saying that it was hard to get crisp vision with the bifocal contacts. My intelligent brain knows that actual vision occurs not in my eyes but in the optic nerve, so the two-different-lenses option made sense. My Lynn brain, the one I listen to most often, couldn’t shake the feeling that I would be seeing a lopsided world. So I chose the bifocal contacts, ignoring what the doctor said about it being hard to get crisp vision with those. Sometimes, I prefer to create my own reality. When I got my first pair, and I could read the waiting room maga-


zines with no problem, I shouted for joy. Then I looked across the street – and I couldn’t read the letters “STOP” on that big red sign. Uh-oh. Well, try them out for a while, he said. I did. And they didn’t get better. So we sent them back for a little adjustment. Great, I thought, when Version 2 arrived. I can read “STOP” again – only now I can only read the titles of magazine stories, hovering there above the gray mass that I suppose is the actual story. So we sent them back again. Four times we did this. I admitted defeat and gave the distance lens and close-up lens option a try, lopsidedness be damned. They gave me the ability to see really clearly from about three feet to a hundred feet, with fuzz on anything closer or farther away. When I wanted to read, I’d close the distance eye. When I wanted to see performers on a stage, I’d close the reading eye. That got old. Fuzzy wasn’t fun. I wanted my clear vision back. It slowly dawned on me that, short of surgery, I was probably back where I started. I needed a good pair of contact lenses for distance vision – and oh, how I hate it when I have to eat crow – just as the optometrist said to begin with – a pair of reading glasses. So I took myself to the nifty new shop with funky frames at the mall in the high-rent district. I guess the guy who designed the baby blue horn rims passed on. Maybe a fifth grader strangled him with the earpieces of those things. Nowadays, glasses come in red and purple and polka dots with all manner of bling and other adornments. That doesn’t mean they necessarily look that great on my face, but the variety is an improvement if only because it distracts. If I’ve got to wear them, I can at least do it with style. I’m going to wear specs that say “HEY! I AM LYNN’S GLASSES! LOOK HERE AT ME!” So I got new contacts – perfect distance vision ones, just like I used to have, and reading glasses. Two pairs of reading glasses. One pair with red and purple frames, one with rhinestone-studded brown frames. And I got funky little chains to hang them around my neck. No little old lady chains for me. One of my chains is made of oval green stones etched with sea turtles (which are really too tiny for me to see, but I know they are there). The other has neon blue and pearly beads. Way cool, I tell you. And just for the hell of it, I got a new pair of glasses, something I can use when my eyes want a break from contacts. They’re real bifocals, but if I don’t tell anybody, they won’t know, because manufacturers now make bifocals without those telltale “old lady” lines. Truth to tell, they don’t even call them bifocals now. The current euphemism is “progressive lenses.” Whatever. I know they’re bifocals. But euphemisms fit nicely with my alternate realities. I am getting a huge kick out of my funky reading glasses. They’re cute. People pay me compliments. They are, however, not without problems. They hang around my neck, creating an accessorizing issue when I wear a necklace. I have to remember not to put my topaz pendant on my nose when I want to read. It doesn’t do me one bit of good, but that prism effect is awesome. In addition, I have long hair. I’m accustomed to unwinding my tresses from the chains that hold things like that topaz pendant, but the chains that hold my glasses, coupled with whatever jewelry I’m wearing, have lately offered some new twists. Pun intended. And then there’s my checkbook balance. I wasn’t kidding about the high-rent location of that nifty eyewear shop. I ought to carry more insurance on these spectacles than I have on my car. Except I couldn’t write a good check to pay for it. In fact, I probably can’t write much of a check for much of anything. But hey, I know how to fix that. I’m farsighted – and nearsighted. All I have to do is take off the glasses and contact lenses, and not only will I not be able to read the tiny balance in the checkbook, I won’t see well enough to find the checkbook to start with!

G e o r g e G e r a l d D av i s R e c e p t i o n M a y 11t h 2 - 5

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From Hwy. 17 turn on to Hwy. 179 to Calabash • Located 1/8 mi. from the state line.

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4493 Hwy 17 Business, Murrells Inlet

843-651-5863 · 843-449-0448

6914 N. Kings Hwy., Myrtle Beach, Next to Rose Arbor Fabrics


Mon - Fri 10-5 • Saturday 10-4 29

Eleanor Pitts & LeAnne Daniels Eleanor Pitts and her daughter, LeAnne, have worked together about 15 years. “I was already established when she joined the business,” said Eleanor. “LeAnne was a pharmacist, but decided that wasn’t for her and came to work with us. I look forward to her taking over!” “LeAnne and I have the same tastes and ideas for the store. I always know everything is well taken care of even though we all have our own areas of expertise,” Eleanor went on to say that LeAnne handles all the advertising, while they both do the buying and work with customers. “The buying is the fun part! Our only challenge working together is that we both want to be off at the same time because of the grandchildren, but, we are fortunate to have a wonderful staff that covers for us.” LeAnne and Eleanor enjoy spending time together outside of work as well. Eleanor says the two of them love going to local events and have a lot of family dinners together. “Birthdays are always very special, and we do a lot with the grandchildren—William is 12 and Caroline is 11.” On Mother’s Day, LeAnne and Eleanor plan to go out for a well deserved break! Eleanor Pitts Fine Gifts, The Shoppes at Oak Lea, 11096 Ocean Hwy., Pawleys Island 843-237-8080,

Mothers & Daughters Donita Johnson & Nita Griffin

Donita Johnson and her mother, Nita Griffin, own and operate Homespun Crafters Mall. “We have been working together since November 2004 when we took over the business. My mom was one of the original vendors, selling her handmade jewelry. I started sewing purses so she expanded her space. The opportunity came along to buy the business, and we jumped on it. Our love of crafts led us to be business owners.” These two enjoy working together, but the best thing is being able to adjust their schedules for a very important little girl. “Our business allows us to take care of my 21 month old granddaughter. We try to work opposite shifts to make that possible.” The two rarely have any problems working together. “We carry a huge line of quilting fabrics, so we’re normally pulling out fabrics trying to find thinks that we can make,” said Donita. Both women love to cook and when they are not working can usually be found in the kitchen cooking big meals for the family.” The women plan to relax on Mother’s Day and have Donita’s husband take over. “He is going to cook a wonderful meal for us and have the whole family over.”

Who Mean Business Homespun Crafters Mall, Surfside Shopping Center, 114-A Hwy. 17 N., Surfside Beach 843-238-3622,

Lindsey Kirby & Alicia Hart

Alicia Hart and daughter, Lindsey, recently married to Adam Kirby of Bistro 217, are the dynamic team behind Pawleys Island Wear. Lindsey worked part time through high school and college at Pawleys Island Wear and has worked with her mom for over 15 years. “We may be mother and daughter but we are also best friends and enjoy spending time together. Both of us love fashion and enjoy making women feel good about themselves,” said Lindsey. Alicia added, “We both have different tastes and opinions, but that is what makes our business work so well. You need to have different visions. Our motto is ‘Fashion for the Ages;’ two different tastes brought together for women of all ages. It can be difficult during family events, but we always manage to work things out.” “When we are off at the same time which is very rare, we love going to the beach to relax or out for dinner, and we both enjoy being with family,” Lindsey began. “We are truly blessed!” Alicia is very excited about her Mother’s Day gift. “My sweet daughter is going to work so I can enjoy the day and relax. We’ll probably get together later for dinner.” Pawleys Island Wear, The Hammock Shops, 10880 Ocean Hwy., Pawleys Island 843-237-3475,

Rachel Buckley & Linda Pate

Mothers & Daughters

Rachel Buckley and her mom, Linda Pate, have worked together for the past two years as the owners of Simply Sophia, but have collaborated on many projects in the past. “We started Simply Sophia after the premature birth of my daughter, Sophia,” began Rachel. “I wanted Sophia to be able to be with me during the day, and we both wanted to own a business geared towards children.” Linda agreed, saying, “We chose to open our boutique in order to spend quality time with each other and Sophia.”   For Linda, the best thing about being in business with her daughter is seeing her succeed. Rachel loves being able to spend time with her mother and daughter every day. “The only down side is not being able to go on family vacations, weddings, etc., because one of us has to always be at the boutique,” said Rachel. When not working, this dynamic team loves to shop, of course! “We love traveling but have had to limit our trips since opening the boutique,” said Linda. On Mother’s Day, the family is planning a trip to Myrtle Beach State Park for a picnic. “It will be a day full of family, fun and photos!” Simply Sophia Boutique, Black Water Market, 328 Laurel Street, Conway 843-488-9003,

s Who Mean Business Adele Richardson & Dawn Williams

Dawn Williams has worked with her mom, Adele Richardson, since 1998, “unless you count the times I helped out as a kid before I could see over the counter!” Dawn laughed. “My parents opened the jewelry store in 1970, so it was a success long before I joined the team. I was a senior in college at the time, wanted to have a more convenient work schedule and working in the family business seemed like the right move.” Dawn and her mom enjoy spending time together. “I consider Mom one of my best friends. The biggest challenge is separating our business and personal lives; work always seems to come up in conversations, and there is never enough time to enjoy being together as a family.” On Mother’s Day, Dawn’s family will get together for a meal to celebrate. “This will be my first official Mother’s day as a Mom. I got married in December and now have an 11 year old son, and 13 year old daughter. Up until last year, my Yorkie, Max, was my only child. He passed away last year, the week before Mother’s Day. He came to work with me every day. People still come in and ask to see him.” Grady’s Jewelers, 317 Laurel Street, Conway 843-248-2624,

Pat Bates & Page Nash

Pat Bates and her daughter, Page Nash, have worked together for 19 years running Rose Arbor Fabrics in Myrtle Beach. “We went into business together because Page wanted to come home to work and live after college,” Pat began. “I was doing interior design from home, but then Rose Arbor came on the market. The rest is history—here we are!” Pat feels very fortunate to be able to work with her talented daughter. “Working together, I have been able to see Page mature, both personally and professionally. This is, I feel, a rare happening for parents and children.” Pat continued, saying, “The challenges have been making business decisions—not that we disagree, but in retail there are always questions. Personally we have had no challenges.” This mother/daughter team spends time together outside of work as well. “We enjoy traveling and shopping when we can find time away from the business,” said Pat. The family is planning a relaxing Mother’s Day celebration. “I’m looking forward to spending the day with my children and grandchildren on the Inlet which is always a pleasure for me.” Rose Arbor Fabrics, 6916 N. Kings Hwy., Myrtle Beach 843-449-7673,

Shantelle & Buffy Patterson

Buffy Patterson and her daughter, Shantelle, have been working together off and on through the years in many businesses and projects. Shantelle became heavily involved with breathe after she graduated college. “I started an artist co-op and when Shantelle received her design degree, we decided we would go into business together. We are currently building a wholesale design line, and she also helps me with my second business, Trading Spaces Realty, while taking a lead role in breathe. We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, so we make a good team.” When asked about working together, Buffy said their differing talents and styles made working together enjoyable. “Our style differences are a strength, but sometimes they are a weakness, too! My style is loose and whimsical and Shantelle’s is more refined and structured. This can cause differences in opinion, but it always seems to work out.” When not working, Buffy and Shantelle love to laugh, eat, paint and joke with each other. “We have a lot of fun when we can both relax and not worry about work.” “This will be a somber Mother’s Day, as my mother recently passed away,” Buffy began. “Hopefully our family can spend the evening at home together and enjoy each other’s company.”

breathe ~ pieces of the soul, 9674 Ocean Hwy., Pawleys Island 843-314-3320,

Sandy Sheely & Sharon Davis

Sandy Sheely and Sharon Davis, owners of Shades and Draperies, have worked together for almost 33 years. “I can’t believe it, it really seems like yesterday,” said Sandy. “Sandy would jump in and help when she was home for breaks from college—she was always very efficient and loved the details,” said Sharon. “I came to love the artistic side of what we do,” Sandy began. “When the business grew too big for one person, it seemed only natural to make the leap. It was the best decision I’ve ever made!” “Some days it is almost like we’re the same person,” laughed Sharon. “Working together is a joy.” Sandy agrees. “Our customers get a kick out of our being a mother/daughter team. They’ve dubbed us the ‘Shady Ladies.’” Sandy went on to say that working with family makes working out any challenges much easier because they know each other so well. Outside of work, the two women are very close. “Some of my best times are spent in my mother’s garden. I love stopping by her house for gardening advice,” said Sandy. Both women are looking forward to Mother’s Day. “Our celebration will begin with church and then an afternoon gathering with the whole family to play, laugh and love!” Shades and Draperies, 4905 US 17 Bypass, Murrells Inlet 843-651-8177,

Jean Wilson & Donna Roy Jean Wilson started selling Aloe Vera Cosmetics from home in Easley, South Carolina, in the late 1970s when her daughter, Donna Roy, was in high school. Donna began modeling in print ads and also made television appearances with her Mom. Jean eventually opened a retail store in Easley, and while attending LSU Donna began sharing skin care products with her friends. She is now operating her business from home. “I have always had huge admiration for Mom and her ongoing efforts to help women look and feel their best,” said Donna. Jean and Donna believe that they’re helping to empower women with confidence, thus giving them the opportunity to put their best “faces” forward and succeed in whatever they choose to do! The distance between Easley and Myrtle Beach has created unique challenges, but this mother/daughter team talk and email almost every day and try to see each other every few months. “When we’re not working and have time together, Mom and I like watching ‘girlie’ movies (and crying together!)...dining out...having pedicures...sitting on the beach…walking…and always chatting,” Donna laughed. On Mother’s Day this year, Jean and Donna hope to be together but because they will have seen each other a few weeks before—they’re thinking of meeting “half way” to have lunch!

Aloe Pro Skin Care, 843-457-2616,


Mother’s Day

We Love & Honor You

gets candid

Meet James“Squeakie”Stone

do it. But, I thought about it and finally decided that I would give it a try. The couple liked my work so much that they asked for three more! All my life, I felt there was something else I should have been doing, and when I started painting I finally knew what that “something” was. I loved painting from that first piece and have kept at it. That first painting is still my favorite. I grew up in the area. My father was a sharecropper, and we all worked hard in the tobacco fields. When I was in the ninth grade, my father got me a job in a local grocery store – I was excited because I thought I wouldn’t have to work in the tobacco fields anymore. But, I was wrong. Between school, my job and farming work, I had no time to get in trouble as a teenager! Before I started painting pictures, I painted houses for about thirty years. I liked painting houses, but after so many years, I found I didn’t like all the driving and being out in the heat and cold all day. After that first painting of the chapel, I just kept painting at night and on weekends until we moved here about six years ago. My work painting houses got slack, so I started selling my paintings on the side of the road. One week I made more selling paintings than I did painting houses. I told myself if I did that again the next week I wasn’t going back. I’ve been painting pictures full time ever since. How did you become so well known? Fran Oxner, former owner of ‘Cuz I Gallery, in Pawleys Island, came to the house to see Squirrel’s paintings and saw mine. She put both in her gallery, and people liked my work. Since then I’ve met quite a few folk artists and learned a lot. One artist told me to never take art lessons, just to do what I do. That’s what folk art is, work from the heart. If I see something I like, I try different things until I figure out how they do it and then use it in my work. At the beginning, most of my paintings were larger, but people have asked for smaller pieces and now I have a range of sizes. I can do most anything people want, but each piece of art will be slightly different. I have a website now, too, where people can see my artwork. A friend of mine, Fran Caldwell, who is also a folk artist, helped me with it.

Friendly and down to earth, James “Squeakie” Stone is a folk artist living near Andrews, South Carolina, whose paintings hang in galleries across the southeast and homes as far away as England. Squeakie’s paintings are colorful and fun, featuring subjects that range from his memories of growing up on a farm to photographs he’s seen and liked. He works in acrylics on wood, and his outdoor “gallery” is located about six miles outside of Andrews, South Carolina, on Highway 521, in the front yard of his small home, where he lives with his wife, Angie. Paintings are propped against an older white car in the front yard and most days will find Squeakie in the back yard creating his unique art.

What do you do when you’re not painting? I mostly stay around the house. My wife has been ill, and I take care of her. I would like to paint all the time. To see Squeakie’s work locally, visit Grey Man Gallery in Pawleys Island, Fairview Framers in Lake City, or visit his website, If you’re in the Andrews area, Squeakie welcomes everyone to stop and see his work.

When did you start painting? My uncle was a folk artist; everyone called him Squirrel. Uncle Squirrel passed away four years ago, but his work is exhibited all over the United States. He started painting about 15 years before he died after he had a dream telling him to paint. Like me, he would put his paintings out by the side of the road for sale. One day, a couple stopped by with a photo of the chapel in Pawleys Island and asked him to paint it for them. Uncle Squirrel didn’t really want to do it and asked me to give it a try. Even though I always liked other people’s work, I had never had any interest in art, more because I didn’t think I could



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Advertiser Index Aloe Vera Cosmetics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Bistro 217. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Coastal Dance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Georgetown Business Association. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Art & Soul. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Blue Elephant Thai Cuisine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 David Grabeman, D.D.S., P.A.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Grady’s Jewelers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Atlantic Discount Spirits / Boot Legger Liquors. . . . . . 15 Breathe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Details by Three Sisters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Grand Strand Homewatch Caregivers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Barbara’s Fine Gifts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Brookgreen Gardens. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37 Douglas Diamond Jewelers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Gray Man Gallery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 The Barefoot Cottage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Cabana Gauze. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Downtown Pawleys. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Harvest Commons on Commerce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Belk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 CHD Interiors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 DS Plumbing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Homespun Crafters Mall. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Bio-Identical Hormones. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Christopher’s Fine Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Eleanor Pitts Fine Gifts & Jewelry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Island Shoes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10




From cruises on the creek and overland excursions on the Trekker, to engaging animal programs and a new butterfly house there is always something new and exciting at Brookgreen Gardens. This National Historic Landmark is home to the only accredited zoo on the coast of the Carolinas and one of the most significant figurative sculpture collections in the world! For more information call

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& Children under 3 are FREE!


Located on Highway 17 between Murrells Inlet and Pawleys Island.

The Joggling Board. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Ooh La La . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Safe Kids Pee Dee/Coastal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Sunset River Marketplace. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Kaminski House Museum. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Palmetto Ace Home Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Sew Sassy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Take 2 Resale. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 The Kangaroo Pouch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Palmetto Paint & Design Center. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Taylor’s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Lifeway Christian Stores . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Pawleys Island Swimwear. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 The Shops at Tweaked. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Taz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Litchfield Dance Arts Academy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Pawleys Island Wear. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .36 Simply Divine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Treasures Jewelers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Long Bay Symphony. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 The Pink Cabana. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Simply Sophia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 WEZV. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 McLeod Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Pounds Away of Myrtle Beach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Socialite. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Me & Mommy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Rioz Brazilian Steakhouse. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Southern Guys & Gals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Millie’s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Rose Arbor Fabrics & Interiors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Studio 77. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

may 37

Visit for a full calendar and more Sasee events!

The Scoop


may 2-23








Blue Crab Festival, 9 am-6 pm, Little River. For more info, call 843-249-6604 or visit

24, 31

Ocean Isle Concert Series, 6:30 pm-8 pm, Museum of Coastal Carolina parking lot, E. Second St., Ocean Isle Beach, N.C. For more info, call 910-579-5163.




16th Annual Waccamaw Arts & Crafts Guild Juried Exhibition, The Art Museum at Myrtle Beach, 3100 S. Ocean Blvd. For more info, call 843-235-2510 or visit

Rivertown Music and Arts Festival, 11 am-9 pm, Conway. For more info, call 843-248-6260 or visit

Waterway Art Association 21st Annual Exhibit & Sale, Brunswick Community College Extension, Route 17, Calabash, N.C. For more info call 910-575-7981 or visit

Fine Arts Gala at Litchfield Dance Arts Academy, 97 Otis Drive, Pawleys Island. 7:30 p.m. Ballet, musical theatre, contemporary and hip hop dance styles will be featured, in addition to excerpts from “The Firebird� by Igor Stravinsky. Tickets are $15. For more info, call 843-237-7465.


Beach Music Party, 5-8 pm, 13 North Ocean Blvd., Surfside Beach Pier. For more info, call 843-650-9548 or visit

Moveable Feast, Charles Williams discusses Unwritten, 11 am, Tara Ballroom at Litchfield Beach & Golf Resort, $25. For more info, call 843-235-9600 or visit

Understanding Dementia Care, Essentials for Your Journey Together, 5-8 pm, Horry Georgetown Technical College, Grand Strand Conference Center, free. For more information, call 843-979-3273 or visit


Annual Blessing of the Inlet, Belin United Methodist Church, Murrells Inlet, 9 am-4 pm. For more info, call 843-651-7979 or visit

The Porch, Swamp Fox Players, Strand Theater, Georgetown. For times and ticket info, call 843-527-2924 or visit

Coastal Uncorked, various events throughout Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-626-9669 or visit


Look 5 to 10 years younger!

Sunday, June 23, 2013 – 7:00pm MBHS Music & Arts Center



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Pre-Koncert Kids

ome be enchanted with Karnival at 5:00pm Tickets $15 for kids a magical concert of Disney Free to parents music featuring The Long Bay accompanying kids Symphony and vocalists, conducted by Dr. Charles Jones Evans. Make plans today to join us for this magical music from Walt Disney and make new memories of your own!

may 39



After years of silence, Jonathan and Chandler did something their parents never thought they could. They spoke. Chandler Adams, age 8, and his brother Jonathan, age 10, are on the autism spectrum and were unable to communicate

Every Child is Family.

verbally before becoming part of the pediatric rehabilitation

McLeod Seacoast

program at McLeod Seacoast. “To see our boys advance from

Pediatric Rehabilitation

signing to using pictures and then be able to speak to us was a truly joyous experience,” says Valeria Adams, their mom. “Both boys look forward to their sessions there, and every member of the rehabilitation team goes out of their way to

Chandler and Jonathan are just one of our special stories. To read more, visit

challenge and help our kids – because they genuinely care.” Your Local Children’s Miracle Network Hospital

Sasee May 2013  
Sasee May 2013  

Volume 12, Issue 5