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July 2011 Volume 10, Issue 7
Farmer on the Dell by Melissa Face
by Francine Garson
Biker Babe Becomes Just Another Great Babe by Susan G. Clark
A Modern American Family – Online by Catherine Robinson
Wanna Be Friends? by Diane Stark
Southern Snaps by Connie Barnard
Effect of Supermoon Beams by Erika Hoffman
Publisher Delores Blount Sales & Marketing Director Susan Bryant Editor Leslie Moore Account Executives Amanda Kennedy-Colie Erica Schneider Celia Wester Art Director Taylor Nelson Photography Director Patrick Sullivan Graphic Artist Scott Konradt Accounting Bart Buie CPA, P.A. Administrative Assistant Barbara J. Leonard Executive Publishers Jim Creel Bill Hennecy Tom Rogers
by Vera Birdsong-Poske
For the Love of Cookbooks by Janey Womeldorf
by Diane DeVaughn Stokes
PO Box 1389 Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 www.sasee.com • email@example.com
I n T h is I ssue Read It! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Sasee Gets Candid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 Faves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Women & Men Who Mean Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Scoop on the Strand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. For subscription info, see page 43. 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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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. Vera Birdsong-Poske, the youngest of four children, grew up in Virginia, and now lives in a small, coastal Florida town. Vera has been published in the Ponte Vedra Recorder and Net Notes Magazine.
letter from the editor No matter how old I get, I always look forward to summer. It’s more of a feeling than an actual event, but life just doesn’t get much better than those hours I spend relaxing on the beach with a good book. Francine Garson’s essay, “The Library,” in this issue, reminded me of how much I loved, and still love, the library and those tempting rows of book-filled shelves. As much as I enjoy my Kindle, nothing replaces the feeling of holding a real book and turning actual pages as I read.
Susan G. Clark lives, writes and DJs a jazz radio show in Raleigh, North Carolina. You can listen online at WSHAfm.org or contact Susan at firstname.lastname@example.org. Melissa Face lives in Virginia with her husband, son and dog. Her stories and essays have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and Cup of Comfort. E-mail Melissa at email@example.com.
This month, the Friends of the Waccamaw Library in Pawleys Island are having their annual book sale, and the same library has launched a capital campaign to build a new Library Center. Statistics show that library usage has increased over the past few years throughout our country – but library budgets have not. Still, in every community, they continue to lend us books, movies and music, as well as offering programs for all ages. Check the Sasee Scoop for the details of the FOWL book sale – I hope to see you there!
A former college counselor and law school administrator, Francine Garson’s work has appeared in All Things Girl, Still Crazy, WorkLifeGroup.com, Writer Advice, and WritersType. Her flash fiction received a first place award from the League of American Pen Women in 2010. A native South Carolinian, Lisa Hamilton is the director of the First Presbyterian Church Preschool and Kindergarten. Of course she loves reading, but also finds time for cooking and walking her dog, Hurley. More of Erika Hoffman’s non-fiction narratives will appear in the upcoming Chicken Soup for the Soul – Young at Heart edition and in the Nurturing Paws Anthology by Whispering Angels. Her new novel, Runaway Faith, is with Comfort Publishing and should be released within the year.
Catherine Durkin Robinson is an award-winning humorist and nationally syndicated writer. You can find her online at www. outinleftfield.com. Catherine lives in Florida with her husband and twin sons. In her spare time, she investigates missing socks.
Follow the Yellow Brick Road, by Cat Mallard Cat Mallard creates an ethereal world of story, archetypes and imaginary places. Cat received her degree in art from the University of Florida where she specialized in oil and acrylic painting. Today she also enjoys working in watercolors and mixed media. Her work has been featured in Somerset Studio Magazine and is in private collections worldwide. You can find more of her work in her Etsy shop: http://darklingwoods.etsy.com.
Diane Stark is a wife, a mother of five and a freelance writer. Her work has appeared in publications like Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Tribute to Moms. She loves to write about her family and her faith. Diane DeVaughn Stokes is the President of Stages Video Productions, host of “Diane At Six” on EASY radio, free-lance writer and TV spokesperson. She and husband, Chuck share the same passions: travel, theater and scuba diving. Janey Womeldorf is a freelance writer from Memphis, Tenn. who can’t start the day without a list. She talks to herself on a daily basis while scribbling away about the lighter sides of life.
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Farmer on the Dell by Melissa Face “I’ll call you back in ten minutes,” my mom promised. “I have to go harvest my crops.” Perhaps you are picturing my mother, a woman in her late fifties, atop an International tractor, plowing a field. She is wearing a plaid shirt and a straw hat. Beads of sweat form on her forehead as she works in the sweltering, Virginia sun. That is definitely the wrong picture. My mom farms from a pink Dell laptop. She farms in good weather and bad, during the summer and the winter, at home and on vacation. She can fertilize and plow from any place with internet access. She is a Farmville farmer. Mom opened a Facebook account a couple of years ago and began playing Farmville not too long after. She tried really hard to get me interested in the game. She spoke of barn raisings and vineyards and orchards. She tried to entice me with country collectibles, rare chickens, and bushels of raspberries. There were times when I considered joining her on the farm, but I knew I already spent too much time on the internet. I didn’t need something else to “check” each day. As time passed, Mom started expanding her farm. She built French cottages, added new pastures, and planted rows of trees. Her farm required more and more of her time. And she managed it quite nicely. Last spring, she made arrangements when she knew we would be traveling to the Outer Banks. “I’m only planting half the crops I usually do,” she said. “That way I won’t have to worry about harvesting when we’re at the beach.” Mom enjoyed her vacation. We all went shopping during the day, and we ate dinner together each evening. But at night, when everyone else was heading for bed, Mom went upstairs, turned on her Dell and checked on her farm. “Three little lambs were born last night,” she announced during breakfast. “I gave them really cute names, too. One of them is called Ram Bunctious.”
The next night, my husband and I were woken up by a strange noise. At first, we thought the baby was crying. We soon realized we were hearing cows mooing, sheep bleating and pigs oinking. Mom was working on her farm, and she had forgotten to turn down the volume on her Dell. Unfortunately, sleep is sometimes sacrificed when your mother is a farmer. I call my mom in the afternoons when I am on my way home from work. It is the one time of day when I know we can chat about work, family and our favorite TV shows without being interrupted. Occasionally, though, Mom’s voice will trail off or she will answer a question that I asked much earlier in the conversation. Then, I hear her mouse clicking in the background, and I realize that she is farming. “I’ll call you back later,” I tell her. “I was just collecting some eggs,” she says. “I’ll call you after I pick up the baby,” I say. “There. I’m done. I’m signing off now. What were you saying?” she asks. We all give Mom a hard time about her Farmville. We laugh at her mystery trees, joke about her ducklings and make snide remarks about her pigpens. My dad tells her it’s ridiculous. I tell her she’s addicted. But she keeps playing and so do all of her Farmville friends. And why shouldn’t she? It’s free and apparently a great deal of fun. My mom deserves to have fun now that she is semi-retired. And it really doesn’t cause any major problems – aside from some overcrowding that I noticed in one of her chicken coops. But she worked on that situation after I threatened to contact PETA. I was planning on calling my mom this afternoon before the hectic workweek begins. But according to her online status, she is already working – in her horse stables. I guess if I want to talk with her more, I’m going to have to join her. Maybe I will go ahead and start my own farm this summer. After all, farming is a family industry. And I already have my own Dell.
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The Library by Francine Garson
As a child growing up in the 1960s in New Jersey, by late July of each summer, the euphoria of freedom from book reports, math tests and non-airconditioned classrooms had lost a little of its earlier appeal. The hot, sticky days in my semi-rural town, broken up only by weekend trips to the beach, had become monotonous. Riding my bicycle along dusty streets by daytime and catching fireflies at night were no longer enough to keep me from whining, “Mom, I’m bored.” My mother knew the signals and read me well. She never suggested weekly trips to the library in early summer, just after I had returned my tattered reading workbook and bent-paged dictionary to my unsmiling teacher. She understood the initial allure of long summer days with nothing to do. She waited for the “Mom…” Its large, railed porch, lacy trim, and set of three steepled roofs made the building at 80 Broad Street a New Jersey approximation of a Victorian home. But the building that looked like a gingerbread concoction was much more than a pretty house with a wide verandah. To me, it was a treasure chest of riches that made the climb up its too-many stairs to the third floor a prelude to adventure. A cascade of books – big, small, fat and thin – crammed the rarely dusted wooden shelves of the children’s section in my town library. Actually, the library wasn’t even located in my town of Farmingdale, New Jersey, but in Freehold, which was a twenty minute drive away. Yet every week, my working and overworked mother piled my sister and me into our wood-paneled station wagon and made that drive. Each of our library trips began with the same five words. Remember girls, three books each. The fact that my younger sister could not even read yet didn’t matter to my mother. Three books each. That was the rule, broken only once after an unfortunate incident involving a library book, a purple-crayoned page, me and my very distraught mother. The following week while my mother and sister checked out their three books each, I slunk past the librarian’s desk. In addition to her role as the library chauffeur, my mother was the keeper of the small yellow card that allowed me to bring a part of the larger
world, both real and imagined, to the semi-rural farmhouse that was my home. I traveled in Nancy Drew’s blue roadster, plunged down a rabbit hole with Alice, and stood with Scout as Atticus Finch left the courtroom. When, after finally mastering the lower scoop of my first initial, I could sign my name in script and received my own library card. I kept it, the first official document that belonged only to me, in the small white box which housed my topaz birthstone ring, a lucky penny found face up on a trip to the Empire State Building and a plastic ballerina who spun to a scratchy music-box version of “Swan Lake.” That original card has been replaced many times. The library gods changed its background from yellow to blue, to white, back to yellow and most recently to a credit card-looking rectangle of green plastic decorated with a string of digits and a barcode. The books have been uprooted from their gingerbread home and moved to a sleek brick building replete with air conditioning and an elevator. And I must admit that sliding my compact car into a neatly outlined parking space in the library’s blacktopped lot is much easier than my mother’s task of parallel parking her station wagon on Broad Street. I push against the heavy glass door and step onto the scuffed-butclean floor and into the delicious coolness. A wall-sized corkboard is plastered with signs: Chess Tournament. Summer Family Film Festival. Knitting for Everyone. Young Adult Book Group. Cell Phones Are Permitted in the Lobby Only! I check the computer-generated spreadsheet for the location of my writers’ group meeting – Room 8 at 2 pm. A youngish woman, clutching the hand of a ponytailed little girl, strides past me. Smiling at their updated versions of the tie-dyed t-shirts of my youth, I follow them through a narrow hallway lined with photographs of puppies, kittens and bunnies. A yellow sign adorned with rainbow-colored butterflies hangs over the entrance to a brightly lit room – Children’s Books. Sliding my notebook-filled tote bag off my wrist, I glance at my watch; 1:45pm. I have just enough time for a quick visit with some very old friends.
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Lisa Says… Read Doc, by Mary Doria Russell
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Mary Doria Russell is the author of a favorite book of mine titled The Sparrow. It is a religious, science fiction-type novel that explores the Jesuit Society traveling in space to pursue and learn about the frontiers of exploration. Jesuits universally never went anywhere to proselytize, they only explored so they may come to know all God’s children. Hence, what a surprise to learn of Ms. Russell’s new novel about John Henry Holliday and the Wild West. Many men read Sasee (and I know they do because they talk to me about the reviews and articles), and they may enjoy the gambling and the gunfights, but there is much more to this novel than the story of a cowboy. John Henry Holliday was born to the South Carolina McKeys, the third child of eleven. His family took him to Georgia where he came into the world with a cleft palate and was almost dismissed
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to the grave. Mary Alice McKey Holliday was an educated, well bred woman who refused to give up on her child. Her brother in law was a dentist who promised he could save this child, and he did. This uncle was not only a savior but a lifelong mentor and guide. As J.J.H. grew and progressed, he followed in his uncle’s footsteps as a dentist and a devoted son who lived a good, young life. Sadly, John Henry’s mother contracted tuberculosis and passed it onto her son before she died when he was a very young man. To preserve his health, John Henry Holliday set out to live the rest of his life in dryer air with less humidity than the beautiful South that he loved. He headed west to Texas, without a means to practice dentistry but a resolve to survive and succeed in any way possible. J.H.H., aka Doc, learned to fend for himself, gamble and count cards, and quickly rose to fame and fortune, even as his health struggled. His partner in life was a prostitute he never married, but spent most of his good years with when he settled in Dodge City. As Doc unfolds, the reader is taken back in time and given a feel for life as our country grew and settled. It was a hard time for most, but they survived by hard work, strong will and determination. This novel definitely gets a tip of the hat.
Biker Babe Becomes Just Another Great Babe by Susan G. Clark
I’ve been a motorcycle babe since I was big enough to walk. My first riding buddies were my mom and dad. Later, all four of us – me in front just clearing the gas tank, dad at the controls and little brother sandwiched between him and mom – would line up on a Harley Davidson motorcycle for a Sunday afternoon ride. We would meet other biker families at the local dealership and head out of town toward quiet country roads. Those were the good old days before helmets. You don’t see four people on a bike anymore, perhaps because it’s illegal or because, with the onset of helmet laws, all those heavy heads bashing into chests and shoulders would be too much to bear. 14 www.sasee.com
Anyway, I made it through the tumultuous high school years without sitting my butt on any strange bikes, but things changed when I moved into my first apartment. Every guy I met owned a motorcycle – if it wasn’t a street bike, it was a dirt bike. These guys knew how to have a good time, and I wasn’t about to be left behind. Just to be certain, I married one of them. Mom never said anything, but I’m sure she shuddered as she watched me, sans helmet, head out all those weekends with the boys on their dirt bikes, to ride just off the blacktop to the rock quarry a couple of miles up the road. My young husband was the group leader, trailing immediately behind was his younger brother, then my brother, and, keeping pace on the pavement, was dad on his Harley, the only licensed motorcycle in the bunch. I rode shotgun with whoever would allow. Husband’s brother complained the least, so I was usually with him. The main attraction at the quarry was a pile of dirt and rock three stories high boasting an impressive incline of about ninety-degrees. The boys repeatedly urged their bikes up the hill, paused to revel in their success, and then gingerly rolled back down. I opted to stay at the bottom with dad and cheer. That Christmas the boys surprised me with a motorcycle of my own. My husband had acquired a small, used Honda for a steal, and he and the boys put it back in running condition. The pictures from that Christmas top any on record, but the novelty was fleeting. I never knew why the boys thought I would want a bike. Maybe they were trying to tell me they were tired of ferrying me around. Nevertheless, their ploy failed. On the way back from the quarry one day my little motorcycle and I took a spill, and I seized the opportunity to feign fear. The truth was I felt more comfortable on the back of husband’s brother’s bike, holding on tightly and inhaling the fragrance of his leather jacket. Although I eventually bid the bike, the husband and his brother farewell, the pattern continued, and over the next twenty years I dated a number of motorcycle-happy guys. These were not lowlifes, hoodlums or Hells Angels; they were engineers, marketing guys and such. One was almost off the grid: he lived on a sailboat and plugged in at a harbor just outside of San Diego when he wasn’t underway to one island or another – a lifestyle that everyone agreed was way cool, but mysteriously funded and never discussed. He was blond and tanned, and his sole possessions were a sailboat, a motorcycle and a skateboard. I was duly infatuated. While the guys became increasingly more interesting, the motorcycles were becoming less so. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s quite exciting the first time a girl climbs on a bike with a new guy, but, after one or two rides, I was discovering I’d had enough of the bike. The pavement had begun to appear too close and move much too quickly beneath us, our position in the leftmost third of the lane felt far too near the centerline, and the vehicles with which we shared the road seemed disturbingly large. I recently had the opportunity to ride with a university professor who is a very experienced biker and owns a veritable herd of vintage Harleys. We agreed on a short trip one nice afternoon. The ride was nothing less than perfect: the open road, the clear day, my coordinated denim outfit and hanging out mid-ride by a country store with a cold one in a paper bag. The next time an invitation was extended, though, I declined. I remembered that I had only been able to enjoy the part of the ride that took place after the beer. Before the beer, instead of being the easy rider, I was the uneasy rider. Even with a guy so skilled I would have trusted him with my cat, my car, or my sister, if I had one, I wasn’t able to completely enjoy the ride. After a lifetime of viewing the passing world from her tranquil perch on the back of a bike, if this motorcycle babe can no longer enjoy the entire ride, it’s time she hands over her helmet. Thanks, guys. It really has been a great ride.
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A Modern American Family – Online by Catherine Robinson
My great-grandparents arrived from Ireland in the late 1800s and settled near Scranton, Pennsylvania. For the first few decades, these new Americans lived within the same ten-mile radius and lived out their dreams – together. They worked blue-collar jobs and rarely made ends meet, but they were happy and considered themselves blessed. Their children married children of Irish Catholic immigrants and raised a ton of offspring who married grandchildren of Irish Catholic immigrants. Along the way, education and salaries rose, but the extended family stayed rooted together in the same part of the country. My mother still tells stories about her close knit clan of cousins. They went to the same schools, spent weekends and vacations together, and grew up the best of friends. My mother’s generation went off to war or on to college, but most of them returned home to raise us like their parents had raised them. But somewhere along the way, things changed. Our parents’ jobs, divorces or wanderlust scattered my cousins and I throughout the country. We grew up, traveled the world, earned advanced degrees and kept on going. Most of us got married, but not necessarily to people who shared our ethnic or religious backgrounds. I converted to Judaism and married a greatgrandchild of Russian immigrants. And I wasn’t the only one. My family is now filled with Persian, Muslim, Central European, Italian, Polish, Protestant and blended faces with backgrounds that expand our worldview and make us a more sensitive, aware and accepting bunch. A few cousins live openly with their same-sex partners, and I don’t know anyone in my generation who has more than a couple of kids. We are different in ways our ancestors never could have imagined. After we spread our wings and took off, the void was felt back home. Those left behind truly felt left behind as family reunions were sparsely attended and eventually stopped altogether. Stressful and demanding jobs made it difficult to return for every birthday or holiday. Children or the high price of fuel were excuses to explain away our absences from typical life-cycle events that bring a family closer together. As my grandparent’s generation died off, the funerals felt weird where many of us wondered what we all had in common. It wasn’t long before wedding invitations stopped including family members who had long since become strangers. Our friends became our chosen family as distant cousins disappeared. And that was that.
Then one of us discovered Facebook. One or two cousins reached out and then others followed suit. Soon, thirty of us were logging in and connecting. Through daily, sometimes hourly, status updates, I have learned about their jobs and children. We read each other’s walls and post old family stories and memories from our youth. I laugh at silly videos where Sonia dances like her mother did in the 1970s. Or I get to know Jeffrey all over again, just a grown-up version of that nice little boy who played with me in my aunt’s backyard. Alice is working on her second degree, Patrick is now a State Trooper, and Jimmy recently returned from the Middle East where he helped to stabilize Iraq. My sister trades tips with Debbie because they are both raising children with wicked Irish tempers, and I post pictures from twenty years ago. We laugh and reminisce for hours. Turns out, my cousins and I have a lot in common. We are funny, loving, loud and passionate. We are an opinionated group, eager to share our views on politics and social issues. We don’t always agree, so sometimes our instant messages become good-humored arguments that would make our ancestors proud. We’re no longer strangers. For the last two years, we’ve started reunions again and are more excited than ever about our shared hobbies, experiences and bloodlines. So many people have been quick to dismiss social networking sites as impersonal. They say that relationships forged online are devoid of anything real or lasting. I couldn’t disagree more. Whether the internet has reunited long-lost friends or encouraged a group of classmates to reconnect, there are many success stories that credit the World Wide Web as a way to stay in touch with people who’ve mattered most in our lives. Whenever I mention our family as stronger and wiser because of our similarities and differences, my mother sometimes gets offended. She continues to remember a tight-knit clan who shared smiles and stories every Sunday night and wonders if the family will ever feel as close again. I tell her not to worry. We may not be together in person, but we are online every night sharing in each other’s triumphs and offering support in times of need. We know each other again. My cousins were once only a part of my past, but now are a part of my future, too. Somewhere, I hope our great-grandparents are gathering together and smiling.
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Wanna Be Friends? by Diane Stark
My To Do List and I have a love-hate relationship. Without it, I forget things. Phone calls don’t get made, and birthday cards don’t get sent. Things – sometimes important things – fall through the cracks. So I write the List because I don’t function well without it. But the truth is that I really don’t like my List. When I look at it, I usually feel overwhelmed and inadequate. There are so many tasks on it that I’ll never finish everything. Most days, I’m lucky to check off two or three things. And I usually add three or four to the List. I am perpetually behind, and I don’t think I’ll ever get caught up. It’s a rotten way to feel. It’s a rotten way to live. I’ve tried several different techniques to improve my time management skills, but nothing has really worked. I decided the problem wasn’t time management; it was motivation. After Halloween last year, I spotted my kids’ trick-or-treating candy
on the kitchen counter. I began to dig through for the good stuff, which is, of course, anything chocolate. I was just about to unwrap a mini Snickers bar when I remembered that the dish washer needed to be unloaded. I put the candy bar down and decided it would make a nice little reward for cleaning the kitchen. When I’d finished doing the dishes and wiping off the counters, I threw in a load of laundry just for good measure. And then I enjoyed my Snickers. I wrote an article for an upcoming deadline, and then I went back to the Halloween candy for a Reese’s cup. I ran a few errands and then noshed on some M&M’s. It was more than I’d gotten done in a single day in quite a long time. I began to bribe myself with candy to get things checked off the To Do List. It seemed to work – until my jeans got too tight. I needed to find a lower calorie source of motivation. My kids will clean their rooms to earn extra TV time. I wondered if that would work for me. But my big temptation isn’t TV. It’s the internet. Or more specifically, Facebook. It’s a favorite past time of mine, but also, a huge source of Mommy guilt. After a few minutes of reading what my best friend from high school ate for breakfast, I go into “shoulda, woulda, coulda” mode. As in, I should be washing Jordan’s baseball uniform. I would be so much more productive if I would just get off the computer. And the worst one, I could be working on my To Do List right now instead of indulging in Facebook updates. This is not to say that what my best friend from high school ate for breakfast is not important, fascinating information. But it probably isn’t crucial for me to know which flavor of oatmeal she enjoyed before she even gets her bowl rinsed. Clearly, a little restraint was necessary. I decided that the days of checking Facebook any time I felt like it were over. From now on, I was going to have to earn it. Two tasks checked off the To Do List buys me 20 minutes on Facebook, which is, of course, an hour in real time. Because Facebook minutes go by so much faster than regular minutes. My Facebook time is a real motivator. I do two not-so-fun things and then I get to read all about the delicious dinner my cousin is making and get the update on how potty training is going for my college boyfriend’s little boy. (I’m still not sure why I care so much about these things, but I do.) And I haven’t even told you about the Facebook Bonus Program. The rules are simple. Any time all of the laundry hampers in my house are empty at the same time, I get bonus minutes. If I know what I’m fixing for dinner before 3 pm, you guessed it, more bonus minutes. And best of all, if I am successful in getting my two-year-old son to take a nap on any given day – it’s no easy feat, believe me – I am permitted to spend his sleepy time perusing my favorite site. I know this might seem silly to some people, but I’m a stay-at-home mom with basically no life. I rarely leave the house without at least one child in tow, and I can’t talk on the phone for more than 30 seconds before my toddler demands to say hi to whoever it is. It comes in handy when the caller is a telemarketer, but it’s not-so-great when it’s well, anyone else. Facebook is often the only way I can keep in touch with far-away friends. Facebook makes me feel like I’m a part of their world, even though we don’t spend much time together. It’s my link to the outside world. And now, it’s helping me get more accomplished inside my own little world.Well, kind of.
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Southern Snaps Dakota Beach:
Miss Myrtle Beach – A Fairy Tale, 2011 by Connie Barnard
Once upon a time in a kingdom by the sea there lived a beautiful young princess. Fair of face and kind of heart with the voice of a nightingale, she was also a very hard-working princess who learned to whistle while she worked – even as cruel forces sought to destroy her dreams. Happily, this brave princess was rescued – not by magic or a handsome prince – but by herself. Dakota Beach does not think of herself as a princess – or even a beauty queen. In fact, prior to winning the 2011 Miss Myrtle Beach title, the 19 year old rising Coastal Carolina University senior had never entered a preliminary state level beauty pageant. The vivacious, striking young woman, however, displays self-confidence and resilience born of life experience beyond her years. Dakota has been completely on her own since she was 16 years old. Originally from upstate New York, Dakota’s free-spirited mother constantly moved the young girl and her six siblings in search of a stability which constantly eluded them. Displaced from their home when Dakota was seven, the family spent several days living in their car before moving to an apartment which Dakota later realized was a homeless shelter. “At first, I thought of it as a mini-vacation because I was not going to school,” she says. With help from Catholic Charities and various family members in Southern California, New York and Pennsylvania, they always
managed to have a place to sleep and enough to eat. Dakota says of these years, “It was a desolate time but not a desperate one. My mother never gave up and did the best she could to support her family. Her courage and determination inspire me to do my very best every single day.” Throughout years of continuous flux, one constant in Dakota’s life provided stability and order: school. The bright young girl always rose to the top of her class no matter where she was or for how long. School was a source of praise as well, thanks to teachers and administers who recognized her abilities and rewarded her efforts. “From the time I was a very little girl, school has been very important to me. I remember bringing home packets with the next week’s work. I would come home on Friday, sit at the table and work until each one was complete.” Despite their many moves, Dakota skipped second grade and has consistently been an honor student throughout her educational career. While living in Southern California, she was selected to attend
the prestigious Butterfield School of the Arts which had stiff requirements and long waiting lists. This experience was a life-changing event in her life, one which helped her see how exciting excellence in education can be. It also affected her decision to become an educator who can make a difference: “It will take the joint effort of educators, parents, students and members of the community, as well as national attention, to turn this issue around.” When she was 12, Dakota moved from New York to the South Carolina coast, the beloved place that has become her permanent home despite additional moves made by her family. Since graduating from Conway High School at 16, she has supported herself by working three jobs while attending Coastal Carolina University where she will graduate next spring with a degree in English. The self-sufficient young woman also gives credit to many individuals who lined up to assist her in various ways, including 100% financial scholarship support. She says, “I am amazed at how, throughout my life, people have been there.” Perhaps the greatest of these was the surprise gift of a second family. Shortly after moving to the Grand Strand, Dakota received a call from her biological father with whom she has never had a relationship. Somehow he had learned that she was living in South Carolina and said to her, “Did you know that you have a half-sister who lives in Columbia?” Through an amazing chain of events, the two girls met, visited in each other’s homes, and stayed in touch through e-mails and phone calls. Over time, Dakota built a very close relationship with her sister’s mother Laura, and step-father Andrew. One special day she will always remember occurred during her freshman year of college. Dakota was sitting in her dorm room feeling very sorry for herself. It was Thanksgiving break, and she had petitioned for permission to stay in her room over the holiday because she really had no place to go. Her phone rang, and the voice on the other end was Laura’s asking where she was and what she was doing. The next thing Dakota knew, Laura had driven from Columbia to bring her to their home for Thanksgiving. Laura and Andrew have been there for Dakota in a hundred different ways that include helping her get braces, arranging for her to have one of their cars and being there to cheer for her at the Miss Myrtle Beach pageant. Over the last five years, another positive force and source of inspiration in Dakota’s life is her voice instructor, Kathleen Seymour. Singing has been Dakota’s passion and her outlet since kindergarten. Her closest friendships have formed through participation in the Conway High School and CCU
Chamber and Concert Choirs – and through Miss Kathleen’s Friday afternoon studio class. Dakota’s face lights up with laughter as she talks about Seymour’s teaching antics and absolute dedication to her talented students. A mutual love of music is also what connected Beach to her closest friend, Nicolas Quinones, who graduated May 21 from Georgetown University. In the midst of her preparation for the Miss South Carolina Pageant, she traveled to Washington, D.C., to share this important moment with him. For her platform Dakota chose a topic of great personal relevance: homelessness among young people, a timely subject for the community as well, as current statistics list over 600 homeless students in Horry County schools. For the talent portion of the competition, she will sing the hauntingly beautiful “Stand Up for Love” by Destiny’s Child, an anthem for all who wish to make a difference in the world. Dakota Beach is an extraordinary role model of courage, maturity and grace beyond her years. Kathleen Seymour says of her: “Dakota is the best example of where diligence, perseverance and resolve will get you in life…She is the best of what her generation has to offer.” When asked how she has come through her many challenges so apparently unscathed, Beach replied simply, “We are not the product of events in our lives. We are the product of how we handle them.” May the rest of this young heroine’s story be one filled with fairy tale endings and happiness ever after!
“We are not the product of events in our lives. We are the product of how we handle them.”
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The VISIA Complexion Analysis system allows the clinician to evaluate the condition of your skin. The process starts by taking a picture of the surface of your skin, as well as a UV picture of the hidden layers of your skin. This is done with a unique camera that is part of the VISIA system. These pictures are interfaced with a software program that evaluates your skin based upon your gender, age and skin type.
Both the VECTRA® 3D camera and SculptorTM software which make this possible were developed by Canfield Imaging Systems of Fairfield, NJ, the world’s leading provider of medical photography systems. The process starts with a VECTRA 3D imaging session. During this session, the Vectra system is used to produce a three dimensional photograph of you. Then, using Sculptor software, we are able to simulate the expected results of a variety of aesthetic procedures, including breast augmentation, breast lift, tummy tuck, Smartlipo, rhinoplasty, chin augmentation, facelifts and more! Once 3D images of the patient are created, they can be viewed from all angles, as well as side-byside comparisons and translucent overlays. All of this is done in the privacy and comfort of one of our consultation rooms.
You will then be able to look at the condition of your skin with a licensed medical aesthetician evaluating surface spots, pore size, the bacteria level of the skin, wrinkles, evenness in the texture of your skin and UV damage (skin damage below the surface of your skin that will appear as freckles, wrinkles and surface spots as you age). Together you will decide the best possible approach to repair existing damage and keep your skin looking vital, healthy and young. Facelifts The beauty of a facelift is that scarring is minimal and incision lines are hidden under hairlines and within the natural contours of a face. At Sculpted Figures Plastic Surgery your results will be noticeable, but not obvious, creating a youthful look that is recognizable as your face. The results will not make your face look ‘plastic’ or stretched to the point that the natural contours and character of your face is removed. Facelifts Lessen The Effects of: • Sagging, droopy skin around the eyes and cheeks • Deep wrinkles below the eyes
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The Supermoon lit up the window of our bedroom. I woke with a start. The kids are gone. I bolted upright in bed, eyes wide open. My snoring husband stopped his rhythmic inhalation mid-snort and rolled over. “You say something?” he muttered. “No,” I stated. I punched my pillow repeatedly and balled it up. I flipped over onto my stomach burying my face in the featherless, skinny remnants of the rumpled cushion. “What’s the matter,” he grumbled, sounding vexed. “The kids are gone,” I blurted out. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and yawned. With the light of the Supermoon, I could see his face turned toward me. He stared at me like I had two heads. “What?” “The kids are gone,” I repeated sadly. “Yeah, they are.” “Gone for good. Today I walked into each of their rooms to straighten up their stuff, and it hit me: They’re never coming back to live here again – ever.” “Probably not,” he stated, weaving his fingers into each other and resting them on his lap as he sat waiting for me to resume sleep. “It makes me gloomy.” I turned my face away from him. He snuggled back under the covers. Early that morning I sent an e-mail to our only daughter, the youngest of our four children. I asked her if she wanted us to haul furniture up to her apartment in NYC this spring; I inquired if she were coming home this summer; I pondered when we’d see her again and reminded her how she’d stayed with us only four days at Christmas since her departure last August. I waited at my computer for her response. “I’ll see you in September,” she texted back later. September is over six months away. I studied her few words, thinking of that hit song back in the 70s while I was in college and anxious for summer to end so I could escape my parents’ house in Jersey and return to school and friends and fun in North Carolina. I wondered now if my mom had missed me when I flew out the door with hardly a glance back. I thought how I never really considered that – then.
Effect of Supermoon Beams by Erika Hoffman
The same day of the e-mail, I carried my 91 year old dad, who now lives with us, to get a haircut. While he was thus engaged, I ran across the street to the travel agency my pal owns to jawbone with her. Marge wasn’t in, but her friend and fellow travel agent was. Making conversation, she asked me how my daughter was doing. I replied, “We seldom talk.” Her eyes widened. “She’s too busy,” I added. “And, she ‘defriended’ me.” “You’ve been up to see her, though?” “No.” “But she came home here for spring break?” “She went to Cancun,” I admitted. “You’ll visit her this summer?” “She’s planning on travelling to Europe.” “When will you see her?” “September.” “September!” This gal sprang from her seat and leaned over her desk, stunned. “You should tell her to get her lazy a** down here one weekend! Tell her to be here on Mother’s Day!” I shook my head. “Exam time.” “You pay the bills! Insist she come see you!” Suddenly, I had a Supermom awakening! As this concerned lady vehemently emphasized I should make my daughter feel guilty about her disinterest in visiting us, I became less passive. Huffed up and indignant, this friend of a friend exclaimed, “Well, I wouldn’t put up with that, I’d…” I cut her off. “I’m extremely proud of my daughter. She’s accomplished what few folks can, let alone girls. She’s 23, not in Junior High! She’s in dental school. I can’t force her to be homesick. What’s the point of that?” This lady expressed her disapproval at my daughter’s lack of consideration, but I got to thinking that this lady had never left her hometown all these decades. Yet, I had left my home state eons ago when I was eighteen. “I was the same way, independent,” I explained. I remembered that song by Jim Croce, “Cat’s in the Cradle.” I always thought the lyrics depressing. But maybe they’re not: the kid turned out just like his old man – busy, maybe too busy, but the kid had his life to lead, and his old dad realized that. He’d turned out just like him. When I consider things, I’d rather my kids live 1,000 miles away from me, leading productive, achievement-oriented, altruistic lives, than their sleeping down the hall from me and being jobless, friendless and goal-less. In a way it’s ironic that a parent’s job is to enable her children to grow strong enough, smart enough and stable enough to spread wings and fly away, and yet when they launch successfully in their new orbits, mama peers around the empty nest and misses her chirping, hungry brood. Terribly. I discerned my responses to my friend’s friend bewildered her. Most likely she thought my parent-child relationship strained and estranged. Yet, the conversation with this lady helped me crystallize how I felt about the distance between me and my mini-me. The French phrase C’est la vie rattled through my mind. It’s okay, I thought to myself when I closed the door to the travel agency on my way to pick up my dad from the barber’s. “How was your time at the clip joint?” I asked my stooped old man, as he limped to the car in the handicap spot. “Very pleasant, as always,” he replied, while he basked in the attention I gave him. I understood his happiness. His kid was caring for him in her nest, now. That’s the way life goes. Give your kids their lives and their independence when they are young adults, and they will be grateful and prove it to you later. I was c’est la vie, indeed.
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Same Planet by Vera Birdsong-Poske
I hear her voice before her grainy image appears. My heart takes its obligatory spot in my throat, and a sense of relief prevails. Sierra’s face is before me. Our sweet daughter looks tired. She is so far away. We chat online about good news and bad news. The pitch of her voice heightens as she tells me about her new students. She teaches kids in Azerbaijan to speak English. I wrap both hands around a large coffee mug and listen to each spoken word. Her lips are dry. She has a cute, short new haircut. Thank you, god of Skype. Sierra began researching the Peace Corps while in high school. She explored the information she read on the internet and talked it over with her friends and family. “Don’t let fear hold you back.” Her Dad’s words echoed. “Stay focused on what you can control.” “You are intelligent, capable, and lovable.” Sierra and I discussed important topics before she left the country in September of 2009. “What happens if someone dies? Do you want to know?” I asked. “Yes, Mom, tell me everything. It helps me feel connected.” Azerbaijan is almost 8,000 miles from home. She recently completed twenty months of service, with seven months remaining. “I promise I’ll be home by Christmas 2011,” she assured me on our recent Skype session. “Same planet, Mom. Don’t worry.” Our son, Connor, used comforting words when he called to say he took a job as a software engineer in San Diego, California. Silent tears fell as he shared the news. My heart leaped into my throat. “That’s fantastic!” I lied. Connor moved across the country last summer. With his laptop positioned at the perfect angle, we chat face to face, electronically. He cooks breakfast while I am propped at eye level on his kitchen counter. “Mom, San Diego is amazing. There’s so much to do here!” I love his excitement and hide any disappointment obvious on my image. I smile and ask him for details. “What do you love about it, honey?” He tells me about the restaurants in the area and the great selection of healthy food. He’s joined a soccer team and loves running on the beach. He’s hiking with new friends from his office. He’s dating. That heavy feeling in my chest lifts. Connor flips the omelet with confidence. I have seen his new apartment, but only electronically. He takes the laptop over to the window so I can share the view. I notice new facial hair as the camera scans his face. He’s more mature looking than our last visit in person. After recent Skype sessions with both children, it occurred to me; “this is as good as it gets.” With adult children living so far away, we stay in touch using various technologies, including email, instant message, Facebook, Google voice, texting, Skype, the old fashioned cell phone and land line. We even exchange hand-written letters and packages. I’m grateful for modern technology that allows me to stay connected to my children. Still, I yearn for what is absent. A subtle tug at my heartstrings remains as I see their sweet faces on the computer monitor. I am lucky to live in an age where I can talk to the kids no matter where they are in the world. Physical proximity doesn’t determine the closeness of a family. “Raising courageous, independent kids is sort of like shooting yourself in the foot!” a friend recently said. That explains the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Isn’t it our goal when we have children to raise them in the direction of their individual paths? Isn’t independence synonymous with success? Aren’t roots and wings the two gifts we give our children, like the saying goes? “See you next time.” “Love you.” “Love you, too.” Our Skype session ends and Connor’s image disappears as he closes his laptop. Same planet, I tell myself.
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Cookbooks by Janey Womeldorf
I miss my cookbooks.
No longer do stained, tattered and brow-beaten spines spill from shelves in my kitchen and steal valuable space elsewhere. My once bountiful cookbook collection has dwindled; even my magazine collection shrank. No more bulging magazine racks, old copies in guest bathrooms, or magazine stacks growing in out-of-the-way corners. I blame the internet. The sad demise of my culinary library started not long after I realized the space-saving and cost-free value of online food sites and recipe reviews. Not only did they allow you to adjust the ingredient amounts to suit your serving size – genius – but other people’s tips and comments became invaluable. Never again would unwanted spices sit in the back of my pantry, casualties of recipes that turned out to be tasteless. Consequently, cookbooks that once filled an entire wall in my kitchen now inhabit one shelf and one recipe box. As much as I love the internet and the extra space, it’s not the same. There’s something about walking into a kitchen where irregularlystacked cookbooks spill from the shelves that just makes you want to sit down and eat. Just the sight of them leaves you secretly hoping that any minute now freshly-baked brownies will magically appear from the oven. My cookbook collection now totals less than ten and lazy afternoons are not the same. I used to love grabbing a pile of my books, curling up in a comfy chair, and perusing recipes I aspired to one day cook at elegant dinner parties that never transpired. The beautiful photos of dishes so elegant and perfect were not just inspiring, they were uplifting. My cookbooks did more than just provide recipes; their grease-splattered, tomato-stained pages transported me back to memorable (or in some case forgettable) meals, and over the years, the books themselves came to represent the culinary and marital journey of my life. In the early years, titles like Introduction to Cooking and Kitchen Basics 101 were indispensable. They epitomized home cooking and were penned in an era when women wore aprons, computers and cell phones were the stuff of scientists, and nobody had heard of cholesterol. Even with all the technology, they are still my first line of defense when I need to cook the perfect hardboiled egg, (as I in fact did this week for the first time in twenty years, after suddenly hankering for chopped egg on my salad). Next came my prove-to-my-husband-he-had-made-a-wise-choice
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I miss my cookbooks.
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phase that occurs post honeymoon. I was desperate to show off my culinary prowess and aspired to the old adage, “The way to a man’s heart…” I bought anything with words in the title like gourmet, entertaining, and French; I also ironed everything. Fortunately, neither phase survived. Next came my Italian collection. This phase is ongoing as everyone loves pasta; it’s the perfect go-to for family or guests, and the photos always look so damn irresistible. If it weren’t for my metabolism, I would have kept buying. Then the busy years take over. The wedding is a distant memory, life becomes consuming, and titles promising fast and easy, under 30-minutes, 5 ingredients or less, and slow cooking fill the shelves; ironically, so do microwaveable meals. Bizarrely, this phase also includes the mandatory bread-maker machine. Culinary-exploration phase was next. This generation of cookbooks appears a decade or more into the marriage when you suddenly wake up one day and realize you have been cooking the same eight dishes for the last ten years. Their titles represent adventure (and boredom) and seem like a good idea at the time. Words like cake-decorating, vegetarian and multiple international cuisines grace their covers and you cook roughly three out of the one hundredplus recipes within their pages. Check-out line cookbooks – these are the cookbooks you buy when you need to stop buying. They are the handy-sized, Betty-Crocker style books that sit in between the magazines and chewing gum in the checkout line. All these recipes use a can of cream soup and eight ounces of cheese. What more do you need? Two or more decades have now passed nudging you into the final cookbook phase – the unavoidable watch-what-you-eat period. This era of books attempts to make anything healthy, sugar-free, low-calorie or fatfree sound exciting. Their shelf life lasts about ten years before they end up in a garage sale next to the cake-decorating and bread-maker cookbook because, one, we all revert to our old habits anyway, and two, because regardless of how many books you own, you will still cook and rotate the same eight meals for dinner. The cookbooks that I do still have are now trusted friends that I will never get rid of; I can pick up any of them and almost turn to the page I need. In contrast, I don’t even know half the websites I get e-mails from, and can’t access most of them because I can rarely remember the correct combination of user name and password. The truth is, what were all those recipes I saved into that little recipe box icon anyway? My “real” recipes live in two places – within the pages of my few remaining, beloved cookbooks, and in the large, open recipe box that acts as their book-end. Decades of well-used, fading, hand-written cards bulge from this box and range from the “I-must-have-that-recipe” cards, (most of which I never cooked yet begged from family and friends), to the multiple pages torn from magazines. I cherish these cards and the memories they inspire: Grandma’s onion dressing; Patricia’s chocolate-zucchini cake; Rick’s shrimp dip. Recipes are named, and often written by, the people who inspired them and provide more than just a list of ingredients and instructions. They invoke sweet memories of times shared, memorable meals and beloved friends and family. I still believe the internet is invaluable but there is something about the look, the feel, and the magic of cookbooks that always pulls at my heartstrings. Their pages yield more than recipes, they yield comfort.
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Meet Dana Stokes
Dana Stokes lives by the adage that happiness comes from doing what you love and loving what you do. Vivacious and attractive, Dana is well-known on the south end of the Grand Strand as one of the on-air personalities for TV33 South. The on-camera Dana is much the same as the one that visited with me in the kitchen of her lovely Litchfield home – upbeat, positive and happy with her life. A real hometown girl, Dana graduated with the first class to matriculate from the (then) new Georgetown High School. She met her husband, Ernie, while living in Charleston, where she worked as the drama director for a local church. Smitten on sight, Dana went to his house to watch a football game for their first date, but his roommate answered the door saying Ernie wasn’t home, he had agreed to babysit the neighbor’s six week old baby! When Dana saw Ernie holding that baby, she knew this was the man for her. After they were married, the couple lived in Columbia for awhile, but Dana always knew she wanted to move back home. Dana, what led you to work in broadcast media? I was a theatre major in college, but I never thought much about what I wanted to do. You know, as a child, when I thought about what I wanted to do when I grew up, all I ever really wanted was to be a mother! Ernie and I have three children: Caroline is thirteen, Weston is ten, and Ethan is six. Being a parent is my most important job. My job with TV33 South gives me the flexibility to be there for my children and to express my creative side. I sort of stumbled into this job. A few years ago, a friend of mine was shooting a commercial for her business. She asked me to come and be in it – at that time, we were only on channel 22 on Southern Coastal Cable. After I did the commercial, the owners offered me the chance to become the host and within the next year or so we expanded to TV33 South. I love being a part of this team – we really do have a lot of fun working together. We all enjoy bringing a smile to our viewer’s faces – it’s important to have a television station that focuses on local people and good news. Most of the products we advertise are things I truly love, so it’s easy to be authentic – I really want our businesses to succeed. You might think this is funny, but even though I am comfortable in front of a camera, I get so nervous when I have to speak in front of a live audience!
What else are you doing? Recently, I’ve started a new business with a friend painting furniture – we find furniture past its prime and turn it into the treasures of tomorrow! Being creative is important to me – I love to paint, dance and be a part of local theatre. I also love to coupon [Dana said this while holding up her huge album-sized coupon holder]. It’s amazing how much money you can save! I also love thrift stores and have found a lot of my home furnishings in these shops. Recently I was asked to participate in a fundraiser for Friendship Place in Georgetown called “Dine Out for Hunger.” Participating restaurants will donate a percentage of their profits that night to help feed the hungry in our community. I’m excited to be a part of an event that will impact people’s lives. See Dana, Zenobia and Matt daily on TV 33South or visit www.tv33south.com.
Sasee’s Dream Big Book Drive
Encourage children to read by dropping off New and Gently Used Children’s Books for our August Dream Big Book Drive. All proceeds will go to benefit Bright Blue Sea Bookshelf Drop Off at These Locations Between August 1-31: Book Warehouse 110 Highway 17 N. – behind Hardees Surfside Beach, SC 843-238-4527
Harborwalk Books 723 Front Street Georgetown, SC 843-546-8212
The Kangaroo Pouch 961 Mister Joe White Ave. Myrtle Beach, SC 843-839-0990
Sassyfras 5900 N. Kings Highway Myrtle Beach, SC 843-449-1420
Hannah B’s 4640 Highway 17 Bypass Murrells Inlet, SC 843-651-7424
Hope Taylor 312 Main Street North Myrtle Beach, SC 843-281-9650
Me & Mommy 2004 Highway 17 S. North Myrtle Beach, SC 843-361-9191
Sasee Office 3955 Highway 17 Bypass, Suite D Murrells Inlet, SC 843-626-8911
A few things our staff loves right now Close your eyes – do you hear it? The sounds of waves crashing against the shore, seagulls calling overhead, children laughing – I’ll bet you can even smell that unmistakable and delicious scent found only on the beach! Before you throw on your favorite flip-flops and head out for a day on the shore, check out the many new items geared toward making your trip even more relaxing. Genius. (There. I said it.) This SQUIRT baby food dispensing spoon isn’t just a spoon; it’s a revelation. It takes baby food, removes the jar and the mess, packs it into a single utensil & you get easy, one-handed feeding. Pop on the cap to seal food on-the-go. Found at Hannah B’s in Murrells Inlet Erica, Sales Executive
Never worry again about sand getting into your nook or kindle this summer while reading your favorite stories on the beach. This is a must for your summer beach kit. Found at Studio 77 in Myrtle Beach Leslie, Editor
This over-sized sun hat with it’s flexible brim is the perfect accessory for your day at the beach. Found at PURPLEologist, Barefoot Landing, North Myrtle Beach Celia, Sales Executive
I love how much space this trendy JPK beach bag has and also the hot pink and lime green color combination. Found at Sassyfras in Myrtle Beach Amanda, Sales Executive
This stainless steel dip bowl allows dips, sauces, condiments and snacks to stay chilled and tasty for hours. Perfect for the beach or for a picnic. Found at Kitchen Capers in Myrtle Beach Delores, Publisher
These Picnic Time items are so unique and perfect for a day at the beach. The sports beach chair has side pockets and insulated drink holders, the wine tote is perfect for a romantic picnic and the backpack cooler has multiple pockets and makes for a perfect, organized day of fun. Found at Palmetto Ace Home Center in Pawleys Island Susan, Sales & Marketing Director
by Diane DeVaughn Stokes
I am not a techie, but luckily I am married to one. Two decades ago, when we got our first computer, my husband, Chuck, was enthralled with this new, rather expensive system that he guaranteed would make our lives at the office so much easier. Yeah right – easier for him, but a real headache for me. He tried to explain how to open “Windows,” but my mind was a shut case! Being the thoughtful, considerate husband that he is, and no joke, he really is the best, Chuck affectionately bought me the Computers for Dummies book, but trying to comprehend it made me feel even more like a dummy. It reminded me of learning math in high school, knowing that this mental block would soon take over and consume me, creating the ultimate frustration. I would talk to myself and say, “Okay, you’re not stupid, after all you got straight As for four years in Latin class while everyone else was flunking!” But somehow, this huge TV-like structure sitting on my desk became bigger than life, and the fact that it was smarter than me pissed me off. Any softer language here would not adequately describe my true feelings. But I had no choice. I had to learn to use the computer to write scripts, commercials and articles like this one. After all, I was too young and too poor to retire. Besides, the typewriter was dead! So, I signed up for a course at Horry Georgetown Technical College where I shared the experience with twelve other lost souls, some even more lost in space than me, which sadly, made me feel good. Fast forward ten years, when I was finally feeling confident in my basic computer skills. Chuck decided we need to upgrade our PCs to Macs so that we could edit TV commercials and other necessary operations for our video production company. It was like going back to kindergarten all over again, and, just like kindergarten where I was forced to leave my mommy, I cried. I soon felt I was the poster child of the tacky saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But, something came over me, and this dog was doggone determined to tackle the challenge head on. I grabbed my Dummies book and tried to figure out how to operate this new computer. Nothing was working right. Little did I know that this book was only for PC users and wasn’t even closely related to the Mac. Talk about being a dummy! Thank goodness Chuck has the patience of Job, but when he said, “Honey, I already told you how to do that last week,” it made me so upset because I’m the kind of person who has to do things over and over again before it sticks! He should know that by now – we’ve been together for 28 years. “Why not use the shortcut,” he would say. Or “How come you never close the programs?” Heck! The truth is, I simply forgot how to do it, because I did not do it often enough! Today I am still no wizard on the Mac, but I get by. I’ve actually gotten quite proficient booking our vacations on line for the past fifteen years, including airlines, hotels and car rentals, and I love researching the destinations and sifting through what others say about the area. No one can ever call me a “cyber-space cadet.” I’ve mastered the internet on all fronts. As for writing articles, I was so excited when I learned to edit, cut and paste, and realized how much money I would save e-mailing our annual Christmas poem to all our friends and family. But, speaking of e-mail, it certainly can be a time-saver, but as a member of the media I get bogged down with over two hundred e-mails a day or more: every local press release, every city council agenda, traffic accidents – you name it, I get it, which is why I want to strangle the folks who send me jokes, videos to watch, political rubbish, advertisements and, even worse, messages to forward that clog up others people’s computers. That is also why I don’t Facebook! I can e-mail anyone I want to, and they can easily contact me. If I want to social network, I will do it in person. And needless to say, if I did Facebook, I would never be able to tell anyone that
they could not be my “friend.” That would be painful. Besides, all this Facebook and Twitter stuff reminds me of the many years I kept a diary, documenting every move I made that day as I hovered under the covers of my bed at night. And who should care what my favorite book is, or where I am going this weekend. It’s actually scary to let everyone in on all of that nonsense, don’t you think? What amazes me most is that Chuck, who suggested I don’t get into Facebook because, as he said, “Everyone knows you from TV, and you’ll certainly attract every kook in town,” has gotten into Facebook himself. Of course I razz him about it, as he is surely the least social of the two of us. Go figure! Last year, just when I thought I was safe from tackling any tougher computer challenges, I agreed to do a radio show that had to be completely produced by way of computer. Certainly not like the old days of spinning records when I did radio thirty-eight years ago! What if I could not master it? I just knew that I couldn’t let my technical “disabilities” take over, when I knew I would love doing it once I learned how. I had to empower myself to think about how far I had come in the past twenty years, and before I knew it, I was setting microphone levels, digitizing the audio, editing the tracts and taking pride in not letting fear overcome me, thanks to Chuck, my technical guru and guardian angel. And, in gratitude, I promised I would never make fun of him doing Facebook again. Just last week, I had someone call me about being a guest speaker, at a convention in Columbia, and they knew so much about me, it was frightening. When I asked them who fed them all this information, they told me that they had “Googled” me. So after I got off the phone, I curiously Googled myself (sounds sinful, doesn’t it?), and I was totally blown away to find articles I had written, publicity I received in the newspaper and even some of my past TV interviews on line as a result of the interviewees posting them. There is more than anyone would want to know, or should know, about anyone on the internet. Shockingly, I even found a funny clip of myself on You Tube when my wedding dress fell off during the curtain call of Hello Dolly a few years ago, showing off my black bloomers to God and everyone! Who would submit something like that? Isn’t anything sacred anymore? So, what comes perfectly natural to some of you mastering the technical world with ease, has been an uphill battle on roller blades for me. But let’s face it, when you stop learning, you get stale, and just like bread, when it gets stale it starts to MOLD, and there is one thing I know for sure, I never looked good in BLUE.
Bob O’Brien, owner of Pawleys Island Swimwear, did not hesitate when I asked him his favorite time of day, “5 o’clock; time to relax! I do most of my paperwork early in the morning, but I look forward to the end of the business day.” Bob believes that attention to detail is the key to successful time management. “If you don’t The Village Shops, Pawleys Island concentrate on the details, you complicate the job.” Like many of 843-235-3808 us, Bob has not fully explored the business opportunities offered by the internet. “I am planning to hire a computer consultant to give me Inlet Square Mall, Murrells Inlet more internet exposure. I want to be aware of the advantages of an 843-651-9372 online presence.” Bob started his career as a compliance officer on Wall Street, but relocated when his first wife became ill with cancer. After her death, he decided to stay for a few months—this turned into twelve years! When I asked him about his success in the swimwear business, Bob told me, “Success in this business comes from hard work and getting the right people to work with you. I have a great manager.” He also believes in stocking only the highest quality merchandise and carries all the top brand names, including local favorite, Tara Grinna.
Pawleys Island Swimwear
“I have more energy and my mind is more active in the morning,” said Tilghman Smith, owner of Studio 77 in Myrtle Beach—like many of us this busy mom and business owner tends to slow down in the afternoon. Tilghman laughed when asked how she manages to get it all done, and said, “I make lots of lists and love to cross things off!” She also gets a lot of help from her husband and son, and, when time is really short, buys her groceries online. 5001 North Kings Highway Tilghman utilizes the internet for business and pleasure. “I love the Studio 77 Facebook page, and I keep it current with lots of photos and Myrtle Beach ideas for gifts. I get quite a few phone calls asking about merchandise 843-497-5931 seen on Facebook.” E-mail also helps Tilghman get the word out, but www.facebook.com/shopatstudio77 she’s careful not to overdo it. “I don’t want to bug people, but I do send customers e-mails about sales or special promotions. It’s much more cost effective for me than mailing cards.” After nearly five years in business, Tilghman is living her dream. “When I was around 12 years old, I wrote my “bucket” list—some were kind of silly, but, even then, I wanted to own my own store.”
Early morning is Ginny Lassiter’s favorite time of day. The owner of Sunset River Marketplace, in Calabash, N.C., enjoys coffee and quiet time with her husband, Joe, while they talk about the upcoming day and watch boats float down the waterway outside their home. When asked about her time management tips, Ginny laughed and told me she “does a lot of multi-tasking!” She’s on the internet, “in bits and spurts through10283 Beach Dr, out the day answering e-mails or looking at artists’ work.” Luckily, she Calabash has someone to help her with the gallery’s website and Facebook page. 910-575-5999 Ginny went on to tell me that, “the internet has changed the way we do www.sunsetrivermarketplace.com business. Now, in addition to the website, we send our newsletters via e-mail and use Facebook to promote the gallery.” A happy and upbeat atmosphere in the gallery is important to Ginny. “Customer service comes first—I try to give my customers what they want. Even if you’re not an artist, we offer programs like the Creative Exchange Series and Coffee with the Authors.” But, Ginny’s favorite part of owning this unique gallery is being able to give back to the community. “I love being a part of fundraisers. It makes me feel good to be able to help.”
Sunset River Marketplace
BUSINESS Laura Howell
Laura Howell, owner of Sassyfras in Myrtle Beach, begins her day early, when she’s at her very best. Running a successful business is only one of her full-time jobs, though—Laura is also a mother to eighteen month-old, Ellis. “I’m blessed to have my family to help me stay organized, and my sister works with me—Ellis spends a lot of time in 5900 N. Kings Hwy the shop with us, but he’s so friendly that my customers look forward to Myrtle Beach seeing him!” In spite of her busy schedule, Laura tries to get home early and get dinner started for her family each day. 843-449-1420 The internet makes running a busy boutique much easier. “I always www.sassyfrasonline.com have my iPhone, so I can easily check e-mail and post on our Facebook site. Our new website, www.sassyfrasonline.com, will allow our customers to order online as well,” Laura said. She also uses the internet for keeping in contact with her out-of-town customers and ordering merchandise. “I love my business, it’s fun to discover what my customers like. My sister and I always talked about owning a boutique while we were growing up and now we’re living our dream!”
Hannah Spires Hannah B’s Children’s Boutique 4640 Hwy 17 Murrells Inlet
Hannah Spires, owner of Hannah B’s in Murrells Inlet, does her best thinking at night. “I’m a night owl. My husband and I stay up late—that’s our time together after we put our son, Henning, to bed. Thank goodness, he’s not an early riser!” Now expecting her second son, Whitman, Hannah is a busy mom and business owner, but is able to stay organized with the help of her husband and two wonderful employees. “I am flexible with my schedule and try to accommodate my customers. If they need to meet after hours or before I open, I try to work with their needs.” The internet has always been a part of doing business for Hannah. “We use Facebook for Hannah B’s, and I’m on the internet e-mailing customers daily. I do turn it off when I’m with my family.” Hannah has been in business for two years and is living her dream. “I’ve always wanted to own a boutique, and when I was pregnant the first time I couldn’t find everything I needed in one place, so I decided to open Hannah B’s. It’s perfect for me because I can work around my number one job and first priority—being a wife and mommy!”
While not a ball of energy when he first wakes up, Alan Altman, owner of Pawleys Island Realty, loves the early mornings for exercise or just watching the marsh come to life. “Quiet time is important to prepare for a busy day,” Alan told me. “The first step for me each day is to have an idea of what I’m going to do and to like it!” A vision is 88 North Causeway Rd. imperative to this successful businessman. “Next comes having good Pawleys Island people around me that make this journey a fun one. It’s a collaborative effort all the way.” When asked about the internet, Alan gave a thought843-237-2431 ful reply. “Life is full of critical conversations. While we have to have www.pawleysislandrealty.com exposure online, we also have to make sure those conversations happen face to face or voice to voice. It’s very easy to hide behind the internet and miss the tone of voice or body language.” In business since 1981, Alan still loves everything about Pawleys Island Realty. “I’m working in my hometown, with people who’ve been with me for 30 years and those new people who add a splash of enthusiasm. I still get a charge out of being a part of this community.”
Pawleys Island Realty
30 Years of Serving the grand Strand
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South Carolina by Tim Bruce
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The change we want to see in the world starts with you! Become a role model and a hero for a child. Volunteer to help a child succeed in school. Listen and communicate with a child.
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PIFMA’s Wearable Art Luncheon sponsored by Sasee Magazine
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Where: Tommy Bahama Restaurant, Market Common When: Thursday, September 15, 2011 Time: 11:30-2:00 Wearable Art & Unique Items Silent Auction Strolling Fashion Show & Lunch Cost: $25
Soul Surfer Necklace with DVD or Blu-ray pre-buy! A $9.99 Value
Bring This Coupon To the Myrtle Beach LifeWay and Take
This first annual Wearable Art Luncheon is all about fashion, food, fun, and shopping! A strolling fashion show will feature the hot new trends as well as wearable art and jewelry from local artists. You can shop for unique art, jewelry, hats, scarves and fabulous gifts in the silent auction. A portion of the proceeds will go to benefit the Kathy B. Metts Visual Arts Scholarship and the Pawleys Island Festival of Music and Art. Luncheon is sponsored by Sasee Magazine.
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Myrtle Beach – Located on Seaboard Street oﬀ Pine Island Road, just south of the Coastal Grand Mall • 843.839.9953
Valid at the Myrtle Beach LifeWay Christian Store only. One coupon per customer. Coupon must be presented and relinquished at time of purchase. Cannot be combined with any other discounts, including coupons, Savings Cards, Bonus Bucks, and LifeWay Rewards. Available on in-stock items only. Cannot be applied to the following: gift cards, church supplies and programs, NAMB, WMU, Convention Press, LifeWay-branded products, Living Proof Ministries, Bargain Buys, prior purchases, Willow Tree® products, LOGOs & BibleWorks Software, Specialty Imprints, textbooks, robes, pre-sell offers, and homeschool products. Oﬀer valid 7/9-7/30/11
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Purchase tickets by calling 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com
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The Kangaroo Pouch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Art Mosaics of the Carolinas, LCC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Christopher’s Fine Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Grady’s Jewelers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Lemon Drops Apparel & Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Barbara’s Fine Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
David E. Grabeman, D.D.S., P.A. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Grand Strand Primary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Lifeway Christian Stores . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Best Kept Seacrets Consignment Gallery . . . . . . 19
DeVry University . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Hannah Bs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Long Bay Symphony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Mention this ad for a sweet treat
This National Historic Landmark is home to the only Association of Zoos and Aquariums accredited zoo on the coast in the Carolinas, and one of the most significant sculpture collections in the world! From overland excursions on the Trekker to garden tours and new exhibits, there is always something new and exciting at Brookgreen. For more information call or visit our website
(800) 849-1931 www.brookgreen.org
Admission: $12 Adults, $10 Seniors, $6 Children 4-12 & Children under 3 are FREE!
New Butterfly Exhibit Now Open! Admission is Good for 7 Days!
Sizes XS to 3X 10659 Ocean Hwy. at Island Shops, Pawleys Island, SC 29585 843-235-8268
proud to call Boulder home
On Highway 17 south of Myrtle Beach between Murrells Inlet and Pawleys Island.
Visit our store: 1218 Pearl Street
Maguire Law Firm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Pawleys Island Realty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
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The Market Common . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Pawleys Island Swimwear . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Sassyfras . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
TV33 South . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
McLeod Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Pawleys Lifestyles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Scents Unlimited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Victoria’s Ragpatch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Miller-Motte Myrtle Beach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Pee Dee Orthopaedic Associates, PA . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Sculpted Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
WEZV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Miss Ruby’s Kids . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
PIFMA’s Wearable Art Luncheon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Palmetto Ace Home Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Pure Compounding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Studio 77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art . . . . . . . . . 44
Purpleologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Take 2 Resale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Visit www.sasee.com for a full calendar and more Sasee events!
Music in the Streets, Fridays, 6-9 pm, The Market Common, live music and complimentary carriage rides. For more info, call 843-839-3500.
Nature in Harmony, musical by cast of Theatre of the Republic, 7 pm, Wednesdays, Brookgreen Gardens Cool Summer Evenings, free with garden admission. For more info, call 843-235-6000.
Moveable Feast, Susan Millar Williams & Stephen Hoffus discuss Upheaval in Charleston, 11 am, Bove, $25. For more info, call 843-235-9600 or visit www.classatpawleys.com.
Oliver, Brunswick Little Theatre, Fridays, Saturdays at 7:30 pm, Sundays at 3 pm. For tickets and more info, call 800-754-1050 or visit www.brunswicklittletheatre.com.
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 info, call 910-579-2166.
Music on Main, Main St., North Myrtle Beach, 6:30-8:30 pm. For more info, call 843-280-5570.
Sounds of Summer Concert Series, McLean Park, North Myrtle Beach, 7-9 pm. For more info, call 843-280-5570.
Craftsmenâ€™s Classic Arts and Crafts Show, Myrtle Beach Convention Center. For more info, call 336-282-5550.
Shag Dance Lessons, Tuesdays, 6-7 pm, J. Bryan Floyd Community Center, North Myrtle Beach, beginner-intermediate, no partner needed, $10. For more info, call 843-281-2662.
Annual Friends of the Waccamaw Library Book Sale, Thurs, Friends Night 6-8 pm, Fri. 9 am-4 pm & Sat. 9 am-12 pm, St. Paulâ€™s Waccamaw UMC, Litchfield. For more info, call 843-545-3623.
Blue Plantation, live music at Brookgreen Gardens Cool Summer Evenings, 7 pm, free with garden admission. For more info, call 843-235-6000.
Music on Main, Main St., North Myrtle Beach, 6:30-8:30 pm. For more info, call 843-280-5570.
Give Your Mom, Sister, Best Friend or Yourself the Gift that Lasts a Year! Special Introductory Offer 12 Issues for $24 Name Address City State
2011-2012 Symphony Series – A Season of Epic Proportion Season tickets AVAILABLE NOW
FOR TICKETS CALL 843.448.8379 TICKETS ALSO AVAILABLE ONLINE
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2011
Unique Voices (featuring viola soloist Jennifer Stumm) SUNDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2011
SUNDAY, JANUARY 29, 2012
Mahler’s “Titan” Symphony (featuring horn soloist David Jolley)
Send check or money order to Sasee Distribution PO Box 1389 Murrells Inlet, SC 29576
114-A Hwy. 17 N. Surfside Shopping Center Surfside Beach, SC 29575 Mon - Fri: 9 am to 6 pm Sat: 10 am to 5 pm • Sun: 1 to 5 pm
Antiques Avon Collectibles Country Decor Fabrics + Notions Glassware Handbags Jewelry Luzier Personalized Cosmetics Unique Handmade Crafts Vintage Items Wood Products WoodWick Candles
SUNDAY, MARCH 18, 2012 LONGBAYSYMPHONY.COM
Epic Musical Portraits (featuring the Carolina Master Chorale)
2 0 t h
2011 Performance Schedule
A N N I V E R S A R Y
PIFMA’s Wearable Art Luncheon
Thursday, September 15 • 11:30 am • $25 at Tommy Bahama, The Market Common
Sunday, September 18 • 3:00-6:00 pm • Free admission at Various Galleries from Murrells Inlet to Georgetown
Saving Sandy Island & Uncommon Folk
Tuesday, September 20 • 3:00 pm & 7:00 pm • Free admission with ticket Tara Theatre, Litchfield Golf & Beach Resort
Nothing to Prove: Mac Arnold’s Return to the Blues & They Came to Play Wednesday, September 21 • 3:00 pm & 7:00 pm • Free admission with ticket Tara Theatre, Litchfield Golf & Beach Resort
12th Annual Pawleys Island Wine Gala
Friday, September 23 • 7:00 pm • $85, beginning Sept. 1 $100 at The Reserve Golf Club of Pawleys Island
Saturday, September 24 • 7:00 pm • $35 & $25
The Kickin Grass Band Sunday, September 25 • 5:00 pm • $25
Charleston Chamber Opera
Tuesday, September 27 • 7:00 pm • $25 at Holy Cross Faith Memorial Episcopal Church
Ball In The House
Thursday, September 29 • 7:00 pm • Adults $35, $25, Students $10
This performance is funded in part by a grant from South Arts in partnership with the National Endowment for the Arts and SC Arts Commission.
David Osborne Trio
Friday, September 30 • 7:00 pm • $35 & $25
The Hit Men • A Tabled Event
Saturday, October 1 • 7:00 pm • $35 & $25
Family Day Chalk Walk
Sunday, October 2 • 1:00-6:00pm • Free admission
Bits ‘N Pieces Puppet Theatre The Musical Tale of Peter Rabbit
Sunday, October 2 • 3:00-5:00pm • Adults $15, Children 15 & under Free
All events held at Brookgreen Gardens unless otherwise noted
Tickets on Sale July 1