September 2012 Priceless www.sasee.com
Creativity is piercing the mundane to find the
marvelous. â€“ Bill Moyers
S ea c oa s t N e u r o l o g y As s o ci ate s we lc o me s
Dr. Kimberly Monnell.
Dr. Kimberly Monnell Dr. Leslee Hudgins
McLeod Physician Associates and Dr. Leslee Hudgins are pleased to welcome Dr. Kimberly Monnell to Seacoast Neurology Associates. Board certified with more than 10 years of experience, Dr. Monnell values the great relationship she has with Dr. Hudgins and the team commitment they have for providing highly skilled and compassionate care for their patients. Seacoast Neurology Associates offers state-of-the art inpatient and outpatient services for a full range of neurological conditions, including neuromuscular, central and peripheral nervous system disorders. They also specialize in treating Alzheimerâ€™s disease, Parkinsonâ€™s disease, multiple sclerosis, and sleep disorders, as well as stroke patients, seizure disorders, headaches and neurological complications of other illnesses. Seacoast Neurology Associates looks forward to welcoming new patients by referral.
McLeod Physician Associates Seacoast Neurology Associates, 3980 Highway 9 East, Suite 340, Little River, SC 29566 843-390-8310
www.McLeodPhysicians.org 49683-McL Seacoast Neurology-Sasee.indd 1
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September 2012 Volume 11, Issue 9
Mommy van Gogh
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 Ronald Pacetti Administrative Assistant Barbara J. Leonard Executive Publishers Jim Creel Bill Hennecy Tom Rogers
by Melissa Face
Back to My Roots by Virginia Foley
Art Is in the Eye of the Beholder by Jeffery Cohen
Solutions for That Pesky Silver Chunk of Hair by Ann Ipock
Southern Snaps by Connie Barnard
Building Sand Castles that Last by Diane Stark
by Tammie Painter
Music, Car Keys, and Slow Dancing by Janey Womeldorf
Artsy, at Last
by Diane DeVaughn Stokes
Not My Grandmother’s Hands by Kim Seeley
PO Box 1389 Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 www.sasee.com • firstname.lastname@example.org
I n T h is I ssue Rising Star . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Read It! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sasee Gets Candid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Women Who Mean Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scoop on the Strand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. For subscription info, see page 36. Letters to the editor are welcome, but could be edited for length. Submissions of articles and art are welcome. Visit our website for details on submission. Sasee is a Strand Media Group, Inc. publication.
Copyright © 2012. 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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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 How do you express yourself? There is a creative side to everyone, and this month, Sasee celebrates our originality and imagination – and introduces you to people who use their gifts to bring beauty and joy to our lives. Our “Southern Snaps” interview highlights the life of an incredible artist, Dixie Dugan, who has spent most of her eighty-odd years creating art that is not only beautiful, but is deeply meaningful for the viewer. Most of us who have been in the area for a number of years are familiar with this artist and her enormous body of work. I know you will enjoy reading Connie Barnard’s wonderful interview! It takes a combined force of creative minds to put Sasee together every month, and our staff is composed of an impressive group of creators. One in particular, Celia Wester, works as an account executive and is able to bring her clients’ dreams to life with her skill and imagination. She is also an incredibly talented artist whose work is displayed in galleries from Charlotte to the coast. Our office walls are filled with Celia’s paintings, and her work has graced the cover of Sasee on more than one occasion. Celia is much more than just a co-worker; she is a friend to us all. This summer, Celia has faced some serious health issues and is now recovering. While she has not been able to help us with this issue, her influence is surely found on every page. Get well soon Celia! This “creative” issue is dedicated to you!
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. Virginia Foley is a freelance writer who currently divides her time between The British Virgin Islands where her husband is working, and Canada, home of her three children and two grandchildren. Her diverse published works include travel writing and articles on history, relationships, family and the inescapable aging process. Visit Virginia at virginiafoley.com 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. Ann Ipock is an award-winning Southern humorist and speaker who writes for the Georgetown Times, Sasee and Columbia County Magazine. Ann lives in Wilmington, N.C., with her husband, Russell. Life is Short, I Wish I Was Taller (published October, 2010) completes the Life is Short trilogy. Contact Ann through her website, annipock.com. In addition to making fabulous cheeses, Tammie Painter is the author of Easy Preserving and Soup for You. To learn more about Tammie or to contact her, please visit TammiePainter.com.
cover artist Amazing Grace, by Dixie Dugan Legendary artist, teacher and lecturer Dixie Dugan is well known for her evocative work in watercolor and mosaic collage. Resident of Myrtle Beach since 1966, the artist continues to work in her studio at least six hours a day as she travels through her eighth decade of life. Her work is on display locally at the Myrtle Beach Art Museum, the Howard Gallery and Art and Soul. The artist’s work has also been available for over 20 years at the member-owned Charleston Waterfront Gallery, now Studio 151, on Church Street. Read more about her in this month’s “Southern Snaps.”
Jeffery Cohen, a freelance writer, painter and sculptor, wrote a weekly newspaper humor column for six years. He was a finalist in the 2011 Women-On-Writing Flash Fiction Contest, he won second place in Vocabula’s 2011 Well Written Writing Contest and placed second in the National League of American Pen Women’s’ 2011 Soul Making Literary Competition for short stories.
Kim Seeley, a former librarian and English teacher, lives with her husband, Wayne, in Wakefield, Virginia. Her most recent story, “Amanda’s Jonquils,” can be found in Chicken Soup: Messages from Heaven. She loves to read, play the piano, travel and spend time with her grandson, Evan. Diane Stark is a former teacher turned stay-at-home mom and freelance writer. Her work has been published in dozens of magazines. She loves to write about the important things in life: her family and her faith. 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.
Janey Womeldorf is a freelance writer who drinks too much coffee. She scribbles away in Memphis, Tennesee.
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Rising Star A Sasee Rising Star is young, fabulous, confident and riding a star-studded rocket to success. These young women are the leaders of tomorrow, whose vision and innovation will light up the future of our community and our world. Sasee Rising Star, Nicole Davis, daughter of John Davis, Jr., is a senior at Waccamaw High School. She is an accomplished flutist and a member of her high school band. Nicole was recently awarded a prestigious Young Treasures Music Scholarship by the Cultural Council of Georgetown County, receiving a year of private music lessons and performance opportunities. Age: 17 Family: I live with my grandparents, John & Kathy Davis, my dad and my sister, Kelsey. Lives: I’ve lived in Pawleys Island since I was 10, but I grew up in the Socastee area, in Carolina Lakes. Best/worst thing about school: I really like learning and being in a learning environment. The worst is when people act up and ruin it. Loves: I’m really into music, family, school and my Christian faith. Pets: We have one dog, a boxer, named Sandy. Perfect Day: That’s hard. I really like going to the beach with my friends, but I like rainy days, too. I like anything I do with my friends and anything musical. Favorite Meal: I love tacos and ice cream. My favorite restaurant is Habaneros. Beauty: I think people are beautiful who are nice and have a great personality. Some people look really good, but aren’t nice. I don’t think those people are pretty. Favorite Outfit: I’m usually wearing shorts and a tee shirt. Friendship: A friend is someone you feel safe with, can rely on and will always be there no matter what happens. I like being with my close friends rather than large groups—they’re trustworthy and fun to be around. College: I plan to attend USC and major in music education. Future Career: I love the flute, but have some performance anxiety so teaching appeals to me. I like the idea that if someone doesn’t know something I’ll be able to help them. I’ve been teaching the 6th, 7th and 8th graders since my freshman year in high school as part of a school band program. Passion: Right now, my lessons with Amy Tully, a music professor at Coastal Carolina University, are my passion. I started taking lessons from her when I was awarded the Young Treasurers scholarship and I’m now starting my second year. She’s one of only two flute professors with a doctorate in South Carolina. I can also play a few other instruments; I’ll have to know them for college and am going to start piano this year. Inspiration: When I was in the 6th grade, the high school band came to my school. That didn’t inspire me to be in band, but it was accidentally put on my schedule. When I was deciding what to play, I choose the flute because it was pretty and shiny. I didn’t like it at first, but during the summer I was bored and began playing more. Soon I loved it! Fun: I like movies, hanging out with my Nana, she’s my other grandmother and lives in Conway, and going to the beach. I read sometimes, mostly non-fiction.
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COOKING AT THE MARKET SATURDAYS, 11 AM Chef Demonstration Series at Williams-Sonoma featuring produce from the Farmer's Market. Stop in to meet local chefs and learn new culinary skills.
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Lisa Says…Read Heading Out to Wonderful, by Robert Goolrick by Lisa Hamilton 12 www.sasee.com
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I thoroughly enjoyed Robert Goolrick’s first novel, A Reliable Wife, and was equally pleased with his new book, Heading Out to Wonderful. Another love triangle, this one is set in Brownsburg, Virginia, the kind of town where no crime has ever been committed and people believe in God and the Good Book. Out of nowhere, 39 year old Charlie Beale enters the town with two suitcases, one filled with knives, the other filled with money – a lot of money. It’s 1948, and life is slow and simple. Charlie finds work at the local butcher shop and is taken in and cared for by the owner of the shop and his family. In this family is an almost-six-year-
“The spirit of tea is one of peace, comfort & refinement.“ -Arthur Gray We invite you to join us for
Thursday, September 13, 4-6 pm at the YMCA on 62nd
Topic will be Facial Rejuvenation including facelifts and topical treatments. Let the Canfield camera reveal the health of your face with a complimentary take home photo.
Fall is just around corner, and we will be offering all of your cooler season annuals and perennials... Many different varieties of yummy cool season veggie plants, lettuce/mixed greens pots and and herbs... as well as heirloom pumpkins, gourds and jack o lanterns for autumn decor.
Tuesday, October 9, 4-6 pm at Dr. Goh’s office Breasts Cosmetic / Reconstruction
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old boy, Sam, who becomes attached to Charlie as they share their passion for baseball and all things family-related. Every Wednesday, Charlie and Sam head out to the slaughterhouse to buy the meat for the shop, stopping along the way to play catch or swim in the river. When the weekly trip begins taking a detour by the wealthiest man in town’s house, to visit his beautiful, young wife, Heading Out to Wonderful takes a dramatic turn. Told through the eyes of young Sam, the tale is relived through the eyes of an older Sam. The events of this summer shape his life forever, and Goolrick does not fail in placing suspense and obsession at the heart of this novel. Rich characters intricately woven into a small town way of life capture you from the start. “When you are young, and you head out to wonderful, everything is fresh and bright as a brand new penny, but before you get to wonderful you’re going to have to pass through all right. And when you get to all right, stop and take a good, long look, because that may be as far as you’re ever going to go.” So the story begins…
Mommy by Melissa Face
says Evan, my nineteen-month-old. His tiny hand grasps the red crayon and moves it back and forth across the lined paper. I clap for him, tell him he is doing a great job, and his round face lights up. He is proud. “Draw. Draw. Draw,” he repeats. Evan continues marking the paper with the red crayon, and I keep reinforcing how wonderful his artwork is. And it is wonderful. Evan is my firstborn; so, by nature, everything he does is just wonderful. Then, Evan does the unthinkable. He takes the red crayon and the notebook and shoves them both in my direction. He looks at me with hopeful eyes and says, “Draw, Mama.” “Oh no,” I think to myself. “I was afraid of that.” I have dreaded this moment for a long time. I am terrible at artwork. I have always been terrible at artwork. In elementary school, my classmates skipped down the breezeway when it was time for art class. I hung back at the end of the line and walked slowly. Less time in class meant less opportunity to embarrass myself with another horrific creation. Throughout the years, I painted, sculpted and drew as required. And since it was elementary school, I was given a passing grade on my creations. I brought home numerous stick figure drawings, paint smears, misshapen globs of clay and papier-mâché distortions. And like any good parent would, my mom and dad praised my artwork and displayed it somewhere in the house. I remember making a butterfly in Bible school, a candle at youth camp, and a cloth heart at mission friends. My parents lovingly placed each item on the desk in their study. I shuddered when I walked past their little desktop gallery. I knew I wasn’t an artist. I am thirty-three years old now, and little has changed in terms of my artistic abilities. I have not progressed past a stick figure drawing; I can’t cut out a heart shape from a folded piece of paper, and I am incapable of neatly folding the corners of a gift-wrapped package. But today, my toddler wants me to draw. He insists that I draw. So, to avoid letting him down, I pick up the red crayon and begin. I draw a smiley face. Evan laughs. Then, I draw a sun in the corner of the paper. Evan keeps smiling. “Draw, Mama,” he repeats. I get braver and attempt one of my trademark stick figure people. “Da-Da!” he squeals. With a little more confidence, I draw another stick figure next to the first one. It has a triangle dress and long lines of hair. “Ma-Ma!” Evan squeals again and claps his hands. Clearly, my drawings are better than I thought. This is not as unpleasant as I feared. In fact, I am starting to have a little bit of fun. I draw a picture of our dog, Tyson, beside the two figures. “Horsey!” Evan shouts. Close enough. For the next few minutes, Evan and I engage in our own version of Pictionary. I attempt to draw something that he recognizes, and he shouts out the object’s name. Sometimes I am successful, and sometimes I fall short. But regardless of the quality of the finished product, each of my attempts is met with an appreciative giggle or squeal. Today, I am an artist. Now I know that I do possess a little artistic talent. I had just never met with my ideal audience until the other day. I am meant to draw only for the non-judgmental, inexperienced, completely open-minded toddler. My work is meant to be displayed on etch-a-sketches, magnadoodles, and coloring books throughout my home. I am particularly creative with stickers, magic markers and of course, red crayons. I am an artist. I am Mommy van Gogh.
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Back to My
Roots by Virginia Foley
’ve recently turned that “new-age” age of fifty, and with this epiphany I’m feeling a back-to-the-earth pull, a return to basics, eager for a simpler life, simpler times. I’m revving up for some life changes, which may include a return to my roots, my gray roots! Dragging this head of mine back and forth to the hairdresser’s every three weeks is becoming quite tiresome. I was only fourteen years old when the first signs of bristly gray strands began to emerge, and within a couple of years I was camouflaging them with chemicals. Maybe now is the time to uncover the truth, reveal the mature growth under my chestnut tresses, unleash the real me. The inspiration for this transformation was triggered in part by a trip to the Northwoods of Wisconsin. To celebrate my “big day” I spent a weekend cross-country skiing in the north, returning with sore muscles, some great photos and a fresh, new outlook on life. In the serenity of the forest, I blazed new trails on virgin snow, traced wolves’ tracks that led into dark, dense bush and, closing my eyes, looked upwards, catching fluffy snowflakes to melt on my tongue. I drank tea out of stone mugs, my hands and cheeks warmed by the steaming liquid. I was energized by the crisp air, the open spaces and calmed by the crackling fires and twinkling moonlight. And I thought a lot about the future, about the threshold over which I’m nearly ready to leap. I have a vision of the woman I would like to become. Her hair is long and white but streaked with the golden-brown remnants of younger days. Thin braids at each side join in the back, keeping tendrils from falling around her face. Her body is lithe, fit and strong, capable of chopping firewood, lugging it from the back forty into the log cabin she calls home. She loads the wood stove, chops a variety of root vegetables, parsnips, celeriac, carrots and potatoes, mixes them with the beans and lentils she’s soaked all night and cooks up a fine stew. The aroma, fragrant with the mixture of fresh herbs that grow from clay pots in every window, fills the cabin on this frosty winter day. She sits with her hands cupped around a pottery mug and sips jasmine tea while gazing out across freshly fallen snow. Grabbing a book that lies strewn below the overloaded shelves, she settles in for a good read while lunch bubbles on the stove and freshly baked bread sits waiting on the kitchen table, set for two. Her man soon joins her. He’s been composing at his antique piano all morning and is a little closer to completing his symphony. Leaning down to kiss her, his white beard scratches her ruddy cheek. He selects a bottle of red Burgundy from the wine rack, deftly uncorks it and pours the vintage into two glasses, bringing one to her. After a rustic meal of stew and whole grain bread, they layer up, strap on their cross-country skis and head out into the woods, into the wilderness. This is the woman I’d like to grow into, the earthy soul who lives off the land and communes with nature. I have always dreamed of living in a log house, and I saw plenty of them on my weekend in the North. I long to be part of the Birkenstock crowd who gather around tables at a local coffee shop, sipping herbal teas and sharing stories. I admire the woman who gave me a ski lesson. She was about my age, with weathered skin, long gray hair and a quiet sense of self-confidence. I long to mix with the flannel-shirted men I saw in dining rooms, who sported beards and deep laugh lines. Through the looking glass it all looked just wonderful. Perhaps my gray roots can be the catalyst that leads me back, back to the earth, truly back to my roots. I think the natural world is calling me; I can hear the gentle coaxing of its voice. I’m ready to turn the page to the next chapter.
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Art Is in the Eye of the Beholder by Jeffery Cohen They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’m beginning to believe that that very same thing applies to art. My brother and I are both artists. We grew up together. We went to the same schools, had the same teachers and visited the same museums. We even wound up going to the same college and in the end, we both graduated as art majors. We were influenced pretty much by the same things. After all that, you would expect that we would have the same taste in art. Last summer my brother was visiting, and we decided to do a little gallery hopping. We began by browsing in a shop that displayed some wonderfully realistic seascapes. They had such a lifelike quality that I could smell the sea air and hear the crashing of the waves. The detail was incredible. The colors were absolutely vibrant. From a distance, the paintings appeared to be gigantic photographs. I was impressed with the fine draftsmanship, so I called my brother over.
“Isn’t this amazing? Look at how fine the work is here. I can’t even see the brush strokes from close up. Unbelievable, isn’t it?” My brother stood there staring for the longest time. “You like that?” he asked. “Like it? I’m overwhelmed by it! And you?” He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “I guess it’s okay…if you like that sort of thing.” That sort of thing? Was he kidding? “I guess you think the Mona Lisa is okay too…if you like that sort of thing – portraits of smirking Italian women.” “What are you getting so excited about?” he smiled. “We just have different tastes in art.” Different tastes? That was a possibility I hadn’t even considered. As we strolled out of one gallery and into another next door, I said, “Well, just what do you like?” Before I could finish asking the question, my brother rushed over to an old wooden door that had been ripped off of its hinges and mounted on the wall. It was completely covered in gobs of black paint. A splash of red enamel was smeared across it, a handful of gold glitter was glued to its center and a bunch of chicken feathers were attached here and there. My brother’s eyes grew wide. With a pleased grin, he proudly announced, “Now this excites me!” “A door excites you?” I asked. “A door with a bad paint job excites you? Come over to my house. I have masterpieces like that all over the place. My wife keeps pestering me to give them a paint job.” “I’m serious,” he whispered without taking his eyes off of the door. “Don’t you feel the energy? Don’t you feel the movement?” To be honest, all that I felt was the breeze on the back of my neck from a fan that the gallery had set up to circulate the air. So I turned around and pointed a finger at it. “Hey, look at this. I’ll bet you thought this was a fan. It’s actually a piece of kinetic art. It’s a mechanical piece of sculpture. Don’t you feel the energy? Don’t you feel the movement?” I was tempted to take it one more absurd step, but I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe. That’s when the gallery owner strolled over in our direction. “I see you’ve taken an interest in our latest acquisition. We call it… Fan. Only two thousand dollars,” he smiled. “No thanks,” I said. “I’ve already got one at home in my private collection. It’s right next to a group of other pieces I own…the broom, the vacuum cleaner, the plunger.” “Yes, how interesting,” he smiled as he bowed politely, then he drifted away. Now, don’t get me wrong. I do like art of all kinds. I’m mesmerized by Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings. Rauschenberg’s found object sculptures are ingenious. Louise Nevelson’s constructions are rhythmic and complex. Calder’s mobiles are a delightful combination of balance and whimsy. Even Picasso’s bicycle seat bull head is intriguing. But a fan that looks like a fan, sounds like a fan and blows air like a fan is…just a fan! My brother didn’t think I was being open-minded enough. He felt that I was acting old-fashioned. He didn’t think I was being hip, modern, with it. Well, my brother will be pleased to know that I’ve changed my mind about art. I am now as hip as I can be. I’ve actually collected hundreds of new pieces that I’m willing to part with for a very reasonable price. Next month, I’ll be opening a gallery of my own. I’m calling it… “My Garage.”
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Meet the Managers of Indo Thai Kyle Smith
The General Manager of Indo Thai in Pawleys Island, is very dedicated and hard working. Kyle is a local, born and raised in Georgetown, SC, and started working for Indo shortly after the opening of the Pawleys Island location. Before venturing into the food service and hospitality industry, Kyle graduated from Coastal Carolina University with a Bachelor’s of Arts in English. Customer service has been a big part of his background with over five years of retail management experience under his belt. He started in the food service industry as a server and worked his way from a server and bartender to General Manager. Kyle works very closely with Laura, owner of Indo, in various aspects of the restaurant that span far beyond normal front-of-the-house duties. He has picked up a number of skills and thanks to Laura, has begun his culinary career by not only learning how to roll sushi, but cooking Thai food as well. Kyle’s compassion, dedication, and drive are hard to find. His goal is to strive for excellence and to take Indo to the next level with plans to open future restaurants in the area.
The General Manager of Indo Thai in Myrtle Beach was born and raised in Indonesia. She is a proud mother of three sons, Indra, Kyle, and Logan. Lilly immigrated to the United States in 1994 where she began her career path in the food service and hospitality industry. She started in the restaurant business as a bus girl. Before moving to Myrtle Beach, she worked in New Jersey for the Original Pancake House for nine years. Due to her genuine caring for people and good work ethic, she became a server. She continued to excel and eventually became Manager. In February 2009, Lilly found herself opening the doors of Indo to give the Myrtle Beach area a taste of Thai and Japanese cuisine, as well as an extensive sushi menu. Lilly works many long hours to help Indo strive for perfection. She wants everyone walking through the doors of Indo to have an exceptional and delightful dining experience. Her attention to detail, strong work ethic, and friendly attitude have helped Indo succeed.
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Solutions for That Pesky Silver Chunk of Hair by Ann Ipock
There it is again! That silver chunk of hair. I thought I’d seen it in my mirror last week while getting gussied up for a fabulous party, dahlin’. I even picked up my hand-held mirror for closer inspection, but decided to ignore it. This time, there was no denying it. As I scrubbed my bathroom sink – one week you’re the belle of the ball, and the next week you’re Cinderella – it taunted me up close and personal once again. At my side part, dead-on with the root line, noticeable and quite prominent. I have mixed emotions. I cannot be gray – ah, I mean, silver (that sounds so much more luxurious). My mother still isn’t completely gray, and she’s 84 years old. My dad didn’t get gray until maybe ten years ago, and he’s also 84. So, it’s not in my genes. Right? The fact that hub Russ’s hair turned gray many years ago and more recently, “let loose” – his words, not mine – does not attribute towards my newfound discovery, right? Like, we’re related but we’re not related. Make no mistake: The silver chunk IS there – I just checked again. On the one hand, I want gray (ah, silver) hair all over because it’s so much easier to dye blonde, and the roots don’t contrast so badly when growing out! I have one friend that’s been totally silver for quite some time (and she’s beautiful). Cleverly, she colors her own hair blonde. Think of the money she’s saved over the years. I’ve never had that luxury because it’s hard to cover dark brown roots. Believe me, I know. I’ve tried. Well, what am I going to do about it? This is my next thought. What if I grew it out (using no color), and the chunk alone turned out to be a silver streak like my sexy friend, Carolyn? Her hair is jet black sans one sexy silvery streak in the front. It’s been that way since I’ve known her, for fifteen years. I would love that, but I don’t think that’s what my silver chunk is all about. Speaking of hair anomalies: I was reading Nora Ephron’s, I Remember Nothing, when I got the news of her sudden death. (Ironically, I was reading the final chapter when she must’ve been living her final chapter. Now I don’t mean to sound like one of those obituary notices, but something tells me she would laugh out loud if she could read that sentence. I LOVED her sense of humor!) She mentions her weird hair pattern in one chapter, calling it “My Aruba,” naming it after the island “where the winds are so strong that all of the little trees on it are blown sideways in one direction.” She’s actually referring to cowlicks on the crown of her head, in the back, which I also have. I wrote about this in my book, Life is Short, I Wish I Was Taller. I must interject here that I LOVED all of Ephron’s works, and I find it amazing – no, make that exhilarating – that we’ve written about similar subjects. Whoa! For example, her father hung up (the phone) on people, never said hello and never said goodbye. So did my Granny Pinky. Ephron says she’s not getting old, she’s getting older. I’ve been telling my mother this EXACT SAME SENTENCE for at least ten years. I would love to think Ephron and I are/were kindred spirits. If I could only be that lucky. Sigh. But, back to my silver chunk and my plan of action. Do I keep getting it colored and high-lighted? If I do, I’ll never know what lurks beneath all those layers of blondeness, AND I’ll continue to hear dumb blonde jokes. But if I don’t, that old ugly word VANITY comes to mind. I think I would be one of those women whose hair would not necessarily be salt and pepper. It would be salt, pepper, some Montreal steak seasoning and a little Lawry’s Seasoned Salt (for my red highlights) mixed together. It would probably have weird frizzy curl patterns within the chunk – I already see some wave (it’s normally straight as a stick). Alas! What is a woman to do? I finally have an answer! This would solve the whole thing. I’m taking a cue from Russell, when I told him on a recent outing that our car was making a funny noise. Deadpan, as usual, he told me he had a solution. “What?” I asked. He leaned forward and simply turned up the radio. So, listen up, women: This, too, could impact you in a positive and/or positively horrible way (advice is my forte, results are not.) I’m going to quit looking in the mirror. I rest my case, and I lay down my hand-held mirror.
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Southern Snaps Dixie Dugan: Artist in Residence by Connie Barnard
“Art is not what you see but what you make others see.”
Dixie Dugan knew she had something special the day her first grade class was handed finger paint made of flour and tempera. Unlike her classmates’ chunky handprints in blobs of primary color, Dixie produced a softly muted creation of tiny fingers curved like fern fronds around a subtle watery surface. Amazing in its composition, color, and movement, the piece still hangs in her studio today, the first of almost 2,000 pieces chronicling the legendary local artist’s work across almost eight decades. Born in rural Kansas, Dugan moved at age ten to Chicago, a rich and exciting environment for the talented young girl. Despite struggles in school which were later diagnosed as dyslexia, Dixie learned to compensate with art: “I bartered assignments with other students and helped teachers by drawing maps, making posters and helping with bulletin boards. That got me through high school.” Chicago will always be special to Dixie because it was here that she met the love of her life, a young sailor from Texas named Tommy, who had no idea the pretty girl was just 13 years old. Five years later they married, and this month will celebrate their 66th wedding anniversary. Dixie still smiles and blushes when she says his name. “Marrying Tommy is the most important thing I ever did,” she says. “He has always been there for me. At the same time, he stays out of my way. Many spouses are jealous of how artists’ work consumes their lives, but Tommy has always been so proud of what I do.” Over the years he has even learned to help critique her work: “He can look at a piece and point out a weak spot, sometimes even before I see it.” She adds thoughtfully, “I had a difficult childhood. My parents divorced at a time when there was a social stigma attached to it. After my mother re-married, I always thought of myself as a stepchild. That can stay with you, but Tommy gave me the confidence to believe in myself.”
Tommy’s career as a civilian instructor with the U.S. military provided the opportunity to live in a number of interesting places. While in the central Louisiana town of Pineville, Dixie began taking painting classes. She says, “My instructor was a Cajun woman whose accent was so strong I couldn’t understand much of what she said.” Nonetheless, the lessons provided her with time and confidence to develop her natural talents. Her very first painting, an oil Cajun swamp scene, won Honorable Mention in a local show, the first in a long string of prize ribbons now circling the wall of her studio. When she turned 38, Dixie made a life-changing decision. For years she had worked to be a perfect homemaker and mother to her two daughters, then 10 and 18. She’d baked cookies, volunteered as a room mother and kept a shiny, spotless home. Deep inside, however, Dugan had always seen herself as an artist and somehow knew she had to pursue this dream or let it go. She sat down with her family and shared the decision to reprioritize her life, putting her art before all things social and domestic. In 1960s America, this was a brave, even radical, declaration. Dixie’s dear Tommy looked at her for a few minutes, then smiled and announced he’d give her ten years – then back to the kitchen. That was 46 years ago, and the renowned artist and teacher has yet to put on her apron! The move to Myrtle Beach in 1966 provided Dixie opportunities to explore and learn from master instructors, and her natural talents were honed and set free. She studied art at USC and trained under a virtual Who’s Who of renowned teachers, developing a distinct style which still continues to evolve. “My paintings never complete the whole story,” she says. “I want the spectator to participate, not just be a passive viewer.” Dugan credits
legendary artist and instructor Alex Powers with influencing her most greatly. “Alex taught me how to see,” she says simply. Under Powers’ tutorage, Dugan switched from oils to watercolor, mastering its complex challenges. “You have to understand what it won’t do,” she explains. Today Dugan’s prize-winning watercolors of marsh scenes, Gullah women, weathered flags and regal cats grace the walls of galleries, homes and corporate collections throughout the world. This success is the result of hard work and discipline, as well as talent. “Art is not my hobby. It is my life,” she explains. She records details of each project on small index cards, and though they number in the thousands, Dixie can reference any one in a matter of seconds. For many years she drove daily to Murrells Inlet to paint on the grounds of Oliver’s Lodge, then owned by her friend Maxine Hawkins. One day, she laughs, Dugan was so intent on her work that she backed off the pier and into the creek. Fortunately, Roosevelt, the lodge’s resident jack-of-all-trades, witnessed the fall and rescued both Dixie and her backpack of art supplies! With business partner Sudie Daves of Conway and 16 other artists, Dixie’s works have been on display for over 20 years at the member-owned Charleston Waterfront Gallery, now Studio 151 on Church Street, and locally at the Howard Gallery, Art and Soul and the Myrtle Beach Art Museum. As a teacher and lecturer Dixie has shared her expertise with students in colleges, public schools and watercolor workshops for over 25 years. One of her students, acclaimed abstract artist Barbara Brock, who joined Dugan’s Murrells Inlet workshop in the mid 1980s, says, “Dixie was a really outstanding teacher who turned me on to art. Our group stayed together for a number of years and became close friends. Dixie helped me view the world in new ways.” Dugan’s work reflects her continuous growth as an artist. One major transition, however, occurred out of necessity, not choice. Twelve years ago a car accident damaged Dixie’s already fragile back. For weeks she recuperated in a Houston hospital, slowly realizing that nerve damage would make it impossible to continue her watercolors. For therapy and diversion, Dixie began cutting pages of National Geographic magazines into tiny pieces and gluing them together to form intricately designed collages. By the time she returned home, Dugan had found a new medium and a new direction: the Japanese mosaic collage. Creating mosaic collage is tedious and time-consuming. Dugan says her early background as a seamstress helped prepare her for the exacting medium. First, she draws a design on heavy illustration board then glues layers of
handmade Japanese origami and rice papers. From a distance these works appear to be painted, but at close range one can see tiny bits of paper, some as small as confetti, often laced with touches of gold leaf. Many of her subjects connect to the Asian origins of collage: colorful kimono and butterflies, the Japanese symbol of the soul. Others are amazing versions of her original watercolors such as “Amazing Grace,” the award-winning Gullah woman featured on this issue’s cover. At a very young age, Dixie discovered her ability to draw people, not formal portraits but sketches that capture the subject’s essence and character. Her friend and fellow art enthusiast Lou Watson marvels at Dugan’s talent and generosity: “Dixie has constantly shared her drawings with others, both friends and strangers. Often in a restaurant, she will sketch other diners and give these amazing drawings to them as she leaves.” Recently Dixie presented Myrtle Beach First United Methodist Church with a true treasure: five volumes of sketches she has drawn over the years while sitting in church. Many are of ministers, teachers, choir members, and parishioners now living only through memories and Dixie’s art. Her drawing skills have also brought several unique opportunities, such as a stint as court artist at the 1993 Ken Register murder trial, the first DNA evidence trial in the US. Because cameras were not allowed in the courtroom, defense team member, local attorney Tommy Brittain retained Dixie to chronicle the historic 11 day trial for his personal records. Dugan’s eyes light up as she describes a special project she worked on for over a year: exquisite Christmas gifts for her daughters and granddaughter. Each received a book of 15 individual drawings capturing Dixie’s fondest memories with them: skating, riding a horse, sharing an apple with her dad, smiling while greatly pregnant with Dixie’s only grandchild. Dixie says, “My dear friend, the late artist Jane Charles, created books like these for her grandchildren, her cherished legacy to them. I wanted to do the same for Linda, Susan, and Stacey.” Dugan feels both pride and joy knowing that her creative strain of DNA will continue through her daughter, a college photography instructor, and her granddaughter, an intern at the Smithsonian completing a Master of Fine Arts degree at the Maryland Institute College of Art. Now in her eighth decade, Dugan continues to work at least six hours a day, painting during the day and drawing at night. Still youthful in appearance, attitude and energy, Dixie wakes up each day ready to celebrate life, live out loud, and create something new – a living example of Picasso’s words: “It takes a long time to become young.”
Building Sand Castles that Last by Diane Stark
“We gotta fill my bucket all the way up to the top, Mommy,” my three-year-old son Nathan said. He was standing on the beach, holding a green sand bucket and wearing Thomas the Train swim trunks. “OK, Buddy, let’s fill it up,” I said, plopping down in the sand and starting to dig. He knelt down next to me and grinned. “Let’s build a bunch of sand castles and surprise Daddy with them,” he said. My husband was playing in the waves with our older children. I could hear them laughing and shouting as they tried to dunk him. I waved at them and then smiled at Nathan. “Daddy will be so excited to see what you made.” Ten minutes later, the sand bucket was full and ready to be dumped out into a perfect little sand castle. “Where do you want me to put our first castle?” I asked Nathan. “Right here,” he said, pointing to the sand at his feet. “We can’t put it right here,” I said. “The water will wash it away as soon as I dump out the bucket.” “I want it right here,” he said. “But it won’t work, Buddy, because the waves will ruin it.” “That’s OK. Then we can just build another one.” He shrugged. “It’ll be fun.” I sighed, figuring the only way to make him understand was to do as he asked and let him see what would happen. I only hoped he wouldn’t be too upset when that first wave destroyed his creation. But when the water came and washed
away his castle, he jumped up and down and clapped his hands. “That was great! Let’s do it again!” We filled up the bucket for a second time, and again, Nathan insisted on dumping it out right in the path of every single wave that would crash onto the shore. The third time, I walked up to the dry sand and dumped the bucket there. “Look, Nathan, the waves won’t get it up here,” I said. “Isn’t that better?” But he scowled and folded his arms across his chest. “No, I don’t want to build my castles all the way up here.” “But don’t you want to build them where they will last?” He stuck out his lower lip. “Mommy, I just want to do it down there. It’s more fun.” “But up here, the water won’t…” I began to argue. And that’s when I noticed tears in my little boy’s eyes. “Is it really more fun when the waves wash away the sand castles?” “Yes,” he said. “Can we please just build them down there?” “Of course we can, Buddy,” I said, feeling guilty that I’d nearly made him cry. Building sand castles was supposed to be fun. We moved back down to the water and built half a dozen more sand castles, none of which lasted more than ten seconds. I still didn’t understand, but when Nathan grinned and said, “This is really fun, Mommy,” I decided I was done trying to persuade him to change building locations. When the rest of our family joined us on the beach, the kids said, “I thought you guys were going to build sand castles.” I smirked and said, “We have been. We’ve built several, but the waves keep washing them away.” “Does he know that that won’t happen if he builds them up there?” My oldest son asked, pointing at the dry sand. I rolled my eyes. “He knows. I even showed him, and all it did was nearly make him cry.” While we were talking, my younger children had sat down in the sand with Nathan and helped him fill up his sand bucket. They dumped it out and watched the waves wash it away. They looked at one another, smiled, and started doing it again. I looked at my husband, Eric, and said, “I don’t know how they can stand to do that. It was driving me crazy, spending all the time building something that was just going to be washed away moments later.”
Eric smiled. “It would bug me too, but to them, the fun is in the building, no matter how long it lasts.” “It’s important to me to spend my time building things that last,” I said. Standing on that beach, Eric smiled and reached for my hand. “You are, Babe,” he said quietly. I thought about my life at home. Nothing I did there ever seemed to last. I prepared dinners that were completely consumed ten minutes after I placed them on the table. I washed dishes, and then washed the same dishes the next day. Same deal with the laundry for seven people. I mopped floors only to see someone dirty them on their first trip in from the back yard. My life was like those sand castles in the wet sand. All of my efforts were washed away by a giant wave called Family Life. Nothing I did lasted beyond the moment. But as I watched my children digging in the sand, laughing and playing together, I realized that my husband was right. I am building something important, something that will last forever. I’m building a family.
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My Precious. My Precious. Like a modern day version of Tolkien’s Gollum, I lurk in the basement stroking my Precious, turning it to make sure it’s happy, and angrily lashing out at anyone who dares to touch it. But this isn’t a magic ring I’m guarding. It’s my cheese. That I made myself. Yes, on purpose, not by some refrigeration malfunction. What sane person makes their own cheese when nearly every grocery store these days carries an amazing selection of artisan cheeses? Well, me. It started with wanting to make my own beer. My hometown, Portland, Oregon, is a mecca for microbrews and home brewers. It’s the antidote to our buzzing caffeine frenzy. If a corner in Portland doesn’t have a coffee shop or cart, it has a microbrewery. We’re junkies. And we like to experiment with our own recipes. The problem with making home brew is that so much can go wrong leaving you stuck with gallons of lame beer. And since my husband would rather drink seawater than beer (I know, what’s wrong with him?) I would be left drinking bad beer for a long, long time. Even I don’t like beer that much. But, like a nerdy kid dreaming of a chemistry set for Christmas, I wanted to concoct some type of unique creation in my kitchen. While wistfully scanning through a home brew website I discovered a link to cheese making. I was bewildered and intrigued. It’s a true testament to our modern culture that I had no idea people could make cheese at home. Yes, I knew the blocks of delicious goodness came from cows and goats and other cute farm critters. But I’d been going to visit the Tillamook Cheese Factory since I could remember, and a giant gleaming factory was where I believed all cheese came from. As I read more about the process, the do-it-yourselfer in me thought, “I could totally do that.” And since my husband gladly eats cheese, I figured any mistakes I made could be shared. I sent away for the kit that day. My first attempt at cheese making was a mozzarella “anyone can make in 30 minutes.” Result? Complete failure. I got it right the next time, but this “simple” recipe continues to be my cheese nemesis with about half the batches failing. I figured simple was too remedial for my biology and chemistry training and flipped the pages in the recipe book directly to the intermediate cheeses. Let me describe the final results of my cheese labors to explain why I suffer the torture of cheese making. I’m not normally one to brag, but any
store-bought Parmesan you eat is complete poo compared to the stuff I make. Mine is cheese heaven – same with the Gouda, the pepper jack and the Romano. My homemade cream cheese and ricotta are so divine I never buy them in the store anymore. The downside of this creamy deliciousness? It takes freaking forever. You can’t imagine how damn long it takes to heat two gallons of milk at a low setting. Due to the necessary chemistry of the milk, and the workings of the ingredients added, you can’t heat the milk quickly, and it can take almost an hour to get to the proper temperature. An hour! And that’s just the first step. The sanity saver after this hour is a 45-minute break while the cheese sets, but then, the real work begins. You cut, you heat again, you stir, you stir, and you keep stirring or puppies and kittens will die. With certain cheeses, you can be stuck at the stove for four hours. I find a bottle of wine helps immensely with the boredom. Then there’s more waiting as the cheese is pressed. I don’t have a true cheese press and instead stack our collection of hand weights like a cheesy Tower of Babel. And, not having a proper draining board, this process of squeezing the cheese juice out ends up being a chaotic mess. Luckily the dog is an expert at cleaning cheese juice off the floor. Do I get to relax as the cheese air-dries? Nope. This step involves a full on battle to keep the cats from licking my precious hunk of hardened milk. Finally, the day comes when I get to slap a coat of wax over the cheese and send it down to the basement to age. My husband hates this step. After seeing me in the kitchen for days he has the ridiculous notion that he is going to get something fabulous on his plate. Wrong. Instead, he gets a dirty look and a command to go order some pizza because I’m too sick of the kitchen to cook a damn thing for the next week. My cheeses have to age from 3 to 12 months. That’s 3 to 12 months of family asking me if the cheese is ready yet, and 3 to 12 months of checking my Precious for cracks in the wax and turning it weekly to ensure the moisture settles properly. During this time, no one is allowed to move my cheese, or even look at my cheese the wrong way. It’s my Precious, after all. After months of being slave to the cheese, there’s a thrill when I finally get to open the wax to reveal my Precious to the world. A small slice is cut off, and my husband and I tentatively take a nibble – even after doing this for years we still fear food poisoning from leaving a dairy product on the pantry shelf for a year. The nibble becomes a bite and the worried looks turn into nods of pleasure as we both cut off another chunk. The Precious is a success. And pretty damn delicious.
by Tammie Painter
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Music, Car Keys, and Slow Dancing by Janey Womeldorf
It had never happened in 23 years of marriage. My husband and I were at the afternoon matinee, (too tight and too old to stay awake for the evening movie) and at the end of the film during the credits, they played Herb Alpert singing his romantic classic, “This Guy’s in Love with You.” I’m not sure if it was the dark cinema, the romance of the movie or simply the power of beautiful music, but his voice and those lyrics ignited such an overwhelming whoosh of love and affection in us that we stood up, and as everybody else streamed out of the cinema, we slow danced until the last audible note. Herb Alpert recorded that song in 1968. I can’t remember what I had for dinner three days ago, but I remember the words to a song I’ve not heard in over two decades. How can that be? Ironically, this miracle of memory occurred the same week I searched an hour and a half for my car keys. I got up in the morning, made my tea to go, opened the catch-all kitchen drawer where everything homeless, including the car keys, lives, and they were not there. Stumped, I searched the car, garage, everywhere in between and rechecked the ignition so many times, even I was embarrassed. I found shriveled souvenirs of our life under the driver’s side seat but alas no keys. At one point, I even mentally retraced the stops I had made out driving the day before in case I had left the car keys en route somewhere; thus sealing the word “Duh” forever into my aging vocabulary. After 90 wasted minutes, I had no choice but to don the yellow gloves and go dumpster diving in my kitchen. Sure enough, there they were in the bottom of my trash can, wet and sticky from the previous night’s casserole scrapings. I could offer my husband no explanation just clueless guilt. Admittedly, music cannot reverse the absent mindedness of aging, but its powerful magic is indisputable. Music is as therapeutic to me as the television is to some, and when I walk in the door at night, the tunes go on before even the bra comes off – and few things top that level of relief urgency. Forced to choose, I would still prioritize soothed ears over relieved appendages any day. The reality is music burrows itself so deep into our psyche, we don’t even realize it’s there. If someone had asked me to sing “This Guys in Love with You,” I’d have been clueless. But play it, and the words flow out of me like I sang it yesterday. Not only can music inspire a how-come-I-know-all-thewords-to-this-song miracle, but it can zoom you back to a specific moment or person in a heartbeat. At our parent’s 50th wedding-anniversary celebration, the evening ended with a photographic slideshow of their life; accompanied by Van Morrison singing his hit, “Someone Like You.” Watching the love, struggles and joys of a 50-year marriage unfold on a screen, sound-tracked to the line “Someone like you makes it all worthwhile,” and tears are guaranteed. I think we were all sniffling.
My first musical attachment was to Elvis’ hit “In the Ghetto.” When I hear it, I am seven years old again, eagerly lifting the wooden lid to our fourfoot-long chest stereo. I would pull out the record, sit cross-legged on the floor, and play it over and over until I knew every word. Each time the track finished, I would delicately lift the needle replacing it back in the well-worn groove. Forty years later, not only does “In the Ghetto” remain my favorite Elvis track, but I can still recite every word. When I first fell in love (which at thirteen you do without even dating), I ached along with Art Garfunkel. As he sang in his romantic classic, “I Only Have Eyes for You,” I also didn’t know if I was in a garden or on a crowded avenue, but I did know I was alone in my bedroom on a Saturday night, love struck, pining anonymously for my true love. When the relationship ended five days later, I grieved to the heady sounds of Pink Floyd and Alan Parsons in darkness. At 16, I dated Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.” At 21, Gloria Gaynor convinced me “I could survive.” At 23, I fell in love with my future husband dancing to Glenn Miller. Neither of us could dance, but Glenn made us believe we could. Two years later, we danced at our wedding to “The Time of My Life” (Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes) from the movie Dirty Dancing. I was tempted to dive off the stage into my husband’s arms at the end of the song, but unlike in the movie, my dad was not a doctor. He was, however, a printer which is great for free invitations but disastrous for the new bride who just crashed face first onto the floor. Six years later and unemployed, we sold our house and, homeless and jobless, travelled the country for eight months in a motor home. We cut each other’s hair while singing “Even though we ain’t got money” (Kenny Loggins). Thankfully, life blessed us over the decades that followed, and nowadays, our hair is sharper and we have a new song: Leon Russell’s “A Song for You” – it may be the most powerful of them all. Whenever we hear it, life stops. There is one line in that song – “I’ll love you in a place where there’s no space and time” – that when my husband whispers it to me, 25 years of his devotion and love surge through me with such intensity, it makes me giddy. Even after all these years, he still rocks my world, and I am forever grateful he loves me the way he does. I am even more grateful, however, that he never emptied the trash last Tuesday.
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Meet Carolyn Pittman
Lovely, elegant Carolyn Pittman, Executive Director of the Long Bay Symphony which is celebrating its 25th season, moved to our area in the early 1970s. Her college major was marketing with a minor in music, but Carolyn’s career has taken several twists and turns through the years, each position challenging her creative mind and eventually leading her to work with the Symphony – which is truly a labor of love. Carolyn, please tell us a little about yourself – I know your career has been interesting! Well, I went to work with the Myrtle Beach Chamber of Commerce when I first came to Myrtle Beach. Later, after the (then) new Myrtle Square Mall opened, I went to work for Belk, first in personnel, then as fashion director and designer buyer. It was fun – I went to New York on buying trips six times a year! After I left Belk, I opened a ladies clothing store, an eclectic boutique of fun clothes and accessories. It was sort of a mini-department store, with clothes, jewelry, shoes – a little bit of everything. At that time, everyone “dressed for success,” and I tried to offer affordable clothes for working women; it merged into more fun clothes because of our beach environment. A few years later, I opened another store selling resort wear in the Litchfield Exchange, which I later moved to Kingston Plantation. I finally closed my shop and worked in merchandising for Legends Golf Group and then Fantasy Harbour. From there, I took a position with Brookgreen Gardens as Vice President for Visitor Services and Retail. Finally, I went to work for Luis Palau, an evangelist. This was more than just a job; it was a passion of mine, something I’d always wanted to do. When we held BeachFest 2002, over 85 thousand people attended! We planned to do something similar in Charleston, but it was much more difficult to raise money there. My husband, Ben, is an entrepreneur and has always had his own businesses, and for a time I did his accounting and managed the book store at my church, All Saints, in Pawleys Island. Ben and I met and married in the early 1990s. I had been divorced for many years and didn’t have any children. We don’t have any children together, but Ben has a son, and we now have twin 3 1/2 year old granddaughters that we adore. Five years ago, someone called and asked if I was interested in working for the Symphony; they were looking for a Development and Marketing Director. Last year, the Executive Director retired, and I took over. I love it! I feel like my work with the Symphony is a part of God’s plan – I started out majoring in marketing and music and have come full circle. I’m using everything I learned in college in the later years of my career. Faith is a huge part of my life and when this opportunity presented itself, I really prayed about it. I wanted to make sure I was going in the right direction, where He wanted me to go.
What’s new with Long Bay Symphony this season? For our 25th Anniversary season, we’ve added two pops concerts in addition to our four classical concerts. On October 20th, the Symphony will be playing with The Association – you remember the song “Cherish?” We’re trying to reach a wider audience. I think it’s important to play music people want to hear. The Boston Pops say they are a symphony for people who don’t think they like the symphony! In addition to that, we’ll present Disney in Concert on June 23rd – wonderful songs that everyone could sing along with. Our season is filled with great concerts. Please visit the website or give us a call and find out more. We perform in the Myrtle Beach High School Performing Arts Center. I don’t think people realize that this venue has great acoustics and is a beautiful auditorium – it was actually built by the City of Myrtle Beach for performing arts. People come to our concerts for the first time and leave saying they had no idea our small community had this type of symphony. Most feel it’s just as good as wherever they are from! The level of professionalism is amazing. Long Bay Symphony started as a community orchestra with volunteers, but over the years has become a professional symphony. Maestro Charles Jones Evans has been with the symphony for 17 years and has brought it to a new level of professionalism. I think our educational programs are often overlooked as well. The Long Bay Youth Orchestra was founded in 1990 and has from 50-55 young musicians performing in three big concerts every year. Our musicians also go into the schools, bringing small ensembles into the classrooms, giving students a chance to see the instruments up close and to hear a professional orchestra. How can readers find out more about the Symphony and your schedule? Visit us online at www.longbaysymphony.com or call me at 843-448-8379.
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PIFMA’s Wearable Art Luncheon sponsored by Sasee Magazine
Where: Tommy Bahama Restaurant at The Market Common When: Thursday, September 27, 2012 Time: 11:30-1:30 Wearable Art & Unique Items Silent Auction Strolling Fashion Show & Lunch Cost: $30 This second 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 benefit the Kathryn Bryan Metts Scholarship and the Pawleys Island Festival of Music and Art. Purchase tickets by calling 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com
Artsy, at Last
by Diane DeVaughn Stokes
inger painting: I loved it in kindergarten, even more than lunchtime, and for me, who loves to eat, that’s saying something. And throughout the years, I always felt there was an artist in me trying to burst out, but I never had the time to open the door.
Sadly, I attended a Catholic school that did not offer many courses outside the traditional reading, writing and arithmetic, so I finished all my education, including college, without a single art class, except for art appreciation, the study of the masters. But how can you appreciate the really good stuff until you’ve tried it yourself? It looks so easy. I remember looking at some of the “greats” and saying, “What’s so great about that?” Picasso? Yuck. Certainly, his work looked juvenile and warped in every sense of the word. Oh yeah, I have been described as “artsy” over the years. I made posters for the football team as a cheerleader, served on the decoration committee for the prom, helped in the design of the yearbook in college, did macramé and decoupage till I was blue in the face, but never lifted a paintbrush.
I’ve crocheted about twelve afghans, made one quilt, done some decent floral designs with fresh cut flowers, stenciled some lilacs on a wall in the loft and created some nifty wall hangings using seashells. And in 1994, while I was home recuperating from my hysterectomy, I designed some of the most gorgeous Easter eggs, blowing out the liquid, covering them with bits of colored tissue paper, egg dye and sparkles. I called them “HysterEGGtomies,” and they still adorn my table every spring. So yes, I am creative. But I never felt “artsy.” In my career as a TV and Radio Host, I have interviewed thousands of artists, founded the local Arts Council and currently chair the City of Myrtle Beach Cultural Arts Committee. Therefore, the drive to get artsy and
paint has become stronger, but other than painting the walls in my home, I still did nothing to pursue it. In the early eighties, my husband bought me some watercolor paint and brushes, and I admit spending a couple of days “splatting” paint on paper, as I like to say. A dribble here, a dribble there, interesting eclectic designs, but what I realized was that I could not draw – not one bit, nada. Not only had I never had an art class, I had never learned to draw – duh! So, I decided to stick to what I was good at, and spend my spare time writing, eating, talking, cooking, eating, talking, oh did I mention eating? I mean if you are going to spend your free time doing something, you want to feel good about it, right? So the watercolors dried up. This past December, a fifty percent off coupon to a local art store was calling my name. Calling, nothing; it was screaming like Linda Blair in The Exorcist, so I took a deep breath and headed to the oil painting aisle of the store, as advised by a dear friend of mine who is an artist. He said oils were easier than watercolors. So I bought one of those kits complete with a DVD outlining every single step. It was a Christmas present to me, and what fun I had trying to mimic the video instructor as I painted a tree, a mountain, a stream, clouds and even a boat. I found myself giggling out loud at times and stepping back from the 8x10 canvas to see the magic I had created. Wow, I was finally painting. I decided that 2012 was going to be my “year of art,” so I signed up, quickly before I backed out, for twelve oil painting classes through the OLLI program at Coastal Carolina University. Wouldn’t you know that everyone in the class, except me, had tons of experience and were all there to brush up on their skills. But I stood tall and tried hard not to let that intimidate me. Danny McLaughlin, our wonderful instructor, together with the other students, encouraged me and supported my basic efforts every step of the way. Danny said you don’t have to be able to draw, you just had to be able to look at a photo and transfer the shapes to your canvas. He then introduced us to some of the tricks of the trade. My first painting was another mountain scene from a photo my husband took while we visited Ireland. Since mountains were the only things I had ever painted, thanks to the purchased DVD, it gave me a little confidence to paint something familiar. I struggled with every single brush stoke, but soon realized it was just paint, and I could re-paint over it if I did not like it. I began to relax. I started to enjoy it. The bothers and frustrations of the outside world disappeared. I was consumed. And even though it took six classes to finish it, my husband recognized it as that magical place we once experienced on our Ireland vacation. He loved it, and bragged that it was a wonderful first attempt, so I framed it for him to hang in his office. Serves him right for fibbing! During the last six sessions, we were told to paint things that we loved, because in doing so, we would produce our very best work. I love my husband, my cats, my nieces and nephews, but I knew that I could never paint their beautiful faces and do any of them justice. I stressed, big time, about what I should paint. I was overwhelmed. Well, the bottom line is this. I’ll surely never be featured in a museum, and no one will ever want to buy my work, but my bouquet of red tulips and my Caribbean beach scene, complete with a lovely palm tree, both now hang in the kitchen, reminding me how I braved the elements, without fear, to join a class of successful artists. Okay, I’ve got to admit, there was a ton of fear. Let’s edit that to remind me of how I conquered my fear to pursue a passion that was ignited while finger painting fifty-five years ago, realizing it’s never too late. Finally, I feel “artsy” and proud.
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Saundra Chapman Saundra Chapman, owner of Elegantz in North Myrtle Beach, is looking forward to fall activities. “I can’t wait to go to the Wooden Boat show in Georgetown,” she began. “They are all made by very talented wood crafters and range from elegant to sporty. My boyfriend and I also enjoy kayaking on the Waccamaw River during the fall and winter months, where the beauty surrounds us, and we can breathe in Mother Nature at its finest.” This fun-loving business owner expresses her creativity in a number of ways – she loves dancing to her favorite tunes at the shag clubs in North Myrtle Beach, but says she enjoys all types of music, especially while driving, either playing her favorite CDs or listening to the radio. Saundra went on to say, “I am crafty to a degree – I love to paint flower pots. I used to paint and sell them to the local nurseries. I also love to cook and bake and wear gorgeous clothes. My passion is to build beautiful wooden boats from scratch.” Owning Elegantz gives Saundra another way to express her creativity. “I enjoy talking to the people that visit my store and helping them in any way possible to enhance their style. Interacting with local artisans is amazing, as they are so creative and talented; each one in a unique way. I work with a few that create amazing wearable art, such as scarves and jewelry. And going to the market to choose what to put in the store is exhilarating. This is my dream that has come true in a big way!” Recently back from a trip to market in Atlanta, Saundra is thrilled with her choices, saying, “I found some exciting colors and one-of-a-kind designs. I have eclectic taste, so there will be a variety of styles for the young and the young at heart.”
Elegantz, 409 Hwy. 17S. Suite 2, North Myrtle Beach 843-281-6402
Kim McCabe Fall means football and Kim McCabe, Manager of Palmetto Paint and Design Center in Georgetown, is looking forward to cheering on her favorite team – the Gamecocks. “I enjoy football, fresh local oysters, bonfires and the great friends that come with them. Cooler weather means boots and scarves, lower humidity, and my hair looks a lot better,” she said laughing. Kim loves a variety of musical genres, enjoys listening in the car and said, “I love to have the house to myself to listen to music and clean. It makes cleaning a lot more fun.” Cake decorating sparks Kim’s creative side. “I do them for my friends and their friends. However, I won’t do a wedding cake. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a blemish on someone’s wedding day.” Passionate about her career, Kim said, “While I do not own Palmetto Paint and Design Center, it is mine in every other sense. I think that if you want to be successful in any job you have to treat the business as your own. I fell into this line of work about eight years ago, and it is a great fit for me. I really love it when someone comes in and tells me how happy they are with their paint colors. It is important to me for people to feel special when they leave here – because they are special! I am fortunate that I work for people who embrace my thoughts, thank me for my time and effort, and help me where I fall short.” Kim went on to talk about the latest color trends – as big in the paint industry as they are in the fashion industry. “We have a new color collection called Color Stories that is a great addition to our Classic, Color Preview and Affinity Color collections. As always, we have the best and newest products developed by Benjamin Moore!”
Palmetto Paint & Design Center, 407 St. James Street, Georgetown, 843-527-7870 www.palmettopaintdesign.com
Amber Dendy Amber Dendy, owner of Nitty Gritty Nursery, enjoys listening to all kinds of music, and said, “I love music...it is food for the soul. Most of what I listen to probably came out before I was even born. I’m a big fan of classic rock (late ’60s - early ’70s), anything with blues or soul and reggae.” When asked how she expresses her creativity, Amber laughed, saying, “Let’s just say my creative brain is always in the driver’s seat. Most of the time that’s a good thing, but there is not enough time in a day for all of my ideas. I am told by loved ones that it makes me a little scattered!” Owning a nursery is Amber’s dream come true. She says the best part is “getting paid to play in the dirt. I know that whatever I put in, is going to reflect what comes out. Not only am I doing what I love, but I get to put my own creative passion behind it.” Amber and her partner in life and in business, Joel Smith, started the nursery together. “You may not see him there watering or playing with dirt, but his blood, sweat and tears helped the nursery go vertical. We are very fortunate to have wonderful families that helped us all along the way!” “We are excited about the upcoming fall season,” Amber began. “Cooler temperatures allow people to enjoy their yards again. Not only is fall the time to add cooler season annuals and perennials, but it is one of the best times for planting shrubs and trees! We will also have many varieties of fall veggie plants (specialty and heirloom as well as traditional), cool season herbs, and a large variety of heirloom pumpkins, gourds and jack-o’-lanterns for fall decorating.”
Nitty Gritty Nursery & Edible Garden, 3791 Old Kings Hwy., Murrells Inlet, 843-651-0689 www.facebook.com/NittyGrittyNurseryEdibleGarden
BUSINESS Billie Caswell & Kirsten Gilliam
September brings the end of the summer season, if not the end of the warm weather, and Billie Caswell, owner of Four Seasons Interiors in Myrtle Beach, said she is looking forward to wearing fall clothes, one of her favorite things about the changing season. When asked about her musical tastes, Billie said, “I enjoy music and listen mostly in the morning when my alarm clock plays Easy Radio and driving in my car from appointment to appointment.” “My entire business revolves around my creativity,” Billie began, when asked about her artsy side. “I work hard to create not only beautiful spaces, but to bring in fresh and unique design concepts that suit my clients’ needs and desires. Personally, I also love working in my garden and delivering my friends freshly arranged flowers.” Owning a design business is a dream come true for Billie. “Two of the best parts of owning Four Seasons are the satisfaction of making my clients happy over and over, and the pride and friendships that have come along with growing the business for over 30 years,” she said. “My first career was being a mother to my two boys, but interior design was a passion of mine from an early age. As the seasons change there is always an influx of new furniture from market, new fabric patterns and much more to incorporate into our design projects. Carrying on with my passion for beautiful things comes a love for clothes, which has led me to my most recent venture of selling Carlisle and Perse Clothing Collections during quarterly trunk shows; the next one is this month, from the 11th-19th.” Billie is also excited to welcome Kirsten Gilliam, her new design associate who joined her in April. “She is an absolute asset to the business and our clients are thrilled to have her involved in their projects.”
Four Seasons Interiors, 7730 N. Kings Hwy., Myrtle Beach, 843-449-5330
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Learn to paint in a fun and friendly atmosphere. In just two hours, you take home your own masterpiece.
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Not My Grandmotherâ€™s Hands by Kim Seeley
I grew up totally in awe of my grandmother’s hands. They were never still. I would watch her fingers moving nimbly through pink or blue yarn, crochet hooks working smoothly, whenever a new baby was expected in the family. I looked on with fascination as the knitting needles clicked rhythmically while Grandma watched her “stories” on TV, never dropping a stitch, but never missing a comment from Doctor Steve Hardy or Nurse Audrey.
When I was a young child, Grandma crocheted doll clothes for all of her granddaughters’ Barbies. It was such fun to have friends over to play Barbies, and I would dress mine in fashions my friends had never seen in a store. My grandmother made Barbie a crocheted bikini long before the fashion designers made them popular. My Grandma was the bomb. During the ’60s, when I was a teenager, Grandma’s skills were tested on the latest fashions. I longed for a mini-dress, but many of them in the stores were too short to meet my father’s standards. Grandma whipped out her Singer Golden Touch-and-Sew and created beautiful dresses, short enough to be stylish, but long enough to pass muster with my dad. When I was in college, I still wore Grandma’s dresses to the naval shipyard where I worked in the summers. I was invited to a spring dance at Virginia Tech during my junior year, and I sadly conveyed to my grandma that I had “nothing to wear.” Once again, Grandma came to my rescue. She made me a lovely long floral dress, quite in keeping with the fashions, and I went to the dance in style. There was really only one time in my life when I wished my grandmother was not quite so talented. My father insisted that I take home economics during the eighth grade, even though I remonstrated that I needed to take French in order to keep up with my classmates. “Every girl needs to be able to cook and sew a little,” my father emphatically stated. Reluctantly, I signed up for home ec. The very first day of class, the home ec teacher noticed my last name, “Haywood? Is your grandmother Alethia Sexton?” I nodded, thinking to myself that this could be in my favor; perhaps she and Grandma were friends. “I’m looking forward to your work,” my teacher said, “I know your grandmother is a skilled seamstress, and we shall see how you measure up.” My heart sank. I knew right then how well I would measure up. My grandmother had already tried and failed to teach me to sew. She had attempted to teach me to knit and to crochet. I had gamely held the needles, wrapped the yarn around, and plied away, to no avail. I didn’t have my grandmother’s hands. My hands were awkward, the rhythm and coordination were not there; all the practice in the world was not going to make a difference. Eventually, my grandmother had given up and left me to my books, wisely sensing that I was happier reading and studying than I was knitting and purling. Home economics was every bit as bad as I had expected. I hated entering the door of the department, and I hated every second I spent there. We started with basic cooking, table-setting and manners; I read the book, passed the tests and managed to avoid burning the kitchen down. I envied my friends who were in French that period; I could be spending my time in the language lab instead of a kitchen. I was miserable. Then just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Mrs. Leete, the home ec teacher, announced, “Monday, we will begin the sewing unit. Here is a list of supplies you need to bring to class.” I realized that I would be entering an inner circle of hell; there was no hiding behind a book when you are seated at a sewing machine. Grandma gave me all the supplies I needed,
but on Monday morning, what I really needed was my grandma’s hands. We began by threading the machine. Most of the girls managed beautifully, and Mrs. Leete went by and praised each one. Then she came to my side and said, “What seems to be the problem?” I wanted to reply that the problem was my father made me take this class, I didn’t have my grandmother’s hands, and I wanted to be in French instead, but I merely replied, “I can’t get the thread to go into the needle.” Mrs. Leete moistened her fingers, dampening the thread and deftly slipped it through the needle. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Of course it wasn’t hard for her. Unfortunately, everything about sewing was hard for me. I still have my stitching booklet, with the big “D” on the front, with every single stitch marked and criticized. One of my worst days in high school was the day I had to wear the dress I had made to school. Horrors! I had tracing paper marks under the arms, the hem was pitiful, and throughout the process, I had also been forced to endure Mrs. Leete’s comments, “Are you sure you are Alethia’s granddaughter?” My grandmother did everything she could to help me. One of our projects was a take-home project, and my grandmother showed me how to make a pretty design on table linens. I don’t remember the name of the process, but I remember sticking the thread through a certain number of loops and counting each stitch. That scarf is still one of my prized possessions, something my grandmother and I made together. I eventually survived the year of home economics, even though I made a “C” one six weeks. I blamed my father for ruining my grade point average and my foreign language schedule; he was more upset that I didn’t learn how to sew and cook any better than I did. My senior year, all of the girls who ever took home economics were required to undergo a standardized test. As a result of this test, I was named the Betty Crocker “Homemaker of Tomorrow” at my senior awards assembly. I don’t know who laughed harder, my friends or my family. I simply said, “It was a standardized test. They didn’t ask me to sew or cook anything.” Throughout my adult life, my grandmother continued to sew, knit and crochet. I would take my daughters down to visit her on the Currituck Sound, and she still spent her afternoons watching “General Hospital” with hands filled with yarn and needles. She made each new grandchild and greatgrandchild a personalized afghan. When Grandma became too ill to knit and crochet, my aunt helped her make one last Christmas gift for the granddaughters. Each of us received an apron, handmade by Grandma and Auntie. They were the final gifts before my grandmother’s hands were stilled by death. Grandma is gone, but the afghans and aprons remain, reminders of a grandmother’s love and dedication. My hands are not my grandmother’s hands. To this day, I cannot sew, knit or crochet, nor do I have any desire to do so. My hands teach, write on a blackboard, play the piano and type on a computer. And, awkward as they are, my hands can help share the story of my grandmother, whose hands sewed love into material and knitted a family to remember her always.
Accents by Carol . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
CHD Interiors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Elegantz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Homespun Crafters Mall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Barbara’s Fine Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Coastal Dance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
En Facé . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Hopeologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Barefoot Cottage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Coccadotts Cake Shop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Floorz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Indo Thai . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Breathe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
CRH Interior Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Grady’s Jewelers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Inlet Queens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Bright Blue Sea Bookshelf . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
David E. Grabeman, D.D.S., P.A. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Grand Strand Homewatch Caregivers . . . . . . . . . 36
The Kangaroo Pouch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Brookgreen Gardens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Dickens Christmas Show & Festivals . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Grand Strand Plastic Surgery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Katie’s Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Burroughs & Chapin Art Museum . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Elderberry Salon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Hannah B’s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Long Bay Symphony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Cabana Gauze . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Eleanor Pitts Fine Gifts & Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Healthpoint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
The Market Common . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
gently used c h i l d r e n ’s
Books for the
BRIGHT BLUE SEA
BOOKSHELF Books will go on blue bookshelves in the community, available free for families to select and keep.
Original art by Charlie Pate and Charles Pate, Jr.
The Bright Blue Sea Bookshelf is a Voices for Children project designed to create a culture of literacy in our community.
13089 Ocean Highway, Pawleys Island, SC 843-619-7283 Gallery.Pate@gmail.com Tuesday-Friday: 10:00 am-5:00 pm • Saturday: 10:00 am-4:00 pm
For more information, please call Ann Harris at 843-318-1732 McLeod Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art . . . . . . . . . 29
Sassyfras . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Take Shape for Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Miller-Motte Myrtle Beach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art . . . . . . . . . 31
Scents Unlimited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Taz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Miss Master . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art . . . . . . . . . 43
Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Too Qt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Nitty Gritty Nursery & Edible Garden . . . . . . . . . . 13
The Pink Cabana . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Simply Sophia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Victoria’s Ragpatch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Palm Shoes & Collections . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Pounds Away . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Social Garden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
WEZV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Palmetto Paint & Design Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Purpleologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Southern Living Showcase Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Wine and Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Palmetto Ace Home Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Revive Your Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Studio 77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Pate Gallery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Rice Paddy Restaurant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Sunset River Marketplace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art . . . . . . . . . 27
Rose Arbor Fabrics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Take 2 Resale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Visit www.sasee.com for a full calendar and more Sasee events!
Atalaya Arts and Crafts Festival, Huntington Beach State Park, Daily fee is $6, multi-day pass is $10. For more info, call 843-237-4440.
9th Annual Irish Italian Festival, 10 am-4 pm, Main Street, North Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-281-3737 or visit www.nmbevents.com.
Southern Living Showcase Home, open Mon.-Sat. 10 am-6 pm, Sun. 1-6 pm, 7464 Catena Lane, Myrtle Beach. For more info, visit them on Facebook or call 843-839-0537.
Chocolate Sunday, to benefit Georgetown Cultural Council, 3-5 pm, Keith House Inn, 1012 Front St., Georgetown, $50 per person. Desserts and hors dâ€™oeuvres, youth performers, silent auction, beer and wine bars, and Chocolate Martini Bar. For more info, visit www.culturalcouncil.info or call 843-520-0744.
Myrtle Beach Greek Festival, Thurs. 11 am-9 pm, Fri. & Sat. 11 am-10 pm, Sun. noon-7 pm, St John the Baptist Greek Orthodox Church, 3301 33rd Avenue N., Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-448-3773.
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art Gallery Crawl, 2-6 pm, free. Tour various galleries from Murrells Inlet to Georgetown. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.
SOS Fall Migration, various events, Main St., North Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-281-2662 or visit www.nmbevents.com.
Georgetown Rocks the Equinox, music festival to benefit Tara Hall Home for Boys, 2-11 pm, Front St., Georgetown. Free admission & parking, 11 bands, two stages. For more info, visit www.georgetownbandfest.com.
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art Independent Films, 3 & 7 pm showings, Tara Theatre, Litchfield Golf & Beach Resort, free. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.
33rd Annual Aynor Harvest Hoe Down Festival, Aynor Town Park, Antique tractors, arts & crafts, entertainment, food, parade, free dance at 7 pm. For more info, call 843-358-1074.
Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art Wearable Art Luncheon, 11 am-1:30 pm, Tommy Bahama Restaurant at Market Common, $30. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.
13th Annual Pawleys Island Wine Gala, 7 pm, The Reserve Golf Club of Pawleys Island, $100. Sample wines from more than 80 renowned wineries, enjoy delicious hors dâ€™oeuvres and live entertainment. Wines will also be available for purchase below retail. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.
Legends of Motown starring Horizon
2012-2013 25th Anniversary Symphony Series Season Tickets On Sale Now With such hits as: Cherish #1, Windy #1, Never My Love #2, Along Comes Mary #7
Thinking Forward. Looking Back.
To celebrate the 25th Sympho ny Series we are offering
FOR TICKETS CALL: TICKETS ALSO AVAILABLE ONLINE AT:
Three Amazing Performers
The Legends of Motown & More is no ordinary “motown” show. Handpicked for their voices, their dancing ability, their humor, their likeability, Horizon is a perfectly polished theatrical ensemble, complete with costuming and a world class instrumental ensemble.
for NEW Season Ticket Subscribers.
Special “Fun”raising Concert The Association Performing live with The Long Bay Symphony Pops
October 20, 2012 | Myrtle Beach, SC
Saturday, October 13 • 7:00 pm The Reserve Golf Club of Pawleys Island
Tabled Event $35 Reserved, $25 General Sponsored by Croissants Bistro & Bakery, The Market Common and Grand Strand Magazine.
Visit www.pawleysmusic.com or call 843-626-8911 for tickets
7464 Catena Lane, Myrtle Beach, SC
August 31 - September 23 | November 1 - November 18
10:00 am - 6 pm daily; 1:00 pm - 6 pm Sunday $5 per person, tax deductible donation*
From the moment you walk in, you will recognize the style and beauty of the Verona; a style deﬁned by detail. With the essence of a Tuscan estate, its open ﬂoor plan and timeless, classic interior are the perfect integration of architecture and interior design; a design that has earned the distinction as a Southern Living Showcase Home. Visit us on Facebook to learn more about our products and sponsors and keep abreast of daily events. *Your $5 tour donation beneﬁts our non-proﬁt partners: Hope House of Myrtle Beach and Coastal Animal Rescue. Our Showcase Designers
Proud to be a Sponsor
Flowers on Broadway