Sasee September 2013

September 2013 Priceless www.sasee.com

We do not need magic to transform our world.

We carry all the power we need inside ourselves already. We have the power to imagine

better.

– J.K. Rowling

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featured articles

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September 2013 Volume 12, Issue 9

who’s who

Finally Dancing

Publisher Delores Blount Sales & Marketing Director Susan Bryant Editor Leslie Moore Editorial Intern Rebecca Johnson Account Executives Amanda Kennedy-Colie Erica Schneider Gay Stackhouse 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 Sioux Roslowski

Submit It and Forget It

by Melissa Face

Peaches Goes on Catkins

by Felice Prager

Southern Snaps

by Connie Barnard

A Word to the Wiser

by Ferida Wolff

Dance Lessons

by Rose Ann Sinay

Fresh Paint

by Tammy Ruggles

The Music in My Head

by Kim Seeley

Bosom Buddies

by Diane DeVaughn Stokes

The Amazing Invisible Mom

by Diane Stark

PO Box 1389 Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 www.sasee.com • info@sasee.com

I n T h is I ssue 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, visit sasee.com. 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.

12 24 36 42

Copyright © 2013. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any material, in part or in whole, prepared by Strand Media Group, Inc. and appearing within this publication is strictly prohibited. Title “Sasee” is registered with the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office.

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contributing writers letter from the editor We’ve all heard and read about the power of positive thinking and how powerful our thoughts and imagination are in creating our lives. I read a facinating book this month about just that subject, and I wanted to share it with all of you as Sasee focuses on “Imagination” this month. The book, E-Squared: Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments That Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality, by Pam Grout, gives the reader nine easy experiments that prove, in a very scientific way, the way our thoughts influence outer circumstances. The writer is witty, smart and very matter of fact about a subject that’s often hard to understand and confusing. I did all the experiments with interesting results. One was to focus your thoughts on seeing yellow butterflies the next day – sounds silly I know, but I did it. The next day as I drove into my driveway after work, a small group of yellow butterflies was flitting around my flower bed (the one that has nothing but weeds in it).

Coincidence? Maybe, but I didn’t see any more butterflies that week. If you decide to read this book, let me know how you do!

If you enjoy art, good company and a delicious meal, please join us at Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art’s Wearable Art Luncheon this month, on the 19th, at Tommy Bahama in The Market Common. For $30 each, you and your friends will be treated to a delicious lunch, fashion show and the chance to bid on some unique and beautiful wearable art items. All of the proceeds benefit Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art and the Kathryn Bryan Metts Scholarship for visual arts students. Two CCU students have been selected to receive this year’s award, and you might get to meet them at the luncheon!

cover artist Lowcountry Sunday Teas, by Rachel Jones Rachel Jones is an “independent study” painter living in Horry County. Her earliest artistic memories are of afternoons sitting at the kitchen table drawing while her father was either working on blueprints or cutting out clothing patterns. Rachel began working as an artist’s model to be surrounded by and glean as much information as possible from working artists and began painting in earnest while living in the English countryside.

Rachel paints mainly female figures that are often fanciful, comedic or dramatic. What a photographer would do with a camera, she tries to do with paints – to capture “that” moment when a look can say anything or everything depending on the viewer. For more information, to keep up with new works or to discuss commissions, please contact the artist via her blog, http://racheljonesandart.blogspot.com or email wherewordscollide@ gmail.com.

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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.

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 writermsface@yahoo.com.

Rebecca Johnson is, at the moment, an editorial intern and an ice cream scooper. She is a student at the South Carolina Honors College at USC studying journalism and international relations. She enjoys hot tea, South Carolina football, a good hike and a great quote.

Some day, she hopes to say she is a designer, photographer, writer and journalist. But above all, she is a hopeless wanderer.

Felice Prager is a freelance writer and an educational therapist from Scottsdale, AZ. She is the author of five books: Waiting in the Wrong Line, Negotiable and Non-Negotiable Negotiations, TurboCharge Your Brain, SuperTurboCharge Your Brain, and Quiz It: ARIZONA. Her essays have been published locally, nationally, and internationally. www.WriteFunny.com Sioux Roslawski is a 3rd grade teacher and writer in St. Louis. A member of the infamous writing critique group, the WWWPs, she is a contributor to several Chicken Soup for the Soul books as well as the Not Your Mother’s Book series. Further musings can be found at siouxspage.blogspot.com.

Tammy Ruggles is a legally blind freelance writer and finger painter who lives in Kentucky. She enjoys cooking, audiobooks and spending time with family and friends.

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.

Rose Ann Sinay lives in North Carolina with her husband and dog where she spends her time writing. Her children graciously continue to provide her with moments worth preserving.

Diane Stark is a former teacher turned stay-at-home mom and freelance writer. Her work has been published in 16 Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies, A Cup of Comfort for Christian Women and dozens of magazines. She loves to write about the important things in life: her family and her faith. She can be reached at DianeStark19@yahoo.com.

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 performs in local theater and loves to travel with her husband, Chuck. You can reach her at diane@ stagesvideo.com.

Ferida Wolff is author of 17 books for children and three essay books for adults; the latest is Missed Perceptions: Challenge Your Thoughts Change Your Thinking from Pranava Books. Wolff is a frequent contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. Her website is www.feridawolff.com, and she can be reached at feridawolff@msn.com.

september

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2013

Performance Schedule Unless otherwise noted, all events held at The Reserve Golf Club of Pawleys Island

2 0 t h

A 501 (c) (3) non-profit organization

A N N I V E R S A R Y

PIFMA’s Wearable Art Luncheon Thursday, September 19 • 11:00 am-1:30 pm • $30 Tommy Bahama Restaurant @ The Market Common

4th Annual Chalk Walk

Saturday, September 28 • 10:00 am-5:00 pm Sunday, September 29 Viewing only • Free admission both days Atalaya Arts & Craft Festival, Huntington Beach State Park

14th Annual Pawleys Island Wine Gala Friday, October 4 • 7:00 pm • $85, beginning Sept. 1 $100

Marilyn McCoo & Billy Davis, Jr. Originally of The 5th Dimension Saturday, October 5 • 7:00 pm • $75 / $35 / $25

Seaside Palette – en Plein Air

Saturday, October 5 • 10:00 am-4:00 pm Various locations from Murrells Inlet to Georgetown

Teach My People Collaborative Fundraiser Featuring

Elise Testone

Sunday, October 6 • 6:00 pm • $40 / $25 Children 12 & under – Free

Emile Pandolfi

Wednesday, October 9 • 7:00 pm • $35 / $25

Vivace

Thursday, October 10 • 7:00pm • $25 Children 18 & under – Free

Mac Arnold

Friday, October 11 7:00 pm • $50 / $35 / $25

Movin’ Out Band The Tabled Event Saturday, October 12 7:00pm • $35 / $25 Reservations Required

Gulfstream Communications Bank of America • Big Tuna King Cadillac Buick GMC, Inc Bell Legal Group Lowcountry Companion Georgeanne Baroody & Wayne Byrd Marketing Strategies Blue Cross Blue Shield Murrells Inlet Seafood Coastal Outdoor Brittain Resorts, Myrtle Beach Hotels Grand Strand Happening

Next Media Radio Portofinos South Atlantic Bank Strand Media Group Suzanne Evans Coaching The Joggling Board

The Market Common Trip Smarter Waccamaw Community Foundation Wells Fargo Foundation WEZV 105.9 WPDE-TV 15

Tickets on sale now! Call 843-626-8911 or visit PawleysMusic.com

5

SAVE THE DATE for the th

annual

A NIGHT OF FASHION, FUN & the contest for the next MR. MYRTLE BEACH

$5 cover at the door · All proceeds go to Katie’s Project

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 14th 2013 @ broadway at the beach Doors at 5pm · Contest at 6pm

Visit us online at www.KatiesProject.org for ticket, sponsorship & volunteer information.

PRESENTED BY

Finally Dancing

by Sioux Roslowski

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t go to high school during the ’60s hippie era. If I had, I could have rhythmically swayed and leisurely twirled in a psychedelic haze. I would have been able to stand in place and wave my arms like I was making a slow motion snow angel. That I could have done. No, sadly, when I was in high school, disco reigned. And without an ounce of coordination and not a rhythmic bone in my body, I was doomed to sit on the sidelines and watch my friends hustle and bump and Saturday Night Fever their way across the dance floor.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love the music. I did. It pulsated through my veins, it transformed my mood and the myriad of layers – the thump of the percussion, the blare of the brass, the guitar riffs – it was like I was being bathed in the music. And yet I was too afraid to dance a single step.

Throughout high school and for most of my adult life, I danced, but only in my kitchen or my car. When a great song would come on the radio, and I was all by myself doing the dishes, in my unique, herky-jerky style, I danced across the tile floor. Driving to work, if an old disco or funk song came at me from out of the dashboard, my rear end bumped and shifted in my seat, my fingers tapped on the steering wheel to the beat and my shoulders would shake and twist.

When my daughter and later, my son, were toddlers, I loosened up my inhibitions enough to dance with my babies. I’d hoist them up, cradle their diapered bottom in one hand and cup my other hand across their back, and I’d waltz and dip them. We became one. I abandoned my concerns about my lack of gracefulness and surrendered to spontaneity because I adored my children and loved dancing with them.

As they grew, eventually marching band ruled our lives for four years. Then, I danced in the stands overlooking football fields. My son was a

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musician and the soloist for the marching band shows. Each time he stood in the middle of the field and blasted the first notes from his trumpet, I felt like he was playing the soundtrack for my life as a parent. The dozens of drums would start pounding out the beat and no matter how unsure of myself I felt about my ability to move to music, I was too filled with pride to not dance…a little. All those years of private music lessons, all the competitions and rehearsals and concerts – it all climaxed on those football fields and not even my clumsy arms and legs could be subdued when my son was performing.

For decades I had allowed my embarrassment to prevent me from loosening up…until my granddaughter came along.

Last Christmas I spent a week with my six-year old sweetheart. One afternoon she convinced her mother to put in one of her dancing video games.

The songs were from Disney movies. There was a different choreographed routine for each song and the object was to get points by following the routine as closely as possible. I was going to enjoy this…as I sat on the chair and watched Riley, her mom and her other grandma dance through the first number.

For the first number, that was fine. But then she skipped over to where I was sitting, grabbed my hands in hers and said, “Grammy, let’s dance.”

With those three words, my mortification melted – a little.

Reluctantly I stood up and hugged a corner of the living room. At first, I moved my arms as little as possible while my feet remained rooted in the carpeting. Soon, however, my granddaughter’s joy was contagious. As she moved frenetically through the choreography, her grin never left her face.

Shifting from a hip-hop routine to a line dance didn’t faze her in the least.

When she got too crazy with her kicks and one of her shoes flew off, she didn’t miss a beat. And I had to admit it – no one was paying too much attention to me because none of us were professional dancers. We were all having fun, sometimes tripping over our own feet, and laughing – laughing at ourselves and laughing with each other.

Hip hopping, be bopping and finally letting go…Why did I wait so long to let loose?

september

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Rebecca Says…

Read The Dog Stars,

by Peter Heller

by Rebecca Johnson 12 www.sasee.com

A flu pandemic swept the globe. Those that did not die from the outbreak succumbed to a blood disease that developed in the wake of the epidemic.

But Hig survived. His wife, his friends and his family are all gone, and the people that are left on the planet are wasted with disease and have quarantined themselves, or they are murderers, scared for their lives and just trying to survive.

Hig lives in an abandoned airplane hangar, a stronghold of sorts with plenty of food, water and firepower, and too much time to think about how things were before. With his only company being his dog Jasper and a time-hardened misanthrope, Hig takes every opportunity to fly the perimeter or go out to the mountains and into nature, to escape this reality. september

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He hopes for an end to this way of life, hopes for a future more like how life used to be.

When a radio transmission ghosts through his radio, it ignites the hope deep inside Hig that something better exists beyond his airport hangar. Risking everything, without fuel to get him home, Hig takes a chance past the point of no return; in search of he knows not what.

For this post-apocalyptic novel, the stream of consciousness narration perfectly communicates how desperate and lost Hig really is. A poetic narrator, his descriptions of the scathed landscape and he and his neighbor’s isolation makes you wish for a change for them, too.

Although I thought the novel was not as intense as I imagined it would be, it was still a very good story, and it made me think that the mundane things in life are not actually mundane.

Through Hig, Heller posed a more hopeful way to see life after cataclysm, but the thoughts that plagued Hig daily cast a darker shade and expressed how strong he had to be to keep his head and to keep his hope. Heller writes to help you appreciate the life that you have, the love that you feel, and the future that you look toward. september www.sasee.com 13

In July of 2009, I made my first real attempt at publication in a national magazine. I wrote an essay about my grandparents’ farm. I noted a bit about the property’s history, told a few family stories, and expressed my feelings about the farm. Then, I drove out to the property and photographed my father working on the 1952 International pickup and took a few shots of the hilltop farmhouse and the surrounding forests and fields.

Over the next few days, I prepared my piece for submission. I titled my essay, “Back Home Again.” I read and reread it. I revised, reworded, and reread some more.

Then, after I had practically memorized my piece, I sent it, and the accompanying photographs, to the editor.

Then I waited.

I waited and waited and waited.

I checked my email several times each day. I reread the writer’s guidelines to make sure I had done everything correctly. Did my essay meet the required word limit? I checked. It did. Had I sent them my phone number and my address? The website said that they could contact me either way. I checked; I had.

I obsessed about my essay for weeks. Then, while reading a book for writers, I came across a short little piece of advice.

The author suggested that writers use the “submit it and forget it” approach. In other words, send in those manuscripts, essays, poems and stories. Adhere to the writer’s guidelines; put forth a valiantly creative effort; send in stories, and move on. It was great advice, and I intended to follow it. I just needed to check my email one more time.

By November 2010, I realized that I was probably not going to hear back from the magazine. Editors are often unable to respond to unsolicited manuscripts, and I started to get used to the idea of my essay lying in a slush pile on the editor’s office floor. After all, four months had passed, and I had heard nothing. No email, no phone call, no letter.

Nothing.

For Christmas, I made my father a calendar out of the pictures I had taken at the farm. He really seemed to appreciate it and was glad that I had done something with the photos. “You should try to send your story somewhere else,” he told me. “Send it to another magazine. It’s a really good story; someone will like it.”

I thought about it. But sending it elsewhere would require some serious editing. I would have to eliminate quite a few words and potentially destroy the essay’s message. Plus, deep down inside, I still held on to a tiny glimmer of hope that the editor might contact me about my essay.

A few months later, I officially moved on. I no longer hoped for a response in my inbox or a message on my voicemail. I continued to write and sold some pieces to other publications. I added “Back Home Again” to my rejections folder and promised myself that I would work on it again…someday.

In July of 2011, I left my house to run a few errands around town. Before I backed out of the driveway, I checked my mailbox. I had a few bills, an early birthday card, a catalog and an envelope from Reiman Publications.

I opened the envelope and saw a check made out to me. A letter explained that the payment was for “Back Home Again.” The magazine had bought my essay, and it would be published in the August issue. I couldn’t believe it.

I ran back into my house, showed my dad the check, and jumped up and down until my calves ached.

It had been two years since I submitted my piece, and it was going to be published. It was one of the best moments of my life.

When my issue came out, I drove to the closest bookstore and bought a copy. Several of my family members bought copies also. I even photographed my magazine on the rack in the bookstore. I was just so excited to have a story in a national magazine.

I still hold on to that snippet of advice that I read several years ago.

“Submit it and forget it” is a great message for writers, especially those who tend to obsess about their work. But it is a lot easier said than done – even after two years have passed.

Last year, my dad framed a copy of my story and gave it to me for Christmas. It hangs in my hallway where I walk past it several times each day. I remember the day I wrote the piece; I remember waiting, and I definitely remember how I felt when I found out it would be published.

I’m going to keep it in plain view forever. It is a reminder that in the publishing world and in life, just about anything is possible.

Submit It and Forget It

by Melissa Face

14 www.sasee.com

september

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Having fun while watching time fly!

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Kohl’s Car Seat Safety October 22 from 3 - 6 pm at the Myrtle Beach Kohl’s

• Safe Kids certified child safety seat technicians will check proper installation of child safety seats, correct those in need and educate on proper installation and use.

• Participants must have their child safety seat, car and child present, and will be served on a first come, first serve basis.

• The technician will determine if a new child safety seat is needed.

• Rain cancels event.

For more information, please call Safe Kids Pee Dee/ Coastal led by McLeod Health at 843-777-2592.

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C

Peaches Goes on C atk i n s

by Felice Prager

We never call her fat – at least not when she is within earshot – and when we do discuss her extreme appreciation for all things culinary, we whisper. (Peaches has exceptional hearing and can hear a bag of cat food from any corner of the house – even when she is asleep.) To preserve her fragile selfesteem, we refer to her as “extra-medium,” and we never refer to her need for excessive amounts of food as gluttony. She is merely more enthusiastic about eating than my other cats. The truth is, in politically correct terminology, Peaches is our little feline meatball.

We adopted Peaches as an adult. Her mother died in childbirth, and she had been bottle-fed by my son and daughter-in-law. She was brought home to a small two-room apartment that she shared with a male tuxedo cat named Samson. There was always a ruckus over food. Samson pushed tiny Peaches out of the way. Peaches, afraid of being without a chance to eat, began to sleep near the food bowls.

Then my daughter-in-law became ill. Doctors suggested giving up the cats. My son asked us to take both cats. I already had four cats, but it was us or taking these two sweet kitties to the pound. My son drove them from northern Colorado where he lived to our home in Arizona.

Samson came into the house and, being a dominant male, began to let my existing cats know that he was their new boss. Samson hissed and swatted everyone, but no blood was drawn and he melded into the pack rather quickly.

Peaches, by then already slightly rounder than most cats, ran under a chair at the furthest end of the house and wouldn’t come out. I could see her nervous eyes from beneath the chair, but I couldn’t get her to come out. My husband, other son and I took turns down on the floor trying to calm Peaches down, but her new environment was too scary – especially after 15 hours in a car. Eventually, I tricked her. I put the food bowl in the hallway where she could see it and made a cat food trail to the bowl. Then I hid. The food kept disappearing. I moved the bowl further out each time until the bowl was in the kitchen where it belongs – at the other end of the house. In time, Peaches was waiting with her brothers and sisters as I filled their shared bowl each morning. I left the food down on the floor at all times in case a cat was taking a catnap at mealtime.

The problem was that Peaches, just like many of us humans, ate all the time, regardless of her level of hunger. If someone came into the room, Peaches ate. If we had company, Peaches ate. If we changed the channel on the TV, Peaches needed a snack. If I moved a magazine on the table, Peaches was at the bowl. My son had brought a kitten bed from Colorado to make their new home seem like their old home. That bed was quickly getting too small for Peaches. Instead of seeing this as a dietary issue, I simply bought Peaches a bigger bed.

Recently, I held Peaches and weighed the two of us together.

Then I weighed myself and subtracted that from the combined weight. Peaches weighed 21 pounds. The other cats weighed between 7 and 12 pounds.

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I was also not happy with my own weight. Having always had a weight issue myself, I knew there was only one answer: It was time for Peaches and me to go on diets.

My diet was easy. I cut down on calories and began a regular exercise regime.

With Peaches, unfortunately, weight and health cannot be explained to her. I bought diet cat food. The vet said our other cats would not be hurt eating this, and they don’t notice a difference. They just know when they have had enough.

I have also started putting down food for an hour in the morning and at dinnertime. After that, I lift the bowl and put it up on the highest counter where the thinner cats can still get to it, but Peaches can’t. I figured if Peaches gets thin enough where she can jump, she will be able to have between meal snacks, too.

Unfortunately, Peaches still sits in the kitchen where her food bowl belongs. She waits for hours for us to put the food down. If she looks too sad, I take a tiny handful of her diet food and put it down in a kitten bowl for her.

She looks very silly eating out of a kitten-sized bowl, but this seems to satisfy her. Peaches guards her small dish as if to say, “Hey, big girls can’t jump, so this is mine. Yours is way up there!”

We continue to pay a lot of attention to each cat, but since Peaches and I share the same not-ever-going-to-be-skinny-without-major-effort gene, I tend to stay down on the floor with her longer. I play fetch with each cat, but I play with Peaches longer. She also gets brushed more. Her favorite game involves running after a flashlight beam. Each cat gets a turn to run around like a silly kitten. Peaches gets the longest turn – and the other cats, as if they know something is going on, let her run around and pretend she’s skinny.

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www.sasee.com 19

Southern Snaps

The Life and Times of Reb Debbie

by Connie Barnard

Deborah Slavitt is a woman you would love to meet. She’s a scholar, a teacher, a mother, a wife and oh, by the way, a rabbi. With a string of impressive degrees, a background in Ancient Greek and Latin, and a voracious appetite for learning, Rabbi Debbie’s life has been a journey rich in depth and diversity. I first met Slavitt when she participated as guest speaker at a series of programs on spirituality.

Struck by her brilliant mind, approachable manner and rich sense of humor, I was curious to know how this remarkable woman with classical Ivy League credentials came to be a rabbi and teacher in the hinterlands of South Carolina. Fortunately, writing for Sasee provides the opportunity to have extended conversations with relative strangers! It is a pleasure to share the journey of Rabbi Slavitt’s fascinating life with our readers.

Slavitt grew up in New Hampshire, the daughter of German and Polish Jewish Americans who came to be here in the wake of World War II. Eager to separate themselves from World War II’s unspeakable pain, her parents embraced all things American.

“My father, Isaac Katz, was a physician. He died when I was eleven, but I remember his great love of American icons like JFK and Louis Armstrong. He and my mother disassociated themselves from organized religion. They named their American-born children Michael, James, Deborah, David, Andrew and John. I have happy memories of my New England childhood which include Girl Scout Sundays at the local church, wearing little white gloves.”

Slavitt clearly inherited her parents’ intelligence and deep love of learning. At the same time, throughout her life she has been drawn by an innate spirituality and deep sense of connection with her Jewish roots. After graduating from Phillips Exeter Academy, she received a Bachelor of Arts degree in Ancient Greek and Latin from Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania.

After graduation she taught junior high school Latin in Norwell, Massachusetts, and reconnected with her high school sweetheart, Evan Slavitt, whom she describes as “the most brilliant person I know.” They married while Evan was in Harvard Law School, and then spent several years in Washington, DC. With the many fine universities in this area, Debbie was ready to move in new directions. She considered following in her father’s footsteps and attending

20 www.sasee.com

medical school, but soon realized that math and science were not where her talents and interests lie. Instead, Debbie attended graduate school at George Washington University where she received a Master’s Degree in Health Administration. After the Slavitts returned to Massachusetts, Debbie worked for ten years in outpatient and emergency care management at three hospitals in Massachusetts. It was a good job with good benefits, but she came to realize that this career field did not light her fire. Motivated to help employees find value and meaning in their fields of work, she became disenchanted by the inability to make a real difference and over time began to feel the tug of a different, deeper calling.

In 1993 Debbie had three children, including a newborn. She had a large, lovely old home and a very nice life in Malden, Massachusetts. Obviously, it was time to do something new and exhausting!

Over the years for her own enjoyment, Debbie had pursued Jewish studies and music. “One night at dinner I told Evan that I was searching for something that would involve my three passions: teaching, music, and my Jewish roots,” she recalls with a chuckle. The shadow of a wry smile passed over Evan’s face as he said to himself, “Oh no! She is going to Rabbi School…”

Thus began the time in her life Debbie refers to as a wild ride which lasted nine years. First, she earned a Masters in Judaic Studies from Hebrew College in Brookline, Massachusets. She then began work toward rabbinic ordination through the Academy for Jewish Religion in New York City. This involved literally 24 hour days spent commuting into New York every Monday. On Sundays at midnight Deb would leave her three children in the care of a dear friend and take a four hour bus ride to New York from her home north of Boston, arriving at 4 am on Monday. She would attend class until 3pm, and then catch the train back home to Malden, once again at midnight.

Debbie describes those days as both exhausting and exhilarating: “The learning was so exciting that it powered me through.” She was ordained in 2002 and spent the next two years serving a congregation in Andover where she had completed her two year internship.

2007 was a year of seismic shift for the Slavitt family. Evan accepted a

september

position as General Counsel of the AVX Corporation in Myrtle Beach. He moved down first, later joined by his wife and youngest child, Tamar. “I had lived in New England all my life and knew nothing about the South,” Slavitt says. “From a cultural perspective, it was a real learning experience.” Their youngest child, daughter Tamar, who was 14 at the time, also chose to move with her parents rather than remain behind in her small private school. She entered Socastee High School’s International Baccalaureate program where she was astounded by the sheer size of the student body, most particularly her first exposure to the Southern phenomenon of a high school football pep rally!

The South’s overwhelming Protestant Christian demographics also posed a bit of culture shock for the Slavitts. The local folk were very friendly, but most knew very little about Judaism. Shortly after her arrival here, Rabbi Debbie recalls having to reassure several curious, well-intentioned new acquaintances that Jews actually do believe in God. (The good rabbi was too polite to remind them that both faiths share the Old Testament.) For Tamar, the move here was a clarifying experience as well. For the first time she found herself in a position of defining and defending her Jewish identity. Both women, however, recognize the positive impact of their experience as strangers in a strange land.

“Sometimes we need to step back and view the world through a larger lens. The move here has provided that opportunity,” Rabbi Debbie says thoughtfully.

Over the six years since their move Rabbi Slavitt has settled into her new life in the South and no longer feels like Alice in Wonderland after falling

down the rabbit hole. She has found new opportunities, both personal and professional. She serves as rabbi at Temple Beth Elohim, a Reform congregation in Georgetown where she assists with Friday night services and events such as the recent Shabbat at Sea evening cruise in Georgetown.

Slavitt is also a faculty associate at Coastal Carolina University, teaching World Religions, Old Testament, Latin and Introduction to Judaism. Her classes have become very popular with a wide range of students. Johann McCrackin, a student in her New Testament Greek course through the CCU’s Lifelong Learning Society, says, “Rabbi Slavitt’s warmth and patience with our class of senior retirees fostered a friendly, close-knit fellowship over the semester as she unlocked the intricacies of Greek nouns and verbs. As we translated familiar New Testament passages, she explained their relationship to the original Hebrew, giving us a more complete understanding of a passage in the context of the culture and context in which it was written.” A young former student, Shay Godwin, currently studying for his Masters Degree in Theology at the Christian International University, says: “I first met Rabbi Slavitt in Jewish studies. She is a rare professor to find because she invests so much of her time in her students, even outside the classroom. She challenges you to think and really understand what you believe. I have a very high respect for her.”

“I try to teach each class from a historical-critical approach,” Rabbi Debbie explains, “with a nuanced view of the past and, hopefully, the future as well.” It is this universal connection of the world viewed through a larger scope which makes Slavitt both rare as a teacher and as a human being. She continues to stretch her intellectual and spiritual boundaries in new and exciting dimensions, such as her most recent interest, Hebrew Kirtan, which combines ancient Hebrew texts and a Hindu practice of estatic chant also found in Celtic and Buddhist traditions.

Rabbi Debbie reflects: “Somewhere along the way our culture has decided that learning outside the practical, vocational or technological realm is a waste of time. Currently, there is an unfortunate lack of faith in liberal arts and the humanities. College is more than job training. It is the one time you get to play with your mind, think big for a while, and experience that ‘Big Wow.’ The best way to prepare for the future is to think beyond the moment.”

These are wise words from a wise woman who embodies the original meaning of the word rabbi: the Hebrew term of reverence for a leader with a high level of knowledge, committed to both learning and to teaching.

september

www.sasee.com 21

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Little Pel by Art Lamay

gets candid

Meet Tracy Hanna Foye

in poor health since a stroke in 2007, and when she went, I think my dad just decided to go to be with her. They were married for 53 years. On top of that, a week after Dad died, my husband was in Florida and became very ill. He ended up having to have quadruple bypass surgery, but has come through it well and is now doing great. It was a tough year, to say the least. I threw myself into art to help with the grief. My dad always had to have a project going, and I’m exactly the same.

I’m currently working on paintings for my upcoming show. I love abstract expressionism and am on fire painting! This series is abstract landscapes which are glimpses, or segments, of a photograph and represent the viewer striving for a destination and enjoying the scenery along the way. I see this work as a parallel of life for those of us who believe (know) that there is more after this life. I feel like my parents are guiding me through each painting.

Artist Tracy Hanna Foye grew up in the small town of Kingstree, South Carolina. Like most talented artists, Tracy was practically born creating, and her talent was nurtured by her parents and art teachers throughout school. Today, she is one of the owners of Dezignworkz Art and Learning Studio in Pawleys Island, as well as one of the most sought after artists/ designers in our area. A show is currently in the works to unveil her latest body of work.

How did you come to live in Pawleys Island?

I have always loved this area and have vacationed here all of my life. After I graduated from Coker College, I went home to Kingstree and opened Tracy’s, a gift store and art gallery. In 1985, I moved to Pawleys Island and brought my store with me. After revamping it, I changed the name to Island Elegance, doing art and interior design. I loved every minute of my work – I began painting furniture, doing murals and faux finishes for private residences. This eventually morphed into Tracy Hanna Foye Designs. One of my God given gifts is the ability to understand what people want. I listen to what they tell me, and then I can just see it in my mind’s eye! I see a space and ideas just start popping into my head.

My partner, Mindy McVay Heilmann, and I have been friends for many years, and when we opened Dezignworkz, we were both looking for studio space outside of our homes. I love teaching again and opening up the creative side of my students. Bringing the joy of art to others is very rewarding. People have a yearning to be creative, but don’t have an outlet – they just need someone to guide them along. Many people think they can’t draw or are afraid to try, but I can teach you to draw with a paint brush and help you work through your fear of the canvas. I know what it’s like to be stuck! I remember having “canvas fright” in college and my professor gave me an exercise to get through it. I had to paint five 11" x 14" canvases a night! It was hard, but it worked. Now when I start a painting I don’t want to stop.

As an artist, where do you get your inspiration?

My parents and my husband inspire me. My parents and I have always been very close and last year I lost them both within a few months. Mom had been

24 www.sasee.com

Tell our readers a little more about yourself.

I’m married to the love of my life! I was 41 when we married, my first marriage. Brian and I met singing karaoke, which we both still love to do, and were married in October of 2000. He’s originally from New Hampshire and is retired from the Air Force. Now he works at Litchfield Golf & Beach Resort.

We sing karaoke every Thursday at Quigley’s in Litchfield, and Brian plays golf, but I just ride in the cart and drink margaritas!

Right now, I’m excited about my upcoming show at Dezignworkz. I’m still dealing with my grief, but I know my parents are watching over me.

For more information about classes or private commissions, contact Tracy at 843-240-8040, www.dezignworkz.net or find Dezignworkz on Facebook.

Dezignworkz is located at 235 Commerce Drive, Suite 304, in Pawleys Island.

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www.sasee.com 25

A Word to the Wiser

by Ferida Wolff

It all began when a new local store sent us a promotional copy of Poor Richard’s Almanack to induce us to check out their goods. I thumbed through it casually when, half an hour later, I realized I was hooked on Old Ben’s proverbs. Sometimes interesting, often obscure, these sayings commented on every facet of pre-revolutionary existence, instructing the reader how to live a moral and prosperous life.

I knew (didn’t everyone?) Ben’s “Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” But there were others I didn’t know, such as, “Marry your daughter and eat fresh fish betimes,” and “A full belly makes a dull brain.” Not quite as catchy yet still thought-provoking in a kitschy kind of way. The sense and rhythm of the sayings intrigued me. I began quoting them to my family until the almanac mysteriously disappeared, and no one seemed able to find it.

Surely, I thought, if Ben Franklin could comment on his times through proverbs, I should be creative enough to comment on mine. I tried to think of something pithy to say to my husband as he was coming down for breakfast one morning but all I could come up with was our son’s rejoinder, ”Look up, look down, look here, look there. What are you looking for – your underwear?” As he was already dressed, I assumed he had found his underwear and needed no further encouragement.

Maybe this proverb making was more complicated than it seemed at first. I tried again when our daughter asked for a raise in her allowance: “Better a single coin worth its value than a barrelful of slugs.” It was a definite improvement on the underwear theme, I thought. It was even effective as she withdrew her request and, with many a backward glance, quietly left the room.

I countered our son’s plea for more television viewing time with, “Devoting your life to the idiot box will soon make you lose your wits.” I knew he got it because he was absolutely speechless. After all, a proverb is supposed to be the last word on any subject.

It took me a while to think of something appropriate in my campaign to get my husband exercising. Finally, at three in the morning, it came to me.

“Hey, Honey,” I said as I gently nudged him from his dreams.

“Listen to this: Running FOR your health is better than running DOWN your health.”

“Go to sleep,” he grunted.

I eventually did, but by then I was hooked. Proverb-making became an obsession. I spent hours thinking up succinct sayings and had something Franklin-esque to say about every situation. I created them on the spot; anyone could give me subject, and I would come up with a saying. I laughed at my initial feeble gropings. Why, with a little effort, I had become an accomplished proverbian. This was heady stuff.

It was only a matter of time before my obsession overran the limited confines of the family unit and spread to the community at large.

The PTA parent who called to ask me to share the driving for a

26 www.sasee.com

school trip was greeted with a sigh and a proverb: “The spirit becomes weary when the odometer climbs heavenward.”

“Does that mean you will or does it mean you won’t?” she asked.

“Oh, I will,” I said. “I was just making a philosophical statement about carpools.”

She hurriedly gave me instructions and hung up.

When my constantly dieting friend called to tell that she was on her third diet this month, I responded with, “The fad you eat today will be the food you eschew tomorrow.”

Silence.

I wasn’t sure whether or not she had hung up until I heard a meaningful lack of connection on the other end. I had been noticing that my conversations were getting shorter lately. In fact, I was getting fewer calls than I used to, fewer invitations, and, come to think of it, my husband and I hadn’t been asked out on a Saturday night for quite some time. Could it be something I said?

“Don’t you think that’s enough?” my husband said one day when I told him about my friend rudely hanging up without even saying goodbye.

“Enough?” I said. “Where is your sense of creativity? Of poetry?”

“Of sensitivity?” he asked.

I thought about that. Was it possible I had been led astray? How come Ben Franklin didn’t end up alienating people with his sayings? Or did he? I’ll never know because that bit of information wasn’t included in the book.

In the morning, my daughter asked me if she could go to her friend’s house after school. I opened my mouth but before I could say yes, I saw panic rising in her eyes. She grabbed her books and said, “Never mind.”

“But I didn’t answer,” I said.

“You were going to say something weird, I just know it!”

“But…” “I have to catch my bus,” my daughter said, and she raced out of the house.

I stood looking at the door she had just closed, somewhat loudly I might add, and then decided that perhaps it might be a mistake to continue with my new found skill. I would take the wiser position and stage a strategic withdrawal from proverb-making, at least for a while. After all, I think it was good old Ben who said, “To err is human, to repent divine; to persist devilish.”

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Dance Lessons

by Rose Ann Sinay

When I was ten, my mother signed me up for ballroom dancing. It wasn’t because I was graceful or loved to dance. She signed me up because it was free. Living on the American military base in Japan had perks for its service families. There were activities for almost every interest, offered for the price of the supplies. I had taken oil painting, origami, etiquette and poise, flower arranging, and Japanese language lessons – all before puberty.

“You should learn to dance,” my mother said when I resisted yet another class. “Everyone should know how to waltz. I’ll make you a ballroom dress.” She pulled out her patterns. The dress was in the works; it was a done deal.

I was dropped off at the recreation center gym. It was filled with an assortment of boys and girls of all ages and sizes. I immediately scanned the room for the shortest boy. Being height deficient myself, I knew that’s who I would be paired with.

As soon as I saw Melvin, I knew he would be mine. His name tag, printed in bold black letters, was pinned to his shirt at an awkward angle. His hair was sculpted straight up with the same butch wax my father used on his crew cut. The Coke bottle lenses, set inside black frames, magnified his blue eyes twice their size. As the heavy glasses slid down his nose, his ever-ready index finger continually pushed them back into place. He was as thin as I was chubby and about four inches shorter.

Shorty, I decided, left a lot to be desired.

We stood toe to toe staring unhappily at each other.

“Girls have cooties,” he said without preamble.

“Boys are stupid,” I replied glaring down at him.

We watched without interest as the older boy/girl assistants demonstrated arm placement and dance steps.

“Positions,” Mrs. Martin, our teacher, demanded as she placed

28 www.sasee.com

Shorty’s hand on my back. She then forced our warm, sweaty hands together. I cringed. He looked like he was going to throw up.

We stood as if suspended by wires, waiting for the music to start, wanting it to be over.

“Ready,” she announced as strains of the “Viennese Waltz” filled the room. “Gentlemen – forward, 1-2-3, 1-2-3.”

Shorty and I struggled for a moment when I tried to take the lead, both of us stepping forward. We bumped faces – my chin to his forehead. His porcupine hair poked me in the eye.

“I’m the gentleman,” Shorty roared.

“Okay, okay,” I said, surprised at the timbre of his voice. I blanched at a disapproving look from a teenaged assistant.

We followed instructions, going through the motions with surprisingly few hitches and absolutely no talking. When our lesson was over, we both ran for the door without so much as a good bye.

I practiced the dance steps in my room with the radio turned down low and the door locked so as not to invite curious eyes. I suspected Shorty did the same because each week we improved, though we both pretended not to notice. In fact, Melvin was just short of amazing, gliding through the steps, leading me confidently over the dance floor.

Of course, there would be a finale. Mrs. Martin watched everyone with an eagle eye to determine which couples would participate in each competition: foxtrot, rumba, waltz and cha-cha. We were chosen to compete in the cha-cha. Melvin was elated; I was not so sure – his idea of the dance was a little more rhythmically enthusiastic than mine.

“You have to step it up,” he ordered as we practiced the quick footed number.

I went into overdrive. I could not have the little twerp show me up. I practiced in the morning before school and after dinner every night. I would be ready.

The day of the competition arrived. The ballroom dress, a yellow, dotted-swiss creation, was ready, and my hair awaited a last minute comb out from the dozens of bobby pinned curls.

When I found my partner amidst the crowd of parents and siblings, he was dressed in a navy blue suit and shiny black shoes. His hair was neatly parted and slicked to the side. We sat in grey folding chairs watching the dancers, applauding the winners and waiting for our division to be called.

Finally, it was our turn. We took our place amongst our competitors.

Melvin looked up into my eyes with his huge, fuzzy, baby blues and said, “Good Luck, Rose Ann.” It was the first I’d heard him say my name.

“Thanks. You’re a good dancer,” I replied shyly. We both smiled, checked our stance and took our first step. The rest of the dance was a synchronized blur of movement. When the music stopped, people were standing, applauding. It took a minute for us to realize that we had won.

“You were wonderful,” Mrs. Martin gushed. Melvin’s glasses were dangerously perched on the tip of his nose, as she gave us each a big hug.

I never saw Melvin again. Our fifteen minutes of dancing fame had been reduced to a small metal trophy and a wonderful memory. I’ve wondered from time to time if Melvin grew to be tall, if he discovered contact lenses and if he continued dancing. It would be a shame if he didn’t…continue dancing, that is.

As for me, my mother was wrong, I never did need to waltz, or foxtrot or rumba. Instead I learned the pony, the bump and the electric slide, and slow dancing meant swaying cheek to cheek with my latest crush.

But every once in a while, when I hear a Latin melody, I close my eyes, and do a sassy quick step. For just a moment, I’m ten again. It’s me and Melvin…2 - 3 cha-cha-cha.

september

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Fresh Paint “I

by Tammy Ruggles

Bed of Roses by Tammy Ruggles

30 www.sasee.com

september

can’t even see well enough to paint my fingernails, let alone finger paint pictures,” I thought to myself after a Facebook friend of mine, Sonja, suggested that I try finger painting.

I’m legally blind due to a lifelong visual impairment, Retinitis Pigmentosa, and I used to do pretty decent sketches of celebrities with a black Sharpie up until about this spring, but lost the ability to capture details, so I pretty much gave up on the idea of continuing art as a hobby, something I’d done since the age of twelve.

“You can do it intuitively.”

I knew all about intuition.

Growing up with RP, I am completely blind at night, so have had to rely on my intuition my entire life – from finding my toddler son’s hand at night if he had a bad dream, to “hearing” the smile in my grandchildren’s voices when they were happy about something.

So, using intuition to finger paint? I was unsure. Painting is such a visual act. Don’t you have to see what you’re painting? Don’t you have to see to mix colors? Don’t you have to see to know if you’re placing shadows and shading correctly?

Well, yes and no. Yes, if you’re talking about painting from a reference image, like a photograph or a dirt road right in front of you. But, no, if you’re talking about painting the images you see in your mind’s eye, by imagination and memory.

What I see are blurry colors, but my fingertips know how to make the shape of a cabin, and my art training (four years of high school art and two to three more years in college) remembers instinctively to put shadows and light in the places they belong.

I was afraid to try finger painting. Afraid that it would be a joke. Afraid people would laugh, or scoff, or worse – pity.

But I’ve never thought of myself as a quitter. Having RP sort of taught me that, when the world pushes at you, push back, with respect.

So, without telling anyone what I was doing, I got some finger paint and some paper, and let my fingers make the art that I saw in my head, from flowers to shacks to fields – images I recalled living in rural Kentucky growing up.

They looked blurry to me. I couldn’t tell what they looked like. I hoped that the post on the porch reached from the roof to the porch, but I couldn’t see if it did. It was largely guesswork, and, like Sonja said, intuition.

I didn’t expect it to be perfect, and was told that it wasn’t, but that it had a natural style that was appealing. Other reactions were what I had first expected: “Nice try, but it doesn’t look right.”

Honestly, I was amazed I could make any pictures at all, because I’d only painted one picture before, and it was with a brush. I still have it.

I think I decided to continue to paint when my high school art teacher “Liked” my pictures on Facebook. The landscapes and flowers were vastly different from the Sharpie sketches I’d done of celebrities, but I really enjoyed my new ability.

After I lost my child/adult protection social worker job due to RP, I turned to freelance writing as a second career. Was it possible to do the same thing with art? It was a past-time that I dearly loved doing with all of my heart, but could I make a profession of it?

As I did with writing, the only way to find out was to try, so I went to a local gallery and showed a few of my finger paintings. The feedback from the artists was positive, and I was invited to submit a few to some of their shows, which I did.

The real test, however, was when I decided to have my own art sale on the corner of the block where I lived. I’d been painting steadily for a few weeks now and had dozens to offer.

Only two of those sold, and they were two of the bigger ones on canvas, but I was so happy. To me, this was the validation I’d been looking for.

I know my technique isn’t technically accurate, and I lament that a little, remembering back to a time when I could see well enough to tell if I’d gotten the perspective right. A lot of it is pure instinct, doing what I think looks right but never knowing for sure. I see well enough to mix blue and green together to get the color of ocean I want, but I never know how it looks on the canvas.

Recently a gallery owner from Cincinnati called me and invited me to visit his gallery and talk to him about including some of my finger paintings in their next exhibit.

I was so proud. Not so much of my finger paintings, but of the fact that I had pushed myself just a little, and something great and unexpected happened.

Because of that small step forward that I had taken when I felt weak and discouraged, I could now show the world that the blind and visually impaired could not only create and enjoy art, but actually make a profession of it.

I’m not sure where art will take me, but I’m willing to go. Already art has enabled me to reach out to others, just as I did as a social worker, just as I did as a freelance writer. I taught a finger painting class to kids at a community outreach program, and was invited to speak to a group of art teachers on how to teach art to blind and visually impaired students.

This is the real meaning of art. I want to make art that touches people and causes them to feel an emotion – whether it’s nostalgia from a family home place they recall or the natural energy they feel when they look at the ocean or the simple beauty of a flower.

But most of all, I want to make art that causes people to look inside themselves and reach for something they think is beyond their reach.

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The Music in My Head

I

by Kim Seeley

was sharing a Thanksgiving seasonal meal with some friends last November, an event that began a few years ago, but has become a significant annual tradition.

We began our pre-meal ritual of naming the blessings for which we were particularly grateful that year. Nearly everyone mentioned good health, family, good friends, and I am equally thankful for all of those things. When it was my turn to respond, however, I mentioned my thankfulness for “the music in my head.” A few people looked at me rather strangely, because they were expecting me to mention my adorable grandson. While he is the light of my life, that evening I had music on my mind, and for a very good reason.

At the age of forty, I was a long-term substitute for a class of 5th graders. I began having difficulty discerning some of their answers to my questions. Then one night, my family and I were watching TV, and a character on the show walked over to answer the phone. “Did you guys hear the phone ring?” I questioned my husband and two daughters.

“Yes,” they replied. I had heard nothing. I made an appointment for a hearing test.

The results were not good. I had nerve damage from an unknown cause, which would require a hearing aid. I was shocked, as I had never been a lover of loud, heavy metal music, nor had I attended such concerts as a teenager. I went to hear James Taylor, Neil Diamond and the Carpenters, but none of those concerts left my ears vibrating. I had never been around loud machinery or jackhammers. My doctor was equally mystified at the cause of my nerve damage, as a family history provided no clues, either.

However, the damage was indeed there, and over the past twenty years, my hearing has increasingly worsened. I went through several hearing aids in just my right ear, as various improvements were made in different models,

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then in both ears. On the night of our Thanksgiving get-together, I had just visited my audiologist for another adjustment. Today, I suffer from a 60% hearing loss, and while my hearing aids help, by no means, do they replace my normal hearing. Most of the music on the radio sounds tinny to me; I struggle to understand lyrics to unfamiliar music; and while I still sing in the choir, I am always conscious of trying to hear the voices around me to make sure my alto is still in good harmony.

When I was a child, my mother introduced me to music. She championed my early predilection for music, driving me to piano lessons for years, and faithfully attending all of my recitals. She would make my siblings leave me alone while I labored over a particularly difficult passage. My mother has always been a singer, and her lovely soprano voice has graced many a church choir and cantata. While not as active as she used to be, she still enjoys singing songs with her grandchildren and great-children. My mother was my Pied Piper into the world of music, a world which has made my life richer and deeper throughout the years.

So am I thankful for the music in my head? Absolutely! Several of my friends claim I have an amazing musical memory, for I remember words and songs from my elementary school years that they have long forgotten. I can close my eyes and still hear my Treakle Elementary chorus singing, “Oklahoma!” and “Erie Canal.”

The songs of my youth and teen-age years are indelibly imprinted in the musical pathways of my brain. I will carry the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Carol King and many, many others, wherever I go. Their music was the soundtrack of my coming-of-age; I cried with the heartbreak only youthful love can know to their songs in my dormitory room.

Once I had children of my own, music became an even more important part of my life, as I took on the responsibility of the children’s Sunday School choir at my church. Both of my girls sang in the choir for many years, and we performed for the congregation every fourth Sunday. I still know all the words to “Zacchaeus,” and “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho,” just as well as I know “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” and “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

Another reason I give thanks for the music in my head is that I can hear my daughter, Amanda, singing there whenever I wish. While we lost Amanda at the tender age of 19, her voice lives on in several videos and CDs that friends and family taped for us. But my favorite musical memories of Amanda are not found in any physical format, but in my mind. I never taped her singing in the shower, or standing on the playhouse steps, singing, “My Boyfriend’s Back,” with her sister. Those musical memories are in my mind and in my heart.

There are also other voices lost to me except in my mind. I am thankful that I can still recall my daddy singing, “You are my Sunshine,” while he was driving the car late at night, and the four of us children were getting weary.

My grandmother used to enjoy singing, “Whispering Hope,” while I accompanied her on her little chord organ.

I am certain that each of us holds some musical memories quite dear, songs that remind us of a certain moment, a special someone, a long-ago romance. What makes the music in my head so important to me is the realization that one day, if my hearing continues to worsen, I may no longer be able to hear music at all. I hope and pray that it doesn’t ever reach that point, but if it happens, I am stockpiling more music in my head as long as I am able.

Currently, my two and a-half-year-old grandson and I are learning the “Hot Dog” song from his favorite TV show, and I am trying to learn, “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,” just so I can keep up with his musical repertoire. In January, I will have a new grandchild to love and to rock; I just happen to know a few lullabies, too.

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Bosom Buddies

by Diane DeVaughn Stokes

It was the mid-seventies. I was young. She was young. My career was just beginning. Hers was too. I had big hair and big boobs. Her mane and upper torso were even bigger. But she could flat out sing a song, and light up the room with her vocals and sassy southern drawl better than anyone I have ever met – charming through and through. In case you have not guessed, I am talking about the one and only Dolly Parton, country music’s darling!

Thinking back, it must have been 1975 or ’76. I was working for WOLS Radio in Florence, South Carolina, and free-lancing for WBTW TV 13 when the radio station asked me to go to the Southern 500 in Darlington to interview an up and coming country singer.

First of all, I did not like country music back then, and secondly, I was not a race fan, hated the noise and grit that went with it. But off I dashed with my tape recorder (no iPhones back then) to capture the essence of this young gal who had recently left Porter Waggoner to set out on her own in hopes of making it big.

The race track director escorted me to a chair outside a little trailer that looked like a small camper. I was told that Dolly was doing an interview with the local newspaper but would join me shortly. Next thing I know, this adorable bosomy blonde, five foot two-ish, peaches and cream complexion, who looked like Ellie Mae Clampett from “The Beverly Hillbillies,” snuck up behind me and said, “Hi, I’m Dolly. Who are you?”

Well, I thought being cute would break the ice, so I theatrically sang, “Hello Dolly. Well, Hello Dolly. It’s so nice to have you here in Darlington.” Dolly giggled with the most infectious laugh and said even though many folks had sung her that song, no one ever did it with such sincerity and pizazz! I was flattered. We just stood there talking awhile as if we were school chums getting to know each other. She was sweet, charismatic and spoke from the heart. Then she invited me into the trailer.

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What a shock! I gasped when I stepped up into her compact traveling home. There were dozens of styrofoam heads donning blonde wigs in every style imaginable. Dolly laughed at my gasp, saying she never appears in her real hair, and even her husband had never seen her without a wig, which of course I found hard to believe.

There we sat, in a makeshift kitchen area, for twenty minutes, talking about her determination to make it big as a single act. Dolly was hoping to find success as a singer, but seemed to have more confidence in her writing ability as she had been composing songs since she was very young growing up in Sevierville, Tennessee, and already had some writing hits in Nashville.

Dolly was the fourth of twelve children. Her father was a tobacco farmer, and she said “mama was best at lovin’.” They lived in a one-room cabin. But it was her “grandpaw” who had the most influence on her music, as he was “a holy roller Pentecostal preacher,” as she called him, who forced the family to be in church every time the doors opened. Church music inspired Dolly to write her own songs, and by the time she was nine years old she was singing them on a local radio show. Local TV performances came next, and then right after high school she moved to Nashville where she was penning songs for Skeeter Davis, Kitty Wells and Hank Williams, Jr. Talk about making your dreams come true! Dolly was still determined to sing her own songs, but her first attempt in 1965 was a complete flop.

Monument Records did not think Dolly was cut out for country so they hired her as a pop-type singer. “Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby” written and sung by Dolly Parton, received very little airplay.

However, the very next year Dolly was invited to sing harmony on a country music record that went to number six on the charts and kicked her career into gear, even though her name was not even mentioned on the credits of the recording. Not getting credit did not deter Dolly. It fueled her passion to make her dreams come true, and before she knew it, she was recording her first single, “Dumb Blonde” which she did not write. The Parton legacy was born, and we are all aware of her many successes since.

I did ask her about her decision to go it alone after seven years as Porter Waggoner’s sidekick from 1967-1974, which was said to be tumultuous as he was very demanding and demeaning according to the media accounts.

But Dolly remained classy by saying it was simply time to move on. In many interviews since she has called him a “Male Chauvinist,” and it is said that the nasty sex-crazed male character in the movie 9 To 5 was based on Porter.

As Dolly was giving me her life story, a handsome man entered the trailer, who Dolly introduced as her husband Carl Deen. She said she met him in the Wishy Washy Laundromat two days after she moved to Nashville. In a giddy sort of way, she said he was her first and last husband.

As the interview ended, Dolly hugged me, and thanked me for giving her a chance to tell her story to the people of the Pee Dee Region. At the time, I had no idea she would ever become the mega-superstar that she is now, but I knew she had the determination and guts to do it. The radio station loved the piece I put together, and I certainly became a Dolly Parton fan and followed her career with pride through the years.

Since that interview, I have been in Dolly’s company three times during press conferences at the Dixie Stampede and Pirate’s Voyage here in Myrtle Beach. During one of the media events, I said “Dolly, I interviewed you back in 1975, and you are more beautiful and younger looking today than you were way back then!” Dolly replied, “That’s because I have been nipped, tucked and sucked more than any human has the right to be in order to look this cheap.”

That’s Dolly for you! A musical genius who beat the odds, from poverty to paparazzi, with a style all her own, and for one shining moment in history, we were bosom buddies.

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CHD Interiors

1088 Mall Drive 280 W. Coleman Blvd.

Murrells Inlet • 843-357-1700 Mount Pleasant • 843-571-2446 www.CHDinteriors.com

Judi Bonnoitt

When do you listen (and dance) to your favorite music?

I always listen to music in the store. Right now reggae is playing and a Jimmy Buffet CD just ended. As a teenager in the ’60s in South Carolina, beach music was my favorite. I’ve been shagging since I was a young teenager and still love the sounds of rhythm and blues and old-fashioned beach music.

Are you crafty?

I am creative with my mind—not my hands! I enjoy the creativity I am able to use every day designing invitations, creating rhymes for them and putting the entire invitation together—from fonts, to colors and sizing as well as appropriate wording. So, all day every day my creative juices are flowing. I’ve been writing poems for invitations six days a week for 23 years—sometimes I think I make up rhymes in my sleep!

What makes you laugh?

Oh my goodness! I laugh a lot! My husband, John, makes me laugh every day. He is so funny—we laugh with and tease each other and we don’t take life too seriously! Life is too short to not live it with a smile on your face, and I am usually smiling!

What inspired you to open your business?

Please tell us a little about what’s new and exciting this month.

I taught kindergarten and first grade for ten years and sold resort real estate for 12. I made an overnight decision in December of ‘89 to open a store—just blurted it out and immediately followed up. I told my boss I was quitting and going to the California Gift Show, but if I couldn’t find a store full of fun, unusual things could I please have my job back? The rest is history—23 years later and I LOVE every minute of what I do. September is an exciting month in retail because it is when we start looking forward to the holidays and get our holiday merchandise ready to go out. It’s always fun to make the transition from summer to fall—fall shoes are on the floor and the holidays are coming!

Ooh La La

The Shoppes at 70th 6912 N. Kings Hwy. • Myrtle Beach 843-449-8040 • www.oohlalamyrtlebeach.com

When do you listen (and dance) to your favorite music?

I come from a very musical family, so I like most all music. But, I tend to gravitate towards ‘80s music and reggae. I attribute my fondness of those genres to them being constant reminders of a wonderful childhood and family vacations in the islands. As the daughter of a piano teacher, I can play the piano... a little. I love to dance, although my sister got most of the rhythm in the family, so I couldn’t even begin to categorize the “type” of dancing I do. Dancing with my dad at my wedding in the Bahamas to “No Woman No Cry,” is one of my favorite musical memories, not because it was the song I had chosen in advance (“My Girl” was my original selection) but because it was one of the few appropriate songs the Bahamian band knew. My husband got stuck dancing to “Lady in Red” with his mother. Even so, what fond memories!

Are you crafty?

I love design—I love putting colors, textures and patterns together. I like designing an interior with an eclectic mix of traditional, contemporary and antique pieces. It is exciting to create a space that is beautiful yet very comfortable and functional.

What makes you laugh?

My children—they are both so opinionated and strong-willed. I never know what sassy comment my four-year old will come up with next!

What inspired you to open your business?

Please tell us a little about what’s new and exciting this month.

My dad and grandmother started CHD Interiors about 37 years ago. After practicing law for several years doing high income, high asset divorce work, I decided to do something that allowed me to be more creative and artistic.

Having come from several generations of family members with an exceptional eye for interior design, I decided it was a talent I wanted to use on a daily basis.

Enter lawyer/interior designer!

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BUSINESS Bou’Tiki

2126 Hwy. 9 East, Longs 843-390-2755 • www.boutikigifts.com

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Julie Almeida

When do you listen (and dance) to your favorite music?

I can’t pin point any specific favorite music, because I enjoy a wide variety. I don’t play any instruments, although I at one time tried the piano. I do love to dance—the Samba, Fogo, any fast-paced, heart-beating dance! My fondest music memory is heading to Florida when I was a teenager with my mother, Toni, listening to the Steve Miller Band and Boston. She made me laugh a lot and gave me great inspiration for my life journey.

Are you crafty?

Yes, I am very crafty—I love to paint, draw and create. A couple of my favorite creations are starfish pin-ups that you can poke in the wall and fun beach-themed signs.

What inspired you to open your business?

Please tell us a little about what’s new and exciting this month.

Actually, I wanted to open the business for my customers. I have never been in this business for me; it’s been about my customers and providing good quality products at great prices. I don’t have hard sales people working with me—I am a believer in honest selling. And what I mean by that is I want my customers to know what they are buying before they buy. For instance, I have customers coming in everyday and wanting a good quality sleeper sofa for $599 to use in their rental unit. And then I ask them, “How long do you want it to last?” And they are stunned.... and when I explain the difference in quality, they tell me, “Thanks, Julie no one else has taken the time to explain this to us.” I believe that honesty is the best policy.

Something new and exciting at Seaside Furniture Gallery is that I have expanded our showroom and have brought in new quality vendors to make everyone’s shopping experience the BEST on the BEACH. Stop by and see us!

Seaside Furniture Gallery

527 HWY 17 N., North Myrtle Beach 843-280-7632

When do you listen (and dance) to your favorite music?

I love all kinds of music. I listen in the car and in the stores; I think music helps everyone feel better. I don’t play any instruments, but I love to dance to anything—especially when no one’s watching! One of my favorite memories is my first dance as Dawn Brown Fannin. The dance was with my brother, Paul.

And, I will always cherish the dance I had with my father in law, Charles Fannin (Pops). We lost him suddenly—that is when I realized how precious life is and that we should all live life to its fullest!

Are you crafty?

I like to dabble in DIY projects. Pinterest has been very helpful in that field. But my arts and crafts expertise lies in accessories, I love helping my customers find the perfect additions to their outfits.

What makes you laugh?

Just being around my staff, friends and family makes me laugh, but my newest source of laughter has been the addition of my grandson, Easton Legend Smith—he is amazing!

What inspired you to open your business?

Please tell us a little about what’s new and exciting this month.

After opening Tiki Tan I started dabbling in handbags, watches, scarves and other accessories. It was such a success that I added various types of clothing and Bou’ Tiki was born. I began toying with the idea of children’s clothing when I found out my daughter, Courtney (who you see in this photo) was pregnant I knew there was no doubt, Children’s Bou’ Tiki had to be! In addition to our location on Hwy 9 we added stores at Barefoot Landing and Broadway at the Beach. I love being in the fashion business and can’t wait to see where this leads. Be sure to check out our “Game Day” clothing and accessories, you can NOT go to see your favorite team without them!

Dawn Brown Fannin

The Amazing Invisible Mom

by Diane Stark

“I could hardly believe it when that lady nearly backed into us in the grocery store parking lot,” I griped to my children. “I have a million things to do today, and I did not have time for a car wreck.”

The kids nodded, but I could tell they weren’t really listening. They were sitting around the kitchen table, munching on the snacks we’d just purchased at the store. I’d taken special care to buy each child’s favorite treat, but the kids still seemed out of sorts.

“So what’s wrong with you guys?” I asked. “You’re moping around like something’s wrong.”

My younger daughter, Julia, shrugged. “We were planning to build an obstacle course outside, but it’s raining.”

I nodded. The downpour had started as soon as I brought the last bag of groceries in from the car. It was good timing for me, but the thunderstorm had ruined the kids’ plans.

“So what would you like to do instead?” I asked.

The kids shrugged half-heartedly. “Nothing else would be as fun as the obstacle course,” one of them said.

I thought of the story I needed to write and decided that it could wait until tomorrow. Today, my creativity would be spent in a completely different way. “What if we build it inside?” I asked.

The kids literally happy danced.

We went down to the basement and began work on the obstacle course. The kids got creative, stealing a few ideas from the TV game show “Minute to Win It.” Two hours later, the course was done and ready for a trial run.

I held the stop watch while the kids took turns running and jumping rope, stacking crazy things, and popping balloons with their rear ends. When they got hot, I ran upstairs for lemonade. When they got hungry, I sliced apples and made sandwiches.

It was a lot of work, and not at all how I’d planned to spend my afternoon, but the kids were having a great time so it was worth it. That’s why I was crushed when I overheard one of them say, “This was OK, but it would have been way more fun to do outside.”

I pretended not to hear their comments, but inside, I felt as deflated as the balloons they’d had to sit on in the obstacle course.

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When they were done playing, I helped the kids clean up the basement and went upstairs to make dinner. I’d spent my whole day doing things for my children, but no one had even noticed my efforts.

At bedtime, four-year-old Nathan said, “Mommy, will you color with me in my coloring book?” I sighed and nodded, even though I longed to read the novel on my night stand.

Nathan handed me a white crayon and told me to color the clouds in the picture. He grabbed a red crayon and started coloring the race car. “But the paper is white,” I said. “You won’t be able to see if I’ve colored it or not.”

Nathan shrugged. “That’s OK, Mommy.”

“But shouldn’t I color the clouds a different color? So you’ll be able to see it?”

“No, it’s not going to rain in my picture like it did today,” he said. “So the clouds need to be white.”

I sighed and began to rub the white crayon across the white paper.

Not that it made any difference.

As I colored those clouds, I realized that my whole day had been just like my coloring. I’d set aside my own plans and done all kinds of things for the kids, but no one had even noticed. I’d bought everyone’s favorite treats at the store, built an obstacle course for the kids and even made a special dinner.

But no one said thank you. I felt invisible, just like my coloring.

These feelings of being unappreciated were all-too-common at my house, and I think most moms feel this way at least once in a while. To make light of the situation, I imagine myself with an alter ego.

The Amazing Invisible Mom. She’s amazing. And invisible. She was created with the sole purpose of meeting my family’s needs without any thanks whatsoever. She just does her thing, and no one even sees her.

It was meant to be funny, but the truth was, being invisible was no fun at all.

My pity party was just getting started when Nathan finished coloring his race car and turned to the next page, which had a rainbow on it. Nathan gave me his red crayon and asked me to start coloring the rainbow. I smiled, thinking at least my efforts would be visible this time.

As I colored that rainbow, I thought about the Biblical meaning behind them. God sends rainbows to remind us that He will never destroy the earth with a flood again. To me, rainbows mean hope. That if today brought storms and gray skies, tomorrow will be a brand new day, full of promise for better things.

I sighed and hoped tomorrow would be a better day. One where I was more than just the Amazing Invisible Mom. “Mommy, did you have a good day?” Nathan interrupted my thoughts.

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Me too,” he said. “And the best part is right now. I like when you spend time with just me.”

I hugged him and said, “I like that too, Buddy.” I smiled to myself. It seemed my new day had come a few hours early.

Moments later, my older children came in to kiss me good night.

“Thanks for a great day, Mom,” one child said. “We appreciate everything you did for us,” said another.

And little Julia said, “It was really fun Mommy, and it made me feel loved.”

I felt tears spring into my eyes as I hugged each of them goodnight.

As it turned out, I wasn’t invisible after all.

Because when my kids look at me, they see love.

september

2013-2014 Symphony Series

Annual Wearable Art Luncheon MUSIC Inspires!

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INTRODUCING NEW POPS SERIES Chris Mann in Concert

An Evening of Motown

OCTOBER 19, 2013

APRIL 5, 2014

MADE IN AMERICA

featuring Philip Powell, piano SEPTEMBER 29, 2013

Thursday, September 19, 2013 11:00 am-1:30 pm Tommy Bahama Restaurant @ The Market Common Tickets $30

THE GERMAN ROMANTIC SPIRIT

MUSICAL NARRATIVE

AN EVENING AT THE OPERA

NOVEMBER 3, 2013

JANUARY 19, 2014

MARCH 9, 2014

featuring Madalyn and Cicely Parnas, violin and cello

featuring The Carolina Master Chorale: Jeffrey Jones, baritone

featuring Kirstin Chávez, mezzo-soprano (Litchfield Ballet Co.)

Be sure to check out the current issue of the

The 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. Bring several of your friends and shop for unique art, jewelry, hats, scarves and fabulous gifts in the silent auction.

This event is a fundraiser for the Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art. 50% of the net proceeds help fund the Kathryn Metts Bryan Visual Arts Scholarship.

www.pawleysmusic.com or 843-626-8911

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A NATIONAL HISTORIC LANDMARK

Better futures begin here.

MILLER-MOTTE CAN HELP PREPARE YOU FOR A CAREER IN

Esthetics Technology

From cruises on the creek and overland excursions on the Trekker, to engaging animal programs and a new butterfly house there is always something new and exciting at Brookgreen Gardens.

For more information about our graduation rates, the median debt of students who completed this program, and other importantinformation, please visit our website at: disclosure.miller-motte.edu

C A L L T O D A Y F O R M O R E I N F O R M AT I O N

866-309-2174

This National Historic Landmark is home to the only accredited zoo on the coast of the Carolinas and one of the most significant figurative sculpture collections in the world!

Miller-Motte.edu

For more information call

(800) 849-1931 or visit www.brookgreen.org

Changing Futures. Changing Lives.®

$14 Adults, $12 Seniors, $7 Children 4-12

MMT.CON.04859.C.101_V1 • MMMBSM1305 • ©DCE 2013

& Children under 3 are FREE!

2451 HIGHWAY 501 EAST, CONWAY, SC 29526

ADMISSION IS GOOD FOR 7 DAYS!

Located on Highway 17 between Murrells Inlet and Pawleys Island.

Advertiser Index

2 Di 4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Butler Lighting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Eleanor Pitts Fine Gifts & Jewelry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Island Shoes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Art & Soul. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Cabana Gauze. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Frame Factory. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 The Joggling Board. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Atlantic Discount Spirits / Boot Legger Liquors. . . . . . 17 CHD Interiors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Gray Man Gallery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 The Kangaroo Pouch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Barbara’s Fine Gifts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Conway Ford. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43 Grady’s Jewelers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Katie’s Project. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Bistro 217. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Cuckoo’s Nest Home Consignments. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Grand Strand Nissan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Lane’s Professional Pest Elimination, Inc.. . . . . . . . . . . 27

The Blue Heron Gallery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 David Grabeman, D.D.S., P.A.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Harvest Commons on Commerce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Legacy Antiques. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Breathe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Dickens Christmas Show & Festivals. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Homespun Crafters Mall. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Long Bay Symphony. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Brookgreen Gardens. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .40 Downtown Pawleys. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Hopeologist. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 The Market Common. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

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september

We Make Room For Living

An Uncommon Shopping Destination

Free in-home measurements

Comfortable indoor environment • 50 unique boutiques

Murphy Beds, Closets and More

Bookcase By Day – Bed By Night

Need An Office And A Guest Room

ARTISANS • BOUTIQUES • ANTIQUES • HOME DÉCOR CLOTHING • JEWELRY • AMANZI TEA

Give Your Closet A Growth Spurt

New

Two Showrooms

Grand Opening Specials

8703 Hwy. 17 Bypass S., Surfside Beach, SC

584 Hwy. 17 North, N. Myrtle Beach, SC

312 Commerce Dr. • Pawleys Island Monday - Saturday 10am - 5pm

Next to Bonefish Grill

Gator Hole Plaza

www.harvestcommons.com

843-748-9191

843-249-4200

843-235-2630

www.morespaceplace.com

McLeod Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Palmetto Ace Home Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Rose Arbor Fabrics & Interiors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Take 2 Resale. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Me & Mommy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Safe Kids Pee Dee/Coastal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Taylor’s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Meineke Car Care Center. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Pawleys Island Wear. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .12 Seaside Furniture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Taz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Miller-Motte Myrtle Beach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Perfect Fit. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Two Sisters with Southern Charm. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Millie’s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 The Pink Cabana. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Shop the Avenues. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Wallpapers by Lynne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Miss Master. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Pounds Away of Myrtle Beach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Simply Divine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Wearable Art Luncheon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 More Space Place. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Purpleologist. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Simply Sophia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 WEZV. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Myrtle Beach School of Performing Arts. . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Revive Your Style. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Southern Guys & Gals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Palm Shoes & Collections. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Roper St. Francis Healthcare. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Studio 77. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22

september

www.sasee.com 41

Visit www.sasee.com for a full calendar and more Sasee events!

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19-10/12 19 23rd Annual Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art, various events. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.

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.

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26-29

27-29

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Annual 9/11 Benefit, Dead Dog Saloon, Murrells Inlet, doors open at 11 am, free All American Buffet all day, live auctions, silent auctions, 50/50 raffle, all proceeds to benefit local police and fire departments. For more info, call 843-651-0664 or visit www.deaddogsaloon.com.

Chocolate Sunday, annual fundraising event for the Cultural Council of Georgetown County, Millbrook Plantation, Georgetown, $70 per person ($60 for members), desserts, hors d’oeuvres, wine, beer, iced tea, chocolate martinis, and live performances.

Please RSVP by Sept. 6 at 843-520-0744 or visit www.CulturalCouncil.info.

34th Annual Aynor Harvest Hoe Down Festival, Aynor. Antique tractors, arts & crafts, entertainment, food, parade at 10 am, music from 11 am- 6 pm, free dance at 7 pm. For more info, call 843-358-1074 or visit http://www.aynorharvesthoedown.org.

4th Annual Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art Chalk Walk, 10 am-5 pm, viewing only on 29th, free admission both days, Atalaya Arts & Crafts Festival, Huntington Beach State Park. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.

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SOS Fall Migration, various events, Main St., North Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-281-2662 or visit www.nmbevents.com.

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 or visit www.stjohn-mb.org.

10th 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.

september

14

The Scoop

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september

Seaside United Methodist Country Fair Concert, Seaside United Methodist Church, 1300 Seaside Road SW, Sunset Beach, North Carolina, 4:30-6 pm.

For more information, call 910-579-8066 or 910-547-1627.

Atalaya Arts & Crafts Festival, Huntington Beach State Park, daily fee is $6, multi-day pass is $10. For more info, call 843-237-4440.

10/6

Elise Testone, 6 pm, The Reserve Golf Club of Pawleys Island, tickets $40 & $25, all proceeds to benefit Teach My People and Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art. For more info, call 843-626-8911 or visit www.pawleysmusic.com.

2014 Ford Fusion

It’s like having your own personal chauffeur…

It almost drives itself

• Affordable – Best Price for a mid-size car on the Market • Style – Appearance – Beautiful on the outside, Roomy on the inside • Family Friendly – Perfect Cradle to College • Safety – 8 Air Bags – IIHS Top Safety Pick – Lane Keeping System – Blind Spot Information System • Gizmos – MyFord Touch Electronics – Active Park Assist Conway Ford • Hwy. 501 in Conway Across from the Pepsi Plant • 843-365-5596 • www.conwayford.com

State-of-the-Art Services in a Highly Personal Hospital.

Serving the healthcare needs of Northern Horry and Southern Brunswick counties, McLeod Seacoast is a fully-accredited hospital. We provide a wide range of inpatient and outpatient services, 24/7 emergency department, intensive care unit, surgical services, advanced digital radiology and diagnostic imaging, and cardiology services and rehabilitation. McLeod Seacoast is supported by a group of respected local physicians ready to care for you and your family.

McLeod Seacoast is part of McLeod Health, the region’s largest healthcare network.

As your most trusted and capable choice for medical excellence, McLeod Seacoast welcomes the opportunity to partner with you in improving your health and well-being.

McLeod Seacoast Part of the Region’s Largest Healthcare Network

McLeodSeacoast.org 4000 Hwy 9 East, Little River, SC 29566 843-390-8100 50885-McLeod Seacoast-Sasee.indd 1

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