PERSNICKERITY

       


Are you picky about food or perhaps picky about where you go to eat? I was always under my own personal impression that I was NOT one of “THOSE PERSNICKEY ONES.” Especially, if you knew my sister Strawn, who is one of the pickiest ladies I know. (She loves MacDonald’s French Fries, by the way.) I am one of those people that truly enjoy all different types of food. To look at me you would know that. This corpulent weight isn’t because of fried foods. Unfortunately, my favorite foods are ice cream, all kinds of cheese, soups and stews, dark chocolate, sweets and more sweets, all types of breakfast foods, ethnic foods, salads, fruit and hot dogs (baked or fried, not boiled). Out of these favorite foods you will notice that the only healthy ones were fruit, soup and salads. Even worse, when I developed Atria Fibrillation (AFIB) and was placed on a medication called Coumadin (blood thinner), salad was limited to small quantities. My least favorite foods (NOTE! I did not say I didn’t like) are hamburgers, green peas, French Fries, hominy grits and pizza.


So why am I writing this post? I need to clear the air and put an explanation behind “I’ll eat anywhere as long as it is not...!” One reason I am writing this post is due to my daughter-in-law Lacy, who insinuated that I was picky. That statement did NOT go over too well, especially since I had just picked her up from her parent’s house, and she did not seem to be in a very accommodating mood. My thinking was Lacy decided “picky” Sue was not going to be one more “thorn” she needed to deal with that day. Colin’s nap time was close, and we had limited time before he would go to sleep. Lacy needed some peace. I was totally flabbergasted. “ME” picky! I was in a state of denial. Later, upon analyzing it, I not only discovered she was right, but she was being thoughtful in asking where I wanted to eat. I was asked, since I did not like places like Burger King, MacDonald’s, and pizza, where did I want to eat. For the record, I do like some fast food establishments (Wendy’s, Taco Bell, Arby’s, Sub type places, etc.), but at this point, I chose not to argue.

Secondly, upon writing this post, I am now saying… it IS OKAY to be choosey, it IS OKAY to be different, and it IS OKAY to be particular about where you eat and how your food is prepared. I may not be like every “red-blooded” American that likes   MacDonald’s French Fries, Hardee's burgers, and all the different Pizza establishments…SO WHAT! This only means I am “unique” and not worried about being different. It is not whether you are right or wrong, but about … who YOU are and what you prefer.


Lacy opened my eyes to a good characteristic that I possess, and I thank her. She was concerned that I found a place to eat that was quick but acceptable to what I liked, for I had not eaten that day. Although at the time I was NOT appreciative, I should have been. This brings to mind a choice that my daughter Paige and her husband made on an eating establishment I did not like and had emphasized that fact before they selected it. (“The food is not good and the service is terrible plus slow.”) In fact, I was down-right mad, at the time, and I made everyone miserable. It may not have been the correct behavior, but I kept thinking that I would never have chosen a place that someone did not like, especially, if I was aware of their dislike. How selfish, especially since I emphasized my dislike for this restaurant. (Even worse, I do not regret my behavior after all this time, though I guess one might say I acted selfishly too. Hey, has the word compromise left the English language? And, no, Jay, I have not forgotten that cheese burger pizza you ordered in Chicago.) To my knowledge I have never selected a place to eat that someone seriously did not like? If I have, please remind me. My theory… with all the restaurants and fast foods joints available to choose from these days, surely we can find one that is palatable to all.

Thirdly, why this post? Everyone has a reason for choosing or not choosing a particular place to eat. I am not a fast food fan. I especially do not like MacDonald’s, Hardee's and Burger King for quite a few reasons. First, I am not fond of anything greasy. Even when I cook bacon, hot dogs and sausage, I want them either crispy (bacon) or well-done (blackened hot dogs) and well-drained. (Do NOT give me bacon that is limp for I associate it with dripping in grease. In my eyes all I can see is the greasy stuff dropping one drip at a time. YUCK!).(Or is it dripping one drop at a time? LOL) I will say there are exceptions to the rule when it comes to some fried foods such as fried chicken (well-drained), minute/Swiss steak, sausage, corn beef hash, and onion rings. As long as some fried foods are drained of the fat, it can be enjoyable on occasion. Secondly, I inherited my Mother’s smeller. When I go in a place that has a greasy smell, my stomach wants to roll.
Thirdly, I had to deal with these type restaurants in my early married lifeThirdly, I had to deal with these type restaurants in my early married life.Two or three times a week during football, basketball and volleyball seasons, when Jimmy and I coached said teams plus the Beaufort High Cheerleaders the late night burger, after out-of-town ball games, was on the platter (20 years). This is not counting the fact that my kids liked these places; it also meant a quick cheap meal. Nevertheless, this has put a permanent negative blip on my brain cells.


Actually, I have come a long way in picking eating establishments. Belinda Carson, who is a super great friend and cook, and her husband Jim have introduced me to some great side of the road diners in out of the way places. Restaurants I would never have tried before I met them. I hate to think of all the great places I have missed in my life. Due to an inherited “hang-up” from my Mom, who called these places “greasy spoons” and was always worried that they would give you food poisoning, I never patronized one. (This came from Peggy. “I really don’t think Mom was a snob, she was just a New Yorker with NY City ways. She came up during a time when NY was getting immigrants from all over the world and little places would pop up to feed them. They were using a lot of grease and were rat infested. TB was becoming a real problem and many of the places would be shut down “over night”. Established New Yorkers did fear them. That would stick in my brain too!”) I AGREE!

Lastly, and most importantly….why choose something you dislike, when you can have better? You just might be introducing someone to something they too will enjoy. It’s a matter of “TASTE”! So yawl, YOU SHOULD BE “PERSNICKERITY”! And if you can’t come to a consensus, you may end up eating alone…

“It’s good food and not fine words that keeps me alive.”        Les Femmes Savantes
 
(Added February 2013) Since I am so particular about what I eat and I can be extreme at times, I decided to add these restaurants /dives/ cafés (however they may be described) to my post.  They are mighty good places to eat and can be found in the Charleston/Edisto Island area.   The Hominy Grill is found in the MUSC Charleston area off of Rutledge.  The Old Firehouse restaurant is found in Hollywood, SC between Charleston and Edisto Island.  The Glass Onion can be found as you enter Charleston on Highway 17 (Savannah Highway). The Old Post Office restaurant and Main’s Market can be found as you enter Edisto Island.  McConkey’s Jungle Shack, The Sea Cow, and The Waterfront restaurants can be found down Jungle Road in Edisto Beach. Whaley’s can be found off Palmetto Boulevard, on Neptune road on Edisto Island, SC.

      

 

     

 

   



THE MOLDING OF SUE: PART ONE

When I look back on my childhood I wondered what events molded me into what I am today and why. I can remember tales of mischief told to me by my grandmother, MaPa, Shep (A very dear friend of the Livingston family who moved with us to SC many years ago.), Aunt Alta, Cousin Gay, Unk, Dad, Mom and Aunt Emmy. Some of those memories I vaguely remembered doing, some I don’t. Some memories I remembered in a different perspective than their version. This is part one of a three part series that I will present periodically throughout my blog.

Shep loved to tell me the story of my diaper years when he helped Mom clean-up the most ungodly scent and mess he had ever witnessed. He said what made the reeking event even worse was my mischievous face. He swears that I knew exactly what I had done by the spark in my eyes and the cocky smile that was displayed on my very smelly, dirty face. He said that when they entered the room, I was standing in my crib smearing brownish/green mucky “number 2” in an artful manner all over the wall. It was literally in slow motion; the way I looked at Mom and him, dug into my diaper, came up with a handful... I smiled, looked them in the eye, threw it on the wall, and started squiggling “dunk” everywhere . He said the worst part was Mom yelling for Ted, my Dad, who entered and after seeing the mess started laughing which in turn started Shep laughing too. Shep indicated that Mom was livid at the two of them for she knew I would get sick or poisoned by the gunk that was hanging from my mouth, face, and body. They were, also, encouraging “said” behavior by their laughter. Needless to say, it took the three of them hours to clean-up. I joyously giggled and played without a care in the world while they grumbled and gagged. Maybe Mom was right, this possibly may have been the beginning of my shenanigans that tempered the Livingston family of my presence.

While Earl Sheppard is on my mind; he, Dad and Mom would drink "highballs" while listening to all types of music from opera, operettas, to classical music. On occasion, they would take Peggy and me to Charleston and Columbia to hear, as well as see the performance of many of these operas. I thank my parents and Shep many times for instilling in me a love for ALL types of music. I bless Shep for getting me through the 1st grade that I failed due to persistent discipline problems with the Nuns. “When I was in the 1st grade I went to the Catholic school in Fredricksburg, Va. The nuns used to send notes home to my parents that I was NOT supposed to wear pants to school. I would hide these notes. I left home in a skirt and changed on the bus to pants that was hidden in my satchel. One day a particularly mean Nun, that I did not like, grabbed me real hard; and she demanded that I change my attire. I broke loose and started running from her. I looked ahead and saw this huge mud puddle.  When I got to it, I stopped in the middle of it and started laughing.  I quickly dodged as she grabbed for me. She slipped, and fell face first into the puddle. I was looking at this very muddy-faced Nun with her long black habit dripping in gunk. You can imagine my surprise and delight; and I doubled over laughing. Needless to say, when my parents found out about what I had done, they were furious. I got double punishment, a spanking and “sent to bed.” That was one of those times being sent to bed did not bother me. I laid in my bed and smiled as I relived that entertaining moment in time. Every day after this my satchel was checked. Thank goodness after the 2ND  year, we moved to SC."  I have to admit, I also failed because of my lack of patience with the learning process. Shep had to tutor me the whole summer so I could move with my class to the 2ND grade. Between Daddy, Mom, and Shep, I not only learned to enjoy reading; I also learned to appreciate all types of subject matter and reading material. Until I got my Kindle, I was NEVER without a book in my purse/pocketbook. I never got bored if stranded for I had my book for entertainment. I am a lucky person in that I can read while riding in a moving vehicle.

MaPa was always telling me the story of her placing me in the “NO” Chair.” Evidently, spanking did not seem to bother me so Mom and Dad came up with the idea of defining a particular chair that I had to sit in without moving for certain periods of time depending on my offense. MaPa unknowingly placed me in this chair to change my clothes and all “hell” broke loose for I started hollering and yelling MaPa “I good, I good” over and over again; and banging my hands and head against the chair rattling it back and forth. Dad and Mom had a terrible time trying to explain to me that my MaPa did not know it was the “bad” chair. Ma Pa used to say that my temper tantrums were so bad that I would start biting the side of my hand in anger. For years into my adulthood I would bite the side of my hand to keep from losing my cool. I guess by punishing myself I managed to calm down.

The worse thing my Mom and Dad could do to me, discipline wise, was to limit my activities by sending me to bed, denying me the use of my bike,  not hanging out on my swing, etc. There is no one on this earth I adored more than my Aunt Janet. I named my daughter after her. "She had this parakeet named Whiskers, I think. My Mom would dread when a customer came into our motel office if Aunt Janet's room door was open. Whiskers would bellow out “King Cotton, no damn good!” The bird was most realistic sounding and had a very good vocabulary." Anyway, Aunt Janet liked to remind me of my bike that Dad would hang up a tree outside her bedroom window. It tickled her that she was the first one to know whether I got to ride my bike on a given week. He used a pulley rope to move my bike into an upward position in the tree when my grades or behavior were not the best; and he would return it to the ground as a reward for improvement. Again limiting my favorite thing to do, riding my bike. I am NOT complaining for these were inventive ways of managing their very stubborn daughter who was NOT particularly crazy about school. These methods I would have used on my own kids, but I was fortunate NOT to have too many discipline problems with my son or my daughter. Maybe, biting my hand scared them "shitless". Yep, I am laughing at myself…sorry!

I could not wait for Aunt Emmie to come visit. (Aunt Em was Theodore Burroughs Livingston's, my grandfather, sister. Aunt Em had a fixation when it came to our Chinese Chest that was in our living room at the King Cotton Motel. She would spend hours searching in every conceivable place for the secret drawer that she knew lay hidden in its structure. Although quite elderly, you never knew when she would be lying on the floor under or behind that chest pushing, pulling. or gliding her finger across the chest looking in frustration for the secret compartment that she knew held a treasure. (All four of the Livingston Sisters would look, but we never found that drawer. I have always wondered, and keep forgetting to ask Gay, if she and her family ever take the time to look.  (Maybe we should have taken all the drawers out and look behind them.)

Also, I was the lucky one, if they needed a fourth at Bridge, Hearts and Canasta. Aunt Em would come from St. Augustine with Aunt Alta, Aunt Gertrude and Unk, or Cousin Gay. Not only was I the oldest, but I loved playing cards with them. Not to brag, but I was also very good at cards and caught on quickly. For some reason when I sat down to play cards I clammed up, kept a straight face, and focused on the game; three traits that I normally do not possess. It bugs me to this day when too much talking occurs while we play games or cards. My big problem was I did not like to lose. My Mom did not play Canasta and Bridge; therefore, she would get real upset when I showed signs of impatience or made “sour or negative” comments between game sets, etc. Dad would shake his head with his finger to his lips for silence, and informed me that it was just a game. He would remind “Margaret” that she was not playing and he would handle it. He would proceed to shake his head in a negative manner, again, and l would lip read; “Now Sue, please behave yourself.” My aunts would smirk and Mom would throw up her hands in frustration. I hate to say this yawl, but I learned from the best.

Thus, I have come to the end of my 1st Edition to the Molding of Sue. I will simply say some learn, while others do not, from events that took place in the past.

I AM BACK TO ENTERTAIN MYSELF

I have returned. After many months not writing, I realized that I missed expressing myself. My approach to this continued blog will basically be the same. Except, along with memories of the past(good or bad) I will also do a journal of my thoughts, observations and feelings. Since I have been away for so long, I doubt very seriously if anyone will be reading what I write. In fact, I doubt if anyone will remember the name of my blog. Nor am I going to inform anyone that I have continued this blog. Before they felt obliged to read it; because I am a friend, parent, relative etc. I will critique my writing and either pat myself on the back or point a finger at myself, shake my head, and say “shame, shame, shame on you for being so bad”. This is GOOD for now I can write what I like and not worry about offending anyone. (Nope! That is impossible for I do this on a regular basis without even trying.)

My blog will be like an open diary on how I feel. I will treat and indulge myself in what I call “self-help therapy”. What do I mean by this? Simply, I can read and listen to myself talk since no one really listens to what I have to say. Maybe I should say they half-listen or they simply do not have the time to listen. I will be my own best friend. This is good for there are some, my sister Mary Gay for one, who would find fault or make negative judgments no matter what I write or how I write it; maybe, because of the possibility of the whole world reading it. (I wonder how many in the World read and took issue on that statement.) Thank goodness, I do not have to worry about her or any of her family/friends reading this anyway. None of them are computer literate to the extent of finding this blog. If they did find my blog, it would be by accident or someone "tattled." To my sister it would be of little interest, silly, or possibly shocking. Now the rest of the family does have above average computer skills, especially Lacy, who has her own Blog. She may remotely, out of curiosity, decide in the future to check-out my blog; and she may pass along my indiscretions to others in the family. Not to worry, I have myself well covered……”Age, along with strong sleeping pills grabbed hold of me during the night without my knowledge and made me write this junk.” I always tell Peggy everything, but this time she will not know either. A few stories to follow this introduction will be “Good Sister, Bad Sister”, “Dad: A Wise Man of Many Talents”, “Four Sisters: How Can They be so Different?”, “Fighting Your Own Battles Without the Support of Family” and address the topic on how you can become the “underdog” for the following statement: He said, “make sure you talk about me when I leave….I said I would," I did, and still paying the price for doing so. I am curious to see how I will approach this topic and not step on more toes... NADA!...I feel them breaking now...OUCH!


I have now triggered my own imagination with surly remarks and interest filled topics.  I will take a break until after the 4TH of July. Sue… have a great 4TH with Claire, Laura, Nancy and Paige. Poor Jim has to work, but he loves burgers and that will be his dinner. With a hacking cough and no sleep, I am about to embark on a week with my granddaughter and her best friend...HELP!

A VERY SOPHISICATED BEAUTY CONTESTANT

Hey, anyone who reads my post, scroll down to my Part II, St. Augustine post and my prom post to see added pictures of my Aunt Esabella, Aunt Em, and Unk (with a drink in his hand.) I even found one more prom picture and pictures of the four sisters at the old Fort in St. Augustine.

As mentioned below, I could not find any more of my senior prom pictures. I did find a picture of me in my prom dress. During this two year time period in my life I do remember an unplanned shenanigan, if you want to call it that, which occurred my senior year. Back in those days we did not think twice about wearing the same evening dress twice. (Speaking of evening dresses, I bought both my dresses with the tips I made in my parent’s small restaurant open for guest of our motel only.) This particular year I had let my hair grow longer. Much to my disgust, Mom decided that I should be in the Summerton High Beauty Contest.

On the night in question the contestants all lined up for our entry onto the stage. Our instructions were clear, if our numbers were not called as a finalist we were to quietly join the audience and see the rest of the contest. I was number “10” of lord knows how many girls. I do not think there were over twenty girls in the contest. I think they eliminated all but eight and from those eight they selected the queen and two finalists. You need to understand, I knew I wasn’t ugly but I definitely wasn’t any beauty nor was I the most graceful soul on that stage. I think Mom felt it was a good way to build self-esteem; poise and whatever else a pageant was suppose to do for young ladies. I entered the stage that first introductory part of the beauty contest strutting my stuff. Upon calling out the eight finalists and not hearing my number I headed for the audience. The curtain opens for the 2nd half of the pageant and they started calling out the finalist, suddenly I heard number 10 called, they called it again and I could not understand where and who the contestant was, suddenly I heard myself say out loud, Oh, my gosh, that’s me. Reacting in my normal unsophisticated manner, I jumped up, crawled over four or five people to get to the aisle. My dress up in the air and swinging back and forth, I ran down the aisle to the back of the gym and down this outside area to get to the back of the stage where I entered the stage after a long delay with a red face; huffing and puffing loudly trying to get my breath. I do know I plastered a smile on my face trying not to laugh at myself and strolled with as much dignity that I could muster. As you might have come to realize the audience was extremely entertained. I learned later that Mom’s face of delight at I being one of the finalist soon changed to mouth open shock, whereby she started sliding down in her seat as Dad took her elbow and pushed upward. From what I was told she was speechless, but to this day I do not remember what was said to me after that contest was over. It’s like I took this part of my memory and locked it out. Maybe Peggy remembers the rest of this story.

My sister, Peggy, has a better memory than I do. I have decided that I will invite her as a guest to write on my blog. It would be fun for her to share some of her memories, or to do an addendum to what I have written.

As an afterthought, in my thirties I was a Valentine Queen for Beta Sigma Phi twice, a women’s sorority in Beaufort. The sorority use to put on the Talent Contest for the Water Festival. It is a national sorority and each chapter took on a community function and sponsored a meal for a family in need at Christmas. We also did a chartable money raiser. I guess in a round about way, you could say that Mom got her wish fifteen years too late even if it was for only two night.

PROM SHENANIGANS

As mentioned in my first post, this lady (SUE) stayed in trouble when she was younger. This continued through motherhood and trouble still materializes to a lesser degree now. It was not always planned, but more spontaneous. It was no use to lie or try to get away with anything for I always got caught. I had and still have a habit of speaking out or taking action without thinking it through. My Dad always said, my mouth took action before my brain, therefore; it was the reason for my speaking, spelling, and quick reaction mistakes. I was/am too impatient. I wanted to get it said or done with at that moment in time which invariably led/leads to trouble. He could be right about this. I do know he accepted me for the way I was which included my antics (for lack of a better word). My poor Mom was the culprit of the majority of these shenanigans much to her embarrassment. Unfortunately I could never figure out why I embarrassed her so much for I was rarely embarrassed. I guess I was not seeing the situations I got myself into in the same light that she would see them. I can’t tell you how many times my Mother was apologizing for something I said or did. After I got married I can remember her apologizing to her best friends, Mac and Booger, before I did anything wrong.

Well anyway after reading Lacy’s Blog, Lacy Lately, I looked everywhere for prom pictures and found only one. I do remembered going to both proms. (The pictures must be in my storage unit) I cannot remember my proms clearly. To be honest I do not remember having a particularly good time. We did not do “the going out to eat” and then going to the prom like they do in present time. We did not take pictures at the prom or if we did I do not remember it. The food was buffet catered. All I can remember about the music was that it was Rock’n-Roll.

I do remember two events that stood out in my memory simultaneously in slow motion. The night of my Junior Prom, I remember my poor Mom nearly keeled over in shock and my Dad shaking with laughter hoping Mom would not see him. This was not a planned shenanigan, but it was a last minute shenanigan that I am sure Mom never forgot. I had this real short haircut that I wore in a “Pixie”. Mom decided for a formal prom I needed to get it doodle-up and she got Helen, her beautician, to give me a curl/wave. When I got home I was upset for I thought it looked awful and so not “me.” Mom was not exactly happy with my attitude and lack of appreciation. I can't blame her for back then money was scarce. When my date arrived I was beside myself and did not want to go. First, I did not exactly like my date. Secondly, I was embarrassed with my tight-wavy look. I rushed into the bathroom in my blue evening dress, kneeled down by the bath tub, turned on the warm water and proceeded to wash my hair. Peggy is having a multi-reaction fit…..dying of shock and whispering that I was going to be in big trouble. At the same time she was laughing and shaking her head; “I cannot believe you are doing this”. Carefully I lift my head, I managed to get a towel and I rubbed my hair as dry as time allowed. I “pixied” my hair in this exaggerated spike fashion, touched up my lipstick, put on my fashionable long gloves and walked out into the living room. Two reactions registered at the same time: My Dad eyes got big and round, he rolled his eyes while he shook his head in one of those NOT AGAIN, SUE gestures and he headed for the kitchen. (He was laughing and trying to get out of harm’s way.) My Mom’s face, had a look of impatience because I was rude and she was left entertaining my date, changed into red dismay. Her mouth was hanging open, followed by a gasp and a slow-measured movement towards a chair. She was speechless. With stiff, straight, wet hair I moved quickly towards the front door smiling at my date and trying not to look at anyone. At the moment it was important I vacate my house fast. My dad yells WAIT. As I turned slowly, my Dad with this hidden mischievous half-smile pointed to the Chinese Chest and he quickly took a few pictures. My Mother has yet to utter a word and I dare not look at her. I do not remember what happened after that except I was surprised that no one said anything to me then or on my return, if they did it does not stick in my mind.

Lastly, I do remember that after my senior prom, a group of us went swimming in our clothes at the Windsor Motel pool. We evidently made too much noise. We were sneaking around at two o’clock AM. The manager was so upset that he called the police. We all got the no trespassing and disturbing the peace lecture and were told literally to disappear or our moms and dads would be called. I had on a new Madras outfit that faded out even more after my chlorinated dip in the pool. My Dad owned the King Cotton Motel competition to the Windsor Motel so I certainly did not need to get in trouble. I was out of there as quickly as time allowed, but it did not matter. Unknown to me, the manager recognized me and called my Dad. Upon sneaking into the house I saw my Dad sitting in his favorite chair half-asleep, twiddling his fingers on his chest, and nodding his head back and forth. Sue, I sure hope you enjoyed yourself tonight and that you are home to stay for I really need to get some sleep. I do not want anymore strange phone calls, nor do I want your Mom waking up. After all, it was four o’clock in the morning.

ST. AUGUSTINE "Better Late Than Never"

Learning how to do a blog and the timing in writing versus posting the blog is a slow process for me. I wrote this blog post before I left for St. Augustine and forgot to post it. In order not to waste this I decided to post it “after the fact” and will do a follow up in a few days.

I am headed to St. Augustine, Florida tomorrow. I am looking forward to this trip for I enjoy my cousin Alec and his wife Sharon. They are real nice down-folk people. Last year they visited my sister and me in South Carolina and we so enjoyed their visit. We managed to sightsee quite a bit in the Savannah/Beaufort/Charleston area. I love photography and I managed to take some really great pictures. (One of these pictures I framed for them). I hope to do the same in St. Augustine, especially since a portion of our family’s genealogy is from that area. I am hoping one of the old homestead houses will still be there. We also have to scatter Uncle Gay’s ashes into the St. John’s River. My dad and Uncle Gay (I always called him uncle) were best pals growing up and I absolutely adored him. I will share memories of Uncle Gay in another blog report. Gay died last year and this will be a celebration of his life at his request. He is and will be missed by all of us. He was a true gentleman as is his son Alec. He lived into his nineties. He was one of those that aged well and was a handsome man until the day he died


The only negative part about this whole trip is making the decision on what to take to wear. Here it is April and we are having 50 degree weather. Two days ago it was 75 degrees. Florida is further south than us so I am assuming it will be warmer. It would just be my luck I pack clothes for warm weather and it turns out to be cold. Thank goodness I am not flying for I would be limited not only on weather clothes, but suitcase weight. (In August I head to Michigan….Lord help me on trying to decide what to take for I am flying on this trip.) The only thing I dislike about traveling is making decisions on wearing apparel. I usually start packing a good two to three days ahead of time. I am constantly putting clothes in and taking them out. I worry about forgetting something so I put the “stuff” I need beside the suitcase hoping I will not need it before I leave and if I do I hope to remember to put it back. I even half-dream about what I am taking or might be leaving and I mentally do a check list instead of getting a good night’s sleep. Well anyway after all of that ranting I am packed and pray I have not forgotten my toothpaste and u-pants.

I am a "CHICKEN"

After all these years I am still a "chicken" when it comes to shots. I just visited Lacy's Blog and I saw her giving herself a shot. (Legal, for fertility reasons) I was so in awe of the fact that she could actually do that to herself. I have a friend that has diabetes and she does this as well. I feel so ashamed that I actually look away and cringe when she gives herself a shot. At least I do not pass out when I see a needle like I did when I was small. When I was little I broke my nose while catching a baseball. The bat swung around and I guess my nose swung with it. I vividly remember that while in the hospital the nurse would wake me up to give me a penicillin shot. The needle was huge in my eyes and it hurt like heck. (1947) My dad had to go with me to Dr. Bozard's office even when I was a young adult. He had to remind the nurses and my doctor to approach me without showing me the needle. I cannot believe I am still such a "wuss". Needles today are so thin you can hardly feel them. I guess it is the thought of them that send the chills up my spine. Most needles are for the good of the individual, or they are supposed to be. I try to remember this when my finger is pricked or when a flu shot is stuck in my arm, etc: I guess this is one reason of many that I am not a drug addict. How theses addicts do what they do I will never know. Not only would giving myself the needle send me into orbit, but not knowing what I am doing at all times would be as frightening as hell. I like to be in control of my life at all times. I do not believe in drugs anyway and hate taking the ones that I do need to correct my "AFIB" condition. Thank goodness I do not have to take my "meds" by needle for I really would be "up the creek without a paddle".

Scuttlebutt About Me

This blog is not about me personally, but about memories, emotions, “pet peeves”, very short stories with a lesson to learn, people that have crossed my life (good or bad), and my family. Whatever pops up in my thoughts, dreams, etc: My daughter-in-law, whom I absolutely love, has a blog. Through her blog I have gotten to appreciate and understand her better. Her blog is so entertaining and sometimes very emotional. It is a wonderful way to keep abreast of what is happening in their lives since they live in Michigan and I in South Carolina.

I doubt if anyone will respond much less read this blog. For that matter I am not telling anyone I am doing this until I feel more familar with what I am doing. If they happen upon this blog, then I pray I have not been offensive. Fred, my son-in-law, is on the police detective and believes it is not safe to have a blog, therefore I am trying to keep it on a “as safe as I can” basis. He is very protective of his family. My life is full of mistakes and my grammatical errors will most probably be plentiful so please ignore them if possible, that is if you decide to read this stuff I write. I love to forget to add ed, ing, s, to my words and typographical errors will appear regularly. Please if someone out there realizes who this is, please whatever you do…..DO NOT TELL MY YOUNGEST SISTER.

Unknown to him, my son came up with the “shenanigans” part of my blog title. Most appropriate I might add, because you never knew what was going to come out of my mouth or what trouble I would brew from one second to the next. Sorry, one and all, I am still this way. The “scuttlebutt” comes from my beloved departed dad that would say “that’s a bunch of scuttlebutt” every time someone said something he disagreed with that was beyond farfetched. He also used the term “highway robbery” in reference to anything that was priced ridiculously, etc. The S.A.L.T. is my initial that actually spells a word, just like SALT, SAL and SAT. I was always told that if initials spelt a word then you would have wealth. Well I am here to tell you I am almost as poor as a church mouse when it comes to money, BUT if the saying refers to family then I am the wealthiest lady alive.
As a matter of introduction, my friends call me Sue. I am the oldest of four sisters, whom I adore beyond words. Although, it is debatable on how they each feel about me. (My poor Dad was outnumbered by women and seemed to enjoy and love us without going up the wall with female chatter.) I am part Yankee and part southerner. (Dad was from North Carolina/Florida and Mom was a New Yorker). I am originally from Virginia, but was raised in South Carolina in a small town in the middle/lower part of the state. For most of my life I have lived in the “low” country. The last ten years I have lived at the beach.

I am 66 years old. I am bored out of my mind so I thought I would try my hand at a blog. I have two children and two grandchildren that are the “highlight” of my life next to my husband Jim. I have always felt appreciated and loved. I am not always understood, but I am loved. I am one of those lucky individuals who have one of those husbands that believed when two parents worked we should share in the responsibility of the home. This included taking care of the kids along with shared responsibilities of taking care of the different chores that keep the home clean and safe. This has been going on for forty plus years.

I am an ex-school teacher of thirty years and most of those thirty years were the greatest years of my life. I was not a great teacher by any means, nor was I the worse. I was above mediocre and I was involved in many of the school’s activities. I was a Varsity Cheerleader sponsor for 14 years, a head girls basketball and volleyball coach, headed-up my school’s evaluation committee for the Southern Association of High Schools and Colleges for four different evaluations, chairperson for several science fairs, editor of the Parent Link Newsletter, and involved in our school’s Science area of the Academic Challenge, just to name a few. So my retired life is not very active and it is hard making an adjustment even after all these retired years.
My husband, a retired school teacher has found a life after teaching. He is one of the Assistant Managers of one of our bigger state parks here in South Carolina. He started as a night ranger when he was teaching school and has worked up to this position. He is 68-years old and has gotten his last two promotions after retiring as a school teacher. So you can understand how proud I am of his accomplishments.

I have two children. I love them without reservation. (This picture was taken when I was in my thirty's)I was one of those lucky parents whose children decided NOT to give Jim and me a hard time during their teenage years. They basically behaved, made good grades went to college, have a good career, and both are married to great partners. My daughter has given me two awesome sometimes mischievous grandchildren and my son and his wife are trying mighty hard to do the same. So pray it will be soon for they want children, like “right now”. So if anyone has a prayer list, please put them on it. Thanks