A Tiny Hunter's First Kill: RIP Barnwell

(Barnwell the lizard, and a picture of my tiny hunter with his first kill)

I am a wimp. I will admit it. Sure, there are a few exceptions, but overall, I am pretty wimpy. A perfect example is my irrational fear of lizards. In my younger days at our river house, I swam where gators were frequently seen, I walked side by side with respectably-sized snakes, watched wild boars run through the back yard, I caught cast nets full of bait fish, cleaned crabs or boiled them live . . . I don't know what's happened to me now, but I am full-out prissy.

So we have had a problem with lizards living on our back porch recently, which has made going in and out of the back door a little more exciting. There have been two of the little "Geicos" living in the wicker porch furniture. I named them. That's what I do to try and make them seem less threatening. I give them names like Pierre or Steve. Well, these two have been dubbed Barnwell and Sumter. Barnwell was the fatter of the two and hung close to the back door, peering in at us. Many times, Sam and I had the chance to study Barnwell's scaly underbelly closely through the glass. Sumter tends to stay in the wicker loveseat near the garage door. He's not bothering me much over there.

More than once, my husband has captured these little green Southern gentlemen and flung them over our back fence into a green space with a tree line separating us from the next subdivision. What lizard wouldn't love a green space with a tree line?! Ours. They are homing lizards. But I had not seen either of them in a few days and had become lax. Today, I opened the back door without looking out of the blinds first. My three year old, Sam, walked out first. Then I saw Barnwell on the outside of the french door, hanging over my kitchen floor. I knew it was Barnwell because of his chopped off tail, the result of a previous scuffle with my husband.

Instinctively, I screamed and slammed the door shut. With my child on the other side. It was definitely not one of my finer moments in motherhood. At any rate, I started banging on the glass to encourage the lizard to move. He didn't. Sam turned around and yelled at the lizard to move. "Get out of ze way, yizard!" He didn't. So in an effort to protect his histrionic mother, Sam took his sippy cup and SLAM! socked it to the lizard. Barnwell fell the to threshold, barely moving.

"Oh, don't worry, Mommy!" Sam shouted through the door. I guess he could sense that I was still reticent to open the door with the tiny dinosaur struggling for life in my path. Then he took his sippy cup and AGAIN slammed it down on top of the ailing Barnwell. And there it was. My little boy, the fierce lizard hunter, had made his first kill. He was protecting his mommy, bless his little heart. He's almost all Scottish on my side, so that explains a lot. And I think he's got a little Seneca Indian blood on his father's side, so that helps, too. Killer instinct. And he's not even in 3K yet.

I was in shock at my little boy's bravery, but so proud of him for coming to my rescue. Next, we will be outfitting him with little snake boots and building him a tree stand.

A Tribute to Nona

My dear grandmother, Nona, passed away a couple of weeks ago. I had the privilege of making some remarks at her funeral, which was actually very cathartic. I always look at people who speak at the funeral of a loved one and think, How is he/she getting through that without breaking down? Well, one way I got through it was keeping it light and remembering some of the funny things. But all said and done, it actually felt good to tell everyone some things that I knew about her that perhaps they didn't. It was helpful to me to be able to show them a bit of the lady I knew as grandmother and friend.

"Lady" is the key word. She was fun, a good Christian, had a good sense of humor, and so sweet. She always made others feel at ease in her presence, no matter what. She was very generous and kind, and was always interested in other people's lives and experiences. She had a degree in social work from USC, and went right to work as a social worker out of college. After marrying my grandfather, she became a full-time housewife (and eventually, mother to 3). She spent a lot of time doing charity work, though, as I remember from my childhood.

But above all, she was always a lady. I try to be more like her, and I fall flat on my face most days. During the summer I was studying for the Bar and taking the Bar review class in Columbia, I stayed with my grandparents so I could be closer to USC and cut down my drive by at least half. In late afternoons, I would take a break from studying and sit with Nona in the library. We would have sandwiches and tea, and watch re-runs of "Murder, She Wrote" and "M.A.S.H." My grandfather would usually come in as well, and join us for a light, early dinner. Having the comfort and stability of my grandparents' support was most certainly one of the reasons I managed to pass that wretched three-day exam.

I miss her so, so much. I know I always will. But I think of my young son , my cousin's young daughter (and the new baby brother she will have in a few months), and I realize that the circle of life goes on. I have no regrets. I am thankful that I took full advantage of the 38 years I had her in my life. I have thousands of wonderful memories that warm my heart. And I have the blessed assurance of knowing that Nona is Heaven, and I will see her again.

If your grandparents are still living, I urge to take full advantage of being with them. Ask their opinion on your life decisions, or on what to wear to an event, or where to plant your roses. Ask them to tell you stories from their childhood. You'll be glad you did.

Ready, Set, No

As tornadoes ripped across our country last week, I watched and prayed for those who were affected, and for those who seemed to be in the path of impending danger. I encourage everyone to send donations to Operation Blessing, Salvation Army, or the org of your choice to assist with aid to the victims.

We were miraculously blessed that we did not receive the wrath of those storms. As the storm rolled across the south, we braced, knowing we were directly in the path. I grew up with a nervous nellie dad, always having to call when I arrived somewhere. Many a time, I had road trips planned when one of the days would threaten a 20% chance of rain. My dad would shake his head and advise against going. A bit overly-cautious. But after experiencing Hugo in 1989 as a high school senior, I tend to consider safety a bit more. When you have spent the night listening to the high winds and passing tornadoes, then having a tree fall into your roof, you tend to take these things a little more seriously. I thought I was going to die that night, and later found out that the "BOOM CRACK" sounds the house was making are usually what you hear before a house explodes in a tornado. I adopted a similar "batten down the hatches" attitude and don't even like to leave the house in rain now, if I don't have to.

So, what did I do as an adult? I married a First Responder. Being a survivor of Hurricane Andrew, my emergency personnel husband is even worse than my dad when it comes to being safe and taking precautions. When he's at home and hail or tornadoes threaten, he acts as though Armageddon is upon us every time. In particular, I can remember one storm in the last few years where the weather was amply troublesome. Forever emblazoned on my memory is an image of my husband sitting on our porch, wearing a bicycle helmet, and wielding a baseball bat in case any errant hail were to blow up on the porch in a missile-like fashion and break our sliding glass doors.

When my husband is not at home with us during a big weather event, he will call me with detailed instructions about what to secure in the yard (because anything can become a projectile in high wind) and usually tell me to go to my parents' house to take cover. (Their house is older, larger, and infinitely sturdier than ours.) Surviving a major storm like Andrew or Hugo will change you forever, and not necessarily to make you more sane.

So when the storm was approaching last week, it was certain that we would get heavy rain and high winds, at the very least. When the storm reached Columbia, about 2-3 counties over, there were still tornadoes spinning off of it. I took my son to school and opted not to stay for a reception honoring a lady who is leaving the school. I told everyone I wanted to stay, but had to go home and "get ready for the storm." They all looked at me like I was crazy. They acted like I was squawking like Chicken Little. Some didn't even know we were due to get a storm. The rest of the world was business as usual, while I was occupied all day by the Weather Channel and phone updates from family members. I, too, have become that nervous nellie. I felt foolish when I went back to pick him up later in the day, and not a drop of rain had fallen. "Well, I guess we didn't get that storm after all," one of the teachers said to me. But all my potential projectiles were secured, gosh darn it.

My husband was not at home with us, but my in laws were in town, staying in a hotel. Of course, it was suggested that my son and I go to the hotel so we could hide in the sturdy concrete stairwell. We did not do that, but did go to my parents' house to watch the Weather Channel. My mother was due at a state garden club meeting in Columbia, and was all set to get on the highway and drive. My father and my husband were all over her not to go . . . "People are out there getting pelted with hail!" "I don't care if you have to make a presentation. You can't make it anyway if you're DEAD!" High drama. My mother waved them off and got in her Range Rover, in which she believes herself to be invincible. Okay, those cars are like tanks, but I don't think they could take on a tornado. Check the pictures of Tuscaloosa if you don't believe me, Mom. But she was convinced that we weren't going to get the weather at all. And she was right.

So off she went. Periodically, she would call and give us updates on the sunshine. Absolutely NO inclement weather in her path. None. And I will be the first to admit that the radar looked fairly scary when she left, but the storms just turned north. NC and VA received the hit for which my chicken little family was braced. I headed back home in a little drizzle of rain, the only bad weather we got. Still, I guess I'd rather be Chicken Little than the mouse who doesn't know he's in the snake's cage.

A Green Day, A Lasagna Garden

I spent the morning gardening, but not in my own yard. Through Junior League, I have had the pleasure of spending three Saturdays over the last eight months or so at a farm in Moncks Corner. Fields to Families is an organization that grows gardens to feed the hungry (in cooperation with Whole Foods of Mount Pleasant). It's a wonderful project, and you can find out more about it at http://www.fieldstofamilies.org/

Since the field is (like my yard) made up of red clay that will not grow jack squat (except for some stubborn weeds), a method called lasagna gardening has been utilized. Beds have been built on top of the ground like so:

-Lay newspapers flat on the ground, and wet them so they don't blow away.

-Mix up some peat moss and spread it on top of the newspaper.

-Spoiled hay or straw should be tossed on top of the peat.

-Next, grass clippings.

-Compost on top of the grass clippings.

-Vegetable and fruit scraps, coffee grounds, egg shells, etc. (These can be saved in a baggie in the freezer until you are ready to use them.)

-Chopped leaves

-Potting soil (can be the fertilized kind)

Now, you can plant your seeds or young plants and watch them grow! It is an amazing process to watch!

Not only do I have the reward of knowing I have spent these days farming food for the needy, but I have learned an extremely valuable skill. Today I was picking collard greens from one of the 46 beds at the Moncks Corner farm, and I realized something. In September, I helped build that very bed. In February, I planted those very collards in that bed. And today, I picked them. I truly got to be there at every phase for those collards. Sometime in the next few days, someone who is needy or hungry will be eating them. That gives me incredible joy. I have also pulled weeds. I have planted and/or harvested potatoes, onions, peas, cauliflower, cucumbers, rosemary, field peas, and other produce that I can't even remember right now.

If you haven't done so lately, go out and get your hands dirty. Plant something and watch it grow. It's a miracle, really.

A Battle Royale

"I just don't understand why you care," said my husband last night. This was, of course, in reference to Will and Kate's royal wedding that took place this morning. I tried my best to explain it. It's beautiful. It's romantic. It's historic. It's grand. I remember getting up in the wee hours with my mother, thirty years ago, to watch Will's parents walk down the aisle. My husband wasn't persuaded.

If you're a young girl, watching a prince and princess get married is like a fantasy come true before your very eyes. You can think about what your own wedding will be like. If you're a married lady, it might make you nostalgic about taking your own vows. It made me remember the excitement I felt on my own wedding day. I tried to explain all of this to my husband, to no avail. He just shook his head at me, unable to grasp why I would get up at 5am and turn on the tv, riveted for four hours. Yeah. There are some sports events about which I feel the same way.

Anyway, I thought it was just Chip who didn't get it. Then I logged on to Facebook and saw how many of my friends were posting that their husbands just didn't understand why their wives were setting their alarms to get up and watch a wedding on tv. They were having the same conversations with their husbands!

So yes, I got up at 5:30am and watched it. I loved every minute of it. In fact, it put me in a wonderful mood for the rest of the day. I did have to pause to get dressed, but I raced back down the stairs in time to see the royal couple kiss on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. Chip still doesn't get it. I don't expect him to, though, because men and women are just plain different. We always will be, because God made us that way. And praise the Lord for that.

It's almost time for hydrangeas.

I love this time of year, in spite of the allergies that come along with it. There is always something blooming from late February until the end of summer. I have been in planting mode recently, and have been looking for some roses and hydrangeas to complete my planting projects.

I found a lovely hydrangea for only $5 yesterday, and will be getting it into the ground within the next few days. It's already revealing itself to be a soothing periwinkle blue. I don't think they usually bloom this early, though . . . I know they bloom in early summer, because that was the flower I used most in my June wedding, nearly five years ago. On the big day, the cake lady delivered the cake to my grandparents' house several hours before the wedding. It was three delicious, square tiers of mouth-watering sour cream pound cake. The fondant pearls glistened. It was planned that my mother would then arrange hydrangeas in an artistically pleasing way (as only she can do) around and on top of the cake. I knew it would be perfect and beautiful.

Shortly before getting dressed, I floated downstairs (yes, floated - it being the happiest day of my life, and all) and rounded the corner into the dining room. My mother was just finishing up with the hydrangeas on the cake. My hands flew to my face and I gasped. It was literally the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. She had not just used periwinkle, the most common color of hydrangeas, but every color in which they grow. Light blue, dark blue, pink, fuschia, purple, green, white. Every time I see a hydrangea, it transports me back to my wedding day in June of 2006. The celebration of color that decorated my wedding cake was like a trumpet blowing a melody of beauty in harmony with the song in my heart that day.

It's almost time for hydrangeas again, and it's almost time to celebrate five crazy, wonderful years with the love of my life.

New Horizons

The other day, my husband said, "I looked at your blog last night. How come you haven't written anything on it since October?" October? Oh my. I had no idea it had been that long. How easily life can distract us from the things we really want to do. In 2011, I have been hard at work selling my book, A Quiet Cup of Tea both to individuals and to gift shops and bookstores. I have learned first hand that what they say about being a writer is true . . . you only spend about 10% of the time writing, and the other 90% marketing yourself. My husband has been an incredible help to me, schlepping boxes of books to book signings for me, selling books to practically everyone he knows, taking care of our son so I could write and make phone calls, cheering me on.

And yet, there are never enough hours in the day! Isn't that exactly what I wrote about in A Quiet Cup of Tea, though? The main character sets out to do what she wants to do one morning, but her life (as she has defined it, structured it, and as she prefers it) keeps popping up all day long to prevent her from what she set out to do. Like her, though, I find myself at the end of the day blissfully happy and knowing that my life is still heading where I want it to go. "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." Psalm 37:4

So the project this week has been rebuilding my website. I think it's appropriate to make some type of new beginning on this Easter weekend. So stop by my website, if you have a moment, and let me know what you think! www.perrincothranconrad.com