Trippin´ Out

I have had the opportunity to sing with different groups from an early age. My parents both played the piano when they were younger, but got away from it as adults raising five boys. There was little time and money to give for music lessons or a piano so my involvement with music was limited to the new youth choir at Citadel Square Baptist Church.  

I was about ten when John Hutto came to our church. I had some previous exposure to music lessons in school but only once a week when the teacher came to our school. She was shared with the other schools in our district. Once a year we had a variety show to display our talents and I got my first chance to be showcased in a round of square dancing. I forgot the steps and since then I have had a reluctance to be involved with dancing of any sort. I´m sure that impacted my social life significantly.  

Vocal music is, has been, and will always be the glue in my life that provides me interaction with others.  

I connected with my very first community theater production in the late ´80s. I had no idea what I was going to be involved with, but I was convinced I could do what I had seen so many others do. I was in for a big shock. I not only didn´t get the singing part I wanted; I was expected to dance in the role that I was assigned. Yes, I could have left that night without a part in the play, but that would have been failure to me. Long story short, the choreographer managed to get the director to minimize my dance moves to a bare minimum. I wasn´t going to be billed as a song and dance man for that show. 

Over the course of the next few years, I had the chance to appear in ¨Hello Dolly¨ with Robert Ivey as the director/choreographer and ¨Blood Brothers¨ with Linda Walker as the choreographer. I view both of these shows as lifetime memories simply to have had any part in them. I know that both these notable professionals were stressed to the limit while trying to chronic left foot syndrome. That notwithstanding, they let me stay in the show and dance through my scenes with far less movement than they had intended. 

Again, stardom or the chance to play Vegas had slipped off the stage. 

I guess at this time in my life I have to be satisfied with being an ordinary guy who will just shuffle across the boards and sing for my supper instead of tripping over the lights.  

Fantastic. 

~ David Joyner 

Middleton Gardens of Good and Evil

(A Brief History of Middleton Place)

Middleton Plantation was home to noted generations of South Carolina’s Middleton Family. It is also the home of the oldest landscaped gardens in the United States.

The plantation house was begun in the 1730’s by John Williams, father-in-law to Henry Middleton who completed the house’s main section in its North and South flanks. Henry later served as President of the First Continental Congress (1774). His son, Arthur, a signer of the Declaration of Independence was born at Middleton Place and lived out his life there. Arthur’s son, Henry, and grandson, Williams, transitioned Middleton Place from country residence to an active rice plantation, thus earning the name Middleton Plantation. During the Civil War, most of the house was burned, leaving only the South wing and gutted walls. The Earthquake of 1886 finished the job and toppled the walls of the main house.

The restoration of Middleton Place began in 1916 when descendent John Julius Pringle Smith (not to be confused with John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt) and his wife, Heningham, began several decades of reclaiming the gardens. With the help of New York architect, Bancel LaFarge, they designed a stable yard-complex with buildings of brick salvaged from the ruined main house.

On November 11, 1971, Middleton Plantation gained its status on the National Registrar of Historic Places and later that year the Smith Family established the Middle Plantation Foundation.

Because of its renowned gardens, locals call it Middleton Gardens though it is now readily known as Middleton Place. The gardens, originally open to the public in the early 1870’s, include formal hedge rows that enclose a variety of flowers, plants, shrub and trees. Notable blooms include camellias, daffodils and azaleas among countless other species blooming year-round.

The most prominent features of the garden are the reflecting Butterfly Lakes and the Grand Live Oak, whose trunk boasts an impressive 10 feet in diameter. The Terraced Gardens and Butterfly Lakes lay East of the Main Residence. Today, this “last large-scale romantic-style garden” is home to much wildlife and welcomes many visitors from around the globe.

~ David Joyner

The Secret Life of Pets

I had very few pets when I was growing up. I could probably count them all on one hand. My mother couldn't stand any animals in her home. “Animals belong outside,” she would say, “Not in our home where I have to clean up after them.” My dad's family always had animals in their home - at least a dog or two.

My father never asked my mom if he was thinking about getting a pet. He’d just show up after work with a shoebox or some sort of container and inside would be the cutest pet. My mom would just shake her head.

What else could she do now?

The damage was done. She would just reinforce what she had already preached, “I'm not taking lead. Feed and water it. If it dies it's your fault!”

I was around five years old when we started getting these precious creatures. My first was a small turtle - the ones where the turtle shells were hand-painted. Mine had beautiful hand-painted flowers on it and my name. Let's not forget about the turtle's home. A clear acrylic kidney-shaped dish with a glorious tropical island in the middle with an elegant palm tree.

I'm sure this turtle was one happy fella. As to how long the turtle lived, I had no idea. I do remember feeding it lettuce - at least once.

The next pet I remember (I was about eight years old) was a vibrant blue parakeet. I named it “Tweety.” Creative, huh? I loved my Tweety. Trained him how to sit on my shoulder and drink coffee out of my coffee cup. Trained him to talk - not many words but a few.

He had a small bell that he carried in his beak and if anyone touched the bell, he would peck you till you bled. He trained me very well. I learned not to touch the bell.

I let him fly free in my bedroom during the night and in the mornings, he would wake me up by pulling on my covers. After Tweety passed away - no more parakeets for me - it was just so painful losing him. There would never be another Tweety.

I was around 11 when Heidi, my black and white rabbit, came into our lives. Boring! She let me hold and pet her but that was just about it! My mother was happiest with this pet because her cage was outside, far away from our home. And, yes, I did feed her more than once.

Then, dad brought me home a duck – A DUCK! Now, at the time, we were living in a third-floor apartment. What do you do with a duck in a third-floor apartment? And, why a duck? I remember it was close to Easter and most kids were getting baby chicks that were dyed pink, blue, or green. But my dad brought me a baby duck! Yep! You can just imagine how excited my mom was about the duck... his home was a cardboard box. (But it wasn’t outside...)

One afternoon, right after I had gotten in from school, I decided to take the duck out for fresh air - or JUST AIR! Let me remind you again... we lived in a third-floor walkup. Our back door opened up onto a fire escape with a small landing no more than three or four feet.

Picture this - me taking my little duck out on the landing, opening the box, the duck comes out and immediately takes a dive off of the third-floor fire escape.

All the way down to the ground. What did I expect? The duck to just sit there breathing in the fresh air? Who was the dumbest? Me or the duck?

Yes, the duck survived! Me, on the other hand, I had a heart attack; I, too, survived.

But, needless to say, we got rid of the duck. Sent him to a better “earthly” home. If I had just kept him, I'm sure I would have sent him to his “heavenly” home.

Now that I look back on all my experiences with animals, it's a pretty good thing my momma said no to pets in our home.

In this case, it wasn't father knows best. It was definitely mother knows best.

~ Jeannie Joyner

Here's the Steeple

Church, it helps you. And The Bible too [helps you]. But preaching helps you learn how to understand different things about God or how different things about the world and how it changes. Some things may be hard to explain or understand, like the Old Testament and the New Testament.

Like trees and the sun, thunderstorms and rain, nature—it [the Bible] tells you where it all came from, where it all began. Mary and Joseph and the Wise Men and the story and birth of baby Jesus is one story we can all understand.

Certain things that happened, like how Jesus died on the cross and rose again or how God made people or even the Earth [“The Great Creation”] might be harder to understand though. The preacher helps.

In church, we sing songs or hymns... There are different ones in the hymnal, some we know and some we don’t know. They help you read and sing, the words to a lot of them come out of The Bible and then people put the music [to the words]. Some have scripture from The Bible and others are just about it [The Bible]. When I was in the Wayfaring Chapel, they [Brandon] would print the hymns out for me and blow them up so I was able to see and read them better.

We did some children’s stories and when we had church at the Wayfaring Chapel, we got to do the Puppet Bears; Mom, Dad, Brandon, Kristen and I had these [stuffed] bears we used as puppets to tell nice stories that teach lessons. Brandon wrote them, [Brandon corrects John] I thought for sure, but I didn’t realize it was Mom and Dad. Some [of the bears] liked to talk and some liked to listen. I was the one who just listened (and moved).

We [the members of the Wayfaring Chapel] would take turns in whoever got to talk [present a homily or message] and then others would help with Children’s Church.

What’s my favorite thing to do service-related for the church? Holding the cross. I don’t do that now but when we were in the church before the Wayfaring Chapel [Grace], I got to do it all the time. But I like to sing with the people in the choir. Some of my favorite people go to church. We hang out and talk. Sometimes when we have certain events, we like to eat at church but other times we go out to eat together.

We celebrate the holidays; there’s music for every holiday. Maundy Friday (for Easter) we used to do at the Chapel and we still call it that at North Charleston United Methodist Church, we do patriotic music like for the Fourth of July and Christmas music too. Sometimes we do plays at the church, like an Easter play or “Down at the Creek Bank” for Christmas or something like that.

I love singing though. When I think of church, I think of choir and hymns. We sing all different kinds of hymns, from Baptist, Methodist, and then other choral arrangements. Sometimes the Baptist or Methodist versions are so similar it was hard to know which one is which and which one we were doing. We’ve sung “The Messiah”, “Notes from Paul” (a Baptist Hymn), “Seven Last Words”, “Springs in the Desert”, and many more. There are some old ones like “Amazing Grace” and “Holy, Holy” that I really enjoy.

I’ve been singing in the church choir since I can remember. I lost track. I think I was 2 years old when I first sang, I think at Citadel Square downtown. Then we moved to North Charleston before Brandon was even born, around 1976 and we went 1986-1991 Grace. And then we were at The Wayfaring Chapel from 1993-2000. Well, you get the picture, I’ve been to a bunch of churches throughout my life, there’s so much in my head right now...

But singing-wise, I sing on Sundays in the choir; I sing Bass with the men. No one makes you sing; you just decide if you want to do it. On Wednesday evenings, we sing what we’re going to sing on Sunday, they call it choir practice. Then some Mondays we would sing at different nursing homes.

If I were able to talk to people with different abilities like me, I’d say... You can learn songs, learn how to sing. How to go up and high or down and low. If it’s A flat or D... how to read music. You should open your jaw when you sing... exercise it. Try not to mumble your words. That’s what I do.

Music’s helped me... Joining a choir might help you to not be nervous. I wasn’t nervous when I started. But, just see if you know how to sing... If you have a good voice, you can sing. If you don’t have a good voice and are trying to sing, then you could always get some singing lessons... Don’t be upset with yourself. If you’re nervous, do your best. It’s ok to be nervous, but don’t be too nervous to not try to sing.

Hacking Made Easy!

I know, I know. It’s not October. And there is no Halfway to Halloween celebration on Hallmark like there is a Christmas in July. Let’s be honest, Friday the 13th doesn’t exist simply in the 31 days leading up to All Hallows Eve. I do, however, want to talk – albeit briefly – about the macabre in these near Ides of May.  

If you don’t know me then you might not be aware of my nearly neurotic obsession with the horror genre. If you know my family, you’ll know that they are not apart from old black and white Sci-Fi gems with gorilla-suited aquanauts and things that come from another world.  

So, where did this appreciation come from? This is an interesting story. 

I would love to say that I was there from the beginning of the Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees’ killer reputations, but that would be a lie. I was only 4 when Freddy invaded those unsuspecting teen’s dreams. And only mere months into existing when Camp Crystal was turned into Camp Blood. It was a few years later before I would watch these films ad nauseum.  

I vaguely recollect going to a video store on a pretty regular basis – REMEMBER THOSE!? This was no brick-and-mortar Blockbuster... which would eventually employ me... This was the pinnacle of mom-and-pop shops. Pic-A Flick! (At least, I think that’s how it’s spelled...) 

It was a time when you could not only get VHS tapes for a small fee, but you could also bring home those cute little Betamax cassettes. There was one time when we paid an exorbitant amount of money for a recently released copy of Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit for a stinking 20 bucks! 

I digress… I get excited about physical media. Sue me. 

I did this over and over-- I would rent the original Friday the 13th. I would slip it into the video player. I would tremble and be frightened by the gore and frequent murders present on screen. I would return the video and ask for more for some stupid reason.  

Roller coasters are cool, right? Same for horror I suppose.  

Years later, there was a friend through our parents and church who would bring me back to what once scared me. She loved Warrant and Ugly Kid Joe. I loved that she was older and could “teach me” things. She took me back to camp. This time Jason was dead at the bottom of the lake. A crazy girl with psychokinetic powers would raise Jason from his watery grave on one specific Friday. I was still frightened but mostly intrigued.  

That was the sixth Friday... at what point do we just not go near this specific body of water? Worst case scenario, there are like three on the calendar in one year. Come on! Be smart, people.  

My parents loved me, but they loved my brother more. He was the first in our house to own a TV other than the shared “family” TV!  And for what? Because he was their firstborn? Cause he was nine and one-half years older than me? That’s ludicrous.  

Anywho... 

We would stay up till all hours of the night watching all kinds of stuff. Kids in the Hall. Friday Night Videos. Baywatch Nights.   

For some reason, Fox TV in our area would show one extremely specific Friday the 13th. This one was in 3D! The original theatrical version would thrill those in the room with machetes flying toward your face in not one or two dimensions. This time, it was the third.  

On TV, it was... less than horrifying. Jason would stab toward the audience, but we were protected by the thick glass of the screen. You could practically hear the light THWANK as it hit. I should have been turned off by these, even then, out-of-date effects. I was simply enamored. Somehow, through these random events, I became a lifelong fan. Not just of Tommy and anyone trying to put a disabled, mentally strained train of an Oedipal mess. I wanted to know everything I could with anyone who could kill someone and hold my attention. In no particular order.  

I am the proud owner of the entire boxed set. All 12! As uncut and violent as they are, I slip them out of their artistically designed cardboard box and put them, one by one, each after the next, into my Blu-ray player and “relax.” I relish each and every single one of the series’ 196 kills in its body count.  

Also, why can they not work out rights issues between all involved? It’s criminal that there are only 12 and not 13?!?!? 

Now that I think about it, it’s not that interesting of a story. But hopefully,  I’ve kept your attention and entertained you for a few minutes.  

What else is there to say?  

May these May days be filled with spring showers and less Voorhees- fueled rampages through the camp counselors of Crystal Lake. May those that have been murdered on screen rest in peace… or pieces… at least for a few more months. When October rolls around? All is fair in love and counseling.  

 ~ Brandon L. Joyner

The Eyes Have It

Nostalgia is a thing. I’m not going to lie. Looking back is something we all do at one time or another just to figure out what´s ahead. (Maybe that’s future nostalgia?) It might sound contradictory, but in hindsight, it makes all the sense in the world. 

From introductory relationships with your grandparents to the building blocks of time with our parents to finally starting a life with someone whom you never saw coming... From our childhood to our school days and then into early adulthood, we can find ourselves enamored by someone and then, finally, in love with that one and only. I can’t help but reflect on all those moments when I felt love wrapped up in the glance of one of God’s angels. 

Many of you have heard of the first meeting between my wife and myself, but for those who haven’t... It happened on a bright Tuesday morning in September 1963 – the first day of my sophomore year in high school.  

Only God could have planned our meeting so perfectly.  

She and her cousins had moved during the summer from the city (Downtown Charleston) to West Ashley. While I was harassing her cousin, she came over to ask him a question and then left to rejoin her new neighborhood friends while waiting for the first bell.  

With his admonition still in my mind, I processed through the day’s classes till fourth-period Algebra. There, sitting toward the back of the class, was the same beautiful girl who had smiled at me earlier that morning through the most incredible green eyes I had ever seen. I could write volumes of pages between here and there. But I won’t bore you with the romantic minutia. 

Suffice it to say, I still am made weak in the knees when she smiles at me with that twinkle in her eyes. 

The years passed; we married; I was drafted and processed to Vietnam. Between my first and second deployments, my wife and I spent about five months in California until my next assignment came. It was during that time we received word that our first son was due. My heart rose and fell with the news because I wouldn’t be back in time for his birth. I had to satisfy myself with the reality of our friends being in place with our families when the time arrived for his birth.   

John was delivered after many long hours and he still had enormous obstacles to overcome. He came home after two months in the ICU with countless years of hard work ahead to achieve “normalcy.” He was not deterred. One of those moments came after several medical procedures and the efforts of medical professionals whose care and concern brought him to the fitting of his first pair of glasses.   

Fast forward... 

He was five when we took him to the optometrist to see how his newly prescribed glasses fit. He clung to his mom while the technician worked the frames to hug John's tiny face. We had seen the development of his eyes over the years from dark orbs dilated to let in as much vision as they could to the pretty pair of olive-brown eyes that lit up when he was able to visualize images along with everyone else. Nothing could have prepared me for that moment when his glasses fell perfectly in place. He turned to the sound of my voice and saw me fifteen feet away. He saw clearly enough to wonder why his dad was crying. A real sight for sore eyes. 

You may be able to appreciate how life came into view for John starting with those glasses.   

Fast forward again...   

To almost ten years to the birth of our second son, Brandon, and an era of constant bright-eyed experiences for our family. 

The moments surrounding Brandon’s arrival were remarkably more normal and positive than those his brother had experienced. With John’s first visit to see his mom and his new brother, there came another milestone. John was allowed to sit in the bedside chair and hold his brother. His eyes were not big enough to take in Brandon, metaphorically speaking. He  marveled at how small his brother was, the size of his feet and hands, the whiteness of his hair and the blue of his eyes. The smile on John's face during that moment is a forever treasure.   

The bond between them has only grown. It became a long line of special moments because everything Brandon saw John do became a goal for him to achieve. As Brandon aged, John’s daily lessons and his treatments only provided Brandon with other examples for him to imitate.  He wanted to be just like his big brother.  

John’s swim lessons morphed into lessons for him. John’s homework was duplicated from a differing angle. John´s positive study regimen led Brandon to approach his lessons with a positive bent. 

Brandon couldn’t see any obstacle too big because he saw his brother challenging himself to do everything he was presented with. His eyes were opened to do what others would find daunting.  

He practiced John’s homework from the other side of the desk (literally learning to read and write up-side-down). He practiced piano while John took lessons in the music department at Charleston Southern. He auditioned for movie roles with his brother and had the good fortune to interact with several actors and actresses before setting his own direction.   

I could go on and on...  

Because both Jeannie and I are so very proud of both our boys. God has richly blessed our family and continues to open our eyes to the richness of those blessings. The truth of the matter is, I wouldn’t have been blessed with all this without my incredible wife, John and Brandon’s mother. Seem apropos for this week, right? 

To all our dear friends, to our beloved family and to you, our loyal followers, we wish you the happiest of Mothers’ Days. We hope you see all the blessings that are yours to behold. 

~ David Joyner 

Dream Weavers

A Brief History of Sweetgrass Basket Ladies

The art of sweetgrass basket weaving has been passed down from one generation to the next and is a craft learned during childhood. Much practice and patience are required to make these creative baskets and each artist has their own slightly different style. Sweetgrass or Mary’s Grass (scientifically named Hierochloe odorata or Anthoxanthum nitens) is aptly named in that when it is cut, it produces a sweet smell.

These sweetgrass baskets are made of several different kinds of grass—tan sweetgrass, thick dark bulrush and longleaf pine which is woven by long strips of palmetto leaves. Each basket is carefully and meticulously handmade and therefore creates a multitude of variations in size, shape and style which are seen throughout the Lowcountry.

These coiled sweetgrass baskets 1st appeared in the Lowcountry during the late 17th century and are historically significant examples of African cultural heritage transported to the Gullah Island from across the Atlantic. Originally, these baskets were used on plantations for agricultural purposes such as rice production and harvesting. By the 1980s household baskets were being created for use as well as decoration.

Today, sweetgrass basket weaving remains an integral piece of both artistic and cultural fabrics that make up Charleston and the entire Lowcountry, including the 7-mile stretch of Hwy 17 in Mount Pleasant designated as the Sweetgrass Basket Makers Highway.

Without the involvement of the entire family, including children, this legend could very well disappear as it is believed that only about two hundred families carry on the tradition. As such, it has become a family tradition where the men and boys will harvest as the women and girls create.

 One notable artisan in the field, Mary Jackson has brought worldwide attention to the art and is even displayed in the Smithsonian. She notes that it is the natural evolution of the baskets woven by her mother and grandmother. She brings unique contemporary touches to her pieces which sets her skill apart from many other weavers. It is her precision that makes her stand out and she shows much influence of her years in New York. She has been an immense influence on the sustainability of the grasses for many harvesters in a natural habitat. Together with help from conservationists and the city of Charleston, grasses have been salvaged to preserve the sweetgrass basket tradition. This led to the donation of land at McLeod Plantation where these plants can flourish and continue to grow for years to come.

Additional efforts have been made by other weavers to save this potentially dying art-form. Notably, Corey Alston, a fifth-generation weaver, with over 14 years in his craft. He has created a modern twist on tradition as he seeks to help keep the Gullah tradition and culture alive with his displays at the Charleston City Market. He created the 3D “Build Your Sweetgrass Basket” app which allows customization, cost and craft estimation all in one place. This is his way to keep the “dying artform and... this Gullah tradition alive through modern technology.”

~ Kristen N. Granet

Let's Get Cookin'!

Cooking in the kitchen with John. This isn’t the first time I’ve cooked.

I don’t really remember the first time I got to cook. I mainly watch people cook but not actually cook.

Maybe it’s because… I tend to burn donuts instead of regular food. This one time, the power went out and it came back on and I tried to set the timer/clock. But, Mom had put [Krispy Kreme] donuts in there and I didn’t know about them. I was just trying to fix the clock and instead hit start. They turned out Krispy Black, so it wasn’t that fresh.

In Middle School, we had Home Ec, but I don’t think she was a great teacher. Well, she wasn’t doing it right. We were trying to make popcorn on the stove [without a lid]. Mom came in and helped so we could have a lid without it popping everywhere [by using a wet dish towel]. Sometimes you need help.

You gotta prepare for cooking, know what you’re cooking and when; make sure everything’s all measured out. When you’re in the kitchen making things you have to go to that recipe if you want it to turn out right. You have to find the ingredients and figure out what kinda stuff you put in it for the food to taste good. Measuring is important because you have to know if you’re putting half a cup or a full cup. You have to know how to put just the right amount to make it better, make sure it tastes good. That’s correct. Nobody likes to eat bad food.

Real cooking [when John didn’t just watch], I used Mexican and Italian Cookbooks. It’s been a while since I had my own books, but those were the first ones I had. Sometimes I made spaghetti and sometimes pizza… Mexcian-wise we made Mexican rice and Mexican pizza. You can make all kinds of things. And I guess it’s the first time I really think I remember cooking.

But, I didn’t really know how to cook. So, now it’s my first time back in the kitchen. I get to pick out recipes. We found some cookbooks like The Simpsons, Linda McCartney’s and are looking for some more. That time, we made Fried Rice [Vegetarian Fried Rice, from Linda McCartney’s Family Kitchen Cookbook] and Brownies [Big Pile of Brownies, from The Unofficial Simpsons Cookbook].

This time we’re making Mac N’ Cheese [Baked Macaroni and Cheese, from Linda McCartney’s] and Dessert Eclairs [La Bombe Eclairs, from The Simpsons]. It’s the first time I’ve done it, but I like the blasting [pulsing] in the processor [John says through smiles while using a food processor]. There are many gadgets to make this easier: from the one-handed egg cracking tool to the finger guard and measuring spoons [thank you, Amazon].

When you cook, sometimes you get tired. Especially when you stir, your arm gets real tired, but you can change hands back and forth from left to right. If your hand gets tired, that’s ok so you can just switch. It’s important to drink water and to keep drinking a lot to stay hydrated too.

What food do I like to eat?

Meat. Steak’s my favorite and also Pork Chops; I like ‘em [pork chops] fried. I also like Fish and Chicken Fingers or Fried Chicken.

And Sides? Oh, well, Macaroni and Cheese, of course. And, Rice. Sometimes, Corn, I like it both ways, corn on the cob and off the cob. [Do you like any vegetables?] Vegetables… well, there’re so many of those. I only like them with other things pretty much, like Broccoli, Peas and Black-eyed Peas. But, I’m not much on the Okra. I like Cabbage too.

Food to make?

Sometimes fish, and chicken, if it’s fresh. I’ve never made steak before, but I think I’d like to try to make that.

My perfect meal would be Steak with Steak Sauce, Rice with Gravy and Green Broccoli with Butter. Cause butter makes everything taste better.

A little advice?

If you’re cooking for the first time, make sure you use the right ingredients, don’t put the wrong ones in. Make it proper if you want it to taste good. I was scared at first, but now, no! You get better the more you do it. So go get in the kitchen!

~ John Joyner

A Little Door-Key

Lost keys!

They can make or break your day. Especially if it's not just a lost house key or a shed key. A key to your stupid luggage even… It would upset me enough to spend $15 replacing that kind of key. It's so annoying.

It's such a sinking feeling when you realize you've just had your keys and then you realize that they're no longer in your hand. 

You're at a store, finished with your shopping, and you're rifling through your pockets -- to no avail -- while heading out to your vehicle. You think to yourself, "I knew I had to have them 'cause I dropped them on the ground before I entered the store. You go up to the clerk in the store and check to see if anyone might have turned in a set of keys." Nope! No such luck. That's just great. You're soon in a puddle of tears in the parking lot while everyone stares at you wondering why you stopped taking your medication…

No matter what kind of mood you were in before, now you are in a lousy mood because you ask yourself how you could be that stupid. 

Now… when I lose a key, I do it up right. That's right folks. I've lost my car keys with the house key on the same key ring. More times than I care to admit.

Last time mine went missing? It was a real doozy… we're talking about a $300 key. Imagine all the time (and money) that it takes to replace that!

I was out for an afternoon of errands and I couldn't find my keys. I just knew I had them. I knew I had my keys and phone when I entered the store. 

My husband whispers to me, "Go retrace your steps through the store. You go one way I'll go the other…"

Down the side aisles, down the middle aisles, down the back aisles. No luck. 

Did someone find them and forget to turn them in? What would they want with my keys? 

Darn!

I think to myself, "Someone found them, kept them, and they are out in the parking lot now, punching the key fob hoping to locate your car so they can steal it. Great!"

So I rush back to the front of the store to make sure my car is still where I left it…

Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! It's there.

I guess I'm going home using my husband's keys because now I'm hungry, tired and mad… at myself. 

Back home, I'm pacing the floor carving a hole in the carpet from all the back and forth as I consider my next move.

Maybe someone found my keys and hadn't had a chance to turn them into the office. 

I call. 

No answer. 

Dang it! 

You know someone is there but they must be too busy to answer the phone. 

Let me try once more. Someone answers. Success!

"What do your keys look like?"

I describe them to her. One is a Mickey Mouse key, the other is the key for my car.

No keys turned in? 

Crap! 

This sweet voice says, "Give me your name and number. I'm the one who goes through the store at the end of the day and if your keys are here, I'll call you!"

Her voice is so sweet and assuring.

"If those keys are here, I'll find them for you! But you have to wait until 8:30 PM tonight when the store closes for me to check everything."

So I'm up around wondering how I could have been so stupid and careless. 8 PM! My goodness, so long to have to wait before I know for sure if I'll get my keys back!

I hear a phone ringing in the distance. What time is it? Oh no! It's 8:30 PM and she was to call at 8:30 PM. 

I sprint down the hall to catch it before it stops…

Ringing… 

Almost there…

Ringing…

I click the green button on my cell…

Too late. I missed that call. And the store's CLOSED. 

Shall I try to call them back? YOU BETCHA!

But I'm sure they won't answer after hours! Give it a shot. Someone picks up! 

"Consuela?" I asked.

"This is she," she said. 

"This is Jeannie. Sorry, I missed your call but I'm calling back about my keys. Did anyone turn them into you?"

"They sure did," she said, "and I'll be here bright and early in the morning so you can come and get them."

At that moment, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Then I said to her, "If you don't mind me asking where did they find them?"

"Well," she said, "they found them inside a laundry basket down the laundry aisle."

Inside a laundry basket? How in the world did they get inside a laundry basket? Heaven only knows because I don't even remember looking at laundry baskets. But lucky for me, this lady was looking through the laundry baskets, found them, and turned them in! 

Oh, happy day!

I think… I need to do something to repay this sweet lady. So, off we went to the donut shop…. Krispy Kreme, of course… for a dozen donuts and a little present for her.

Have you ever met someone and felt like you've known them forever? Well, that's how I felt about this sweet lady. She didn't have to take the time to call me about my keys but she did. 

So many times people just don't want to go the extra mile or even be bothered with someone else's problems. I would rather find the good; each of us should be a blessing to someone every day. 

I know this lady was a blessing to me. She just as easily could have dumped those keys in her drawer and not called me back at all - but she didn't. She took the time for me and was a blessing to me. 
Won't you be a blessing in someone else's life today?

~ Jeannie Joyner

Prank You Very Much

Not unlike my parents before me who grew up in the 1950’s, I was part of a TV generation. While they grew up on I Love Lucy, Father Knows Best and Leave It To Beaver, my brother and I grew up on a steady diet of Quantum Leap, The Dukes of Hazzard and The A-Team. (There was also the occasional Circus of the Stars, but that’s for another time.) 

As a family, there were certain shows that we all gathered around the boob tube every week to watch; one of our favorites was TV's Bloopers & Practical Jokes. Dick Clark and Ed McMahon would leave their posts at The Tonight Show and American Bandstand and join forces to spread joy through pranks pulled on the sets that the shows of the day were filmed, sandwiched between bloopers from those same shows and news shows. Was it different than what had come before? Not really. Candid Camera aired years earlier. Punk’d would do it for years after. But this was just right for me.

I would, from then on, be a lover of pranks and, even now, can’t stop laughing at a flubbed line on the TV. 

When I was about 17, I went away to a five-week arts program for high schoolers called the South Carolina Governor’s School of the Arts. For over a month, in between my junior and senior years in grade school, I would move upstate to Furman University and be immersed in all forms of artistic endeavors, whether visual, theater or music. Rubbing elbows with singers and actors like myself was pretty magical and eye-opening. I still have friends from there to this day while others haven’t aged quite as well.

While we begged to be taken seriously as adult artistes, at night, the truths of our ages came to light. We were two to a room, sharing bunk beds. Even though our day-to-day “group” was spread over different rooms, we begged to be together. After hours, we would check the halls. If empty, we would quietly drag our mattresses to each other’s rooms and hang out overnight.

That is until the R.A. found us out. 

While a few jokes had been pulled out on each other - water replacing Sprite, unsweet switched for unsweet tea - they were tame. And… apparently all beverage-based in my memory. One night, we did what we often did, but the ending was much different. We had been warned to confine ourselves to our own rooms, right? Our R.A. took a lot of Saran Wrap, covered it in honey and pulled it tight as they taped it to our door frame. 

SPLAT!!!

Whenever we were trying to sneak back out to our rooms in the early hours of the morning, we were covered in all kinds of sticky. The cherry on top was that same R.A. turning the corner laughing and laughing after the prank paid off. We learned our lesson. And probably have a lifelong disdain for gooey substances. 

While my track record with pranks was spotty in the years following, I would eventually acquire a lifesize Ghostface replica. If you recall Ghostface was the iconic killer costume from the movie Scream. Needless to say, my parents weren’t thrilled with the new decoration. Every time we would walk in the house, greeted by Ghostface, we literally screamed. And not with excitement.

Halloween came and went that year, but Ghostface wasn’t done. You see, my family likes to scare each other. When I was young, my parents would jump out of my closet to frighten me. My brother would grab my feet from under my bed. I would duck underneath art tables and yell. All in good fun, of course.

Now, we had a nearly six-foot doll, serial killer, mock-up. 

The first time, he was hidden behind the front door. When I unlocked it and was face to face with him - or her depending on your fave original or sequel - I almost jumped out of my skin. The same happened when they moved him right in front of my bedroom door. On the flip-side, they probably didn’t love screaming when they found Ghostface in the pantry or their closet.

The piece de resistance came one evening when my parents were out late. They have a walk-in shower with mirrors on either wall of the washroom leading into this walk-in shower. When they tiredly dragged themselves to use the facilities, they were greeted with a knife-wielding psychopath. Now that I think of it, there’s not a better place to have the poop scared out of you. 

In the end, Ghostface ended up at our home’s front door. With each passing season and holiday, he would be adorned with the proper accoutrement. From hearts to bunny ears and Thanksgiving banners to Santa hats. Less scary now, eh? Well… a little bit. 

Were Dick and Ed best friends in real life? I honestly don’t know. I honestly don’t care. What I do know is that they are both up in Heaven Rockin’ at New Year’s and presenting angels with oversized checks. Most importantly, watching along with us at the relative expense of those that they’re pranking. Miracles can’t always work the first time, can they? Blooper on!

Play the Game

There are lots of different games. Like video games. Oh, and any kind of games, really. Like sports games. Like board games. Like playing games. Card games. That kinda thing. Oh yeah, there are so many. 

Well, you play games, not really by my[your]self. Sometimes I match the diamonds and hearts [suits] by myself. I play them with people, normally; I play them with my friends. I have lots of different games. 

I know there are a lot of board games, I just can't think of them. Monopoly is one board game that I like to play. [Did you know there are different types of Monopoly games?] There's only one I know. [There're different themes. Like Avengers or Nightmare Before Christmas or things like Candy...] Oh, now Candy Land, I do remember that one. I shoot over to O (?) 

The first game I remember playing was checkerboard, oh yeah... checkers. The black and red board. I don't know really who was there or where I was or even how old I was. I think it might have been Nana. It's been a while. 

There are lots of card games too. Card games, like UNO and SuperHero Friends and the dessert game [PopTarts] or Funko Wild Things... there are a couple of those [I have]. And the Disney games that we've been playing too-- Villainous and Small World and Funko. 

BlackJack is one of the [card] games. Oh, and Rum Fish. It has to do with playing cards. And you're quiet. Well, you don't show people your cards. You get 5 cards and you don't show anyone what your cards are. And you have to steal from the other team [players]. Like, if you have a 3 or a 2 or something, and you want to get another matching number, you ask whoever's playing-- you choose somebody-- and if they have the same number then you get that card and if they don't then you don't [get it]. If you get the match then you put them both down in your stack in front of you. But, if the other player doesn't have a 2 then that person says Rum Fish [Go Fish]. Y'all call it Go Fish, but I call it Rum Fish. Cause you hold them in your hand without showing them. But then you have to pick a card from the pool in front of you if they don't have it. 

Then there's the Black Cards and White Cards [Cards Against Humanity]. There are some you say out loud and some you say quietly. The black card, you read out loud and after you read it, you have to fill in the blank. The white ones you fill in the blank with. You read the black one first and then the white one second. You don't read everything out loud unless it's your turn. Then that person reads their Black Card out loud and then you read all the White Cards that fill in the blanks with those cards that people have selected. It's hard to choose a winner of what card is best. I choose the one that's the funniest. Some cards with longer words are hard when you're reading, but I have help from friends. And, I enjoy doing it. At the end you, count who has the most Black Cards and that person is the winner. 

The Captain America SuperHero Game [Super Hero Friends Card] game is one you have to pay attention to the numbers on the cards for powers. And the PopTarts game you get to match. Kinda like UNO but a little different. 

SuperMario Brothers, that was one for the TV. I enjoyed playing that one. I think I played some arcade games, but I'm not sure. Yeah! PacMan was another I used to play at the ice cream shop [Ye Old Fashioned Ice Cream Shoppe]. One game I know of but haven't really tried [but would like to] is I think maybe Galaga, but that's too 80's to remember. [I'm told we used to watch Dad play this one a lot.] I'm not too sure I can find one of those now, though. It's like playing SuperMario Brothers or PacMan and it might be harder to play with my hands [dexterity]. 

The most important thing about games is that they're fun. I like the challenge. And, sometimes I like to win. Games teach you how to read, can be relaxing, and help your brain see things you might not normally see. Games help you by learning and interacting. While some games are not so fun. Most games are lots of fun. 

If you've never played a game before, I'd recommend you maybe start with a card game. You can try to learn how on YouTube. Just do your best and try. Some games are easy, some games are hard. And, some games are fun just to play. You just have to find the right game for you! 

~ John Joyner

One Plus One Equals Two

It is possibly the same in your home as it is in ours that each year, we find ourselves watching more than our share of television. It is that time of year when Hollywood deigns to impress the viewing public with the spectacle of the Oscars. We are all encouraged to be impressed by the choices for the multitude of categories, from Best Picture to Film Editing, all sorted out by the powers that be in the world of movies, et al. 

In our home, the season takes on a special importance that other homes might not enjoy because our son is a member of the industry via his chosen profession(s). Not only do we get the full-blown immersion into the lists of all sorts of award-winners but also into those that didn’t get away because there is an abundance of tv/cable/streaming channels and services ready to show todays' audiences just what they missed by being too young to have viewed the ancient winners when first presented. Even if we hadn’t been alive to see the films when they originally came out, rest assured that we have, in fact, seen every single winner of “Best Picture” since the beginning of The Academy’s (the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) award existence, all 92 years of them. We also get to do the same as the members of the Academy by voting in all the ventures, except in our case, we cast two votes, one for our favorites as well as one for the selections we think will win, as a course of the real voting process. At the end of the night when all the stars have paraded across the stage, we take a tally and get the opportunity to see how the voting went and who the winners of our straw poll are. 

Our great good fortune in this enterprise is that we win. That is, my wife and I both win. The specialty categories for the parents of those involved in the exercise I´ve described above are only obvious to other parents watching their children operate in their fields of expertise. The following are a few: Best Offspring in a Lead Role, Best Offspring in a Supporting Role, Best Direction of a Group of Friends, Best Result from a Bad Situation, etc. Of course, these are not the real categories you will see the night the awards are presented, but these are the ones that my wife and I conjure up as both our sons go through the motions and festivities of that evening. 

It is a challenge to fill out the ballots Brandon provides because his mother and I will not have seen very many of the films listed. Further, we will not know many of the categories offered. So, we fill in the forms with the same level of understanding used by unnumbered students on tests given in schools across the country daily. At the end of the night, the scores are announced and, as usual, my wife and I will fail miserably while both our sons will have scored well. Brandon has a near-perfect record of winning with near-perfect scores. 

To many, this might seem inconsequential, but the study involved is a large part of a professional writer's craft. It is the viewing, the reading, and the communications with others in their field that empowers actors, writers, and directors to excel and rise to the top of the heap. We have looked on through the years as Brandon has received numerous recognitions for his work. It is thrilling to watch him as he regales his friends with his informed opinion after they have spent the time to see the movie of choice for the week. He gives a rundown of the text, the camera work, the director’s design, the script content, and a multiplicity of other aspects of the project. With each factor reviewed, he then gives the overall evaluation of the film. That opinion is rendered for all who might want to see the film from the avid fan to the once-a-year attendee.  

It would be improper to claim anything other than satisfaction and a certain amount of pride when I get into answering the inevitable questions from family, friends and acquaintances, “What are the boys up to?" and “What are they into nowadays?” While the details may vary slightly per category, both Jeannie and I have the same finalists for Offspring in a Starring Role. Bet your ballot reveals the same as ours! 

~ David Joyner

On Egret’s Wings

(A Brief History of the Snowy Egret)

When one thinks of Charleston, snow is not the first thing to come to mind. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The same might be said about the snowy egret. It’s neither an egret nor does it like cold weather.

Originally mis-identified as such (Egretta thula) while the genus name is French for aigrette or aigron “heron” the species name thula, that of a black-necked swan, was applied in error.

If you were to go out into the waterways of Charleston, you might spot a medium-sized white bird. If you would like to identify said fowl as a snowy white egret, you would want to make sure that this heron was outfitted with a black beak, yellow lore (the tufts of colored “skin” between beak and feathers leading to the eyes), black legs and yellow feet. But, don’t be fooled, because during the breeding season of spring/summer, not only does the lacy aigrettes plumage grow in, but the yellow lore of the snowy white egret turns a tinge red, alerting each other of mating time. Upon first spotting, it is difficult to distinguish the male from the female as both genders are around 22-26 inches long (the male, typically slightly longer by mere centimeters at times) boasting a wingspan of approximately 40 inches.

While these birds can be found inhabiting mostly wetlands and aquatic areas—both fresh and salt water, coast zones in bays, marshes, lagoons and the like, egrets enjoy a varied diet of both land and sea! They can be seen noshing on fish, crabs, frogs, snakes, insects, worms, lizards, crustaceans and even rodents. Their shorter legs afford the snowy egret a much more active feeding style than birds of the same ilk with longer legs who practice a very slow-moving feeding style (such as the Great Egret).

They must forage in shallow or standing water, waiting for prey due to the size of their legs. The most common method of feeding practiced in the Lowcountry is thrashing; the snowy egrets stir up the bottom sediments to startle their next meal, sending it toward them. Alternately, they may be seen (in other areas of the world) in the grassy meadows and feeding in the open fields along with other large mammals—such as rhinos—who stir up the areas for them.

Snowy egrets breed in colonies with other herons. Their cacophonous cries around the nesting colonies are aptly juxtaposed with their soft, graceful exhibition. All in all, they’re “equal opportunity nesters.”

Nest sites are typically selected by the males who circle multiple times, displaying warning signals at high altitudes by pumping and pointing head and plumes, and then he nose-dives down to mark his claim on the perfect spot. The male collects twigs, grasses, and other materials while the female constructs it. The female will lay between 2-6 eggs and then they both share incubation duties. The young chicks are fed by both parents. When it comes time for emerging from the nest (a whopping 20-25 days later), it takes them about 5 more days until the young are able to fly.

Once, these delicate snowy white egrets were doomed for extinction, but now... they’re more prominent than ever and can be found residing in Mexico, South and Central Americas, the United States on the Pacific Coast and lowlands (as well as northern Nevada and Utah), along the Gulf of Mexico, southeastern states such as Florida and especially here in Charleston, SC!

Some might consider the Snowy Egret the “Goldilocks” of birds. They happily grace our presence with their elegant white plumage and go where the ecosystem will be a rich environmental habitat for them. So, if you just happen to peek out your window and see one of these beauties, know that your little slice of heaven is… just right.

~ Kristen N. Granet

The Fashionable Male

I´ve always enjoyed dressing up. I love to be fashion[able]. I like to be neat. I always like to be presentable. It's hard these days, hard to find what you like and what you don't like.

On special occasions when I was younger, Mom always dressed me up. Of course, I knew how to put clothes on, but Mom would help me pick them out. My earliest memory of clothes was when I would wear a green or white outfit. I do remember wearing a red shirt and blue pants for something at some time. I have a hard time remembering everything back then, but I know I always liked to look good. That was before I wore ties, of course.

I wear like pants and shirts and socks and shoes and sometimes flip-flops-- when you don't wear socks, you know... I wear suits for church and when I have a special occasion. The only thing that´s hard for me to do really is ties, neckties. Oh, I try to tie my shoes, but they´re hard. I do put my shoes on a lot and some are harder than others when I can't just leave them tied. Flip flops [sandals] and penny loafers are easier to get on.

Other than shoes and flip flops I used to wear boots, Western boots , ya know what I'm talking about, like cowboy boots. I always sometimes wear my Western shirts with those too. 'Cause I like 'em.

Sometimes [I like to wear] pajamas-- I used to have long pjs, but I got rid of the green and gold ones when they were too small. I wear my Avenger's, chili peppers, or Disney pajamas from time to time. But mostly, I wear my house clothes. My comfort clothes would be what I like to wear every day. I like a t-shirt with jeans or sweatpants.

I wear t-shirts when I´m in my room. And sometimes outside of my room. When it´s hot and humid or if I go to the theme parks with the gang, I will wear a t-shirt. Like when we go to Universal Studios for Halloween Horror Nights, we have matching [themed] shirts. We have been going for a while, so I have a lot of Halloween shirts. Sometimes it's hard to choose for the shirts when you have all the ones from over the years that you want to wear over and over again, but only one day for the event. I think of all my t-shirts, my favorite one, in general, is my Dolly Parton one.

Cold-wise I wear gloves if it's really cold. And I wear two pairs of socks sometimes in the winter. I also wear a coat when it's very cold. Or a jacket when it's only so-so. I wear long clothes when it's real[ly] cold. And then in the summertime, I wear a bathing suit.

Sometimes when I go to church I wear a watch and ring. I wear like my Mickey watch when I go out and stuff. When I do go to get dressed up for church or special occasions like a birthday or funeral I like to dress up too. I brush my teeth, shave and put on deodorant. I get a long button-up shirt and nice pants. A belt, dark dress socks, and my penny loafers are the next step. I like to comb my hair and then I put a little bit of smell on [a splash of cologne]. To complete my look I have to have my watch; like I said, my Mickey for really dressy or my Transformers or Captain America watch. And I like to pick out one ring from my yellow box. I don't leave home without one of my special rings, but you know about that.

I think Western is my favorite [style]. If I go to my closet to pick then I´m going to go with the Country and Western [look]. I used to have like my brown and royal blue shirt. I have a Brooks & Dunn red button-up shirt and a white and purple Western one. And, my most favorite was my Indian shirt. Well, that was my first favorite shirt of all the Western shirts I had. I grew out of that one though, so that was replaced in love by my purple one. I have good Western shirts, but it´s very hard to find good ones here or even out of town. I have gone all over to try to find these shirts. There´s a Country Western store in Florida and I like going there to find them. I tend to find different kinds of shirts there that I can´t find here.

They [Mom, Dad, Brandon & my friends] never tell me to not wear clothes. You gotta wear clothes. They do say you can't [don't have to] wear a jacket in the building because it's warm in the building. Or you´re going outside, you gotta have a coat.

Sometimes, when I outgrow the clothes I get rid of them when they're too small. If you [I] haven´t worn them in a while, you [I] have to have room in your [my] wardrobe to put new clothes in and take the old clothes out. I give the old clothes away that still look good and aren´t faded, we take them to Goodwill so that other people who don´t have as much can use them. That´s what I like to do. It's a good thing.

~ John Joyner

What's Love Got To Do With It?!

I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.

Let me qualify that last statement. I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day due to years of working in an industry that serviced that very holiday. (And is it a holiday? I mean, no one gets off work. Not everyone loves the idea behind it. But I’m losing the plot and this is just the second paragraph.)

For years I worked in a handful of florist shops around Charleston. There was a list of deliveries that would rival Santa’s flowing to the floor. From red roses to teddy bears. From greeting cards to potted plants. (Hey! The flowers are nice, but plants hang around.) All over town, for hours upon hours and days upon days, I was tooling around in a delivery van making everyone else’s dreams of love come true. 

Later that night, it was a cozy evening under the covers. Many times! Alone. It’s when I’m not alone at Valentine’s that sitting there under the covers with my someone, things get really awkward. The last thing I want to do is go out for dinner or see another flower. Cause who doesn’t love romance? 

While I love, love, love romance, I’m not big on Valentine’s Day specifically. Leave the other 364 for huge romantic gestures. 

We could go into a deep dive, comedic history. We could chat about the handful of Catholic saints carrying the moniker of Valentine or Valentinus. We could discuss how Valentine’s Day is another holiday hijacked from Pagan traditions. We could rap about how it’s just another commercial occasion to take a dollar out of your pocket and place it in big businesses’ pockets. But let’s save those conversations for another time. 

Let’s talk bad first dates. (Do you think someone with synesthesia sees red when they think of schadenfreude?)

I, at one point, was in the dating pool. And going out on a lot of first dates, I had a standard “let’s get to know each other” plan. It’s simple. Pick up fast food from the drive-thru, drive to the beach and enjoy the sound of the ocean with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine. It worked… for a while. 

I wasn’t coy about this plan. It would give me and the lady a chance to get to know each other without a large investment of time or money. We would either like each other and continue the dance of future plans or we would go our own ways and keep in touch as needed.

But there was one… 

A friend of a friend. She and I had a lot of similar interests. Comedy, musical theater, etc. Then the big day finally rolled around. We were going on a date. The first date. The first date that had been my standard and a plan of which she was aware. From the moment she got in the car to the moment I took her back to her car, the conversation was like pulling teeth. Painful and, in some cases, unnecessary. 

One highlight of the evening: this was during the holiday season so I took her to the Festival of Lights. It was outside of the norm on a first date and I should have known better. We were sitting on a swinging bench watching a series of lights that created the illusion of a frog jumping into the air from a lily pad into the water. Nothing about this screamed romance, but I leaned in for a kiss all the same. 

She scooted away to the other side of the bench. 

I don’t know what she expected. More importantly,  I don’t know what I expected. She quietly got up and told me that I was… “predictable.” 

And so it goes…

Theater is fun. But everyone dates everyone. Eventually, I took my shot with a girl whom I thought was way out of my league. I asked her for an evening out. She surprisingly said, “yes.”

Let’s shelve the beach picnic for this outing.

We ended up at a now razed bar. I like to drink and so did she. Let’s toss back a few and see where the evening takes us. Great idea, right? 

She ordered vodka and Red Bull after Vodka and Red Bull. (In retrospect, as we weren’t going to an all-night rave, I was surprised, to say the least.) She could keep up drink for drink, shot for shot. She was a half-foot shorter than me too. We settled the tab and headed back home to continue talking. 

At the time, I was driving a Buick that was practically a land yacht. It floated on the pavement. Pulling into my driveway, a slight bump greeted us. As we took the bump, this beautiful young lady looked at me and smiled. Right before she spewed for what seemed like a lifetime on my face and clothes and into her gorgeous long brown hair. To this day, I don’t know how everything liquid in her body ended up on just the two of us and almost none of it ended up in my car.

I carried her up two flights of stairs and into my shower. Changing her without destroying her modesty, I washed her up (when did she eat spinach?), put her into some of my sleep clothes while I washed hers downstairs and laid her in bed for a good night's blackout. 

I took her home the following morning. Short of the incident in the driveway, I did have a pretty great time. I asked if I could see her again. She meekly replied, “no.” And that was that. 

Love doesn't just happen within the confines of February. It happens at Mardi Gras… which I now realize as I’m typing is actually in February. Between the beads, floats and multitudes of debaucherous twenty-somethings, I found a girl. Like, a good one. A soon-to-be lawyer. I won’t go into all the details of the wonderful time we had, but it was that. Wonderful. 

“But Brandon,” you say. “This is about bad dates,” you say. 

I’m getting to it. Sheesh.

I met her at the Orpheuscapade, Harry Connick, Jrs’ swanky, black-tie affair after one of the biggest parades of the entire event down in New Orleans. After a good bit of dancing and just enough alcohol, I was completely taken by this girl. I was feeling myself and I used some of my best material to impress her. 

“What did you say, Brandon?” you ask?

I don’t know. Alcohol. Remember? 

When the lights came up in the house in the wee hours of the morning, our lips were locked in a tight embrace. I followed her home and, short of a brief period when we were separated on Fat Tuesday, we were together for 72 hours. Then, my friend Kristen and I got in the car and drove 12 more hours home. 

“Still doesn’t sound like the world’s worst date, Brandon,” you say. 

You got me. It wasn’t. But… It was the world’s worst timing. You see, there were murmurs in the news about a terrible cold/flu/virus on the rise called COVID-19. You might know this wonderful friend as the Coronavirus. My Corona, if you’re feeling nasty. 

A week after I met this girl and convinced her to date me-- a few hundred miles between us-- the world shut down. We texted daily. Called every couple of days. Zoomed multiple times a week. But pure budding love couldn’t keep up with the dark shadow of a changing world. After a few short months, we were no longer a “we.” We were once again a “she” and an “I.” 

See? I told you it was gonna get bad. 

How to end things here? I sometimes have a dream that I’m the monkey from Raiders of the Lost Ark playing with Marion Ravenwood. All of a sudden, the attention is on me - even Indiana Jones himself. I stumble and fall to the table, my body limp. I’m dead, they realize, as I consumed a poisoned Medjool meant for our hero. Sallah mournfully mutters, “Bad date.”

For those of you who have someone, Happy Valentine’s Day. May the occasion bring you and yours closer together. For those of you without, Happy Singles’ Awareness Day! It’s just 24 hours later. And for those in-between… Keep hope alive!

~ Brandon L. Joyner

Prisoner of Fortune

A Brief History of Boone Hall Plantation

Located in Mount Pleasant, SC, this 470-acre land is one of the oldest functioning plantations in America and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. 

Boone Hall Plantation, founded in 1681 by Major John Boone, originally gifted as a wedding present by Theophilus Patey to his daughter Elizabeth and aforementioned new son-in-law, is a symbol of Southern heritage. In 1743, Boone’s son planted two rows of live oak trees on either side of the main drive in toward the plantation home that we know today as “The Avenue of Oaks.” The Horlbeck family then took over the plantation and in 1850, 4 million bricks were produced at the hands of the laborers.

1935 saw the home acquired by Canadian couple Thomas and Alexandria Stone who believed that a wooden home wasn’t proper for a Southern plantation. Thus, in 1936, an antebellum era plantation home was built at the head of the drive and remains there to this day. With this change, the once 700-acre pecan farm was downsized to only 200 acres to allow for other new additions, including a self-sufficient power plant. And, in 1955 Mr. William McCrae and his wife Nancy acquired the grounds and focused their attention on maintaining more fruitful crops, such as peach trees, and on restoration, opening the home to tours in 1956.

The grounds underwent several transformations over the years not only in crop but also in format from cotton to bricks to pecans and even thoroughbred horses. Boone Hall Farms across Hwy 17 from the actual plantation and farm area sells produce directly to the community. Additionally, in front of the fields, they have added a produce stand under a tent. 

Throughout the seasons, Boone Hall transforms to accommodate different occasions. During the spring and summer months, several different crops are harvested, from the “you pick” strawberry fields to the rows and rows of peach trees. At Halloween, there is a haunted hayride that takes you through the forests on the grounds and even a haunted house. And then, at Christmas, the house is decked out in holiday apparel, tours of the plantation home and concerts are given in full antebellum costume. Many special events are hosted here annually from the Lowcountry Oyster Festival to Concert Series under the Oaks. The beautiful grounds have also proven to be backdrop for several movies, to name a c: North and South and The Notebook.

The moss-draped “Avenue” provides a beautiful backdrop for the many weddings held on-site. Additionally, the Cotton Dock, located to the left on the water just before the main plantation house, is utilized for rehearsals, reunions, parties, and smaller weddings alike. The facilities also offer daily tours of the house complete with the history of the land and families who resided there through the years.

Boone Hall Plantation is rich in the history of the Gullah peoples. This can be experienced first-hand by way of the presentation “Exploring the Gullah Culture.” This exhibition has been adapted from the stories of African slaves and presented live by actual Gullah descendants. They share theirs and their ancestor's stories, song, dance, and tradition demonstrating education through entertainment. Many have found this to be “very moving and emotional” as they tell the tales overcoming and rising above the hardships of the past that have brought them to the place they are today.

We know no better way to leave you than through the words of one of the Boone Hall Gullah Presenters:

“We must leave the divisiveness of the past behind in order to move forward and claim the future.” ~ Ms. Gloria Ford  

~ Kristen N. Granet

Let's Get Physical!

Mom and I talked about exercising more this year, a New Year’s resolution, some might say. I’m working on hand coordination. I use balls. Soft stress balls. I wiggle my hands when using the balls back and forth. This helps with my hands to make them strong and not get tired as quickly.

I used to do push-ups but not that much anymore, I lost count. And, I used to do swimming because I love the water, but I haven’t done it in a while though because of COVID. Before, I was able to do group activities and exercise with others, but we haven’t been able to get together since that.

I have to do my own exercises at home even before someone asks me though. Getting up and walking, it feels good. I get to stretch up and down for my back. Going up and down the stairs. Stretching my legs a little bit when they get tight, that’s what I normally do.

When I sit in my chair a lot, not on the floor anymore, but in my chair, it makes it easier to move because I stopped crossing my legs and sitting on the floor a lot. Sitting in the chair makes it easier to walk after. Sometimes though when I’m on the floor in my room I do some leg stretches on my own.

In the winter it’s cold and in the summer it’s hot and I like to do more when it’s warm out, so I tend to exercise more in the summer than the winter. That’s when it’s great to hop in the pool, even though I can’t right now. Sometimes I can take a walk, but it’s been a while.

I love to swing a little bit. That gives you some vitamins to be in the sun and I get to exercise my legs and stretch them and relax at the same time. You can get vitamins from food that help you get strong by eating the right foods. But being outside in the sun for a little bit helps you get the other vitamins and helps you even more.

Another thing I like to exercise is my brain. I get to think a lot. I can think-- by listening, by looking around and seeing, by wondering what’s going on around-- in my head a little bit. I listen to music and read my library book, it helps me relax and tells me how to listen to what’s going on in the book (audiobook) without turning pages. I like playing games with my friends and family (Kristen and Brandon; sometimes Cheryl and Dad, Chrissy and Brooke-- when it’s cards). And sometimes when I play cards, I play by myself when I’m matching cards for me. And that’s [games] part of exercise as well. It helps with my hands and eyes and mind.

Exercise makes me feel good. It’s sometimes hard, but it can be relaxing and also brings joy.

I’m not sure what might be right for you. But, do your own exercise, what makes you feel good. Pay attention to why you’re doing it. And, just keep going!

On the Road Again

I have a fantastic set of friends. I’m blessed. And not in the “Hashtag! Look at me, Insta and TikTok!” kinda way. Like truly blessed.

I’ve been socialized with other children (and eventually, adults) my age for decades thanks to my parents, church and theater. A lot of those same people talk to me still today. While I have a broad berth of acquaintances, my true friendship circle, while bigger than most, is small. My inner circle consists of very few. One of our favorite pastimes is traveling together. So, when my birthday rolled around, I was surprised with a rental car, an itinerary and a dream.

The theme of this birthday-extended-weekend-excursion was music. Something that was a bonding tie for all of us. Something that was at the forefront of what made us who we are. Three concerts. Three cities. Four days.

Roads? Where we’re going… we don’t need roads. I’m kidding. Of course, we needed roads. I just mentioned the rental car. Pay attention.

Friday. The first stop: Atlanta.

House of Blues has been a favorite place of mine since I first encountered it in Orlando, FL. They used to have a chicken sandwich called the Elwood. (It’s not on the menu anymore, FYI. But they might let you order it if you smile and ask for a blackened chicken sandwich with chilis/pickled jalapenos and crème fraiche/sour cream and tip well at the end of the meal.) My love of blues music and good food would make me and the HOB lifelong partners.

Unfortunately, the House of Blues had left Atlanta long before I was able to ever visit. It left a beautiful structure behind which would evolve into an amazing concert venue named The Tabernacle. On this trip, blues music wasn’t in the cards. We headed there for fun. Literally, the band: Fun.

The band with such hits as “We Are Young” and “Some Nights,” the latter doubling as the name of the spectacular, nearly symphonic album. Nate Russ and the rest of the band hit the stage and… A cacophonous belch of the most ear-bursting screams came from the coterie of women stuffed into the building. I love the group. But not in the same way they did. I quickly realized this from the blood slowly trickling out of my ears.

You see… the reason The Tabernacle is called The Tabernacle is because long before it housed the blues, it was a church. Built to amplify voices to the heavens. Tonight, it was doing just that. It was a phenomenal concert. Even if my hearing was a little worse for wear after.

With a little Fun under our belts, we were ready to head to the next destination. Right as we did, it started to snow. So, for the next hours spent driving through the night, we were met with a milky black infinity…

Saturday. Next up: Charlotte.

We got to Charlotte later that night. Safe and sound. What did you think was going to happen?

My friends and I had been to Charlotte, NC a few times for concerts and traveling Broadway shows it’s only a couple of hours up the road from good ole Charleston. This time would be no different.

If you haven’t been to the theater for a concert or for a full theatrical Broadway-style musical or play, you might not want to start with the series of buildings in Charlotte built and repurposed into the Blumenthal Performing Arts Center. And not for the reasons that you think. They’ll spoil you. You’ll never like any other theater outside of New York. Start at a local movie theater turned playhouse… then try Blumenthal.

I don't know if much of the audience here knows what acapella music is but it's music performed with only vocalists. There're no instrumentalists. Which can be terrible, to be honest. But at the professional level, it is quite stunning. My friends and I had been watching a show for the last few years prior called The Sing-Off with hosts Ben Folds, Sara Bareilles and the dude from Boyz II Men whose name escapes me right now.

The group that we were seeing on this particular night had been popular on PBS due to their Christmas special but they were most well-known as a college group when I actually had an acapella group in college. They were called Straight No Chaser. While there were only five guys in my collegiate group called The Parallel Fifths, Straight No Chaser came on with an army of what had to be a hundred and fifteen guys. Alright, that's hyperbole. But they could sing anything and everything with four to six parts. And the concert was amazing...

The audience was into it like you've never seen and this is without all the rock and roll hoopla and hullabaloo of the concert from the night before. While everyone was screaming... there was still a measure of composure considering that it's only nine guys with mics and nothing else. The highlight of the evening? Something that has been left to the annals of history (thankfully) called “The Harlem Shake.” The entire audience got up and danced and the next day we were part of some Instagram fad that would last a week, not unlike those of people being dunked in ice water or scared from a trash can.

After the concert, we were back on the highways and byways and we would arrive the following day, with the snow piling up on the side of the road slightly slipping up North along the way. We arrived on a…

Sunday. Finally: Washington, D.C. and Alexandria, VA.

I know it seems pretty counterintuitive. I said three cities. But how can you get so close and not visit our capital? There really is nothing like the Jefferson Memorial in the snow. Except for maybe the Lincoln memorial in the snow. How ‘bout the White House… in the snow!

I digress…

That evening we would arrive at the Birchmere, a hole-in-the-wall concert venue that has shepherded some of the biggest music acts of all time. Tonight would be no different as they would host… Eddie From Ohio.

What? You haven’t heard of them?!

That’s okay. For a long time, I hadn’t either. But they’ve become one of my favorite bands of all time. They’d be like the Beatles to me if the Beatles weren’t the Beatles to me. And I’ve gone cross-eyed…

In short, Eddie From Ohio is a folk-rock band from the Virginia area. I know, it goes against the name of the band. But it works. And so do they. With Robbie’s velvety, James Taylor-esque vocals, Mike’s jubilant and joyful attitude, Julie’s soulful and powerful belt-backed by what feels like Eddie’s eight-armed percussion. I promise, no matter how well or poorly I try to sell them to you, it’s nothing like listening to their music or experiencing them in concert.

We were mere feet away. Literally, in spitting distance. It’s not a huge room which makes the fact that it’s filled by a crowd of their number 1 fans even more immersive. I’d love to walk you through how much of a personal experience and how special each song was and which was my favorite. But my emotions were running high from the entire weekend and the whole thing is a little watercolor-y.

After the concert, we got to MEET the band. Just as I had every single time I had seen them before, actually. I tried to figure out what to say, how to make them remember me. When I got up to them, I simply stammered, “I’ve seen you ten times.” They said simply, “Thank you.” And signed my cd.

I’m sure they’ll remember me as they’re signing the restraining order. (That’s a joke… I think…)

From there, it was back home to Chucktown. Smiling from ear to ear and singing just a little louder to the radio.

What’s the moral of the story? I dunno. Let me see if I can scrape something together. When you sing, sing a song… Sing it loud, the whole day long? Nope. That’s a little too Karen Carpenter. Take 2! Keep your friends close - ‘cause they might take you to hear some life-changing music. Don’t keep your favorite bands quite so close as they might not let you in the building to hear them play.

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, dear Brandon. Happy birthday to me (And Eddie… from Ohio.)

Rub-A-Dub-Dub

Neighbors! Sometimes we get good ones—sometimes “so-so” ones! We feel really blessed when we have neighbors that we can call on no matter what the situation. Now those are good neighbors. 

We had found those kinds of neighbors when we moved into a second-floor apartment after our son, John was born. We loved our spacious apartment. It had a great deck out back that overlooked a green space. We would all gather outback and exchange pleasantries and check on each other and exchange news of the day. 

Linda, my upstairs neighbor, was an interior designer who worked for a well-known showroom downtown and had a son just a little younger than our son and they loved to play together. Another neighbor was a doctor and his wife. So, between those two, our conversations were very interesting. Then there was a new couple who had just moved in downstairs and we had not had a chance to introduce ourselves. 

We all loved to get together for parties and this apartment was perfect for smaller gatherings. We decided to call our friends and invite them over to kick back, relax and eat! 

I had cooked all day. Made everything from scratch and I just wanted to enjoy food and conversation with my friends. 

As the evening progressed, someone suggested we go out on the back deck for some fresh air. Sounded like a good idea to me. But it was getting late, so I suggested that we be quiet on the deck because some of my neighbors may have already gone to bed... 

We opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out into the cool evening breeze. We were chatting quietly when we thought we heard singing. 

Singing? 

Where would it be coming from? We all gathered at the rail and peered down into the direction where the “music” was coming from and there was a light on in the bathroom window below. 

Yes, I said bathroom window... below. I guess I never paid attention to the fact that our deck was right over our new neighbors' bathroom. 

There in the bathroom shower and right in our line of sight were two rather plump figures, both in shower caps, washing each other's backs, and singing at the top of their lungs! 

“Rub-a-dub-dub, two men in a tub.” 

And, so, like the mature adults we were, we started to giggle. 

The man and his wife were showering together and having a good ole time. I’m still not sure why he had on a shower cap, but, hey—whatever floats your boat in the “Rub-A-Dub-Tub!” 

We all stood there observing the sailors as they enjoyed their evening until we couldn’t hold back our laughter anymore. 

We all scurried inside and closed the door as quietly as we could and then we exploded into laughter. 

Let’s face it—it really was funny and so unexpected—it was the highlight of our evening. What started out as an unremarkable evening turned out to be one of our most memorable evenings. 

When I think of all the parties that we have had over these many years, this one is right at the top of the LIST! 

Rub-a-dub-dub, 

Three men in a tub, 

And who do you think they be? 

The butcher, the baker, 

The candlestick maker, 

And all of them out to sea. 

~ Jeannie Joyner

A Work of Art

This blog is the first one of the New Year, so Happy New Year to all of you who are reading this! Having my son as the editor in chief of these blogs (ramblings as Brandon might refer to them) is both good and not-so-good. He tirelessly performs all of these tasks that his mother and I have convinced ourselves that we can’t do because of the technology involved (Thank you, Kristen, for being the fingers to his drive). Trying to complete this task is a struggle for Jeannie and me. She feels like she is imparting a part of her soul when she is writing these. And, being the private person that she is, she finds it hard to put the words to paper that satisfy her. Those of us who have read all of her blogs find them completely refreshing and fun. I, on the other hand, have the problem of being too long-winded. So, thank you, Brandon and Kristen, for accepting the task of editing my “task.”

What do you see in a pile of random stuff that in and of itself appears to be of little use or value? Things like a bucket of mud, a batch of assorted sized sticks, scraps of wood too small to build something with, measures of cloth that remain from multiple usages—all these things and more in the hands of someone with vision and understanding become works of art. These works become valued by others for their beauty that originated from that very vision and understanding.

I have had the life-long blessing of being married to Jeannie—an artist of remarkable talent. From the beginning of our relationship, her ability to transform the ordinary into a masterpiece has always been amazing to me. Like most people, I have my own concept of art. That’s all well and good, except that it takes a dramatic amount of time for the image in my mind to become reality. This is in contrast to my wife’s incredible ability to almost instantly see and create that work of art.

I love the beauty my wife creates, both in life and in her artwork. It’s amazing to see what Jeannie can do for dinner when she looks in the pantry and pulls out just a few items to make a grand dinner for the family. This talent undeniably translates to her use of paint and fabric and all of the other mediums that she works with. Having been with her since we were teenagers, I’ve had the pleasure of being witness to many projects throughout the years.

My memories of her first pieces of art go back to us working with young people in the churches we’ve attended. Getting a young person to exhibit what they feel by utilizing the materials given to them is most gratifying when they complete that shoe-shine box out of mere scraps of wood or turn a sand dollar into a beautiful Christmas ornament after having dyed it in tea or coffee or present their parents with a very special painting that is “hand-done” on a simple piece of cloth.

I cannot remember what got us into the very first shop, but one of our acquaintances saw something that Jeannie had created and asked her if she couldn’t replicate those things for her boutique. This led to our involvement with many art shops and stores. And thus, Designs from Our House (and our ceramics venture) was birthed.

She took sewing during middle and high school and developed a deep love for her own designs and sported them throughout her formative years. When John and Brandon came along, she continued this craft, making beautiful smocks to lederhosen, Halloween costumes, and everything in between. Jeannie continued creating clothes and costumes for all of the church productions.

The first time that I can remember a costume other than for church was for Little Shop of Horrors when she painted a bloodied tooth on the back of my dentist’s smock. She also did my costumes for the other

5 characters that I played in that show which led to her involvement with Midtown Theater as the Costume Designer/Wardrobe Mistress at Footlight Players. She’s created so many dazzling and colorful arrays of clothing fit for any Broadway production, I can’t even remember them all (Into the Woods, RENT, Forever Plaid, Charleston Southern University’s lyric theater productions, the College of Charleston Madrigal Dinners, and all of Brandon’s shows; productions from just a one-man show to a stage full of 50 plus performers).

There was one time a request was made for an extravagant 60th birthday celebration for a much “Larger Than Life” birthday present (12x12x8 feet). Not to mention the Living Models for various events around Charleston, for the Charleston Food & Wine Festivals-- a table girl with Seashells, a Fountain Dress girl with Cocktails, among others-- A Martini Boy bathtub, a living installation of the Son of Man for an event at the Gibbes Museum of Art, and many more.

I can go on and on about my wife’s floral arranging abilities which have flourished for many years not only in the church but also at many weddings in and out of town as well as demonstrating her talents at The Greenery Florist downtown. One cannot look around our home without seeing her fingerprints in literally everything in our house, from table cloths and drapes to pillows and chairs and plates and glasses and ornaments galore.

And so, Such & Such was the natural progression of sharing her talents, her designs, her ideas, and her art with the entire world via the internet. I love her art so much, as do her family and friends, that we couldn’t just keep it to ourselves. And she loves to share it with everyone. From Los Angeles to Chicago, Ohio to Kentucky, Washington State to Florida. Her art is enjoyed by all of U.S.

Our very first meeting was far too short, but the most satisfying part of that meeting was looking into her green eyes and watching them sparkle. That has never changed. You hear all the platitudes about beauty being in the eye of the beholder. Couple that with the eyes are the window to the soul. I think that’s what thrills me when I see something that she has finished for the first time or the hundredth time. Every single piece is a hand-painted, new and beautiful creation. The ability to translate what she sees to the gift that you might receive is the key to why I not only love her art but also why I love her. If you ever have the chance to engage her in conversation about what she does, you’ll find that same thrill that I did from that very first moment.

~ David Joyner