Learning to Let Go

Posted by on Aug 5, 2013 in dish | 0 comments Trips to Daddy’s in Highlands have a pattern. The way up is the hated trip on I-75 through Georgia–the Interstate that seems like it’s been under construction since I was a kid. The way back involves an overnight stop in Clemson at my aunt and uncle’s house on Lake Keowee (Aunt Lou’s B&B, we call it), then a loop up and over Greenville, down through Clinton so...
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Something Wicked This Way Comes

Posted by on May 12, 2013 in dish | 1 comment One Sunday morning lo, these many years ago, I went to youth group at the church and met up with my friend Scott. We had horrifying news to discuss. Daddy had gone on a date the night before–with Scott’s MOTHER. After sharing mutual teenage ick over the thought of parents dating, one of us hazarded the unthinkable: “What if they GOT MARRIED?!” Well, they did. I inherited...
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Nesting Instinct

Posted by on Apr 24, 2013 in dish | 0 comments Our Carolina wrens are back! A couple of years ago, we noticed a patch of thready Spanish moss in our brass mailbox. The door latch on the box isn’t that tight, so it was hanging down. We thought the moss must have blown in there (we’d had some spring storms) and didn’t think much of it. At least, we didn’t until more things showed up in the box: leaves, withered potato...
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Thanks and Giving

Posted by on Nov 24, 2011 in dish | 0 comments I’m sitting at my kitchen table, the smells of fresh bread permeating the air. Nearby are sleeping dogs and a happy family. In a bit, we’ll drive over the river and through the woods to one of the grandmother’s houses (my sister’s MIL). We will have plenty to eat today, plenty to laugh about, plenty to share. This weekend will bring the Florida-Florida State game, Wicked’s Chex Mix, my Daddy,...
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Knotwork

Posted by on Jul 8, 2011 in dish | 0 comments Sixteen years ago today, I stood in a custom-fitted raw silk dress (thanks, Mama), hand lightly resting in the crook of my Daddy’s arm, smiling at Mr. Man, handsome in his morning coat and striped trousers. Within a few moments–a few breaths, really–we were slipping Celtic knotwork bands on each other’s hands, promising to be true and steadfast, in the name of the Father, the Son,...
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