Up, Up and Away.

This past Monday was pretty darn exciting, as Mondays go. I joined my trusty photographer, Ronnie Martinelli, on the journey to the Mount Pleasant Regional Airport - it's a small airport for private aircrafts only, out on 17 North. Mount Pleasant Magazine is doing a January/February feature about it and we needed artwork to go with.

I expected that we would snap some photos of airplanes and be done with it. I surely was not expecting the chance to actually fly. But fly we did! Of course, I've flown plenty of times on regular airlines, going on various vacations. But this was my first time in a "car with wings," as I called it.

Ronnie had the front seat, along with our awesome pilot and instructor, Scot, so I crawled happily into the backseat and put on the obligatory headphones. It was all just as exciting - the takeoff, the ascent into the air - and even better, no awkward stranger sat next to me and no babies cried under the hum of the motor.

The morning was cloudy, so we flew a little lower than usual, recognizing the buildings, streams and beaches of the East Cooper area. I snapped a few photos with my Android phone, but I'm ready to see what Ronnie captured with his actual camera.

Scot let Ronnie do some of the flying as well. Ronnie was slightly nervous, having never flown a plane before, but he didn't kill us - obviously, unless ghosts keep blogs.

We landed safely and I bragged a little bit to Brian, who elected not to join the photo shoot that morning.

"You didn't tell me you'd be flying," he said.

That's the thing about being one of the editors at Mount Pleasant Magazine. I never know where the days, or the photo shoots, are going to take me.

Sometimes it might be right off the ground!

That Halloween Fragrance.

Tonight I went trick-or-treating with my best friend Mandie and her 6-year-old son, Cameron. It was highly amusing, especially since I haven't been on a trick-or-treat expedition in goodness knows how long.

Plus, it's been a good Halloween in general, from the time I woke up this morning. I had lunch with my other best pal, Alice, plus my tutee showed me some awesome magic tricks - turns out he's quite the magician - and I collected just enough fun-sized candy bars to keep from fainting before dinner.

Mandie loaned me a pair of devil horns, a tail and a pitchfork and we set about exploring the neighborhood with Cam (who was dressed as a pirate), reminiscing about how different 2013 is from 1989 and making plans for after the candy rounds. We had a delicious dinner, complete with jell-o shots and half priced appetizers (Cam fell asleep; epic sugar crash). Later on, Mandie and I topped off the night with some red wine in pumpkin-shaped goblets and a viewing of The Lost Boys. Which seemed appropriate, since I'm making the trek to Florence tomorrow to see my mom. It happens to be her favorite vampire movie.

But one of the best parts about this year's Halloween was, oddly enough, the moment when I stuck my face into Cameron's pumpkin bucket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolate, lollipops, fruit chews and other dental nightmares. That heady, sugar-and-chocolate smell rushed into my nostrils and brought me right back to my own childhood, to sitting on the floor in my grandmother's den, dumping out my own container of loot and triumphantly sorting through everything.

"That is the best smell," I exclaimed to Cameron, my nose deep inside the wrappers. "It reminds me of Halloweens from long ago."

He didn't quite understand, of course. But one day, he will. That's the thing about childhood and adulthood. You never know when you're going to find a bridge between the two.

Goat Island.

If you travel over the connector heading toward the Isle of Palms and look off to your left side, you might notice Goat Island, a small community with a friendly cluster of neighbors who all live their lives right in the middle of Charleston's busy suburbs with remarkable simplicity.

I visited Goat Island this past weekend and I had a wonderful time. My hostess, Sara Sanders, picked me up on a small motor boat from the Morgan Creek docks. I climbed into the boat carefully, my notebook tucked into the nook between my body and arm. It was a gorgeous day. Despite the fact that we were surrounded by people on elaborate party boats, drinking beer and sunning themselves in the October sun, I felt like Sara and I were on a secret expedition.

Her house was charming. It was the kind of house I would hope to have - beach casual and filled to the brim with items worthy of conversation. In the back she has two pet goats, both I fed with a handful of Honey Nut Cheerios. Their names were Muriel and Otis. And let's not forget her friendly lab, Callie.

One of the best parts of the morning was traveling the dirt road in Sara's golf cart to visit the neighbors. We rode through the thick brush and Sara would point out the different houses (some quite hidden in the trees) along the stretch of "road," telling me about each neighbor. It enthralled me that she knew everyone. The island is so intimate, yet everyone has the space to enjoy the entire, wild world.

Of course, Sara's neighbors were talkative and welcoming. They gave me a tour of their main house and guest house. Everyone is hospitable on the island - perhaps it is the fact that you can arrive only by boat. I've always noticed how much friendlier people are on the water. I even read them a poem.

I didn't want to leave Goat Island but the call of duty eventually demanded that I do so. After a yummy lunch, including a piece of chocolate cake, Sara brought me back to the docks. Fortunately, she said I was welcome to visit again any time that I wanted to. It was probably the best invitation I've ever gotten.

I might take her up on it soon.