For Those Who Believe in Magic....

I have the unfortunate habit of losing my sunglasses in the Atlantic Ocean. I've done it a few more times than I'd like to admit over the last several years. And they're never the old, lopsided sunglasses that I leave in my car console in case of an emergency. Nope, the lost glasses are always my most favorite pair, swiped from the top of my head by an irreverent wave and carried out to the distant sea faster than I can wipe the salt from my bleary eyes.

That said, when I lost my last favorite pair a couple of months ago, around mid-June when I was in Litchfield, i never thought I'd see them again. Not that I didn't hopefully check out the shoreline after I noticed they were gone. But in all my years of being a sun worshipper, I'd never had sunglasses swallowed by the ocean do anything except disappear for eternity.

Til now, that is.

The Sunday before Labor Day, I went to lunch with my Daniel Island gang after church and they told me they had a "gift" back at the house for me.

"A gift?" I was thoroughly bemused. "What is it?"

"Remember those glasses you lost in Litchfield? Well....We found them when we went crabbing yesterday."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Yep. We cleaned them off and they look amazing."

I know what y'all are thinking, blog readers. Because I've already heard it from the other people I've shared this amazing story with:

They bought you another pair at the store. They're pulling your leg. 

Another woman with your same glasses lost hers on Daniel Island. 

That's not likely, for a pair of glasses to float from Litchfield Beach to Daniel Island and TO END UP BY YOUR TUTEE'S HOUSE. 

Yes, I've heard it all. And you know what? I've decided I don't care! I got my magic glasses (as I'm now calling them) back last night when I took Rachel home from shopping, and they look the exact same. Maybe just a little bit beat up. A little bit of sand and salt in the crevices. It gives 'em character.

And given the fact that they made their way back to me, I think I'll be a little more careful with them this time.

Spiritual Two-Timing: Yay or Nay?

It's a Sunday, and I sit by myself at a church I started gong to after my friends recommended it. Ironically, I just saw my friends from across the sanctuary -- and normally i sit with them -- but it's too late. Here I am, alone in my chair. It makes me honestly take a harder look at why I am here. I mean, I was raised Catholic. And in some ways I still practice Catholicism -- I go to Mass whenever I feel moved to; I honor my background; I say Catholic prayers and I take pictures of cathedrals then sneak inside of them to douse my forehead in holy water while I'm on vacation in other cities.

Whenever I go to a church, the priest, pastor or whomever talks about becoming "a member." But I haven't become a member of any church as a grown person. Sometimes I attend places, and sometimes I even put a couple of bucks in the basket when it comes around, But I haven't declared my official commitment with any place --  not a cathedral, nor a contemporary mega-church, as they are sometimes called.

Sitting here in the mega-church now, I'm enjoying, as usual, the charismatic pastor. He's funny and says things that are useful and relatable. But there are other parts of this place I don't like so much -- the bland decor, the cheesy music, the lack of a liturgical calendar. In short, this church's weaknesses are a Catholic church's strengths. And vice versa. (Anyone who's listened to a priest say a homily lately has probably gotten bored!)

Still, because I grew up Catholic and was baptized Catholic, I never feel phony standing before a Catholic altar. Yet, here i feel like a fraud at times, even though I enjoy the message, and even though it's obviously my choice to be here.

So, I'm posing this question: Is it possible to need more than one church, even more than one style of worship, to be spiritually fulfilled? We require choices in other aspects of life, right? Just as I get my frozen pizzas from Harris Teeter and my wine from Trader Joe's, I feel like I should be able to get my songs from Mass and my speech from right here. I like both.

St. Peter's Catholic Church in Harper's Ferry, WV

Autumn Harvest (of Ideas).

Friends, it has been a long time. I haven't blogged in several weeks and I've missed it.

But, as each of you probably knows, there are times when we must absorb the strangeness and the mystery of life like a sponge and do little else. As a writer, I feel that every summer is mostly like that. The cooler months are more reflective for me and are when I do my best writing. Meanwhile, during the warmer months, I tend to sit back and simply take life in.

There has been plenty to take in this summer, most of it good but some not so great. Today, I received the heart-wrenching news that Georgetown, SC, suffered an extensive fire that devastated many of the riverfront businesses. One of those businesses was Harborwalk Books, an independent bookstore that housed many volumes of poetry. In fact, though I only visited the store once, I bought a book of Adrienne Rich's poems over 4th of July weekend, on the way to Litchfield to spend the holiday with my family. I remember exclaiming how great the poetry selection was. I will miss the opportunity to visit again.

There are many other things that struck me this summer. I can't write about them all, but I know that they will resurface in my own poems and prose as the days shorten and I cover my arms with the comfort of long sleeves. Fortunately, I'm kicking writing season off the right way this weekend - I'm visiting my beach house in Litchfield with a few of my dearest poet-friends. I can't wait to spend the whole weekend talking, sharing stories and writing.

Photo by Bryan Penberthy

Without a Net.

Friends, today is the first day I've had Internet at my house in an entire WEEK.

....actually it may have been longer, but I was in Litchfield for Memorial Day.

To top it off, I had a horrible time getting Comcast to visit my house and address the problem. I spoke with probably ten Comcast employees, explained the issues with the connection probably ten times or more, and spent WAY too much time on hold, listening to elevator music. When the technician guy finally showed up today around 11 a.m., I have a feeling I was happier to see him than the other way around.

But a week without Internet turned out to be a pretty good thing. Here is how I spent my time:

1. I worked on my memoir. In fact, I churned out some of my best writing yet in the last few days. Here is an excerpt:

What is holy water? I asked my grandmother as a child, wondering why we wet our fingers at the beginning of Mass and blessed ourselves with it, leaving a raindrop-sized circle of water on our foreheads.

When she told me, I mused to myself why we didn't ask the priest to bless the water we drank, cooked with and bathed in - why not have all the water be holy? Why just the dab before Mass?

2. I wrote poems and studied poems. After all, I have a feature in November to prepare for. 

3. I cleaned off my bookcase and took books to Goodwill (the ones that aren't special enough to keep, that is). 

4. I met Mark Sanford. Now, some of you might suspect that this was a waste of my time, but I found it to be quite amusing. 

5. I scouted out different price quotes for fixing the air conditioner in my car. It'll be expensive, any way I slice it. 

6. I led a Piccolo Spoleto poetry walk. 

7. I discovered how to ignore outside noise at McDonald's while I borrowed their wi-fi. 

8. I spent more quality time with Buttercup. 

9. I trained interns. 

10. Most importantly, I learned that I can survive without constant access to all the sites I hold so dear. 

Of course, I missed Eating Gardenias the most. I couldn't wait to get back on and tell everyone about my experience without Internet. Ironic, huh? Such is life in the 21st century. 

Just remember to take time to stop and smell the gardenias. 

Ninth Annual.

Once a year, I get some of my best girl pals together and head to my house in May for a long weekend. This past weekend marked the 9th trip, and every year is special in its own way. 

Our traditions include eating ourselves silly, sipping frozen cocktails on the screened-in porch, playing board games and card games, hitting up the Hot Fish Club on Saturday night, soaking up the rays all day on Litchfield's gorgeous sands and just being together. 

My mother has always said that it's not where you go, but who you are with. Thus, being in my favorite place with my favorite people is double the magic. 

Celebrations.

Wow, since May has started I've been engulfed in celebrating all kinds of occasions, from my best friend Alice (and soon, Mandie!) moving back to Charleston, to my roommate Dana's completion of graduate school, to the MOST important item -- I won the Forum Prize for the Poetry Society this year!!!

I received a book of W.H. Auden's poetry and essays (donated and signed just for me by the oldest member of our society, who is 101 this year!) plus some prize money. I feel totally proud of myself. And my poet friends all toasted me and congratulated me.

The celebrations don't stop there. This weekend is our annual Girls' Weekend, when my ladies and I all go to my house in Litchfield and enjoy the most valuable friendships we have. I feel certain this year is going to be fantastic.

If only every month could be this chock-full of happiness. But as Brian loves to remind me, then I wouldn't recognize what it means to be happy.

Woo hoo! 

The Early Beckon to Litchfield.

My first trip to Litchfield this year came a bit earlier than I anticipated. I drove up yesterday, after delivering the "Stork Basket" that Mount Pleasant Magazine gives to the firstborn baby of the year. This year's baby lives on the outskirts of Georgetown, so I took the opportunity to visit my beloved beach home for the day.

The water has been turned off for the winter, so I didn't expect to stay the night. I figured if something changed my mind I could stay with one of my seaside friends.

The weather was magnificent. I sat on the beach in my aunt's chair (I left mine at home in the garage) and soaked up the sunshine. I even dipped my toe in the ocean. It was freezing, of course.

A few hours of bliss later, I got together with two of my oldest and dearest friends, Gayden and her brother, Steven, for an early dinner in Murrells Inlet before heading back to Charleston.
We had a lot of laughs.

"This weather is nice, but it kind of confuses my brain," I confessed.

It's true. It's strange to feel that surge of springtime hope in January--my heart felt like it was going to burst open yesterday, the day was so lovely. Then again, my moods are more susceptible to the weather than most people's are, I suspect.

Litchfield: The Grocery Gamble.

There's a trend that I just have to address. It involves the kitchen at our beach house in Litchfield. Lately (well, probably all along..it's just now I'm writing about it) I've noticed that it's common for family members and friends to arrive at the house, pour a cocktail, and...forget about food.

Case in point: This past weekend, my mom, her best friend Lorraine, and I decided to hang out in Litchfield for a couple days. We all got there on Friday afternoon and--you guessed it--immediately busted out the beer, wine, and spiced rum.

"What are we having for dinner?" I eventually asked, already two drinks in.

"Uhh, well, I brought us this roast," Lorraine declared, pulling it out of her cooler. "And here's some...potato salad. But it'd be nice to have bread, wouldn't it? Or some kind of real side?"

We peered into the freezer and were greeted with a loaf of freezer-burned Sara Lee. It was not appealing.

"Hmm," Lorraine mused. "Well, I suppose we don't need bread."

via

"Someone should have gone to the grocery store," I sighed. "Why does this always happen? It's like, everyone gets here, starts drinking, and we just have to make do with whatever is here because everyone is too blitzed to go to the PIGGLY WIGGLY!"

Another time, my poet-friends and I started imbibing and woke up the next morning, famished and craving a hearty breakfast. Of course, there was nothing in the fridge or the freezer except for old biscuits and American cheese. Not even eggs. And while we laughed at ourselves while eating our eggless, cruddy, cheese biscuits, I know we were all secretly disappointed.

So, now that I've gone and made this issue public by blogging about it, I think I'm going to have to fix the problem. Therefore I solemnly swear, the next time I go to Litchfield, I am stopping first in Pawley's Island to buy the essentials. After all, drinks are best accompanied by food.

Y'all hold me to it.

The 4th: A Recap.

I just returned from a truly epic vacation with my family in Litchfield Beach. Independence Day this year was one of the most spectacular on record, not to gush or anything. However, as I sit here at work, I can barely move. Why is that? Because my muscles ache to high heaven after falling out of my Uncle Joe's boat and into the saltwater marsh.

Let me explain. My Uncle Joe, a seasoned boater, invited me out on the morning of the 4th for an impromptu boating adventure and I happily accepted, second cup of coffee be damned. It was the funniest boat trip I can remember. 

First, we actually got pulled over by a boat cop, and Joe got a warning ticket for "not having either a horn or a whistle" on board. Who knew that a small boat like the one we were in needed such a plethora of emergency items?! Luckily we had life jackets!!

After we parted ways with the boat police, we made our way back to the floating dock at the house. Here's where the mayhem began. I tried to leap from the boat to the floating dock, while the two were connected only by my hand. Only I didn't quite make it. The boat floated away, my fingers slipped and --SPLOOSH!-- next thing I knew i was knee deep in oyster shells and mud softer than my own heart. I struggled to hoist myself onto the floating dock, but much to my dismay, my arms have zero strength and, between the pluff mud practically engulfing my lower body and my lack of biceps, the whole thing took awhile. When I got out, I resembled some sort of marsh creature and my toes and legs were slightly scratched after coming into contact with the oyster shells. But I survived. 

That was Wednesday and I'm still sore. My upper body feels like I subjected it to a crash-course in weight lifting. It hurts to move too vigorously. But you know what? I wouldn't take it back--it was funny and interesting. And we writers thrive off funny and interesting stuff, even if we get left a bit achy. 

Besides the boat adventure, other highlights of the trip included meeting my Aunt Stephanie's sweet 13-year-old niece, who said I was "more fun than any other adult there," spending time with my best friend John Myers, seeing my grandma, pool-lounging with my childhood pal Gayden, and the awesome fireworks on Wednesday night. My little BlackBerry did me proud, until the very end, when it was completely tuckered out from so many photos on the beach and went to sleep. I couldn't blame it. 

Half and Half.

Happy October!

I'm just finishing up another fantastic weekend. I spent half in Litchfield with my mom and her best friend Lorraine, and half here in dear Charleston. Sometimes, these weekends are my favorite. It somehow makes the weekend seems longer, making a mini-road trip to our house up the coast and then coming home to enjoy Sunday in my own city. The weather this weekend has been extraordinary, both here and in Litchfield. It's the kind of glorious weekend that puts one into a decadent mood. I've been shopping for soft sweaters, eating the best meals, and writing poems. I've been surrounded in Stefan's records, my own reading material, and great company.

Me on Litchfield

The gorgeous beach, with Stefan in the corner. :)

Colonial Lake in Charleston. 

Oh, I also learned that Stefan is not afraid of Black Widow spiders. Just another reason I love him.

Happy Autumn, readers! 

This Writer's Life.

Hi Y'all. I know I haven't written much in September but whew! It's been a crazy month so far. But a good one, too. I've just returned from my yearly poetry retreat in Litchfield with other writerly friends, and it's got me thinking about my life as a writer. So far, it's been a struggle of small steps, but I think that's just how it is when you choose a profession that doesn't just COME to you once you're finished with your education. We writers have to work hard to get there, degrees be damned.

Poetry books in Litchfield 

That said, I feel extra-happy with the steps I've made this month. A few of my poems just appeared on Strong Verse, an online magazine. You can read them here. I'm feeling happy about that. (Even if it isn't The Southern Review. I'll get there.)

On the freelance writing front I've scored a couple of new gigs that should be interesting. In one case, the publisher told me he'd learned my name from a writer-friend of mine in Charleston who advised him to contact me. I was actually surprised! It's rare that a writer helps another one out, especially in a place as small as Charleston.

I went to the library yesterday and brought home a ton of poetry books and even a poetry handbook. I've been reading them. I've also been tinkering with another piece of writing, my sorta-memoir. It's still in the early stages.

Fall is a good time for writers, I think.

End Of Summer.

September is finally here, and I just finished up a fabulous Labor Day weekend in Litchfield with Stefan and the whole family--including my grandmother and my mom! Yay.

It's funny; I thought I was good and ready for fall. This season has been pretty scorching hot, and disappointing in some aspects. Yet as I wound down the summer hurrahs with my loved ones, I found myself feeling that old sadness that we always feel when summer ends. Sure, we'll have warm weather for a few more weeks, but fall is already making her appearance known with cooler mornings and evenings.  I'm glad I made the most of my final real weekend of summer, with delicious watermelon cocktails from the Cocktail Club...

...and fresh, yummy tomatoes grown in my Uncle Joe's garden for our post-beach sandwiches...

...and of course, beers on the beach.

'Til next time, dear summer.

Grouse.

I drank out of one of my favorite glasses this weekend while I was in Litchfield: my grandfather's cocktail glass with the grouse on it. Every time I use it, I'm reminded of my grandfather, Philip A. Nofal, and how he's the person responsible for the fun and great memories associated with this beloved beach house. 

If it wasn't for my grandfather, our house might not have existed. My ever-practical grandmother was skeptical about the work and the cost that comes with owning a vacation home. But my grandfather, who was always up for an adventure, insisted that a house would enrich the family and bring about good times. He was right. 

Today, I barely remember my grandfather. He died when I was just five years old, so the images in my head are vague. But when I come here to Litchfield, the memories I make in the house help to build up the esteem I hold for him. So this weekend I raised the grouse glass, in memory and honor, to thank my grandfather for the blessing he brought into our lives. Inside this house many hearts have grown closer--the hearts of family members and of other loved ones. All of us have found a home within his boundless heart. 

Best Easter Ever.

 I had a great time celebrating in Litchfield over the weekend. It was crammed with family, friends, good food and gorgeous beach time. Stefan didn't get a sunburn either, thanks to SPF 50 'screen.

Some of the highlights:

1. We tried a couple of new restaurants. One of the best parts of living around tourism is constantly testing the new venues. We had Pastaria in Litchfield on Friday night (yummy NY style pizza) and Spuds in Murrells Inlet Saturday night! The view of the inlet was breathtaking. Then Sunday we tried out the Applewood Pancake House right down the street. BEST french toast EVER.

2. Alice was shopping at the thrift store on Saturday after breakfast, so we joined her. Stefan scored an awesome vintage camera, plus accessories, for a rock-bottom price. I found a book that I've been loving ever since. I read like a hundred pages of it on the beach. It's not literary, but it's a good summery read. I'm trying not to feel guilty for putting the classics aside while I savor it.

3. Uncle Philip was sharing stories that I've never heard before. Some were real, Southern Gothic tales about people from the past who were just plain remarkable. Since my uncle is also a writer, he retains these tales as fodder for his own stories. I really enjoyed listening at the kitchen table while we ate pastel-wrapped Hershey Kisses. Family time can be good.

4. I got to see almost all of my beach pals. Alice was there, John Myers made TWO appearances, and Jenn Merrell joined us for dinner on the inlet.

5. Mass on Sunday was remarkably good--thanks to the uber-young priest, I'm guessing, who claimed that his "favorite part of being a priest is sprinkling people with Holy water."

Can't wait until the next trip! Happy Easter to my readers!

LITCHFIELD! It Never Gets Old.

I love my beach house and I love Litchfield Beach. My friends make fun of me because I "plan beach trips" when I live right down the road from Folly.

But Litchfield is different. I've been going there since I was born, and every time I step foot into that house I feel incredibly fortunate. It's been the scene of both wholesome family moments, and secret rendezvous.

This weekend (Easter) is the first official beach trip of the year. Stefan and I are pumped. We're staying in the musty downstairs while my Uncle Philip and his gang are upstairs. But we have plans to thoroughly enjoy ourselves, including an evening with Alice at the Hot Fish Club. Heck yeah. I gotta buy sunscreen.

THE Best Time O' Year...

..is right now. That's right--before it even really becomes spring. These late days of winter are what I love, when the spring-oriented fashion starts rolling in, when the random 70-degree day brings a lump of anticipation to my throat.

And these late winter days are also great for thinking about what winter's good points were: oysters, sleek hair, leftovers that remain perfectly refrigerated in the car, cozy knits, cuddling with a sweetie...the list goes on. When spring is in sight, it's easy to get that funny mixture of--how did Eliot put it?--memory and desire. I feel a bit of nostalgia for what happened over the better days of winter, like a holiday gathering or a fresh oyster, yet I also feel anticipation for spring's warm kiss.

By the dog days of summer, the joy and beauty that erupt at this seasonal cusp are long gone. Our thighs are sticking to leather car seats, our magazines are showing us shearling boots already, and frankly, it's too damn hot.

Let's take a moment as February winds down to think about how we can really savor March and April. For me, it's that first musky inhale of my beloved beach house. <3