A Lost Wallet

I have an ethics question for you: If you found a lost wallet, would you return it to its owner?  Imagine the wallet had no identification and contained $174 in cash and a $50 gift card.  Would you think such a careless owner deserved to be taught a lesson and therefore, feel justified in spending the money?  Or would you secure it in trust that the owner would eventually show up?  If you chose to hold on to it for safe keeping, how long would you wait?  A day? Two?  How about a week?

Our son recently experienced this moral dilemma, but from the other side; Wyatt lost his wallet.  Just before leaving for England, he had purchased a brown, leather wallet and against his parents instructions, put all his eggs in that basket.  His eggs amounted to $200 of grass-mowing, chore-doing, birthday-gifting and allowance-saving money.  Tenaciously, he kept the wallet secure throughout the UK, but became lax after returning home.

Our first Saturday afternoon back home, Greg took the kids to Publix for groceries.  Planning to buy a $1 bag of Skittles, Wyatt grabbed his wallet on the way out the door- because an eleven-year-old boy must bring all his money, obviously, for that "just in case" purchase.  He wore an old pair of shorts with a small pocket, but by stuffing the wallet in, he managed to make it fit.  So what if it hung out a little?  On the way to the store, his sister had a nose bleed- because nothing is easy when taking your kids anywhere- even to the grocery store two miles away.  Greg pulled into the nearest convenience store and sent Wyatt inside for napkins.  With everybody relatively clean and blood-free, they proceeded to Publix.  After walking up and down every single aisle in the store at least five times- because that's what kids do when they go to a grocery store- the party was ready to check out.  Wyatt reached for his wallet to buy his Skittles and discovered it was gone.  He, of course, told his parents all this... ONE WEEK LATER!

Greg and I were crushed for him.  How do you explain to your kids that the world is not an honest place?  I figured it was best to just rip the band-aid off and be blunt.

"The wallet is gone, Son.  If you had told your dad the minute you realized it was missing, we might have found it.  But losing it in one of two high-traffic areas, over a week ago, makes it impossible."

Call me a cynic, but I believed what I said.  The tears flowed... from Wyatt and me; Greg somehow managed to hold it together.  We gave Wyatt a stern speech on respecting money and explained that part of being responsible meant not just spending wisely, but keeping the money safe.  We said, "We told you to keep your money at home and only put five dollars in your wallet.  If you're not responsible with money, the world will take it from you- one way or another."

For Wyatt's sake, I called Publix and spoke with someone in customer service.  She kindly told me what I already knew: no wallet had been turned in.  Greg looked up the number to the convenience store, but we didn't know the new name.  My dad had built the store twenty-five years ago and called it BJ's for Bobbie and Johnny's, my parents' names.  It has changed hands a couple of times since so I had no idea what to look up in the phone book.  Feeling deflated after my cry, I used a trip to the store as an excuse to get out of the house for a little while.

The store was packed for a rainy afternoon.  Only one employee worked the rush so I waited in line to speak with her.  When I reached the counter, I was brief.

"Hi.  My son was in here last week and lost his wallet.  It was brown leather and had a lot of money in it, but no ID.  He just told us about losing it.  Has anyone turned one it?"

"I don't think so, but I'll check.  Do you want to leave your name and number?"

"I doubt it will do any good," I replied as I wrote down our information.  She rang up the next customer as I thanked her and walked back to my car.

Before I got home, a miracle happened.  The store clerk called and told Wyatt (who answered the phone) that she found his wallet a week ago and had put it in the safe and forgot about it.  She assumed the owner would claim it soon.  By the time I got home, Wyatt was jumping for joy.  Greg and I stood in shocked disbelief.  Honestly, I didn't know how to react.  Part of me was thrilled that an honest person was still out there, but another part of me was kind of pissed.   I mean, how was this going to teach Wyatt to take care of money?  Isn't that awful!  Wyatt was dancing a jig and instead of dancing with him, I wanted to make sure he understood how rare this was and how lucky he was.  Instead of celebrating this moral exemplary person who found his wallet and kept it safe, I chose to be dour.  Why was it hard to be happy that someone did the right thing?  I think it's because sometimes (Dare I say it?)-  being a parent sucks.   Sometimes you get so caught up in teaching a lesson that you miss the point of it.  Say your kid gets an A on a test without studying.  A parent can't say, "Good job! You must have listened and participated well in class." Oh no.  A parent must say, "You lucked out this time.  Classes get harder so you better study next time."  With the burden of the future ever looming, I forgot to celebrate the present- the gift of an honest person.

When I came to my senses, I called to thank her.  I told her what an amazing thing she did by keeping the wallet safe for my son.

"I knew it must be a kid's wallet because it had no identification in it.  I have a three-year-old and I know if it were his, I'd want someone to turn it in for him.  I put it in the safe and forgot about it after no one had come looking for it."

We kept talking, discussing ethics.  We both agreed how hard it was to find honest people these days.  Then we made a strange connection.  I told her that my father built the convenience store where she worked and her heart opened up to me.

"Johnny is your father?  I used to be in love with your brother!  I came in the store at least five times a day to see Chris smile.  I was only fifteen, but he was always so nice to me.  I hated what happened to him, but you know drugs are hard to kick.  I was an addict for six years, but have been clean for over three years since I found out I was pregnant.  I feel great, but I struggle with it everyday.  I think of Chris when I'm working here and wish he'd been able to get off drugs, too.  Thinking of him helps me stay straight."

I said, "Well, you're obviously a good person and respect yourself now.  You've done a very nice thing for Chris's nephew."  I admit I was a little choked up as I said it.

On our way to pick up the wallet, Wyatt asked, "Can I give the lady a reward for finding the wallet and keeping it safe."

"I think that's a great idea."

"Would twenty dollars be okay?"

"Perfect."

Stonehenge

Five thousand years ago, the ancient peoples of the British Isles erected a monument that measures time. Today, no one is sure if this was why Stonehenge was built in the Salisbury Plains of England, but on every summer solstice, the sun rises precisely over the heel stone and shines through an arch directly on the center of the monument.  Each month, the sun shines through a different spot counting the days like clockwork.  Like Stonehenge, our family has marked a year, but rather than well placed stones, I have measured the time with places and words.

Last year, on June 20th, Wyatt and I started summer camp in Atlanta while Greg and the girls began packing up our life in Canton.  We were full of big plans, but no idea of what lay ahead for our family.  Thrilled to be taking a retirement year to spend traveling with our children, we were still ignorant to the amount of work it would take.

A year later, on the day before the summer solstice, our family walked side-by-side to one of the oldest manmade monuments on Earth and our ninth world heritage site this year. (We have visited: Independence Hall, Old City of Quebec, Grand Canyon, Westminster Abbey, Tower of London, Old and New Towns of Edinburgh, Liverpool, City of Bath, and Stonehenge.)  We have achieved much in the span of one year, but looking at the ancient stones and hearing about the people who built the structure, our accomplishments felt small in comparison.  During the fifteen hundred years of construction from the early timbers to the final manifestation of two rings of giant rocks, the stone age builders loved, breathed, ate and slept; thousands of people were born, lived and died.  Their graves dotted the countryside surrounding Stonehenge.  For a year now, it has seemed that everything revolved around our travels, homeschool, and our experiences.  Standing at the ancient monument, our lives seemed so small and insignificant, yet precious and fleeting.  Once again, I was overwhelmed by the passage of time.

Back in Bath, we took a cruise up the River Avon, admiring the beautiful vegetation and homes on the river banks.  Afterwards, I walked Wyatt and Emma back to the Royal Victoria Playground for a romp before the rain.  I sat and watched them play, contemplating life.  How lucky we were to have healthy children! How lucky we were to have our health!  The torturing thought that racked my brain was that it can all change in a second. Questions haunted me.  How does one balance the appreciation for one's good fortune with the knowledge that fortune can turn on a dime?  How can one enjoy good fortune when another is suffering?  This day has been filled with incredible fortune for my family, but terrible pain for others.

On the playground, I saw many mothers with their children: some playing, some scolding, some nursing, some dozing.  Though we have a kinship of sorts with our common experiences, not one of us have shared the exact same pleasures or pains of life.  However, we all have an obligation to raise our children as best we can for the future of society.  We have a requirement to support each other with kindness and understanding and pass this empathy on to our children.  Maybe the best thing we can do for one another is to appreciate our unique fortuities.  We can strive for something more; but isn't being content with life a great gift to those around us?

Walking home from the park, we met an American expat.  He and his wife had emigrated to England fourteen years ago for a change of scenery.  He shared with me that his wife had successfully battled cancer, but though he didn't say it in so many words, I understood that his daughter had lost her fight with disease.  They sought solace in a new place.  Now retired, he told me he wished he had taken a year of retirement with his children and wife while they all had their health and not worried about money and career.  He said, "I have so much I would like to do now, but don't have the energy to do it."

Emma enjoyed petting his dogs while we talked, but Wyatt grew impatient waiting.  I did not intend to have a long conversation with another stranger; I only asked him about his dog who was in a wheeled harness.  Hearing my American accent, the man took the opportunity to reminisce about the States (good coffee and stores open past six in the evening) and the positive outlook of the American people.  I have found it amazing that showing a little interest in another human's condition opens up some very interesting conversation.  After parting with the gentleman, I explained all this to Wyatt.  We have an obligation to care about the life experiences of others, and, if we are lucky, learn from them.  Another positive of this year has been the opportunity for teachable moments like this and the time to do my best with them.

Marking the difference between June twentieths: last year, I was longing for my children's simple baby days and plagued with discontent over their childhoods of nonstop activity and desperate for a change.  This year, I am at ease with their transformations through childhood to adolescence and feel privileged to be a witness and a part of their lives.  Greg and I are like Stonehenge.   We are the Sarsen stones set firmly in the ground and our children are the lintel stones, resting on our shoulders.  Years from now, I hope they appreciate this time they had with us as much as we have appreciated this precious time with them.

Greg thinks I made too big a deal out of Stonehenge: it's really very small.

Strangers on a Train

Like the characters in Hitchcock's classic, I fell into an intimate conversation with a complete stranger on a train.  Unlike the characters, we did not plot murder, but instead, shared life affirmations.

The retired gentleman's name was David.  (I called him "Sir" and he explained that you don't use that term in the UK unless you're speaking to a knight.)   Although, he has lived in the UK all his life, he traveled the southwestern United States a few years before and we compared our experiences.  From Hollywood and San Francisco to the Grand Canyon and the deserts, his trip and ours covered much of the same territory.  We discussed his prior prejudices to Americans, thinking them loud and greedy, but how his journey changed his mind.  Time and again, ordinary Americans went out of their way to help him.  I was so proud that my fellow countrymen performed well!  I told of the many people we met during each of our trips and how (with the exception of French Canadian border guards) helpful they were to our family.

Next, we discussed our careers.  He spent most of his working life in customs and anti-fraud for the British government.  After retiring from a long and successful career, he wanted to give back to society and became a intermediary for the the British child welfare system interviewing parents and children in need of assistance.  Learning I taught school for 15 years, he asked about my current employment and I described our year.  His reaction gave me back confidence that was waning.  He thought our plan of spending one year of retirement with our kids "a most excellent idea."  When I confessed to my worries of pulling them so far away from their friends for a year, he pointed out that this year has given them much more than they have lost.  Having raised three children of his own and seen needy or neglected kids for years, he gave me the greatest compliment a parent can receive.  Looking at my three kids who were happily interacting and entertaining themselves, he said, "You can tell your kids know they are loved; look how confident they are."

I noticed he was reading a memoir, and without my saying a word, he suggested that I write up the details of our experiences this year into a book.  He actually asked if I had ever considered writing.  I smiled and replied, "I've thought about it."  Once or twice...

All year, I have been plagued with worry and doubt as we quit our jobs to home school and travel with our children.  I have waffled back and forth between confidence and insecurity like a fragile Broadway actress.  Normally, I am not this high maintenance, but I'm finding that changing your life can wear on the nerves, especially since learning further government budget cuts forgo my return to teaching and the security of a paycheck. Like Gandhi once said, "Faith is not something to grasp, it is a state to grow into."  While I have grown, I sometimes flashback to my adolescence and need the support of a more mature person to guide me.  I believe providence has sent me reinforcement for my faith in many forms this year... even a stranger on a train.

Going With the Flow

Love you, Wendel Family!

While winging our way across the Atlantic, on our way to Mother England, I reflected on the whirlwind of the last three days that I still can’t process without the ensuing panic attack.  Not the fear of flying panic. Once I climb onboard, I realize I’ve given up all control so it’s easy for me to let go. My panic attacks come from too much control and responsibility; in short, I panic when I have too much to do.  Between packing up our temporary home on Fripp Island in preparation for the summer rentals (which included packing up our home school, our dog, and our love of the low country) and temporarily shelving Greg’s new business plans and my curriculum book ideas, we were eager to let someone else take the wheel and just sit back and enjoy the ride. 

As most travelers know, preparing for a trip overseas is an overwhelming venture.  As most home owners know, preparing your home for guests, much less paying guests, is enough to send wannabe Martha Stewarts into the fetal position.  Combining the two would normally have seemed an insurmountable task, but if this year has taught me anything, it’s that “All things are possible through Christ who strengthens me.” (Phillipians 4:13) Though wanting to collapse, Greg and I had hatched a plan months ago of finishing our field trip year in the United Kingdom and we were determined to see it through, “Come hell or high water,” as my grandfather used to say.

So we, once again, packed up all our belongings.  I had piles and piles, which only a mother could possibly know their meaning: This pile goes to the UK, this pile- the basement, the storage closet, the Canton House, Florida, and Goodwill.  As I culled and delineated, I was living for the moment we would pull out of the driveway, being clairvoyant enough to know it was coming, but completely daunted by the prospects.

When we finally drove off the island at 8:25 AM, Tuesday morning, I had two questions running through my mind,:  Do I have everything? and How long do I need to talk to Greg while he is driving before I can fall asleep?  (For the past week,, I had averaged 3 hours sleep a night.  Not a good start for jet lag.)  By the time we dropped our beloved dog, Ginger at the Dempsey Farm, I felt the weight of preparation lift and the exhilaration of  the journey engulf my mood.  Like Jack Kerouac, I felt the thrill of luggage packed and was ready to go to London via… Tampa.

Being ever budget minded, I had searched the Internet for the best fares to the UK.  I varied my entry and exit points, but between the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee and the 2012 Olympics, tickets were at a premium.  It became apparent that airfare was going to break our budget.  Thinking of a bonus visit to my cousin Wendy’s home, I searched for airfares out of Tampa, FL and struck gold.  For a family of five, we could save $2000 flying out of Tampa rather than our hometown of Atlanta.  Taking a chance, I messaged Wendy on Facebook about our plans just moments before booking our flight.  She was family right?  Surely, she would take us in…

Cut to a lovely home in Semiole, FL that has (unknown to me) just sold after being on the market for seven months.  My cousin didn’t convey her mixed feelings (at least not to me…) of having to vacate a house the same week we asked to spend a one-night layover between Fripp and London.  Being the well-bred Southern girl, she messaged me back, “Come on down; We can’t wait to see y’all!”  (Between you and me, I think arriving on her doorstep at such a time may be the rudest thing I have done this year.)

Best Laid Plans... Again.

But arrive we did.  After a seven and a half hour drive through low country landscape and a classic Florida thunderstorm, we pulled into her driveway between a Packrat’s self storage container and a sold sign just as our power steering blew.  It was a miracle the family Truckster made it!  Without flinching, Greg and Wendy’s husband, Donny, determined the problem and the solution.  A year ago, we had lost our cool after breaking down on the way to Disney, but this year, we rolled with the punches. 

Comfy Cousins in the Condo

Relaxing later, we felt right at home sitting and talking among boxes filled to the brim and counters covered with dishes.  I apologized for our spontaneous (and uninvited) visit, but Wendy said that packing the house actually made it easier on her because she didn’t feel the need to clean or have the house “just right.”  Sometimes things being out of control can be good. Thanks to letting go and “thinking outside the box,” I finally reconnected with a cousin after years full of good intentions, but no follow-through.  And our kids got to know each other faster than two dogs in a park; however, no bottoms were sniffed (to the best of my knowledge.)  One of the lessons I have learned while moving around the USA was to let go of trying to control everything; going with the flow can open up endless possibilities. 

It didn’t take Wendy a year to learn this lesson; she had called to see if they could move in to their temporary rental condo early and received a resounding, yes!  You never know what is possible until you try…

Like spending a month on the other side of the Atlantic with your family.

Easter Island

Part of the draw of our sabbatical is the possibility of giving Anabel one more year of childhood, and consequently, slowing the speed of which her younger brother and sister's childhood passes, as well. Anyone with older brothers or sisters knows that when the oldest learned something about the adult world, they couldn't wait to spoil it for their beloved younger siblings.  Anabel has always been our imaginative child preferring to read, write or play pretend in her free time.  Unlike most of her friends at home, she still believes in fairies, Santa and even, the Easter bunny with all her heart.  I want to keep it that way.  No, I don't want her laughed at or ridiculed by her peers, but I don't want to see her innocent world of believing - of having faith in the unseen- to end.

Aren't we all asked to believe things we can't see?  I wasn't there when men walked on the moon, but I believe it happened.  I can't see the love my mother has for me when she berates me again for spending a year away from home, but I know it's there.  I didn't see Jesus heal the sick or turn water into wine, but I believe He did.  I can't see God while I'm praying, but I feel He's there.  How can we get through life without a little faith in the unseen? And oh, to have the faith of a child!  C. S. Lewis said, "Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason once accepted, despite your changing moods." Or your changing age, as the case may be.

Of course, it is easier to believe when you THINK you've seen.  Two years ago, Anabel caught the Easter Bunny in her room.  She woke to see a very tall shadow exiting her room and discovered a basket beside her bed.  She surmised that the shadow must have been the Easter Bunny, but instead of being thrilled by her discovery, she was terrified.  My goodness, he was big!  Now, I must sleep with her on the Saturday nights before Easter to guard against that massive bunny.

This year, Emma wasn't worried about Anabel's Harvey-sized rabbit; she fretted about having no Easter baskets as we had left our traditional baskets at home in Canton.  Unfazed, she immediately found a solution.  Laundry baskets.  They're bigger and hold more treats!  However, her fears were unwarranted as the Easter Bunny provided his own baskets this year.

As with Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, we created new ways to celebrate Easter:

With a new friend from St. Helena Island, the kids hunted for eggs on appropriately named Hunting Island.

We shared our love of scavenger hunts with friends from Delaware.

The kids roamed the island in teams competing to find all items on the list to win a prize.  Some articles they took literally; some items they took figuratively.

For example, one item on the list was a photo of our neighbors, Steve and Mary.  Here's their beautiful portrait:

 Another item was a photo of a butterfly.  Now, I didn't think finding a live butterfly would be difficult thanks to our early spring, but here's what one team came up with:

I like kids that can see more than one solution to a problem!


Our Easter was unique this year in many ways, but the same in many others. While our children are not the little ones they used to be in their Easter dresses, suits and hats, we still celebrated our faith that the stone was rolled away and the Living Christ was not found with the dead, but among the believers.  While we shared the holiday with friends rather than family, we found communion just the same.

Trying New Things

"Don't fear failure so much that you refuse to try new things.  The saddest summary of a life contains three descriptions: could have, might have, and should have." - Louis E. Boone


Surprisingly, I just found this quote on a random Internet search.  I have never heard of Louis E. Boone, and yet, I have lived by his words for over a year.  Greg and I had talked for the past five years about taking a sabbatical to spend more time with the kids and try new things: personally and professionally.  Ironically, it was trying one new thing that started the ball rolling.

My book to be released June 2012

In a teacher's workshop less than two years ago, I presented technology-based curriculum that I had developed over six years teaching gifted children.  A few of my esteemed colleagues encouraged me to write my curriculum into a book and have it published.  Here's where trying something new came in... I actually did it.  For the first time in my professional career, I didn't just dream about it, talk about it, or think of all the reasons not to pursue it.  I wrote it up, sent it out to publisher land and didn't stop there.  After receiving a couple of rejection letters (which I proudly pinned to my bulletin board because receiving a rejection letter meant I had actually tried something, right?), I got a publishing offer from a small company in upstate New York.  But I didn't sign it.  I didn't want to sell myself out too soon.  When I hadn't heard anything from a couple of the more prominent publishers, I called them.  After a two hour conversation with the head of The Critical Thinking Company, he sent me a contract.  My passion for my topic convinced him that my curriculum worked.  Signing the contract, no one could have been more shocked.  I had tried a new thing and the world didn't open up and swallow me whole.  Instead of being eaten alive by the words: could have, might have, should have, I had accomplished something!

I'm a contributor!

Continuing my momentum, I have taken new writing classes and submitted articles to small magazines.  In the new April/May issue, I am a contributor to Beaufort's local publication, Fit and Family.  I have three short pieces or tidbits about family travel.  Small, but definitely a step in new direction.

What a thrill it is to see my name in print!  The question I keep asking myself is: Could I be a writer?  I'm having a book published.  Does that make me a writer?  I'm in a small magazine.  Does that make me a writer?  I have chronicled our year opening up about my thoughts, experiences and dreams. Does that make me a writer?


While I've been more tempted by professional pursuits, I have tried some new, personal things, too.  Remember my baking bread blog?  Baking bread is now my go-to, de-stress activity.  Nothing has made me feel more in touch with the spiritual than the simple act of producing this basic necessity of life.  I feel quite certain that I could live by bread alone... with butter and a nice Pinot... and share it with friends, of course.


Not all new things I've tried have been a success.  Some, I'm proud to say, failed miserably. Take pottery class, for example.  Since getting a plastic potter's wheel for Christmas when I was 10 years old, I have always wanted to take a real lesson.  With home school art in mind, I signed the whole family up at Coastal Art in Beaufort.  We met many interesting people who all helped our instructor, Pat, attempt to teach us the subtle art of clay pottery.


Here's what I fantasized I would create:

And here's what I actually made:

Yes, it is as uneven as it looks.  Feel free to laugh.

Stop staring at me, Pablo!  I'm trying!

Trying to keep my failure in perspective, I turned to words of advice from a great experimenter. Pablo Picasso said, "I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it."  Great words of advice, Pablo!  We're learning.  Unfortunately for me, I think his and my learning curves are a little out of sync.  Picasso's experiments created completely new art forms.  (Ever heard of Cubism?)  

Picasso's Cubist painting: Femme En Pleurs

My experiments created new... junk. So why am I proud?   It's my junk.


I'm also proud to say that the rest of the clan feels the same way about their junk, I mean art, and the other new things they've tried this year.  

Wyatt's candy/chip dish

Anabel's pencil cup and Emma's dog and Mickey Mouse

Wyatt's ?... we're not sure what it is...

We planned this family quest to discover new things and appreciate the joy in our lives.  Having planned our one year off the grid, we almost backed out at least twenty times due to fear.  Fear of going broke; fear of alienating the kids from their friends; fear of spending too much time together and thereby alienating our kids from us; fear of never getting a job again; fear of rejection; fear of judgment; FEAR OF FAILURE.  Ultimately, the fear that won out over every other was the fear of regret.  We knew we would regret not taking this sabbatical with our kids... the alternate fears were just conjecture.

Emma trying something new.

So trying new things proved to be a great success even when we failed.  With less than three months left of our big experiment, I have never felt less regretful or more excited about life.

My Fripp Island

Fripp Island Sunrise

I fell in love with Fripp Island before I knew its name or existence.  Pat Conroy's descriptions of the low country resonated in my heart, calling my soul out to play:  

"I have heard it said that an inoculation to the sights and smells of the Carolina lowcountry is an almost irreversible antidote to the charms of other landscapes, other alien geographies. You can be moved profoundly by other vistas, by other oceans, by soaring mountain ranges, but you can never be seduced. You can even forsake the lowcountry, renounce it for other climates, but you can never completely escape the sensuous, semitropical pull of Charleston and her marshes.” 

This year's travels have proven his words true.  Time and again, we saw breathtaking beauty all around America, but none so glorious as a low country sunset.  

Fripp Island Sunset

And so, always, we return to Fripp.

Located nineteen miles southwest of Historic Beaufort, two hours from Charleston and just one hour from Savannah, Fripp Island is a private, gated community offering everything a person needs -or wants- in just 6 square miles.  Whatever image of Fripp you're looking for, you'll find it.  

Clam digging on Fripp

If you're searching for the low country of The Prince of Tides, it's here.  Home to Pat Conroy and his wife, author Cassandra King, Fripp Island's luscious low country landscape holds redemptive powers and inspires novels.  But if you're like me, you may be content with bike rides, long walks, and meditative moments sitting on a dock as the lapping of the water lulls you to sleep just as the sheepshead strikes your bait.  If you're more adventurous, Fripp gives liberty to try new passions like crabbing, clamming and shrimping, all of which boil up nicely in a fresh frogmore stew.

Fripp Island Blue Crabs

Frogmore Stew topped with crabs

If you're searching for pirate's gold like early Fripp resident Blackbeard's treasure, the booty may not be buried here (feel free to look), but the white sand beaches beg for pirate play.  So dig, drink, relax and be merry.  Like the t-shirt says, you can't sit on the beach and drink rum all day unless you start first thing in the morning. Of course, you don't have to drink to live the pirate life.  Pirates play golf and tennis.  Pirates swim, kayak, and play basketball.  If Camp Fripp has taught us anything, it's that pirates are unpredictable and abhor stereotypes.   Play and fun for pirates come in many forms. 

Pirate Tennis, Anyone?

If you are looking to lose yourself in pristine nature, Fripp Island has that, too.  From the wind sweeping through the live oaks dripping with spanish moss to the marshland habitat teaming with minnows and shrimp, snowy egrets and blue herons, from the dunes and tide pools on the beach to the reeds and sweetgrass of the inlets, this sea island abounds with life.  We could not have picked a better place to home school our children this year.  Every breath and glance outside is a science lesson.

Though we will be returning to our home in Georgia in three months, I know Fripp is now our home, too.  We have laughed and loved here; we have grown and changed here. And we've learned  some important life lessons here.  

A few of my favorites are:

• Giving kids some freedom helps them to grow confident and strong.
• Children are like the tides: they may rush out to the wide open, but return, eventually, to parental Terra Firma.
• Breathing salt air frees the mind and feeds the soul. 

What are your favorite island lessons?(Please share in comments.)

Check Out My Fripp Island...

Daily Affirmation

Sunrise on the Island

Struggling to get out of bed this morning, I reached for The Book of Awakenings by Mark Nepo for some inspiration. This is what I found:

"The best chance to be whole is to love whatever gets in the way, until it ceases to be an obstacle."

 Does this mean I must love writer's block?

 So be it.

Free to Be...Finally.

I love libraries.  You discover things you didn't know existed.  You find things you had forgotten.  On a recent visit to the Beaufort Library, I rifled through the children's DVDs while waiting on my kids to choose their books.  They had titles I hadn't seen in years like old episodes of The Muppet Show, The Electric Company and the long forgotten, Free to Be... You and Me.  There it was right in front of me and in DVD format, no less: My Seventies Childhood.

Flashback time... During grades one through three, I don't remember the air time of The Electric Company, but I know we stopped all school work to view it.  My favorites were The Adventures of Letterman and Here's Cooking at You, a send up to Julia Child.  At home, I adored watching The Muppet Show for the pure silliness of it.  Just seeing Kermit the Frog fling his arms about and scream, "Yea!" while introducing a skit made me laugh.  I am not proud to say that I routinely used my Miss Piggy puppet to smack my sister and brother.  Hiii, YAAH!

My memories of Marlo Thomas's Free to Be... You and Me were not so sanguine.  Holding the DVD in my hand, I recalled controversy and subversiveness. Should I show this to my kids?  I really couldn't remember what it was about, but I had some recollection of it promoting radical lifestyles.  Does anyone else share this memory?

Of course, I checked it out.

One morning at home school, Wyatt, Emma and I sat down to watch.  Yes, I was shocked...shocked that I had unsettling feelings of subversiveness surrounding this show.  I was amazed that this was controversial in my childhood.  And then, I realized, maybe it was just controversial in my home.

In a nut shell, the album, book and subsequent ABC After School Special, was about changing gender stereotypes.  The program contained skits reminiscent of variety comedy shows and educational TV of the seventies.  Opening with Mel Brooks and Marlo Thomas as newborn baby puppets discovering their gender for the first time and wondering what each means, the show cut to a young, pre-plastic surgery Michael Jackson singing with Roberta Flack about what they'll be when they grow up with equal career choices voiced for each gender.  Next, there was a delightful song with Marlo Thomas (not the greatest singer) and Harry Belafonte demonstrating that mommies and daddies do many different things.  My favorite was the fairy tale story of Atalanta (actually a Greek myth) who wanted to choose for herself whether or not she married.  In the end, she ran beside a man, equal to each other, and the story ended with them having separate adventures around the world.  Perhaps they'll marry someday, but regardless, they lived happily ever after.

Memories of the show flooded me.   How could I have ever forgotten Rosy Grier singing, "It's alright to cry"?

I watched my kids as they watched the show.  They were mesmerized by the format of short skits no longer than a song.  Wyatt agreed with the kids when they were talking about how hard it is to get along with their brothers and sisters.  Both thought the dancing on "Brothers and Sisters" was groovy and wished I would allow them to dance on the top edge of the playground fort wall.  Emma liked the William's Doll cartoon best.  She hated the kids making fun of him and loved it when the grandmother finally bought him a doll and reminded the dad that men have to take care of babies, too.  Both children liked the circle of friends song with Kris Kristofferson and Rita Coolidge.  They didn't see any controversy.  Honestly, I think the only shocking part for them was seeing a young Michael Jackson.

After it ended, I asked each what they thought the show was about.

"Brothers and sisters getting along," said Wyatt. "And parents doing lots of stuff."

"Family and love, " said Emma.

Nothing subversive there.

However, in 1974, in a small town in Georgia, this was radical stuff.  My grandmothers waited on their husbands, hand and foot, even though they both had their own work: one on the farm and one at a hospital.  My mother had temporary jobs at various places, but my father was the known bread winner and ruled the roost.  My sister and I were always second to our little brother at any family gathering.  Boys first, girls second.  At seven, I quickly saw the lay of the land and hated it.

As I grew up, I saw snippets of news pieces with women marching for equal rights.  I watched reruns of All in the Family, That Girl, and Maude.  I saw that there was a big world outside of Small Town Georgia.  I wanted my own voice in my life.  But how was a girl to get this?  In the end, I reflected on the teachings of Jesus Christ and his Golden Rule.  I realized I had the power to control how I treated others and how I asked to be treated.   I tried to treat others, men and women alike, how I wanted to be treated.  If I got to a door first, I opened it for the other.  If I wanted someone to do kind things for me, I tried to do kind things for them.  I respected myself and others.  If I didn't receive respect back from a person, I knew that person wasn't meant to be a big part of my life.  C'est la vie.

There may not be an amendment that demands it, but in our family we have equal rights.  We all try to get along.  We all try to be fair.  We all try to take turns.  Man or woman.  Girl or boy.  We work together for a common family goal and we support each other in our individual goals. I am happy to say that I found a man who runs beside me like Atalanta and John.  I chose to marry him as he chose to marry me.  We are having our adventures together.  And we lived happily ever after.


If you're looking for a groovy flashback, check out Free to Be... You and Me.  Here's Emma's favorite, William Wants a Doll:

Here's my favorite: The Story of Atalanta:

New Year's Pride

"A little nonsense, now and then, is relished by the wisest men."


                                                 - Willy Wonka

My husband did something completely nonsensical today and I've never been more proud.  Greg, along with over 400 other insane folks, ran into the 56 degree Atlantic Ocean at Hunting Island State Park's 4th Annual Pelican Plunge.  The event officially benefited the Carolina Park System, but it also greatly improved the new year's outlook for a fun local bunch.  And, boy, what a bunch!

Some plungers brought more whimsy than others.  While the kids and I did not embrace the idea of shockingly cold water as Greg did, we enjoyed watching the show.  The dress of choice for many was bathrobes and shower caps with plungers in hand.   Our two favorites stood out in a crowd of nuts (and that's saying something.)  We had to meet Plunger Head Man and Viking Caveman.  It was obvious that these guys had continued their New Year's Eve parties right up until the plunge countdown at 1 p.m.

Hunting Island Park kept the party atmosphere going with a Pelican greeting the kids and a steel drum band attempting to hypnotize those about to freeze into thinking they'll be stepping into Caribbean waters.

The hypnosis didn't work, but Greg didn't care.  He was ready to take the plunge.

With the paramedics nearby and a clear path from the lighthouse to the ocean, the plungers hit the beach running.  After a brief wince, Greg joined in.  I tried to video him as he made it to the water, but I lost sight of him in the crowd.

So was it as cold as he thought?

"It was worse actually," said Greg later.  "I ran out with the first wave of folks and made it to a little over knee deep before I dove.  It was impossible to stay under.  I stayed out for couple of minutes and dove under again, but popped right back up from reflex."

When I found him, Greg was walking back up to the beach with a huge smile on his face.  I smiled back so proud of him for having the wisdom to enjoy something so silly.  He was just smiling because he had done it and, more importantly, he survived it.

I salute all of today's plungers!  I love their "Hey, you only live once!" philosophy for 2012.  If the world is over in a few months, what a great way to ring in the last year!

To read the local paper's take on the event and spot Greg in the stampede,  go to Beaufort Gazette.