Phone Times.

Remember the days before "caller I.D."? You actually had to take a chance of speaking to someone with whom you didn't want to speak back in those days. Today's "Garfield" is improbable these days, but I remember when blurting out a greeting that would be perfectly appropriate with one caller- but grossly inappropriate with another- was a common occurrance. I specifically recall my Pop, after spending the day with his friends Judy and Manly Lawson, confidently predicting it was Mrs. Lawson ringing up the house. Doing his best Cary Grant, dad bellowed, "Judy, Judy, Judy" into the phone, much to the surprise of the salesman on the other end. Dad's Cary Grant wasn't that great, but it was, at least, better than that of Gomer Pyle's cousin, Goober.

Fowl is Fair (actually, it's excellent).

I got a rare treat this evening: a Sunday meal on Tuesday. Skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut in half and lightly breaded and seasoned with salt, pepper and savory spice, sauteed in olive oil, with a gravy of pan-drippings, honey-mustard, lemon juice, and miniature mushrooms. Thinly sliced red potatoes baked with garlic, green onions and feta cheese. Add some fresh asparagus sauteed in olive oil, and some Norah Jones tunes playing in the background, and you've got a mid-week feast.

Socks Appeal.

I like Dr. Seuss. I was raised on Dr. Seuss, and I raised four kids on Dr. Seuss. I also like running; though I haven't done a lot of it, of late. One of the things I like about running is that normally sane dudes are allowed to wear togs that are, well, not so normal. If Tim Burton were to adapt Dr. Seuss's classic "Fox in Socks" for running apparel, he might've come up with something like the the items I picked up over the weekend:

Okay, maybe that's a wolf. I still dig the socks, though. Like I said: with running apparel, allowances are made. Now I just gotta start running again.

One for the Records.

Human nature doesn't change (Do you doubt me? Pick up your Old Testament sometime, and take a look: problems with power, children, anger, all that stuff hasn't changed much in thousands of years), but technology does. People, I'm told, used to tell jokes at watercoolers at work, then they faxed jokes to each other, now we forward them by e-mail. Among the constants I see in the many "you know you're old when..." e-mails I get from my middle-aged friends is "you know you're old when you own vinyl records". I own hundreds of 'em. I don't listen to them anymore, because I don't have a working turn-table; but, I can't seem to part with them. I miss the album art (check out Asia's debut album cover, at left). I miss big, readable liner notes. I miss stereo. Digital music offers lots of advantages: portability, and consistent quality after lots of uses are a couple of them. Still, after years and years of improvements in digital music, analogue sometimes seems better. Remember the 1980's group "The Cars"? Sure, you do. I own a couple of Cars albums. I remember the song "Moving in Stereo". It sounded great in stereo: the sound moved from speaker to speaker, right to left; left to right; front to back (if you had quad speakers). The first time I heard it on a Compact Disc, I was gravely disappointed. Where the sound used to move around, it just got louder and softer. Digital "Moving in Stereo" was a cruel joke. Subsequent versions got better, but, well, I still miss hearing "Moving in Stereo" in stereo.

Stupid Signs, Part 9

I observed this sign in a Charleston location of a large home-improvement chain. The sign is not "per se" stupid, just useless. I asked the person at the department where this sign is posted if anyone in the store could read or speak Japanese, French or whatever that other language on the sign is, and he said, in clear English, that neither he, nor anyone else in the store read or spoke any of the languages- other than English- on the sign. Pity the poor Japanese tourist beaming with expectation as he approaches customer service...

Two Sheds are Better than One.

I mentioned in yesterday's poor orphan shirt post that I've been working on a junior shed to go with Diane's big shed. When Lowe's delivered the box, I was perplexed: the box was hardly bigger than I am. How you gonna get a shed outta this? For being mechanically disinclined, I sure do get myself into a lot of "Mr. Fix-it" jams.

Maybe my buddy, Dana, can figure it out. Reading the directions? Is that even allowed?

Really, it's all about the toolbelt and hat (and Lady Di's hamburgers, of course).

After the first foray, which included a trip to the building supply store, and several trips to Ace Hardware, we got the foundation figured out.

On day two, we started to get some walls up.

Friend Gale, ever competent and always in motion, stopped in to the shed raising.

Dana teased my poor little cordless screwdriver. Yeah, well, "I'm rubber, you're glue..."

At the end of day two, we had the walls up, but I'd lost Dana and Gale for the duration. They were a huge help, but I'd have to soldier on by my lonesome.

Daylight Savings Time is tough in the morning, but I did have enough daylight after work on Monday to finish the roof. I'd leave the doors for another day.

I finally finished yesterday.

I wonder why they gave me all these extra parts?

All cleaned up and ready to load. Just call me David "Two Sheds" Mathews.

Getting My Shirts Together.

I'm giving up the Big Unit. I bought a new shed, which I'm almost done putting together (more on that, later), so I can stop paying storage fees. Unfortunately, the big unit was, well, bigger than the new shed; consequently, I've got to cull some stuff. I got bags of old T-Shirts that I've kept, but haven't worn much. I've kept many for sentimental reasons. Maybe I'll give 'em one more look before I give 'em to Goodwill.


I've got tons of running shirts. I've kept a few, but you can only wear so many.


I've only ever gone to one Atlanta Braves baseball game. They were playing the Houston Astros, and our seats were right behind the visitor's dugout. I've held onto the shirt for years.


Nephew Rob got this one for a haunted house he set up for the Twins many years ago. Not many occasions I can get by wearing it, though.




I got this one free for getting a pair of running shoes. I used to like getting new running shoes, and I guess this shirt just reminded me of it. The shirt's gone, but the memories of my early running exploits remain.


I lived and worked for 13 years in neighboring Jasper County, and for seven of those years, I had a solo general law practice. It was pretty much expected in a small community that all the private law firms would support the local festivals and events. I loved doing it, and Relay for Life always got a hundred bucks or so (and I got a T-Shirt).


I used to enjoy attending the South Carolina Trial Lawyers Conventions. I'm pretty sure I went every year during the 1990's, and I always got a shirt. I'm keeping 1993, but this 1998 didn't make the cut.


I hate to part with anything SpongeBob related, but there just aren't a lot of occasions to wear this one. Maybe some big kid'll end up with it.


This 1995 Yemassee Shrimp Festival 5 K shirt comes with a story that I'll probably relate in a future post, but I can tell the story without the shirt.


This one is a special treasure: it's an old football practice jersey from the days of my youth. Even without the shoulder pads, it's not close to fitting me. Still, it was tough to toss this one.

Cross Pollen Nation.

Spring, as you well know, does have its down-side: pollen. I dearly love looking at the pine trees; I do not enjoy breathing the pine pollen.
This yellow car is actually black somewhere under there. Pollen, it seems, is nothing to sneeze at.

Spring Ahead.

Alright, so I lost an hour of sleep over the time change thing; Spring, at least, has sprung.

Mancke Business.

The Boro is getting another Palmetto State notable: Naturalist Rudy Mancke, is visiting the Boro tomorrow. He'll be giving a tour of the Great Swamp Sanctuary. I love this little piece of wilderness on the edge of town, and I've posted on it several times. I've pointed out a bit of silly signage, and I've featured creatures I've seen along the way, including a hawk that dissed me, and an alligator that just missed me. I've seen lots of deer (including a nesting baby deer that lifted his head up from his hiding place just as I ran by), snakes, squirrels, wild turkeys, lizards, and all sorts of plants. I can't name the plants, but I'm betting Rudy Mancke can. Sadly, I'll have to miss this one, but I'm hoping someone else will be taking pictures.

The Mitch is Back!

I got to see my old friend Mitch last Sunday. You might recognize him from the high school picture I posted a week or so ago. He and his lovely bride Gina were down in Chuck Town for a Tennis tournament, and they gave up a couple of hours to hang out with me and Lady Di and eat Thai food. Back in the day, Mitch and I were thick as thieves. We strode through the halls of Leto High like we owned the place. Mitch was voted "Friendliest" in our class of more than 750 students, and I was "Class Clown" (the following year, when my brother won that category, they changed the name to a much more dignified "Wittiest". Ah, well). Mitch is pleasant, fun, and a genuinely good person, just like he was back in the day. Here's to you, Buddy!

Ash Wednesday.

On last year's Ash Wednesday, I wrote a serious post on the meaning of Lent, and on sacrifice generally. As you can tell from the stock photo at left that I poached from the Net, the priest or bishop in charge marks members of the parish with ashes in the sign of the cross. Episcopalians and Catholics have this service every year, generally using ashes taken from the palms collected from the previous year's Palm Sunday service. We walk around all day with soot on our forehead, while our well-meaning friends from other denominations point out that our morning's shower was not 100% effective. It's not forbidden for other Christian denominations to do it, but most Protestant denominations don't celebrate with an Ash Wednesday service.

There is something to be said for sticking with what you know how to do. A few years ago, I noticed that Tommy, a Methodist friend of mine from days gone by, had a red mark on his forehead. "Tommy, what's with the red mark?", I asked. "Let me tell you, Dave", he offered. "The Pastor at our church decided to impose ashes on us for Ash Wednesday, just as a new experience. He'd done this to about half the congregation, and one of the guys up front said, "I'm burning!". I thought he was just moved by the sermon, but then I noticed my forehead was really hot, too. Well, since that church didn't have any Palm Sunday palm leafs to burn, the Pastor just burned whatever he had around, which, on that particular day, turned out to be treated lumber". Anybody want to guess what you get when you mix hardwood ashes with water? Rookies!

Jump!

Saturday's Eat Smart, Move more "Let's Go! EXPO" was a blast. Who knew that an expo extolling the benefits of healthier eating and exercise would be such a success- and so much fun! More than 200 people showed up for the one-mile fun walk. Not too shabby for the first year (and more than they'd anticipated: they only procured 200 finishers medals!).




Walterboro Police Department Chief Otis Rhodes was on hand to make sure things were orderly, and to dispatch his troops to make sure the walkers were safe. There were plenty of local dignitaries in the crowd. Mayor Bill Young gave a speech. Council Members Randy Peters and Tom Lohr were also in attendance. Shoot, Town Council might've had a quorum.
Representatives from County Government were there as well: There's Diane with our lovely Clerk of Court, Pat Grant.

There's Lady Di with Chamber of Commerce Director David Smalls, and always effervescent Queen of Colleton County, Alta Mae Marvin.

We assembled downtown at about eight in the morning for the walk.


Local running legend Pat Rhodes was there to make sure the walkers stayed on the right path.


Looky there! We walked right past my church. A mile may not be much of a challenge for my brother or his ultra-marathon mates, but a lot of the folks out there have been flirting with diabetes and other health problems because of inactivity and bad diets. The men, women and children who got up early to walk through the Boro deserve a smile and a pat on the back.


Success!

We finished the walk to sign up for mini-seminars, visit the booths, listen to speakers (including Lady Di, who also got an interview with the local radio station (which was broadcasting live from the site)), and music and watch demonstrations on dancing, competitive jumping (the Lowcountry Jumpers were announce as "the third best competitive jump-rope jumpers" in the Country. I posted a short video of one of them jumping around below). Some of Diane's AHEC students donned fruit and veggie suits to press the point of health snacks. These gals coulda whooped the Fruit of the Loom guys, no problem!



Here they are without their super-suits, and with Kelli, another successful former AHEC student.


You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a health care professional, docs included.


I meant no offense with the "dead cat" reference, Smart Cat, honest!








The sound guy left early, and I had to work the knobs and stuff for the speakers and music. I wasn't very good at it. I guess my knowledge isn't sound. Anyway, the dude with the cables, here, came to help me. The cable guy's name? Larry. Larry, the cable guy. Honest.

I got tons more pictures, a few of which I already posted on FaceBook.

A Real Writer.

It's somewhat inaccurate to say that I read the newspaper religiously. It's unfair both to my Church, and to the newspaper; as I take my Church more seriously, but I read the paper more regularly. If you're reading this, then you already know that I like to write. In fact, I've always been jealous of "real writers": writers that perform their craft well, and are paid to do it. I was delighted to spend a few minutes with a real writer yesterday. Charleston "Post and Courier" newspaper columnist Ken Burger was at Downtown Books and Espresso in the Boro signing his new book, "Sister Santee", and I stopped in to buy his first book, "Swallow Savannah" and get a cup of Joe. He told me that he was originally from the small, poor, rural county of Allendale. Mr. Burger is recognized across the State, and has been writing interesting things well for many years, and I'd mentioned I'd already known he was from Allendale. When I meekly offered that I'd written a few sports articles for the paper in the small, poor, rural county where I'd lived a few years ago, I kind of expected him to turn on his heel and walk off; instead, he said he knew the paper. Thanks, Ken, for grinding out good work and providing a regular dose of good prose. Thanks, especially, for making me feel, if briefly, like I might be a real writer, too.