Natural Dyes--Champagne Over Beets

Trying my hand at natural dyes, I turned to a couple of cans of beets. Thought I'd get a yummy, rich, beety color. Instead, it turned out to look more like champagne. It seems that just because a food stains doesn't mean it also dyes well. And so begins a new journey of discovery.

Finished Hand-Dyed and Signed Devore Satin Scarf

Chrysanthemum Pattern  of shimmering Rayon Satin on a sheer background of Silk Chiffon

Approximately 15 x 60" (no fringe)

SOLD

HAND PAINTED SCARVES 8"x54"

These are the last of the scarves this size I will be doing.

All of them are one of a kind originals, hand painted on 100% Habotai silk.

PURPLE DANCERS-collaboration design with Geoff Harrison

JEREMIAH 29 WORDS IN SILVER--AVAILABLE ALSO IN GOLD

To see current available silks, please visit my online store.

HAND PAINTED SCARVES 11x60"

Hand painted and signed originals on 11x60" Habotai silk. 

Scroll down to purchase.

CELEBRATION IN TURQUOISE

GREEN BLUE POLKA DOTS-SOLD

SOLD

SPLASH!-SOLD

AFTERGLOW

SUMMER'S EVE-SOLD

To purchase or to see more, please visit my online store.

SAMPLE OF SOLD SCARVES

PHOENIX RISING

CELEBRATION IN SCARLET

GREEN BLUE PLAID

SPRINGTIME

PASTELS

ANGELFISH

DEEP PURPLES

DOLPHINS

JEA SHOW 2013

Savannah's Jewish Educational Alliance has been a wonderful host this month for three artists: Illustrator Sheela Bacon, Watercolorist Xi Guo, and me. As we enter the final week of this exhibit, I'm happy to post some images that are still available for sale.

To see our exhibit in person, be aware that because of Passover, JEA's hours are different this week. Open Open Monday, 3/25 9am-5pm

Closed Tuesday and Wednesday

Open Thursday 9am-8 pm

We take the show down Friday morning.Some of our products are also available at Gallery 11 in downtown Savannah's City Market.

For further information, please comment on this blog or visit my on line store. Thanks for visiting my blog!

WALL OF ORIGINAL HAND-PAINTED SILK SCARVES

SAME WALL FROM THE OTHER END

BE THE LOVE YOU ARE--30X30 ON SILK

WELCOME--30X30 ON SILK

11x14-YES! I AM OPEN TO RECEIVING THE FULLNESS OF LIFE YOU HAVE FOR ME.

11X14- WINDING ROAD: DO NOT CALL TO MIND THE FORMER THINGS OR PONDER THINGS FROM THE PAST. BEHOLD, I WILL DO SOMETHING NEW. I WILL EVEN MAKE A ROADWAY IN THE WILDERNESS, RIVERS IN THE DESERT.Isaiah 43

8x10- WELCOME HERE: KNOW THAT YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.

11X14--SPIRIT DANCE

12X12--LOVE IN COLOR

11X14--I AM THAT: Whatever your inklings of desire, I have for you so much more. Trust  Me, and you will not be disappointed. Expect greatness, grandness, something new. Let Me surprise you with the impossible!

11x14--IT IS TIME: Time for new life. Time for new thoughts.  Time for new ways. Time to be born. It is time.

11x14--DREAM BIG

11X14--GRACE: I love you. I'm sorry. I forgive you. Thank you.

8x10--A NEW SONG: Having risen yet again, the Phoenix,with feet extended dances on its tail feathers  to the beat of a new song.

 Also available are a few prayer flags,
Pink Ribbon Dancer items,
books,
postcards, and more.

Visions of Spring Art Show at JEA

I spent the better part of today hanging 20 scarves, numerous framed prints in preparation for the show at the Jewish Educational Alliance in Savannah. By Sunday, I will have the rest of my products set up.

Stunning work by watercolorist Xi Guo and illustrator Sheala Bacon make for a lovely variety.

Please join us this Sunday, March 3 between 3-5 for our reception.

Artwork will be on display for sale through the month of March.

SURPRISED BY GRACE

I'd like to say I'm learning something here with my mother's recent extended hospital stay, but it's far too premature to claim that. I can say that I'm noticing something, and maybe in time this noticing will turn into trust so that I can then claim to have learned it. Here's what I've been watching.

During this hideous roller coaster for the past month, I've been surprised and disappointed when a need arose and the person I expected to meet that need wasn't available. Key players. Doctors. Pastors. Others.  Some for totally understandable reasons. Some remain a mystery still. And then there are the nurses. As in any profession, some nurses love what they do, and we recognize them at once. Then there are those who are just doing a job, and we know them too.  It has been uncanny to watch at every turn that every genuine need we have had has been skillfully met when we needed it. Even if by a stranger. Even if not on our schedule. When we needed answers, attention, kindness, or much more, help showed up. 

Bottom line: I may not get what I want when I want it from whom I want it in the way I want it. I can still ask until I feel heard and trust that help is coming. If I keep my heart and my eyes open to new possibilities, I might recognize it when it comes. For me, its name will always be Grace.

HOME MOVIES OF THE '60'S

Max and Mary Lippitt were my grandparents. Of their 4 children, Anita was oldest, followed by Devereux (Dev), Max, and Ashby. 16 grandchildren made up the next generation.

Fortunately for the rest of us, Uncle Dev was an avid film-taker. This video is shared by Dev's son Mark. Much of this 3-generation family are represented here, largely at Wilmington Island and Linville.

If you have 8 minutes and enough curiosity to see what we all looked like 50 years ago, click on http://youtu.be/fFHJ4k0A_f0

FIRED UP...OR JUST PLAIN FIRED!

Story offering by Crabette co-founder Polly Cooper.

Anita,

I still laugh at the gig when we were chunked out on our behinds. You were with us, weren't you? I remember Laura and I think maybe Linda Ann. Old Harry had gotten the gig for us. It was at the black community center on Anderson Street. Soldiers from Hunter Field had been invited to dance with the senior citizens.Well, Harry didn't prepare us for any of this, and we were on the stage with a huge room full of tables and people seated at them.

We started off playing our usual Beer Barrel Polka and I noticed the crowd was looking at each other with puzzled looks, kind of startled and bewildered. Nobody got up and danced. Well, we thought, surely they will jump up and dance to Five Feet Two; so we started playing that. Still, nobody moved.....and there were about 150 people. 

We were just about to start on Ain't She Sweet when a female's voice said at the side of the state..."Would you all mind taking a little break now??"

Well, we looked at each other and the lightbulb went off. Oh my gosh, we've just been fired!! The speakers suddenly blasted out with industrial strength hip hop and and crowd jumped to its feet in wild crazy dancing, stomping and hand-clapping.The next question was, how in the heck do we get out of here without walking through that huge crowd with mud on our faces.

I looked at the back of the stage, and there were some steps going down. We all packed up and left in a hurry......all except old Harry, that is, who stayed put waiting for our promised check. The rest of us went out into a field behind the community center and rolled on the ground laughing until we cried, but Harry didn't come out--that is, until they finally decided to pay him, and all was well. 

Just wondered if you remembered that one. There will be lots more, I'm sure. Lots of love, Polly 

MUSIC AND GETTING LOST...A FAMILY TRADITION!

Tonight's story by my lifetime friend, Carol Kahn.

Anita,

Like many other Anita stories, my Anita story also involves music and adventures getting lost, but I’ll add sewing to the mix!  

A particular sewing memory stands out—that of you making costumes for the ill-fated trip to Georgia Southern high school music competition.  Margaret, Sue, and Adrian did a beautiful job singing, especially on the a Capella song, “Blues Around My Head”—I can’t believe I remember that!  I was the one who got lost in nerves on the piano for the second song, “Sunrise, Sunset.”   We were woefully under prepared given the competition, but it was definitely an adventure :o  !!!

Then, there’s the story of Margaret and me getting lost in Linville picking blackberries and hiking with Snowball, but that’s another story for another time….

Love, Carol
(scroll down for the link to Blues Around My Head.")

My Note: We were in 10th grade at Country Day. A music competition was new news to Country Day. We learned later that the public schools had been active for some years. (Read: They knew what they were doing.) Our friend Sue first had the idea of creating a girls' trio. She loved the Chad Mitchell Trio and knew just the song we could sing. First order of business: finding a willing third. Second order of business: writing down the mandatory score to hand to the judges. We roped a semi-willing third, Adrian, and then headed for my house. Picture this.

Next to the front door in our living room was the record player. Down the hallway at the other end of our house sat the piano. Sue didn't read music or play the piano. I didn't know the song and had never tried to write down music. And there were, of course, three parts. So here we go. Carefully place the needle on the record(!) to hear the first note. Stop. Hum that note as we both ran back to the piano. Rummage around the keys until one matched our continuous single note. Grab a pencil and figure out how to write that note. Sometimes we managed to get a few notes at a time. We did this for the WHOLE SONG ! With great fervor,  purpose, and delight.

With each passing afternoon, we remained undeterred. As we were doing our laps from Chad Mitchell in the living room to piano in the back room, Mother--piano major in college with a great eye for a challenge-- cheered us on. 

Having learned this song by heart and then having taught it to our increasingly reluctant third, Adrian, we relaxed with confidence as we expected a little breather before the competition. (As you might guess, I could sing all parts in my sleep to this day.) But wait!  Every trio must have TWO songs! Someone forgot to mention this part. No time to schmooze with Chad Mitchell again; so Sue and I ran to all the music stores (there were two on Broughton Street), frantically looking for something that would work. (Note skill level: Sue still didn't play or read music; neither of us had ever sung in much of anything organized; I had taken 3 years of half-hearted piano and had quit because I never practiced.) 

With one week left before the competition, on the dusty second floor of Portman's Music downtown, we chose the only song that sounded familiar: Sunrise, Sunset from Fiddler on the Roof. Immediate next steps:learn another three-part harmony AND find someone to learn it on the piano in a week. Enter Carol Kahn, accomplished piano student by virtue of the fact that she hadn't quit taking lessons. (Singers had to memorize, but accompanists could use music. Most accompanists would have had more than a week.) 

About that time, a thought about outfits popped up. We were working in our own little world (surprise, surprise). It was 1972, and we decided that maybe we should have matching outfits. No budget,  no stylist on board, but with Carol's mother and Anita willing to sew for us, we managed to find the ugliest, most tragic  material on the bargain table to make 4 long, baby doll jumpers. More suitable for washrags, it bore our school green and gold colors, and it appeased Adrian, borderline defector throughout the adventure, who didn't want to shell out money for this nightmare.

The judges said that if we'd performed both songs the way we sang Blues Around My Head, we would've placed. Sunrise, Sunset brought snickers from the audience which were most audible during the piano pause, followed by each singer losing her place in domino fashion. I was relieved that we managed to finish the piece at all-- even if in unison-- with piano intact. We humbly crept off stage in our washrag dresses as we watched our competition in matching prom dresses float by. 

Most likely, none of this would have happened had it not been for my mother Anita who encouraged us all the way through, made at least 3 of the 4 dresses, and I think took us to the competition. (I'm not sure where any school officials were in this entire venture; their presence was strangely not present.) In true Anita fashion, never mind that we were the only trio that didn't place. Never mind tragic outfits and glaring mistakes. We had taken on a Great Adventure, learned one song really well, learned lots more than we bargained for, and we made it to the Finish Line together with a great story to tell!

Music, getting lost, outlandish costumes, good company, great fun. I can hear the Apple Tree chuckling now, "Remember where you came from, Little Apple. You haven't fallen so far after all."

Catch a glimpse of what you missed and listen to the Chad Mitchell trio singing Blues Around My Head, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCy1BYiLFks

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

Having taken the "evening shift" most nights with Mother and having had more quiet time on the floor, I have become acquainted with several of the nurses over this extended stay in ICU and PCU and have been generally impressed and touched by the care and attention she has received. 

Last night, upon arriving on the Rehab floor, we were in her room for almost an hour before any nurse came in. (We had clearly left the climate of high maintenance care to a climate of fostering independence care!) When the nurse did arrive, she seemed a little testy and basically said she couldn't touch Mother or even really talk to her until she showed up in the computer. It was as if she was saying that Mother didn't really exist until the computer said she did! Because Mother was tired, her speech wasn't clear. The nurse turned to me and asked me questions about her as if she wasn't there--or wasn't all there-- as if she was just another 90-year old woman who didn't have her wits about her. I thought to myself, this nurse has no idea who just moved in! Oh, the power of first impressions! 

I have watched over the past few weeks how first impressions have changed once staff started seeing Mother as an individual. And then there's Nurse Brenda who, even in ICU right after her surgery with tubes everywhere and no way to communicate, saw straight through the drug/pain confusion to Anita's spirit. Nurse Brenda loves taking care of individuals, and they know it.

All in all, Anita has her way of dispelling assumptions pretty quickly. Her knack of looking for the uniqueness of the individual in front of her invites them to do the same with her. As a bonus, the head of rehab, Dr. Julia Michaels,  just happens to be a good friend of Anita's, and  accordion playing for the other patients has all but been put on the calendar!

A recent TED talk speaks to these kinds of assumptions from first impressions as "the single story." To see the video of this compelling Kenyan storyteller speaking of The Danger of the Single Story, click here.

http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

I take these experiences as a healthy reminder for me to look each person I meet in the eye where I will find and individual that defies a "single story."

GETTING LOST, FOUND, AND RECOGNIZED

Offered by Stuart McGuire Clay, Jr, Anita's oldest grandson

Nina, 

While walking around Washington DC yesterday, I thought of you when walking by the WWII memorial.  I remember last year when it seemed you were constantly in the spot light for being a veteran and being chosen for the honor flight to DC.  I was thinking it would have been fun to explore DC with you, even though we may have gotten lost, but that wouldn't be a first for us either.  Hope you are feeling better soon so you can get out of that hospital!

Love,Stuart 

Savannah debutante, Sweet Briar College graduate Anita joined  the  Women's Air Corps in 1944  in hopes of seeing the world.

These pictures look like a before and after picture, fresh and seasoned, even though she was only in for 2-4 years.

NOTE: This Stuart and his brother Michael grew up in Marietta, GA. After my father died, Mother would go up to see them. Without the predictable outlay of streets, with so many comings and goings so different from Savannah, Mother would launch off in search of some place. The predictable outcome of these ventures resulted in these two little boys approaching Mother eagerly on an otherwise quiet day and saying, "Nina, let's go get lost!" followed by peals of laughter. Because that's what often happened. And with Mother, it was simply an invitation for another adventure.

ONE CHARLESTON SUMMER

by our first cousin Mackie Lippitt

 I remember feeling like part of the family when I lived for a summer at your home when I was about 8 years old.  Daddy was in Bermuda working on the NASA tracking station that summer.  I really felt a bond with Aunt Anita during that time.  And also became very close to Henry.  Please give your mom my love. 

Note: That was the summer that my great Aunt Margaret made a fabulous gingerbread house for my third or fourth birthday. I remember my brother Henry, Mackie and I marveling over it just before we devoured it. Daddy often recalled Mackie sitting on his lap while Daddy "patted him like a dog" (as was my father's habit when we sat on his lap). Mother recounted that my older brother Stuart and his friends lured Henry and Mackie into a trap under the guise of joining their non-existent club. Fortunately, those memories were spoken of with much more regularity and fondness than the fact that my father was retiring from the navy all too soon with no burning desire or  direction as to what to do next. His recent diagnosis of an inoperable brain tumor mixed with a bout of hepatitis kept him preoccupied.  Mackie was just as much a part of our short Charleston experience as the rest of us. 

YELLOW BIRD

Story offered by Crabette Cathy Sakas (along with 2 videos!)

Good Morning Anita,

I hope things are improving and that you all will be home very soon. I took a walk yesterday afternoon since the sun was out and it wasn't too cold and sang as I walked along. I was thinking of you and "Yellow Bird" found its way to my mind and so I sang it to the birds I passed along the way. A few of them had yellow rumps so I thought the song was appropriate. "Yellow Bird" was of course in your honor. 

Love,

Cathy

Sidebar by Margaret: Anita and her sibs, Devereaux, Max, and Ashby, grew up playing instruments together. Anita began her accordion career at age 14. Dev played the musical saw (click here to see the real McCoy), Uncle Max and Ashby played guitars. Having been weaned on hillbilly Little Jimmy Dickens, brilliant if off-color Tom Lehrer, opera, and everything in between, they developed quite a repertoire among themselves. It was easy to see how music might trickle down the generations, especially when Max and Anita were present.

Out would come the guitar and accordion, followed by hours of music, singing all verses by heart. One such song was the calypso song "Yellow Bird." I remember this being a favorite of the youngest of my generation, who was Uncle Max's daughter, "Little Ashby." Being so young, she often had to go to bed before the singing ended. So our tradition turned into singing Little Ashby off to bed with "Yellow Bird." (It reminds me of Gretel in The Sound of Music.) In my heart memory, I can still hear Uncle Max, at the end of the song, saying softly, "Good night, Pooty."

Tonight, after "tucking" Anita in bed and turning out the lights, I am happy to say with great gratitude and deep affection, "Good night, Anita. And good night to the host of those who love and uphold us during this surprising chapter."

Final comment from Anita tonight after 2 weeks in the hospital: Crazy business, this hotel!

Here's one rendition of the song if you care to listen.

Kingston Trio singing Yellow Bird

Comments and memories welcome here!

TWO CRABETTES IN ORLANDO

(This story was offered by Crabette co-founder and chief co-conspirator Polly Cooper.)

Anita,

I was remembering our fun trip to Orlando to the accordion convention a few years back. Mainly I went so I could hear some great musicians, as I'd heard accordion players from Italy, Switzerland, France, and other countries would be there. And they were!! There were some of the most talented musicians I had ever heard. Their fingers flew over the keys, they did the bellows shake, they were sensational playing huge complicated instruments.

On the first night, we went downstairs in the hotel to a little talent show. To my horror, there was a sign-up sheet and to my horror again, you were signing our names!!

"Ohmygosh, Anita! I'm not going up on the stage in front of all these people and try to 

sound professional like these people who have come from all over the world."

"Well, there isn't any sense of not doing it," you replied, "after coming all this way on the train. We're going up on the stage!!"

Well, I sat hiding in my seat while one sensational accordion player after another was called up on stage and squeezed out polkas and tangos, with flying fingers.

The announcer got the room quiet. "Now," he said, "This is the moment you've all been waiting for. These two ladies from Savannah are going to perform Beer Barrel Polka and show you how it really should be done. Put your hands together for Anita and Polly!" 

I felt light-headed as I lugged my accordion up on stage behind you. We sat down. "Ok, on three, we'll go," you said. "One, two, three......Squaaaalllllkkkk!!!  Your accordion had a stuck note! 

Without hesitating, you stood up and said loudly to the crowd, "Anybody got a screwdriver??"

A couple of young men jumped onto the stage and started prodding and probing your accordion, but (thankfully!) they couldn't get it to work. You don't know how relieved I

was. I scrambled off the stage pretty fast!

This was one time when I knew for sure that somebody up there was protecting me. Remember?

Lots of love, Polly

And yes, Polly, she does remember, and she relived the whole thing with mirth today as we read it together.:)

THE WORLD FAMOUS CRABETTES

The
"World-Famous Crabettes”

                                                                                                                                                    Ted Eldridge                                                            

The short hall on the lower level of Christ Church has a grid of choir box cubbies on one side and robe racks on the other. The St. Julian Street entrance funnels all of the 40+ singers in somewhat staggered fashion on Sunday mornings. During the fifteen minutes before ten o’clock warm-up, anyone walking innocently down St. Julian Street, by that door, could easily get caught in the flow and end up being fitted for a robe before

knowing what had happened. We are SERIOUS about being ready. The jumble of black robes, hymnals, bulletins, hangers, white cottas being thrown over heads to cover the robes, music folders, sport coats and suit jackets being removed and reading glasses being found and put on makes a high school locker room at game time seem organized. But, we get it done.

And, somehow, among the din of activity and articles and arms flying around, actual conversations are held – or are at least started. The comment, “I’ll catch you after church” is the most common ending as someone opens the door to the practice room and the vacuum sucks everyone in.

It was during this brief, frenzied period, with white cotta half over my head – enough to render me temporarily blind - that I heard the distinctive voice of Anita. She was talking to me. “Ted, would you consider singing with the Crabettes?”

I would describe Anita as “blunt,” a refreshing and sometimes comical trait. She talks as though she might not have time to elaborate. It’s the Jack Webb approach from the old ‘50s television series, Dragnet: “Just the facts, Ma’am.”

I hardly had time to ask, “Are you serious?” and add, “I’d be honored!” when my cotta slid down my face onto the robe and I was confronted by Anita – eyeball-to-eyeball. The “whooooosh” of the vacuum began to tug us into the practice room.

“I’ll talk with you after church,” she said.

A little background is in order here. The band is not known locally as simply “The Crabettes.” Officially, they are “The World-Famous Crabettes,” and they’re Savannah’s own. Their formation years ago is said to have grown out of a need for some lively

entertainment at an evening birthday party planned for Polly’s mother, Big Polly. It was to be outside, on the Skidaway River on Isle of Hope. Everyone in the group who would be at the party played at least one musical instrument and/or sang.

They needed to quickly come up with a theme to tie them together. Considering where they lived - their lifetimes spent on the rivers, marshes, bluffs and islands of Savannah – AND – the fact that a fresh line of live blue crabs had just been brought in by someone in the family, with rubber bands they attached the moving crustaceans to straw hats and were ready to perform. The Crabettes were born!

The core of the group has been the accordionists from the start, surrounded by a clarinetist, banjo player, fiddler, guitarists, keyboardist, and drummer. And, as if a touch of the unusual were really needed, the gut-bucket player has long been considered indispensable.

Vocalists are really back-up for the group; but, the players insist that the singers stand in front at all gigs. These ladies, all accomplished musicians, and gentlemen, each with the innate gift of an ear for music, are not interested in seeking personal recognition. They just enjoy being team players and drawing an audience into the fun they have together performing familiar songs from the 40s and 50s, a time almost all of them well remember. When they play, a good time is ALWAYS had by all. They’ve performed in such venues as the River Street waterfront on the anniversary of the Skidaway Island National Oceanographic Institute; the Coastal Georgia Bamboo Farm and Gardens out on old Hwy. 17 for the traditional Savannah Strawberry Supper; at Trinity Methodist Church downtown for the funeral of a band member (they played “When the Saints Go Marchin’ In” at the request of the deceased); at Velvet Elvis, a club on West Congress Street, with a band named Fleshy Foreskin ; in Forsyth Park, to celebrate National Accordion Week; at the Westin Hotel on Hutchinson Island; in the woods down toward Darien for a Georgia Wildlife Conservation picnic, at nursing facilities and on the Green for Tybee Island’s anniversary bash.

I think the official name expanded to include “World-Famous” when Clint Eastwood insisted the flavor of Savannah be enhanced in his filming of Midnight in the Garden of Evil  by including the Crabettes in the cast. Of course, it only added to their notoriety when they were beckoned to play at a university graduation affair up in Maryland. And, their fame now extends to a highly acclaimed appearance on the Travel Channel’s series, Stranded with Cash Peters, when Savannah was the highlighted city of one segment.

But, all of this name recognition has not gone to their heads (or their shells or their pincers). The “World-Famous Crabettes” remain local – one of Savannah’s unique treasures and traditions.

_____________

In the process of repeating the weekly ritual in the little hall after church - shoulders rubbing, hangers falling on the floor, the young Choristers dropping hymnals and tripping over one another, all angles of arms tangled in partially removed robes, and friends continuing conversations started before the service, Anita picked up on ours. “Well, are you going to sing with us?”

Still somewhat stunned and excited to have been asked, I hesitated for just a second.

Now, for those from the “outside” who haven’t yet experienced a “World-Famous Crabette” event, the significance of this invitation warrants further explanation.

This group generates an energy and provides cheer to a level that must be heard and seen to be fully appreciated. The unassuming, down-home enjoyment of people who come and the positive, humorous, exotic and patriotic music selected catch every audience like a Southern breeze: it kinda comes out of nowhere; but, is instantly comfortable and welcomed. It is relaxing and exciting at the same time. Feet are tapping and those in the audience are singing long before they realize it. It clears a person’s head – sweeps it clean of the debris of the day and the contemporary sounds of the media.

The homespun hospitality and shtick of the band members could be deceiving. Most of the group, both She-crabs and Jimmy-crabs, trace their family lines back to (or somewhere in the neighborhood of) the founders of this first settlement in the 13^th colony. And, although unspoken, that means something here. To the discriminating observer, the signs are there:  unconscious use of the manners and kindnesses their Mammas taught them; a sometimes startling, straightforward confidence delivered softly – as the brush of a magnolia blossom against your cheek; a locking of eyes with no hint of timidity when chatting with you;  inbred understanding of understated style – from dress to hairstyle to how a visitor is welcomed at the door; and, of course, the give-away – the pronunciation of one particular sound that distinguishes a true Savannahian from every other Southerner – the one you have to listen for very carefully – the sound of  “o” as it comes through such words as “house.” It’s subtle; but, definitely there. It’s not quite the Middle English of their their forebears, and is said to have been influenced by language developed by the first slaves brought into the port of Savannah – from African tribes via a generation or two living on the Caribbean Islands, with a dash of the Cajun of New Orleans; the language and culture known today as “Gullah” or “Geechee.”

Anita told me straight out, “Anyone new has to fit in. The group will have to meet and hear you. But, I think you’ll do all right. I think you’re just crazy enough to be able to pull it off.”

“Anita, I’m flattered that you would ask—I’m bowled over!” I responded. I really was. “I’ll give it my best shot. It will be an experience just to attend one of your practices. If the group decides I’m not the crab for this soup, I can handle it. I’m a big boy. Just let me know…    Do you practice on a regular basis? Should I just drop in and observe a few practices?  When will you be getting together to practice? And, when do you need someone to fill in?”

“Why, we need someone to fill in this afternoon.  Can you make it?”

(It was already afternoon! – twelve-thirty, by the clock.)

“Well… Sure. Tell me what I need to know,” I said.

“You’ll need to wear black slacks. Do you have black slacks? And, a white shirt – a dress shirt, like the one you are wearing. Do you have a straw hat? You’ll need some sort of hat. I’ll try to find a vest for you. We all wear bright red, yellow or green vests with felt crabs sewn all over them. The gig is at the Bamboo Farm. You’ll need to be there at 4:30. We play at 5:00 for the Savannah Strawberry Supper.”

“All right. I’ve got it… I think,” I managed, as Anita turned, took the brass knob of the St. Julian Street door and pushed it open.

“Oh,” she said over her shoulder, above the street noise of a tour group strolling by. “Do you know the music?”

“Will you have the words there?” I asked.

“Yes.” Anita  called from outside, halfway to her car.

I caught the door with my foot and hollered out, “Then, yes. I know the music.”

The heavy door shut with its reverberating whack. I didn’t have a clue as to whether I knew the music. Anita hadn’t told me what they would be playing.

I had no black slacks and no straw hat.

But, it didn’t matter. I was going to be singing with Savannah’s own “World-Famous Crabettes!”

While Lost in Costa Rica

Tonight's story dates comes to us from our cousins, Nathaniel and Betty Lippitt. My brother Henry, his wife Wendy, and their first child were living in Costa Rica for a year. My parents and I spent Christmas with them. During that trip, Tom and Anita traversed the country to visit Anita's first cousin Nathaniel and his family who had been living there for some time. 

Anita, as I have followed the progress of your hospitalization through Margaret's e-mail updates, it occurred to me that someone whose response to being lost on a dirt path in a foreign country was to simply get out of the car and have a picnic must be made of pretty strong stuff.  It was then that I knew you were going to beat this as well.  Of course, I am referring to the time when you and Tom came to visit Nathaniel and me in Puerto Limon, Costa Rica.  (This would have been around 1984 or 1985 because our daughter, Elizabeth, was a young child.)  You left San Jose for the 3-hour drive to Limon, and as I recall, somewhere between Cartago and Turrialba, you all took a wrong turn.  As you told us when you arrived, the pavement ran out, then the dirt road became a path and soon you were driving along in someone's pasture.  We asked, "What did you do then?"  And you said, "Oh, it was a beautiful place.  We just got out and had a picnic!"  Eventually, you turned around, went back to the highway and found your way to us in Limon.  I was impressed then that you were so open to adventure and resourceful in the face of a challenge.  I know that was not an isolated event, but rather an indication of traits that have served you well all through life.  The hospital may not be your choice place for a picnic now, but I know you will find your way "back to the highway" soon!  

By the way, Nathaniel and I talked last night about that visit to Costa Rica and recalled how much we enjoyed our time with you and Tom.  I remember you told us about your travels, Tom's military service, and so many more stories.

We hope to hear soon that you are up and out once again.

With our love,

Betty (and Nathaniel)

Curious Anita

It was a little later in the evening one week ago today that Anita's troubles escalated to frightening proportions. Having already beaten so many odds, having returned to the same room in PCU as last week, she continues to make her way. Each visit calls us to look for the "soft signs" that might ask for tweaking of medication or different attention. We are grateful for her doctors and the nursing staff, especially the ones that love what they do.

In lieu of any significant medical report, I'm electing a different tack. Some of you have written such wonderful stories of Anita that she and I have enjoyed.  I'm now wondering if perhaps these emails might be an avenue of sharing stories to encourage and comfort each other as we wait together.

Unless I am requested otherwise, I will assume that the stories that find their way to me are meant to be enjoyed by all. Perhaps in the sharing, some others of you might remember a story to share as well. In the interest of simplifying emails, I suggest that you continue to send your stories to me. I'll pick one each day to send in my evening post to you.

I leave you with a short story that came to me just this morning.

Last night Mother seemed extra tired, groggy, almost drugged even though she's on very few medications now. I fretted during the night, wondering if I should've asked or called someone. This morning I called her cardiologist, Robert Rollings, who was already in her room checking her out. He reassured me that, while this road to recovery will take considerable time, she is still progressing day by day. He then added, "She's eating her raisin bran, 2 bananas, and grumbling about wanting to get on with it."

A few minutes later she called. Her morning report was about her nurse, whom she called by name. She recounted that she was from Liberia, and did you know that Moravia is the capital of Liberia, and have you ever known anyone from Liberia?  Such a nice nurse. 

I smiled knowing that Mother was "back" in action.

We could say that Anita is playing her cards well, making nice with the staff so they will treat her well. And usually she does endear herself to most staff.  But it's more likely that she is simply being herself: curious about every stranger, looking to make a friend everywhere she goes. 

Sometimes I used to get bored with the endless details of recounting about strangers neither of us would ever see again. Now I smile and see it as a great sign of being interested in life and in moving forward.

May we dare to be curious for the fullness of life and love in all its expressions! (I put these kinds of things in words; Anita puts them in action!)

Good night, all. Thank you for joining me on this journey.