July 22nd, 2006
|06:55 pm - Puppet Show|
Greetings from Pawley's Island, South Carolina, about 20 miles south of Myrtle Beach. I'm not home just yet, and I've got a little under a hundred pictures to sort thru, but in light of recent events I needed to share this story as soon as I got to a computer.
I spent most of this week in Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina, with the entire family on my mom's side. All 23 of us in one 9-bedroom beach house. And, amazingly enough, we all got along.
One of the things Mom did for me and my three brothers this trip was put together individual photo albums of our progress through, uh, lifehood, starting from the newborn cranky raisin pictures to the momma-loves-her-baby nursing pics to the embarrassing bathtime pics to the school pics to the endless birthday party pics to the graduation pics. You know.
There were several pieces of ephemerae as well; one of them was a card I apparently made at the tender age of 5 when our neighbor's husband passed away. I am going to say right up front that I didn't realize I was such a, well, twisted child, though it's pretty obvious my heart is totally in the right place.
The card reads, verbatim:
For a cheeful day because Mr Belz died (or I shoud say Joe) I bring you a tick-
-et to see "Tico" my action comedy packed puttet show (over)
at the end of the show, I give a nuber on 1 of my cards. If it (on next card.)
matches your number on your ticket you win a prize! In love, Rob
And then I drew a tombstone and two crying things; I think one is supposed to be a weeping willow.
Mom showed this to us on Thursday afternoon, after we'd arrived at the beach house. She says Mrs. Belz was touched by the gesture, though I'm pretty sure the card was diplomatically intercepted before it reached its intended recipient. But after I got over my initial shock and embarrassment, and I stopped laughing my damn fool head off, I said "You know, that's perfect. When I go, I'd sure think a puppet show would be a great tribute."
A little later that evening I called Beff to brag about the awesome beach house, and she gave me the news that has hit Brunchma hard. That night we discussed how fleeting life really is, and how to best enjoy it with those we have, take our joy, count our blessings. And at dinner that evening, I looked around our long table and realized I had a lot of blessings to count.
But now I'm thinking, you know, if anyone among us deserves a puppet show in tribute, it was Roup. It probably shouldn't be "Tico", now lost to the sands of time, but maybe it should be Avenue Q. Or maybe it should be something else entirely. I dunno, but goddammit.
Someone get the puppets ready. I'll be home Sunday night.
I rather do like the idea of a filthy, filthy puppet show memorial.
"action comedy packed puttet show."
Wow. You've always had it. :)
(and, you know, if you happen to read _Hidden Treasures_, the biography of Leigh and Leslie Keno of Antiques Roadshow fame, you'll see that they were always like that too.)
(not that I expect anyone else to read that.)
Ha! Best sympathy card ever.
Wow. As a child I spent a couple of summers on the beach in South Carolina, in big A-frame beachhouses with the air conditioning set on "Arctic." Why, you may be swimming in the same ocean I peed in in 1986!
jd's mom lives in pawleys island no apostrophe. i really like that place.
|Date:||July 23rd, 2006 06:42 am (UTC)|| |
Man, this is what happens when your username stops working on the board and you stop paying attention and... jeez. That's terrible. I wish my account did work so I could say something, too... his is definitely one of the brunchma names I'd always recognize, and such.
Damn, that's two people I know who've died young this week; my friend Guy finally succumbed to his cancer.
And there is no boyfriend here to give me a life-affirming hug. Shoot. :(
Wait, Brunchma? Isn't that Brunching Shuttlecock fans? Did somebody from the Brunching Shuttlecocks die?
Nobody from Brunching Shuttlecocks, but one of the fans on the board died.
His Brunchma name was Roup, and his real name was Paul Wilbert. It is terrible; he was only 34.
|Date:||July 23rd, 2006 02:23 pm (UTC)|| |
I believe there is a restaurant there called "Carolyn's" there. Run by a woman named Carolyn Fraser. If you see it, please go. One, she's a dear friend and two, she's a damn fine cook. I haven't caught up with her live in YEARS but we grew up together.
Puttets should be a part of every funeral.
Wait--you're on Pawley's Island? There's supposedly a restaurant there that attempts to duplicate the barbecue that JC Hardaway made at the Big S Grill in Memphis, before he passed away. Google is not my friend at the moment, unfortunately, but if you can get some (and if it's true) it would totally put the cherry on top of your vacation sundae.
Unfortunately, my time on Pawleys Island (with or without the apostrophe, I dunno, I saw both variants in use) was limited to one night, and that night was mostly taken up by catching up with a stepfather I haven't seen in 6 years or so. But I may very well go back sometime, and I'll have to do some scouting. I did see some promising-looking BBQ joints up and down Route 17.
Ah--that's all right. As I recall, it was more of a "fancy white tablecloth" place attempting to duplicate the magic of the Big S Grill, where the barbecue was served with a 40, and an eight-once glass to pour it into. That place only exists in memory and the dreams of tourist-destination chefs.
Besides, catching up with stepfathers is a rather more important part of life.
This is sweet -- you were a very considerate 5 year old.
|Date:||July 23rd, 2006 09:27 pm (UTC)|| |
Wow... that is really great. Thank you for sharing that.