Every year I look forward to the Savannah Music Festival, which brings a fantastic variety of acts for this annual musical feast. This year, Lee and I were able to see 4 shows (5 if you count the kid show I saw as chaperone on Camille’s field trip). Sharon Jones was our first show – a woman with a dynamic, commanding voice who exudes energy and charisma. The audience was a mixed bag of old and young, dancers and watchers, but by the end of her fantastic R&B set hardly a person was sitting. You just couldn’t help yourself.
Another first for me was seeing Robert Randolph have his way with a steel guitar alongside The Family Band, a funk/soul group full of talented musicians.
Last night, we saw Band of Horses, a rock group I was somewhat familiar with because Lee plays their music in the office and car from time to time. I wouldn’t have called myself a fan before the show, but I am now. I’ve had one of their songs (No One) stuck in my head for the last 24 hours and I don’t mind a bit. I’m looking forward to discovering more of their music in the next few months now that I’ve seen them live, and I’d love to see them again.
But my favorite show, so very dear to my heart, was The Avett Brothers. I’ve only been a fan for a year, but in short order they skyrocketed to the top of my list.
The Avetts are two brothers from a farm in North Carolina, and their folk/bluegrass/rock music is infused with so many things I hold dear – love of family, a desire to be a good person, to live a good life, to learn from mistakes, to have fun. There is an honesty in their music that I find completely disarming. And during their show, I sang at the top of my lungs.
As if their songwriting and vocals weren’t enough, I find their mix of instruments just as appealing. There is plenty of guitar, percussion, keys and banjo, but also classical instruments like cello and stand-up bass. I’ve always admired a thoughtful combination of rock and classical instruments, and The Avetts weave a wonderful musical tapestry with their diverse band.
I’m feeling a little post-festival depression setting in, longing to see such good music again sooner rather than later. But at the same time, I’m buoyed by all these wonderful songs still floating through my head.
Until next year!
In the first 10 years that I lived in this fair city, I never missed a St. Patrick’s Day celebration. St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t a big deal for me growing up – it was a day to wear green or get pinched, and that was about it. But in Savannah, it’s a Very Big Deal.
The first six or seven years I had to work on St. Pat’s, either as a reporter (there were no other stories in town on that day) or with the Health Department shadowing our inspectors as they made sure all the funnel cakes and corn dogs along the parade route wouldn’t kill you.
Then, once I joined the family business, I was able to take off on St. Pat’s like the rest of the town. Even the schools are closed for St. Pat’s because every kid in the city is at the parade. And I love it.
But this year, schools were out for two days around St. Pat’s, and we decided to take advantage of the four-day weekend for our Disney trip. I do not regret this, but I did have to give it some serious thought before committing.
And while it pained me to miss the big, green day, we didn’t miss everything. The Saturday before St. Patrick’s Day is the annual Tara Feis – an Irish festival geared toward families. Bounce houses, face painting, Irish dancing, puppet shows, etc.
We had a great time soaking up the festival spirit. Camille looked the part too. When she was two years old we were given an adorable dress with green clovers on it and I knew immediately that it would be her St. Patrick’s Day outfit – someday. It was a size 5 and swallowed her tiny frame whole.
But this year was the year. What a doll.
Hello my sweet princess, and Happy belated 56 months! This letter is a bit later than usual, but on the nineteenth of this month we were at the “Happiest Place on Earth” – Disneyworld. Although there was plenty to write about, I wasn’t going to sit at this computer and miss a minute of the fun with you.
Your Daddy and I always knew we’d want to take you to Disneyworld someday. We wanted to wait until you were done with naps and old enough to enjoy the rides and shows, but young enough to still be amazed by it all. We decided 4-and-a-half sounded about right, and we were not disappointed. You were a perfect Mouseketeer.
We took Boo along for this adventure, and our first stop was Downtown Disney and the T-Rex restaurant.
Even for us grown ups, the dining experience was pretty cool, but for you, it was beyond exciting. Everywhere you looked, robotic dinosaurs were moving and roaring, and you loved walking from one to the next, telling us their names like a tiny paleontologist tour guide. Our table was inside a giant ice cave, with t-rex bones frozen in the ice nearby. Periodically, the lights would dim and a meteor shower would zoom by overhead.
When we were done eating, you spent quite a long time in the attached dig zone, where you and other budding paleontologists used brushes to uncover buried dinosaur bones.
The restaurant also had a build-a-bear workshop, except it was build-a-dino. And suckers that we are, we couldn’t resist letting you have the experience of creating your own stuffed dinosuar – a pink apatosaurus named “Pinky.” Here’s a video to document Pinky’s birth, along with more of our fun at T-Rex.
The rest of that first day we spent exploring our resort, The Wilderness Lodge. The pool was fantastic, and after a long winter without swimming, you could hardly be persuaded to get out of the water at the end of that day. But we knew we needed a good night’s sleep, because the Magic Kingdom was next on our agenda.
The next morning we got up early so we could be at the park gates when they opened. We were just a short ferry ride from the park, and on the ride over you got your first exciting glimpse of the very top of Cinderella’s castle from the ferry window.
After a fun “opening ceremony” by Mickey and his crew, we headed down Main Street toward the castle. Your jaw dropped open as we rounded the corner and saw it towering at the end of the street.
After a few moments of gawking, we headed to our first destination: The Dumbo Ride. It did not disappoint. We spent the rest of the morning on ride after ride, with your three favorites being the Dumbo Ride, the Carousel and It’s a Small World.
We went to our room to rest in the middle of the day when it got hot and crowded, but headed back to the park that evening. We rode a few more rides, but our main objective was to see the light parade and the fireworks.
Both were dazzling and beautiful, and even though we were up way past your bedtime, you managed to stay awake for both. But as soon as I picked you up to begin walking through the crowd toward the ferry, you fell fast asleep. It was a long walk – thank goodness there were three adults to carry your sleeping self back to the room.
While Day 1 in the park was all about the rides and the fireworks, Day 2 was all about the princesses. We’d made reservations for breakfast inside Cinderella’s castle and had promised that you could wear a princess dress for the special occasion. Back at home when we were packing for the trip, you chose your Ariel dress to wear. It’s the one you wear most often, and I said, “I thought you’d pick that one, because it’s your favorite.”
“Well,” you said, “Rapunzel is really my favorite, but I don’t have a Rapunzel dress.” But that was the extent of our conversation – you didn’t ask me to buy you one, and I was proud of you for that.
As I took your Ariel dress off the hanger, I noticed that the bottom hem had completely unraveled and dozens of loose strings were hanging like unwanted fringe. Upon closer inspection, the shoulder straps were coming undone too and the whole dress looked very worn. So before we left town, your Daddy secretly picked up a new Rapunzel dress for you and hid it in our suitcase.
On the morning of Day 2, you excitedly pulled your Ariel dress out of your bag. “Camille,” I said, “I’m going to give you a choice of dresses.” At first, you started to cry, afraid I was backing out of my promise to let you wear a princess dress. But when I pulled the Rapunzel dress from our suitcase, the look of surprise and joy on your face was priceless. You couldn’t put it on fast enough, and then you couldn’t wait to wear it into the park. Everyone we met that morning called you a princess, and you lapped it all up.
Our breakfast in Cinderella’s castle was simply wonderful. As we entered the castle, you had an opportunity to meet Cinderella and have your picture made with her. She admired your dress and your hair, and you seemed star struck.
As we ate, four more princesses made their way around the room, stopping at
each table to talk with the guests and pose for pictures. You were excited to meet each of them, and they couldn’t have been nicer. Each one tried to make you feel special, and I’m pretty sure they succeeded.
When our breakfast was finished, we left the castle and got in line to meet your favorite princess of all. I thought the hour-long wait was going to be tough for you, but you immediately spotted another little girl in a Rapunzel dress. The two of you became fast friends, spending the next hour talking, playing and running up and down the sidewalk.
Then, it was finally our turn. A big group of us entered a courtyard where Rapunzel and Flynn Rider joined us to dance and play games before taking time to talk one-on-one with each child. Flynn hung out with Boo for a bit –
– while you spent time with Rapunzel, who acted as though you were the only other person there.
Then Flynn joined you and they all talked about your beautiful hair, which I’d done in little princess twists on each side. Rapunzel told you that’s exactly how she did her hair when she was a little girl. You glowed.
You later said that meeting Rapunzel was your favorite part of the trip. Watching you with her was mine.
We rode a few more rides that day, ending our trip with one more turn on the carousel. Again, while waiting in line, you made another “new best friend,” holding hands with a girl whose name we never knew. How wonderful to be four and to make friends so effortlessly.
It was hard to leave the park that afternoon because I didn’t want to the dream to end. But it was made easier knowing we hope to return one day. And in the meantime, we have so many great pictures and memories of our magical time. I don’t know how much of this trip you’ll remember as you get older, but I’ll never forget how grand it was to watch you experience so many fantastic firsts.
I love you, my Princess Camille. With all my heart.
I don’t know when we started the tradition, but every year on Lee’s birthday he gets to request a special meal. Sometimes it’s an old favorite, but most often it’s something new and different that he’s come across in the months prior. Leading up to his birthday, he’ll flip through my cooking magazines or watch a cooking show and declare, “I want THAT for my birthday.”
I’m willing to try almost anything, especially because he’s a good sport and won’t hold it against me if it goes terribly wrong. My only real problem is that I don’t like eating (or cooking) meat that looks like what it was when it was living. I’ve had this problem for a long time, and I trace it to an event that happened when I was four years old.
When we lived in Baltimore, my family would occasionally steam live crabs for dinner. I used to love eating the crab meat until that one terrible time the crabs escaped the boiling water and ran all over the house. In my 4-year-old opinion, they were chasing me and I was terrified. I also made the connection between these live creatures and the cooked ones spread out over newspaper on our dining room table, and I could no longer eat them.
Ever since then, I lose my appetite if I can picture my food walking or swimming around. I’ll eat a crab cake, but I can’t seem to break open his leg to get the meat out. I love barbecue but struggle to eat ribs. I don’t like seeing the bones as a reminder. I have the heart of a vegetarian but the appetite of a carnivore, and it’s a problem from time to time.
OK – so that was a long digression, but the point of it was this: I was a little nervous when Lee told me his birthday request this year was calamari. We enjoy calamari in restaurants (even Camille likes it), but we have an understanding. I eat the rings, he eats the tentacles. No way am I putting tentacles in my mouth when I can clearly picture them swishing through the salt water. I can’t even look at them.
So I was delighted when I discovered that our neighborhood Publix sells squid tubes – no tentacles to deal with. Turns out the recipe for calamari isn’t much of a recipe because it’s so simple. With Alva’s help, we tried prepping the squid in two ways – dredging it through flour for a very simple, light crunch, or dipping it in a thin pancake batter before frying for a more crispy coating. Let it fry for a minute or two in some hot oil, then spread on paper towels and sprinkle some salt and pepper and squeeze a bit of fresh lemon on top. Grab a jar of Thai sweet chili sauce from the grocery store for dipping and you’re done.
I didn’t have my camera to document the meal, but grabbed a quick pic on my camera phone. I liked the battered ones best, Lee liked the lightly floured ones, but we both agreed they were all good.
We spent his birthday weekend relaxing (and eating and eating and eating) at Alva’s house in Fitzgerald. When we weren’t eating, we tried to teach Camille how to swing a bat (she insisted on using a one-handed version for a while) and looked at Daddy’s new Charley Harper book and other gifts. A great way to celebrate the love of my life – I’m so glad he was born!
We’re coming up on one of my favorite times in Savannah – St. Patrick’s Day. Many of the downtown store fronts are already sporting green decorations and selling necklaces with shamrock beads and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” t-shirts. Soon, even our fountains will turn green in anticipation of all the hoopla.
So, just in time, here’s Episode #3 of Cooking With Camille. Our favorite chef makes key lime pie with a special St. Patrick’s Day accent. Erin go bragh!
Hello sweet girl, and Happy 55 months! We’re all worn out tonight, but in the best possible way. The kind of tired that comes from spending an entire day in the sun. The weather forgot it was February, so we took a boat out on this bright, 75 degree day – our first boat trip of the year.
You seemed quite happy to be back out on the water. There was momentary disappointment when you realized we couldn’t get in the water, and I wondered if you’d get bored on the boat with no swimming. But you made up some great game with one of the ropes.
I never could figure out exactly what you were doing, but you’d say, “I need some alone time,” (which was hilarious, because you loathe alone time). Then you’d go to the front of the boat and weave the ropes in and out of the buoys and rails saying this was “something I need to work on.” And you were quite content.
By the end of the trip, your golden hair looked even more sun-kissed, and best of all, you’re sporting a new splash of freckles across your cheeks. I love them so!
Bear, we’ve had another great month – another 30 days of watching you grow and being simultaneously amused, amazed, frustrated, delighted and in love with you.
And proud of you. Remember that collage you entered into an art competition earlier in the school year? This one:
Your collage won at the school and district levels! I was very excited for you. You said the judges probably liked that screaming snake the best.
The day the winners were chosen, when I picked you up from school you immediately began gushing about hearing your name on the morning AND afternoon announcements. You knew you’d won something, you didn’t know (or seem to care) what it was, but “Mama they said MY NAME!”
You were recognized again at the next PTA meeting, and I warned you ahead of time that you’d need to walk up front and get a certificate. You were thrilled at the idea of being in front of the crowd. As we waited for your name to be called, you stood off to the side with your hands confidently on your hips asking me, “Do I go up now? How about now? Is it time to go up?”
Finally, it was your turn, and you marched up front without the slightest hint of apprehension.
This month your independence and self-confidence have grown tremendously, and at the same time I’m learning valuable lessons about letting go. I’ve realized there are so many things you can and need to do yourself. Things we’ve not encouraged you to do until now. You just weren’t one of those kids who begged to do things herself, and while I knew you’d become more independent one day, I hadn’t given much thought to the timing. Until your teacher sent home a note.
The note wasn’t just to us, it was sent home to the whole class. In the note, the teacher asked parents to help their children prepare for kindergarten by learning to become more independent. We should let you dress yourself, walk yourself to class, etc.
That night I tossed your pajamas to you and asked if you thought you could put them on yourself. “I think I can,” you said. And you could. You were so proud of yourself, running to show your Daddy, that I felt guilty for not giving you that boost sooner.
Ever since that night, you’ve not only wanted to dress yourself but demanded it, growing annoyed if I try to help. And it hasn’t stopped with clothes – now there are lots of things you want to do by yourself, and I’m trying to look for more opportunities to encourage you. I have discovered that I love efficiency, and it can be hard to watch you struggle to find your sleeve and not reach down to help. But I have realized that all those other times I helped you dress, helped you get your drink, helped you feed the cat and didn’t let you try it on your own – I wasn’t really helping you at all. I pledge to do better.
Now I’m yawning too sweet bear, sleepy after our day of sun, wind and water. Happy after looking at all of these fun pictures of you. Ready to rest so I can share another day with you tomorrow. Sleep well my angel and know that I love you so much.
Last weekend arrived and we – shockingly – had very little going on. No trips out of town. No visitors. No big plans. The weather was glorious, so we spent much of the weekend in the backyard working on small projects. It was so nice to be productive while outside soaking up all that sunshine.
And now I am loving our backyard even more. I want to enjoy as much of it as I can before the bugs come out of hibernation and the heat chases us back inside.
I don’t think I ever posted pictures of the pergola we put in last summer, but here it is, complete with lights and a fan for when the hot weather does arrive.
We sat underneath it Saturday night with good friends and used our new fire pit to roast marshmallows. Yum.
Sunday we discovered that the pergola provides a perfect place to hang a swing. We received this swing as a wedding gift and used it all the time on the porch of our last house. This house doesn’t have a swinging porch, but now it has a swinging pergola! The swing was looking rough after years in the damp, musty storage building. Amazing what some paint will do. I ordered a new seat cushion and can’t wait for it to arrive!
This bench was another wedding gift. I mistakenly put it under a tree in our backyard thinking shade would be ideal, but the birds had other ideas. It was so covered in bird poop that I wouldn’t go near it, much less sit in it. But a thorough scrubbing this weekend, followed by a fresh coat of paint makes me happy to sit here (but not under a tree, no way). We even had lots of good help from painter Camille.
The pergola also proved to be a perfect spot for our flagpole (Go Dawgs!) and makes the backyard feel distinctly “ours.”
And now that the weather is improving, I’m happy that Camille’s playhouse has become a frequent base of operations for playdates with her new neighbor friends.
Do we ever have to go back inside?
This weekend, Mother Nature gave us the equivalent of a peep show. She shook off her winter coat to give us a brief glimpse of the spring we’re all lusting for.
Like many other folks in Savannah, we were drawn to Forsyth Park Sunday for a picnic lunch and playground time. A couple set a blanket next to ours and promptly stripped to their swimsuits, determined to get vitamin D into as many pores as decency would permit.
We stayed clothed, although we shed our long sleeves and enjoyed watching Camille enjoy the weather. Great day.
It’s not that Lee doesn’t have enough stuff to do – in fact, it’s the opposite. He works so hard running our company and being a great dad and husband that it’s hard to find time for anything extra. For anything that is his and his alone.
A couple of years ago I got Lee a homebrew kit, but life was busy as usual and it collected dust in the garage. But I’m glad Lee finally decided that, busy or not, he needed to make time for a hobby. So he got the kit all shined up, got a fresh set of ingredients, and began to brew.
His mom was in town and pitched in, and together they washed and sterilized and measured and watched. And yes, a watched pot does boil eventually.
The wort (I’m learning all kinds of new vocabulary words) smelled wonderful as it simmered on the stove. Made the whole house smell like freshly baked bread. When the wort was ready, we had to find a spot to store it during the two-week fermentation period. It needed to be kept at a steady temperature someplace “quiet.” We went back and forth about where to put it until the “AHA!” moment.
So that’s what the little closet under the stairs is for! We’ve wondered all these years. It’s a perfect beer brewing closet. After all, the house was built during prohibition!
Now for the hardest part – waiting. Lee checks on his beer like a doting father and so far it seems to be doing well. The yeast got really bubbly and gross the first few days, just as it should. It was actually kind of interesting to watch it bubbling and growing.
In another week he’ll bottle it, then in another two weeks it’ll be ready for consumption.
Not only did he find a hobby, but a productive one too! 55 bottles of beer coming right up. Looking forward to toasting his efforts.
Hello sweet girl, and Happy 54 Months! I just love this picture of you – my darling in pink tulle with goggles. My Princess Nerd.
I use nerd as a term of endearment because I’m so very glad you love to learn. The Princess Nerd picture was taken earlier this month when we blew up a volcano in the backyard. Here you are again in goggle gear working with Daddy to dig dinosaur bones out of a paleontology kit. I love it!
You’re even my little playground nerd, a point you proved last month when you approached another little girl at our neighborhood park to ask if she wanted to play. “I know! Let’s play MAMMALS!” you gushed. “I’m a cimolestes!”
And you scampered off making noises like a
prehistoric mouse creature – a creature that the other little girl would
have no reason to know unless she is an avid Dinosaur Train watcher
like you. She didn’t stick around.
Fortunately, your current crop of friends seems to have a nerd-ish streak too, which is a great thing. You nerds will have to unite as you move deeper into your grade-school years.
Last month we enjoyed a wonderful Christmas. Your Santa Claus request this year was a stuffed
dragon with a baby dragon in a nest. Your love of the Puff the Magic
Dragon book prompted this, and here you are writing an early thank-you
note to Santa (and Rudolph) on Christmas Eve.
We spent the month visiting with lots of family and friends and making some new traditions, like the ferry ride we took with Will and Sam to visit the Gingerbread Village at the Westin.
We got hot chocolate while we were there, and you and Will shared a table together. “We’re on a date,” you announced. Your first date! But as evidenced by this photo on our return ferry ride, you haven’t yet learned the subtle art of playing hard-to-get.
I don’t know if it’s an outcropping of your love of dinosaurs and dragons, but you have proven again this month that you have an affinity for reptiles. You – the girl who made me turn off the Beauty and the Beast movie because she was scared of an ANGRY PIPE ORGAN – love to hold snakes.
We were invited to a petting zoo party last month where you eagerly volunteered to hold a python. Strangers came up to take a picture of “that little girl with the snake!” and you smiled as he coiled around your arms. One of those pictures ended up in our local paper – how cool!
I don’t hate snakes, but I do have a healthy fear of them. As I was petting the python, he started to slither onto my arm. I didn’t want to alarm you by freaking out, but my anxiety increased when he began wrapping around my arm and I could feel the strength of his squeeze. You, however, could have shown just a little more concern for my well-being. Instead, you turned to the person next to you and calmly stated, “That snake is squeezing my mom. I think he wants to eat her.”
Gee thanks.
While you do love to hold living animals of any kind, nothing matches your devotion to your stuffed animals. You don’t have one particular favorite, they’re all your favorites. You have heaps and piles of them, but you know all their names and what they like to eat and which other stuffed animal they like to play with, and so on.
You have so many stuffed animals that you couldn’t possibly need another one, but you’re a plush pushover. And I have to blame myself because I think you got it from me.
I was a sucker for a stuffed animal growing up. If I ever had any money of my own to spend and found myself in a toy store, there was a good bet I was going home with a stuffed animal. More than likely, it would be a Pound Puppy. They were stuffed dogs with cute faces, but that’s not what made the sale. The packaging included information about the helpless, abandoned dog, and tales of how lonesome he/she was and how much he/she really wanted to go home with me.
Cha-ching. Sold.
You seem to have this same sense of duty to rescue stuffed animals. We were at a store last week when you happened upon a two-foot high stuffed giraffe. For some reason, he stole your heart and you had to have him. We’ve been dealing with moments like these by explaining that when you have enough money in your piggy bank, you can get it. Many days you say OK and keep walking, but this giraffe was different.
You sat down with it, lovingly stroked its fur, and got nose-to-nose with it. “Its going to be okay,” you whispered. “Don’t be afraid. I know it’s hard to wait, but I’ll come back for you. I promise. Everything is going to be okay.”
That’s the sound of my heart (and resolve) breaking.
When we left the store without him you were in tears. You didn’t throw a tantrum, but were devastated to have left the giraffe behind. I remembered the feeling.
I knew you didn’t have enough money saved, but that night when you were sleeping I stuck the extra bills into the piggy bank. When you counted your money the following day, it was a glorious moment.
Here you are, back at the store, with all your dollars and quarters weighing heavily in your purse.
And here you are in line with your beloved giraffe, who has barely left your side since.
I’m a sucker for you, do you know that? Always have been and always will be. I love you so much my sweet girl.
