Sasee November 2011

November 2011Priceless

www.sasee.com

Every time we remember

to say

“thank you,”we experience nothing less than heaven

on earth. – Sarah Ban Breathnach

’sC i r c l e o f L o v e

Join Sasee, Rose Arbor Fabrics and Social Garden as we celebrate the season and brighten someone’s door for the holidays. For each wreath donated, a $5 donation will be made by Sasee and Rose Arbor Fabrics towards a local Angel Tree, purchasing Christmas gifts for children in need. Make a child’s holiday season the best ever. Sasee is seeking handmade, crafted wreaths to be donated. We will be distributing to skilled nursing facilities to hang on resident’s doors for the holidays. The Social Garden will be offering FREE wreath making classes if using products from the store and will offer 10% off all materials. If you wish to bring in your own materials, the wreath making class is $20.00. Be creative and design an imaginative, fun, or whimsical wreath that will brighten someone’s door for the holidays.The wreaths will be photographed and highlighted in the December issue of Sasee. Special awards will be given. This holiday season help Sasee, Rose Arbor & The Social Garden bring smiles to the children and the aging of the Grand Strand area.

Delivered to:Sasee

3955 Highway 17 Bypass, Murrells Inlet • 843-626-8911Rose Arbor

6916 N. Kings Hwy., Myrtle Beach • 843-449-7673The Social Garden

7706 N. Kings Hwy., Myrtle Beach • 843-712-1365by Monday, November 14 at 5pm

Criteria:

• Size: 12 – 15 inches, nothing larger will be accepted• All artificial products must be used on wreath, no food, fruit

or berries (unless artificial)• Wreath itself must be of artificial product

Mothers. New friends who gained strength from each other in a difficult time. Devoted to the happiness and well-being of children. Love staying in touch on Facebook. Breast Cancer Survivors.

We Take Cancer Personally.Susan Johnson and Conni Singletary became good, loyal friends while undergoing treatment for breast cancer.And their bond for each other remains as strong as their appreciation for the extraordinary resources of theMcLeod Breast Health Center. In addition to the personal attention and dedication to breast cancer, McLeodwas the first breast health center in the region to receive accreditation by the NAPBC, which acknowledges thehigh quality of care offered to breast cancer patients. With its certified breast health nurse navigator just forcancer patients, advanced breast imaging technology and the McLeod Cancer Conference Board of physicianswho meet weekly to recommend the best treatment plan available, McLeod staff and physicians are giving morepatients like Susan and Conni the best chance ever to be breast cancer survivors.

McLeodCancer.org Facebook.com/McLeodCancerCenter

Scan the code to watch Susan’s and Conni’spersonal story of friendship.

48639-McL Cancer Survivors Sassee_48639-McL Cancer Survivors Sassee 10/6/11 1:46 PM Page 1

4 www.sasee.com november

who’s whoPublisher

Delores BlountSales & Marketing Director

Susan BryantEditor

Leslie MooreAccount Executives

Amanda Kennedy-ColieErica Schneider

Celia WesterArt Director

Taylor NelsonPhotography Director

Patrick SullivanGraphic ArtistScott KonradtAccounting

Bart Buie CPA, P.A.Administrative Assistant

Barbara J. LeonardExecutive Publishers

Jim CreelBill HennecyTom Rogers

November 2011Volume 10, Issue 11

PO Box 1389Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911www.sasee.com • [email protected]

Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. For subscription info, see page 43. Letters to the editor are welcome, but could be edited for length. Submissions of articles and art are welcome. Visit our website for details on submission. Sasee is a Strand Media Group, Inc. publication.

Copyright © 2011. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any material, in part or in whole, prepared byStrand Media Group, Inc. and appearing within thispublication is strictly prohibited. Title “Sasee” isregistered with the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office.

featured articles8121416182022242830

I n T h I S I S S U ERead It!. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 Sasee Gets Candid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26Faves. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .34Women & Men Who Mean Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38Scoop on the Strand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42

A Good Lunchby Melissa Face

The Best Lumpy Potatoes…Everby Rose Ann Sinay

An Attitude of Gratitudeby Diane Stark

My Journey: What Cancer Can Doby Catie McGoldrick

Touchdown!by Sue Mayfield Geiger

Doing It the Way the Pilgrims Did Itby Felice Prager

Southern Snapsby Connie Barnard

My Better Halfby Susan DeBow

You Want Me To Cook What?by Tammie Painter

The Secret of the Norman Rockwell Turkeyby Janey Womeldorf

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letter from the editorStephanie Necessary and Eileen Patonay are both educators at Forestbrook Middle School, and through the years we have worked together on several projects. I greatly admire them both for the dedication and love they have for their students – and their students have for them. Recently, I was asked to have a “shadow” for a few hours, a student would come and spend time at our office, seeing firsthand what we do. Haleigh Ferro, a bright and personable eighth grader showed up on time with a big smile on her face. We talked a lot about writing – she loves it – so I asked her to write a sample, “Letter from the Editor.” It was so well-written that I want to share a little of it with you.

Life can be compared to riding a bike. It’s a wonderful ride, the wind whipping through your hair, many different kinds of scenery ahead of you. Sure, you’ll get flat tires and fall off a few times, but you just have to brush yourself off and get back on the bike…things DO get better. So, walk with your head held high and enjoy life!

I look forward to seeing Haleigh succeed as a writer, or in whatever field she chooses. This month, let’s take her advice and enjoy life!


contributing writers

cover artistHarvest Girl, by Sheryl Humphrey

Sheryl Humphrey is a painter living and working in Staten Island, New York, but growing up she lived in both South Carolina and North Carolina, among other southern states. Her work has been exhibited extensively in New York and across the country. Paintings by Ms. Humphrey are included in many public, private, and corporate collections, including the Federal Reserve Bank of Richmond and the Williamsburg Art and Historical Center in Brooklyn.

Her paintings are representa-tions of powerful forces that she senses within herself, in others and in the world around her. In 2012 she will participate in “Women: An Exhibition of Mothers, Myths, and Magic,” curated by Laura N. James. She can be contacted through her website, www.SherylHumphrey.com or find her on Facebook.

Connie Barnard traveled the world as a military wife and taught high school and college composition for over 30 years. She has been a regular contributor to Sasee since its first issue in 2002.

Susan DeBow is a Midwest writer with a Southern heart. She is currently working on her second book, The Irish Virgin, about her exploits in Ireland.

Melissa Face lives in Virginia with her husband, son and dog. Her stories and essays have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and Cup of Comfort. E-mail Melissa at [email protected].

Sue Mayfield Geiger is a freelance writer and editor residing on the Texas Gulf Coast. Her new book, Gibbons Street is now available at www.gibbonsstreet.com.

A native South Carolinian, Lisa Hamilton is the director of the First Presbyterian Church Preschool and Kindergarten. Of course she loves reading, but also finds time for cooking and walking her dog, Hurley.

Catie McGoldrick is a cancer survivor, living in Oklahoma where she works as a school counselor, life coach and author. Catie has her Master of Science degree in Marriage and Family

Therapy from Oklahoma State University. Her weekly blog can be found at www.mpowrint.blogspot.com. It is her hope that she can be a catalyst in empowering women to be in control of their lives and destinies.

Tammie Painter is hiding from her turkey-eating relatives in Portland, Oregon. To learn more about her or to contact Tammie, please visit painterwrite.wordpress.com.

Felice Prager is a freelance writer and author of the recently released book, Quiz It: Arizona from Arthur McAllister Publishers. To find out more about Felice’s book, please visit www.QuizItAZ.com.

Rose Ann Sinay lives in North Carolina with her husband and dog where she spends her time writing. Her children graciously continue to provide her with moments worth preserving.

Diane Stark is a wife, a mother of five and a freelance writer. Her work has appeared in publications like Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Tribute to Moms. She loves to write about her family and her faith.

Janey Womeldorf is a freelance writer who thrives on writ-ing about the humorous, the poignant, and the continually-surprising sides of everyday life. She drinks too much coffee and scribbles away in Memphis, Tennessee.

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A Good Lunchby Melissa Face

My sister, Amanda, kept me in the loop when I first moved to South Carolina. She mailed me letters regularly and told me about her grades, her high school boyfriend, and how many points she scored in the basketball game. Recently, I found a letter in my attic that wasn’t quite as newsworthy. At least, not at first glance.

Amanda wrote it on a Sunday. “How are you? I’m fine. I have been writing in my Chicken Soup journal. I love it! I could write in it for hours. We had Dad’s side of the family over for lunch today. Doug, Linda, Barbara Jean, Jack, Sherrell and Ralph Jr. came. Mom fixed a good lunch.”

Suddenly, I remembered exactly how I felt the first time I read that letter: homesick.

The year was 2000, and I was cross-legged on the floor of my apart-ment, sorting through my mail. I was wondering how I would pay my rent and keep my electricity going since I had just quit my job-of-the-week. I was in the middle of a fantastic pity party when I noticed pink Lisa Frank statio-nery peeking out through my stack of bills. It was an Amanda letter. I loved my Amanda letters.

I read and re-read her words, especially that last sentence. “Mom fixed a good lunch.” Amanda didn’t have to write it down for me to know that Mom had served everyone her signature macaroni and cheese dish. I really missed Mom’s Macaroni and Cheese. I missed Mom, Dad and Amanda. I missed home. My meal of microwave popcorn and leftover Halloween candy just wasn’t hitting the spot.

If you ask my mom, she will tell you that she is no cook. She speaks matter-of-factly about burnt cookies, collapsed cakes and dishes that had to be buried in the back yard. Ironically, she did win the “Betty Crocker Future Homemaker of the Year” award in high school, but not because she was some kind of culinary genius. The contest consisted of an essay, and my mom can write. That is how she won.

Mom doesn’t really enjoy being in the kitchen. In fact, she has often joked that her next house will not have one. She doesn’t watch Paula Dean, she doesn’t subscribe to Bon Appetit magazine, and she certainly doesn’t spend her spare time collecting and trying out new recipes. But, she can cook a mean dish of macaroni and cheese.

A few years ago, my husband, Craig, needed a dish to take to work. One of his co-workers was leaving and they were providing a fare-well lunch for her. Mom offered to fix a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and Craig quickly accepted her offer. The next day, he told her how the other employees raved about the dish. “Yeah, right,” she said. “You’re just trying to make me feel good.”

I knew Craig was telling the truth. Mom’s macaroni and cheese is fan-tastic. It’s one of those dishes that just makes you happy. And for me, it evokes pleasant memories of my childhood and teenage years.

Every year since my sister passed away, I set aside some time to re-read the letters that she wrote me when I lived in Myrtle Beach. I usually read them each summer, and this year is no exception. For some reason, this one really stuck with me.

I haven’t told my mom about it yet. I’m never quite sure how she’ll react to reading Amanda’s letters. But this one is worth sharing. After all, Amanda thought Mom’s cooking was good enough to write about.

In case she ever doubts her culinary abilities, I have the proof in writ-ing. On Sunday, January 17th, 2000, “Mom fixed a good lunch.” I think she should know.

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Classes for wreath making for Sasee’s Circle of Love are now going on. Buzz in each Saturday at 1:00 pm for a class or call

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Several years ago, I read Memory of Water, by Karen White and enjoyed the twists and turns of a mystery/romance set in the Lowcountry. Just out this month, her latest book, The Strangers on Montagu Street, is the third in a series of books featuring Melanie Middleton, a psychic realtor who lives in downtown Charleston. Not having read the others, I wasn’t sure about reading this one first, but thoroughly enjoyed it. The story line has some interesting twists and turns that are just eerie enough to keep the reader interested, but not so scary that you can’t read it at night by yourself. A psychic from birth, Melanie tries to hide her ability to talk to trou-bled spirits, but the appearance of a haunted dollhouse and a dark secret from the past force her to confront some very unhappy ghosts. Meanwhile, her obvious-to-everyone love for Jack Trenholm provides the romantic tension

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that comes together to make this a thoroughly fun read.

On a more serious note, one of our Sasee contributors, Noelle Sterne, has just written a lovely, uplifting book, Trust Your Life. The author encourages her readers to act on their dreams and forgive themselves for past mistakes – and accomplishes this with a kindness that jumps off the page and into the reader’s heart. We all have dreams that we hold close, and many of us never act on them, ignoring the wis-dom of our “inner voice.” Noelle guides the reader with gen-tle steps to a higher possibility, with a special emphasis on believing that it is never too late to begin again.

Editor’s Note: Lisa will be back next month!


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by Rose Ann SinayWe were finally there. After twelve hours

of playing travel games, frequent pit stops, and uncountable Are we there, yet(s) from my two impa-tient children, we turned onto the gravel driveway that led to my parents’ house in the foothills of Virginia. Grandma and Grandpa sat on the steps, waiting to hug their grandchildren as soon as they tumbled out of the car.

Snow dusted Christmas garland and faded red bows dipped gracefully across the porch railing of the old farmhouse; but the three-dimensional paper turkey hanging in the entry (wearing a pil-grim’s hat) proclaimed that it was really Thanksgiving. It was my mother’s way of squeezing two holidays into one short visit. The smell of just-baked apple and pumpkin pies wafted through the open door, making our mouths water as we unloaded the car.

After stretching our legs and getting set-tled, we migrated to the kitchen where the turkey roasted in the oven, and my father’s famous (or infamous) cabbage soup, made from memory, sim-mered on the converted cast iron stove. The soup and handmade pierogi were the Polish dishes added to every holiday meal in honor of my father’s heritage.

“It’s like being back in the old days,” my daughter whispered to me.

“Just how old are you grandma,” she asked out loud.

We chuckled, donned aprons and peeled

potatoes over layers of newspaper while my mother rinsed the gravy boat and platters. We could hear the men cutting wood for the fire-place. My son whistled loudly, as he gathered the kindling into a growing pile.

My daughter pitched in with the cooking preparations without a single grumble. She proudly followed the instructions on one of my mother’s old recipe cards, layering sweet potatoes, brown sugar and pecans into a buttered pie plate. Her grandmother shushed me when I started to object to the mountain of miniature marshmallows dumped on top.

“Perfect,” she proclaimed, and put it in the oven.

“You did such a good job, you get to make the mashed potatoes,” her Grandmother said, handing her an old fashioned metal masher.

“We use the mixer at home,” my daughter replied, inspecting the tool from every angle.

“Not in this kitchen,” my mother said. “We need some lumps to hold on to all that deli-cious turkey gravy.”

Watching my little girl attack the steaming white cubes with a vengeance, adding butter and too much milk, I realized she didn’t see these din-ner preparations as work. It was fun; it was an experience. We were creating a wonderful memory that we could savor and reflect upon for a lifetime.

Before we knew it, we were seated at the dinner table adorned with my mother’s best china

and red linen napkins. The golden-brown turkey, big enough to feed an army, sat center stage, sur-rounded by cranberry sauce (both jellied and whole), green bean casserole, and those marshmal-lowed sweet potatoes. The coveted cabbage soup was ladled generously into our bowls.

My father raised his glass and toasted with a heartfelt “We’re so glad you’re here.”

I think I saw his eyes well up with tears; or maybe it was my eyes that filled with moisture; or maybe I prefer to remember it that way since it was the last holiday we were to spend together as a family.

“I left extra lumps in it,” my daughter said proudly as we passed the mashed potatoes and gravy around the table.

“You sure did,” Grandpa said scooping a big mound of the chunky starch onto his plate. We all laughed and covered ours in thick, brown gravy.

After dinner, we all helped to stack enough of the cut wood to last the winter, or at least our muscles thought so. Everyday chores were done without complaint. In fact, it felt good – spe-cial – cloaked in the magic of holiday and tradition.

As I climbed into bed that night, stomach full and heart content, I was truly thankful for the goodness of it all. I wouldn’t have changed one sin-gle thing, even if I known of the loss that was soon to come. It had been an ordinary day made extraordinary by family and love. It was perfect; it was Thanksgiving.

The Best Lumpy Potatoes…Ever


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“Nathan did something today that neither one of my kids ever did,” my sister-in-law, Lori, said when I picked up my two-year-old son from her care.

I sighed. “Oh, no, what did he do?”Lori chuckled. “It’s nothing bad, just the opposite actually. Nathan

thanked me for changing his diaper.”I smiled. “Yes, he does that sometimes.”“He has an attitude of gratitude, even about something as small as a

diaper change,” Lori said. “That doesn’t just happen, Diane. He’s following your example.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that.”Lori shrugged back at me. “It’s true.” For weeks afterward, Lori’s words stayed with me. My sister-in-law

perceived me as a grateful person. But only I knew the truth.The truth was that for over a year, I had hoped and prayed for a new

home for our family. I wished for a new home when my children complained about the lack of space in our current home and when the baby, who was shar-ing a bedroom with my husband and me, kept me awake at night. There were seven of us, shoehorned into a three-bedroom house, and our circumstances reminded me constantly that a new house was not a want, but a need.

But something unusual also triggered my wishes and prayers for a new home. A billboard on a highway I traveled frequently.

The billboard was an advertisement for a local home builder. On the sign was a beautiful brick house with a surprisingly low price tag attached to it. I wanted the home for my family as badly as I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

Each time I drove by the billboard, I would stare longingly at the home on the sign. I’d hope and pray for it. I’d talk to the kids about how great it would be when we were finally in the new house.

Eventually, our financing was approved and construction on our new home began. To say I was thrilled was a huge understatement.

The day we moved into our new home, I drove by that same house billboard and was completely overcome with gratitude. I loved our new house, and I loved seeing my children so happy with their new rooms. I was thrilled to put the baby’s crib in his own room, rather than in the master bedroom with my husband and me. I was excited for the kids to invite their friends over to play, knowing we had enough space in the house for a few extra people. Life in the new house was going to be better in every way. I thanked God for answering our prayers and taking such good care of our family.

I’d never felt so blessed. But I’d also driven by the house billboard on the way to Lori’s house

on the afternoon she’d called me a grateful person. I’d driven right by it. And I hadn’t murmured a word of thanks.

The sad fact was that as I’d driven by the billboard that day, I’d been on the phone, complaining about how far behind I was in my household chores. Yes, I was griping about having to clean the very house I’d hoped and prayed for.

I’d wanted this new home so badly. I’d prayed for it for over a year. Yet, just a few weeks after I’d gotten my wish, I had already forgotten to be thankful.

Not exactly the attitude of gratitude I was hoping to cultivate in my young son.

So I began looking for things, big and small, for which to be grateful. I even started writing them down. Just like the billboard had reminded me to pray for a new home, this gratitude list reminded me to be thankful, not just for the new house, but for all the blessings in my life.

I put all kinds of things on my list. Big things like our new house, the health of my family, and God’s amazing love for all of us.

And little things like hearing my favorite song on the radio, a day without any children bickering and clean diapers.

Yes, I was thankful for clean diapers.I guess Nathan’s attitude of gratitude had rubbed off on me after all.

An Attitude of Gratitude

by Diane Stark


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Cancer.No matter the depth of your compassion, empathy or understanding,

until a medical professional levels you with the word cancer, the impact is incomprehensible.

A year ago this week I began treatments for throat cancer. Since I have never smoked, drank, dipped or chewed, nothing could have caught me more unaware. Treatments were physically exhausting and not unlike the old medi-eval system of torture, complete with facial apparatuses. Surviving almost seven weeks of radiation and chemotherapy may not have made me a superhero, but the experience definitely qualified me as a contender. I know that I am a stron-ger person each and every day.

The doctors said that I would lose my sense of taste and my saliva. They said that I would have to have a feeding tube and would probably need to be hospitalized at least once during treatment. Doctors should never under-estimate their patients. My taste is different, but it did come back. I refused a feeding tube, determined to keep my weight up and stay hydrated so I wouldn’t need to be hospitalized. I am now waiting patiently for my saliva to return and have no doubts that it will happen eventually.

In the ’90s I was a therapist in private practice, dabbling with writing therapeutic metaphors as a way to help my clients, but when I began raising my grandchildren, I wanted a schedule that conformed to theirs. I became a counselor for an elementary school. Education is an amazing career and has worked out beautifully, affording me time with my grandchildren. Working in education has been an incredible experience. The support that all these chil-dren have shown me is inspirational. Each day of my treatment I carried Get Well cards that my students made for me.

But I knew there was more that I was meant to do.A bear that has been confined in a small cage over a long period of

time begins to believe that those parameters are the entire world. Even if the bear is released into the wild, it takes her a long time to explore outside the size of her mental confinement. As my grandchildren grew and became more inde-pendent, I seemed to be more like the old bear, destined to pace my imaginary enclosure, held in check by nothing more than the habit of limiting beliefs.

Then came my diagnosis. The old bear stopped pacing and rose up with a roar.

I’ve read and enjoyed the poem, “What Cancer Cannot Do.” Now I am also aware of what cancer can do. Cancer can knock the complacency right out of you. Cancer can give you back desires that you thought were unimportant and long gone. Cancer can offer you an opportunity to be

more authentic than you’ve ever dared to be. Cancer can arouse a fight response that you never thought you were capable of. Cancer can make you more grateful than your whole being can contain. Cancer dares to ask your mortality, “If not now, when?”

Following treatment, I took what cancer taught me and ran as fast and as hard as I could toward new finish lines. I received my Life Coach Certification and began a small private practice, where I help people get past places in their lives where they are stuck emotionally or creatively. I started a weekly blog at www.mpowrint.blogspot.com. I also began working on a new book in earnest. No more dilly-dallying for me. Not in any area of my life. My book, The Wednesday Boy, was launched September 16th on Kindle. It is the first book in the seven part Diamond Series, stories written to empower and entertain middle school aged girls, who seem to be the most vulnerable to body image, self-esteem and relationship issues, as well as bullying of all kinds. Come to find out, the story is also empowering adult women, helping them to stand up for themselves and find their voices. The next book, The Queen of Sunday, will be out in January of 2012.

Many people believe that cancer is a thief, but I think what cancer takes from us is simply payment for the most vigorous training camp ever experienced. We are all dancing with death; it is simply a question of who we decide to let lead.

Take the lead.Enjoy every

second and make the music your own.

My Journey:What Cancer Can Do

by Catie McGoldrick


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Touchdown!by Sue Mayfield Geiger

As a member of the baton twirling squad in high school, I performed

dance routines during halftime at football games, marched at pep rallies, cheered when our team ran onto the field and became pretty adept at throwing my baton into the air – even catching it. During the actual game, I screamed the appropriate yells and jumped up with enthusiasm every time our home team scored.

I took great pride in making sure my uniform (short skirt, white blouse and nifty hat) was washed, starched and pressed before each game and that my white boots were polished and gleaming. I never missed a beat while performing and made sure to pivot just at the right time to be in sync with the rest of the squad. Since I was the tallest with the longest legs, I was smack dab in the center, so was sort of the focal point.

When I got out of high school, I felt pretty smug about what I had pulled off. Yes, I performed well and never missed a game, but the secret that no one knew is that I knew absolutely nothing about the game of football and even more shocking, did not care. So, now, several decades later, I am here to confess to you and the world: I don’t like football!

Oh, I’ve tried to understand the game and even sat through a few televised playoffs. I’ve had numerous male friends describe every single thing that was going on from beginning to end, listening intently, trying to piece it together and about to get a grip on what just happened, when I’d turn back to the television screen only to see everyone in a big heap. To me, football consisted of some guys running a short distance and then piling up on each other. Run, pile up. Run, pile up. That is all I saw happening, which to me, was pretty boring.

I was able to pull off my love of the game in high school by just mim-icking what everyone else did. They would scream; so would I. They would curse; so would I. They would boo; so would I.

So now in the real world of adulthood, I was ready to find out what this game was all about. “Why do they call the main guy a quarterback?” I asked one fine gentleman. “He’s the backfield player whose position is behind the line of scrimmage who calls the plays,” he said. Then I asked him to define a line of scrimmage, and he told me it was a line parallel to the goal lines where the linesmen line up at the start of each play.

You see where I’m going with this. Goal lines? Linesmen? I sort of had it figured out, but I knew each question would just cause me more confusion. One thing no one had ever been able to make clear was the “first down.” I had looked it up in Webster’s and it said: The first in the series of four downs in which an offensive team must advance ten yards to retain possession of the ball. Hello! First in the series of four downs? That still did not tell me what a “down” was.

I knew the meaning of touchdown and certainly knew about the goal posts. Plus I was aware there were 11 members on each team. Two teams would fight over the football for four quarters until the team with the highest

score won. It’s the stuff in between that just didn’t jive with me, except the kickoff – I got that. But what about the downs?

The fine gentleman told me to think of a down as a chance. “You have four chances to gain 10 yards,” he said. So I wondered why they just didn’t call them that. Perhaps it just didn’t sound as cool if the announcer shouted out: “First Chance!”

So every football season throughout most of my life I’ve struggled to act like I’m interested in this All-American, beloved sport. I’ve sat in many liv-ing rooms, munching on chips and dip while excited fans huddled in front of TVs watching this bowl game and that bowl game, wondering if I dare ask the hostess if she had another TV in the house where I could tune in a Hallmark movie. Yet most of the wives were as hooked on the game as their husbands, so I just entertained myself by mentally counting all the peanuts in a bowl or keeping score on how many beers a certain guy could drink before making a trip to the john.

Years went by, my children were grown, and I was dating some-one new. On our third date, I asked the dreaded question: “So, are you a football fan?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve never cared for the game. I’m more into watching tennis.”

Bingo! I didn’t know a whole lot about tennis but was willing to give it a try. I also knew in the back of my mind that “love” was a tennis term. And even though love means “nil” in tennis, the true meaning of love worked for me. I married him.


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When asked, we tell people that we do Thanksgiving the way the Pilgrims did it, although I doubt Pilgrims used propane, disposable pans and barbecue grills. Still, when our children were young, we convinced them that since the Pilgrims cooked their turkey outdoors, that this was as close to a tra-ditional Thanksgiving a family could get without dressing up as Pilgrims. We started cooking our bird on the grill after discovering the idea in a local news-paper. The article is folded into one of my recipe books, and every Thanksgiving our morning starts with a mad search for that twenty-plus-year-old newspaper clipping. Doing it the way the Pilgrims did it frees up my oven and allows me a less stressful holiday with more time with my family. There is none of that shuffling of pots and pans on my stove and in the oven or won-dering if everything will be done on time. With the bird cooking slowly on the grill outside, I have control over my kitchen appli-ances, and the messy cooks stay out of my way.

One of the side effects of doing it the way the Pilgrims did it is that our neighborhood smells great. Our neighbors have come and gone over the years, but each year, someone new rings our doorbell and asks if the delicious smells are coming from our home. We invite them in and share our turkey trick. Most of my neighbors now do it the way the Pilgrims did it because of us. After Thanksgiving, with each new convert, we have received com-ments like, “We have never had such a delicious turkey! We’ll never go back to making it in the oven.”

Living in Arizona makes outdoor bird preparation easier. Over the years, we have had guests from other parts of the country taste our birds, and they have also become con-verts. When they are back in colder parts of the country, they don coats, hats and gloves and do it the way the Pilgrims did it – but with 21st century thermal insulation!

In my family, we have always shared in the Thanksgiving preparation. From the time my sons were small, everyone had a job. The biggest job, obviously, is getting the bird cooked. At least that’s what my husband thinks since the bird has become his job. The truth is that once the bird is on the grill, it becomes the easiest part. The hardest part of it is getting up early because the turkey cooks a bit more slowly on the grill than in the oven. According to my husband, without a perfect bird, every-thing else is gravy. (And he leaves the gravy to me.) That’s debatable, but since I don’t have to do the bird part, I let him live on Fantasy Island.

The actual preparation of the turkey is simple: 1. Buy the bird – the bigger the better. 2. Defrost the bird.

3. Make sure you have enough propane or charcoal or that you paid your utility bill.

4. On Thanksgiving morning, wake up your husband.5. Watch your husband clean the bird. 6. Say, “Oh, darling, you are such a marvelous cook!” 7. Repeat #6 several times throughout the preparation.8. Use a heavy disposable metal pan. Modern Pilgrims do not recycle

on Thanksgiving. 9. Put a turkey lifter at the bottom of the pan.10. If your turkey is large, find a strong assistant to help your hus-

band get the bird on the grill.11. Season the bird. (My husband goes to my seasoning cabinet and

pretends he’s the Iron Chef as he chooses his seasonings. When Emeril was more popular, he did his “bam” here and “bam”

there with his seasoning. A lot of his bamming here and there wound up on the floor – but I compensated by knowing my hands never touched the inside of the turkey.

12. Using the instruction booklet that came with your grill, if you can find it, use the settings suggested for pre-paring fowl or large roasts. If you are given an option, use the

slower method because the turkey comes out better when it cooks longer and more slowly.

13. Make sure you have a back-up tank of propane or extra charcoal just in case you run out midway. That would be a Pilgrim Catastrophe.

14. Place the pan on the grill and close it. 15. Once every hour or so, send your husband out-

side to baste the bird with the juices that have dripped out of it. My husband sometimes adds a little orange juice mixed with canola oil. (I don’t ask questions. He’s the turkey pro.) I think he also adds wine. No one complains.

16. Watch the parade.17. Watch a football game or two.When is the bird done? It’s visual. When the skin

is deep brown and your stomachs are growling, the bird is done. A 20-pound bird takes us about six to eight hours.

With outdoor turkeys, bigger is better since you will most definitely want leftovers. Bring the turkey inside,

and let it rest on the counter for a half-hour before cutting it. Shoo away all cats since some pretend to ignore the big bird on the counter – until everyone

is busy watching a touchdown or eating appetizers.Then be ready for an unforgettable Thanksgiving.

You will never go back to cooking a turkey in your oven again. Would a Pilgrim lie?

Doing It the Way the Pilgrims Did It

by Felice Prager



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Southern SnapsJust over the Line:

Beaver Empireby Connie Barnard

First off, her last name really is Beaver, thanks to a former husband. Creator and owner of the sprawling, thriving Beaver Bar complex just over the Georgetown County line in Murrells Inlet, Leslye Lanier Beaver is a liv-ing lesson in the power of hard work, foresight and fun. She is also a study in contrasts:

a bar owner who neither drinks nor smokes a quintessential good old girl whose favorite music is operaa walking success story who loves to poor mouth an unlikely patron saint whose local generosity is legendary

Leslye Lanier Beaver grew up in the Southwest Georgia town of Albany, a rural fertile crescent that also produced legendary singer Ray Charles, food queen Paula Deen, nov-elist Sue Monk Kidd, former President Jimmy Carter – and yours truly. She has deep Carolina roots as well. Leslye’s mother grew up in Columbia where her father was a family physi-cian, and the South Carolina State Hospital was named in honor of her uncle, William S. Hall. Leslye grew up spending summers at her aunt’s Garden City beach house where her mother relocated several years after her husband’s death.

In 1988 Leslye moved to the Grand Strand “with four children and $500,” as she describes it. A year later Hurricane Hugo devastated the area, and in its aftermath Leslye found opportunities plentiful for those will-ing to work hard, which she was. She did construction, owned a structural steel company, and used her earnings to buy and develop land in Murrells Inlet and Pawleys Island. Her motiva-tion and endless energy are easy enough to explain, Leslye says: “When you have four mouths to feed, you learn to do what it takes to get the job done.” In addition, those who know Leslye say she possesses an innate abili-

ty to anticipate the next big wave before it breaks the surface. In 1996, Leslye acquired a small tract of land from her mother at the

intersection of Highway 17 in Murrells Inlet, just north of the Georgetown County line where a hot dog stand and miniature doll house stood. For years her mother had let vendors and bike riders park there when the spring and fall rallies were in full swing. Harley Davidson had recently moved its operations north, and SBB was establishing a stronghold on the adjacent site. During the spring bike rally that year, Leslye filled a large garbage can with ice and bottled water which she sold to bikers for $2. The next rally, she added a second gar-bage can for beer. Standing in the parking lot hawking her beer and water, Leslye noticed a man nearby on his phone attempting to give directions to his

location. She tried to help the con-fused man – finally saying, “Just tell them you are at the Beaver Bar.” And that, my friends, is the origin of the legendary watering hole’s eyebrow raising name!

For over a decade Bike Week at the two adjacent venues was a phenomenal success. Over time, however, noise concerns brought mounting complaints from nearby residents and increasing control efforts by officials. By the spring of 2009 Leslye was tired of trying to deal with the turmoil and ready for a new location with room to spread out. She acquired the former Ghost Ship seafood restaurant on a half acre of land just over Georgetown County line. Though she still oper-ates the original “Little Beaver” dur-ing Bike Week and periods of nice weather, the new13,000 square foot facility has become the heart of a booming operation that also includes a spacious outdoor picnic pavilion Beaver built on the wooded site of a former used car lot. A short time later, she acquired the gas station across the highway to use for over-flow parking. Then, in what she calls an epiphany, Leslye and her sister

Electa Drake converted the property’s former convenience store into a primitive antiques and Beaver Bar memorabilia shop. Electa, the previ-ous owner of Ricefields Antiques in Georgetown, handles day-to day operations of the shop which the sis-ters look forward to expanding. Just outside it sits the wildly painted “Beaver Bus” that pro-vides free rides after a night of dining and dancing.

Leslye’s shrewd business eye and the area’s recent economic challenges have provided the Beaver Bar with opportunities to go main stream. In the last year, civic and political organizations across the community have hosted events at the spacious picnic pavilion which she offers at no charge except for food and beverages provided. Terri Larkin of the Surfside Rotary Club says, “Our club held its end-of-year celebration and officer installation there in May. At first a few members were wary of the District Governor coming to install new officers at a biker bar! It was a great time, however, a perfect spring evening with really good food and service. We would do it again without hesitation.”

Monday through Friday the Beaver Bar draws crowds of locals. Especially popular is the Wednesday night Flounder Special followed by free Shag lessons. A very diverse group of people gather each week to learn the S.C. State Dance, one which includes tourists, locals and even some bikers. Surfside residents Lynn and Bill Livesay are Wednesday night regulars. Lynn laughingly says, “The Beaver Bar has made a real contribution to my baby boomer social life.” Another regular, Brenda Quincannon of Murrells Inlet, has been Shagging most of her life. Several years after losing her favorite dance partner and beloved husband, Brenda longed to dance again. She started attending Shag Night at the Beaver Bar and says, “It’s a great place to hang out with my friends, enjoy-ing the music and dancing. Leslye and her staff always make the Shaggers feel welcomed. That’s why we keep going back.”

Perhaps the Beaver Bar’s most popular weekly event is the Sunday Breakfast. Several hundred customers gather on a regular basis to enjoy an amazing full spread buffet and help a good cause. Leslye gives all proceeds from the breakfasts to local non-profits, an average of $700-$1,000 each week. Leslye says, “I believe in giving back to the community. We have worked hard and been lucky. We need to help our own.”

Despite these successful ventures, Beaver makes it very clear that the bikers are still the basis of her busi-

ness and her remarkable success. During Bike Week upwards of 30,000 bikers flock there every day. Many know one another and have ridden long dis-tances to re-unite with fellow riders once again. Though she is known for her laid-back, easy-going attitude, Leslye gets fired up when the subject of bikers arises: “By and large, they are good and generous peo-ple. In these hard times, they have made a huge

contribution to the local economy and to the area’s tax base. I think some peo-ple are starting to realize how important they are to our economic survival. Unfortunately, the economy has affected many of them as well. Some have had to sell their bikes; others can no longer afford the trip to come here.”

All agree that behind Leslye’s laid-back approach lies a shrewd business mind and innate ability to visualize the next step – like her latest one: concerts in the outdoor pavilion. Country singers Colt Ford, Sunny Sweeney and Lee Brice performed before large crowds in October and plans are under way for more outdoor concerts. Beaver is also looking at new and innovative ways to develop her property across the highway.

Though she is a walking success story in a time when such is rare, Leslye often gives the impression she is just getting by. Whether this is an inten-tional effort to connect with those around her, a ploy to mask her sharp busi-ness acumen, or a long term effect of her early hard times, one thing is clear: she is unreservedly proud of what she believes is her greatest accomplishment, her four well-adjusted and successful adult children who all live nearby with their families: James “Bo” Price, twin daughters Ava Doutt and Allyson Antol, and Charles “Bean” Beaver, owner of Driftwood’s Seafood and Steak across from St. James High School.

She credits her grandmother as a tremendous influence on her life and her outlook. When facing challenges while raising her children alone, Lesley remembered her words to her: “After a day of hearing me whine, she asked if I was cold or hungry. When I said no, she said, ‘Then you are fine.’ And she was right.” Leslye’s congenial personality and natural likability are perhaps the great-

est keys to her success. A former elected official who for years wrangled with Leslye over regula-tions says of her, “Even when you are on differ-ent sides of the fence, you can’t help but love Leslye Beaver and admire her hard work and innovative approach. She is a good businesswoman and a good person.”

www.sasee.com 23


The last piece I wrote for Sasee had me weighing in at a house and a half. My new hip had led this horse to water to swim and start moving. The walk from my car to the pool made thoughts run through my mind such as: My, my, can’t they have a moving walkway like in the airport?

That was four and a half months ago. Today, I am happy to report that I am on my way to living my life in my better half. Not only am I ridding my body of excess fat globules, but I am working on ridding my mind of the clutter that added those globules to my personal portfolio.

I’m down 80 pounds with 80 to go. That is, to be at the weight I was when I was 25. My goal? To be able to fit into my wedding dress next year on our fortieth anniversary. Right now, the veil fits fine.

What have I learned on this journey to fitness? Lots.I have learned that the gift of resiliency and healing

power of the body is incredible. Part of my problem throughout my life was that I didn’t appreciate the gift I had been given. I’m not talking lovely, mov-ie-star body with no stretch marks, or one where you can see Paris between your thighs. I am talking, two arms, legs, a heart and other organs that function well.

That I took them for granted is an understatement.

That was the past. I am so grateful that at the age of 59, in spite of years of over-indulgence, my body is forgiving me and invit-ing me to be its friend. Yes, the parts are older. Some parts are slower, some represent the work of gravity, and some have decided to allow wicky-wacky hair to grow in places that should be smooth, but those are minor inconveniences. Especially compared to the path that I was on…to an early grave or a permanent seat in the recliner.

I have found the beauty of movement. That is the difference between me and the young chicks. The term “exercise” still gives me the vapors. So far, I’ve walked out of four “exercise” classes after ten minutes. The act of doing deep crunches while holding twenty pound weights, with hip hop music on, does nothing for me. Not to mention that neither did the supposed Glee inspired class where knees were treated like rubber bands. That is the gift of getting fit this time around. I am starting to understand my body…when to say yes and more importantly, when to pick up my water bottle and say, “Sayonara, I’m off to the pool.”

In my younger years, because of insecurity or ego, I would have stayed and suffered and done more damage to my body. Now, I just trot on and leave the looks from others in my dust. As my granddaughter’s swim team members write on her back for a swim meet, “Eat my bubbles.”

I’ve learned that I am not big on repetitive, group exercise. In a short

period I get bored with routines and teachers who are only comfortable if you do exactly as they do. My muscles and body tell me what I need and what kind of movement I need. I adjust my movement accordingly. Adding some movements and putting others on pause.

I have found the joy (I can’t believe I’m saying that) of walking. Have iPod, will walk. And I don’t need a walking buddy. The time I spend walking, listening to my music and thinking and dreaming is now one of my favorite activities. Two miles at least a day.

Sometimes, I leave my music at home and listen to the birds singing. Sometimes, I sing back. There is something in me that makes me want the birds to believe I am another bird in heat.

I’ve learned that fresh, unprocessed food is delicious. And easy. I love to eat raw things. And finally, I can see why Eve

just had to eat that apple in the Garden of Eden. I am sure it tasted much better than the processed ham-

burger that was available at McEden.Another thing I have learned is that a

plate of food served at a restaurant is not a portion size. Unless you are talking two days worth of eating. In the past, if it was put in front of me, I ate it all so I could be presi-dent of the clean-plate club. Not anymore. I’d rather not need a nap after every meal.

I’ve learned that society treats me much differently now that I have lost weight. I am becoming visible again. Eyes that looked away now make eye contact.

Greetings are exchanged. Part of that is because I no longer avert my eyes from

shame. I also believe that part of it is people are responding to the little spring in my step. And

the hope in my eyes.Do I look wonderful in a swimming suit?

No and yes. No, if you judge me by society’s standards of no cellulite, a front pooch or batwing arms. Yes, I look

marvelous if you notice the attitude that this is my life, and I am back in the game – on my terms. And oh, what a feeling that is!

Instead of schlepping in, winded and wane, I am moving more like an athlete. There is purpose in my steps and a head on my shoulders that is engaged and laughing.

As it goes, I am carrying around two less forty pound bags of water softener salt. I have two more I want to lose. For years, that has felt like the weight of the world…physically, mentally and emotionally. Each pound I lose is a bullet of salt. One by one I am making the road I travel lighter and lighter. And eventually, I hope to only live in my better half.

My Better Halfby Susan DeBow


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Meet Wanda HowardWanda Howard, owner of The Original Benjamin’s Calabash Seafood is sharp and successful; a woman who has worked very hard to build one of the most successful restaurant businesses on the Grand Strand. But, she is also a truly kind person, loved by her family, her employees and the com-munity. The day we met, I walked into the large, 1,000 seat restaurant to be greeted with a smile and kind word by every employee I met before sitting down with Wanda and her daughter Mamie.

Wanda, when did you open Original Benjamin’s and what makes it so special?My husband and I opened this restaurant in 1989 – he was an adven-turer, always trying something new, and he taught me how to pray! We had vision – my family had been in the hotel business and knew that when we were asked where to go for seafood, we had to say Calabash or Murrells Inlet. There was nothing like this in Myrtle Beach at that time.

The restaurant was named for our former partner’s grandson. When he left the business, I wanted to keep the name. It’s the name of one of the twelve tribes in the Bible – one of the successful ones!

This time of year, people look forward to Gingerbread Lane, our gin-gerbread house contest. It started with just our employees. Now, it’s a regional event, with chefs planning their gingerbread houses as much as a year in advance. It’s very competitive. We also do fundraisers during the holiday season to give back to the community. Cans for Caring benefits Helping Hand and gives our customers $1 off for each canned or boxed food item they bring, up to $15.

This is a family restaurant, run by a family. My five children are all involved. The two youngest are still in college, but the oldest three work with me. I have eight grandchildren under five years old, and they all live close to me. Our employees are like family also. During the busy season, we have 250 employ-ees; many have been here since we opened. You need people to promote your cause and support your vision. I am so grateful for all of them. We even have a model shipbuilder on staff that has restored many of the boats you see around the restaurant. He works here during business hours, and our customers love to watch him and ask questions.

gets candid

Do you ever want to have more time for yourself? Any plans to retire?No, I can’t imagine not working. I stay very active – both at work and at home enjoying my grandchildren. Also, my Christian faith is very important to me. There’s no telling what I’ll do next. Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of renovations in the restaurant; I never knew I could do construction, but I’ve done it, and in the process, I’ve learned more about myself. I’m single now and have learned to do a lot more. Of course, it helps to have two sons, and we have one employee who only does repairs; he can fix most anything.

Mamie, what’s it like working for your mother?Mamie: My mother is very strong and comforting to be around. She is so approachable, not just for me, but for all the staff. To know her is to love her. But, don’t mistake her meekness for weakness!

Wanda: I have tried to instill in my children that sometimes people do mis-take meekness for weakness, but you do not have to be a doormat. God gives us all the ability to succeed and we don’t have to be mean to get the job done. I work alongside and with my employees.

Visit Gingerbread Lane this holiday season starting the week before Thanksgiving and running through the end of December. Contact Original Benjamin’s at 843-497-7230, www.originalbenjamins.com or find them on Facebook.


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The definition of volunteerism in my family generally means the per-son who didn’t say “No” fast enough; so, due to my slow response time a few years ago; my loved ones volunteered me to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

I enjoy cooking, but my tastes steer toward curries and enchiladas, not stuffing and giblets. Also, I’d never cooked a meal to feed more than two or coordinated the parade of side dishes expected at Thanksgiving.

Did I mention I’m a vegetarian?That’s right; my family volunteered a vegetarian to prepare a meal that

centers around an overgrown chicken. And my family would never settle for Tufurkey or some turkey-shaped lentil loaf creation. They’d expect the bird and all the trimmings. Fear should have bloomed in their guts, but they were too proud of escaping the dinner drudgery to bother.

Magazine layouts and a love-hate relationship with Martha Stewart ignited in me a yearning for the perfect meal. There’d be no Stove Top or canned berries at my table. Whether I gave them salmonella or not, my family would be fed well. The problem: I had no idea how to achieve this culinary masterpiece. My only experience with a Thanksgiving dish was making mashed potatoes once.

I was lost. How many side dishes were required? What exactly was stuffing? Was it mandated that yams be crowned with gooey marshmallows? One magazine – whose mission statement is something like, “Our featured homes make yours look like a hillbilly’s moonshine shack” – offered up a Thanksgiving Day menu. I read it and laughed. Soup for Thanksgiving din-ner? My family would wonder what I did wrong to the gravy.

I needed help and, like anyone raised on too much TV, I turned to the magic box. The movie Pieces of April features a tale of a young woman played by Katie Holmes cooking her first Thanksgiving for a critical family. She suffers various mishaps such as dropping the bird, a dead oven and a crazy neighbor holds her turkey hostage. But the majority of her neighbors are wonderful people who lend their ovens and advice to save her meal. I wished, like Katie, I lived in an apartment building full of knowledgeable Thanksgiving chefs.

Still, I garnered Thanksgiving cookery tips from some unlikely sourc-es. First, the local tabloid, better known for hooker ads, a sex column and pok-ing fun of celebrities, featured an article about how to cook a Thanksgiving Day meal. It included tips from what to expect when opening the plastic the turkey is encased in (it still didn’t prepare me for the horrors) to the timing of the preparations (Thanksgiving Eve preparation is key to avoiding a day of misery). Once armed with this knowledge I read the sex column and laughed at celebrity gossip.

The second source was a bus stop companion. I bemoaned the irony of a vegetarian cooking a turkey and he insisted I “must brine it in salt and apple juice.” Apparently this would make Gobbles super moist and “the best turkey you ever tasted.” So maybe he wasn’t the best listener, but the advice was heeded.

The third source was my father. He wasn’t brave enough to attend, but he too saw the humor in someone making gravy for the first time who couldn’t taste the stuff during the process. He told me all about roux and other ingredients for the perfect gravy. This arsenal of gravy know-how had me feel-ing all French-chef-confident about my culinary endeavor.

With my mental tally of how to do what when, I was ready.Thanksgiving Eve I prepared the stuffing (a tastier term than “soggy

bread and celery”), the time-draining mashed potatoes, and the yams sans marshmallow goop. My carb-fest looked fabulous, and I gained a renewed vigor thinking I’d be able to pull this off after all. With my assuredness sky-rocketing, it was time to tackle Mr. Turkey.

To keep the salmonella out of the kitchen, I hauled my twenty pound bag of squishy bird flesh to the basement utility sink. I plunged a knife into the plastic and out gushed what seemed like a gallon of bloody liquid. I jumped back shuddering. Shouldn’t they have cleared that stuff out during the slaughter? My repulsion was nothing compared to my confusion over the plastic contrap-tion binding the poor animal’s legs together. Do they worry it might walk off? Luckily I’d read the sex column and could laugh about the sado-masochistic nuances of the poultry handcuffs. It took Sampson-like strength to hack through Tom Turkey’s S&M shackles, but once I did, the bird’s legs flung open.

Rinsed and slippery, I plopped the bird into a bucket to drown it in salt and watered down apple juice, then dragged the monstrosity of a bird and four gallons of liquid into the garage hoping it was cold enough, but knowing if I gave everyone food poisoning I’d never be asked to go through this again.

Attempting to set the mood, I put on music at a low volume, lit can-dles, and opened the copious amount of wine my family would need to with-stand each other for several hours.

Unfortunately, the meal was a success. Using some untapped cooking instinct, I managed a lump-free,

creamy gravy everyone swooned over and coordinated the dance of warming the side dishes as the turkey roasted to time everything coming to temperature at the same moment.

Everyone’s bellies stretched to capacity and, as they lolled around afterward in a turkey stupor, someone uttered the dreaded words: “I think you’ll be cooking Thanksgiving dinner from now on.”

What?by Tammie Painter

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The Secret


Three years ago, I bought my first turkey with a built-in, pop-up timer. I had no choice. My sister, Mom and I had decided to gamble and pur-chase the family turkey last minute. We anticipated that the stores would slash prices closer to the time and felt sure we’d be able to snag a bargain somewhere. The problem with gambling, however, is that when it doesn’t pay, you do. By the time we got to the store, there were no 50%-off signs or red-penned stick-ers anywhere, and my heart raced as we approached the turkey aisle. Gone were the bargain-priced birds that had spilled out of the freezer cases just two days earlier and as we stared blankly into the refrigerated abyss below, two lonely choices stared back.

Choice one: The boneless, turkey-breast roll. Now there is nothing wrong with a turkey breast shaped like a toilet

roll. In fact, I cooked one the year it was just me and my husband, and I can attest to some extremely-appealing advantages:

First, clean up is a cinch. Apart from the fact that bacteria-laden, pink liquid drips from the wrapper as you walk it over to the trash, necessitating washing the kitchen floor when you have all four burners going, it’s a breeze. Second, there is no jagged carcass to dispose of which, despite how carefully you place it in the extra-strength trash bag will, without fail, still rip it to shreds. Third, as long as you don’t count the meat that didn’t get eaten (because let’s face it, meat shaped like a toilet roll will not taste as scrumptious as something with wings), or focus on the leftovers unworthy of keeping because limited freezer space meant choosing between that or Butter Pecan Ice Cream, (a no-brainer), then there is no wastage either. And fourth, it frees up oven space, which means you can cook sides at the same time, save on the util-ity bill and still find time to watch Shrek.

All said and cooked, the turkey roll was a wise choice given our cir-cumstances. The cost per pound worked out more, but a twelve-pound bird was too much meat for even the keenest of turkey-sandwich lovers.

It comes with one consumer warning though: Norman Rockwell.Let’s just say if Norman had been a fan of boneless turkey rolls, his

infamous family Thanksgiving dinner scene would have looked drastically dif-ferent. For one, they would not have needed such a large carving knife; Grandma’s old bread knife in the drawer would have sufficed. Two, the table center piece would have hidden the roll, potentially leaving the father looking like some crazy man yielding a knife. And finally, panicked, fearful faces would have added to the pandemonium once the family realized that the pale, disc of white staring up at them from Grandma’s once-a-year china was an imposter protein posing as turkey. Hardly the stuff of paintings.

So, if you want Norman Rockwell, go with the bird. If you don’t, shop early or pay the big bucks.

The other choice that stared back at us was the over-priced, more-than-we-needed, 22-pound turkey. It did, however, boast a convenient (read expensive) pop-up timer and tantalize our taste buds with its guarantee of a perfectly-cooked, juicy, unforgettable bird. Four hands loaded it into the cart which we then pushed and pulled over to the produce section, fingers crossed. Fortunately, Brussels sprouts are a love it or hate it kind of vegetable, and we love it. We piled them in and with everything on our mental-dinner plates checked off, steered our heaving cart to the check out where we contemplated taking out a small loan to pay for our Cadillac turkey.

Back home, we deliberated its defrosting. Should we put the turkey in the bathtub like when we were growing up, or empty the contents of the bulg-ing fridge and safely follow the advice of the experts? Fortunately, much has changed since our single-bathroom days growing up, and we now have a sepa-rate shower stall. At least while the turkey sat in the bathtub, we would no lon-ger have to choose between a strip wash, not bathing, or bathing with a naked bird. After sharing laughter and dangerous turkey-defrosting stories, we safely followed modern-day practices and began emptying the fridge.

When the big day arrived, I wrapped the bird in foil with the same precision I reserve for expensive Christmas gifts. I gingerly cut a hole to expose the little white tube that stuck out from its raw breast and set my own kitchen timer as a backup; ten people were relying on that pop. My sister opened the oven door, and with two of us holding the pan, we crammed the giant bird into our oven and hoped for the best. It was a team effort; we just hoped Tom would not let our side down.

Near the projected “pop” time, a nervous but excited crowd gathered around the oven door, and no-one dared leave the scene for fear of missing the action. It was family bonding at its finest and the anticipation and aroma of roasting turkey hung heavy in the air. Would the pop make a noise? Would we hear it through the glass? Would chimes of “Hallelujah” ring out from its cooked breast? We turned on the oven light just in case, and took turns peering through the heat-stained window.

Almost on cue, Tom delivered a faint but visible pop, and it felt like a New Year’s Eve party – everybody cheered jubilantly, and then left. Thirty min-utes later, we re-gathered at the bountiful table and dug into our picture-per-fect bird; the juicy, tender meat was everything the label promised and more, and we were pop-up hooked. Our Rockwellian-looking turkey inspired so many mouth noises and compliments that it left me in no doubt as to the real reason why such joy and excitement had oozed from the faces of the family in Norman Rockwell’s famous Thanksgiving scene:

It was their first pop-up too.

of the Norman Rockwell Turkeyby Janey Womeldorf


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BUSINESS Dr. Myles Goldflies of Sculpted Figures loves his own homemade pizza. “I’ve been making it for nearly 30 years. It has a cottage cheese, dill bread crust, homemade sauce, six different cheeses and toppings like beef summer sausage and roasted eggplant. I even use an old hand-cranked Italian tomato processor.” For dessert, Dr. Goldflies loves hot fudge sundaes. When asked about his Thanksgiving traditions, this newly transplanted southerner said, “In previous years, I would cook a large feast for my mother and kids—there was always a fire in the fireplace. I like to stuff the bird with an andouille sausage-based stuffing and make side dishes that are a little less traditional. This is my first year in Myrtle Beach, and I am solo, so we’ll see.” Dr. Goldflies is quick to count his blessings. “I am always thankful for the sharp and analytical mind I was given, and the talent I have with my hands; also God given. I am now thankful that I have finally made it to Myrtle Beach and Sculpted Figures.”

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A native of Virginia, Doug Turner, owner of Douglas DiamondJewelers in Shallotte, N.C., doesn’t get to go home every year for Thanksgiving. “Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, is a very important day, and I have to be here at 8 am to open the store. But, some years I do drive five hours there and five hours back to enjoy some of my sister-in-law’s wonderful cooking!” Doug buys scrap gold and silver and said that most people bring in broken things to sell for extra money, but once in a while, someone touches his heart. “A woman came in just a few days ago and burst into tears when I gave her the money for her gold. She had lost her job and had a small child to support. I realized how blessed I am, and was so glad to be able to offer this service to those who need it.” After 33 years, the bridal business is Doug’s favorite part of his work. “It is one of the few times that the guy just knows he’s doing the right thing, and the brides are always glowing. Being a part of something so special to a relationship is the best part of this business.”

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Doug Turner

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120 Shallotte Crossing Pkwy,Shallotte, NC

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“I like all different kinds of food,” began Rita Siegal Levine of Art & Soul. “But, for dessert, my favorite is chocolate and raspberry. I have a chocolate cake with raspberry filling every year for my birthday.” Thanks-giving for Rita is sometimes at her home or her brother’s home, but they also go out once in a while. “If we eat in, I cook. I love to cook and exper-iment with different things, but we always have turkey.” Rita is thankful for every day, and said, “I really mean that from my heart. My husband has Alzheimer’s, and we take life one day at a time. I’m so grateful that he’s still with me.” Art & Soul is also a blessing in Rita’s life. “It gives me a wonderful, beautiful place to come where I’m surrounded by the work of talented artists. This is not just a business, it’s my life. One of our future artists is bedridden and makes exquisite jewelry. I love knowing that she’s doing something she loves, and I can put it where others will appreciate it.” Rita believes life should be enjoyed. “It’s all in how we look at life—I look at it as beautiful.”

BUSINESSJudy Hackler Tolley

Judy Hackler Tolley, of Fran’s Clothing Company in Murrells Inlet loves Italian food and key lime pie—but maybe not in the same meal! The family usually celebrates Thanksgiving together, either at her broth-er’s ski lodge in West Virginia or here. “Everyone cooks—my brother does the turkey when we eat at his home, and we all chip in the rest of the meal. If we stay home, my son is the turkey chef.” Judy says her specialty is the stuffing! Mother of one married son with two children, Judy is very thankful for her family—who stay together in business as well. “My sister, brother and I opened this store for our mother, who had retired, and wanted a part time job where she could set her own hours. I’m so grateful I get to work with family—we’re building something together.” Judy went on to tell me that she meets so many nice people in the store. “I love it. We’ve all been in retail at vari-ous times and wanted someplace that people could come not only to shop, but talk and share each other’s lives.”

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4650 Hwy 17 S.Murrells Inlet843-299-0298

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Debra Hughes Debra Hughes, owner of Lets Dance in Myrtle Beach, loves grilled seafood, apple pie and anything chocolate! When asked how she celebrates Thanksgiving, Debra told me, “Thanksgiving is meant to be celebrated with friends and family. I’m from Atlanta, and when I can’t get home, I celebrate with my neighbors and friends here—someone usually invites me over, or we go to the country club and eat.” In this season of gratitude, Debra told me she was thankful to have God in her life. “Every single day I give thanks for my blessings, and the biggest is my daughter, Carly, who’s graduating from UNCW in December!” Owning Lets Dance brings a lot of joy to Debra’s life. “We opened this year and it has been a great blessing. People come into the studio for many reasons; to learn to dance for a special occasion, to socialize, etc., but they all come in with smiles on their faces. They are learning some-thing new and having fun. Before I opened Lets Dance, I worked in the com-munity and I still use my dance, my gift, to help others by working with local students and adults learning to dance.”

Amy Bunn of the Joggling Board in Pawleys Island is, like many of us, careful of the food she eats and feeds to her three young children. “I’m all about healthy, organic food that is chemi-cal free, and get aggravated with what’s out there, especially for our children.....blue and red food and juice should be illegal.” Dark chocolate is Amy’s favorite indulgence; she especially loves dark chocolate covered almonds, YUM! On Thanksgiving, Amy, her husband and the children go to her in-laws for lunch and her parents for dinner. “We eat all day,” Amy laughed. “I try to pace myself.” A vegetarian, Amy eats most everything except the meat and makes a mean pot of mashed potatoes—one of her favorite dishes. Her biggest blessing is her three beautiful children. “I tell them I love them all the time. I thank God every day for my sweet little angels.” Married 19 years, Amy is also thankful for her relationship with her husband. She went on to tell me about her blessings at work. “This was the best summer we’ve ever had, and October, typically a slow month, was a nice surprise. At the Joggling Board, we’re all like a family—it’s just a good combination.”

The Joggling Board11096 Ocean Hwy

Pawleys Island843-237-2631

www.thejogglingboard.com

Amy Bunn

Lets Dance5221 N. Kings Hwy


www.letsdancemb.com


December 2-3,9-10, 15, 16 & 17

Brookgreen’s most celebrated festival, Nights of a � ousand Candles,

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Nights of a � ousand Candles is sponsored in part by:

December 2-3,9-10, 15, 16 & 17

Brookgreen’s most celebrated festival, Nights of a � ousand Candles,

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Tickets are $16 for adults and$7 for children (4-12). Children

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or more call (843)235-6021.www.brookgreen.org

1-(800)-849-1931 or (843) 235-60001-(800)-849-1931 or (843) 235-6000

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www.brookgreen.org

Accents by Carol . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19Art & Soul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37Barbara’s Fine Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25Bloomingails Consignment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32Bouvier Tax & Financial Services, Inc . . . . . . . . . . 36Brookgreen Gardens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40Burroughs & Chapin Art Museum . . . . . . . . . . . . 40Butler’s Electric Supply . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15Cabana Gauze . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21CHD Interiors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9Christopher’s Fine Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10City of Georgetown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29Coastal Dance Centre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41Consign@5th . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21David E . Grabeman, D .D .S ., P .A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15Distinctive Eyewear . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Dr . Jerry M . Guanciale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11Douglas Diamond . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37Eleanor Pitts Fine Gifts & Jewelry . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11En Face . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31Finders Keepers Consignment & Boutique . . . . . 8Frame Factory & Gallery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43Fran’s Clothing Company . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17Good Friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41Grady’s Jewelers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13Hair Solutions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37Hair Trends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36Hannah Bs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31Homespun Crafters Mall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43Inlet Queens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37Island Floors & Rugs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33Island Shoes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Island Vista . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29The Joggling Board . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27The Kangaroo Pouch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19Lets Dance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36Long Bay Symphony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43Maguire Law Firm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Marina Inn at Grande Dunes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15The Market Common . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7McLeod Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3Miller-Motte Myrtle Beach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10Palace Theatre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27Palmetto Ace Home Center . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13Pawleys Lifestyles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21Purpleologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32Rose Arbor Fabrics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25Salon Envy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32

Sassyfras . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17Scents Unlimited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36Sculpted Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5The Social Garden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9Southern Guys & Gals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36Strand Styling Studio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29Studio 77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19Sunset River Marketplace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37Take 2 Resale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27Taylor’s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31Taz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Too Qt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8TV33 South . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32WEZV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

Advertiser Index


Good Friends Luncheon An Hour for Lunch A YeAr for Charity

Thursday, December 8th 11:30 am – Social Hour

12:30 pm – Lunch & Program Pawleys Plantation

$20 per person Call 843-235-9878 for more information

Music! Door Prizes! Cash Bar!

100% of funds raised go to help those in need.

LOCATED NEXT TO THE PIGGLY WIGGLY AT

$39Eye ExamWhen you purchaseeyeglasses (frameand lenses).

Call 843.213.1201

• Designer Eyewear• Sunglasses• Unique Styles

BE SEEN.SEE AND

If no purchase is made there is a $99 exam fee at checkout. Expires 11/23/11

www.distinctiveeyewearmb.com

December 2011

Rejoice!

11The Scoop

5 5 5-6, 12-13

9 12 10-13

10-20 13 15

19 20 25

Christmas Bazaar, Bake Sale and Community Coat Drive, 10 am-3 pm, First United Methodist Church, Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-448-7164 or visit www.fumcmb.org.

St. Nicholas Orthodox Church Fashion Show & Luncheon, 12:30 pm, Dunes Golf & Beach Club, $25. For more info, call 843-283-2402 or visit stniksmb.org.

Art in the Park, 10 am-4 pm, 5-6 Chapin Park, 12-13 Valor Park, Market Common. For more info, call 843 446-7471 or visit www.artsyparksy.com.

Creative Exchange Series, “The Art of Making Easy Holiday Appetizers,” The Gallery Gals and others, Sunset River Marketplace, 10283 Beach Drive, Calabash N.C., 11 am-12:30 pm, lunch included, $7, RSVP required. For more info, call 910-575-5999 or visit www.sunsetrivermarketplace.com.

Shop ‘Til You Drop Expo, CB Community Center, 10 am-3 pm, Rt. 179 and Hwy. 17N at S.C. State line in Little River, dry or canned goods accepted for donation to local food bank. For more info, call 843-756-3494 or 843-504-4271.

30th Annual Dickens Christmas Show, Myrtle Beach Convention Center, Thurs.-Sat. 9 am-6 pm, Sun. noon-6 pm. For more info, visit www.dickenschristmasshow.com or call 800-261-5991.

Belles, Murrells Inlet Community Theatre. For times and ticket info, call 843-651-4152 or visit www.mictheatre.com.

Paws & Claus, fundraiser for the Grand Strand Humane Society, 1-4 pm, Myrtle Beach Women’s Club Gardens By the Sea, 5400 N. Ocean Blvd. Bring pets & kids for photos, $10 or $5 and bag of pet food. For more info, e-mail [email protected] or visit www.myrtlebeachwomensclub.com.

Bag Ladies Luncheon to benefit the Art Museum of Myrtle Beach, 11 am-1 pm, members $35, non-members $40. For more info, call 843-238-2510 or visit www.myrtlebeachartmuseum.org.

MB Annual Direct Sellers Christmas Open House, open to the public, 9 am-5 pm. Clarion Hotel, free. Shop for Christmas and win door prizes! For more info, call 843-903-0924.

Holiday Concert, Serendipity Singers, 3 pm, Belin UMC, Murrells Inlet, free. For more info, call 843-215-1171 or visit www.serendipitysingers.org.

Moveable Feast, Billy Baldwin discusses Unpainted South, 11 am, Inlet Affairs, $25. For more info, call 843-235-9600 or visit www.classatpawleys.com.

Visit www.sasee.com for a full calendar and

more Sasee events!

november



843-238-3622w

ww

.homespuncrafters.com

114-A Hwy. 17 N.Surfside Shopping CenterSurfside Beach, SC 29575Mon - Fri: 9 am to 6 pm

Sat: 10 am to 5 pm • Sun: 1 to 5 pm

AntiquesAvon

CollectiblesCountry Decor

Fabrics + Notions GlasswareHandbags

JewelryLuzier Personalized Cosmetics

Unique Handmade CraftsVintage Items

Wood ProductsWoodWick Candles

FOR TICKETS CALL: 843.448.8379TICKETS ALSO AVAILABLE ONLINE AT: www.LONGBAYSYMPHONY.com

Epic ProportionA Season ofN O V E M B E R / D E C E M B E R E V E N T S

HOUSE CONCERTS introducing a series of moreintimate concerts in a home setting with a quartet or quintet from the Long Bay Symphony andrefreshments. Tickets $35.

Saturday, November 5th at 7:00pm – 315 Ocean ViewDrive, Briarcliffe 5 Acre Ocean Estate as seen inChristies Magazine worldwide. Hosted by MaggieBoineau with Vintage Estates Christies MB.

Saturday, December 10th at 7:00 pm – 8814 N. OceanBlvd., Grande Dunes Oceanfront. Hosted by MichaelKing of KingOne Properties.

Saturday, December 17th at 7:00pm – Drs. Williamand Camille Mills residence, Conway.

CHAMBER ORCHESTRA CONCERT:Handel and Bach for the Advent SeasonSaturday, December 3rd at 7:30pm – First Presbyterian Church Great Hall on Grissom Parkway campus.

Sunday, December 4th at 4:00pm – Our Lady Star of the Sea Church, North Myrtle Beach.

2 0 1 1 - 2 0 1 2 S E A S O N

Give Your Mom, Sister, Best Friend orYourself the Gift that Lasts a Year!Special Introductory Offer 12 Issues for $24

NameAddressCityState Zip

Send check or money order toSasee Distribution

PO Box 1389Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

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Documents

Sasee November 2011