June 2019
Give a woman the right lipstick and she can conquer the world. -Anonymous-
pen! O w No ut our bo Ask a n special. i e v mo
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Jeffrey W. Horowitz, DMD, FAGD Cara Coleman Lawson, DMD Martin Bockler, DMD Shawna Collins, DMD
Advancing the Art and Science of Dentistry through Education.
Meet Dr. Collins!
At the Carolina Center for Advanced Dentistry, total patient care is always a priority. Amongst their talented clinicians is Dr. Shawna Collins. A graduate of Wofford College, Dr. Collins earned her D.M.D. degree from the Medical University of South Carolina where she was awarded the Sandra Thore Integrity Award and the Organization of Teachers-Oral Diagnosis Award. Upon graduation, Dr. Collins completed a General Practice Residency at Palmetto Richland Hospital in Columbia, S.C. Her passion for higher learning and teaching have been evident in her faculty positions at Marquette University and
Healthy, beautiful smiles!
Horry Georgetown Technical College, while her dedication to meticulous clinical care has been evident to patients for 24 years. Dr Collins accepts new patients who want to improve their overall health, enhance their smiles, and overcome dental fears.
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Letter from the Editor For years, housework has been my go-to remedy for most any kind of stress. Not the day-to-day cleaning that we all do automatically, but the tasks that involve real effort, like closets and windows. Recently I noticed that it was time to deep clean everything. But for some reason, using housework as stress relief wasn’t working as well as it once did, and I was having trouble motivating myself to organize and let go of things I no longer need. I tried Marie Kondo’s, “Does it bring joy?” technique, but I felt emotionally attached to everything I tried to throw away. Then, I came across a blog about house cleaning written by a writer I admire and loved what she suggested – to use housework as a way to be more mindful by focusing only on the task as hand and seeing this chore as a way to organize my life as well as my home by releasing stagnant energy in the form of clutter. I started with my closet and as I pulled everything out, I imagined letting go of the old and allowing in new energy. I really looked at every piece of clothing and accessory before I put it away – and I was able to easily let go of several bags of clothing that no longer fit or flattered! Why was I keeping these things? I ended up spending a very satisfying Saturday morning on this task. Doing the closet led to cleaning the entire bedroom, and now I’m on the way to having the entire house organized again. Thank you all for the kind and uplifting notes! I love hearing from Sasee readers. Happy June!
Cover Artist
Eyelash Girl, by Madison Latimer Madison Latimer is a plein air visionary artist. She creates art on her isolated reclusive farm in the rural Carolinas, with her muses, Guinea hens and peacocks by her side. She has exhibited nationwide for 35 years establishing a celebrity and international following. Madison’s artwork is on seven continents, including The Welcome Station in Antarctica. Born in the Piedmont of South Carolina, she was raised on her grandparents’ farm full of exotic birds. Heavily influenced by rural beginnings, Cézanne or Van Gogh could have easily been her play mates in the vineyards and red clay pastoral settings. As with most visionary artists, tragedy heavily influences her art. In the 1990s catastrophe transformed her art from mere whimsy to raw emotional art. She chooses to express that suffering of life through deliberate choice of joyous celebration. Madison’s art appeals to everyone carrying the message “Joy by Choice” and exudes the message “Changing the world one smile at a time!” Madison is exhibiting at the 40th anniversary of Piccolo Spoleto Outdoor Art Exhibition in Charleston from May 24th to June 9th. PSOAE is the longest running outdoor art show in America featuring more than 70 artists. To see more of her work, visit http://madisonlatimerart.com or www.joyceharveyfineart.com.
June 2019
Volume 18, Issue 6
8 12 14
A Clean Sweep by Jeffery Cohen
16 18 20
My Accidentally Inappropriate Email by Diane Stark
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Read It! Nicole Says…Read The Vanishing Man by Charles Finch Why Mama by Erika Hoffman
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Meet Betty Houbian and Patty Jackson Modern Day Slavery: Human Trafficking by Leslie Moore
30 34 35 36 40
Hair Today Gone Tomorrow by Diane DeVaughn Stokes
Advice for a Mermaid by Joan Leotta Heir to Facial Hair by Melissa Face
My Mother’s Lipsticks by Kim Delmar Cory The Power of the Well-Chosen Bra by Sara P. Kennedy
Kim Heilig: Murrells Inlet Dream by Leslie Moore 5 Fashion Ideas for a Fun Lunch Date by Tess DiNapoli The Takeaway Message by Erika Hoffman Sasee June Calendar
Publisher Delores Blount Sales & Marketing Director Susan Bryant Editor Leslie Moore Account Executives Stacy Danosky Erica Schneider Gay Stackhouse Art Director Patrick Sullivan Photographer & Graphic Artist Kelly Clemmons Web Developer Scott Konradt Accounting Gail Knowles Executive Publishers Jim Creel Bill Hennecy Suzette Rogers PO Box 1389, Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 www.sasee.com • info@sasee.com Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. 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 © 2019. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any material, in part or in whole, prepared by Strand Media Group, Inc. and appearing within this publication is strictly prohibited. Title “Sasee” is registered with the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office.
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A Clean Sweep by Jeffery Cohen
W
hen I was a young man and beginning to go out, my mother would have one question for me when I returned home from a date with a new girl. It was not, “Did you have a good time?” or “Where did you go?” or “What did you do?” My mother was only concerned about one thing. Before I even made it through the front door, my mother would meet me, stare into my eyes and ask, “Does her mother keep a clean house?” This came from a woman who, besides cooking, raising three sons, and juggling the bills to decide who to pay first and who could wait, prided herself in making certain that the home that we lived in was immaculate. Having everything dirt free, dust free and stain free was her aim, and although we never got to the stage of having the furniture hermetically sealed in plastic to protect it like some of my friends’ moms did, our house was spotless. “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” Mom would say as she smiled, then scooped up the jacket I had just laid across the back of a chair. After sliding it onto a hanger, wood, not metal, she’d hang it in the closet and nod with satisfaction. On Saturday morning, my two brothers and I were recruited to help in the weekly cleaning ritual. One would be handed a rag to wipe off anything that dust had settled on in the past week. Another would be given a stack of sheets and pillowcases to change all the bedclothes. I always opted for the vacuum cleaner – a big old standup monster that roared like a lion and sucked up just about anything in sight, including your pant leg if you weren’t careful. There were always other jobs to do before we were allowed to escape to go out and play ball or fly a kite – trash to take out, a sink to scour, a floor to sweep, but the real cleaning my mother didn’t trust to anyone but herself, so she wound up washing windows, mopping the kitchen floor and polishing every piece of wood she could get her hands on.
You would think that anyone growing up in nearly antiseptic surroundings would strive to live in that same sort of environment, but when I left home to go to college, I have to admit, I chose to be a little more relaxed about the “cleaning thing.” If my bed clothes didn’t get changed every week...or every other week...or every month, I didn’t worry about it. I held off dusting until I could write my name clearly on my dresser. And I can honestly say I don’t recall ever washing the floor unless I accidentally dropped a piece of pizza facedown, and even then, it was just a quick swipe with my wash cloth. I was perfectly happy to go through life easing up on house cleaning. Then I met my wife. People say that opposites attract, and when it comes to us and cleaning house, they couldn’t be more right. If I have a choice of watching football on TV or cleaning out the garage, give me a plate of hot wings. It’s game time. If I can scrub a floor or sip lemonade under a shady tree, all I want to know is where to set my lounge chair down. Don’t get me wrong. I do my share of housework. I’ll vacuum...when I think it needs it. I’ll dust the furniture...when I think it needs it. I’ll even wash the floor...when I think it needs it. The fact is, I just don’t think it needs it all that often, but if you ask my wife, it’s a daily occurrence. My wife loves to clean. That’s a fact. She can waltz around the kitchen with a mop and a bucket of suds and be happier than if she were dancing with Fred Astaire. The smell of an all purpose cleaner appeals to her more than the scent of Chanel number 5. Emerging from a cloud of cleanser, she is nearly euphoric. She prides herself on the extensive collection of bottles of cleaning fluids and cans of scouring powders she’s amassed, carefully arranged like a line of soldiers just waiting to make their assault on dirt, dust and bacteria of every known strain. I watch her plan her strategy, a general attack on germs, vowing to wipe out every
“Don’t get me wrong. I do my share of housework. I’ll vacuum...when I
think it needs it. I’ll dust the furniture...when I think it needs it. I’ll even wash the floor...when I think it needs it.
”
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June 2019
last one. She clutches her broom by the handle; her feather duster extended forward in her other hand like a sword, ready to command an unstoppable force. Charge! I get exhausted just watching her, but my attitude toward house cleaning has evolved. Live and let live is what I say. If my wife loves doing it, she can go right ahead, as far as I’m concerned. My only problem is, she insists on involving me in her favorite pastime, but in an ever so subtle a fashion. No sooner do I sit down to watch a favorite movie of mine, bag of chips at my side, glass of iced tea, she decides to run the vacuum cleaner so that I can’t hear a single thing except her saying, “Pick up your feet. Pick up your feet,” as she bangs the contraption into my legs so that she doesn’t miss a single spot. I bring a sandwich home from the corner deli and before I can unwrap it, she’s asking me if I’ve washed my hands, and in the same breath, she’s warning me not to drip anything on her newly waxed floor. As I’m about to take the first bite, she decides to start splashing ammonia and bleach in every direction to make sure I don’t get sick from all those nasty germs that may be waiting to jump onto my plate. What she fails to realize is, the chemicals that she is sloshing around will probably poison us both. There are those that look at me and see Oscar Madison, and my wife, Felix Unger – the odd couple. They wonder how we ever got together in the first place – such a total miss match...a slob and a clean freak. But, if you were to ask my mother...she’d tell you I wound up with the perfect woman. Mrs. Clean!
Jeffery Cohen
Freelance writer and newspaper columnist, Jeffery Cohen, has written for Sasee, Lifetime and Read, Learn, Write. He’s won awards in Women-On-Writing Contest, Vocabula’s Well Written Contest, National League of American Pen Women’s’ Keats Competition, Southern California Genealogy Competition, and Writer’s Weekly writing contest.
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Advice for a Mermaid by Joan Leotta
I
t was to be my first vacation experience without my parents – two weeks at the Atlantic Ocean with my Grandmother. I was ten years old and in spite of trying to learn to swim at Lake Erie when on vacation with my parents, I was still just a wader when it came to water. In my dreams I was a mermaid, even though my real-life experiences with swimming were not very successful.
seconds between the in and out movement. I turned toward shore to better spy shells as they rolled out. Lowering my head, I saw a flash of orange – a fan shell – perhaps a whole one! Reaching down, my full attention focused on that bit of color, hoping to secure it before the wave could pull it out again. Suddenly water crashed over my head. A huge wave, much larger than normal for the day, was sweeping in and up, pushing me over, rolling me around like a bit of shell.
My mother helped me pack. My father gave me five dollars (hey, it was the fifties and five dollars was a lot!) and the day before Grandma and I left, Dad sat me down, looked me in the eye and said, “Have a great time but remember this – never turn your back on the ocean.” I nodded in agreement. However, once I saw that vast expanse of water all I could think of was playing in it. After all, I fancied myself a mermaid and was sure the sea would pay me homage with gifts of lovely shells. For our first day at the beach, Grandma rented two beach chairs and sat down while I kicked off my shoes and headed down the sand to the water. My tender-skinned feet, recently released from those shoes, were a bit delirious with summer freedom. They propelled me in quick hops over the solar-heated hot white sand until at last they found relief in wave’s soft damp domain. My toes wiggled in a soft flow of water on the damp sand, the cool damp sand. At first, I just stood there taking in the sight as waves slithered around my toes. Then I ventured out to ankle length, as I walked, bits of shell poked and pricked at those tender soles. I lowered my head and walked a bit farther out, to mid calf level. Incoming waves rolled shells and pebbles along the bottom, tickling my toes as they pushed the sought-after detritus into shore then pulled it out again. I tried to peer through the water to the bottom in those few
I gasped and my mouth filled with water. Nasty water. I coughed and choked and I tried to stand up, but my feet kept slipping out from under me. I felt myself and the orange fan shell being pulled out as the wave receded back into the ocean. I closed my eyes. My mind must have snapped off for a moment or two. I opened my eyes and found my hand clasping the sturdy ankle of a woman who at first tried to shake me off and then reached down and pulled me to my feet, bringing my head out of the water. I was standing, but precariously, on the tips of my toes, almost floating, in water up to my shoulders. The wave had swept me much farther out than I had wanted to go, much farther than my limited ability to swim would/should ever take me. Through the water in my ear, I could hear the woman scolding me. Salt-water, tears and ocean mixed, blurred my vision of her. Gradually, I could see a large expanse of red bathing suit, on white legs and white arms flailing about, while scolding words came from a freckled face framed by a red swim cap. I think my savior thought I was pranking her. Before I could sputter out an explanation, the shrill shriek of the lifeguard’s whistle tipped through my ear bubbles into my consciousness. I turned toward shore and saw the lifeguard standing in his chair, pointing my way. I slogged back with the waves tickling those toes, tempting me to return to their domain. Slowly I made my way toward shore. At last I could stand, my feet flat on the sand, water only at waist level and I
“Suddenly water crashed over my head. A huge wave, much larger than normal for the day, was sweeping in and up, pushing me over, rolling me around like a bit of shell.”
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could almost run toward the heated sand where Grandma and the beach chairs waited for me. When I stepped out of the waves, a sand-covered, waterlogged Venus, I did not get the expected tongue lashing from the lifeguard – he was already on to someone else. When I got back to our chairs, I discovered my Grandma was asleep! She had missed it all. “Did you have a good time playing in the water? You certainly got sandy!” I didn’t tell her how afraid I had been, how the water had tried to claim me for its own. Instead, I submitted to her chiding and after stopping first at the hotel’s pool room showers – too much sand on me for us to even get on the elevator, we went back to the room and changed. The next day, I was faced with a decision: Go back into the water or stay away. I remembered my Dad’s wise advice: “Never turn your back on the ocean.” I realized I had turned my face away from the waves, turned my back on the ocean. I resolved to return to the ocean but keep an eye on it. As the waves came in, I laughed and played in them and occasionally bent down to swoop up a shell – but I kept one eye on the ocean as I did. Mermaid indeed, but now, a cautious one. I have since applied that advice to other life ventures and adventures. I traveled alone all over Europe at age 19 – left a bad job before obtaining a new one and secured an even better job though it was a poor economy at the time. When trying something new, I look at all the possibilities. I am not afraid, but I exercise caution. “Never turn your back on the ocean.” My father’s advice was the first I gave to my own children when we brought them to the beach. And I think it has served them well – at the beach and in life.
Joan Leotta
of Calabash, North Carolina, has been playing with words since childhood. She is a journalist, playwright, short story writer and author of several mysteries and romances as well as a poet. She also performs folklore and one-woman shows on historic figures.
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Heir to Facial Hair by Melissa Face
I
remember filling out beauty inventories from Glamour Magazine as a teenager. “What beauty product would you want with you on a deserted island?” was a frequent survey question. Back then, I probably answered lip gloss or face powder. Today, however, only weeks away from turning 40, my answer would be very different. In fact, I’m not sure it is even a true beauty product. It might be better classified as a gardening tool. Tweezers. I wouldn’t want to be on a deserted island, or anywhere else for that matter, without my tweezers. “Damn Eve, anyway,” I recall my great-grandmother saying. She frequently cursed the Biblical female while plucking her chin hairs. As a young girl, I watched her in horror, fingers-crossed, hoping that wouldn’t be my fate. I prayed I wouldn’t become heir to the whiskers of my female predecessors. But I did inherit them: the whiskers and the cursing. Long gone are the days when I could get away with Covergirl concealer and a little Wet n Wild lip gloss. I still wear concealer, but I’m definitely not “getting away” with anything. My face just looks old. It’s oily in the t-zone; I have zits, sun spots, creases in my forehead, and worst of all, the unwanted facial hair. In my mid-30’s, I had to add tweezing to my beauty routine. At first, there were only a few stray, coarse neck hairs. Then, I began needing a monthly lip wax. I’m fortunate to have an amazing stylist who doesn’t make me feel the least bit awkward about my facial hair. “You are one of many women,” she says. “People just don’t want to admit it.” I don’t blame them. It’s pretty gross. But I’ve made a habit of admitting things that many people won’t.
I sprinted to the clinic at my school and asked the nurse for tweezers. I went into the bathroom and plucked the demon hair. I swear it was at least two inches long, and plucking it stung so badly my eyes watered. I took a few minutes to glance at my reflection and thought, “This is it. This is what 40 looks like. This is my middle-aged face, and tweezing unwanted hairs is my new normal.” Tweezers are an essential part of my daily routine and a mandatory packing item. When I take trips, they’re at the top of the list, with my glasses and underwear right behind. So yes, that means I would rather be without clean underwear than have visible chin hairs. As much as I don’t want to draw attention to my plucking, I often risk being seen in my car performing this awful ritual. My husband drives and I sit in the passenger seat plucking chin hairs at stoplights. And I know I’m technically in public, but the lighting is just too perfect to resist. Plus, I would rather someone see me pluck than see what I looked like if I didn’t. And though I know it’s morbid, I’ll go ahead and announce now that I have decided I want to be cremated when I die. I read that hair can keep growing for several weeks after death. Maybe the truth is that skin simply retracts and gives the illusion of facial hair growth. Either way, I can’t risk the possibility of my body being exhumed, exposing my thick, dark mustache. There are some things the world just doesn’t need to see. Damn Eve, anyway.
“Long gone are the days when I could get away with Covergirl concealer and a little Wet n Wild lip gloss.”
Today, even the monthly waxes aren’t enough for me to remain hairless, and maintenance requires almost constant tweezing. Every now and then, one still escapes my efforts. For example, in the natural light of my workplace bathroom the other day, I noticed a black whisker poking out from my upper lip. It wasn’t a dark hair, lying down, waiting for me to deal with it at the end of the day. No, this hair was at attention, jutting out of my face, negating my attempts at looking presentable. It shouted, “Hey! You can’t hide me!”
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Melissa Face
is a teacher, writer, and mom of two, Melissa Face lives in VA with her family. Melissa’s work has been published in local and national magazines, as well as in Chicken Soup for the Soul. You can read more from her at melissaface.com.
June 2019
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My Accidentally Inappropriate Email by Diane Stark
I
’ve been a freelance writer for the past 12 years. I love my job and the editors I’m currently working for. But I’m also always looking for new magazines to write for too. Because I’m the mom in a blended family, I’m always trying to use that experience to help other women in the same situation. I had a great idea for a magazine article that would help moms in blended families have a better intimate relationship with their husbands. I wrote a query letter, which is just an email that described my idea, and sent it to a Christian marriage magazine. I’d never written for the magazine before, but I really, really wanted to. I was positively thrilled when the editor wrote back, expressing interest in the idea and asking to see the article. I hit what I thought was the forward button and typed the following message to my husband: “Hi Sweetheart! This article idea was accepted, and now I’m going to need your help with the research for the article. This is my first story for this magazine, so I want it to be perfect. So we’re going to need to do a LOT of research, but I’m sure you won’t mind! Love you Babe!”
I spent the remainder of the day glued to my email, alternately sweating bullets and praying that the editor would somehow overlook my crazy behavior and give me a second chance. But she didn’t respond to my accidentally inappropriate email or the subsequent apology. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night. The following morning, I woke up and saw a failure notice in my inbox. My heart stopped as I read it. My accidentally inappropriate email had failed to send. I was so relieved until I realized that now my editor would receive the apology email, which would seem quite strange since she’d never received the first message. I bit my finger nails and wondered what to do next. Apologize for the weird apology? Explain what had happened and hope she’d find it humorous? Wait to hear back from her? Go back to bed with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra ice cream? (I nixed the last idea when I realized that that kind of thing was what had landed me in this predicament to begin with.) Finally, I just decided to wait and see if she replied.
I hit send and then did a happy dance that my idea was accepted.
But the whole day went by without a peep from my editor.
Seconds later, I stopped happy dancing. I realized that I had not, in fact, hit the forward button, but the reply. My mouth gaped as I realized that I had just sent a very inappropriate email to an editor I’d never worked with before.
The next morning, there was a second failure notice in my inbox. Yes, against all odds, my apology email had failed to send as well.
And now, clearly, I never would. I freaked out and then composed the following apology: “I am so sorry for the extremely unprofessional email I just sent you. It was supposed to go to my husband, but I inadvertently sent it to you. I have never been more embarrassed in my life. I promise I am a professional (and not a flake!) and if you’ll give me another chance, my behavior will exhibit the utmost professionalism from here on.”
I was now back to square one. All of my angst was for naught. My editor was completely unaware of my crazy behavior. For all she knew, our last correspondence was her accepting my article idea. She was still expecting a perfectly normal freelance writer to send her a perfectly normal article on improving marital relations. But I’m not perfectly normal. For the next two weeks, every time I tried to write the article, I remembered what I’d done. I berated myself for being so unprofessional and then, I felt so down on myself that I couldn’t work on the article.
“Seconds later, I stopped happy dancing. I realized that I had not, in fact, hit the forward button, but the reply.” 16
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Months went by, and I never finished it. I never spoke to that editor again, nor did I write for that magazine. Blowing that chance has always been one of my biggest regrets as a writer. Until last summer. Last July, I signed up to attend a writer’s conference and that same editor was there. In the weeks leading up to the conference, I worried about bumping into her there. Would she recognize my name and remember that I’d sent in an article idea and then never completed the story?
was kind and friendly, so for some insane reason, I told her that this was not our first interaction. Yes, in a conversation with an editor I wanted to impress, I brought up my crazy inappropriate email from several years before. (I told you I’m not normal.) She laughed and said, “I do remember you now. Did you ever sell that story anywhere else? Because it’s a great idea. I’d still love to see it.” This time, I called my husband to request his help with the research.
I wanted to avoid her at the conference, but she was now the editor of a different magazine, one I’d already written for. I hadn’t worked with her directly, but she was the editor of a certain department in the magazine, and I had a great idea for it. Despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t avoid her and blow yet another chance.
Diane Stark
is a wife and mom of five. She loves to write about her family and her faith. Her essays have been published in over 20 Chicken Soup for the Soul books.
I made an appointment to meet with her at the conference. When I introduced myself, I watched her closely for signs she’d recognized my name. She clearly didn’t. I talked with her about my idea and she responded with interest. She
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My Mother’s Lipsticks by Kim Delmar Cory
I
t’s been nine years since I lost my mother yet here they remain.
My mother’s two lipstick tubes. Vestiges from her array of lipstick tubes lined up like tiny tin soldiers on her vanity years ago. Two faded gold lipstick tubes rest on the ledge of my bathroom counter. I move them when I clean. Occasionally I dust them. Always returning them to the exact spot on the ledge as though permanently moving them might diminish their significance. Every morning and evening as I perform my ablutions, I consider them. Sometimes open them and inhale their divine lipstick fragrance that transports me to another time and place from my childhood. I don’t recall how I came by them. Perhaps they were discovered in a cosmetic bag or jewelry pouch that found its way to me after her death. All I know is I cannot move them. Or throw them out. I could never wear these, my mother’s lipsticks from her later years: Tawny and Peony Pink. My mother was blonde and I am not. My daughter happily inherited her blonde hair. That is my mother’s legacy to her. My mother’s legacy to me is her lipsticks. As a child I watched my young mother don lipstick and pearls when going out for the evening with my father. She’d brush her thick blonde curls and swipe a mascara brush across her lashes. Saunter through a spritz of Wind Song perfume. Back then her lipstick color choices were more vibrant: Cherries in the Snow or Fire and Ice. I coveted her lipsticks. She would dab some on my lips, have me blot my mouth onto a tissue to even the color, and I was in heaven. In my mind, I had been transformed into my mother except, unlike my mother; I often had to scrape the reddish waxy substance off my front teeth.
the tube to a soft pink color on the wearer’s lips that she bought me when I was 16. She thought it the perfect first lipstick for a young lady. I twist a faded gold tube of one of my mother’s lipsticks open noticing how smooth and round the once steep waxy angle appears, worn down from daily use. When I was nine years old lipstick smelled to me like a music box sounds: delicate and mystical. I envision her checking her lipstick in the hallway mirror on her way out the door to make sure it hadn’t smudged, chatting as she did so. I remember my mother’s vibrant cerulean blue eyes above her Granada red lips, a slight blush of pink kissing her cheeks. How her eyes and lips smiled together. The connection I felt with her as a little girl when I wore her lipstick. They link me with her in a more personal way than anything else of hers. I don’t outline my lips as my mother did. I don’t blot as she did. I am a devil-may-care perhaps shoddy wearer of lipstick. I realize that wearing lipstick daily as she did is not something I aspire to. Shame on me. Yet every morning and evening when I see her lipsticks sitting on their narrow ledge, I smell and see and hear her. Feel the impenetrable bond between mother and daughter. Her legacy to me.
years old lipstick smelled to me like a music box sounds: delicate and mystical.”
There are other personal items of my mother’s that I hold dear. In one dresser drawer are three lovely neatly folded silk scarves that were hers. She wore them well. I do not. Along with a winter white clutch that I rarely use. We have converted to huge heavy purses that cross over our bodies and hold every cosmetic and digital device made. Elegant hand bags or pocketbooks have disappeared from society like real butter on popcorn. But it is my mother’s lipsticks that connect me to her. Even the magical Tangee lipstick popular decades ago that adapts from bright orange in
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Sasee.com
“When I was nine
Kim Delmar Cory
is the author of 5 mid-grade historical novels and a multitude of articles and essays. Her epitaph will read, “You can never have too many twinkle lights.”
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The Power of the Well-Chosen Bra by Sarah P. Kennedy
O
n a recent rainy weekend morning, my friend Janine sent me a text message: “Hey, girl, whatcha up to?”
“Nothing, just doing some laundry. You?” I replied. “Having coffee. Seriously considering putting on a bra,” Janine said. And there it is: the bra conundrum, a seemingly quick and innocent daily decision; but don’t be fooled – it’s important. Whether, and how, we holster the girls can set our intentions for the day and predetermines our level of confidence and enjoyment at events such as happy hour birthday parties after work, CrossFit training at the gym and tailgating at football games. If I don’t put on a bra, I am not leaving the house. If somehow you see me in public and I am not wearing a bra, please call emergency services because I clearly have lost my mind. Conversely, if I am at home, one of my greatest pleasures is not having to tug, twist and contort myself into a bra. If I do put on a bra, I’ve got decisions to make. Do I go “Boring Beige, Means Business” bra, or “Push ’em Up; It’s Time to Party” bra? How will my blouse, T-shirt, tank top look over it? Do I want my bra straps to show? Do I need a smooth appearance or a hint of lace? Will polka dots make me feel sassier or will a bold solid boost my self-assuredness? Here are my basic three categories and considerations for each: 1. Work/church/gym: Yes, I lump these three together because, essentially, I am looking for my bra to behave in the same manner in all of these circumstances. I am, shall we say, a substantive woman, and that includes the twins. Just like the rest of me, they are not as young and resilient as they used to be, and need lots of support. Spaghetti straps ain’t gonna cut it. I also do not want my cups to runneth over during a planning meeting or Pilates move. I want the girls to work behind the scenes, like good stagehands at the ready, providing assistance but never, ever appearing before the audience. This does not mean my breasts cannot be frocked in hot pink, but that’s a secret that needs to stay between me and Victoria.
moxie. At any rate, when I get dressed for an evening out with friends, I’m sucking everything in and up with a little help from Spanx and a sexy bra with strategically placed Lycra and underwire. I want a little lace, braiding or bow on the strap – and a shapely, lower-cut front to accent my assets and let the girls move a little when Whitney comes on the sound system. 3. Tailgating: There is nothing like a good Southern tailgate party. Dressing the part of an avid fan without looking like my husband’s twin in an oversized football jersey – or like a wannabe Real Housewife – takes some planning. My upper undergarment must be both cute and supportive, so I can look good while enjoying pre-game wings at the Cockabooses in Columbia – and later while jumping up and down during the game without fear of a Janet Jackson-esque wardrobe malfunction. So I go work-party hybrid bra: a smooth design, in my team’s colors, with perhaps a little bling – too much is tacky – to appeal to my inner (and outer) cheerleader. Choosing the right bra – or none at all – can boost my spirit as well as my bustline. But before I contemplate convertible vs. racerback, or demi vs. balconette, I’m going to have to have another cup … of coffee.
leaving the house. If somehow you see me in public and I am not wearing a bra, please call emergency services because I clearly have lost my mind.”
2. Going out with the girls: This is the time to channel my inner Susan Sarandon (think Bull Durham or White Palace – not the one in which she plays a nun). Or I might even go Beyonce if I’m really feeling the
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“If I don’t put on a bra, I am not
Sasee.com
Sarah P. Kennedy
is a freelance writer and former teacher who likes writing about everyday life, and the humor and grace that can be found in it. Her blog can be found at Gosarahkennedy.com.
June 2019
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–Read It!–
Nicole Says…Read These Books The Vanishing Man, by Charles Finch (Charles Lennox #0.5) Charles Lennox is trying his hand at being a detective. Not for money, but for the delight in using his talents to help others. However, when the Duke of Dorset calls upon him, he wonders if he has chosen the right trade. Lennox knows that London has a dark side, but he is baffled by the missing portrait of the Dorset’s relative. Surely there were more important things for a thief to take, but as Lennox continues to press the details, he finds himself caught up in an intricate plot surrounding a decade’s old secret and…Shakespeare, himself! Charles Finch has provided a fascinating mystery for fans of historical fiction and detective series. Both Shakespeare and Sherlock Holmes would be proud of all the twists and turns throughout this story. The Vanishing Man is a prequel to a well-established series that will have readers hooked by the first chapter. Historical London comes alive in the pages, and readers will feel like they are walking the streets with Charles Lennox. Charles Finch is a definite must-read author! Do you ever have trouble deciding what to read next? A few weeks ago, I filled a tote bag with books, and I asked Mom and the boys to randomly surprise me with my next read. I have to tell you, this system is fantastic and it has turned into a Sunday tradition! This was my first “blind” read. I had never heard of Charles Finch before, but by Chapter 2, I was hooked! This is considered a prequel to the lengthy series, so I have a lot to catch up on. Trust me; you will be transported to 1860s London as you try to crack the case. For me, what defines an excellent mystery is the fact that I cannot completely guess the ending. I grew up with Nancy Drew and Clue, so I pride myself on my detective reading skills. When a book manages to surprise me, I have to recommend it to others. So before you head to the beach, make sure you bring along this story for an exciting adventure!
Why Mama by Erika Hoffman Fancy was told her parents died by murder-suicide, but she doesn’t believe the cops. Forced to live with her sister, Eve, and her wretched husband, Fancy is desperate to find answers. With the help of her friend Judy, who found her parents on that fateful day, the search for the truth, unveils some dark family secrets. Will they ever find out what really happened, or will the secrets of the past put their lives in jeopardy? Told from alternating points-of-view, readers experience the various perspectives of three very different women. Set in the ‘70s, Hoffman provides a rich atmosphere that comes alive. Filled with tiny details, readers will be duped a few times as they try and solve the mystery. Why Mama is an intense, gripping story that will keep readers on the edge of their seats. If you are an avid Sasee reader, you will surely recognize this author’s name. Erika Hoffman is known for her hilarious columns and poignant family tales. She published this book by winning a 2018 contest with the Library Partners Press of Wake Forest University. This dark, coming-ofage, adult mystery is ideal for fans of Gradle Bird and My Sunshine Away.
Reviews by Nicole McManus
Nicole loves to read, to the point that she is sure she was born with a book in her hands. She writes book reviews in the hopes of helping others find the magic found through reading. Contact her at ARIESGRLREVIEW.COM.
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Meet Betty Houbian and Patty Jackson Modern Day Slavery: Human Trafficking by Leslie Moore
More than just a magazine, Sasee is a community of women (and men). Most months we like to keep things lighthearted and fun, giving you a break from your everyday life. But not this month. Recently, I met with two courageous women who are working to eliminate a horrible crime that happens daily in our beautiful community. A crime that affects all of us – regardless of your race, religion or socio-economic status. This crime is human trafficking.
Betty Houbion
W
hen I was researching an article about human trafficking, a name kept popping up. Betty Houbion is the Advocacy Chair of the Zonta Club, Myrtle Beach, and a driving force in the fight against human trafficking. Betty’s efforts have led to new laws severely punishing those who enslave others for gain and the buyers of services these trafficked people provide. “Human Trafficking is a business, a big business,” Betty began. “It earns 150 billion plus dollars annually worldwide. It’s a high revenue, low risk industry – a person has a shelf life of 7-15 years and can be used over and over.” Betty told me most victims either die from their abuse or are murdered when they’re no longer useful. They are forgotten, but for those other than criminals, they are not throwaways. The fortunate victims found become survivors, to meld eventually into a life of some normalcy. Thanks to Law Enforcement Advocates, Witness/Victim Specialists, Victim Service Providers and healthcare professionals, victims move out of a trauma-imposed shell to find their own propriety, destiny, and above all, dignity. They become survivors. They begin to thrive on their own, as their lives become that of post-traumatic outgrowth. Betty stressed that although most victims of sex trafficking in South Carolina are over the age of 30, we must look at the big picture. It is not only women who are trafficked. This industry enslaves men, women, boys and girls in domestic servitude, labor without compensation and sexual exploitation. The housekeepers at the luxury hotel, the landscapers at a golf course – any of these workers may be being coerced or threatened into working long hours without pay. Many of the traffickers are members of criminal gangs which now have a huge presence in South Carolina. Largely through Betty’s tireless efforts, South Carolina now has much stricter laws governing human trafficking. “I had worked with a similar
26
organization in Illinois, and when we moved here in 2005, I discovered there were no laws on the books against human trafficking,” Betty remembers. ‘It took a lot of work getting our message out to legislators, but in 2012, a fairly complete law was passed. The state can now seize all of a trafficker’s assets, as well as prosecute both the trafficker and those who purchase services provided by trafficked human beings. Most importantly, South Carolina also has a vacating law for victims of human trafficking, and a safe harbor law for minors exploited by traffickers. This law ensures that minors will move from court to victim service provider, and not be thrust back out into the street to be preyed upon again. Plus traffickers will be sentenced to 30 years in prison without parole. We can stand proud. Now, we need prosecution of the more than 100 open cases throughout the State.” I asked Betty why people didn’t just run away from their captors and was surprised by her answer. “It’s hard getting women away – a runaway teenager may have come from a much worse situation, and they don’t want to leave – it’s a form of Stockholm syndrome. Laborers are being threatened with harm to their families or intimidated through manipulation of official documents, like passports, green cards, etc. Traffickers prey on the vulnerabilities. As one pimp said ‘I offer them dreams.’ They give their victims another identity. Click! They are literally trauma-bonded, unrecognizable.” Betty continued with this hair-raising story. “Recently we were able to prevent a 17-year-old from falling into the hands of a man who had just been released from prison for human trafficking. He found this girl online, romanced her, sent her a pearl necklace, and had arranged to meet in person. Fortunately, her mother was watching her text messages and found out who he was. She called the FBI and was able to save her daughter. All of this happened on the same day – if her daughter had met this man, there’s a good chance she would never have seen her again.” “Right now we have a good opportunity to stop this crime in South Carolina. There are regional taskforces made up of local citizens throughout the state. Everyone needs to become aware – you don’t have to do much to have a major impact. In our area we have the Coastal Regional Human Trafficking Task Force which serves the Pee Dee and Grand Strand area. It’s free to join. Awareness is the trailhead to prevention.”
Sasee.com
June 2019
Patty Jackson
E
legant and lovely, Patty Jackson seems the type of woman who would be more comfortable dressed to the nines and attending a gala than talking about the horrors of human trafficking. Instead she is the Co-Chair of the Coastal Region Human Trafficking Task Force, giving many hours of her time each week promoting awareness and working behind the scenes to stop this crime.
“Every human being should be interested in knowing about human trafficking – and becoming so aware they can see it and hopefully save a victim or prevent an innocent person from being victimized,” Patty began our conversation with the hardest statistic to comprehend, “41% of children victimized in South Carolina are being trafficked by a family relation. Elementary, middle and high school students are coming to school every day trying to act normal when they’re enduring unimaginable horrors at home, inflicted by someone who is supposed to love and care for them. The fact that children are being sold for sex is reason enough for every person to stand up and use their personal and professional realm of influence to stop human trafficking.” There are also criminals, gangs and mafias targeting boys and girls, 1016 years of age, to sell them as sex and labor slaves. The most vulnerable are runaway or homeless children who have no food to eat or a place to sleep. Also, at high risk are children with big troubles at a young age in the social service, foster or juvenile justice systems. Children with loving, caring parents are also at risk if they happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. As an example of why parents need to be informed and cautious, Patty continued with a shocking story about a family who let their teenage children spend the afternoon at an amusement area and Uber back to their hotel. “After an afternoon of fun, the teenagers waited for Uber, and when a car pulled up they got in. Immediately, they realized this was not their Uber when the real Uber driver pulled up behind the car they were in and texted them to get out. Because the Uber driver followed closely, honking and flashing headlights, the driver let the children out of his car.”
with hundreds of volunteers from Horry and Georgetown counties, to reach every public and private sector of the Coastal Region of South Carolina with human trafficking awareness and education, is sort of like organizing a small country,” Patty laughed. “We have a dynamic leadership team representing law enforcement, health care, business, education, civic, faith-based, and government organizations.” Patty insists we can all help if we are alert to the people around us and know how to assess a potential human trafficking situation. This next story shows how one observant individual saved a life. “This individual was having dinner in a restaurant and noticed a man walk in with a young girl, obviously not his daughter, and watched as he ordered a beer and shots,” Patty began. “He drank the beer, but pushed the shots to the girl. Without hesitation because of previous human trafficking awareness training, the observer knew how to assess and report this scenario. Within a few minutes, law enforcement arrived and took both the man and the girl away. As it turned out, this young girl who had just arrived at the airport, alone, from another country, and picked up by this older man, is a scenario of international human trafficking. Internet connections and electronic arrangements have moved sex and labor slavery just under the surface of where we live our lives every day.” *** Because of my time with Betty and Patty, there are several things I know we all can do. First, if you can, volunteer. Call the phone numbers at the end of this article. If you can’t volunteer, invite Patty to speak at your civic group, your church group, your garden club…wherever caring people come together. And, if you see someone you believe is being trafficked, call 888-373-7888 or text 233733 (BEFREE). You’ll be connected to Homeland Security to say what you have seen and will never have to testify or be contacted again. Of course, if you see someone being kidnapped, call 911 and then call or text these numbers. If you are a victim, please text 233733 and you will be rescued, taken to a safe place and provided help to get your life back. Don’t give up, there is hope. We can all do something. Contact Betty Houbian at bhoubian@yahoo.com or call 847-373-4158. Contact Patty Jackson at pattyjackson719@gmail.com or call 937-867-4802. On JULY 25th and 26th, a FREE human trafficking training opportunity is available in our region! Developing a Community Response for High Risk Victims of Child Sex Trafficking and Exploitation will be held at Horry Georgetown Technical College/Conway Campus. Get in touch with Betty or Patty for more details.
I was curious how Patty got involved. “I read an article written by South Carolina Attorney General, Alan Wilson, about human trafficking. I was shocked by what I learned and realized I have to do what I can do to help. Innocent people are becoming victims.” Patty continued. “Kathryn Moorehead is the coordinator of our South Carolina Human Trafficking Task Force for the Attorney General and when they began organizing a task force in our region, I became involved.” Patty’s background is in organizational structure, so this work is perfect for her. “Organizing a task force with state defined strategies, consisting of twelve subcommittees,
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Hair Today Gone Tomorrow by Diane DeVaughn Stokes
A
ll women have some “HAIR-raising” horror stories. At one time or the other we have changed hair dressers only to face disaster returning to our former salon specialist with our tails between our legs begging for forgiveness like a lover who has blatantly cheated. After all, our hair is a source of pride. It has been described as the frame around the oil painting that completes the art!
These two processes were big in the sixties; the Mod-Squad decade of lime green and pink geometric patterns that only looked good if you had the hair to go with it. That was the icing on the cake.
My hair issues began early, as my mom would tape bows to my head when I was young because I only had blonde fuzz till I was almost two years old. Even with a pink bow, folks still thought I was a boy. Then once it started to grow, pigtails were in fashion, and I looked exactly like the little girl in the Coppertone advertisement with the cute dog tugging on her pants. And I had the deep dark chocolate tan to go with it.
And I kept mine through to the mid-eighties, until Farrah Fawcett taught us that multi layers of curls were softer and more stylish than the plain old Flip! So we all pulled our hair high above our heads, a ponytail shooting out of our scalp resembling Pebbles Flintstone, cutting off an inch or two and voila! We had instant starlet looking tresses without needing a professional hairdresser. When I look back on my TV shows from that era, I was totally in fashion with the Hollywood types: Big hair, big mouth and big boobs!
But what possessed my mom to give me a Lilt Permanent every year is beyond me. I guess she was swayed by the television ad promise of soft silky curls. Or was it the desire to have me look like Shirley Temple whose movies we never missed? If so, forget about it! None of that worked. My permanent waves were a tight, kinky, poodle-like mess. It was an Afro long before it was cool to have an Afro. I hated it. But she was a working mom and perhaps she saw this as an easy way to deal with my hair quickly in the mornings. I now forgive her. Ironically, when I got to high school when gorgeous straight hair was the fashion, mine started to develop a slight natural curl. So I took up the habit of ironing it every morning using a dishcloth so as to not burn or singe it. Some of you reading this are smiling ‘cause you did the same neck breaking ritual. And when summer rolled around, out came the Summer Blonde spray that brightened even the dingiest, mousey-brown locks like mine.
Then in my senior year in high school and all through my college days, the Flip was the thing! When I looked back recently at my yearbooks, almost every woman had one.
Needless to say, up until that point I never needed a regular hair stylist. But the nineties found me needing some color balancing and a sassier look. I found that my job on TV, coupled with my age, called for more brightness to my face. Yes, I needed to be blonder! However, just like many of you, I had some major disasters. But unlike you who were able to hide from the world the next day and call in sick, I had to appear on LIVE TV! I nauseatingly recall my most embarrassing fiasco when I left a Myrtle Beach salon looking like a calico cat! Hey, I own a calico cat. But I looked like the type of calico that no one wants to adopt because it is so mottled and ugly! So the next day, when I went on the air, I told the story about facing the worst hair dresser ever the day before and promised the viewers that tomorrow I would look better as I had an appointment with a correction specialist after the show. I knew being honest was the way to go because every
“So we all pulled our hair high above our heads, a ponytail
shooting out of our scalp resembling Pebbles Flintstone, cutting off an inch or two and voila! ” 30
Sasee.com
June 2019
woman could identify. And I had dozens of phone calls afterwards, asking me who did the nasty deed! And yes, of course I told them the truth. Thank goodness this cosmetologist finally left town and closed up shop. Next up was the totally layered all over look that made me look like Rod Stewart! And if it was not moussed correctly, it became heavy and limp and looked like a dirty greasy mop. I realized quickly that I was not “cut” out for this hairstyle, if you’ll excuse the pun. Maybe I was using too much product, or maybe my hair was not thick enough to poof up correctly. Either way, I started to let it grow into a short bi-level bob. And it goes without saying I was suddenly at the magic age where I needed color on my roots. But lately after having various versions of the bob for fifteen years, my hairdresser, JP suggested I let it grow just to my shoulders with a Flip once again which she says is making a comeback. It’s easy and I like it, but the art inside the frame does not look as good as it used to. What I am trying to say, it’s the same flip I had in high school and college, but it’s not the same face! So I am trying to adjust to reality.
And most recently due to an illness that is currently under control and stable, I am well aware that I will need chemo in the future, hence the title of this article, “Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.” Just like all women, losing your hair is traumatic and humbling so I am currently holding onto and cherishing every single strand. Yes, holding on as tightly as I can.
Diane DeVaughn Stokes
Diane is the host and producer for “Inside Out” as seen on HTC TV Channel 4, and serves as a commercial spokesperson for several local businesses. She and her husband Chuck own Stages Video productions in Myrtle Beach and share passions for food, theater, travel and scuba diving. They own three four legged kids that they adore!
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Kim Heilig: Murrells Inlet Dream by Leslie Moore
“We have learned so much and made a lot of great connections through this process. It’s wonderful to get positive feedback from others in the fashion world. These are happy handbags! We want to make women happy!” Kim and Beverly have plans to expand their line, adding leather bags in the near future. Creating handbags has brought mother and daughter much closer as well. “Mom and I talk every single day, usually while she’s putting on her makeup and I’m driving to work,” Kim laughed telling me about their unique business meetings. When I asked about the price point, Kim explained. “The options we found for a good quality straw handbag were that you can spend $300 or less, but you won’t get the quality you want. If it stands up on its own, it will be hard as a brick and if it isn’t hard, it won’t stand up. On the very high end, these types of bags run $800-$900 and up, so we decided on a happy medium.” The Amalfi’s raffia straw is hand-woven in Italy and finished with Italian leather. Each bag has a freshwater pearl inside of a brass, gold tone cage on the cloche. This signature finish adds a touch of elegance and who doesn’t love pearls!
K
im Heilig couldn’t image living anywhere else than her beloved Murrells Inlet. “I’m originally from Marion, South Carolina, and came here to attend Horry Georgetown Technical College. I met my husband, a CCU graduate and we settled in Murrells Inlet.” Today, the couple lives with their two canine furbabies, and Kim works as facilities and project manager for Capital Vacations.
“We just launched our website a month ago and I’m working with a few boutiques in Pawleys Island that we hope will soon be carrying our handbags,” Kim said as we finished our chat.
Visit Swatzell + Heilig at www.shhandbags.com to see Kim and Beverly’s creations!
Kim’s mom, Beverly Swatzell, lives in Texas, but mother and daughter share a (sometimes long distance) passion for shopping, especially antique shopping. “We just love walking around looking for treasures,” Kim began. “One day we were shopping and talking about handbags. Mom said, ‘Why don’t we create our own?’ and that’s how our handbag company, Swatzell + Heilig, was born!” Kim and Beverly wanted to start with a good quality straw handbag that would hold its shape and last for many years. Their first handbag, the Amalfi, is that perfect straw bag. “We worked with Maker’s Row, who guided us through the process of bringing our dream to life. We also worked with a wonderful architect who took our ideas and created professional drawings we could send to a manufacturer.” Kim continued, saying, “Having our bags made in the USA is a big deal to us. It does cost a bit more, but to us, it is worth it.”
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June 2019
5 Fashion Ideas for a Fun Lunch Date by Tess DiNapoli
Choosing a lunch date outfit is fun and exciting! Whether I’m grabbing eats from a local food truck and taking a walk or sitting down somewhere nice and fancy, it’s important to be dressed appropriately. The Movie Date Matinee movies are great for a lunch date because the tickets are usually cheaper and the theaters less crowded. When selecting an ensemble for a movie date, I look for something comfortable enough to recline in for a long period of time and not too constricting following a meal. A vintage graphic tee with my favorite pair of skinnies is a go-to outfit for a casual date like a movie. The Dine-In Date Going to a dine-in restaurant is a typical lunch date, but it doesn’t have to be boring. I wear my cutest, most feminine outfit for a sit-down restaurant – think ruffles, lace and floral patterns and grab a cover-up like a light sweater or the ever-trendy denim jacket, since some restaurants can be a bit chilly. Broadway at the Beach (843) 445-7910 Barefoot Landing (843) 281-0736
The Stay-at-Home Date A lunch date doesn’t always have to mean leaving the house. Staying in and cooking or ordering take-out is fun! For an outfit, I try putting together something ultra-comfy that I can still wear outside the house. A t-shirt dress, a simple tunic top with leggings, or a cozy sweatshirt with matching joggers provide that comfy, casual look. The Food-Truck-Tour Date Who doesn’t love a good food-truck feast? For this occasion, I pick out something trendy and casual like a flirty tank and jeans or a flow-y maxi dress. Both pair great with sandals or shoes with a bit more structure for walking around.
Upscale Consignment Shop
The Do-It-Yourself Date A DIY date can mean taking a cooking class, rolling our own sushi, or creating custom wines. The perfect outfit to complement a hands-on experience is something simple with little to no embellishments. A form-fitting top and palazzo pants with flats gives me the comfort to move around and fully immerse myself in the activity. If there is an apron involved, I can tie it on without feeling like I’m adding bulk.
ing loth es c ories, i d a l cess & & ac e decor m o ! e h mor
The thrill of going on a lunch date is almost as exciting as picking out the outfit! I always consider choosing pieces appropriate for the weather, the setting, and the activity. And I keep my closet full of items I can wear for almost any outing. This way, on any lunch date, I’m ready to pull together an outfit perfect for the occasion. Tess DiNapoli is a fashion writer and content strategist. She specializes in collaborative branding efforts with up-and-coming designers, fashion companies, and boutiques, such as Rustic & Refined (www.shoprandr.co).
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The Takeaway Message by Erika Hoffman
I
’d been asked to teach men at a homeless shelter how to compose a story. I pen inspirational, true tales like those in The Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies. So, I showed up, told the gatekeeper I was here to see the chaplain, and parked in front of the shelter where men moseyed about. Upon my entering, the chaplain greeted me. I liked his bowtie and spiffy attire; he reminded me of what Urkel on TV might have looked like as a fifty-year-old. He escorted me to a gargantuan room where he handed me a mic whose box I attached to my waistband, not easily because I don’t have a lot of room between the tight waistband and my body. I hung the doohickey around my ear with the mic in front of my mouth and glanced up to see 60 men staring at me. As I walked up and down the aisles, I instructed them. “Each story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Don’t be boring. Start with a good hook. Lure your reader.” I emphasized creating an emotion in the reader, be it sadness, laughter, or curiosity. “Most importantly, the writer has to impart a takeaway message. There must be something inspiring about your story!” I emphasized. Like any teacher worth her chalk, I gave them an assignment: Write a story for next week. When I returned seven days later, the cheerful chaplain was at the doorway, dressed to the nines. “I like your bowtie,” I remarked. He smiled and said how much the men enjoyed my lesson and confided he’d been worried it might not go over well, but I was a hit. So, buoyed with the knowledge I was making a wee bit of a dent in the lives of these homeless, addicted, or jailed men on work release, I felt confident as I strode into the cavernous room with the captive audience. Unfortunately, the mic was broken. I lost my Oprah swagger without the auditory amplification. So, I started with a review. “What do you recall from last week?” A hand shot up. “A lot is two words.” “Good. Anything else?” A man, who would look intimidating had you met him in a dark alley, said, “Start out with a hooker.”
Everyone burst out howling. “A hook,” I corrected. “But, if you started a story with a hooker, well, that might get the reader’s attention.” They laughed again.
I had them condense their stories to six words and wrote the example of Hemingway’s six-word story on the board: For sale: baby shoes never worn. “What do you think is the story behind that?” I queried. “The shoes didn’t fit,” offered one. “The kid liked to be barefoot,” said another. “The fellow needed money and hocked the shoes,” shouted a third. I praised their ideas and added that many possibilities exist for a story within this simple six-word one. “Perhaps, the buyer of the shoes never got to visit the baby; perhaps the baby died; perhaps there was an abortion.” The fellows looked serious. Their six-word stories varied in appeal. Later, I asked who had a longer story to read. Only one hand rose – a white guy in the back of the class. He strode to the front and with a booming voice delivered his tale. He told of being 17, getting drunk with friends, being chased by police cars, crashing his car and subsequently being arrested and expelled from high school and never returning to finish his education. The guys laughed at parts. He recited this story in a way that showed he naturally understood narrative thrust. After complimenting him on his ability to hold everyone’s attention, I advised he may need to add a paragraph with the takeaway message – what he had learned from his misspent youth. He stood there a full minute, thinking hard. I waited with anticipation. Finally, he said: “Don’t drink and drive.” Everyone hee-hawed. I didn’t belabor the point he might want to expand on the inspiration. The third time, the chaplain greeted me in a hound’s-tooth jacket and matching bowtie. The mic worked he said and repeated how much the guys enjoyed the class. I noticed unfamiliar faces toward the back and realized the occupants of the shelter change. I read a story published in a Chicken Soup of the Soul anthology called The Power of Gratitude because I know these guys are retraining their brains to think differently to act differently. The latest studies on happiness conclude that the key is feeling gratitude, so I read my story about almost drowning and about
“The story resonated with the group, and fellows laughed loudly during
the story telling about his dilemma, and how his mama insisted he must talk to the ladies, but instead he jumped out a window and fled.
”
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June 2019
subsequent problems I’d experienced due to a bubble of blood which formed on my brain from the adrenaline-fueled effort I expended to survive. At the end of my rendition, they burst into applause as if I were a theatrical star taking a bow. The sixty faces – mostly all attuned – stared at me, but no one offered to read his story. I always have a back-up plan, so I read an essay written by Terri Elders about how she defended writing inspirational stories when a would-be novelist called that genre “smaltz-y.” When I concluded the excerpt, the fellows applauded loudly again. The chaplain gestured to a fellow, who had a story he wanted to read. I asked him the title. “Loverboy,” answered the nice-looking black man. He read his account about a knock at his mama’s front door and a knock at his mama’s back door. At each door stood a woman he was dating who had found out about each other because one had given him a ring which he turned around and had given to the other, and the one who gave it recognized the ring on the other woman when she spotted her at McDonalds fulfilling an order. His, too, was a fast- paced narrative and entertaining. The story resonated with the group, and fellows laughed loudly during the story telling about his dilemma, and how his mama insisted he must talk to the ladies, but instead he jumped out a window and fled. After we all congratulated him on his tale which certainly kept our attention, I asked him for his takeaway message and told him he must tack on something inspirational. He pondered a long time and finally said: “Date women from different states.”
Maybe I taught them something? Maybe we shared a few laughs which brightened their day? Maybe I’ll return when a new group matriculates into the rescue mission? And what about me? What did I, at my 60+ age, learn from my experiences with folks down on their luck who most likely come from a different world than any I’ve known. I learned no matter a person’s financial status, gender, race, age, IQ, physical attributes or ability to learn, we all are joined by certain emotions, and although we’ve not experienced the same mode of life as another, there will be things that resonate for all of us. We have more in common than we have in differences. That’s my take-away.
Erika Hoffman
lives with her better half in Chapel Hill, N.C. Her children are grown and having their own children. So now she spends a lot of time writing, reading, and thinking. Her mystery “Why Mama” was published in the spring of 2019.
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Megan Lost 65 pounds with Dr. Sattele’s Rapid Weight Loss Program and completely changed her relationship with food...
Join Our Program Today and let us help you too! My name is Megan Duncan. I am 34 years old and originally from Florence. I moved away for about 15 years but my husband and I moved back to Florence about 2 years ago. I have never been a small girl. I grew up an athlete so I was always active but I never really felt comfortable with my appearance. After finishing my career as an athlete in college, I stopped being so active, however, I did not stop eating whatever I wanted. Over the years I continued to gain weight. I would fluctuate 10-15 pounds every now and then, but always thought if I became more active, I could lose the weight. When I got engaged, I wanted to look great in my dress for the big day as most brides do. I worked out every day in the gym for 9 months and lost maybe 10 pounds. It was extremely difficult to find the motivation to go everyday as I wasn’t seeing the weight come off or any improvement in my appearance. After the wedding, I stopped working out and the weight came back along with another 10 or 20 pounds. After a few months of
wearing nothing but loose, black clothing, I decided I had to take action. A friend of mine at work suggested that I try Dr. Sattele’s Rapid Weight Loss Plan. I started in July of 2018. In the first week I lost 14 pounds! I know some of it was water weight, but it kept me motivated to stay on the plan. It is now April of 2019 and I have lost 65 pounds. Prior to the plan, I was wearing a 14/16 womens pant size and I am now in a 6. I honestly never thought it was possible for me to fit into a size 6 pant. Losing weight has really made a big impact on my life. I have more motivation to get out and be productive. I still work out some but only because it isn’t as difficult since I am carrying less weight. I find running to be much more enjoyable than it was before. The motivation I gained has carried into my job, my hobbies, and my overall outlook in life. In sharing my testimonial, I want people to understand that changing your lifestyle and eating habits is not always easy. The body is getting used to the changes in your appetite. However with Dr. Sattele’s program, he gives you an easy plan to follow and makes you very aware of the foods to stay away from. The weekly visits also motivate you to continue losing the weight and help you stay accountable. Thank you to Dr. Sattele and his team for helping me reach beyond my weight loss goals.
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4, 18, 25 ~ Calabash Concert Series Tuesdays, 6pm, 868 Persimmon Road, Calabash, NC. For more info, call 910-579-6747 or visit http://calabashtown.com/calabash-summer-concert-series. 6-9 ~ Carolina Country Music Fest 812 North Ocean Blvd, Myrtle Beach. For more info, visit www.carolinacountrymusicfest.com.
19-29 ~ Brookgreen Summer Music Festival weekly, Wed.-Sat., Brookgreen Gardens. Free with garden admission. For more info, call 843-235-6000 or visit www.brookgreen.org. 21 ~ Simply Tina (Tina Turner Tribute) Sounds of Summer Concert Series, 7pm, NMB Park & Sports Complex at the Sandhills Bank Amphitheater in the McLeod Seacoast Meadow. For more info, call 843-280-5574 or visit http://parks.nmb.us.
6-27 ~ Music on Main Thursdays, 7-9pm, 8, 22-Main St.; 1, 15, 29-Horseshoe on Ocean Blvd; North Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-280-5574 or visit http://parks.nmb.us.
29 ~ Conway Riverfest An American Celebration, Riverfront in Conway, 11am-10pm. For more info, call 843-248-2273 or visit www.conwayscchamber.com.
7-28 ~ Ocean Isle Concert Series Fridays, 6:30-8pm. Museum of Coastal Carolina parking lot, E. Second St., Ocean Isle Beach, N.C. For more info, call 910-398-2538.
29-30 ~ Art in the Park 10am-4pm, Chapin Park, 1400 N. Kings Hwy, Myrtle Beach. For more info, call 843-446-3830 or visit www.artsyparksy.com.
14 ~ Jazz at the Winyah Wayne Cockfield and Friends, 7:30pm, Winyah Auditorium, Georgetown. For more info, visit www.winyahauditorium.org or call 843-461-1342 15-9/8 ~ Can’t You Sea? Ocean Plastic Artifacts exhibition at Myrtle Beach Art Museum, 3100 S. Ocean Blvd, Myrtle Beach. Opening celebration on the 23rd from 11am-3pm with music, dance, food and tours. For more info call 843-238-2510 or visit www.myrtlebeachartmuseum.org.
7/4 ~ Annual Murrells Inlet Boat Parade & Fireworks parade time TBA, fireworks at 10pm, spectators welcome on the Marshwalk. For more info, call 843-357-2997 or visit www.marshwalk.com. 7/4 ~ July 4th with the Winyah Indigo Choral Society 7pm, on the Kaminski House lawn. For more info, visit www.indigochoral.com.
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120 Lakes at Litchfield Drive • Pawleys Island, SC 29585 (843) 353-6040 • Lakes-Litchfield.com
Advertiser Index
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All Saints Church........................................................................................................31 The B. Graham Interiors Collection........................................................................... 23 Bethea Baptist Retirement Community..............................................................15 Bleu............................................................................................................................. 13 Bloomingails............................................................................................................... 10 Brightwater.................................................................................................................... 7 Brookgreen Gardens................................................................................................... 15 Carolina Car Care....................................................................................................... 19 Carolina Center for Advanced Dentistry...................................................................... 3 The Citizens Bank....................................................................................................... 21 Coastal Luxe................................................................................................................ 44 Comfort Keepers......................................................................................................... 10 Custom Outdoor Furniture........................................................................................ 43 Doodlebugs................................................................................................................. 11 Dr. Grabeman.............................................................................................................11 Dr. Sattele’s Rapid Weight Loss & Esthetic Centers............................................. 39 Eleanor Pitts................................................................................................................ 11 Frame Factory............................................................................................................. 21 Good Deed Goods...................................................................................................... 32 Grady’s Jewelers........................................................................................................... 28 Grand Strand Plastic Surgery...................................................................................... 23 Homespun Crafters Mall............................................................................................ 32 Hospice Care of SC.................................................................................................... 28 The Joggling Board..................................................................................................... 25 La Fayes at 79th.......................................................................................................... 32 The Lakes at Litchfield................................................................................................ 41 Legacy Antiques.......................................................................................................... 37
Long Bay Symphony.................................................................................................. 10 The Manor..................................................................................................................21 Moore, Johnson and Saranti Law Firm PA.............................................................. 9 Myrtle Beach Plastic Surgery...........................................................................29 Owl’s Nest Furniture.......................................................................................28 Palmetto Ace...................................................................................................33 The Palmettos Assisted Living & Memory Care........................................................32 Papa John’s Pizza.........................................................................................................10 Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art....................................................................... 19 Portside at Grande Dunes............................................................................................. 2 Prodigy Kitchens & Baths.......................................................................................... 25 PruittHealth Skilled Nursing, Home Health & Hospice Care............................ 22 Pure Compounding.................................................................................................... 29 Rescued Treasures........................................................................................................ 38 Rose Arbor Fabrics......................................................................................................29 Rothrock Collection................................................................................................... 25 Shades and Draperies.................................................................................................. 15 Shade & Shutter Expo................................................................................................ 33 A Silver Shack............................................................................................................. 35 Take 2 Resale...............................................................................................................35 Thrive at Prince Creek................................................................................................ 23 Two Sisters with Southern Charm.............................................................................. 38 Value Pest....................................................................................................................19 Wallpapers By Lynne..................................................................................................38 WEZV........................................................................................................................42 Williams Carpet..........................................................................................................17
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