If I were a decent human being, someone who cared about his unborn grandchildren, I would be out canvassing, ringing doorbells door-to-door and begging voters to cast their ballots because, if Republicans control Congress and the Presidency, we’re up the River Styx for sure.
But, the thing is, I sort of look like a homeless person. My hair, though scant, is unruly, like my beard, and my clothes, no matter how hard I try, always look like I’ve slept in them.
I’d be afraid that when I rang a doorbell and the working mom checked me out through the peephole, she’d call the cops. I’m a suspicious looking person. Salespeople stalk me at department stores.
And anyway, hey! [Cue the Beach Boys] I wanna have fun fun fun, /Till my sons take the car keys away!
Too much with too little time.
Caroline and I drove down to Beaufort Friday afternoon for the Pat Conroy Literary Festival. There, we got to see Megan and sit at the same table with her and her Uncle Tim and meet her mother Barbara for the first time. I absolutely adore Megan, whom I consider the funniest woman I know outside of showbiz. There were speeches I couldn’t hear, but it’s not the PA’s fault. The folks at my table laughed at words that to me were less than whispers. Maybe I need to go do something about my hearing? Afterwards, you could buy books and get them signed. A tribute volume for Pat has just come out, Our Prince of Scribes.
The B and B where we stayed was .6 of a mile from the dinner at Tabby Place, so we walked Saturday morning to retrieve Caroline’s car. We had expectantly bumped into a couple of former students at a bar and took an Uber “home” to the B and B. The inn itself I’d call Southern-Gothic Lite, with the proprietor a California transplant taking over dead mama’s mansion. He blinked very slowly a good bit, but he didn’t resemble Anthony Perkins, and the bath wasn’t equipped with a stand-alone shower.
Oh yeah, the walk. What a beautiful day. What a beautiful city.
So we left Beaufort without breakfast or coffee to pick up Brooks and meet Caroline’s dad at the Scottish Games on the grounds of Drayton Hall. Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay long enough to enjoy the complete array of contests and parades. We had to catch some of Porch Fest, Jim Crow’s set at three followed by Brother Fleming’s at four.
Too much with too little time.
For me, Porch Fest ranks right up there with the X-mas parade as Folly’s premiere parties This year marks its 5th anniversary. It’s a community-enhancing exercise; musicians are booked to perform at various houses on Folly Beach simultaneously. Luckily, Jim and Fleming were playing at different times and only a couple of blocks apart. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to catch Danielle Howle because she was playing at the same time as Fleming.
You just wander into the someone’s yard, meet some new neighbors maybe, open a beer, and listen.
Here’s a peek. First Jim, accompanied by Timmy Morris, and then Fleming.
Like I said, Too much with too little time.
Of course, my Joe Cunningham for Congress sweat shirt might have made me look more legit.
2 thoughts on “An Embarrassment of Riches: Pat Conroy, Log-Heaving Lowcountry Highlanders, and/or James T Crow?”
I am actually related to the Draytons. My fraternal grandad’s name was John Drayton Gantt, or J.D… which he hated for some reason or another. Idky. I looked the Draytons up ol one day out of some misguided sense of white guilt over slavery and was happy to see the plantation had been given to slaves. I should have just trusted in the notion that the sins of the father are not that of the son, but I don’t really believe that 🙂 And I have had some serious bad luck that I feel could easily be explained through supernatural means. Maybe an ol’ Geechi curse that could’ve been passed down to a few generations that I never knew about, lol.
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