Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

It’s a Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad World

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I don’t do sad. I don’t like to see sad movies or read sad books. And I really don’t write about sad things. Disturbing things, sometimes, but never sad. There’s far too must sad in reality. I like my escapism pleasant. And truth be told, I write to escape. It’s like creating this alternate reality that you can climb into where you control everyone and everything. There’s not a doubt in my mind that there’s a clinical name for that, and somewhere, folks like me are locked up for their own protection and that of others.

Anyway, when this blog goes quiet, one of two things is happening: either I’m juggling too many balls and have dropped one, or too many sad things are going on around me. Lately, it’s a little of both. I am trying to do too much. One of my personalities–y’all know I’m slightly schizophrenic, right? And before somebody gets all offended about me making fun of crazy people, just let me tell you that I’m also a hypochondriac. So I’m not sure if I’m truly schizophrenic, or if I’m just imagining it cause I sometimes exhibit the classic symptoms, but, either way, I in no way mean to ridicule crazy people. I am definitely a part of that club, either way you slice it.

I digress. One of my personalities (see above) agreed to be this year’s conference chairperson for the South Carolina Writers Workshop Conference. I thought, This will be fun. And it is. It is also a job that I work at 10 – 12 hours every day. This is a volunteer position. I think it was Suzanne that agreed to this–she loves a party. Loves to entertain. This is just like something she’d stick me with. So, I’m busy.

But there’s also too much sadness going on around me right now. But I can’t write about that stuff–I just can’t. And sometimes, it overwhelms me and I can’t escape into my imaginary worlds anymore.

And now the bees. This thing with the bees isn’t sad–it’s scary as hell. On top of being blue, I’m freaked out by the bees. Have y’all been reading about this? I had not heard a word about it. I almost never watch the news. You rarely get good news from Fox or CNN, and I have doubts about how straight a scoop you get from any of them anyway. So I had not heard about the bees.

Then, Sunday evening we we sitting on my brother-in-law’s deck having perfectly grilled steaks when a wasp flew by. I have an aversion to being stung, and wanted someone to kill it. My brother-in-law has a garden, and, who knew, wasps apparently (at least according to him) pollinate some of the stuff he grows. I want to state for the record that I have no knowledge of any of the specific crops in his field. Anyway, he wouldn’t hear of swatting the wasp.

Then, he launched into this (at the time I thought typically nutcase) sermon about how all the honeybees are dying out, which will cause all of our crops to fail which will cause us all to starve. I was rolling my eyes because my brother-in-law, like most of my husband’s family, (none of whom read blogs) are all loony.

Then, this morning, in the Greenville News, which I do read every morning, right there on page 6A–right beside the stuff about Iraq–is the headline, “Bee Die-off Endangers Food Chain,” and a picture of a worried-looking scientist in a bee suit with a tray of dead bees. Even certifiable fruitcakes say something sane every now and again, so you can’t just ignore everything that comes out of their mouths like you might think.

It seems some sort of disease or parasite has caused something called Colony Collapse Disorder. You might know they’d call it a disorder. Apparently, we now have to be politically correct when discussing bees, cause, you know, we don’t want to offend. Anyway, this Disorder is responsible for U.S. beekeepers losing a quarter of their bees in the last few months. According to someone at the USDA, this is the biggest threat to our food supply. And don’t you know the price of honey is going through the roof.

Here’s something else to lie awake and worry about. I’m counting on what usually happens in these scenarios: tomorrow or the next day some other expert will chime in as to how this is a normal, cyclical thing–like global warming–and there’s no cause for panic. And, people like me, who tend to obsess about stuff like this, will grab hold of that like a life preserver and tell ourselves that so we can sleep at night. Whether it has any basis in fact or not.

Peace, out…

Susan

It’s All About Attitude

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This past weekend was incredible. Artisphere came to Greenville, and since we live in the west end of downtown, we steeped in culture all weekend long. Awesome. Painters, photographers, potters, blown glass, jewelry from all over. And the music. Blues, Jazz, Calypso, Gospel, African Drum and Dance. It was a sensory feast so sumptuous it was impossible to taste everything. But I tried.

My personal favorites were folksy-soul singer/songwriter Amos Lee, who had a crowd of all ages dancing under a perfect Carolina crescent moon Friday night, and Chocolate Thunder and Shrimp City Slim, who performed at the Blues Cafe–most days known as patch of concrete beside Postcards From Paris. Shrimp City Slim is a great blues band from Charleston. Chocolate Thunder, aka Linda Rodney, who has a set of pipes that rank right up there with Aretha and Patti, sang with them on Sunday.

This is a formidable woman. Not only is she a great singer, but the girl puts on a heck of a show. She tore up that stage dancing, and had a good time doing it. At one point, as an introduction to a song she wrote, When a Man Says I Do, she told us, “I come from a long line of strong black women. And I know, you got to keep your eye on your money and keep your eye on your man…cause if you lose one, the other is most likely gone.”

The punch line to When a Man Says I Do is, “It don’t mean he won’t.” And it’s a great song.

But the thing that struck me about Linda was her stage presence. I don’t think she’d mind my saying that she is voluptuous. More voluptuous than I. And…she did not dress in clothing designed to hide her curves. Her bright pink, black and white blouse did not hang down to the knees of her jeans. And the girl was accessorized. She looked great.

She danced like she had the combined gene pool of Tina Turner, Michael Jackson, and that girl from Flashdance. The girl got down, is what I’m saying. And she was not embarrassed one bit by her size. At one point, she slowed it down and sang Summertime, joking, “us big girls got to take it easy.”

Maybe if this whole getting skinny thing doesn’t work out for me, I should consider changing my worldview.

Peace, out…

Susan

Acts of God and Other Puzzlements

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I’m on the road again–in Jasper, Alabama. Jasper is one of the many towns across the country that I would never get to see were it not for the fact that my husband has a job that takes him to places generally not found in Fodor’s tourist guidebooks. There’s nothing wrong with Jasper. It’s a nice, regular town. I just probably wouldn’t have made a special trip.

The thing that unnerved me, though, is we arrived on Sunday evening, April 8th–yes, we traveled here on Easter Sunday. Right after my mamma stuffed us into a food coma. Anyway, April 8th was the eighth (or was it ninth?) anniversary of when an F-5 tornado blew through this part of the country. Not Jasper specifically, but real close by. Now, I’m not sure I’ve told y’all this, but I have had a life-long, blood-freezing terror of tornadoes.

You might be asking yourself if I was raised, perhaps in Kansas, where such horrific storms are common. No, in fact, I was raised in Faith, NC, and as so far as I am informed, there has never been a tornado there, nor anywhere in the vicinity. The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie as a child–perhaps that explains it. Either that, or it was the way my family huddled in the hall every time it thundered, even if it was the dead of night. Mamma would get me out of bed to duck for cover with the rest of the family until the last rumble had faded.

Y’all knew I wasn’t normal, right? Well, there are reasons…

Anyway, I’m right here where this monstrous Act of God transpired–why do you suppose they call such things “Acts of God?” Tangent Alert…

Why are bad things–tornadoes, tsunami’s, earthquakes, et cetera–called Acts of God, and none of the good things? I mean, think about it…the sun came up this morning, and no one else–not even any of the presidential primary candidates–has claimed credit for it, but no one refers to Daylight as an Act of God. But if it wasn’t an Act of God, I’d sure like to know who is responsible, wouldn’t you? I’d like to stay on his or her good side, so to speak.

And what about spring? Things are blooming all over…well, except in the Midwest and Northeast where it’s still snowing. See? All that snow, now, that’s an Act of God according to newscasters and insurance agents everywhere. But wisteria in bloom? He doesn’t get the credit. I find this a puzzlement.

I guess atheists and such aren’t much troubled by the lack of logic here. But, as someone who knows God personally, I’d like to see Him get a little more credit for everything good that happens here on planet earth. All of y’all atheists, agnostics, Unitarians, and what not…you can’t have it both ways: If a tsunami is an Act of God, then by golly, so is the rhythmic surf caressing beaches all over the world right this minute.

Peace, out…

Susan

New Year’s Revolution

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Okay, yes, I know I haven’t posted on this blog since November 1. But I have many, many reasons. Not excuses…reasons. Here are the top ten:

10. I was kidnapped by aliens–not the beautiful-but-flat-chested, Jazzercising kind, but honest to dog aliens–and their Internet does not support inter-planetary communication.
9. One of my multiple personalities, Starla, was in charge, and she refuses to use a computer because she believes that they emit radiation that causes a vitamin K deficiency, wrinkles, and the impulse to ballet dance down Main Street wearing a hat with fruit and combat fatigues, while twirling fire batons and singing Hello Dolly.
8. I’ve been on a Top Secret mission for Homeland Security.
7. My dog ate my laptop.
6. I’ve spent every spare moment exercising.
5. I’ve eaten so little that I was too light-headed to type.
4. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and multiple family birthdays in rapid succession.
3. We finally sold our house, and downsized to a condo 1/3 the size and it is quite time consuming to rid yourself of 2/3 of your belongings, but you can only fit so much stuff into 1,400 square feet.
2. I’m in a funk because of the move I thought I wanted to a downtown condo, walking distance to everything, including all my favorite restaurants and the Starbucks where Renee Zellweger was hanging out until The Greenville News chased her off–and the hotel where George Clooney is staying during location filming for Leatherheads. Not that I’m a star-stalker–I mean, I’m sure they’re very nice people, but honestly, I get no thrill out of close encounters with celeberties.
1. I’m this year’s chairperson for the South Carolina Writers Workshop Conference, and while this is a volunteer position, it is taking more of my time than any fulltime job I have ever had in my entire life–not that I’m complaining–au contraire–most days it’s a blast.

Okay, those last four were for real.

Here’s Something I’ve Never Seen Before

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I’m on the road again this week. Chattanooga, then Morristown, then back to Chattanooga. Sunday afternoon, as we were passing through Hendersonville, NC, we stopped to get something to drink at a convenience store. On the counter near the register, there was a covered box with a sign that said, “Individual Cigarettes, 25 cents.”

You have to need a shot of nicotine bad if you can’t afford a whole pack, but will spend one of your last remaining quarters on one. Apparently, there is a market.

Thank God I was never able to cultivate a cigarette habit. I tried once, back in my stupidity-rich twenties when I had several thin friends who smoked and looked sophisticated (right) with a cigarette between their long, fake-nail-tipped fingers. I thought smoking might alleviate some of my stress eating. Fortunately, I despised cigarette smoke too much to make that work for me, and eventually grew out of my idiot phase.

But you know that’s got to be a powerful addition when people in dire straights will spend a quarter for a cigarette when four quarters will get you a hamburger off the Wendy’s value menu.

One of the perks to traveling with Jim is that I get a free USA today delivered to my door every morning. Yesterday, one of the big stories was the case of a janitor in Oregon who died in 1997 after smoking three packs a day for forty years. A jury found that, while he was partly liable for his own death, Jesse Williams was influenced by the decades-long campaign by cigarette manufacturer Phillip Morris to discredit emerging evidence that cigarettes caused lung cancer. The jury awarded his widow $79.5 million in punitive damages. Phillip Morris, naturally, appealed, and the case has made its way to the Supreme Court.

I’m normally an advocate of personal responsibility. I’ve always held the opinion that there’s enough evidence that cigarettes are very, very bad for you, and if you choose to smoke, and you get cancer you have no one to blame but yourself. I also think folks who sue McDonald’s for making unhealthy food are idiots, no offense.

But Jesse Williams didn’t grow up in the same era that I did. He, from all accounts, genuinely believed that “they wouldn’t sell them if they were bad for you.” I hope Mayola Williams gets every dime of that $97.5 million.

And I hope that someone finds a better use for tobacco than smoking it. Because I grew up in North Carolina, where big tobacco lives, and I don’t want to see a lot of folks out of work. But corporations with A-list lobbyists shouldn’t be allowed to put whatever they put in cigarettes that entices people down to their last few dollars to pay a quarter for a cigarette.

Why not just legalize every other addictive, life-destroying substance?

Besides, second-hand smoke gives me a migraine.

Peace, out…

Here’s A Cheer For Pot Stirrers Everywhere!

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I live in Greenville County District 18. I voted for Tony Trout 4 times in the last election (I think–but I may have lost count). Three times in the primary and once in the general election. He is one of a handful of politicians large and small that I voted for and am still happy with. (That is not to say I would change my vote in other races if I could–only that I’m not completely satisfied with some of our other public servants.)

Tony has been stirring pots ever since he took office and I just love it! This country was founded by boat rockers, pot stirrers and rebels of every stripe. And like most folks who challenge the status quo, he has gotten his share of bumps and knocks. I say, “Way to go Tony! Keep right on looking under rocks. And if you ever need a citizen to request any information that the County Administrator won’t cough up (but according to his quote in yesterday’s Greenville News would still be available to Jane Q. Public under the Freedom of Information Act) give me a call. I’m in the book. I’ll be glad to inquire.”

It has been my experience that when folks are trying their hardest to make you look bad, you’re asking questions they don’t want to answer. Questions that probably need to be asked. And it takes considerable stockpiles of grit to live in the Greer area and shine the light in some of the places he’s been poking around. Keep up the good work!

All y’all in Greenville County District 18…support your local Councilman.

Peace, out…

Why I Hate Network Television

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Have you seen what’s on tonight? As I was sipping my coffee and glancing through the newspaper this morning, my eye fell upon the TV schedule. Because my frequent flyer husband is home and generally watches TV in the evenings, I checked to see what was on tonight’s menu. Egad!!!

During the 8pm time-slot we get to choose (on network TV) between NBC’s Football Frenzy (although to be fair, their website says it will be Outrageous TV Moments, episodes #210 and #211), CBS’s Rockstar Supernova (which looks like a knock-off of the most irritating show I’ve never seen, American Idol–I know, I know, I’m the only one in the country who’s never seen this show), and ABC’s back-to-back reruns of the sitcom George Lopez.

The 9pm time-slot is where it really gets depressing. NBC: Back-to-back Scrubs reruns; CBS: Criminal Minds (This is the show where they dramatize the sickest things anyone can think up–and it gets really, really sick. I tried to watch this show once. It turned my stomach, and I’m not generally one who insists on Pollyanna and the like.) ABC:20/20 “Last Days on Earth.” This is described in the TV guide as, “Seven cataclysm scenarios that could wipe out civilization.”

Now there’s a cheery thought. Someone should track the number of suicides among folks who watch that garbage. I mean, really, do we need to see all the ways Hollywood can think of that we might all die suddenly and spectacularly? With “news” like that, why bother getting up in the morning? Who thinks this stuff up?

And while I’m on the rant about TV “news”, we were flipping through the channels last night and caught a few minutes of Deborah Norville’s “interview” with Katie Couric about her up-coming debut as the first female solo anchor of the evening news. Debbie asked her, “What do you think is missing in the news right now?” And do you know what Gidget said?

She looked very serious as she replied (to the best of my memory), “I think what people want is some perspective. Not just for us to just give them the news, but to tell them what it all means.” Is this chick serious? Can it possibly be that someone in the news media really did admit on national television what anyone with a brain has known for years: That the bulk of the media thinks most Americans are dumber than dirt and they have to tell us what to think.

Geesh!!

Thank Heaven for Cable…and Netflix. And that we live in a free country with a free press where we are free to listen to it all and decide for ourselves what we think. Thanks, Katie, but I really don’t need your perspective, no matter how perky you are. Just the facts, ma’am.

Peace, out…

I Just Don’t Get It

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Can’t somebody–CNN, Fox, NBC, CBS, ABC, AAA–anybody–give us some good news? I had resigned myself to $5 a gallon gas coming soon to a pump near me…just have to start drinking wine from a box to make up the difference in the household budget, right? (Wrong. Other corners will be cut.) Then this morning I awoke, as usual, to the phone ringing by the bed. Wherever Jim is in the world, he makes sure I don’t oversleep. He’s such a good husband. Anyway, the first thing he says to me is, “Now don’t get all worked up about this terrorist thing.” Worked up? Until he alerted me, I hadn’t woken up.

You may recall we leave on Saturday for vacation. On a jet plane. Our dear friends (the next-door nuts) and my brother-in-law and his wife are traveling with us. All day, I didn’t turn on a TV. I didn’t need to. I was getting hourly updates from my friends and family about what I’d have to take out of my purse unless I wanted it thrown away, and what specific things people on the other side of the world were trying to mix together to kill as many Americans as possible. This is what I don’t get.

I understand personal hate…I don’t participate in it as a rule; it tends to make me tense. But I understand it. Your best friend steals your fiance, the pervert down the street molests a kid, a drunk driver kills someone you love. I get that. It’s all this anonymous hatred that I just can’t wrap my brain around. How can you hate people you’ve never met, who’ve never done you or anyone you know any harm, enough to want to kill them in as spectacular a fashion and as great a number as possible?

If you have some philosophical, politically correct, touchy-feely theory why terrorists really just need understanding and copious quantities of US tax dollars because it really is all our fault their lives are devoted to trying to kill us all, type it on 8 1/2 by 11 paper, in a twelve point font, with one-inch margins. Then, send your response to: Suicide Passengers – Dept. of Volunteers, c/o al-Qaida, Pakistan. Responses may also be sent via email to givehateachance@uranidiot.tbs.

I’m glad I got that off my chest. I needed a pre-vacation rant. Since none of the news outlets had anything positive to offer, I went looking for humor. Having no control whatsoever over the price of oil or terrorist activities, I decided my best course of action was to have a shot of levity. I have a folder where I keep the best of the jokes that make the email circuits. One of my favorite recent ones was the list of celebrity answers to the proverbial question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” (Thank you, Demon Diane.)

As a writer, I was concerned about violating someone’s copyright, so I Googled the question, “Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?” just to see what I would get. Apparently, he’s quite popular, this chicken. I stopped counting at thirty websites that had everything from hundreds of answers to the question (organized by category) to sound-bites of various clucks, to instructions on how to do the chicken dance. Since all of the jokes that I received by email were posted on every site I checked, I figure they’re public domain. If you’ve heard these, read them again. (They’re silly, yes, I know…but I needed silly today, all right?) They’ll give you a chuckle…and who doesn’t need one?

Why did the chicken cross the road? (My favorite is the Jerry Falwell answer.)

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won’t realize that he must first deal with the problem on “THIS” side of the road before it goes after the problem on the “OTHER SIDE” of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he’s acting by not taking on his “CURRENT” problems before adding “NEW” problems.

OPRAH: Well I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I’m going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

PRESIDENT BUSH: We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DONALD RUMSFELD: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

ANDERSON COOPER/CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken’s intentions. I am for it now, and will remain against it.

JUDGE JUDY: That chicken crossed the road because he’s GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer’s Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level.

DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad?Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I’ve not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain. Alone.

JERRY FALWELL: Because the chicken was gay! Can’t you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the “other side.” That’s why they call it the “other side. Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like “the other side.” That chicken should not be free to cross the road. It’s as plain and simple as that!

GRANDPA: In my day we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn’t that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life long dream of crossing the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together – in peace.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2006, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet explorer is an integral part of eChicken. The Platform is much more stable and will never cra…#@&&^( C \….. reboot.

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken!

COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?

Talk to y’all from St. John…

Peace, out…

Very Good Reasons Why I’m Not Dancing

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Okay, my exercise routine, my writing schedule, and yes, even my inner peace have all evaporated this week. An unnamed (because I can’t possibly have children that age when I’m only 24, the official age of all Jazzercisers) member of my immediate family has been at MUSC this week. This unnamed but treasured woman-child had a hole in her diaphragm roughly the size of a small pancake through which several body parts had migrated into her rib cage. As you might imagine, this made breathing and eating rather problematic. Thanks to the highly skilled surgical team at MUSC, and their top-notch support staff, she is on the mend.

So of course I’ve been in Charleston and have a perfectly good reason for not working up a sweat of any description all week. But tomorrow I’m packing my VOLUPTUOUS self back in the Beetle and heading home to the Upstate. Just in time for my pre-vacation spa day. I mean, really, I can’t go on vacation without a pedicure. There is nothing worse than scaly feet on a beach. And as hard as I’ve been working out (up until this week), I have a variety of calluses and blisters that need attention. In their current condition, my feet would clear the beach at Trunk Bay. Every other crazy person traveling to the Caribbean in the middle of hurricane season would run screaming from the beach like folks in one of those old ‘B’ horror movies fleeing from one of those giant Godzilla wannbes.

And these stress knots in my neck are just begging for the skillful hands of a massage therapist. And everyone knows that once you’ve paid for a massage and a pedicure, you really come out better getting the Full Day of Beauty package. The one that includes the champagne lunch. One must get oneself in the proper frame of mind before embarking on vacation in order to get the maximum amount of relaxation.

Then, of course, I’ll have to pack. Now, normal people can probably pack for a two week vacation in an hour or so. As y’all well know, I’m not one of those people. It will take a least a day for me to run around buying stuff like sunscreen and filling prescriptions that would otherwise run out before we get back. Bad things happen when I run out of my medication.

Then there’s the actual cramming of everything I might conceivably need for a two-week stay in St. John into two suitcases, one carry-on, and the largest purse I own. As y’all might imagine, I do not pack light. More than one Delta agent has helped me shuffle my belongings from one suitcase to the other to avoid having to charge me an extra $25 for having a suitcase over 50 lbs while my normally easy-going husband tries to borrow a gun from one of the airport police officers so he can shoot me and get off on account of being unduly provoked. Why is it that the Boy Scout motto is “Be Prepared,” and grown men foam at the mouth when their wives try to follow that eminently sensible advice?

Anyway, between the spa day, the shopping and the packing, I will almost certainly not make it to Jazzercise this week. But, I do plan on working out while on vacation. I’ll let y’all know how that works out.

Peace, out…

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to a New Church

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I am by nature a lazy person. Not lazy like I lie in bed all day and watch soap operas, but lazy like the day God handed out self-discipline, I was out sick. Which, you may recall, is why I needed this accountability blog. So far, it is helping keep me more focused (and painfully aware of my lack of self-discipline), but I still have quite a ways to go.
I have given a lot of thought to changing churches, have gone “church shopping.” Christ Episcopal Church, where we’re members is 30 minutes away, and for a lazy person, this can at times be an impediment to getting to church as often as I’d like, and causes us to speed down Wade Hampton Boulevard on Sunday mornings. Also, it’s easy to get lost in a church of 4,000 members.
But we went yesterday, and I was reminded of why I love that church so much. I know that God is in every church–well, I guess there may be some exceptions, but that’s something He’ll handle, not for me to worry about–but in Christ Church, I feel Him there every time I walk in the door. I guess it’s a personal thing for everybody, and when you find it, you shouldn’t mess with it, even if you have to drive 30 minutes. Another thing I really love about Christ Church is our rector. You can look at Bob Dannals’ face and know that he is a man of God. There’s this glow about him, I don’t know how else to explain it. But I believe that he is a trusted servant of the Living God, and I trust him to tell me the truth.
And the people? You may believe that because there are a lot of well-known (and some wealthy) members at Christ Church that people there are cold, unapproachable. You’d be very wrong. I have met some of the most open, friendly, Godly people in that parish that I’ve ever known. Certainly, not all of them are well-to-do, or names you’d recognize from The Greenville News–most aren’t. But trust me when I tell you that Christ Episcopal Church is busy doing the Lord’s work.
So, I’ll be making that drive down Wade Hampton. I’ll try to leave a little earlier so I don’t get a speeding ticket on the way to church.
God’s Peace.

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