A Sunday Kind of Love

Posted on August 16, 2012 by clairerhoads

This morning at Starbucks, I heard Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind of Love” over the airwaves. I stopped in my tracks (when Etta’s on, you’d best listen). As the jazzy, philosophical lyrics seeped into my brain, I realized that this song rings truer than Etta probably ever realized.

Ladies, we need a Sunday kind of love.

And by that, I mean a love that never fails. The kind of love that quenches our deepest yearnings.

A Divine Love.

Monday, Tuesday or Thursday love from men, children, dresses and jobs just doesn’t satisfy. Sometimes they let you down – even the best men (or dresses).

I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night
And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight
And I want a Sunday kind of love
Oh yea yea

I want a a love that’s on the square
Can’t seem to find somebody
Someone to care
And I’m on a lonely road that leads to no where
I need a Sunday kind of love

I do my Sunday dreaming, Oh yea
And all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day

Oh I’m hoping to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way

And my arms need someone
Someone to enfold
To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold
Love for all my life to have and to hold
Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love
Oh yea yea yea

I don’t want a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday, Friday or Saturday
Oh nothing but Sunday oh yea
I want a Sunday Sunday
I want a Sunday kind of love
Oh yea
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday kind of loooove

Jesus is a Sunday kind of lover. He’s there past Saturday night. He leads you somewhere. Shows you the way. He keeps you warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow old. Even when you don’t deserve it. Don’t believe me? Try it.

“For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” -Jeremiah 31:25

“Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.” -Psalm 90:14

The Heat

Posted on July 19, 2012 by clairerhoads

This is not a post about the Miami NBA team. No, this is a post dedicated to the recent summer weather I’ve been experiencing (for the first time) here in Charleston. The heat. In the words of Usher, “it’s getting hot in herrrrrr!”

Folks, I’m melting. With a heat index of 105F, who wouldn’t be? And this is not a dry, desert heat. Oh no, it’s moist. Wet. Dewy. Whatever you want to call it.

The other day, my HOBL implored me to walk to the local farmer’s market, here in downtown – Marion Square. As foodies, it’s one of our favorite haunts here in Charleston. But it’s about a mile each way, and when you’re melting, that’s far. We decided to brave it, and the moment we stepped outside, the foot bed of my sandals already felt wet. Every step felt longer and longer. You know how voice recordings get really low and creepy when slowed down? I’m pretty sure that’s how I sounded. It was way attractive.

We finally arrived and walked the perimeter. The Marion Square farmer’s market is great – tons of food stands in addition to normal produce vendors and craft merchants. As we perused the food options, I panted for liquid of any kind. We settled on a great one called The Messy Apron. She was selling chilled summer soups – borscht (beet soup) and gazpacho (tomato) – in addition to glorious, almost-frozen ice teas. Salvation!

Folks, I don’t know if it was a psycho-heat fluke, or what, but that cold beet soup was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Ever. So cold. So pink! I’ve since made two gallons of it, and it’s just not the same.

As we sat under an umbrella that brought no respite, I looked around. Everyone around us was soaked – sweaty backs, pits, yes… even butts and crotches. And we were no different. How awkward! How unglamorous!

Here’s a secret – I kinda liked it. This oppressive heat, it brought us together. Everyone’s vanity uniformly squashed, all of us united in just trying to sweat and survive. Hundreds of Gilda Radners, with a “little, teeny, tiny ball of sweat right here, hanging off the tip of their nose.” If you don’t understand that reference, you should watch the old SNL video here (around 2:18).

Despite the unity, we had to get away… to the mountains! Stay tuned for the scoop on our trip to Asheville, NC!

2nd anniversary. tea bags. cinque terre.

Posted on July 11, 2012 by clairerhoads

Two years ago today, I done got me wed.

As I was reminiscing over the last year, I couldn’t help but think about our amazing Italian/British world tour last fall. The memory that came to mind was our visit to the Cinque Terre, five tiny, coastal Italian towns embedded in the rocky cliffs. Specifically, our walk along Villa dell’Amore (Lover’s Path), the path that allowed young lover’s from Town 1 and Town 2 to meet up back in the day. The path is riddled with all sorts of “love graffiti” and locks attached to any surface as a proclamation of love (amidst other strange items attached as well).

We got there and realized… we have nothing to leave a mark of our love! What were we to do?? Our visit (and love??) wouldn’t feel complete if we didn’t participate in this old tradition.

So, I rustled around in my purse and found the only thing that was remotely shaped as something that could be attached to prove our amore – an old tea bag (Trader Joe’s chamomile, naturally). Do not ask me why that was in my purse. But my fabulous husband said, “Alright, let’s do it. Let’s tea bag the Cinque Terre.” And so, we etched our names gently onto the tea bag, tied it to the path rail, and watched it flutter vigorously in the sea air, a banner of our love and commitment.

At this point, you may be wondering:

a.) How grotesque they are!

b.) How is this at all romantic… you just ruined the most romantic place on earth.

c.) WHY would you recall this and blog about it on your anniversary?

Well, really, we’re harmless – that’s the only time we used that phrase. Heck, I barely even knew what it was! And if you know me, you know how I get into trouble that way. And here is why I share this, possibly my favorite story from our trip – after two years (we’re no veterans!) we have learned that laughter is one of the gifts of grace that God gives us to stay in love. Yes, even slightly inappropriate laughter. Man alive, did we laugh hard! And it embodied what I love about my husband – he’s game. He’s up for it. He’s in on the adventure, even if it means we have to do things in an unconventional way.

3 Things I love about my husband on this 2nd anniversary:

He puts up with all the bobby pins and hair wookies that this lady creates and he cleans the drains! AND makes the wookie sound every. single. time.
He wakes up, in the middle of the night, to comfort and help me during a breakdown (doesn’t happen often, thank God!)
He tea bagged the Cinque Terre with me.

Happy Anniversary, my Southern Gentleman, my HOBL, my friend!

Charleston: Month 1

Posted on June 2, 2012 by clairerhoads

Hi y’all. Today marks one month since we moved here to Charleston, South Carolina from San Francisco, California. Do you like the ‘y’all’? I have to admit, there is something so easy and efficient about that word. I find myself saying it occasionally now.

Well, it’s a miracle we ever made it on the plane a month ago. I came down with the flu the day before the movers came (naturally) and had to lie on the unfurnished floors in a half conscious stupor while Matt stepped on a bee and could hardly walk. Thank God my mom nursed us at her house before we flew out two days later! We crawled onto the plane (after checking 3 guns of course). I honestly don’t think I had the constitution for any emotion which was probably best! Goodbyes are no bueno. No senor.

My sister-in-law, bro-in-law and kids welcomed us with that southern hospitality to their house in the burbs and soon the whole clan descended for my husband’s birthday. Including one of The Twins! We had a great time and sadness/homesickness really only crept in for a few fleeting moments.

Look at this adorable “welcome bag” that my SIL and MIL made for us! Love it.

Fishing off the docks.

We also had a very fine derby party of our own making. My husband’s horse won, to the chagrin of the rest of the family.

Take Charge Trudy & Rousing Sermon.

Even uncle Leonard donned a derby hat…

We’ve played some corn hole. We’ve lost a lot of corn hole. New games? Anyone? How about a different game??

So, down to the really good stuff- our new apartment. In a word, miracle. Old. Charming. Location. Downtown. Those are just a few. We live smack dab in the heart of the old historic French Quarter in Charleston, in an old converted brick cotton warehouse built in 1855. Uhh…yes, you heard that right. Pre-Civil War. We are living in history, you could say. We LOVE it.

Every day, I wake up, look out my window (my two story double long window in my two story exposed brick wall..!!!) and see antiquity. I hear the clipclop of horse (excuse me, mule, per Matt) drawn carriage tours, I step out (and after getting smacked with the moist, humid wall of weather) walk a block to any restaurant, the harbor front, or in the other direction, cobblestone streets, the first theatre in America, and a church founded in 1680.

St Philip’s church’s graveyard is the resting place of some important folk. Buried there are revolutionaries, politicians, confederates and artists. Among them are Col. William Rhett, known as the “Scourge of the Pirates,” charged with bringing the murderous Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet to justice. Gen. Moultrie, the great defender of Charleston against the British, is there. Edward Rutledge, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, Charles Pinckney, a signer of the Constitution, and John C. Calhoun, a US senator and vice president of the US also are buried there.

Beware of carriage crossing.

So, when friends and family ask “how are you liking it?” I say “I’m loving it!” Because we are. It feels like England, but with better weather and friendlier people (hey, my Brits – you know I love you!).

I will, however, briefly mention the main thing that thwarts this idyllic experience (aside from missing my family and friends!). BUGS. The bain of my existence. By the third day here, I had 20+ bug bites. Apparently, I’m the 1-in-10 that is highly attractive to mosquitos. Go figure that this attraction is for bugs. Uhhhh…where was this phenomenon in my dating years?? To add fuel to the fire, I also, evidently, suffer from “Skeeter Syndrome” or allergy to mosquitos. “Sounds pretty redneck,” said my California-bred boss. But that’s what it’s called, apparently. So, I look like a leper straight out of Bible times, but there’s NO CURE. I’ve spent over $100 on various pharmaceutical paraphernalia: Off, natural sprays, a thermacell, salves, lotions, essential oils, vitamin B1 supplements. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I have to wear something at all times, or suffer the histamine consequences.

Then there’s the palmetto bugs. That’s southernese for giant flying cockroaches that sound like military helicopters when approaching your head. More posts coming about those behemoths, but I will leave you with this lovely image of our toilet last week. Bye, y’all!

San Francisco –> Charleston. For keeps.

Posted on April 23, 2012 by clairerhoads

Well, we’re hitting the open r(h)oads again. I hope you like that double entendre. I wrote it just for you.

The rumors (mostly started by me) are true – we are packing up our bags, leaving the SF Bay Area that I grew up in, and moving cross country to Charleston, South Carolina, gem of the south, heart of lowcountry, home of history and large bugs and gators (or so I’m told) (see earlier posts on CHS here and here). My Southern Gentleman got a fab job offer in Charleston, and so we felt God’s leading to reconnect with his roots (arborist joke), join his sister and bro-in-law, and embark on a new grand adventure. When the king of the universe beckons you on an adventure, you fall in line, you know what I’m sayin?

So, we find ourselves in utter upheaval. It’s funny how change brings excitement and the feeling of being “alive”, but also brings an onslaught of fears, anxieties, and unknowns. There are a lot of complex emotions going on in our home right now and I’ll just be real and say that 98% of them are mine, haha!

A taste of my inner dialogue:

How are we going to purge all this crap in time for the movers? Do I really need this 4th spatula? Do they have Sur La Table out there? Where will we live? Should we avoid old historic homes because of the flying cockroaches? Will our massive NASA-launch-pad sectional couch fit anywhere? What the heck am I going to wear? How hot is it really? Will the humidity affect my hair and turn me into the blonde Diana Ross?? Will I fit in? Do I want to fit in? Will I miss the cooky Bay Area? Is there innovation there? Am I allowed to say what I’m really thinking? Will we find a good, gospel-centered church where people are just being real and living life under Jesus together? How will I meet people if I’m working from home remotely? Who will my friends be? Will I have friends? Will I feel like I’m in The Help? Do I get to drink mint juleps on a porch in a rocking chair? Will I be pressured to fake bake because of my genetically translucent white skin, because if yes, so help me God I will lash out! It’s not my fault!

Aren’t you glad you’re not in my mind all the time? It’s a scary place!

But in the midst of all the uncertainty, there is also an absolutely thrilling feeling. I am an adventuress. I always have been. When I can get past the fear and just jump, my adventures are always followed by times of incredible growth, joy and depth. I recently heard a sermon by Francis Chan about why we’re all so bored in the church these days. We’ve got our satellite campuses, our fancy, air-conditioned, audio-enabled sanctuaries, ready to hear about the message for the week. We wonder why God isn’t doing crazy, magical, earth shattering things and why we can’t feel Him. Meanwhile, the Bible shows that God manifested his crazy big power and presence when his people were taking big, hairy, scary risks for Him. Not sitting safely in comfort.

I realized that I have been craving an adventure. I’m bored. I want to feel alive – that feeling of “I really feel alive because there’s a chance I could not be!” This doesn’t have to be extreme sports. This can happen in the heart. My HOBL’s and my life phrase right now comes from Mark Twain:

“Why not go out on a limb? That’s where the fruit is.”

So. Here we are. Creeping out on a (southern) limb, in search of fruit. Stay tuned.

Here’s our new house. Jk.

Here we are, dancing the Charleston in 1925. We look so young!…

Tuscany: Hill town homesteads, leather goods and twihards

Posted on October 11, 2011 by clairerhoads

Tuscany is a delightful place. Driving in Tuscany is not delightful. I find myself at extremes constantly, screaming with fear or giggling with nervousness. Matt does not favor either reactions. The thing is, the italians are absolutely the most ridiculous drivers – they ride your butt as a rule and there is no such thing as a lane. They ONLY pass you on a blind curve, I promise. That said, when we are not automotively fighting for our lives, the countryside provides the most beautiful landscapes.

We left orvieto and traveled north to Montalcino, an old hill town halfway to San Gimignano. We loved it. It is peaceful, a wine lovers paradise, and clearly THE place to come if you are a wealthy yuppy who can rent a fancy old car topless (the car of course). Montalcino is famous for their Brunello di Montalcino, a rich reddish brown wine ( Brunello means “brunette”). We had a fab lunch of pasta, bruschetta and the brunette and then strolled around, heading on to San gimignano after.

We stayed at an agriturismo just outside of San Gim (il castagnolino). We must pause here to say that if you come to Italy, you must stay in these as much as possible. They are a great value, have a peaceful natural setting, and,…they feed you. We half loved the meal we had, but figure that if we had eaten another night, it would have been better. All the food you eat comes from their farm. I love this slow food approach. We realized that there is a reason that we never see big trucks here – they don’t need to haul massive amounts of food around because they eat locally. We’ve vowed to find a produce co-op when we get home.

We hit Volterra, Rick steves’ favorite town in Tuscany and we have to admit – we felt “eh” about it. Perhaps it’s because we hit it around siesta time. Oops. Interestingly, we learned that it has recently earned international attention for it’s connection to the Twilight series (being the home of the ancient italian vampire family, the Volturri). They had funny exhibits at the TI center and even had a New Moon tour. Calling all Twihards! :)

San Gimignano is sweet albeit empty of any attractions aside from shopping, views and food. Most of our memories of the town will be of my haggling (both with Matt AND the vendor) for a gorgeous handmade leather traveling bag. Double stitching, cognac leather, old fashioned buckles. “I’ll have it forever!” I exclaimed. Meanwhile, I won’t be getting any Christmas presents this year. ;)

We had a D-lish cliffside dinner overlooking the whole Tuscan valley where we devoured the most amazing truffle gnocchi, wild boar (regional specialty) and white wine. This is an appropriate time to mention that one of the highlights of our trip has been our mass consumption of all things truffle ( it’s in season here). We have developed a love affair with that scrumptious fungi. The other highlight is listening to Matt try to pronounce the Italian word for truffle – tartufo. Tarfuti, tufarto, tarfito, tufarti, tarfarti. Anything but the actual word. We die laughing every time.

Here, we get mistaken for the Germans by the French. It is an interesting phenomenon. And in turn, we’ve found that we love the Germans we meet. Perhaps a trip is looming in our future?

Next was Florence. There are two things that can be said – there is something magical about Florence and our hotel room was a dump.

More pics to come!

Orvieto: Mystery Meat

Posted on October 7, 2011 by clairerhoads

Our first night in Umbria was quite the experience. We were all aglow after our amazing exploration of Civita. We checked into our fancy spa like agriturismo in the hills of Orvieto and got a little R&R. The hot tub was broken (i feel like most things are in italy) but we convinced them to crank up the “winter” indoor spa and steam room. This was, in a word, heaven. After the grime and rush of Rome, we were, finally, relaxed. We took a nap and walked down the driveway to the agri’s fancy restaurant, where we decided to go with the Meat Tasting Menu. How exciting! 4+ courses with custom wine pairings. Here is where it gets interesting.

I saw that the antipasti was “calf sweetbreads”. Huh…I’ve never heard of that, I thought. I asked Matt who said in an off hand manner, “oh that’s the little ultra tender center of the tenderloin.” Wow, count me in. So after the aspertivo, they set down our sweetbread plate with mushrooms, and I eagerly cut a small piece and popped it in. Hmph..this…does not taste like filet mignon. It’s… really irony tasting. It kind of made me sick. Matt clearly was coming to a conclusion and looked at me sheepishly. “I don’t think this is what I thought it was.” A small panic was rising in me. What the heck am I eating??

“Claire, don’t kill me, but…. I think this is calf testicles.” He was suppressing laughter.

“WHAAAT?!?!” I almost died and threw up, simultaneously.

We had had some wine already and were relaxed, so all of the sudden, the whole situation was immensely funny and even I couldn’t help but break down laughing. I laughed so hard I cried and every time the fancy waitress came, we would have tears streaming down our faces, to the chagrin of the other (fancy) diners.

The whole meal (catalogued below) was fantastic and we left guts busting, happy and relaxed. When we got back to the room, we did a little research ( thank God for Wikipedia) and discovered that while sweetbread is occasionally of the testicular nature, it is usually the brainstem/thymus. Awesome, we ate a baby cow’s immune system center OR brain, I thought. We are the ultimate monsters.

Beware the sweetbreads.

Menu:

Appertivo – smoked salmon (champagne)
Antipasti – calf brainstem/sweetbread porcini mushroom (Cabernet franc)
Primi – rabbit ragu tagliatelle (cab-merlot)
Secondi – filet mignon with rosemary and porcini demi glaze and fingerling potato (merlot)
Pre pre-dolci – three pecorino cheeses and honey
Pre-dolci – little cookie cake things (sherry)
Dolci – orange torte, orange mousse, chocolate liquor ice cream

Open R(h)oads

A city girl. A country boy. Hitting the open r(h)oads of life.