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!…

Euro Adventure: Come with us to Italy/England!

Posted on September 27, 2011 by clairerhoads

Well, I am beside myself with excitement. Things have been a little quiet around Open R(h)oads because we Rhoadses have been planning/preparing for an epic Euro adventure. Tomorrow, we depart for Italy, where we will be for almost two weeks before a jaunty trip to London, my old stomping grounds, and then back home to the SF Bay Area.

We have 3 main missions for this trip:

1) Fall more in love.

(Wow, how did they dig up that old pic of my Southern Gentleman and I in front of the Trevi Fountain??)

2) Stuff our faces with drool-worthy cuisine.

3.) Learn stuff about God’s creation and people.

What can I say? We’re simple folk.

We so wish you all could come with us. So… we thought it would be fun to blog about our adventures in each city as we go from my trusty new iPad! So, kick back, relax, and enjoy the ride. The good news is you won’t get your wallet stolen. ;)

Ciao for now,

Claire

Tales from the Butt (Lake)

Posted on August 26, 2011 by clairerhoads

Gather round, boys and girls. I’m going to share some tales from the Butt. Lake, that is. As I mentioned the other day, my southern gentleman and I recently trekked to one of my all-time favorite spots and a vacation location that I’ve been visiting annually since I was… I can’t remember. 10? I started visiting Butt Lake (near Lake Almanor/Mt Lassen here) with my childhood BFF, Maren, when we were awkward pre-teens. Her family has been going en mass every year since her mom was a little girl. Over the years, the family brought friends, those friends grew up and brought more friends and children, whose children brought their children, etc. etc. Now there are about 60+ people who descend upon the lakeside campgrounds every year at the same time – last week of July, first week of August.

This year was special. This year was the first year that Matt (aka: Southern Gentleman, The Virginian, HOBL) visited the lake. Matt, meet Butt Lake, Butt Lake, meet Matt. As odd as it may sound, it was an emotional and cherished event. Ever since we were little, us Butt Lake girls would talk about bringing our prince charmings to Butt Lake eventually. “We have to find someone who fits in here perfectly,” we would agree solemnly. Well, boy did Matt fit. He was born for Butt Lake! It’s not hard to imagine when half of our house is taken up with fishing gear, guns, outdoor ensembles, and general REI gear. God knew.

Top 10 Commandments for Butt Lake:

Thou shalt have no schedule
Thou shalt laugh hourly
Thou shalt consume donuts at least once a day
Thou shalt acquire a red dirt tan
Thou shalt never go down the Feather River in a 2-person kayak (important this last year)
Thou shalt talk friendly trash during card and board games
Thou shalt watch cheesy movies at nearby Susanville
Thou shalt not lay thine sleeping bag over a wasp nest
Thou shalt possess an anti-constipation remedy
Thou shalt be nice to thine neighbors (especially on the Sinking Log)

Here are some shots (compliments of Maren’s camera):

Said donuts

Butt Lake beauty

This is Maren

That handsome older gentleman is the original Butt Laker – Grandpa Hannibal!

Swedish pancakes… drool

Hunkiest Monopoly player I’ve ever seen, but I’m partial

Doh!

This is me behind the camera here. Master skill (cough). But beautiful model and Butt Lake fashion!

The motley crew ready to head down the Feather River

Butt art

Summer fun: Chucktown, Santa Barbara, SF, Butt Lake

Posted on August 14, 2011 by clairerhoads

Phew, hi. It’s been a while. Summer struck and with it, some blog lackluster. You could say it’s the PG version of “good girls keep journals, the bad girls don’t have time” – I’ve been so busy living, I haven’t had time to blog about life! I’ve had a great summer time (cue the Gershwin music). Love, love, love. Filled with family visits, tasty meals on warm patios, vodka tonics, weekend getaways and a first anniversary celebration.

In May, we visited my husband’s family in Charleston, affectionately nicknamed “Chucktown”. It was a fabulous getaway.

After a few turbulent take-offs and landings, we arrived (somewhat nauseated) in Charleston, South Carolina. One interesting thing about Charleston is that when you land in the small airport, you feel… relaxed. It’s almost as if the laid back, low country living welcomes you at the doors. We played house with our niece and nephew, laughed with family, embarked on southern foodie adventures and even had a date night on one one of the nearby coastal islands. I LOVED it. Everything you could want is in Charleston – good food, rich history, quaint and beautiful surroundings, island flare, nice people, and… affordable housing. It’s a true story. We may move there some day. Stay tuned. Learn more about Charleston here.

My cute niece/shadow.

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My hip mother-in-law and sister-in-law in Lilly Pulitzer, a southern style staple.

Later in May, we packed our bags and headed south to Santa Barbara to celebrate the wedding of a long time friend (we went to 2nd grade together). Santa Barbara was beautiful, but windy. A highlight was a tasty visit to Bouchon, a delicious local-fare eatery.

Breakfast on the beach.

Oh, did I mention that we stopped at an Ostrich Farm? They are aggressive, large egg-ed birds, that’s about all I can say.

Next on our summer tour was an SF “staycation” to celebrate our 1st anniversary. Year one! Flew by so fast, yet feels jam packed with memories, lessons learned, etc. The plan was to surprise Matt with his long-awaited first ever trip to Alcatraz (you know, celebrate marriage with a trip to… prison…), however, the booking fell through and therefore we rented GoCars, small motorcycle-like pods that take you on a gps audio guided tour through the city. Let me tell you – if you’re looking to test your marriage, try driving one of those things around San Francisco for 4 hours. If one of you isn’t dead, then by default, you’ve succeeded. Har har har.

My lover and my bridge

At the end of July, the Virginian and I packed up our camping gear (that’s a lie. The Virginian packed and I watched and ate Sour Patch Kids) for our annual trip to Butt Lake. I hear your mind trying to reconcile that word. “B-ute” you think, “what an idiot, she’s misspelling butte.” But on my honor it is Butt. Rhymes with nut, or King Tut. Variation of rear, rump, derriere. And those of us who know and love the sacred place take pride in the grotesqueocity (yep I invented that) of the name. It’s one of God’s divine ironies, such an ugly name for such a beautifully breathtaking piece of creation. Now that I’ve piqued your interest, stay tuned for a full blog all about the Butt (Lake, that is). Tee hee.

What did you do this summer?

Charleston, Here We Come

Posted on May 10, 2011 by clairerhoads

We Rhoadses are super pumped to be heading to Charleston, SC tomorrow to visit my husband’s family. My sister-in-law and brother-in-law live in Charleston with our scrumptious niece and nephew (so cute you could eat them up… hopefully pics to come on them) and the rest of the family from Virginia will be driving down to spend 6 days with us.

I count myself extremely blessed to have married into such a loving and fun family. That’s tough to do these days, you know? <insert many nodding female heads> One of the best things about my in-law family is that they are different than me. I grew up on the West Coast, my husband grew up on the East/South Coast. I love learning about this new world – The South – from them.

During our last family gathering, I was schooled in the important deciphering of the Southern Lady’s use of the phrase “Bless your heart”. The use of “little” inserted between “your” and “heart”, along with subtle tonality differences, will guide you in interpreting this to be a genuine interest in your well-being or a thinly veiled, condescending remark.

Two of my favorite members of the family are my husband’s grandmother and great aunt. They are identical twins, have rhyming names (Thelma and Selma), and are the stuff sitcoms are made of. These little Southern Baptist ladies, with their white poof hairdos have the appearance of innocence, but don’t let those matching Christmas sweaters fool you – they are mischievous. Look out! If anything is going on in their small town, it can’t be kept from these two. I keep them entertained with my “goldun currrrruls” and my jolly, social demeanor (I can’t help myself – I love to play along!).

Many of the fabulous “The Twins” stories require censoring, due to the colorful topics and risque language (blush). Let’s just say that this last Christmas, a certain grandma (who will remain unnamed) sat down with a certain grandson and his new bride (they will also remain unnamed) to explore the dynamic and gripping topic of “Sex advice from Grandma”, with nostalgic personal references and… memories. Totally natural, right? Yep.

So, here’s to some more great stories/lessons to share from my wonderful second family after this trip! Charleston… here we come!

Love those Christmas sweaters!

The Twins don’t love having their photos taken…

Can’t resist those goldun currruls!

Easter 2011

Posted on April 25, 2011 by clairerhoads

I woke up so cheerful (apart from my clogged sinuses) on Easter morning. I love Easter! Pastel colors, warm weather, and most of all, what is celebrated. It seems perfectly planned that we celebrate the new life we have because of Jesus’ death and resurrection during a time when the earth is literally bursting with verdant new life. I am a great fan of metaphors and that fills up my metaphor love-tank.

My parents and sister came over and from there we went to our church’s Easter service and then returned to our place for some good ‘ole lamb and potatoes. Results of the whoopee cushion antics are below…

Here’s my sister with the set Easter table. Does it look kind of like someone just threw a bunch of stuff on the table and called it “eclectic”? If so, that would be correct. Oops! I was sick and had to get creative. I actually like how it turned out! I also like my husband’s hot buns in that shot.

My Dad was in charge of marinating the lamb chops. Part of that, obviously, is stabbing rosemary branches into each chop to surprise unsuspecting diners. Ow…

We’re a quirky bunch.

And then, Mom discovered the individual wine pouches…

Even Moose the Dog was having a grand old time.

Here’s my HOBL (hunk of burning love) doing what he does best.

You might recall our purchase of a whoopee cushion the other day? Well, we set it up perfectly and awaited the moment when we would all sit down at the table. My poor, unsuspecting father walked right into the trap and when he sat down, the whoopee cushion really let it rip. Everyone gasped and then looked around awkwardly. My father, ever the actor, feigned embarrassment – “Oops!” Then he hid it under my mother’s chair, which was infinitely more funny.

This conversation led to some reminiscing about how my mother used to make my sister and I use the more polite and gentle term, “bottom burp”, when we were young. Raise your hand if you think that’s way, way worse?!

Hi, my name is Claire and I need to get my roots touched up.

Moose in dog ecstasy.

The Whoopee Cushion Incident

Posted on April 23, 2011 by clairerhoads

It happened at Walgreens last night. I’d like to say that we usually do way more fun things on Friday nights, like dancing ’til 1am or fine dining in SF, but… that would be a lie. We’re usually so tuckered out by Friday that we just crash. Or go to Target or Walgreens, which brings us back to our story of “The Whoopie Cushion Incident”.

We’ve been sick all week, so we were dying to get out of the house (and dying for some more Nyquil), so out we went. As we sauntered into our favorite local drugstore, we perused the aisles, grabbed some Easter candy, obtained our beloved Nyquil, and headed toward checkout. On the way, however, we happened to pass a freestanding bin. You know, the kind with the really cheapo toys? There, bathed in a golden ray of light, beckoning us, was a whoopee cushion.

Now, let me stop right here and just say it – Farts are funny and there’s no two ways about it. I’ve tried my whole life to pretend it’s not true, but let’s get real here. And if I hadn’t come to that conclusion, I really couldn’t have married my dear Southern Gentleman, who happens to think they’re hilarious.

Thus began a 10 minute symphony of diverse and equally hysterical “sounds” as my husband played that whoopee cushion like a true wind instrument. I was practically rolling on the floor. Don’t judge me! You would have been too, I swear it. I had my fair turn and we decided that this would be too wonderful a “gift” to pass up. It would be the perfect item, along with a box of imported biscotti, to give my father for Easter. That kind of tells you a lot about my Dad – classy and cultured, with a penchant for potty humor. He’s the best Dad. Then we plotted how to “give” it to him. We would place it beneath his chair at the Easter dinner table. Muahahaha! It would be momentous. I’ll let you know how it goes.

With our plans conceived and the WC fully tested, we continued on to the checkout counter and waited in line. When our turn came up, the quiet 85 year old clerk smiled at us. He scanned our other items, but when it came to the whoopee cushion, something was wrong. There was no bar code to scan. My husband and I looked at each other nervously.

“I’ll have to price check this.”

Oh no. No, no. Please! I thought I would die. By the grace of God, he did not use the intercom, although everyone behind us in line was fully aware. Instead, he took the whoopee cushion and walked away slowly. Ever so softly, we heard a muffled “Pfffft!” Then another one. And another. It was clear that our clerk was going to enjoy this price check. The sound grew louder, echoing off the white Walgreens walls. He arrived back at the register, smile double its size, and announced that it was $1.99. “Oh that’s definitely worth it,” my dear husband said, hurrying to swipe his card so that we could get the heck outta there.

Then, all of the sudden, we heard a sound at the back of the line. A fart sound. We had spread the joy and other adults in line had discovered the whoopee cushion bin. We walked out with big smiles on our faces, to the growing sounds.

Note – if you’re weird like me and interested in learning more, read about the history of the whoppee cushion. Or buy one.

Open R(h)oads

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

Category Archives: Family