tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3316997988527196062024-03-02T17:46:39.746-08:00Stories From The Carolina CoastShort Stories and Tales told about Charleston's Sea IslandsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-75244582565691569352021-09-12T09:49:00.001-07:002021-09-12T09:49:46.365-07:0057. I reluctantly give this day to the past, as. Dreams beckon to ease my weary mind, while. Tomorrow sings her siren song to me, but. The new day whispers it's promise of hope, and. Soon I will rise and claim the new sunrise. R. Sweat Goodnight Y'allAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-9498784493042736522021-08-18T07:43:00.001-07:002021-08-18T07:43:53.083-07:0056. Feel my tide going out and I am too tired to fight against it's pullTonight I'll let myself be pulled out to sea and into the waiting arms of mother ocean and nightI want to feel the warm water comfort me,hold me, whisper to me, sleep,sleep,sleep, inviting me to release the day and embrace the world of dreams as I drift ever farther from the lightR.Sweat Goodnight Y'allAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-12416692400440977572021-07-08T13:14:00.001-07:002021-07-08T13:14:56.372-07:00Slack Tide. The Sun rays echoed out from beyond the East. The magical sight of an orange ball rising out of the sea never disapoints. It's been that way since the beginning of time. Fingers of light crept past the sand and lit the old City with a palette of colors yet to named..It was Slack Tide.Sound came in rhythms as the Ocean pulled away, always within reach. She watched and waited, patient, knowing her time would soon come again...It was Slack Tide.The breeze rolled from the Sea and brought with it the fine mist of Salt that seasoned the old town. It settled on everything and everyone,enhancing them with flavors that were as deep and rich as Charlestons 300 year old Soul.It was Slack Tide.For just a while the World had pulled away. It had left its madness and confusion and noise to those less blessed to be right here, right now.For now the world was that of tide pools, white ghost crabs and sound of seagulls echoing off the warm Carolina sand. Small waves gently teased the coast like a mother caressing the sleeping face of her child.It was Slack Tide. Half awake, half in the land of summer dreams. For a moment, for one perceptible moment, all that has been, all that is and all that will be..... meet.It was Slack Tide.R.SweatAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-91103400696478413522021-02-28T05:34:00.000-08:002021-02-28T05:34:03.022-08:0055<div>I dreamed of no reflection, no one looking back at me.</div><div>I could see all too clearly, where </div><div>I'm sure that I should be. </div><div>I heard a voice that wasn't mine and it whispered soft to me.</div><div>I was your ghost, of what use to be, when the mirror once could see.</div><div>When days were warm and nights were short beside the sounding sea.</div><div>I saw your thoughts before they came and knew your hearts desire, but now I whisper soft and low through times and tides of mire.</div><div>I hope that when I wake today and stand before that mirror, that it sees myself, with all its flaws and only my thoughts remaining clear.</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-37638673462850635252021-02-24T00:15:00.001-08:002021-02-24T00:15:37.862-08:0054<div>The Sweetest winds they blow across the South, she said these words to me</div><div> I watched her smile with her sad eyes and then she walked away</div><div>Still the warm breeze touched my heart and brought to mind Magnolias and the sea and I knew then I had lost my way</div><div>Oh Carolina, I'll see you if for just one day</div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-91003306332965667842021-02-24T00:13:00.001-08:002021-02-24T00:13:10.092-08:0053<div>Summer days, to Summer nights and Summers gone too soon,</div><div>Summer breeze near Summer tides cause Summer hearts to swoon.</div><div>Summers come and Summers go as seasons prone to do</div><div>When all I ever needed was a girl to hold it's moon.</div><div>R.Sweat</div><div>Angela and my friend Paula Reavis (who owns Babys Away of Charleston)</div><div>who posted the great picture and got my mind churning. While the picture is by Paula, the poetry and my heart as always are My Angels.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-40797044995952384222021-02-24T00:10:00.001-08:002021-02-24T00:10:42.283-08:0052<div>Story.</div><div>My son and I were driving by the apartment complex on the corner of Orangeburg and South Rhett when we saw a guy stagger out of an apartment and get into a car. Instead of backing out he put the car in drive and ran into the fire hydrant on the corner.</div><div>We pulled over to see if he would leave the scene so we could call NCPD.</div><div>To our entertainment after backing up, he got out the car and with his rear end on the hydrant, using his legs he tried to straighten up the bent hydrant which was leaking pretty bad.</div><div>After one final push he not only moved it, HE BROKE IT COMPLETELY OFF.</div><div>The resulting water pressure sent him 8-10 feet in the air and deposited him on the hood of his own car. </div><div>Angry and not hurt he climbed behind the wheel and drove his car onto the 20 foot high geyser that pomptly lifted his front wheel drive car a foot off the ground and immediately tore off his hood.</div><div>Undaunted he fought the high pressure water that sprayed out from under the car in a vain attempt to push what had to be the cleanest undercarriage and engine in Northchuck off old faithful. The pressure was so great that it knocked him down several times and blew off his shirt and wrapped his pants around one ankle, leaving him in boxers and Nike's when the police arrived.</div><div>Only In North Charleston :)</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-55076854332655654992021-02-24T00:08:00.001-08:002021-02-24T00:08:19.771-08:0051<div>Its that time of year once again when I start to think of past visitors to our fair city.</div><div> As August turns to September their names keep running through my mind.</div><div>Gracie, David, Bob, Hugo, Floyd, while unwelcomed, they certainly left their mark on our town and us. </div><div><br></div><div>As the dog days wane, and the days of summer drift away, soon the first winds of fall will begin to make their way from Africa to our shore, bringing with them the possibility that we might have to add a new name or two to that list of villains. Our coastal sensibilities put our Southern hospitality at bay as we board up our homes and our lives in an effort to deny the unwanted usurpers access to our fare city.</div><div><br></div><div>Anyone who was ever raised near a beach knows to hope for the best but prepare for the worst, respect the weather but never let a little thing like a hurricane change the way you live your life. Put on Jimmy Buffets "Trying to reason with the hurricane season", check your batteries and water, stock up on plywood and make sure that old generator still works, then put it all in the back of your mind, and hope that eddie or flo or gavin will have other places to be this fall,,,, your not welcomed here.</div><div><br></div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-59833789708583547862021-02-24T00:06:00.001-08:002021-02-24T00:06:47.493-08:0050<div>Its that time of year once again when I start to think of past visitors to our fair city.</div><div> As August turns to September their names keep running through my mind.</div><div>Gracie, David, Bob, Hugo, Floyd, while unwelcomed, they certainly left their mark on our town and us. </div><div><br></div><div>As the dog days wane, and the days of summer drift away, soon the first winds of fall will begin to make their way from Africa to our shore, bringing with them the possibility that we might have to add a new name or two to that list of villains. Our coastal sensibilities put our Southern hospitality at bay as we board up our homes and our lives in an effort to deny the unwanted usurpers access to our fare city.</div><div><br></div><div>Anyone who was ever raised near a beach knows to hope for the best but prepare for the worst, respect the weather but never let a little thing like a hurricane change the way you live your life. Put on Jimmy Buffets "Trying to reason with the hurricane season", check your batteries and water, stock up on plywood and make sure that old generator still works, then put it all in the back of your mind, and hope that eddie or flo or gavin will have other places to be this fall,,,, your not welcomed here.</div><div><br></div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-37349542326686664612021-02-23T23:56:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:56:09.977-08:0049<div>Bike Art</div><div>This piece conveys the confluence of the working world as portrayed by the working mans tools, his daily grind against the Neverending trials of life as seen by the one inch square pieces of tape, each with a different challange or problem all of which are holding together his becon in the darkness and only hope of rescue from his bourgeois existance, which of course is the lamp and light bulb.</div><div>Or</div><div>Cool Tape</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-44298955983257323942021-02-23T23:51:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:51:30.243-08:0048<div>Mascots and cheerleaders and fans all abound</div><div>Cool days of tailgates with friends all around </div><div>Cold beer and pizza and food on the grill</div><div>Lets Rub the Rock boys, and run down the hill</div><div>Fourth down and four as the linebackers blitz</div><div>Death Valley's Rocking, theres no place to sit</div><div>80,000 strong and the noise is unreal</div><div>Tennessee and Michigan fans wish for our zeal</div><div>The balls in the air now, the seasons begun</div><div>No matter your team y'all , it all will be fun</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-46321477632438173152021-02-23T23:48:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:48:11.896-08:0047<div>Last Look Back</div><div><br></div><div> He thought for a moment. How long have I been here? As the last rays of the failing Carolina sun warmed the back of his neck and cast long shadows that streaked across the sand dunes in a race toward the darkening waters of the Atlantic,it seemed that all time had stopped</div><div> He looked on as two children played in a tidal pool. Their bleached white hair once short in the spring now caressed shoulders tanned nut brown by the long days of a a seemingly endless beach vacation. From afar a mothers voice says its time to go. But its only her promise of a return one day that finally tears them away from their kingdom of sandcastles and seashells.They were now children of the beach for evermore and they left behind not only their fortress in the sand, but also a small piece of themselves and their childhood for mother nature to reclaim on the next high tide. Blending their souls with all those who have come before into the tide line of life that stretched from here to eternity.</div><div> He missed the beach umbrellas that had once lined the shore like so many colorful Christmas ornaments stretching as far as the eye could see. Havens for families that had used them to escape the relentless rays of sun, life itself seemed to began and end in their embrace Now cleaned and packed away they left no trace of the world as it had been. Only a landscape of ghosts and memories drifted in the September air,as the last hallow sounds of laughter faded on the cooling breeze, leaving only the rhythmic tide to fill the void.</div><div> He felt the presence of his father and grandfather move beside him and as they all stood looking out toward the horizon,the days last light had left the world of Summer behind in blends of orange and scarlet and colors not yet named by man. Soon a crescent moon would ascend to crown the Lowcountry sky. A God sent tierra brought down by angels and left as a gift for all of us blessed to call this land our own. It was then he knew. How long had he been there,,,,,forever.</div><div> </div><div> From the North the wind began to whisper. making the salty sand stir, gently at first it spoke the words that no one wants to hear,,,,,Summer is over.</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-63836133000763608552021-02-23T23:43:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:43:40.310-08:0046<div>In the eighties I worked for the Kiawah Island Recreation Dept. One year several interns who were working there for the season rented the old Styles Point Plantation house on James Island. I spent a lot of time out there and became friends with all the guys and their girlfriends. I was told this by the young man who slept in the third floor bedroom. One rainy night both of his room mates stayed over at their girlfriends so he made it an early night. He fell asleep with the French doors to the second floor walk around veranda open as he always did. Around 3am he was awakened to the sound of someone closing all the doors on the his floor. Half asleep he saw a young lady walk into his room and gently pull the doors too. Thinking it was his girlfriend he rolled over and went back to sleep, and sure enough a few moment later the young lady climbed into bed with him.</div><div><br></div><div>He awoke around 7am to smell of bacon frying and made his way down to the first floor kitchen and found his young lady fixing breakfast. He kissed her on the cheek and ad thanked her for closing the French doors last night. His girl looked at him strangely and said she had to work over at the hospital and had just arrived to fix breakfast.</div><div><br></div><div>Seems that one of the ladies of the house had lost a child or two and that the 3rd floor had been the children's floor. Out of grief she had hung herself from the ceiling of the third floor'</div><div><br></div><div>Happy Halloween Y'all</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-84809705180983269042021-02-23T23:41:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:41:54.845-08:0045<div>Fall drifted in, in the middle of the night and wisped into my room</div><div>It slipped past Summer in a breeze, under a cool November moon</div><div>As thoughts of fun and Summer sun slowy fade into the haze</div><div>The tides of June and hot August swoons, that left us in a daze</div><div><br></div><div>The season called, as it always does, and she came to town again</div><div>With oyster roast, along the coast and our rivals football games</div><div>She lights the nights with warm bon fires, when friends return to town</div><div>Where tales are told of promises bold, that they'll always be around</div><div><br></div><div>She slowly turns the world to brown as she whispers it to sleep</div><div>Till Spring returns, and passions burn, with promises to keep</div><div>Winters just a day of dread, just one more cold dark night</div><div>But Fall just came into my room and shes here until first light</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-70826795763177332962021-02-23T23:37:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:37:42.098-08:0044<div>So I am working on the computer on Sunday when I hear this cry and our Boykin Spaniel, Shadow goes into hyper whine mode, barking and pawing at the back door. A few minutes later my bride comes staggering in out of her garden, into the house covered in what can best be described as YUCK.and holding her left shoulder. As she drops onto our leather couch with a surrendering whimper. About 30 seconds later my nose takes notice as the wafting scent of 3 day old Salmon and last Tuesdays left over Spaghetti joins us in the living room. The once white mens dress shirt that she wears when she plays in her garden, is covered in sauces and vacume bags furry castoffs.</div><div>I ask her if shes ok and through teary eyes, she tells me that she, FELL INTO THE TRASHCAN.</div><div>Now Im not talking about the cute trash can by the desk ir even the restaurant size one in the Kitchen, </div><div>No, No, No...NEVER DO ANYTHING HALF ASS THAT YOU CAN DO WHOLE ASS (our unofficial</div><div>Fanily motto) </div><div>No, the love of my life decided that she was past her expiration date and it was time to throw herself away. </div><div>While the cats fought for the last scraps of Sheppards pie stuck in her rolled up shirt sleeves she explained to me why she went Oscar the crouch. </div><div>In a hurry to get more done than just bring the trash can back to its home and pick up debris from her latest day in the garden, she took her eye off her chore to answer the phone.</div><div>Just as she said hello the lid flipped open, knocking the trash can out of her grasp and sending her stumbling forward where she stepped on and tripped on the open lid, which in turn caused her to do a head first Superman i to the deep...dark... recesses of the 5 year old solid waste receptacle. Her momentum caused the can to right itself, leaving my angel, legs up and in an inverted position tryng desperately to escape the horrors of Dinners past</div><div>Eventually she unrighted herself and made her way, to go lunches and all to the relative safety of our couch. Trailed by her pack of semi-farrol cats who thought it was dinner time and Shadow who seemed content to graze on her left sleave. Two tylenol, and a stiff tequila later she made the executive decision to take an hour long shower and have our son Morgen handle the cans from now on.</div><div>Good Choice</div><div>Some artistic licence was taken in the writing of this story</div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-38283410456319319542021-02-23T23:36:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:36:01.270-08:0043<div>Dogwood blooms told a tale of Spring. Their delicate flowers changing each day from translucent green to bright white. They looked to the warming March skies. Giving notice and a promise of renewal all across the South.</div><div>She had braced herself in the fall chill and kept her beauty hidden in her most stark form. Refusing to share her secret as Winter ravaged her naked limbs through the long cold nights, she saved herself for Spring.</div><div><br></div><div>March found her wanting, and her buds strained to join the azaelas and babies breath whos flowers already covered the south, bringing color to the grey gardens and roadsides. Vanquishing the dark monochromatic world back to winter and memory.</div><div><br></div><div>Soon the dogwood be the home for bluejays and cardinals returning to mate and renew their lives. Her soft green leaves would return to catch april's loving rain and in Summer with a family of squirrels living in her branches she would fulfill her quest of hope and store the Summer in her soul.</div><div>A promise to the world once more that through our bleakest chill, she will return when, in our need as we look for signs and wisdom. When March comes round and dogwoods bloom to renew our dreams and hope.</div><div><br></div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-47721531004278044682021-02-23T23:33:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:33:53.683-08:0042<div>The ocean is a religion. Its waves are a constant reminder of the never-ending nature of the world we live in. It's tides teach you that everything comes and goes at it's own pace. It touches all parts of our world at the same time and ties us all together no matter how far away we think we might be from each other. Its always there, making us feel small, while at the same time enlarging us in ways we don't even fathom. Stand on a shore and you can stare off into the Seas depths and on any given day see into your past or your future. </div><div>The ocean has always been my religion and no matter how far away I am or how long its been since my last confession, I can always sense it's ebb and flow in my veins and feel its pull on my heart and soul every time there's a full moon in the sky.</div><div>Try to stand on a beach while the last rays of summer sun reach out to you from millions of miles away and not feel the awe. </div><div>No the Ocean is most definitely a religion and I was born to be it's disciple.</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-1560975908244562792021-02-23T23:32:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:32:23.351-08:0041<div>Open windows and screen doors</div><div>Blooms early on a Dogwood tree</div><div>Light filters in with the 6 o'clock coffee</div><div>As windchimes dance and sing</div><div>Smell of laundry drying in the sun</div><div>Sheets dance with life, billow like sails</div><div>The moon in full retreat, has once again lost</div><div>Shrimp & Grits wait for bacon and red eye gravy</div><div>While honey cools hot Cat Head biscuits </div><div>And the new day yawns into life</div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-35010489940924931232021-02-23T23:27:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:27:31.838-08:0040<div>And the heat swirled around me, wrapping me once again in its warm ,wet blanket that left you feeling like you had stepped into a pool as large as the lowcountry itself. Bringing with it memories of bologna sandwiches and kool aide in a Dixie cup on and old picnic table, worn silver and shaky by a thousand games of tag and lunches just like this day.</div><div>Nearby Magnolia cones covered the ground, some having lost their white blooms, still they made everything smell sweet and earthy at the same time as they waited their turn to be sacrificed to a broomstick in what would be another round of batting practise that had begun at 4 years old and never really ever ended.</div><div>The heat formed a dome on our world, it shielded us from the outside as it made every word and movement, measured, calculated and always paid for in sweat and energy. Even sound seemed bend to the summer. Cars, most not having a/c back then were parked until later in the evening when sitting on a naugahide front seat didn't involve second degree burns or some degree of heat stroke. Sound was reduced to cicadas and the laughter of children who despite the sun and summer lived outside all the time until mothers all over the neighborhood would begin their gregorian chant of names that made your friends vanish in a blur of elbows and foot soles. Each trying to desperately make it home before their middle names were invoked or worse yet, the street lights came on. Everyone of them making plans for tomorrow, because there was always another tomorrow, for the next adventure, because everyday was an adventure. Just one more chance at a summer day, in the summer heat of the South, as they drifted, first home for the night and then away for life.</div><div><br></div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-83981148619156988192021-02-23T23:25:00.001-08:002021-02-23T23:25:37.702-08:0039<div>Ode to a Mater</div><div><br></div><div>You grew up on a farm</div><div>So close to the sea </div><div>That the dew brought salt</div><div>That made you tasty</div><div><br></div><div>From the home of your fathers, father before</div><div>Shipped to the world & my corner Store</div><div>Big boys, better boys or ones with beef hearts</div><div>Grown on Johns Island, no better place to start</div><div><br></div><div>Friend to the Dukes & homemade baked bread</div><div>As bacon and letuce dance in my head.</div><div>You're the King of the salad this much is true</div><div>with cucumbers, onions & cheese that is Bleu.</div><div><br></div><div>Whether topping Alfredo when visiting Rome</div><div>Or spicey fried green ones, that taste just like home.</div><div>Sauces & Stews the better you make</div><div>Salt, pepper and garlic sliced next to a steak</div><div><br></div><div>Both pauper & wealthy bow down to your charm</div><div>As east coast and west come to your farm</div><div>You make great food better wherever you roam</div><div>While proudly declaring Charlestons your home</div><div><br></div><div>Breakfast & lunch, served with sweet tea</div><div>On Grouper or shrimp and served by the sea</div><div>No finer companion to grilled chicken I know</div><div>Than johns finest creation dressed for the show</div><div><br></div><div>I'll carry you with me, wherever I go</div><div>Then write you love letters to tell the world so</div><div>If Summer is coming and the days grow long</div><div>Red fruit from heaven will soon be be my song</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-7925938074647536642021-02-21T18:40:00.001-08:002021-02-21T18:40:51.216-08:0038<div>Last Look Back</div><div><br></div><div> He thought for a moment. How long have I been here? As the last rays of the failing Carolina sun warmed the back of his neck and cast long shadows that streaked across the sand dunes in a race toward the darkening waters of the Atlantic,it seemed that all time had stopped</div><div> He looked on as two children played in a tidal pool. Their bleached white hair once short in the spring now caressed shoulders tanned nut brown by the long days of a a seemingly endless beach vacation. From afar a mothers voice says its time to go. But its only her promise of a return one day that finally tears them away from their kingdom of sandcastles and seashells.They were now children of the beach for evermore and they left behind not only their fortress in the sand, but also a small piece of themselves and their childhood for mother nature to reclaim on the next high tide. Blending their souls with all those who have come before into the tide line of life that stretched from here to eternity.</div><div> He missed the beach umbrellas that had once lined the shore like so many colorful Christmas ornaments stretching as far as the eye could see. Havens for families that had used them to escape the relentless rays of sun, life itself seemed to began and end in their embrace Now cleaned and packed away they left no trace of the world as it had been. Only a landscape of ghosts and memories drifted in the September air,as the last hallow sounds of laughter faded on the cooling breeze, leaving only the rhythmic tide to fill the void.</div><div> He felt the presence of his father and grandfather move beside him and as they all stood looking out toward the horizon,the days last light had left the world of Summer behind in blends of orange and scarlet and colors not yet named by man. Soon a crescent moon would ascend to crown the Lowcountry sky. A God sent tierra brought down by angels and left as a gift for all of us blessed to call this land our own. It was then he knew. How long had he been there,,,,,forever.</div><div> </div><div> From the North the wind began to whisper. making the salty sand stir, gently at first it spoke the words that no one wants to hear,,,,,Summer is over.</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-28336502639845549342021-02-21T18:32:00.001-08:002021-02-21T18:32:53.663-08:0037<div>In the eighties I worked for the Kiawah Island Recreation Dept. One year several interns who were working there for the season rented the old Styles Point Plantation house on James Island. I spent a lot of time out there and became friends with all the guys and their girlfriends. I was told this by the young man who slept in the third floor bedroom. One rainy night both of his room mates stayed over at their girlfriends so he made it an early night. He fell asleep with the French doors to the second floor walk around veranda open as he always did. Around 3am he was awakened to the sound of someone closing all the doors on the his floor. Half asleep he saw a young lady walk into his room and gently pull the doors too. Thinking it was his girlfriend he rolled over and went back to sleep, and sure enough a few moment later the young lady climbed into bed with him.</div><div><br></div><div>He awoke around 7am to smell of bacon frying and made his way down to the first floor kitchen and found his young lady fixing breakfast. He kissed her on the cheek and ad thanked her for closing the French doors last night. His girl looked at him strangely and said she had to work over at the hospital and had just arrived to fix breakfast.</div><div><br></div><div>Seems that one of the ladies of the house had lost a child or two and that the 3rd floor had been the children's floor. Out of grief she had hung herself from the ceiling of the third floor'</div><div><br></div><div>Happy Halloween Y'all</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-20950145278719711082021-02-21T18:30:00.001-08:002021-02-21T18:30:52.741-08:0036<div>Fall drifted in, in the middle of the night and wisped into my room</div><div>It slipped past Summer in a breeze, under a cool November moon</div><div>As thoughts of fun and Summer sun slowy fade into the haze</div><div>The tides of June and hot August swoons, that left us in a daze</div><div><br></div><div>The season called, as it always does, and she came to town again</div><div>With oyster roast, along the coast and our rivals football games</div><div>She lights the nights with warm bon fires, when friends return to town</div><div>Where tales are told of promises bold, that they'll always be around</div><div><br></div><div>She slowly turns the world to brown as she whispers it to sleep</div><div>Till Spring returns, and passions burn, with promises to keep</div><div>Winters just a day of dread, just one more cold dark night</div><div>But Fall just came into my room and shes here until first light</div><div>R.Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-44994909019690070002021-02-21T18:26:00.001-08:002021-02-21T18:26:24.190-08:0035<div>Dear 2016,</div><div>The past year has been so special. We have shared each day and lived them to the fullest. You will always have a special place in my heart, But I am now seeing your sister 2017, it was something that was destined to happen.Its not because she is younger, I just see a future with her that I know we could never have. Please don't think it was anything that you did, it was me. We just reached the end of our line and I could no longer see a future with us. I will always treasure our time together. Our past will always be ours, no one can take that, but I can no longer live in the past. Well 2017 is here and I must go, I wish you all the best.</div><div>Your Friend,</div><div>R. Sweat</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-331699798852719606.post-28964115478105123662021-02-21T18:24:00.001-08:002021-02-21T18:24:24.240-08:0034<div>New Years Resolutions</div><div>1. Stop making New Years Resolutions</div><div><br></div><div>2. Eat more Oysters & Boiled Peanuts</div><div>Individually or at the same time, never a bad thing</div><div><br></div><div>3. Egg every car I see texting while driving making sure to get a picture that I can then post to Facebook</div><div><br></div><div>4. Drink more coffee, if God wanted us to sleep he wouldn't have given us expresso or half gallon coffee cups</div><div><br></div><div>5. Use more Southern Coloqualisms when speaking to customers. Just not enough Y'alls, Fixin To's, Skedaddles and Dagnabbits in the world.</div><div><br></div><div>6. Use more humble brags, just because sadly I'm good at it.</div><div><br></div><div>7. Goes with #6- Always refer to myself in the third person. Ricky Sweat thinks Ricky Sweat be almost as good looking as last year, y'all.</div><div><br></div><div>8. Leave more thoughts unfinished, walk away from conversations after beginning a deep thought, this makes people.............</div><div><br></div><div>9. Try to keep telemarketers on the phone for at least 5-10 minutes before telling them what your doing.... nothing will get you off their lists faster.</div><div><br></div><div>10. Call people more food names</div><div>Because nothing makes you feel more creeped out, than a 6' 5" 300lb. guy you don't know calling you Sweetie Pie, Muffin or my favorite Sugar Britches.</div><div><br></div><div>Ricky Sweat says Happy New Year lambchops.</div><div>I hope All Y'all have a safe and most .........</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12172106736686164839noreply@blogger.com0