About Cindy

Married, Female, Empty Nester Love to garden, cook, read.

Towanda!

I read an article about Michelle Pfeifer the other day in which she says turning 50 has been liberating.  I thought, “Huh? Liberating?  Don’t think so. Who is she kidding? Aging sucks!”

And then, after chewing on it a bit, I thought, “Well, yeah, okay, maybe.” So, I looked up ‘liberate’ in the dictionary to see how it might pertain to me.  For purposes of turning 50, liberating means:

To free from social or economic constraints or discrimination.

Let me see how I might apply this definition to my life. 

At work, I’m no longer trying to climb the corporate ladder. I don’t bring work home or even think about it after I leave the office for the day. I no longer dress to impress or attend after work functions that don’t appeal to me. I am not into office gossip. I am no longer affected by the office bully, brown-noser or back stabber.  The office bully can’t get to me or get a reaction from me, because since I no longer care about getting ahead, I’m  not even on his radar and he spends his time bullying others. This same concept is true for the brown-noser and back stabber at work, too.  They spend so much time and effort being petty, that they’re not doing their jobs, which seems pretty stupid to me. 

Life is different at home, too. One huge difference is that there are no children living in the house anymore, which means there’s no diapers to change, school activities to get to and from, no fractions, multiplication tables or algebra to help with and no teenage dramas.  Whether you miss having your children at home or not, there is no denying that empty-nesters have much more freedom to do what they want when they want.

And then there’s hubby. After this many years of marriage, we both know our roles in the household. There’s no arguments as to who should do what or who contributes more or who works harder.  We both know it was me. We know what we want and both do our parts to make it happen.  Oh, sometimes one of us fails at it. But, we’ve learned that even that is not a big deal in the scheme of life. No melodrama, no nagging over the little stuff.  And, on the rare occasion there is a disagreement (argument), neither one of us frets or loses any sleep over it, because we know that at the end of the day, we’re still together and moving forward.

On the social front, one thing I know is different; I don’t take crap from people anymore.  See, I no longer care if everyone (even complete strangers) likes me, or thinks I’m cute, or funny.  That is truly liberating. (Remember Kathy Bates in the parking lot scene in Fried Green Tomatoes?)  Towanda!

I believe that with age comes wisdom and with wisdom comes maturity.  I have experienced enough in life to know what matters and what doesn’t.  Little things that used to bother me when I was young, no longer matter. I’ve learned to choose my battles wisely.  That’s liberating!

There’s a lot to be said about turning 50, but sadly, most of it deals with the frustrations of aging.  So, Michelle Pfeifer, if you are reading this article (dont laugh, it could happen), “Thanks.”

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Beautiful Swamp

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The title of this post sounds a bit like an oxymoron – Beautiful Swamp. Swamps aren’t beautiful, are they?  They are muck and quicksand, alligators and snakes, and hordes of creepy, crawly, slimy things that go bump in the night. Picture actress Adrienne Barbeau running away from the Swamp Thing – that half man, half plant monster –  in that infamous boob baring movie of the early 80s.  Or, how about Lizard Man – that seven foot, green, scaly monster with glowing orange eyes – first spotted in 1988 in the Scape Ore Swamp in Lee County, South Carolina?

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Me? I love swamps. I’m particularly partial to Four Holes Swamp, which is the area in the lowcountry of South Carolina, where I live!

 

Really cool name, isn’t it? No one knows for sure how Four Holes Swamp got its name.  One theory is it was named Four Holes because there were four boiling bottomless holes that once existed here, but are now gone. Others say that the term four holes represents some sort of crossroads, maybe land depressions, where water collected.  Some say pioneers created four holes (dry passageways) to get through the area in their travels.

 

Four Holes is matrix of blackwater creeks and water sloughs that wind through four counties between Columbia and Charleston to make its way ultimately to the Atlantic Ocean. Constantly fed, largely by springs, the swamp water moves slowly and relentlessly seaward.

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About 1/3 of the 45,000 acres of Four Holes is owned by the National Audubon Society and make up what is known as Beidler Forest. It’s named after Francis Beidler. Beidler apparently had purchased the land in 1890, intending to harvest the cypress. But, a trip to Yellowstone National Park caused him to change heart and he became a conservationist, preserving the land for his entire life. In the 1960s, his heirs sold the land to Audubon and the Nature Conservancy.

 

Beidler Forest touts itself as the largest virgin blackwater cypress-tupelo swamp forest left in the world. Most of the Bald Cypress trees there are about 1,000 years old and the oldest known tree in the forest is 1500 years!

 

On a stroll there, you might encounter barred owls, river otters, migratory fowl, spotted turtles, beautiful songbirds, and yes, even alligators.

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It is a truly amazing place. And, it’s right here!

 

There is so much more to tell, but it is impossible in one post. I’ll just have to write a series. In the meantime, please click on the www.beidlerforest.blogspot.com  link to see some fantastic pictures and learn more about the swamp forest.

 

I’ll end this post with a poem about Four Holes Swamp, written by Shelby Brown. I stumbled upon it one day while googling “Four Holes” and I just loved it. She has given me permission to reprint it here. Bill and Shelby Brown’s website is www.cartoonsoup.com. 

The Wizard Man – A Frightening Rhyme

By Shelby Brown

 

Four Holes Swamp is big and dark and wide

With alligators, snakes, frogs and gnats it is well supplied.

Only the people who have lived there all their lives,

Know where to be and not to be, at night, when the swamp cries.

 

Most folks think sight is the thing that helps keep danger away,

But in a swamp it is hearing that may keep you alive to see another day.

In the daylight the swamp is a quiet place with beauty and wildlife all around.

It is in the nighttime that the swamp comes alive with movement and with sound.

 

This is the time to listen carefully to every little noise you hear.

A frog chorus often fills the air, but this is not a sound to fear.

It is the soft ones that your ears have to strain to hear at all,

That cause your breath to stop and your stomach seem to fall.

 

A movement on the mud bank about twenty feet away,

Followed by the little splash of water…now that makes you pray.

The tiny twig that broke just above your head,

A possum or a snake, the difference could mean you’re dead.

 

These were the sounds that people could hear on most any night.

Then they heard something that almost stopped their hearts with fright.

So low and quiet it was, that people were not sure they heard it at all.

Folks sat outside and listened every night for the new swamp call.

 

They talked every day about what this sound could be.

Did it come from outside, or up from swamp water, too black to see.

Some said the new sound had a rhythm and a beat.

Others said for sure it was a voice coming up from the deep.

 

These frightened folks decided this had to stop—and soon.

So the plan was made to go in at the next full moon.

They said good by to their families, those forty two brave men.

With lights and guns, they met at the water’s edge…ready to begin.

 

The sounds they heard now were known to them since childhood.

As they went deeper and deeper into the black- water wood.

Hours passed as they went deeper into the swamp than most had ever been.

Then, they heard it, and hair stood up on their skin.

 

All lights flashed to the big cypress tree where they heard someone call.

When out came this strange little man, smiling with joy at the sight of them all.

He whirled and ran to the nearest canoe,

And plopped himself between its two-man crew.

 

I’m a wizard man from the land up around Ochonee,

And only came down to fetch me a bald cypress knee.

It is needed, you see, for my conjuring recipes.

But, I’ve been lost for weeks under these swamp loving trees.

 

Indeed, my bag of tricks and ruby stick refuse to work to any degree.

So please, give me a ride away from here, for I’m in a fix as you can see.

So it was that these kind souls rescued him from Four Hole Swamp that night.

And deposited him on firm land just as the morning began to light.

 

The wizard man was happy to be on his way,

But turned and cast a magic spell he wanted to say.

“To Bald Cypress trees with strange knees, and all wild things that live herein.

Shall all remain for thousands of years, just as you’ve always been.”

 

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Weekend Update

It was a pretty good weekend for us.   The cold snap is finally over and the weather was lovely.

Brian finished painting the dining room on Saturday. (Well, almost. He still has to paint sash on two windows.)  The top (above the chair rail) is Medecca Ivory and below is Nantucket Green.  Both colors were leftovers from jobs Brian had done and since I couldn’t decide on colors, we let what was in the paint pantry decide for us. I couldn’t have picked any better. It looks so fabulous.  I washed clothes and hung them on the clothesline and made Chicken Divan for dinner. The rest of the day, I spent “twittering.” In a nutshell, Twitter is a social network and it is very addicting.

On Sunday, we went golfing at our favorite course, Lake Marion. It’s a very nice, well manicured course (not too hard). And, all the people that work there are great!  For as crowded as it was, the pace of the game was just right, too. We only had one little backup at Number 10, but we got to meet the party ahead of us. That threesome was with a group of sixteen other guys from Ohio who come here every winter for golf vacation. They go home tomorrow to 18 inches of snow! 

 Brian’s goal was to break 80 and mine was to break 100. No, neither of us quite did it, but it was still a good day for me. I think I’m decidely somewhat a little tiny bit better with my fairway woods and my putter. At least I was yesterday.

I’m cooking a pot roast with potatoes and carrots in the crock pot today.  That crock pot is a great tool for weekday suppers, that I don’t use nearly often enough. I’m looking forward to a yummy dinner and quality leftovers for lunch on Tuesday.

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