Heads Up

My husband G. and I never miss visiting the Levine Museum of the New South http://www.museumofthenewsouth.org/ when we are in Charlotte. It is one of the best museums I have ever visited, and I never leave the building without feeling excited, energized, and provoked. The exhibits are often challenging and provocative.

Their permanent exhibit From Cotton Fields to Skyscrapers is a journey of recognition and memory, if you grew up in the South, and a fascinating educational experience if you just want to learn more about our ways and where we came from. This exhibit and all of their temporary ones are excellent and presented in ways that capture your attention and get into your head. You'll laugh; you'll cry; you'll tell all your friends!

A recent exhibit, now sadly gone, presented in an interactive manner, the question, "When cultures collide and integrate, what traditions do you keep and what are you willing to discard or assimilate?"

Charlotte, like much of the South, is now a multi-cultural and multi-ethnic city, though we are coming to this later than some areas of our country.  The question was primarily asked of people coming to Charlotte from other parts of the world - new to this country. I think it is equally provocative and necessary for long-term residents to ask themselves the same question. It's not just a matter of tacos and Chinese take-out. Our culture is expanding to include or reject a wide and worldly influx of new ideas and practices. What do we keep that is necessary to being Southern or American, and what new things do we accept and welcome as changes or additions to our culture?
   It's a complicated question, and one that I think about a lot. I daily see new faces - different faces from those with whom I grew up.  These folks are not ones about whom I can say, "Well, I knew his/her people." That's a Southern expression and a classic lead-in to classification as OK vs. Not-OK. This expression is often used in tandem with the conclusion: "And he/she is getting above his/her raising."
   And they don't know our people. Both sides are struggling with definitions of what it means to be an American and to live in American society, keeping some of our ways sacred, yet choosing when to bend and blend. Trouble comes when lines are drawn in the sand on those issues. I mean not everyone wants sweet tea with every meal.
   Whew! How did I get here? All I really meant to say is that in my little part of the world, I've been trying to adjust to living at the coast vs. living in the mountains - a much smaller question indeed. I have had to leave some things behind. I am learning to know and accept things here on the coast that are different, but also part of a good life.
   Some things I want to keep. Daffodils are a non-negotiable. So I dug up some of my best bulbs when I moved last March (the WRONG time to dig them), stored them in a big pot of soil all summer; and planted them deeply in our sandy soil last fall.
    The bulbs and I have been waiting to see how we do here. This week, I'm happy to see them pushing up above ground, just as they should. I believe we are going to make it here, but I am also considering planting a palm tree as a concession to my new life. Some of each, I think. Some of each.

Smelly Stuff

G. and I visited Shackleford Banks - home of the wild ponies - a couple of weekends ago. Have you ever traveled out to an island in an open boat in January? What started as a balmy day turned wicked as the Capt. roared his engine just past the no-wake zone out of Harkers Island. The wind cut my face like razors, and my eyes watered frozen tears.

 
Thank goodness for layers, because we peeled a few once we landed on the island, where the weather was indeed pleasant. I'm still amazed that you can enjoyably be on the beach in January.

We found some interesting things. I found a live sand dollar and a whelk casing with tiny critters inside. Unfortunately they were thrown upon the beach too soon and dried there for our beach life edification. Reluctantly I returned the fuzzy gray sand dollar to the water to live out his life.

G. found a lovely lettered olive shell. It was still shiny and retained its pointed crown. He stowed it in his bag, a good find.

I later decided to take a couple of shells to a friend, who does not live at the beach and brought the olive and a couple of others into the house to wash off the sand.

I scrubbed and scrubbed the olive, and the more I scrubbed the stinkier it got. Apparently, the poor thing was still alive when G. found it, and it had died with a vengeance. OMG - it was the worst, and no amount of scrubbing would remove the remains or the smell.

I spent the rest of the morning working with harsh chemicals and radical methods to remove the malicious odor from my hands, sink, counter, and general atmosphere. Also, I threw the olive outside, hoping that in 20 years or so, it might find its way back inside minus the stink.

The moral is: check with the critters first to see if they are ready to give up their lives for the sake of souvenirs... if not, they are going to make a big stink about it.