March 17, 1907
Dear Luke, I miss you so much and am doing all the chores while you are away. Please come home soon. I love you always, your wife Bessie P.S. It’s okay by me if you vote.
Category: photography
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Casa de Canterbury: A Retrospective, Part III, Winter
“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer”
Nope. Don’t think so,Will. At least not at Casa de Canterbury on this Sunday morning which is one of the last Sundays we’ll be in our casa before moving across the three rivers. Snow was noiselessly falling when I woke up today, and I thought that was a particularly appropriate Mother Nature trick in March after the azaleas, dogwood trees, red bud trees and all the other glorious colors had already popped out for us to enjoy too early. Now I am afraid the colors have an unpredictable future which is something we have in common with them.
But this is a winter retrospective for Casa de Canterbury…brr…baby, it’s cold outside
Canterbury Road, January, 2014
Casa de Canterbury shivering
The Red Man never liked snow –
hated to get his paws wet
Slow never liked to get her feet wet, either
The Red Man ruled Casa de Canterbury…
…whenever it suited Paw Licker Annie –
she was the Queen
Chelsea just tried to find a place close to Red
And speaking of finding a place –
never good to be late to bed with Pretty
and four dogs ahead of you
Christmas at Casa de Canterbury, 2012
All is bright
Smokey Lonesome Ollie a bit disinterested in
Number One Son’s Christmas gifts
Paw Licker Annie found Christmas tiring
Pretty Too loved Christmas
But Pretty loved Christmas most of all
Stay tuned – one more – spring. Summer, autumn, winter, spring.
(Somebody should be packing instead of “retrospectiving.” Seriously. Who can spell Packing P-r-o-c-r-a-s-t-i-n-a-t-o-r…)
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Casa de Canterbury: A Retrospective Part II, Autumn
Once upon a time on the corner of Canterbury and Manning in a city called Columbia lived a family of two lesbians and their dogs.
And the family was happy in their home which they called Casa de Canterbury because one of their dogs (The Red Man) spoke fluent Spanish.
For years and years the old woman Slow and Pretty and their dogs lived in the casa which saw seasons come and go because that is the way seasons act.
The old woman Slow got slower and slower as her knees rebelled whenever she climbed or came down the 14 steps connecting the first and second levels of the casa. Even Pretty’s younger knees grew so angry with her she had to get a new one in 2016, but that really didn’t help her very much and didn’t help Slow at all.
And so it became clear to Slow and Pretty they had to leave Casa de Canterbury for…what? new digs. So that is what they are going to do. They are moving west across the Congaree, Saluda and Broad rivers closer to Texas – but not much – to West Columbia, South Carolina, which is not to be confused with where Slow went to high school: West Columbia, Texas. How weird is that? Let’s hope she isn’t confused by this coincidence.
As the family says goodbye to Casa de Canterbury, they invite you to take a little trip down memory lane with them through a few of the seasons at their casa over the next several posts.
Looking up Canterbury Road
toward Casa de Canterbury
(November, 2012)
The Red Man on backyard patrol
(fall, 2012)
Amazing foliage at Casa de Canterbury
on Manning Avenue side of front yard
(fall, 2012)
Coming home to Casa de Canterbury
from Worsham Street
(October, 2012)
From 2010 to 2014 the two lesbians and their dogs were bi-stateual because they lived on Worsham Street in Texas and also at Casa de Canterbury in South Carolina. They felt like they were always on the road between the two places they called home.
Pretty was in charge of driving
and dog walking while Slow was in
charge of…well, nothing.
(October, 2012)
Pretty busy, busy with 5 dogs at Casa de Canterbury –
they all became a blur
But she was never too busy to celebrate Halloween.
Pretty at the Mast General Store
(October, 2012)
Stay tuned for winter. Summer, fall, winter, spring.
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Transformers That Go BOOM in the Night!
Howling winds that blew buckets and buckets of rain all night were the demons that kept Pretty and me awake with jangling nerves as Hurricane Matthew pushed up the South Carolina coast to finally make land in the little fishing town of McClellanville at some point this morning. McClellanville is between Charleston and Myrtle Beach and was devastated by Hurricane Hugo in 1989. It’s just 150 miles south of Casa de Canterbury and Matthew let us know how far he could reach with his power and fury beginning late yesterday afternoon as he whipped up the atmosphere around us before ending a little while ago with a whimper of light breezes and drizzle. Adios, Matthew. Good-bye. Good riddance.
This was our conversation every hour on the hour while the hurricane winds and rain beat against our bedroom window panes on the second floor.
Me: “I think we need to go down to the first floor and spend the night in the living room.”
Pretty: “Let’s wait a little while and see how it goes.”
Me: “I can see the trees moving in the shadows on the blinds, and I’m worried one of them might fall on our heads.”
Pretty: “Yes, I’m worried about that, too. Let me check Facebook to see what everyone else is doing.”
Me: “In the middle of the night during a hurricane you’re checking Facebook?”
Pretty: “Yes. I want to know how my friends are doing.”
Me: “Your friends are sound asleep in the living rooms on the first floor of their houses.”
Pretty: Silence. She closes her computer and pretends to sleep. I shut up.
At four o’clock a transformer in our neighborhood went out with a Loud BOOM that shook our house. Pretty and I sat up straight and I muttered obscenities while Pretty reached down to comfort Spike who started to shake. Charly jumped up from her place at the bottom of the bed and flew to get between Pretty and me. We were all undone and waited for something terrible to happen.
Miraculously the ceiling fan continued its pattern of movement and my electric digital clock kept on ticking. The winds and downpour were still swirling around us, but we remained relatively unscathed on the second floor of Casa de Canterbury.
The Orlando flag survived – but several big limbs didn’t
Dent Middle School not far from our house
was a temporary shelter for low country evacuees
We understand that we were very lucky to have minimal problems when so many across our state and our sister states along the southeastern Atlantic coastline suffered severe losses of property and lives. For that, Pretty and I are grateful. We talked the past few days about the people of Haiti and the plight they have in the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew. Unimaginable devastation. Ongoing horrors and nightmares.
Pretty is happily back on Facebook in the light of day and told me about the neatest post on Usain Bolt, the Olympian runner, who has donated $10 million dollars to the Haiti rebuilding efforts. That made me truly happy. May it all end up in the hands that need it most.
Thank you to everyone who has been concerned about Casa de Canterbury and its family during Hurricane Matthew. The comments, prayers and well wishes have been wonderful and very much appreciated by Pretty, Charly, Spike and me.
We’re still standing.
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Texas Beer Joints – and the Undecided
When I was a little tomboy growing up in southeast Texas, I had dreams of one day – sometime somewhere – being able to go to a beer joint. My family was Southern Baptist and the very mention of an adult alcoholic beverage would send my mother into horrible face contortions and very loud condemnations of beer and beer drinkers. Beer joints were the epitome of evil. Naturally her hyperbole aroused my curiosity.
My mother’s aunts, my grandmother’s German sisters, worshiped at the Church of the Blessed Beer Joint, however, and I loved to listen to their tales when they came from Bright Lights, Big City Houston to visit us in No Lights, Tiny Town Richards. They were a personal trip for me…and a glimpse of possibilities for me down the road.
The road did bring me to my share of beer joints in my adult life, although I confess I never shared the same enthusiasm for them as my Aunt Dessie and Aunt Selma did. Most of the ones I went to when I got old enough were drab, dingy, smoke-filled rooms with a jukebox, a few old tables and a bar with stools too tall for me to belly up to easily. I loved the jukebox more than the taste of the Lone Star beer.
As the fickle finger of fate would have it, Teresa and I moved back to Texas in 2010 and bought a home on Worsham Street in Montgomery, Texas – only 18 miles from Richards. We drove many times to visit my family in the Fairview Cemetery outside of Richards and on one of those drives up Highway 105 I discovered the Texas beer joint of my childhood dreams in the little town of Dobbin. Some dreams really do come true!
We stopped for the burgers and bbq
Best burgers EVER
We waited in the bar which the owner Bobby Holder built himself – took him three years to finish – perfection
A little something for everyone
Thirst quencher
Old family pictures on ancient organ
Bobby as a little boy
All in all, Holder’s had delicious food, and had I been younger, I would have come back for the night life…or maybe not. My Texas beer joint dreams had come true without the first sip of a Lone Star.
And finally, here’s a wall hanging at Holder’s that I thought of yesterday after the presidential debate on Monday night. I talked to my friend Carmen about the debate, and she said many of her friends weren’t going to vote this year…or were undecided…
And there you have it.
I'll Call It Like I See It 
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