Today on a talk show… we saw the World’s Largest Pumpkin. It was huge. Enormous. 1850 pounds gargantuan. I’m telling you… that Peter fella’ would’ve had plenty to eat with that old pumpkin. He could’ve kept his wife in that thing too.  Very well.

This time of year brings all sorts of surprises along those lines. People dress up in all kinds of costumes. Like…witches, M&Ms, and Richard Nixon-heads. We put pumpkins here and there… and hang figurines about. Campfires, hayrides, ghost stories, candy giving. I like it all. It is one of my favorites times of all.

I guess I like it so much mostly because I still believe there is magic in the world. You know those moments in life… when something totally amazing happens and you can’t quite explain it. It stops you in your tracks and it feels just like… well… just like magic.  You can’t put your finger on it.

Call it what you will. Call it fate, Blessings, Divine Miracles, luck, coincidences of the universe, Karma, good fortune, magic, and so on. It makes NO difference what you name it. At least, I don’t think it does.

The important thing is recognizing it… and being grateful for it. I believe that experiencing gratitude helps to build our character. It wards off things like cynicism, negativity, and discontent.

I am thankful for pumpkins. In fact, we bought 7 of them (my favorite number)… and placed them at the front of our house. Now, keep in mind that Meeting Street is a busy place in Charleston. We have boat loads (literally) of tourists here.

Well, the first night out, 3 of the pumpkins were stolen. The second night… one was smashed. However, in exchange… the passers-by left us lots of empty Busch Light cans. But never mind all of that. We’ve all made bad decisions in our lives. The last couple of nights, we just happened to come across some folks who have an umbrage with the Gourd Family. Perhaps they were lost in a corn maze once. Who knows.

What it really tells me is that……. there are good and decent people in this world. Even though we are down 4 pumpkins… THREE of them remain. Think how many people passed who did NOT steal or smash those orange fruits. Lots.

Yep. Just one more reason to believe in magic.

“That’s the thing with magic. You’ve got to know it’s still here, all around us, or it just stays invisible for you.” – Charles de Lint

“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all the others.” -Marcel Tullius Cicero

Today was a stellar food day I’ll tell you. Stellar.

Now there’s a word…. stellar. It is great for describing the extraordinary. The Marvelous. The Exceptional. I kind of like the word, except for one thing.

It reminds me of “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Now while that is a classic movie, the scene where Brando holds onto the light post and yells “Stellllllllllaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh”…. always bugs the crap out of me.

I’m not sure why. It is not like it’s the old and fat Marlon Brandon.   No, not at all.  He is the young, cute, buff Brando. But…. as an actor… well…. I was never totally impressed with old Marlon. I think Streetcar was probably his best.

For instance….when he played Jor-El in Superman, and we saw his big face on that mirror thing… all stuck and spinning forever in space. Holy Cow. Somebody go get Stella, will ya’?

At any rate, I am not sure why the “Stella” thing bugs me in that old movie. I’ve only met maybe 2 or 3 Stella’s in all my life… and I don’t know any of them very well at all.   I don’t even think I have any imaginary Facebook Friends named Stella.  So it can’t be the name. I guess it is just the way Marlon yelled it. Stelllllllllllaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. That’s got to be it.

Most of the time, I love old movies. But the other day we were channel flicking, and happened across an old Elvis movie. Harum Scarum. Now once again, this was young and beautiful Elvis…. not old and fat with sideburns Elvis. But the acting was so incredibly bad we had to laugh out loud and with loads of certitude. This was worse than the Stella incident. There were lots of men in unconvincing skull cap helmets… trying hard to look menacing. Elvis was supposed to kill the Arab king… while surrounded by scantily clad babes…..who belly danced…. while he sang about everything. Harum Scary.

But what did I want to talk about tonight?  Oh….. that’s right. Our stellar food day.

Boy oh boy. It was out of this world. I’ll have to give you all the details about when I have more time to write.

This much I can tell you though… my biscuits crumbled on my plate like Blanche Dubois’ reality crumbled around her. It was…. well…..Stellar.

People sure are important. But there are two kinds of “important”. At least, that’s what I think. There are those folks in life that show you love, care, compassion, and tenderness. They have warm and giving hearts. They make the world a better place for being it it. They share their experience, strength, and hope.  They are stars to me… as bright and brilliant as they come.

Then, there are the other kind of important folks. I call them the “Too Big For Their Britches Bunch” or TBFTBBs. BFBs for short. Some people are so dang pivotal and consequential, they will be the first to tell you so. Oh… maybe they don’t saunter right up to you and say…”You know Joe. I am about as prestigious and significant as they come.” But they will show you in other ways. They are good at it.  They have a real case of themselves.

Up the street from us, we are fortunate enough to know the “Gullah Basket Weavers.” These are warm-hearted, good-natured ladies (and some gentlemen) who have learned the West African Slave “Art & Tradition” of Gullah Basket Weaving. They pass it down, from generation to generation.  They tell great stories.  They are gifted Artisans.

Downtown here…. there isn’t any city “permit” system for these ladies to occupy the sidewalk and sell their wares. No. The “spot” on the street also has been handed down from generation to generation, and they are all very respectful of the social stratum. It is a Charleston Historical Tradition.  It is cool, really.

So now back to the TBFTBBs. They remind me of Dr. Seuss’ Star-Bellied Sneetches. These folks are so important, that they don’t even acknowledge the presence of of these ladies on the street. They pass them by, day in and day out… in their suits and fine dresses. They cannot say hello, or smile at these women. No. These BFBs have much more paramount and momentous items on their agendas. There are luncheons to go to, hair appointments, real estate deals, and “charity” functions to attend at the Yacht Club.

I know it bothers these ladies. They have told us so.

It bothers me too.

The fact of the matter is…… none of us are perfect. There have been times in my life when I probably got too big for my britches. And…that bothers me too.

But these days, I try to remember that I am merely a speck. From dust I came and that is where I will return. Carl Sagan once said…“Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a humdrum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people.”

Now if today’s writing doesn’t cheer you right up…. I don’t know what will.

But no matter what Sagan says… many of you are stars to me.  Shine on.

Sometimes we let things screw up our MoJo.

Yep, we can get off track. It could be the silliest little thing that happens in our “comings and goings”.  And BOOM. Before you know it, we are in a sour mood, and the rest of the day feels like it will continue to spiral downward from that point on.

My morning started out that way.

I truly thought I was going to blow a gasket. And I am not even sure where my gasket is. (It might be right below my sternum… or maybe it is near my temples.  I just don’t know.)

Anyway, I got flustered over a whole lot of nothing.  Nothing.

Luckily, I was able to shake it off pretty quickly. But there are times when it doesn’t seem like a possibility to let it go.

Keeping that arrow pointing due north is hard to do when the rest of me is heading west. I always hope the wind will shift… and with it… the direction of that arrow.

Truth be told…..I don’t like being down wind of anything.  Not really.

“Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the ability to cope with it”
– R. Emerson

Tonight I am watching “House on Haunted Hill”…. not the remake… but the original version. It was made in 1959. Stars Vincent Price, Carol Ohmart, and Richard Long… to name a few. Ol’ Vinnie-boy is a gazillionaire… and he offers group of people $10,000 each if they’ll spend a night in spooky, creaky, gray old mansion. And, what a host! He even provides loaded guns as party favors. Now, while this scared my little knickers right off me when I was a kid… this evening it is just silly.  In a classical way.   Remarkably funny, really.

So somebody explain to me… why is it…. that certain likes, dislikes, fears, and mannerisms leave us as we get older… while others stick to us like glue?

When I was fairly young, I loved Bleu Cheese, Curious George, and Professional Football. I still enjoy all those things very much.  I also took great pleasure in eating paste right out of the jar, seek-n-find word puzzles, and tube socks. Hmmm. Not so much any more… two-thumbs down on any of the those items.

Another for instance. I was deathly afraid of spiders. These days, I think they are kind of neat (except when they bite me). On the other hand, those bald-headed-life-sized baby dolls used to frighten me. Guess what. I STILL think those things are extremely creepy, disturbing, sinister and possibly menacing. When I watch Toy Story 3, I have to cover my eyes every time the Baby comes on the screen.

I saw this Baby Doll lying on the sidewalk. I had to stay way on the other side of the street and shoot it with a zoom lens. I was terrified.

Maybe I am alone in this phenomenon. This keeping hold of certain childhood attributes and idiosyncrasies… while losing others.

But now that I think of it…. there is something a little wrong with the final scenario….

House on Haunted Hill = Hilarious
Toy Story 3 = Scary

To infinity and beyond.

Dogs are good. This I know to be true.

I just saw a special on PBS which reported dogs lower stress levels in humans. Dog owners are less likely to have heart attacks. Simply petting a D-O-G raises the levels of Serotonin in humans. That would be the “happiness hormone”… a well known contributor for feelings of well-being in the likes of you and me. How about them whiskers?

Yep. Petting a dog is a grand thing indeed. So is walking them. The increase in physical activity has been proven beneficial to humans as well.

We walk our dogs everyday… a couple of times. Now while we understand the benefits… we do it more for the adventure. You just never know what might transpire during a Puppy Promenade.

Why… just yesterday, we skipped on over to the East Bay Park. Lots of dogs hang out there. Some, even go with their owners.

But looky who we saw while we were there.

We found Ollie’s genetic match. His name is London. He is a Charleston, SC shelter dog. It seems he is about the same age as Ollie. I couldn’t believe how similar they were, really.

London & Ollie liked each other.  They sniffed eachother’s butts. And then…. they got to talking.

They sniffed butts again. Apparently, Ollie and London think they are long lost litter mates. They shared stories about their Mom, and about the early days of sharing milk at the Dairy Bar. Then they talked about he separation… when different humans came along, and took them from their Mom… who’s name was Sadie. They haven’t seen her since.

Niether Ollie’s or London’s particular human kept them. Both ended up in Puppy Prison… one in Camden, OH, and the other in Charleston, SC.

So this was a great reunion indeed. We ate Snausages, and Pupperonis, to celebrate.  We told runt jokes.  Everyone one of us chased our tails in delight.

What a day it was… and what a dog….What a Dog Day Afternoon.

One of the wonderful things about this world, and all the people in it… is that everyone has a unique perspective.

Each and every one of us. While some of our opinions may line up politically, socially, economically, or spiritually… each one of us has our very own, one-of-a-kind, exclusive and remarkable opinion. It is true.  And although our differing methods of thinking, may not feel so grand all the time,  it makes our existence interesting.  Engaging.

For instance…. A particular song or musical artist may appeal to one person. But to another, it it like nails on a chalkboard… Justin Beeber-Head. Rrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeee…….. right down the old chalkboard.

Yep. That’s one example.

Or one woman’s Hot Fudge Double Brownie Sundae, is another woman’s Bowl of Southern Grits….

Chess vs. Checkers

Coke vs. Pepsi

Bengals vs. Browns

You get the notion, yes?

I’m crazy about things like Sock Monkeys, Dr. Seuss, Dogs, Despicable Me, and Steamed Dumplings with Hot Mustard Sauce…. to name just a few.

Others are gaga for the Opera, Lime Jello, The Tree of Life (the recent Brad Pitt Movie), and TV’s Funniest Home Videos.

To each his own.

So what sparked all of this? I was just reading, that on this date in the year 1860…..Eleven-year-old Grace Bedell of Westfield, N.Y., wrote a letter to presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln, suggesting he could improve his appearance by growing a beard.

He must have thought it was a pretty good idea. Old Abe used to say… “If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?”  Little Grace from NY thought either way…. it would look better with a beard.

Just remember, as you navigate your day today…  Wear one face… and one face only.    And…..one man’s gallant steed is another man’s dumb old horse.  You can lead a horse of a different color to water but you can’t make him drink if you put the cart before him… but if you happen to look him in the mouth, you’d better close the barn door after him.

So what I am really saying is…..I still don’t get the Justin Beeber thing.

This is Part Two of tonight’s installment.

There is a NEW restaurant in town…. Eli’s Table (formally Joseph’s) at 129 Meeting Street.  It is “off the charts” good…

Now, we frequent a kaboodle of superb eateries in this town.  The “food experience” is one of the reasons that Conde’ Nast has rated Charleston the #1 City in the USA.   We like this little city just fine  It has panache.

But here is a thing of interest that we found at….Eli’s Table today.

We ate there, for the first time,  and rated it a BIG 10.  Ten plus.  (Yep.  And that was on a scale of 5)  Most excellent, yes indeed.  Standing ovation.

But have a little look at the Breakfast Menu (below).   What a CRAZY coincidence.    Uncanny.

This is Part One of tonight’s installment.

While our “adventure” down here doesn’t seem quite as bad this evening…. as it felt yesterday at the height of exhaustion…. I will recap it…. by popular demand.

I think I shall call it…. Rhapsody in Blue.

We normally start out early…. before 5 a.m… when we have a big road journey. But waking up at 3:30 in the morning always feels a little subhuman somehow. So this time, we decided to shove off at a more modest time….before 7 a.m.  That may have been our first mistake.

We slipped a Kitty-Downer on Winnie…. packed up the pack of dogs, and off. All’s good in travel land. Or so we thought.

Holy Smackerels.

Morning rush hour traffic through Dayton, and Xenia… Rain…. Thick Fog. Creeping at the Speed of Snail. That’s okay. At least we have go-coffee.

Whoopsie. Doggie Puke. Nice. That makes the car smell nice for the next 15 hours…..

Now what the heck? Missed turn. Road construction. More rain and fog. More construction.

Please travel gods… deliver us to breakfast. Bob Evans. The wait staff were all experiencing issues with depression and repressed anger. Back on the road.

More slow traffic. Yet, another missed exit. And then a big yikes. Major wreck on 1-77. Multiple vehicle accident. (Not involving us….thank goodness.) However…. Highway CLOSED. Not just a little closed. All the way shut… and for hours.

OK again. We are trees… we can bend. So we take a “jaunt” through the hills of West Virginia in search of another route. Forty five minutes through the hollers of WV and little coal mining towns… we discover there is no way to get there. We had a coal mine worker tell us so.

Apparently, Nemo’s Dad was wrong. All drains DON’T lead to the ocean. Turn around. Go back from whence you came young ladies. All the way back.

On a very personal level… I had to pee on the way back down that mountain. So…. I peed in someone’s holler. I feel very blessed that I didn’t get my derrière shot off.

More construction. Orange barrels galore. For miles and miles.

A long search for Starbucks. But at this point, a late-night coffee seemed like a “must-have” item.

Gangstas at the Gas Station. Once again, I am very fortunate not to get my butt shot off again. (Sidebar… I was pumping the gas. Mary told me later she was “keeping an eye” on the robbery suspects… and she was ready to lock the car doors at any moment. Great. Locked on the outside of my own vehicle in the middle of  South Side Los Angeles.)

Guardian Angels are a good thing.

There are many more mishaps along the way. Too many to list.   But we came through it.   Albeit, what normally takes around 11 or 12 hours… translated into 15 hours in the car yesterday.

One big question I had though, while on our way… it involves Runaway Trucks.
Who knew? We saw all sorts of Runaway Truck Ramps in the hills of West Virginia, and Virginia. Runaway Trucks must be a problem in those states, I’ll tell. I’ve never seen one in Ohio. These trucks must have unhappy home lives… or mean truck-parents. I stopped and got some milk… and sure enough… right on the side of the carton was a picture of a runaway truck.    Pretty sad.  It looked so young in the photo.  There was a reward and everything.

And there you have it.

Road Trip. (n.) The act of stumbling over a street, highway, or thoroughfare.

We came. We saw. And boy, oh boy… did we EVER stumble.

Ohhhhhhh. Emmmmmmmmm. Geeeeeeeeee.

(For those of you texting… that is OMG with infliction.)

Yes. Today we took a road trip. If I were to write about our little jaunt… it would make Tolstoy’s War and Peace look like a novelette.

And 15 hours later…. I am just glad to be sitting in my southernmost kitchen, tapping away at this keyboard.

Long day.

Piece of advice before I sign off tonight….

Don’t do what we did today.