Every year around this time, my name has started being invoked in print. I mean, I'm not mad about it, but it's been nine years, so I think I can say "invoked" and be happy about it. I am honored, I am smilingly proud, and I am a hometown girl.
I am the Charlotte ghost lady, such as it is.
Ok. It's true that I have moved on personally -- there is no "Williams" any more, but I've also moved on professionally. I've quit writing so much about the subject of ghosts and moved to the more universal subject of food (we all love food!!), but I remember that time long ago when I wanted to be remembered for something. Well, now it looks like I am remembered for documenting that weird shadow on the stairs ... or that stale scent of cigar smoke.
If that's how it is, ok.
It's that time of year, so I am happy to report my little book, Ghost Stories of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County: Remnants of the Past in a New South is once again in the slick pages. Thanks to Charlotte Magazine for your kind inclusion of three of my stories and multiple quotes. There ARE ghosts afoot to be sure this time o' year -- I just hope they are interested in reading about pickles, cause that's what is hot in 2012. Well, that and pimento cheese. So I hope they're hungry.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
I didn't know all I wanted was DIRT
It appears that I am late to the the party. And a locavore party, at that.
But nevertheless, I have finally made it, and I am positively giddy.
I don't know how I missed other issues until now, but I did. However, when I spied the latest edition of Dirt, Charleston City Paper's guide to local food, I opened it up and had an Alfafa moment ...
You know, Alfalfa from The Little Rascals?
Yep, that's the expression. I couldn't even process it ... Look at all this great information! Wow, this is exactly what I would want! I want to read every article! I am going to keep this and mark off farms as I visit, etc! I mean ... this thing is perfect!
I have saved it for a treat to sit down with, to read slowly about the local food I love so much. It's not only good reading, it's a useful resource first and foremost, and where City Paper was already my go-to for restaurant gossip, it's now upped its food reporting into a class all of its own.
Get it, and get eating your local food. Good stuff.
But nevertheless, I have finally made it, and I am positively giddy.
I don't know how I missed other issues until now, but I did. However, when I spied the latest edition of Dirt, Charleston City Paper's guide to local food, I opened it up and had an Alfafa moment ...
You know, Alfalfa from The Little Rascals?
 |
| How many goat cheese producers are on Johns Island?! |
Yep, that's the expression. I couldn't even process it ... Look at all this great information! Wow, this is exactly what I would want! I want to read every article! I am going to keep this and mark off farms as I visit, etc! I mean ... this thing is perfect!
I have saved it for a treat to sit down with, to read slowly about the local food I love so much. It's not only good reading, it's a useful resource first and foremost, and where City Paper was already my go-to for restaurant gossip, it's now upped its food reporting into a class all of its own.
Get it, and get eating your local food. Good stuff.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Looking Back on a Life-Changing Purge
Last year this time, my life was a mess. My closet was too.
I didn't know what to do about any of it, knowing that something had to be done, but more often than not, having no ideas of how, or if, to begin.
And then my sister, Courtney, came to town for a visit. I plied her with wine, and suddenly, one evening, she perched on my bed, facing my closet like she was watching a movie. "Just pull everything out, piece by piece, and we'll start here."
How did I know this was the beginning? In short, I didn't. It was just that first something. I didn't balk -- I listened. And we got started.
Sometimes, you have to first know what you don't want before you know what you do, and for me, that first started with clothes. It's about being conscious, thinking not only how other people saw me, but most of all, how I felt when putting something on. Did I love it? Did it make me feel good about walking though the world? Or did I feel frumpy, or blah? Invisible, or silly, like I was wearing some sort of costume?
What I realized was that most of what I had been putting on was about being on hold, being a place holder, not who I was (whoever that was) and not who I wanted to be, but just there.
You can say that it is just clothing, that it doesn't matter, that I am shallow for even considering my appearance. But you are wrong. I am sorry, but that is not true. For me, it was the start of something, the first step that I didn't even know at the moment was a step in living consciously, of living, instead of reacting.
In that moment, supported by a sister who sat on the edge of my bed on a Saturday night, I decided I just didn't want to be someone "there." That night, on a bed scattered with white metal hangers, she helped me put more than 75% of my clothing into garbage bags, to be donated the next day.
It was stuff given to me, purchased on clearance, left over from events, or different sizes or eras. It was just there, filling the space of what I thought I needed.
Now, 75% is a lot, a space between hangers that had never been there, drawers now easily opened where they have been forced open ... but we discovered clothes that I had, good pieces, that I had never worn because I was waiting. Waiting for what, I didn't know, but whatever, wherever I was living, at that moment, did not deserve that perfectly cut dress. It couldn't possibly.
Getting rid of that many clothes is more than just cleaning out your closet. It is about feeling unsafe without a bloated fullness, of feeling vulnerable with fewer choices, of feeling, well, exposed. And in the next few days, I knew it was freedom.
There was no more wading through -- I could get ready much faster. Every time I left the house, it was in something I enjoyed wearing, not just a filler piece. And the lack that was there started to feel like abundance.
The road I've traveled now is long compared to that day, but I've come to embrace fashion as an extension of my personality. It's not that serious, but I always know that it is still a beginning. At this point, that means a beginning of my day's focus. Do I want flirty? Artsy? Meaning business in black stilettos? Going to the beach?
I answer these questions with the 25% percent that somehow feels like more than 100. What is the 25% of your life that is you? How do you begin to make that your 100%?
I didn't know what to do about any of it, knowing that something had to be done, but more often than not, having no ideas of how, or if, to begin.
And then my sister, Courtney, came to town for a visit. I plied her with wine, and suddenly, one evening, she perched on my bed, facing my closet like she was watching a movie. "Just pull everything out, piece by piece, and we'll start here."
How did I know this was the beginning? In short, I didn't. It was just that first something. I didn't balk -- I listened. And we got started.
Sometimes, you have to first know what you don't want before you know what you do, and for me, that first started with clothes. It's about being conscious, thinking not only how other people saw me, but most of all, how I felt when putting something on. Did I love it? Did it make me feel good about walking though the world? Or did I feel frumpy, or blah? Invisible, or silly, like I was wearing some sort of costume?
What I realized was that most of what I had been putting on was about being on hold, being a place holder, not who I was (whoever that was) and not who I wanted to be, but just there.
You can say that it is just clothing, that it doesn't matter, that I am shallow for even considering my appearance. But you are wrong. I am sorry, but that is not true. For me, it was the start of something, the first step that I didn't even know at the moment was a step in living consciously, of living, instead of reacting.
In that moment, supported by a sister who sat on the edge of my bed on a Saturday night, I decided I just didn't want to be someone "there." That night, on a bed scattered with white metal hangers, she helped me put more than 75% of my clothing into garbage bags, to be donated the next day.
It was stuff given to me, purchased on clearance, left over from events, or different sizes or eras. It was just there, filling the space of what I thought I needed.
Now, 75% is a lot, a space between hangers that had never been there, drawers now easily opened where they have been forced open ... but we discovered clothes that I had, good pieces, that I had never worn because I was waiting. Waiting for what, I didn't know, but whatever, wherever I was living, at that moment, did not deserve that perfectly cut dress. It couldn't possibly.
Getting rid of that many clothes is more than just cleaning out your closet. It is about feeling unsafe without a bloated fullness, of feeling vulnerable with fewer choices, of feeling, well, exposed. And in the next few days, I knew it was freedom.
There was no more wading through -- I could get ready much faster. Every time I left the house, it was in something I enjoyed wearing, not just a filler piece. And the lack that was there started to feel like abundance.
 |
| Yes, this dress by Ranna Gill was one of the 25%. I was waiting to wear this. No more. Plan to see me still wearing this at 81 years old. |
The road I've traveled now is long compared to that day, but I've come to embrace fashion as an extension of my personality. It's not that serious, but I always know that it is still a beginning. At this point, that means a beginning of my day's focus. Do I want flirty? Artsy? Meaning business in black stilettos? Going to the beach?
I answer these questions with the 25% percent that somehow feels like more than 100. What is the 25% of your life that is you? How do you begin to make that your 100%?
Friday, August 17, 2012
A Writing Boot Camp Philosophical Reflection
I've been in my little house, writing. My current major assignment is a long project, and those close to me have heard me talk about it a lot. But it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I decided to quit pecking at it and get down to the business of getting it done.
So I assigned myself writing boot camp. No more beach, no more putting it off to watch another episode of Mad Men online (but understand that's just because I've seen every episode now). I would really hunker down for a couple weeks until I could get a chunk completed and momentum going. I would go to my part-time job, come home and write, and get up and write, and then go to work. On the weekends I might see people if I could.
I am now here to say that writing is not the most important thing in my life. It is part of my life, yes, and will continue to be. But I am leaving camp. I can't shut my life off from, well, my life. I did finally get down to business, so I know this radical move was needed, but I couldn't completely go into the monastery of work. It's just not worth that kind of long-term worship.
I missed people. I don't really write about people in the project, and that is always my favorite part. And I can't put people on hold, including myself. And when I look back on the last few weeks, for the most part I didn't. And I am proud of that, of not even realizing that my internal priorities will always trump external assignments.
So here I am, still writing, 1.5 months from the big deadline, but I am here to say I am officially back from camp. I needed it, but now, let's just be sensible and write. And then go to the movies, k?
So I assigned myself writing boot camp. No more beach, no more putting it off to watch another episode of Mad Men online (but understand that's just because I've seen every episode now). I would really hunker down for a couple weeks until I could get a chunk completed and momentum going. I would go to my part-time job, come home and write, and get up and write, and then go to work. On the weekends I might see people if I could.
I am now here to say that writing is not the most important thing in my life. It is part of my life, yes, and will continue to be. But I am leaving camp. I can't shut my life off from, well, my life. I did finally get down to business, so I know this radical move was needed, but I couldn't completely go into the monastery of work. It's just not worth that kind of long-term worship.
I missed people. I don't really write about people in the project, and that is always my favorite part. And I can't put people on hold, including myself. And when I look back on the last few weeks, for the most part I didn't. And I am proud of that, of not even realizing that my internal priorities will always trump external assignments.
So here I am, still writing, 1.5 months from the big deadline, but I am here to say I am officially back from camp. I needed it, but now, let's just be sensible and write. And then go to the movies, k?
Friday, July 27, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Things I learned this week
Life is a series of lessons. Here are some of mine for this past week:
1. Dollar store aluminum foil is a waste of money. Even if it's only a dollar, keep that bill and use it for gum or something. This foil is akin to trying to wrap your leftovers by applying gold leaf.
2. I think too much. I even think about overthinking. It's exhausting.
3. If you feel persecuted or put upon, that's your problem. Say, this isn't working for me. Life is a negotiation, and that negotiation doesn't have to be painful.
4. Allergies get worse as soon as you notice them. Case in point: Why am I sneezing so much? Oh, I must be allergic to cats. Five minutes later = hives, then checking in the mirror for more hives.
5. When the ceiling fan is up too high, the sound is blood chilling, like the rattle on a rattlesnake. You're hot, it's dark, and yet, it's better to sleep with it off. Otherwise, it sounds as if you are just seconds from decapitation.
6. If I have an excuse -- even a flimsy one -- to wear a costume, I take it.
7. If more of you out there would take the costume chance, then I wouldn't be the only pirate (besides the man with the parrot on his shoulder) at the party.
8. Good friends are very good for the soul.
9. People never tire of saying, "Have you thought about writing for Southern Living?" Yes, and if you know anyone there, please feel free to send my name along.
10. If you don't learn the lesson the first time, no worries. You'll have the chance to learn it again. It's your lesson, after all.
1. Dollar store aluminum foil is a waste of money. Even if it's only a dollar, keep that bill and use it for gum or something. This foil is akin to trying to wrap your leftovers by applying gold leaf.
2. I think too much. I even think about overthinking. It's exhausting.
3. If you feel persecuted or put upon, that's your problem. Say, this isn't working for me. Life is a negotiation, and that negotiation doesn't have to be painful.
4. Allergies get worse as soon as you notice them. Case in point: Why am I sneezing so much? Oh, I must be allergic to cats. Five minutes later = hives, then checking in the mirror for more hives.
5. When the ceiling fan is up too high, the sound is blood chilling, like the rattle on a rattlesnake. You're hot, it's dark, and yet, it's better to sleep with it off. Otherwise, it sounds as if you are just seconds from decapitation.
6. If I have an excuse -- even a flimsy one -- to wear a costume, I take it.
7. If more of you out there would take the costume chance, then I wouldn't be the only pirate (besides the man with the parrot on his shoulder) at the party.
8. Good friends are very good for the soul.
9. People never tire of saying, "Have you thought about writing for Southern Living?" Yes, and if you know anyone there, please feel free to send my name along.
10. If you don't learn the lesson the first time, no worries. You'll have the chance to learn it again. It's your lesson, after all.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Gettin' Schooled
Through no planning of his own, Jimbo Mathus has been one of my greatest musical teachers.
Back during heady college days, I discovered a band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers (SNZ), where Mathus was a leader, sometimes singer, sometimes writer, musical arranger and more. This was IT, I thought, the thing that made people love music. Suddenly, I had that feeling too. I started exploring, discovered Storyville, Jelly Roll Morton, early Armstrong.
But then Jimbo released Songs for Rosetta, a solo project, in 1997, and suddenly, I was introduced to the Delta Blues. To the source I went, and waiting for me was Charlie Patton, Son House and all the others, standing in a dusky doorway of a juke joint on the edge of a cotton field.
Then Andrew Bird played with SNZ. Whoa! I thought -- violin. And so I discovered him. And then to The Jazz Squad with Katharine Whalen, and there was Billie Holiday. Mathus played with Greg Humphries, and Hobex and the jam-band sound came in to focus, along with North Mississippi All-Stars.
As he explored his varied tastes, I expanded mine. He's spent part of the past 12 years or so touring and playing with Buddy Guy, and then the rest getting back to his own roots, back in the land of his birth, Mississippi, and playing for the sheer fun of it.
He's coming out again, bringing us new stuff, this time the Tri-State Coalition, and we had a chance to catch up via phone in advance of his show here in Charleston this Saturday at The Pourhouse and his 6-song vinyl EP, Blue Light set to release later this summer.
When you started playing the blues, it wasn't as trendy as it is now. How is playing live the music you love different from when you started?
I think I've been such an underground performer for the last 10 years, that I haven't really noticed the change. I've always been exploring my Southern roots. Back in the SNZ days, when we were having that success, the Songs for Rosetta album was just kind of staking out my claim.
We were having great fun with that band and people were digging it, but I let it be known that my heart was for the Deep South Country and Blues. My heart is in Mississippi.
How has moving back to Mississippi informed your music?
Well, I was proud of what I did with the Zippers, and I haven't been in a real rush. I've been very patient about it.
Moving back here has put me back in the land of my heroes, the land of my constellation, my musical heroes, my literary heroes. I'm living in the county where I was born, and it's very meaningful, to put my thing [the new band] together. Our music resonates here, and we stay busy gigging. We've been entertaining a hell of a lot of people, and we are immersed in it, the music, the land, the nature.
The songwriting has come to a point that is going to get people's ears.
How do songs come to you?
Really one of two ways.
The first is at the Taylor Grocery. It is a catfish house open here a few days a week, and they always have a live entertainer for the catfish eaters. It's great fun, and I play there often. You play for tips, and I'll play some folk songs, get people enjoying themselves, and then I'll just keep playing, playing a song so long that it turns into something else. I write a lot of things up there.
The second is really driving, driving the backroads by myself, those low one lane roads, and just ruminating, looking at the land. I'm geared to remember stuff, and composing, assembling, and getting inspiration for songs has always been second nature to me.
Do you write all the music for Tri-State?
Yes I do. It's Southern rock with a telecaster, a pedal steel, and great harmonies, so we can do the different genres we like to do. But it's 100 percent original material.
Buy your tickets here and get your education. See you at the show!
 |
| Jimbo live with Buddy Guy |
Back during heady college days, I discovered a band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers (SNZ), where Mathus was a leader, sometimes singer, sometimes writer, musical arranger and more. This was IT, I thought, the thing that made people love music. Suddenly, I had that feeling too. I started exploring, discovered Storyville, Jelly Roll Morton, early Armstrong.
But then Jimbo released Songs for Rosetta, a solo project, in 1997, and suddenly, I was introduced to the Delta Blues. To the source I went, and waiting for me was Charlie Patton, Son House and all the others, standing in a dusky doorway of a juke joint on the edge of a cotton field.
Then Andrew Bird played with SNZ. Whoa! I thought -- violin. And so I discovered him. And then to The Jazz Squad with Katharine Whalen, and there was Billie Holiday. Mathus played with Greg Humphries, and Hobex and the jam-band sound came in to focus, along with North Mississippi All-Stars.
As he explored his varied tastes, I expanded mine. He's spent part of the past 12 years or so touring and playing with Buddy Guy, and then the rest getting back to his own roots, back in the land of his birth, Mississippi, and playing for the sheer fun of it.
He's coming out again, bringing us new stuff, this time the Tri-State Coalition, and we had a chance to catch up via phone in advance of his show here in Charleston this Saturday at The Pourhouse and his 6-song vinyl EP, Blue Light set to release later this summer.
When you started playing the blues, it wasn't as trendy as it is now. How is playing live the music you love different from when you started?
I think I've been such an underground performer for the last 10 years, that I haven't really noticed the change. I've always been exploring my Southern roots. Back in the SNZ days, when we were having that success, the Songs for Rosetta album was just kind of staking out my claim.
We were having great fun with that band and people were digging it, but I let it be known that my heart was for the Deep South Country and Blues. My heart is in Mississippi.
How has moving back to Mississippi informed your music?
Well, I was proud of what I did with the Zippers, and I haven't been in a real rush. I've been very patient about it.
Moving back here has put me back in the land of my heroes, the land of my constellation, my musical heroes, my literary heroes. I'm living in the county where I was born, and it's very meaningful, to put my thing [the new band] together. Our music resonates here, and we stay busy gigging. We've been entertaining a hell of a lot of people, and we are immersed in it, the music, the land, the nature.
The songwriting has come to a point that is going to get people's ears.
How do songs come to you?
Really one of two ways.
The first is at the Taylor Grocery. It is a catfish house open here a few days a week, and they always have a live entertainer for the catfish eaters. It's great fun, and I play there often. You play for tips, and I'll play some folk songs, get people enjoying themselves, and then I'll just keep playing, playing a song so long that it turns into something else. I write a lot of things up there.
The second is really driving, driving the backroads by myself, those low one lane roads, and just ruminating, looking at the land. I'm geared to remember stuff, and composing, assembling, and getting inspiration for songs has always been second nature to me.
Do you write all the music for Tri-State?
Yes I do. It's Southern rock with a telecaster, a pedal steel, and great harmonies, so we can do the different genres we like to do. But it's 100 percent original material.
Buy your tickets here and get your education. See you at the show!
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