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Night 1 at the Motel Sketch, complete. Bobby and I headed into downtown Beaufort this morning for coffee, then I dropped him off at his 8-hr business meeting and amused myself all day. nov18-023I embarrassed my cutie husband by taking a picture of him on his way into the meeting… he swatted the camera and said “Stop it, Sarah! Somebody might be looking!” but not before I snapped a picture. Our relationship is nothing if not mature. And check out his mug… on one side, it has a little computer that says “LOL” and on the other, it says “Take a moment and restart.” Appropriate for an all-day meeting, no?

After dropping him off, I headed for the cemetery. I have a fascination with old cemeteries… the older, the better. Mama, Jen, Sue and I would wander through the headstones for hours when I was growing up – there’s just something about the old stones leaning every which way. I love reading the epitaphs, especially on the older stones. There was one today dated 1906 that read “Here lies Eliza. Aged 24 years, 2 months, and 27 days.” I just imagined the parents counting the days on the calendar for their beloved daughter, or maybe a young, grieving husband with an infant. nov18-028And I think that since Mama’s death, headstones have become even more real to me… the fact that every single one of them represents a life – a person who laughed and cried and was the center of someone’s world. I know it sounds depressing, but it doesn’t feel that way to me for some reason. It seems more like a respect, or maybe a sense of kinship. I hope that one day, maybe years from now, someone will read my mother’s headstone and it gives them even the briefest glimpse of what an amazing woman she was.

After I had sufficiently mulled over every stone in the cemetery, I headed back into downtown. Wandered from shop to shop, doing lots of looking and no buying. I somehow always manage to find myself in the baby section of every store – it’s like there’s some sort of magnetic force pulling me toward the monogrammed bibs and silver baby rattles, even though I know it hurts to look at that stuff. Keep having the thought that by now, I would already know if Baby Rettew #2 was a boy or a girl… before the second miscarriage, I made the mistake of writing (in pen, no less) each of the weeks on our calendar, so now it mocks me every time I walk past. Nice.

Ended up in a bookstore and bought not one, but two books – “Michelle,” a biography of Michelle Obama bynov18-034 Washington Post’s Liza Mundy, and “The Lovely Bones,” which I’ve heard is great. Then had lunch – lobster bisque (yum) and mozzarella & basil pesto sandwich (yum) – and sat in a little coffee shop and read about our new First Lady for quite a while. Headed outdoors around 4 and sat in one of the swings overlooking the waterway. I took a picture… heehee.

Bobby called a little before 5, and I zoomed away to pick him up. He was all excited about his meeting, and was chattering away about dinner tonight and…. iiiiiirck! (insert sound of brakes screeching here). Excuse me? We, as in WE, are going to dinner tonight?!? Yep, that’s right, folks. We’re heading for dinner with 10ish people in just a few minutes, and to say that my social anxiety is galloping around the Room 109 of Motel Sketch is an vast understatement. I get so nervous – what if I say something stupid? What if I ruin Bobby’s business deal? What if I laugh too loud or talk too much or not enough? What if I get a huge chunk of food in my teeth and it stays there all night? Argh.
So before I head off to change into my most attractive, appealing, confident, socially adept outfit, I’m adding one more picture. I think it’s my favorite from today… the water, the boats, the Spanish moss. What a lovely little town.

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