A Cocktail Party

Recently my husband and I and our 3 young children were invited to a lovely rooftop cocktail party overlooking the historic district of Charleston. It was a beautiful spring evening with the promise of the perfect sunset. We were looking forward to seeing some old friends there who were in town for a weekend visit.

What I wasn't expecting, although I should by now, because they are increasingly showing up in even the most secure events, was statiratti! I quickly put one in his place when he wondered what he would do here if he were to move from NYC to this, in his mind, provincial, culturally lacking, town. I quickly sized him up by his presence; Gucci loafers, horned rimmed glasses and lock jaw. I told him he could go out every night. This is a very social town. He wondered how he would be included in the social scene since he had always heard that Charleston society was very guarded and not know to let outsiders in, especially northerners. I'm not sure how that rumor started, but I would like to thank those who started it, since it does detract some from moving here. However in my opinion, it is completely untrue. In fact, almost every account of history I read about this city includes a tale or two of a northerner migrating down here, making a life and major contributions to the city. Anyway, back to this typical statiratti, he seemed appalled when I told him he could just buy tickets to various events and throw some money around and he would be most welcome. He said "But that's how it works in New York, of course on a bigger scale." I said, "Well, there are a lot of New Yorkers here and the old Charlestonians are mostly broke." Basically not many are immune to the power of money, even in an old small, southern town. Our conversation ended quickly as I searched to find someone else with whom to talk.

What I learned later from my husband was that there was another local statiratti there whom I know. She was, and I wish I were making this up, trying to gossip with my nine year old, who could not have been less interested in her. She was telling him about her dear friends, the so and so's (a.k.a. mr. & mrs. freakshow) and how they let her borrow their fancy golf cart while they were in Harbour Island for the Easter holiday. Then she asked if my son had heard about a friend of his whom he went to kindergarten with, a 9 year old girl, who would be of interest to the statiratti but the interest would not be returned from that family. In any event, the little girl had a terrible boating accident while on vacation in a third world country. Of course, my son was concerned and so were we and thankfully the little girl is going to be fine. What struck me as most bizarre is that there are no limits for the statiratti. If wisdom wears the garment on truth, what does gossip wear? Ralph Lauren? It's all fair game to the statirrati. A nine year old's tragedy is not off limits. I wish I could say this was the only one I heard it from, but 2 days later I got a call from another statiratti touting the same gossip.

What does that say about me? Why at one point in my life would I let people like that in? After much soul searching I think it was for lack of wisdom. Now I must work hard to keep those types out. They contribute nothing to a hurting world that needs so much.

It was just a typical night in Charleston.

Can you love a serial killer?

I've mentioned my Visionary Parenting class before and I find it incredibly eye opening on my personal parenting journey. The way it works is the whole class watches a short video each week. The speaker on the video espouses parenting wisdom based on biblical principles. After the video the class breaks into small groups of 5 or 6 to answer some discussion questions.

Our group comprised of me, my husband A.D., one other young adorable couple and an older mom, probably in here late 40's, raising two young children. The topic was that we must discipline our children while letting them know that we love them unconditionally.

As we discussed the various ins and outs of ways to do that, the older mom, whom I'll call Beatrice for the sake of anonymity off handed asked if it was possible to love a serial killer if he was your son. Hmm, we were talking about how difficult it can be taming a 6 year old. We, meaning the 4 others in the group never really thought about our children as potential serial killers. I was taken aback and let the other mom run with it. She seemed to think that one should obviously take pains to point one's child in another direction, but that ultimately one would love one's son under any circumstances.

Since I was intrigued I asked Beatrice to continue on this topic. She said that her neighbor growing up was much older but was a serial killer. I was a bit incredulous when she said he was put away in an asylum and then after treatment moved back to his childhood home beside hers. She said she often wondered how his mother felt, if she loved him still. What I'm wondering is what kind of lunatic would live next to a known serial killer?

Way off home base

There is a bumper sticker that I frequently see around town that says "Gut fish, not houses". It refers to the on going massacre that is occurring in the historic district of my town, Charleston, SC. For some reason, people, and I know I am generalizing here, with newer money feel the need to absolutely rip the soul out of any house that has one; and replace it with marble, stainless steel and a hole above every fireplace which is then filled with a flush mount home theater. As an interior designer by trade I understand wanting to make things more beautiful or comfortable, but at the risk of erasing history, character, individuality?

Parenting tips

This is one of my all time favorites. The socially aware woman decked in Gucci from head to toe brings her African American nanny to a local church class called Visionary Parenting.