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Posts by Andra Watkins

When Nakedness Is Next To…….

When I discovered my latest problem, I was naked. I raked nearsighted eyes everywhere while water dribbled down the drain.

"How did this happen?" My voice echoed in claustrophobic space. I grabbed a towel and charged from the bathroom, dripping everywhere.

I found the primary offender.


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Charming, South Carolina: A Charleston Chronicle

Andra Watkins:

Kate Shrewsday writes the first installment of her Charleston visit. Enjoy.

Originally posted on Kate Shrewsday:

If – being British – you get into a car in Washington DC and take great care to drive on the right hand side of the freeway for about eight hours, down through Virginia, by the time you reach South Carolina the appeal of those great green forests and quaint all-American billboards will have lost its shine and you will be praying for something, anything, to break the monotony.

And all of a sudden the road obliges, and the trees part, and there is a great glistening expanse of water.

Did I say Charming? I meant, of course, Charleston, South Carolina. An ancient town, an America’s beginning, and as different from that great white city you have just left as it is possible to be.

We did just such a drive. And our gratefulness at the air conditioning of the hotel when we arrived was unbounded. We arrived, we showered, we rejoiced…

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The One Where We Took The British To The Beach

At least one English person learned to boogie board at Sullivan's Island. That would be Felix, Kate and Phil Shrewsday's son.

We sat in a sandstorm, at the mouth of Charleston Harbor, and we watched Felix and Cayleigh ride waves, while pelicans fished in the background. Morris Island Lighthouse rode the surf in the distance, the eroded site of the movie "Glory."

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The One Where We Took the British to War

It all started with Poe. Edgar Allan, to be exact.

We stood with the Shrewsdays at Fort Moultrie on Sullivan's Island, a fort where American rebels first repelled the British Royal Navy at the start of the American Revolution. It was a crude sight. Crosshatched palmetto logs and sand.

But those logs were sponges to cannonballs. Fort Moultrie was impenetrable.

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Submit Your Favorite Walking Song. Or Road Trip Song.

A quick post, Dear Reader. I'm almost to the end of my final memoir revision.

And I need your help.

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