Narcissi erupting everywhere. Dogwoods and azaleas starting their eye-popping show. The first iris appearing, roses glowing already, every single tree now bursting with new leaves in a thousand shades of green – if these didn’t tell you it’s spring, then surely a quick glance at any magazine will toot the vernal horn for you. Yep, it’s spring, all right, and a season more loaded with clichés is hard to imagine.
Rocker Buddy Miles wrote a kicking R&B classic, released in turbulent 1970, called “Them Changes.” Listening recently to Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood’s 2008 live recording of this song, I reflected that while some change is flat out necessary to keep life interesting, it’s easy to experience too much change and risk being overwhelmed. Thrown overboard. Reason enough to keep them life jackets handy.
On a quiet Wednesday night in a New Jersey hotel room, I rediscovered Dan Fogelberg. My niece was texting me with YouTube videos of Troye Sivan “sipping waterfalls” in Youth and James Bay singing a directive that none of us needs to wear a Best Fake Smile and “you don’t have to care so don’t pretend,” when I harkened back to what I was listening to in my twenties and I thought of Dan and through the technological magic of Pandora and iTunes, I stepped back into his music and a past life.
Get ready for an afternoon of fantastic music when the Beaufort Symphony Orchestra teams up with its 50-member Youth Orchestra in their "Side by Side Gala" showcasing the young musicians and celebrating the orc
I had been reading Pat Conroy's cookbook,The Pat Conroy Cookbook: Recipes and Stories of My Life, when our telephone rang. Pat's sister-in-law, Terrye, was on the line with a request (actually, bestowing an honor) from the Conroy family for me to cater Pat's funeral reception at the Yacht Club on Tuesday afternoon.
At a time when conflict and contention fill our air waves, the Harbormasters, Beaufort’s barbershop chorus, presents Americana From Sea to Shining Sea, a show that will leave the audience proud once more to be Americans.
In the days immediately following Pat Conroy’s death, I couldn’t write a word.
It happened on a Friday night, and by Saturday morning there were already long, comprehensive tributes appearing in publications as nearby as the Beaufort Gazette, as far-flung as the New York Times, and everywhere in between.
Lowcountry Weekly was scheduled to go to print the following Monday morning. I’d already written my column – some trifle, or so it now seemed, about the Trump phenomenon – but there was still time to bump it for a Conroy homage.
Story by Mark Shaffer Photos by Mark Shaffer & Tim Lovett
Just before I hit the water – in that time-bending moment of suspended animation – two thoughts run through my head: A) This is going to be cold, and B) Did I forget to secure my glasses? A third thought might have flitted past in that nano-second, something along the lines of “What the hell am I doing out here?”