I. The Message Upon arriving at the Chicago O’Hare International Airport during my most recent business trip, I took notice of one of those miniature billboards on the wall in the terminal corridor. This one was an Accenture advertisement with a life size picture of Tiger Woods trying to chip a golf ball out of tall, yellow grass. It was as if he sliced a drive and it left the fairway for a hay farmer’s field in the Midwest.
I’ve been meaning to write this column for a long time. Last week, two events converged in my life, and I could no longer put it off. Event #1 – My family and I took a trip to New York City. It was not my first trip to New York City, or even my second, but it had been a long, long time – nigh on a decade. I was due up.
It's 7:17PM on Saturday, October 13. The pink-orange sunset sky over the marshes is darkening and a golden crecent moon is ascendant in the eastern sky. These are the days of wonder in the Lowcountry. Fresh breezes, seventy degree highs, blue skies and little puffer clouds; the whirring engine of a small plane as it leaves the unique Frogmore Intranational Airport; smiling faces (just like our license tags say) and mine, all the more content because of the last five hours spent at the Arts Council of Beaufort's "Chalk On The Walk" celebration on the green field in the middle of what is fast becoming Beaufort Town Center on Boundary Street.
I don’t like adult cereal much. I love King Vitamin (which few people other than my brother and I really seem to know about) and like Frosted Flakes and Cocoa Krispies, but I’ll eat oatmeal, Raisin Bran and Grapenuts because I know I should and there’s a lot of what I should be doing going on in my life right now.
This spring, I wanted to write a column about Easter. Not just my usual, seasonal shtick about the chirping birds and the blooming blossoms, but a real, honest-to-goodness Easter column. I know it might be a bad idea, that some eyes will roll and my stock will plummet with the local intelligentsia, but I just can’t help myself. You see, after twenty years of wandering and wondering and fancying myself much smarter than my religious friends and neighbors, I’ve gone back to church. And though it’s not the church I grew up in, or even the same denomination, it’s been like coming home.