Shinybass journal entry 05/22/24

Once upon a time, I was somebody. Almost.  

I have no idea if reincarnation is a real thing or not. On the days I stayed and actually listened during my World Religion 102 class (I was commuting to school, and it was a 3 o’clock class, and the last one of the day, and I didn’t want to fight traffic home, and it was a small, stuffy class, and I learned very quickly I would get in trouble for dropping my paper and not staying for class…) I learned that some cultures believe you are reincarnated in a series of ‘lesser’ configurations, starting at the bottom of the food chain, then coming back again and again, until you hit the top. Some people feel they used to be famous people in a former life. Never ‘Bobby the shoe salesman’, or ‘Emil the ox driver’, it’s always Nero or Nemo, or Napoléon.    

I don’t think I have been reincarnated from anyone. I do feel that my past, better yet the time I spent with my parents, grandparents, and webs of relatives, has made me an old soul. The ‘olden days’ were spoken of a lot when I was little, and there was a real connection there. I was born 29 years after Pearl Harbor happened. A scant 29 years. My Grandparents were born when the first Roosevelt was still alive. The world changed in front of their eyes, as it is changing in front of mine.  

You know what does not change? History and ancient stone walls. OK, a decent 5-pound sledge can change a stone wall, but thankfully some US Cities (NOT NASHVILLE) (bitter much?) have preserved a lot of the past. Savannah, New Orleans, pockets of Mobile, Boston, and one lone log cabin dating to 1770 is still standing in Alexandria, Va, outside of DC. Everyone else punted. OK, almost everyone. Charleston has preserved a decent amount of its ‘older world’ charm.  

Compared to Europe, the US is a mere baby. We built everything of wood, then may or may not have had lanterns kicked over by cows, made s’mores, then were forced to rebuild. The US does not have a lot of structures dating to the 1700s, and the ones from the 1800s are still present in some places. There are exceptions, of course, but when we walk the streets of history, it’s really the 2nd or third incarnation of that area. That’s not to say you can’t feel the vibe.  

One such city that still has some historical vibe is Charleston, SC. I have been lucky enough to spend a little time in Charleston, and at one point was considering moving to this gem. 20 years ago, it had the perfect blend of size, food options, and proximity to usable beaches to check all my personal ‘quality of living’ boxes.  

I also had some friends that lived in and around Charleston. When King Konga was still on the uptick, we made friends with the Edwin McCain Band and Hootie and the Blowfish, whose members were known to roam the streets of Charleston and mingle with the unwashed. (I know, John Mayer told me never to name drop…) Darius even opened a venue in downtown Charleston with hands down the worst load-in in the history of load-ins. (Sorry  Smith’s Olde Bar) I played some fun (I didn’t say ‘good’) rounds of golf and ate mountains of seafood during my visits to Charleston, and felt that with so many similarities to my home of Virginia Beach, this town would be one I could plant some roots and begin my amateur sailing career.  

Alas, my road twisted in a different direction, and Charleston and I were not meant to be. That doesn’t mean I don’t still have the not-so-guilty fantasy of low country cooking and cool evenings overlooking brackish water with a trusty retriever by my side, sailboat moored just off my dock. I’ll just author a short story set in Charleston, which would be an excellent excuse to hole up there with the family for a week doing ‘research.’  

Or maybe, just maybe, someone will hire me to play in a band to crank out pop tunes at lavish and expensive weddings. And one of those weddings will take place at the Magnolia Plantation outside of Charleson, and we’ll have the night before the show to sit and eat and enjoy a little of what the town has to offer.  

Funny how life works out because I was able to do just that. Our flight was delayed into Charleston, but the kind people at Leon’s Oysters Shop let our bunch of hooligans come in late, and we shut down the place after doing our best to clean them out of peel and eats and fried everything.  

The next morning, I was up early, which meant lots of quiet coffee and contemplation. I realized that we didn’t have to be at the venue for about 5 hours, so that meant I had time to commandeer the rental van, scoop up one of the horn players, and head to the narrow cobblestone streets of historic Charleston.  

If you have never been to Charleston, I won’t bore you with the details of the Revolutionary or Civil Wars and the significant role the city played in each conflict. You can look it up. The beauty of Charleston hits on a few other fronts; the homes around ‘The Battery’ are amazing, King Street offers a little something for everyone, and the city has a distinct Southern Charm mixed with European and African influence.  Oh, and food that makes it all worth the trip. 

The homes in the several historic districts of town are simply amazing; each home teaches another lesson in architecture. The gnarled roots of 150-year-old trees interrupt the worn brick sidewalks, and the tall wrought-iron gates lead to beautiful courtyards and carriage houses behind homes that have seen ravages of war, hurricanes, and the occasional dive bomb of wayward pelicans.  

We walked the streets for a bit, marveling at the water, seeing the distant Ft. Sumter, and checking Zillow to compare home prices. (No, thank you). The market was bustling with tourists and vendors, each selling unique wares from palmetto baskets to food to, well, more palmetto baskets.  

After a decent little trip downtown, I headed back to the hotel, and scooped up yet another band member for another tour of town. Yeah, I walked the streets twice. I can’t get enough of the vibe, really, and the star (confederate) jasmine was in full bloom, with the sweet fragrance permeating the air over an entire block. Who needs a spa when I can get full immersion therapy like this?  

When walking the streets of a 300-year-old town, the past surely comes into play. I told my bandmates stories of past exploits in town, but interestingly, I didn’t really get upset about not moving to town. Everything happens the way it is supposed to, right? As much as I love a good bowl of shrimp and grits, I didn’t feel sad when I said goodbye to the area that afternoon.  

The wedding went off without a hitch, ok, one hitch, and the mansion was interesting. The history of the Magnolia Mansion is long and distinguished, having started in 1679. I will be doing some more research into the property soon as well. I’m glad I was able to retrace some important footsteps there.  

Our flight home was the first one out, which meant almost no sleep. I hit the ground running when I got back to town. The kids were chomping at the bit to hand out Mother’s Day presents, and I was on French Toast and child’s watch repair duty as I walked in the door. Then later that afternoon, we took the ‘stabilizers’ off Miles’ bike, and he learned yet another important life skill: how to keep trying until you succeed. The bike has become his new companion.  

The beauty of Charleston is one I want to share with my family next year. The kids will appreciate the dungeon museum and hush puppies, and I will promise my wife I won’t bore her with the difference in a Greek Revival and a Gothic Revival. We will respect the people that walked the streets before and the people who walk them now, and understand the real human connection in the two. And did I mention food again? 

I’m comfortably happy that in my mature and advanced years that I do not pine for something that didn’t happen and that I can be grateful for all the things that are in my life. The past makes us ask the wrong questions, and really our pasts should only make us smile. The present is the only time we truly have. It should be cherished as the most sacred thing we possess, even though we don’t own time. Oh, and hanging out with famous people doesn’t make you famous. At the end of the day, I’d actually rather not be famous. I’d like to eat my raw oysters with a little pepper sauce and in peace.  

See you on the road!