AMERICAN SUMMER COMMENCES
FIRES IN THE HOTEL, JIMMY'S NO-NOs, PLAYING TOURIST IN MYRTLE BEACH, SNACKING ON BOILED PEANUTS AND SPA NIGHTS WITH BELLE MILLER.
Before I arrived back on US soil, my best friend from college, Jane, enticed me to “Come back and enjoy a very American summer!” I wasn’t exactly sure of what she meant - but given my last four weeks, I can tell you one thing, I know now. And I’m mastering it! Since I’ve written a month ago, I’ve been American-ing it up by way of a family beach week in Myrtle, cannon-balling at a waterpark, riding roller coasters, including a ‘mountain coaster’ in Pigeon Forge, spending Independence Day locking lips with my godson, Jimmy (2), and his 8 week (at that time) old brother, Eddie, I’ve crossed the state line to visit my cousins in Charlotte, cheered through a soccer game in a massive arena where the American snacks flowed as freely as the nacho cheese sauce on those ballpark chips, and I’ve logged plenty of miles on foot with a healing (praise be!) Goldie Hawn. Lastly, I’ve snuggled down so many American boodles I can’t keep count. Heaven!
After returning from my marathon family vacation circuit (that you’ll be reading about below), I got the sweetest invitation to spend the 4th of July with Jane and her crew down at her parent’s beach house in Pawley’s. True medicine for the soul. I haven’t laughed that hard in months. And the mouth kisses? Jimmy’s a bit of a hard-to-get type, but his Godmama’s got reflexes like lightning. So as he turned to me, I planted one on him. EACH time!
When I wasn’t cradling Eddie in my arms, on my chest, draped across my legs, or propped up beside me hoping he needed to be fed again so “I could! I could!”, I was laser-focused on counting how many new words my genius godson picked up over just a few days. Smartest boodle there ever was! We tallied 15 new ones — including “stop,” “bath,” and a couple of stern “no-nos.” He didn’t quite get my name, but Lord, the way he’d light up and squeal when I walked in the room? I’d trade all the words in the world for that!! He nailed it.
Oh! And not pictured — but forever etched in my heart — were our beach walks. Just Jimmy and me walking to the wave break. Him in nothing but a diaper and bareback lathered with a quarter inch of SPF (just how I like my babies at the beach), monkey-jumping into my arms every time I pretended to set him down in the waves (which of course is why I did this action on repeat. Ah! Delicious!). I must’ve done it 500 times. Still working on the whole “ocean is our friend” concept. But from this beach baby (moi) to that beach boodle (lui)… it’s only a matter of time — and a few more Godmother beach days before he’s bodysurfing like a pro… or like his uncle. (Jane’s brother, Peter, learned this activity this summer. I know this because each time he would head to the ocean he would turn around and yell to the true coastal gal… “Anne Caroline!! Watch this! WATCH!!” and then he’d surf a wave in. And as if I were his proud Godmother too, I would clap along with his children. And make a big to-do. Haha)
FAMILY BEACH WEEK
On Father’s Day (here in the US), after I saw my dad and gave him his French Open hat that I smuggled back from France with me, my mama, Harriette “Rarrie,” my step father, Joe, “Yoyo,” my sister, Miller, brother in law, Boggs, and their children, Boggs (13), and Belle Miller (10) all joined at 42nd Avenue and Ocean Boulevard in the heart of Myrtle Beach for a family beach week. It was the perfect house and I had the perfect room. It was just off of the second floor with my own private study, bath, and massive closet. Well, shared half the time by my favorite niece, Belle Miller Howard. She decided to take the room across the hall so that she could have her very own bathroom. A 10 year old’s dream, when they happen to be completely obsessed with a morning, afternoon and evening skincare routine, like she is. Boggs claimed the entire third floor, which had been outfitted with nine beds — clearly meant for an unruly pack of sugar-fueled children who needed the space to bounce from one to the other. And BM’s parents took the private guest house in the back of the property. So, in times when she “needed her mama”… I was more than DELIGHTED to fill in.
On the first night, I heard a soft knock on my door. Belle Miller was on the other side holding her pillow and stuffed animal named Taylor Slauth (can you guess who’s biggest fan she is?). “Annie, I’m scared of tsunamis.” Fully aware that a tsunami on the East Coast was about as likely as a snowstorm in July — thanks to tide patterns — I still told her to crawl into my bed so I could “keep her safe.” Hey, whatever it took to get her to snuggle down! It worked!
I thought she may have wanted to return to her bed satisfied that there is no fear to be had in tsunamis, after we had made a full investigation and read the statistics of one ever happening on the shore of South Carolina. Mais, non. Instead, she gleefully switched the subject to her friends and got even more snuggled down. Then, MY FAVORITE PART… she asked if she could sleep with me. HIGHLIGHT OF MY TRIP! She ended up bunking with me 3 out of the 5 nights we were in that house together. And over the course of the twelve days we have been together since leaving the Beach House (I stole her for another week when her parents were Greenville bound)… more times than I can count. The boodle late night gabs are everything! BLISS. (Picture below for proof.)
My family and I are pro-level beachgoers — if that's even a thing (and honestly, it should be). We've been perfecting the craft since before we were even born. According to family lore, our mothers — and their mothers before them — had their husbands dig little belly holes in the sand before heading off to work in the summertime pregnancy months, just so they could lie on their stomachs, catch a sun nap, and keep their baby bumps (aka us future beach bums) comfortably nestled. So, naturally, most mornings and late evenings you'd find us shoreside: staking out our chair spots at sunrise and cracking open “one more beer before heading in” at dusk, accompanied by the ever salty boiled peanuts, a sun-kissed face and sand paste on our legs from the extra sunscreen applications mixed in with, well, the day .
While we were down in Myrtle, we ran into our second cousins once removed. Or was it third cousins twice removed? Welcome to the South, where everyone’s somehow related. Turns out, the Watsons’ home was just a few avenues over from ours. They’ve got four daughters around my and my sister’s ages, and each of them has had about three to four kids of their own, give or take a toddler. So naturally, the beach chatter revolved around babies, teething horror stories, and who’s heading off to college this fall. Something’s in the water downhere actually I think, as everytime I turned around I was learning of another pregnancy. I’m like… where’s that spicket? And can I take a sip?
Speaking of bébés… A fun PSA! Miranda, my best friend in Paris, and her husband Nico, just welcomed into the world miss Charlotte Lily Hélène Bayle TODAY, July 14th. Her parent’s joked on our text this morning with me that they are happy to report that “She is sure to have fireworks on her birthday every year.” It’s Bastille Day in France.
While in Myrtle we played like the tourists do. Something, even though we were raised in the heart of a summertime playground, and our family is in the amusement business, we never did. Our beach house, up until it was sold two years ago, was in the southern part of the Grand Strand, and therefore miles and miles – meaning, bumper-to-bumper-traffic - away from all the rides, go-carts, mini golfs, and water parks. Staying in downtown Myrtle this week, we made up for time lost / rides not ridden. And had a BALL!
We started with Myrtle Waves – a water park that hasn’t changed all too much since I was Boggs and BM’s age. With the exception of the Rockin’ Ray. (Note to self, this slide is subject to causing unnecessary profanity screams on your way down backwards and ample sporadic belly laughs as you drop some 40 feet at the time of launch.) And if you have the chance, ride with your sibling. Miller and I lost body control each time we took the same tube, laughing so hard that the lifeguards would have to yank us from the kiddy pool at the end of our ride before an 8 year old behind us would drown us with his raft.
At the beginning of our day I rode the scariest tube of all time with Belle Miller racing beside me in her own. There was no raft with this one. Just bare body. My double-her-weight-size catapulted me down the slide at bolt speed. The most psychedelic experience – twirling me around, slamming me against the wet dark hot tube with no way of stopping. When I reached the bottom I couldn’t walk. No joke! Body electric. Belle Miller practically skipped away begging that we do it again. Using one of Jimmy’s new sayings, I said “NO NO!” Instead, I insisted that Miller had to try it. Poor thing. She had no idea what was coming! I continued to video every person’s ride so as not to miss her’s… yet, no need. Because the second she took off from way up top I knew it was her. The scream I heard, everyone heard because it echoed in the park, was Miller. She screamed bloody murder the entire 30 seconds she twisted, dipped, and got slung about until she popped out, wiped her face, and looked directly at me with “I hated that! That was awful!” (I will have some video proof on my instagram soon. She’s going to kill me. But, I can’t resist. Makes me cackle!)
Aside from the wave pool being “contaminated” by a kid who had thrown up all of his snack —Where is Jimmy when we need him? This little kid needed to be told “no no” before he was over-served at the Dip-N-Dots counter — we had a riot! GO!
The next night we sought out to hurl our bodies — while not wearing a bathing suit or schlepping a raft from one end of the burning asphalt park to the other, but yet at the open air amusement park — at Family Kingdom. We rode everything! And screamed all the way through! I, odd number out in line for the Swamp Fox, the ricketiest wooden roller coaster in the south east, locked arms with my stranger turn savior seat-mate on our plummet to the bottom and didn’t let go until the ride came to a complete stop. My mama told us that her father took her and her brother on it the first day it opened back in June 1966. So sweet! If you didn’t know, my mother is one of the rare few who was born and raised in Myrtle - on 48th Avenue to be exact!
We carried on as the (local) tourists would, and the girls took a shopping trip while the boys went on a guided fishing voyage to catch our delicious dinner.
On our shopping day, Belle Miller got to experience The Dunes Club. A place where my sister and her husband had their wedding, a place my sister and I grew up going to in our Sunday-Bests to eat lunch on special occasions with our grandparents, and where my mom had her first date as a 15 year old.
SIDEBAR 1: One of my favorite stories my mama tells is this little gem: Back in her dating days, her parents coached her to always order the cheapest thing on the menu to be polite. So, being the good Southern girl she was, she picked the whole flounder. A terribly inexpensive plate. What they didn’t prepare her for was that it would show up fully intact — bones and all.
When she saw those tiny bones staring back at her, she panicked. Terrified she’d break proper Southern etiquette by taking them out of her mouth at the table, she swallowed them. Every. Last. One. All while making a face that silently screamed, this hurts so bad.
Needless to say, she’s never ordered a fish that wasn’t de-boned again — and there was definitely not a second date.
SIDEBAR 2 (and much longer): This also happens to be where we met Rudy Giuliani — which absolutely deserves a sidebar because, my word, what a hilarious meet-cute.
It all started one late weekday afternoon, when my grandmother took the family to lunch in the dining hall. We were the last table sat for that day’s service, and naturally, we lingered — eating, laughing, telling stories like we always do. Around 2 p.m., Herb, the maître d’, came gliding over to our table with a bit of intrigue: “There’s a presidential candidate on the golf course today.” We gaulked! But he refused to tell us who.
Fast forward twenty minutes, and in walks the puffiest, shiniest, bluest New York Yankees jacket you’ve ever seen — practically glowing in the Southern sun. Behind him? My cousin Gene, hanging back like a kid who just brought a stray dog into the house and knew he was about to catch heat. I roar with laughter thinking about how mortified Gene must’ve been.
A. We had no idea Rudy was playing golf.
B. We had no idea Gene knew Rudy. Vice versa.
C. And we definitely didn’t know they were golfing together that day. There!
We still laugh imagining Rudy thinking Gene had somehow summoned his entire extended family to come admire who he was teeing off with. It was unreal.
As any potential president would — or maybe just a polite golf buddy meeting the in-laws — Rudy walked over to our table to introduce himself. We all stood to greet him, one by one… except for the Matriarch herself. The Head of the Table. Queen of the South. My Mamee.
No, Mamee stayed firmly seated in the chair Herb had wheeled over for her earlier (we all sat in regular non-wheeled fluffed chairs, if you’re wondering) cane resting beside her like a royal scepter. When Rudy reached her, she didn’t bat an eye. Just sat up tall, extended her hand like she was being introduced at court and declared, clear as a (very) southern bell: “I am the motha, the grandmotha, and the aunt of all these fine people.”
We all wanted to evaporate. Rudy nodded with the kind of practiced smile that said I meet characters like this daily, and then quietly made his way to his table.
As we finished our meal and Herb returned to escort Mamee to her car, she took his arm and mine, cane in hand, and sashayed out just as she’d sashayed in — graceful, poised, and entirely in command. And as we passed Rudy’s table, she leaned slightly in my direction and let out a very un-grandmotherly, whisper: “Bassssstaaaaard!”
I wanted to die. We’re pretty sure he didn’t hear it, but who knows?
Turns out, Mamee was a staunch Democrat — and she was wild unimpressed by anyone who didn’t ask her name after she delivered a grand performance as the one she gave Mr. President (candidate). Honestly? Iconic. J’adore.
So, needless to say, this place held some memories. And still continue to! We met my mother’s aunt, and Gene’s mother!!!, there for lunch, Sarah Hope – the chicest woman in all of Myrtle Beach. We wanted to dine and visit of course, but too to show the current boodle Belle Miller where her namesake, the original Belle Miller, used to hold court. It was a very special experience to see the faces of people who we introduced her to. Everyone of them teared up as they heard Belle Miller’s name as they remembered the original — my precious spit-fire-glamourous grandmother. Those who met her, never forgot her. I’d venture to say — even Rudy!
Miller, Boggs and I had two dates at The Sea Captain's House – the best local restaurant in all of the beach if you ask us. We also took a trip down every-teenage-birthday-party-spot memory lane and pulled up a chair to a flattop where a Japanese chef flung shrimp in our mouths and faked my mama out by squeezing sauce on her blouse… Yamatos. The children LOVED it!
My genius and dedicated nephew, Boggs, found a whopping 605 sharks teeth - NO JOKE! The famed local weather man, Ed Piotrowski, even wrote a mini story about him. He, like his great grandfather, the original Belle Miller’s husband, is a master at spotting them.
And, summer at the beach isn’t really happening unless there is at least one panic about what we’ll eat at some point during (every) day, afternoon naps, a few family tiffs, shrimp-creole, fried okra, boiled peanuts, and my mama’s homemade peach ice-cream involved. Lucky for us, we had lots of it all!
I’ve often joked that fish and family have one thing in common — after about three days, they both start to smell. And let’s be honest, it’s not not true. But this time, the saying took on a different meaning. You’re supposed to eat fish within three days before it goes bad… and having Belle Miller around longer than that? I practically devoured her first day in solo. She never spoiled! She got better and better. She’s with me till the end of this EN ROUTE…
FAMILY TRIP TO CHARLOTTE
From the morning we checked out of our paradise on the beach, Miller, Boggs, Belle Miller, Boggsy and I loaded up and made our way over to my father’s house, where we picked him up for a trip to Charlotte. We were all going to the Club World Cup soccer match: Real Madrid vs Pachuca on that Sunday.
We arrived in Charlotte in the late afternoon — just in time for a cold beer at a local brewery and a spontaneous visit with our cousin Sarah, her sweet husband, Corbin, and their absolutely edible one-year-old daughter, Smith. After a lively evening and a full day of travel, we turned in early, grateful for a real bed and a quiet night before our busy day ahead. But only a few short hours after drifting off, we were jolted awake by a blaring siren and a mechanical voice of a robot man crackling through the wall speaker: “A fire has been reported in the building. Please make your way to the nearest exit.” Siren. Robot man. Siren. Robot man. Repeat. It was like being shaken from a dream into a scene from a low-budget fire safety video.
We were staying on the top floor – 16th to be exact. So in the blurry eyed dreamstate, I was the only one to grab all of my belongings (literally the only one in all of the hotel guests who did this. Did no one else hear the robot man? There was a FIRE reported IN THE BUILDING!) and made our way downstairs, found the rest of our family, sat for 20 minutes outside scratching our heads in curiosity and amusement that this was happening until the Fire Department pulled their truck away from the scene and another loudspeaker alaremend. This time it was coming from a cop car across the street – A manager spoke “You are free to go back to your rooms. We have taken care of the fire, but we can’t seem to turn off the alarms. We will do our best to get them turned off and alert you if you need to evacuate again.” HUMMMM what?!!
We did as we were instructed. We hiked the 16 flights back up to the top and returned to our rooms while the alarm blared. By 1:08 am they finally had them turned off and in a few short hours, at 3am, it was GroundHogs Day. The same robot man alarm sounded and screaming sirens blared. Deja vu. This would happen another two times in the night. By 9am I woke up completely, brushed my teeth with a bottle of water, as during all of this fiasco, the water had also stopped working. The irony of a fire alarm going off in a waterless building. Am I right?
After we all were up, showered, fueled by the take-out coffee, we made our way to the Museum of Illusions (GO!! If you’re ever in town. We had a ball!) and then to a pub for a bite before the game. There, we noticed the streets spilling over with fans. Little did we know that the restaurant we chose would actually be front row to the parade of players caravanning from their hotel to the stadium. The kids LOVED this!
With the contagious enthusiasm as they passed, I asked everyone what they thought the final score would be. I bet 3-1 Real Madrid. Miller followed in agreeance and then Belle Miller changed her 4-2 to 3-1. Luckily they had me! Because guess who guessed exactly right?!!!! MOI! The girl in the group who didn’t even know about soccer until I moved over to France and watched it more times in the 24 months than I ever did in a lifetime. Once Real Madrid scored 3, and Pachuca was already at 1, I held my breath until I won the bet!
From the game, I practically skipped to the car where I was taking Belle Miller with me for a spend the night at Sasa and Corbin’s. We had been planning this for over a month now – a spend the night with baby Smith, and a dinner with my other two precious cousins, Emmy and Helen, who live in the Charlotte area too. Best night of family, laughter and memories in their beyond gorgeous home.
That night, after Smith went to beddy-by, we had our dinner, and Belle Miller was tucked in, Sarah, Corbin and I stayed up until … wait for it… 2am talking, reminiscing, and laughing. At one point Corbin asked me if I had ever considered moving to Charlotte. He said “there’s something to be said for being close to family. We would love to have you here.” It made my heart sing. He isn’t wrong. That slumber was an UPGRADE for my soul and something I feel so grateful to have. FAMILY … and lots of them finally on the same continent again… and sharing memories together.
On our way to Rarrie and Yoyo’s house, Belle Miller and I stopped in to visit Great Grandmama. At 98, her hearing isn’t what it used to be, but that didn’t stop her from keeping us fully entertained. She talked and talked, sharing stories, voicing her worries, and catching us up on all her news. Belle Miller was edible as she would take her voice to volume 10 when she addressed Greatmama, as we call her, and took her speed to a snnnnaaaaaaaaailllllllsssss pace. My edible, slow and loud, boodle.
BELLE MILLER + MOI
It was a dream to have BM with me for those solid 12 days. I have missed her so much since delivering her back to her mama and daddy in Greenville last week. I’m lucky. Because without my own children yet – I am given the rare opportunity to have real relationships with my niece and nephew – separate from their parents. It’s something not every aunty or uncle has the opportunity to experience. Belle Miller and I bound more and more with each visit. And I feel grateful beyond belief to have her with me. We played in the river, made a spa night, at ice cream together, laughed at the dinner table, attempted (3 different times) to finish My Fair Lady, and slumbered in our bedrooms. I have learned so much from her on this trip (and about all her friends and which little boys they all like) and only hope to grow up to be just like my adaptable ten year old niece one day. She’s my inspiration!
Last week, she and I took GH for a great vet visit (they’re getting better and better) met Pops, where we will pile into his car and caravan to Greenville. We dropped her off for good this summer and spent the night together with her mama and family, and then Pops and I continued on to the Rocky Mountains in Tennessee. I joined him for the opening of another one of his properties and saw the ones he already has in that area. I had a ball (pun) getting beat in putt putt by him at Lost Treasure Golf and riding my first ever Mountain Coaster.
American summer has commenced!
Until next time. Xxo ac
I so very much enjoyed this post as I could identify with so much and enjoyed hearing some new things I didn’t know! Keep them coming! Even better spending some time with this beautiful lady and awesome writer in person!