THE SUMMER I LEARNED PLENTY

There are as many assumptions, misconceptions, and misappropriations of “The Season of the Witch” as there are… well… please insert peach emoji. But I always prefer to count on the language of a culture to authentically light the way when it comes to historical accuracy.

Samhain. 1888. Pronounced sow-in. It means “summer’s end.” If you look at the root, Sam (1300) also translates as “age in years” - counted by Summers. A festival to honor your age in Summers? In gratitude for the bounty of the season and in preparation for surviving the long Winter ahead? In prayer that they’ll make it to another Summer?

I’m in.

A few weeks ago, I posted the piece below on my Patreon. But after (somewhat unintentionally) celebrating Samhain, it feels right to share an inventory of all that I'm leaving behind me here: 

The Summer I Learned Plenty 

For the first time in a very long time, I had the whole Summer off. So instead of slinging sunglasses to the students who stayed in town, I was able to place marks all over our wall calendar! All said and done, your least favorite writer and her beau were “officially on vacation” for 28 days. In preparation, I’d made an extensive list of what I’d like to read, study, and write about. But pretty quickly, I learned the most valuable lesson of all. Sometimes learning means less seeking. More quiet contemplation. And much more absorbing. So I made a crucial pivot. One that made all the difference.

“Pack the volumes and the MacBook. 

Eighty six the itinerary.”

And with that single decision, I made a sacred promise to myself. Instead of seeking lessons or entertainment intentionally, I would imbed myself within the arranged enclaves and focus. Listen. Taking copious amounts of notes, I was able to gain access to information that had been at-my-fingertips for some time. Too long overlooked.

I learned that the natural world is my constant companion… pale pink petals on the water, whisking me into the arms of my fellow for a moonlit swim. A beetle, taking center stage - on cue - as we took the long way home from Camp Watercolor. Each of our frog friends, whether solid as a sentry or soaked to the bone, tenacious in their own right. A bedraggled lizard - begging me to banish his tormenters. Dragonflies the size of helicopters. A lone cricket in the lap pool. Irreverent seagulls - each tucked in the most unexpected perch. Each consort carried a truth to share: “come this way,” “for some adventures, you’ll need armor,” “home, you’ll be home soon,” “careful jumping into something without an exit plan.” I learned to listen to silence as well. This Summer. Without letting it break me.

I also learned that pretty is as pretty does. Makeup can only do so much. And these days “so much” is actually quite a bit. Take one look at a couple deconstructed Real Housewives and you’ll see the proof in that pudding. But there is no amount of spackle or bronzer that will cover up a lack of kindness. Manners, empathy, radical inclusion - especially including the odd “man” out - will do more for your complexion than anything they can bottle. What they’ll do for your soul? Well that’s just a bonus! Gift with “purchase.” As Nelson Mandela much more poignantly pointed out: ”Character is how you treat those who can do nothing for you.” Pretty words, from a gorgeous human being.

I learned to get a second opinion. When the people surrounding you make you feel invisible, pay attention to strangers. Often, they see things those closest to us have overlooked - from frantic stare to unwelcome tear… A waitress who wasn’t assigned to our table made me blush in Pompano. An over served fangirl swore that I was a star in Seaside. Three twenty-somethings on their first group trip to 30A swooned over my glasses in a thrift shop, plotting to update their own and asking alllll the questions. And a lifeguard with perfect lipstick was the utter manifestation of what I always daydreamed it would be like to have teenage girls in the house. Love really is all around! A lesson I downloaded some time ago but misplaced, in the struggle to manage my grief. 

And I learned that Nobody… And when I type that I do mean not one single, solitary person. Nobody’s lack of consideration or courtesy is my emergency. Growing up, messages surrounding my value were often based in being helpful. Praise: “You came along when I needed to remember how beautiful life really is.” Or command: “Ashley PLEASE just keep her happy.” Occasionally: “you’re not very pleasant to be around right now.” And even... even when my father’s wife explained to me how he assured her that I was so low maintenance that they wouldn’t need to put together a big budget for my wedding... It almost sounded like a compliment. Yeah. I actually absorbed *you’re entitled to less because you don’t ask for as much* as a compliment. (My crew helped me realize that people have been taking advantage of my nature for much longer than I realized.)

So for the first (crossing my fingers & toes that I’m only halfway done) half of my life, I did as much as I could to be that person, for as many people as possible, for a very long time. And as often as possible. I was desperate to be her. To be loved. But I’m actually really exhausted by her at this point. Because once there was no longer anything she could do to be of service, the world was quite a lonely place to inhabit. Discarded. Picked up by anyone with a con wrapped in an emergency. And discarded again. And so it was that, through a rigorous curriculum of caterwaul, a series of suicidal ideation, and an absolute cannon of painful realizations, I arrived at this conclusion: never loan your time, attention, or anything you value to someone who looks right through you until they have an urgent request.

It wasn’t always elegant, uncovering these articles of emotional intellect. My face was, many times, too teardrop etched to leave the room, or the house. Or the gas station bathroom. But I learned one more thing this Summer:

My Grandfather, Boppa - of Clan Honey, taught me how to “bet on the right horse.” And that horse carries an absolute Prince. Valiantly. To guard post. Or into battle. Every single time I need him.

So I’ll never trade this castle for crypto. 

With each of the 35 days left in this rainy Summer (once we returned home) I leaned into caring for the people who see the tears my smile or silence so desperately attempts to hide. There’s a new girl in that crew. Her name is - wink - Ashley. And she finally sees all of it with crystal clarity. But you can call me “Kitty.”  #IYKYK  Pretty and witty, cheap as a disco ball, and leaving a wake of orange feathers in the rearview - I’m focusing on the gratitude I harbor for these “low tide” lessons.

Because this tempest-less teacup runneth TF over! Xo,A 

11 Things You May Not Know ...

"Do something that scares you today," she said. I did, on TikTok, I SAID IT! I shared a video from SXSW when I interviewed H.E.R. on the red carpet. But what the video doesn't capture, is how elegantly Gabriella helped ground me. (I was shaking like a leaf - it was my first time!) And how brilliantly she empowered me to embrace my fear. It wasn't necessarily something that could be captured on film. It was somehow both ephemeral and deeply palpable at once. But I'm quite certain those few moments will never completely leave me. I put my hands together that they never will.

So in that endeavor, I'm going to putter around with something scary:

ELEVEN THINGS YOU MAY NOT KNOW 'BOUT ME

Number 1:  Hot dogs are my love language. 

Number 2: I was in a movie with Mink Stole, Karen Black, Pleasant Gehman, Jane Wiedlin, Susan Traylor & Starina Johnson. I didn’t get a speaking part, though. Likely because I told the Director, who arrived on my doorstep (to secure my participation) early in the morning after a very late dinner party, that I wasn’t receiving unannounced guests at “this” hour. Which was not a tactic. I care more about manners than proximity to fame.

Number 3: I’ve yet to find a single morsel that can’t be improved by the addition of capers or hot sauce.

Number 4: In 2000, Coyote Ugly debuted in theaters. In 1996, as a bartender on Bourbon Street, I struck a deal with my bar back. I would dance the Macarena on top of the bar (Denim shirt/shorts and Doc Martins) to pull focus over to our side of the massive space. He would bartend. We’d split the loot. I retired in ’98.

Number 5: I wrote a book about cheeseburgers.

Number 6: I was abused as a child, and as a teenager. Assaulted as an adult. And have absorbed multiple traumatic bodily injuries throughout my life. When you pair the emotional abuse with the physical trauma, I’m not entirely sure how I survived at all. But I am profoundly aware of being protected by a source that is greater than myself. That being said… I have also had some success treating my own PTSD and no longer suffer from the more debilitating side effects of that illness.

Number 7: I did not finish College. But my friend Betty Sweet once looked at me and said "Ashley, a MORON can graduate from college." So, instead of pining for what I don’t have, I learned to celebrate the vast trove of valuable skills getting this far has bestowed upon me.

Number 8: I fully staffed the first Macon Film Festival in under 24 hours. We called it MaGa. So there are more than a few sentimental tees I’ll never wear in public again.

Number 9: I once attended “Pleasure Boot Camp” at Kripalu in the Berkshires. It was hosted by Regina Thomashauer who wrote Mama Gena’s Owner’s & Operator’s Guide to Men. I organized a semi-unauthorized Lake break-in (our homework was to bend the rules), late night skinny dip, clothing-optional hike (most of us tied our garments into a turban), and tea circle around a fire we made with the New York Times + hairspray. It earned me a title from my kindreds: The Martha Stewart of Bad Girls.

Number 10: I know more 90’s hip hop lyrics by heart than you do. So if you’re lookin’ to lose … you know where to find me podnah.

Number 11: I’m a judge at the Forest Heights Blueberry Festival Cook-off next weekend - 5/31. Who’s coming to see us???

I hope you enjoyed the round-up! Now you know. 

This Is An A&B Situation

The first very first treat on Becca Bloom’s TikTok is a touching girl-to-girl moment. Becca lights a candle (aka she had me at Hello!) and assures us that whilst “insecurity talks and jealousy whispers. We stay rooted.” Sign me the eff up, sustah! 

Welcome. Take off your shoes and get comfortable.

I’ve decided that I’ll let you in on a little secret. (Deep breath…) I’ve been a character actor in my own life for 17,703 days. I remember, as a little girl, having more wealthy friends tell me how lucky I was to tag along in their life. When I joined the Junior League, someone wondered (aloud and in front of me) who “pulled the strings.” Even in my family. An impending visit from someone else might trigger a banana pudding. But when I visit, making a list of chores has been customary. I was the go-to gal when someone couldn't pay full price (or at all) for a service they needed performed. And now as an adult and, geographically speaking, “new girl” I’ve been absolutely gobsmacked by the amount of who-the-f-does-she-think-she-is energy. But I’m not going to regret any of that. Ever. I love being supportive to the people around me. And, I want to be transparent, that does come with a healthy dose of “people are using your good nature against you, Ashley.” But I won't have much time for that any more. Because I’ve decided to accept another role - the lead. Yes. Today I’m writing to announce that I have been offered top billing. And I took it!

My casting agent? The Brilliant … Becca Bloom.

Last week, last month, or last year - at this point I couldn't say for sure, I tumbled into the burrow of an unorthodox influencer. And hooo-honey, she delivers the goods! The Van Cleef draped, Judith Leiber hot dog toting, professional diamond solitaire lifter ... is somewhat rightfully being compared to Marie Antoinette. In (I’ll give it) striking similarity if you distill some of the coincidences of context. And the very first thing I can tell you is that she gives the likes of the Kartrashians a run for their (quite literal) money. This isn’t spackled-together riche. It’ s an accurate snapshot of considerable wealth. And I'm here for it. Pookie, on the other hand, is probably packing all that Hermes into her Honda Pilot as we speak so Daddy Fang can’t hawk it. I digress. IYKYK. I’m not a big fan of "luxury" (emphasis on the quotes am-I-right?) influencer culture. I typically go for the Mom who’s down 255 pounds and wants to share her Chick-fil-A order. Or the middle aged darling who is building her interior design business one room in her own home at a time while working part time at the Hallmark store.

So how did I discover Becca? Because I’m fvcking magical that’s how. See how easy it is to step into that energy? Kidding. In all seriousness arriving at this particular spot almost killed me. But the view is fricking fantastic!

And how did Becca cast me in this new role? Well. I will say it was entirely unintentional. She was her. Breathtakingly so. But I saw me. And in this life, there is nothing more precious than a human who is gifted enough to hold up a mirror for you. Want to get to know us? Ok! 

Ladies like us .........

Love a magnifying glass. Lady Detectives through and through, the game is nearly always afoot. We know that “scientific lab coats” are made by the likes of Brooks Brothers and come in satin piped Terry cloth that is cinched at the waist. We are forever ballerinas who are also v. good at mathing. (My AP Calculus group thought I was in the wrong exam room because I just “got” it and didn’t ever have to go to class.) We have an incredible work ethic and we respect the opportunities we’re given. Girl’s girls! We’re not going to let somebody’s crusty son get away with disrespecting you. Love to punctuate a moment with a Jellycat? You bet your sweet peach we do! We don’t overcomplicate things and love a chance to simplify a concept for others. Romance = Science. Twenty four hours in New York? Don’t knock it till you try it. That right there is a portal to another dimension and I’m not even sorta kidding. I have done it often.

You may find a rock collection in our purse. What? I said “we stay rooted” at the very beginning. We collect. For Becca: jewelry, sculptural handbags, and clothing. For me? Feathers, books, Limoges, and tiny white porcelain swans. We stay calm in stressful situations.  Nobody at this table is scared of an elaborate invitation!

Of COURSE she uses oysters as a ring dish.

Can you say Doppelgänger??? JkJkJk 

Photo: Becca Bloom's TikTok

We are Issey Miyaki wearing, binocular toting, hot dog loving, long term greedy gals. We understand if our Mother’s fortune teller tells us not to buy a house. We get it. We’re not buying that house. We choose our battles. Easily offended is easily manipulated. In the evening, you’ll most likely find us in Dior pajamas. Mine were my paternal Grandmother’s. We’d rather skip the after party to watch Love on the Spectrum. Speaking of LOVE… those (blushes) *secret Japanese enzymes* tho. We are up for a goldfish funeral, a friend celebrating 30 days no-contact with an ex, or a cat birthday but completely allergic to idiots. I’m certain that there are so many differences between Ashley Smith and Becca Bloom. But aren’t our likenesses so much more interesting?

I suppose, if I came here to say anything, that sentence right up there is it.

Mothers Day, typically a complicated day for me, was a dream. The Mister made breakfast. I met up with The J’s for pedicures. Got silly with Little J in TJ Maxx. Had a brilliant Dinner at George’s Lowcountry Table. And watched Throw Mama From The Train - his Mother’s request. They are ... two sweet peas.

I started to call it irony that Becca was the one who gave me this little enormous nudge. But I don’t want to rob her of her influence. No not that kind. The other influence: depth of character paired with sparkling intellect.

All of my Gratitude B. Xo, A