. a tribute .

To our beloved PawPaw. This is the song we sang to him before he passed away today.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see—
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav’n’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

("Abide With Me" by Henry F. Lyte, 1847)

A Left-Handed Slugger

So I am confident that Claire will be an incredible wife and mom because she’s had lots of practice. She is currently the Mother of an entire Church in Charlotte. Really, she runs the whole show and pulls all the strings. She keeps he wheels on the bus, the steering wheel in the right direction, prepares lunch, cleans up behind messy people, prays with broken people, organizing ridiculous teams of individuals, and all around makes ministry happen at her church. So when her church decided to have a softball tournament after Sunday service one day, her job got real complicated. It was no surprise that on the day of the big game, she was running a hundred miles an hour in a thousand directions, but some how she still managed to join one of the make-shift teams. She was a great bat in the line up, if you could find her and stop her hands from cleaning or mouth from talking. A left-handed slugger.

A few months later, Claire and I were preparing for a Redneck/Hippy Hybrid Softball/Campout Tournament called “The Rhododendron Festival” held every year in Valle Crucis, NC. I’ve played the tournament every year since I was born, I play on the same team my dad played on and my uncles and cousins all play. To get ready, cheap ol’ me decided to buy a new used glove from Play It Again Sports. Claire road with me. I didn’t notice it immediately, but as I tried on gloves, Claire tried on gloves. As a lefty, my gloves didn’t fit her and her gloves didn’t fit me. The best part of the story occurred when I picked a glove and proceeded to checkout, excited about my find. I paid and we left.

Claire was sad.

Then it hit me. Claire tried on gloves and really wanted one. I am an idiot, but I am smart enough to turn around and buy her a glove. I remember telling her, “You are worth a $30 dollar used baseball glove.”

Now she has a glove, but it was then that I learned she had never had her own glove before, and so had never learned to play catch. That afternoon, we recreated the great movie, Sandlot, in her front yard. I taught her to play catch. Since then, it is one of our favorite activities. We’ll stand in front of our respective houses, on the beach, in front of school, at rest stops, campgrounds, etc. and just throw the ball like kids.

We showed up to the tournament, and guess who forgot their brand-new, first-of-her-life glove.


I love it.

She is really good too.

Just because I love this scene:

What A Game

the Ruthless A-Team has an idea: !Story O’ Day!

that’s right for the next little while, the Ruthless A-Team will relay one of our favorite stories everyday. .you are invited to walk along with us. (like a walk to remember but without mandy moore singing a cheesy switchfoot song made great by the traumatic cinematic situation).


three.fifteen.twentyten – what a game

in a crowded upstairs garage apartment, i sit on the floor crowded with warm bodies all focused on a cold black box in the corner. .from the box light bursts forth eliciting both cheers and curses. .it is the single most expensive day in television advertising and a glorious excuse for fingerfoods.yardgames.gambling. .football on the television. .the super bowl. .good friends in the room. .the perfect seat.

then the t.v. disappears. .and many colors are replaced by one. .lime green. .a stunning blond beauty now sits between me and the images of football. .two options arise.

one. .be myself and sarcastically tell her she makes a better door than she does a window.

two. .be nice and start up conversation and sneak in a suggestion to move.

.‘you know if i was a girl or had a girl to give that to, i would definitely own that coat’.

.i went with the second. ?!wait I did what!? .we sit and talk for the remainder of the game. .i can’t remember a single commercial from the game. .i don’t even remember the halftime show. .i can’t remember the score and i only know who played because of wikipedia.

?what do i remember? .i know her name is Claire. .she is five foot eleven and a half. .she went to queens. .they let boys in now. .she grew up in shelby, nc. .she loves bridges bbq. .the real one on 74. .there is more to shelby than the highway. .she knows about kings mountain. .i promised her a picnic on top of the mountain one day. .she is stunningly beautiful. .an incredible dresser. .a good conversationist. .she loves Jesus.kids.animals. .a hottie.

.i want to see her again.

.the best football game of my life.

our games and our gun

to be honest. .i still want to be a cowboy. .i own cowboy boots.tight jeans.pearl snaps.belt buckles. and .stage coach guns. .so i got very excited when claire and i went to the store to register saturday and there was a handgun involved. .i quickly disregarded the fact that the store attendant had given the gun to claire. .i quickly apprehended it and searched my outfit and store merchandise for a suitable holster. .i became a boy. .that was not entirely a good thing. .my gun excited me. .but boys are not excited by pots and pans unless they are to be used as snare drums.cymbals. or .helmets. .degenerated to boyhood. .not always a bad thing. .as a kids claire and i jumped on beds.laid on the floor to test pillows. .tapped crystal glasses with silver knives to listen to the sounds. .sipped imaginary hot cocoa from china tea cups. .it was awesome. BUT .boyhood is not all good. .i had little need for 25 dollar bowls. .boys don't need german-made.hand-sharpened knives. .boys say unwise things that break princess hearts. .had they given us a scanning sword perhaps i would have acted like a knight. .knights defend.save.honor princesses. .cow-boys are ill-suited for such tasks. .so many times, the boy inside called things dumb and complained of prices and colors. .the boy wished for toys and tools not art and beauty. .my bride like a wonderful girl, played with me. BUT .she played grown-up. .a woman pretending to be a girl pretending to be a woman. .perhaps that's why they gave her the gun. .like young girls love to play with cellphones, she knew exactly what that gun was for. .it was for playing. but .playing grown up. not .shooting indians or outlaws.

.as we registered for very nice things, i discovered another reason i love claire. .she lets me play and loves me irregardless of my disinterest in china and silver. .she pardons my irreverence to culture. .it made me think of a song. .the lyrics follow and detail a boy in love with a princess. .he loves her and her culture but knows little of it and cannot promise to provide any of it. .while this is a caricature of claire and i, it conveys the point. .can each of us forgo the things we are used to in favor of being together with nowhere to be. .she could just as easily as me to go without my camo pants and dirty white ts. .my thrift store clothes and my processed foods. .my belief and my hope is that we will each say yes.

.nowhere to be. by .cast iron filter.

If you was my baby,
We'd go walk out on the sand
Eat hot dogs,
Drink a lot of cheap beer,
And still try to stand
Drive the highway
From toll to toll
A little static in the AM
On my radio
I'd show you things
That you'd never know
Things that you can't plan

But I know you ain't my baby,
And I can see you from afar
And I know I can't
So I won't even try
To get up where you are
But have you ever tasted salt
Dripping from your face
Gotten drunk as hell at a good ribs place
Tried each day just to keep the pace
It's five bucks and you've got four

Baby I want to see you smile,
Baby I'd take you out in style
Way downtown where the rich folks go
Or we can just be me
And get drunk at the dollar movies
See the stars, lights on cars
Time is ours, with nowhere to be.

The movies let out early
And the lovers home do run,
Through the low beams in the side lot
Off highway 501
Back way home,
I'm gonna take it slow
Wish I did but I don't know,
Work at six I've got to go
Another day in the sun
I wonder sometimes if you think of me
In your leather and your flowers
And your chocolate candies
You spend your hours
Down by the sea, sipping an umbrella drink
But could you go without your tiramisu
And eat the same thing a time or two
And take a rain check and an I owe you
On your pearls and a diamond ring.

Baby I want to see you smile,
Baby I'd take you out in style
Way downtown where the rich folks go
Or we can just be me
And get drunk at the dollar movies
See the stars, lights on cars
Time is ours, with nowhere to be.

. our save-the-date .

My brother-in-law, Sean Eno, was dear enough to create our save-the-date video.  Hope you enjoy!

. the ring .

Here's Andrew's account of events leading up to the proposal day.

     I closed my eyes to sleep for a few short hours on Gary and Emily’s couch.  In only 3 and a half hours, Gary would come tap my shoulder and wake me up to go duck hunting.  The backs of my eyelids sparkle like a country night sky, but these stars aren’t free.  For the last week, and intensely for the last 4 hours, Claire and I have stared over and over at countless stars.  Round cut stars, square cut stars, princess cut stars.  New stars, old stars.  Stars already hung in their specific place, and those still hunting for the perfect 4 prongs or hooks to hold them fast as they dance with the light. 

     You see, I dared to wish upon a star many years ago.  I dared to dream a dream upon that distant glow.  I closed my eyes and pictured a princess, skin fare, and locks long, and a classical figure to make the Venus blush and rage.  Her voice true and rich like honey on the comb, dripping with encouragement and peace.  That precious star now births a new star, one my princess can wear on her finger. 

     This search began almost a month ago after lunch with her grandmother, Gran.  As a princess, herself, Gran has many beautiful fairytale toys.  As an heir, Claire hoped to claim one such treasure, a circular star, once traded for a car, shaped by a Jewish expert in the faraway land of New York, then paired with tapered co-stars and mounted in that precious platinum frame.  6 hours of driving to ask 1 question, but that star was aligned against us and made its intentions known before the question.  And so the boy who had mistakenly bragged of not needing to find a star to kneel and wish upon, found himself wishing as fervently as ever. 

     Before the quest could take full form, I had to conquest the Duke Divinity School First Semester Finals.  I did too, conquested them with extreme prejudice. 

     After countless hours of sorting through rings and rings and stars and stars, I found the star to wish upon.  I found it and wished and wished and wished.  I found it but now how to purchase it, you see these things aren’t free.  With a combination of money given by my grandparents as I grew up, another loan from my parents, and a some savings, I made the phone call, exchanged some numbers, and made a deal.  Again, this star had to fly from far away New York City under the care of Israel, to the small, unassuming lowcountry. 

That morning I woke again before the sun, to hunt the ever elusive green headed duck.  In the cold, dark, flooded wood, I wished upon that shooting star.  That star falling South towards, Kingstree, SC.  On the way home, my heart stood on its tiptoes to see the star, but it was nowhere to be found in our castle.  With spoils to clean and a star to await, I sat on the front lawn of my parents respectable home and plucked and gutted plump ducks.  At every passing car, my heart and my eyes lept like a puppy waiting for a school bus bearing his favorite child.  After hours of cleaning, no shooting star had landed in my hands.  Agonizing hours of napping and watching. 

 To clear my brain and rest my waining heart, I went to shoot some poor defenseless skeet.  Again, extreme prejudice.

Returning home, I didn’t breathe or blink.  Scouring the house, like the bird dogs over the swamp this morning, I return to my mother panting and desperate for direction.  “It didn’t come.”  With those 3 words, a million lies flood my brain.  I am overwhelmed.  “I’ve been had.” “The ring doesn’t exist.”  “Told you it was too good to be true.”  Etc. Etc.  Tracking code in hand, and computer in lap, I type each keystroke slowly and fearfully.   

“WHAT?!”

The ring was waiting in the Kingstree post office, only to be finally retrieved by Andrew's dad after he called the postman on his cellphone early the next morning before the mail went out.  *Whew* And now it's on my finger... that beautiful star. 

. the details .

it's official...

MAY 22, 2010 

. our day .