Signs of Travelers Rest-Greenville

(aka If I’m going to keep taking all these photos, I may as well post them.)

I don’t know if it’s my mood or the age of development along certain roads, but sometimes I hit a strip of fabulous signs that has me pulling off on the side of the road over and over. Today from Furman to I-185 …

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Huh?

Go ahead -- give us your interpretation.

 

I think it was Frieda — or maybe Dan — who snapped this one for me some time back. Just came across it in my email.

Here’s another one from Frieda …

Sheriff pulls up next to the guy unloading  garbage out of his pickup right into the  ditch.  Sheriff asks, “Why are you dumpin’ garbage in  the ditch?  Don’t you see that sign right  over your  head?”   “Yep”,  the man replies.  “That’s why I’m dumpin’ it here,  cause it says:  ‘Fine For Dumping  Garbage’.”

The long way home

Golden Isles Parkway. A highly recommended alternative route.

Actually, I believe it was a lot fewer miles to come home from Jacksonville via the Okefenokee Swamp, then diagonally across the state on Hwy 23, the Golden Isles Parkway. And certainly a whole lot more fun than driving back up that nasty I-75 between Macon and Valdosta, which is a screaming parade of heinously ugly billboards and orange barrels.

And I know that you are all glad that I took the day to humor my obsession with the written word, as displayed on roadside signs for all the world to see. (This is a long one, so settle in. Mouseover to control the slideshow.)

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Everywhere a sign (summer vacation edition)

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Your weekend MomVan

And so lacrosse ends and transitions into spring football. I enjoyed lax and hope Tom plays again next spring.

sweaty little boys

Inhale deeply. Savor the scent of stinky kid and well seasoned equipment.

Tom takes his mother's fixation with signage to new lows.

An afternoon in Henry County

Prom night at WaHo

In case y'all didn't believe me the last time I was in a WaHo south of Atlanta. Proof!

Frieda is my hero for whippin a U-ey to take this Flippen picture.

Frieda is my hero for whippin a U-ey to take this Flippen picture.

I got married at the Flippen Methodist Church!

Across the street … the Flippen cemetery, of course.

Prom night at WaHo

In case y’all think I made this up the last time I was in a WaHo south of town for lax. Proof!

Joe and the baby, Bruiser. Just too cute (both of them).

Random drive-bys: Everywhere a sign

Cleaning those Cubbie photos off my phone yesterday, I found all sorts of strange and wondrous BlackBerry pictures I’d snapped but never viewed.  So for the next few days I’ll subject you to a series of random clicks out the window and across the street.

Make up yer cottonpickin! One is right; the other is wrong.

It's bad enough there's a school for it. But does the sign have to speak txt?

HI! Get in there and get me one of those tots!

Larry McDonald fell down.

This suburban gated 'hood is called Renaissance. Imitation Old Masters adorn on the stone-veneer walls. It makes me grin. (But then, as you can see, I'm easily amused.)

This has been on Woodlawn forever. Dan and I looked at the house next to it when we were shopping houses once. There's a story behind it that's too long for a caption.

Because I can ... give you directions to my house from here.

I’ll have the shirt and shoes. Scattered, smothered and covered, please.

I cannot believe I left my phone in the car and didn’t get a photo of this one. At a Waffle House in an upscale Peachtree City strip center Saturday, I spied a  sign on the wall that said:

SHIRT AND SHOES MUST BE WORN TO BE SERVED.

Goodgodtomightee! I can’t even begin to think how to diagram that one.

Because we’re used to seeing, here in the South, “NoShoesNoShirtNoService” signs, we understand it by context. But imagine Star Man or someone from another country trying to parse this out. It could mean a host of things, not one of them what its author intended.

If shirt and shoes want us to serve them some food, they must be on someone’s torso and feet.

We only serve shirt and shoes that are old and worn.

We only serve shirt and shoes attached to someone’s torso and feet.

If shirt and shoes want food, they must be old and worn out.

Thank goodness there was no armed  panda (as opposed, you know, to a no-armed panda) in this particular WaHo.

Arrived, after a detour through the Motherland

Lyta and I are at Hunting Island, for the first time in well over a year, after a one-day stopover in Edgefield. Made for two nice short trips instead of one longer one.

Cubbie ran and ran last night in Edgefield and again this afternoon on the beach. The wonder dog doesn’t need any leash! Pics and videos tomorrow: I didn’t take the camera down today.

Boots & Boogie (in Barnwell)

the boot and the boogie

also in Barnwell

across from some sort of veterans place

Cubbie at the Beaufort Pubix

You’re from Frogmore!?

Dinner, breakfast .. .

view from the golfcart of where the blue house and the DeLoaches’ were.

view from the house