That’s what the authorities are calling the fire that got started just outside of McClellanville, SC.  Miraculously, no one was hurt. The weather here has been picture perfect. Warm and clear with scented breezes. Everyone felt we deserved it since the winter was the coldest and darkest anyone can remember. I can deal with the cold, but the skies continued to remain dark from October until about a month ago. My relief at winter’s end blinded me to the danger from all this beautiful weather. The danger of fire.

Fortunately’ there are people willing to put their lives on the line to save their community. Dozens of government agencies coordinated the local volunteer fire departments to safeguard life and property. My humble thanks to all these men and women.

Instead having our pick of velvet Elvises or Elvii, we had found nothing. Had everyone hung on to their velvet fantasy paintings? We loved to scour antique stores and junk shops. The  shop owners could have helped us sooner if we hadn’t been so embarrassed to ask. When we finally did ask the owner of one shop, he instantly turned to his pile of auction catalogues, murmuring,”It’s here somewhere, under Hawaiiani.” “Gesundheit!” we replied. He pulled a fat catalogue out. Did that say Sotheby’s on the cover?

“They’re incredibly hard to get. Most of them have had a hard life and velvet is very fragile. Did you have a price range in mind?” Price range? How about 5 bucks? At that point, we were gently told about the price a velvet Elvis would cost. I’ve written about abandoned art before. In this case, the reverse had happened. Unknown artists had…

We used to drive to Florida when our father would finally take vacation time. I could write about our spectacular burns or the delectable conch chowder and pompano dinners or the silky sand that we couldn’t stop smoothing. This,however, is supposed to be an art blog and I’m going to write about Elvis. Again.

Velvet Elvises.  Or is that Velvet Elvii? They were at every roadside stop, all kinds. They were loud and proud, standing next to the other essentials for life:  plastic pink flamingos, orange blossom perfume and jingle shell bracelets and earrings. My parents didn’t understand the lure of kitsch AT ALL. I thought the black velvet paintings were the prettiest. Oh, maybe not one of Elvis. He was the Handsome devil who had turned my beloved sister into a “teenager” (this said in an extremely annoying sing song voice). Maybe a tasteful one of palms and coconuts.…

Before Elvis crashed onto the music world, my older sister would build forts with me in the woods. She would swing me for as long as I wanted on the old swing behind the doll house. She took the time to polish my nails and taught me how to curl my hair. She helped me with my Halloween costumes and let me help with cutting the Jack o’lantern. Ten years older than me, she didn’t mind dragging around her little sister.

Then came  Elvis Presley. Okay, my brothers parodied that famous dance while hollering “You Ain’t Nothin’ But A Houndog.” All Day long. All. Day. Long. I laughed until my sides hurt. But Elvis stole my sister. She became a teenager. She didn’t want to look at my pet crow. She barely noticed when the landscapers came and cut off all the lower limbs on the trees at our home,…