A Bunch of New Stuff

Such a charming aunt I write this blog for, isn't she? All manners and support.
Unbeknownst to you, AUNT GEORGIA, I was in the room when Mom was reading the delightful email you sent her the other day. I will publish here the harsh and ungrateful demands I cater to, month after month.

Georgia writes: ...and where are my photos of all the new homes???? It's not like the photographer has a "real" job or anything. When I get home next Tuesday, I expect a bunch of new stuff. 

Y'all see. See what I'm working with here. Do you know how much time it takes me to concoct, write-up, take pictures for, and then polish off these posts? Hmm? Fine, it's not that much time BUT I am trying to do it in-between moments of real life, so.

The reasons you don't have pictures yet, GEORGIA, are many. To start, I've been working on my own house, materializing various resumes, making escape plans, and wallowing in self-pity. It's kept me busy. Secondly, Ellen's new place is a half-hour drive through traffic infested highways and I'd rather not go out there unless I have errands to run in that vicinity. Third, I was forbidden photo documentation of the home by both the new owner and her mother until pictures were hung and plastic plants were placed. And finally, GEORGIA, on the few occasions that I had an hour to dedicate to traffic, neither one of the two happy homemakers were home.

So fine Georgie, rather than artfully moving through the Villard residence, capturing elegant details illuminated by the evening sun, I took crime-scene pictures, quickly and purposefully, discreetly documenting rooms while Chris' parents were in town for a brief visit.

I'll shall now give you the tour of this grande abode in an "American Dream" style neighborhood waaaay up highway 61. It's a very pretty place with huge rooms and great outdoor greenery.

Downstairs you will find the dining room, kitchen, and living room. There is also a garage, a porch, and grandiose laundry room that I felt myself oddly envious of. Yeah yeah, more pictures later.

Moving up the stairs is Chris and Ellen's gargantuan master suite which they do not have enough furniture to fill. Attached to their bathroom is a closet big enough to do a cartwheel in, though it was too dark for a picture and someone was shouting that dinner was ready.

On the other side of the stairway are three more bedrooms. One of which I did not photograph because Claude and Cookie's things were in there and it made me feel creepy. The third bedroom has been transformed into Chris' Man Cave or "the naked room" as Dad insists it should be. I really like the Man Cave. It's full of sports memorabilia and the worlds most comfortable sofa. It also has a balcony that looks over the front yard. This way Ellen can stand outside, throw rocks at the window, and then sing love ballads to Chris, who gazes down lovingly with a flower tucked behind his ear.

 Our Sunday night dinners now have to rotate from home to home. Even my home has been thrown into the rotation though this will happen sparingly because I can only afford four dinner chairs. Overtime you will see more photos of the Villard home and all the furry creatures that live there. And the pets too.

Birthday Week

Last Tuesday was Moppy’s birthday. Ellen brought over a tiny little cake and I forced the four of us to go have lunch. Mom likes having lunch. 

While Mom got dressed, Ellen and I played in the living room.

And then Buddy and I wrestled.

Mom was not excited about her birthday and did not have much to say about it at all, though she reminds us every night that it is “birthday week” and we should therefore cater to her every desire.

As for the Old Man, he’s kept busy moving things, going to meetings, and taking phone calls. When he comes home at night he slaps, pops, and flicks Mom and me and then laughs manically and runs away. He is on a “sensible eating plan” and has changed his snack foods to different but equally fattening treats. Though we try to explain why something is still not a healthy option, he ignores us and insists that we are wrong.

Best of all I have a small collection of Dad Language flubs.
In the last few days he's mentioned the male "testesterone", the "Eboli" virus, and he referred to a foolish blunder as a "poe fa." I believe faux pas was the goal there.

My favorite was a comment he made to me while he was pulling a nail out of the stud in the wall. I’d been tugging on this nail for days and finally had to get him to come over and pull it out. He got a pair of pliers, grabbed onto the nail, and pulled and pulled.

“Can you get it?” I asked him.

 “Oh yes.” and he began grunting while he pulled. “It’s just one stud fighting another.” he said. 

And we laughed and laughed.

Meet Lewis

I typically don't have a fondness for creepy crawlers but Lewis is different. Lewis climbed onto my side mirror in Oregon and rode all the way across the country in his web. I noticed him on my mirror when I was flying down the highway at 60 mph and I figured he would blow off any minute but instead, he crawled up his web and hid behind the mirror until I stopped for gas or snacks. He'd crawl out and inspect his web, fix any holes and then run back to safety until we stopped for the night. He would be happily hanging upside down when I'd get back into my car in the morning.
I got attached somewhere in Utah and Mom and I would check for him every morning. I named him Lewis S. Clark since he's such a grand adventurer. The S is for spider.

Occasionally Lewis would refuse to leave his web for the safety of the mirror shelter and he would blow rapidly in the wind, sometimes rotating in a complete windy circle. I imagined he must be quite dizzy but even when we stopped he would stay put. I guess he liked the breeze.

Lewis now lives in our driveway and though I've probably introduced a new deadly species of spider that will wipe out the South's entire agricultural system, I'm extremely pleased by him. And he's gotten so big! He was half this size when we left Oregon.

I don't know if he's not used to the humidity but Lewis seemed more lethargic since arriving in the South and it would take him a long time to hideaway when I'd start driving. Once I got home I began driving super slowly and even pulling over to give him a chance to get to safety. The other morning he was riding in his web and part of it broke and slingshotted him waaaay up into the air and luckily he landed on top of the mirror. I slowed way down so he could climb behind his windbreak and I decided that Lewis and I couldn't live this way any longer. I hated that he had to spend so much time mending his web and I was more concerned watching him than watching the road. I decided to give him a permanent home and tried to move his web into the shady bushes by the front door. He crawled too quickly towards my hand and I yelped and dropped him and his web.

So I flicked him into the bushes and I pretend that he's happy in his new home.

Editors note***

I posted this late last night and then scampered off to bed. Just as I drifted off, my phone jingled and I saw I had an email from Aunt Georgia herself. She simply stated that "Lewis is a female." and my whole life changed. How sexist of me, assuming a female spider would be far too sensible to build her web on a moving vehicle. Sounds more like a guy move to me. Therefore change the he's to she's and the him's to her's.

Her name is now Louise S. Clark and I really hope she did not lay eggs in my car.

Great Terrible News

Last week I spent a couple days in the hospital having lots of tests done. I first went to a doctor in West Ashley and told him all about my dainty disposition. For the first time in life I was pleased by a doctor. He asked questions. He listened to me. He sat back and thought quietly rather than blurting out the first thing he came up with. We spent the first day testing my blood pressure in various positions. "Sit Laura. Now stand...  now lie down and don't move!"

There was much "hmm"ing and index fingers on chins. He came up with a few conclusions and sent me Downtown to have an echocardiogram, just to double check that blood flow through my ticker. I arrived at 9:00 am and sat awkwardly amongst a number of 80 year olds hacking goop into tissues and adjusting the transparent tubes running down the front of their khaki cardigans.

"What are you here for?" the receptionist asked me as an old lady inched off to the waiting room.
"An echogram." I told her. And perhaps public humiliation, I thought to myself, imagining a cluster of med-school students present to observe my topless x-ray. Maybe I could sell tickets, I thought, $7 in advance. $10 at the door. They're poor students after all. Alas it was just me and the technician in there, a near-mute blonde woman who copped a good feel without even buying me dinner first.
I then went on to have blood drawn to test all sorts of goodies including my thyroid who I had already determined was the culprit.

My great terrible news is that I'm perfectly healthy. My heart looks great, my thyroid is fine, my blood is a lovely deep crimson. So what the problem, man!

The doctor determined that I'm fainting due to low blood pressure. When folks get warm their arteries and blood vessels dilate to let off some steam and therefore you get less blood flow to the brain. Because my blood is sluggish, it doesn't refill my arteries in time and I don't get any oxygen to my brain. And then I faint. This also explains why I feel sick when I stand up for a long time. My slug blood pools in my legs, leaving the top half of me running on fumes.

What he doesn't know is why this is happening to me or why it ever started in the first place. My blood pressure is normal but when I get hot, it plummets. He says this very common in old folks, like little old ladies that get hot and faint in church, but also sometimes women have lower blood pressure because they tend to avoid salty foods due to bloat-phobia. I'm a big fan of salt and was delighted when he told me to eat more french fries and potato chips. Most of all he told me that there's not much we can do about it and I'll just have to be ready for it. Beaches, concerts, anything wonderful in this life, it's all a hazard and I shall require an entourage of water jugs and umbrellas for any fun seeking. My baggage keeps piling.

This is terrible news because all I want to do is go outside. I want to walk buddy before 10pm. I want to go kayaking and climb mountains. Most of all I want to go back to work on the farm but I don't feel well when I do these things. I'm going to have to move to Vermont or some other dreadfully cold place. Thats the worst part! Just because I can't stand heat doesn't mean I enjoy the cold. Cold hurts my bones!! I've never been north of Charleston in the winter. I don't even know cold!

Well I've got news for my slug blood. I ain't crossin' the Mason Dixon.

So anyways, enjoy these classics.

 

None have ever seen such fury in a youngster. I'd like you all to know that I've been a victim of this rage my whole life. For the record, Ellen is yelling at Alston to get his "butt back in the chair."
Sweet Jordan minds his own business and I'm just generally appalled. Ellen's always been so bossy.

Alright, Here's My Problem

I will accompany today’s morose post with happy pictures of my welcome home Dock Time. This is because A) I have no other photos at this time and B) it will help mask just how depressed I am.

Also, I should inform you folks that Ellen and Chris have bought a new house in West Ashley and I have taken over their old place. Yes Georgie, I’ll have photos soon.

So, here’s my problem,

I don’t want to be here. I realized it the minute we crossed into Downtown from the interstate. I looked at the familiar sight and very suddenly felt... forlorn. “You’re just tired.” I told myself, “You’ve had a big, spacious adventure and you don’t want it to be over.”

I had an interview scheduled with a woman in Mt. Pleasant the very next morning. I couldn’t have known, but it was way too soon for this. I hadn’t been home twelve hours before I was discussing hours and wages and things that have to get done verses things that need to get done. While she dug through file cabinets, I looked around this woman’s office and imagined being in there for seven hours everyday and I just lost hope entirely. I felt my posture slacken and I stopped pretending that the sleeves on my nice blouse weren’t driving me crazy. She prattled on about how she likes things organized while I cuffed my sleeves and thought about all the open space I’d just driven through. 

I didn’t care about this job.

I’m very tired of pointless gigs and I’m even more tired of trying to come up with something to pursue. I thought that taking over Ellen’s place would force me to shut up and get in line like I’m supposed to. I can’t afford to be silly, carefree Laura if I have a mortgage to pay and so I wasted no time trying to get a real job as soon as possible. But y’all, I can’t do it.  

I now spend my evenings sifting through Craigslist ads for waitresses and store clerks. I can’t bring myself to respond to them because I keep hoping that waiting one more day will be all I need to find something else to do. I don’t know what exactly. Anything else.

To help ignore my job woes I’ve been repainting Ellen’s old place during the day, getting it ready for my big move. While sweet Mom hops up every morning, ready to go over and help me, I don’t want to go over there. I get anxious when she asks me where I’ll put things or what color I want this wall because I don’t care and I should care. It should be exciting but it just seems awfully lonely in there. I feel sort of sick when I think about it.

I feel like a fella whose long-time girlfriend finally gives him a marriage ultimatum so he agrees to it because it seems like the right thing to do. It’s what everyone expects from him and it’s easiest to just go along with it but he knows his heart’s not entirely in it and he longs for new adventures, not settling down. Charleston is my sweet, beautiful fiancé. She’s too good to break-up with but I’m not completely happy.

The best distraction from all of this would be friends. On account of a cheating fiancé resulting in a side-picking friendship split, I have but two male friends and I have to monitor how much time I spend with them so they don’t get the wrong idea.

I'm kind of getting the feeling there is nothing here for me. I love this place and I have my sweet folks but it’s all sensationally lonely. I don't know where I want to be but right now but I don't think it's here. Maybe ole Budds and I should just be vagabonds. Eh, he's probably too high maintenance.

East Coast

Moppy and I talked the whole way across the country. There was a brief break somewhere in Kansas where we listened to music for about an hour and ten minutes. The rest was spent gabbing, giggling, and guffawing. What a gift my mom is. We made it through the bad roads of Kansas City, the depressing billboards of the mid-west, and one of our hotels being struck by lightning. We also found ourselves at a Wendy's who's bathroom was out of soap. This was a fairly minor inconvenience until we both had the same thought at the same time. "The employees! They can't wash their hands!" 

We shrieked silently in the bathroom and then both ordered salads and drinks with no lids. "Don't let them touch anything, Laura!" Mom scoffed. "and don't touch that!"

We drove straight home from Keeneland on the Friday of Labor Day weekend. We ran into some traffic near Asheville so we stopped to look through a rug-store warehouse. Back on the road, I felt my first mini-surge of excitement to be in South Carolina. It was just that. A little surge and it fluttered off as quickly as it came. We continued our mindless chatting and found ourselves in North Charleston around 9:00. I looked out at the twinkling lights of Downtown as we crossed the bridge to James Island and I didn't even notice it was a sight I hadn't seen since May.

I don't suppose there's any questions as to where I went first.

There's really nothing quite like the east coast. I love the salty smell and hot, moist air. I love the faint scent of jasmine and the squeaking seagulls in the sky. It's all so quiet and warm. 

It's very strange to drive from a wild rocky coast, through tall dense trees, over rough jagged mountains and across red sanded deserts to find yourself in dry, bare plains, to rolling fields of golden wheat and deep green rows of corn. The corn fields lead to farm land to grass land, to green wooly mountains and across green fields to swampy, mossy oak trees at the edge of a marsh to the ocean. 

How do you do all of that and then report back to reality?

I've decided that my favorite chunk of the country is the Kentucky/Tennessee, Virginia/North Carolina chunk. I've found myself dreaming of those rolling green hills. I love the South and I love the water but maybe going up a bit wouldn't be so bad. It's awfully hot down here. 

I'm not quite happy to be home yet. I'll tell you all about it in my next post. I've only been here five days but I haven't stopped moving or had a chance to readjust. I haven't even unpacked.

I'm trying to get settled and report back to duty but someone hasn't left my side since I got here.

Keeneland

I was particularly excited to go to Kentucky. I have no recollection of my birth state so it's odd that I've always been very proud of it. Though Dad moved us back to Charleston just two years after I showed up, I managed to absorb the Kentuckian notion of never wearing shoes. That's a thing there. I'm the only one of us Union folks that can't stand having things on my feet. Don't you want to really feel what you step on? Not to mention you can grip with your toes.

Mom has a picture that's been in our house since I can remember. It's a photo of a jockey walking his horse through the trees on a misty Kentucky morning. In the background is a square black fence and there's moss hanging from the trees. It feels very southern and I've always loved the photo and based my whole idea of Kentucky on this one picture. It's a beautifully green photo, calm and serene and as a little girl, I remember wishing I could just step right into it.

I'm pleased to announce that Kentucky lived up to my hopes and I'm quite smitten with this gem of a place. So lush. So green! We made a quick stop in Louisville so Mom could show me where we lived.

Ain't she a beaut? You can't see the best part which is the huge cornfield in the backyard and a lovely Weeping Willow tree that Dad planted when I was born, now standing tall and strong. Much unlike myself.
We carried on to Lexington for the night and drove to the Keeneland Racetrack in the morning.

I still haven't read the pamphlets on Keeneland but from what I gather, they have horse races twice a year, a big horse auction, and most importantly, lots of stables and a big racetrack to train horses on. We got up extra early to get to the track while they were still running the horses. There were 15 horses or so when we mozyed up to the fence to watch them trot by. Some were practicing walking in straight lines, some were out for a causal stroll, and some were full on racing.

We liked the thud of their feet in the dirt. We liked how the sound got louder as they got closer and I loved watching their muscles flex and contract with every stride. It's mesmerizing to watch the horses. We stood for a long time.

Mom promptly dragged me through the giftshop where we looked at everyday items but with horses on them. Dishes, jackets, lamps even. I also found myself getting angry at horse people simply because I recognized lots of snooty things in that store that I've only ever seen on "horse people." 

I severely dislike only one human on this earth and she happens to be a horse person.

 I didn't really want to leave Keeneland. It felt comfortable somehow though perhaps it's just that I felt at home in the bright green humidity.  On our way back to the highway, we took a detour to drive through some farm land, past lots of beautiful stables, and alongside perfect black and white fences.

Oh I really liked it.

Montelle Vineyards

After our sense-tickling jaunt through prison, Mom and I barreled to St. Louis where we visited Montelle Vineyards. I'd never heard of wine coming from the Mid-West, let alone just outside of a big dirty city. But gosh! There were tons of vineyards all over the place.

We drove down the prettiest windy road through a tiny, all-american town and climbed up a hill to find the entrance to the winery. There was only one other couple visiting the place and they left shortly after we got there. A spunky man name Bill told us all about the vineyard and the different grapes they grow. Who knew Missouri had a grape grown' climate?

I've never thought about Missouri twice in my life. I associated it with northern, industrial, grey places. I never imagined it being lush and green and kind of cute. 

Mom and I wandered a bit and entertained Bill and his co-worker with our simple giggles. The place was so lovely. The pictures don't do it justice.

Completely off topic, I forgot to mention that while driving through Utah my car was hit by a tumbleweed. A real western tumbleweed. I saw it coming. I watched it blow across the open, sandy plain and up onto the empty highway just in time to slam into the side of my car. It made quite a thunk. 

I'm all out of order aren't I? 

Let me straighten things out. I had my scary nights sleep in Oregon and then a night in Boise. I met Mom in Salt Lake and we drove to Ft. Collins to visit some cousins. I really liked Ft. Collins, though what's not to like about Colorado. We had a fun dinner with our family and then fell right to sleep in Aunt Barbara's mausoleum/antique store house.

Then there was prison, a night in Kansas where Mom knocked herself out with a carb-y dinner, and then the vineyard. 

There we go. Back on track.