Notes (Part 2)

 

Her name was Granya. She was a chatty little woman with a thick accent and was a proud mother of just two boys. She talked nonstop as she drove us down a long empty road and into a dark forest. My mind instantly saw the three of us being used as live offerings to ancient Celtic gods. We would be painted and adorned with flowers before we were chopped to little pieces and burned on a pyre. I began planning my attack on little Granya. She was out-numbered. We could surely overthrow her. We sped out the other end of the forest and pulled up in front of a large mansion. Granya threw the car in park and grabbed her purse. “I’ll just go grab Paul.” and she power walked down the long driveway, her short brown bob bounching with every hasty step. We sat in the car reasoning with each other. Granya didn’t seem like a threat but we were entirely at her mercy now and she could take us anywhere. In my mind, Paul was that beastly dog-skinner hired by Cruela D’evil to accumulate fur for her coats. I imagined Paul calmly strolling out to the car before yanking us out by our necks, Granya standing behind him counting a wad of cash. We agreed that we’d wait to see where she was taking us before abandoning the vehicle and turning on our cell phones for that parentally feared emergency phone call home. 

Paul turned out to be a gangly 14 year old boy who sat uncomfortably close to me in the back of Granya’s tiny blue hatchback. Paul didn’t say much at all and had no reaction to a humorous comment I made about Irish cows.

Granya did finally take us to the petting zoo. We were relived by this and thanked her profusely as we slowly backed into the wooden entrance gate. But she just stood there. Paul sat in the back seat starting straight ahead. She pointed in the direction of “the stone” so we walked that way, hoping she would leave so we could focus our attention on the chickens. We gathered around the stone which was housed in a filthy glass box that was nearly impossible to see through. We pretended to read the plaque that explained the historical significance of the Turoe Stone. In reality we stood huddled over the box eyeing Granya. “Why won’t she leave?” Jared asked. While she seemed harmless, her fast, nonstop talking somehow worried us. She seemed so eager.

She never did leave so we abandoned our hopes of scratching farm animals and sauntered slowly back towards her. “Told yer it a’int worf lookin’ at.” and she opened the passenger door. We still didn’t want to get in but her hasty words and mom-like pushiness had us all buckled in and on the road in just a few minutes. She claimed to know what time the bus back to Galway left and though we insisted she just leave us at the bus station, she decided we were coming over to her house for breakfast. It was noon. We stopped at a market so she could pick up a few things and we also somehow acquired another boy who squeezed in next to Ari. This one was eleven or so. Granya took us to her colorful house and the boys silently jumped out of the car and ran straight inside. There were two other boys in her small living room and some chickens strolling around in the backyard.

Granya was very sweet to us and asked all about our adventure and talked about how much she loves talking to people. While we spoke, she prepared an assortment of breakfast meats and tea and also brought out little shortbread cookies. She franticly made the meal and then sat to watch us eat it. We had eaten breakfast already and were all oddly far from hungry. We each forced down a polite helping before she snatched up our plates and reloaded them. The meal was heavy and greasy. The sausage was making me queasy. I kept tossing hunks of meat onto Jared’s plate when Granya would look away. We continued a pleasant conversation until she suddenly hopped up and grabbed her purse. “I’ve got to go pick up Peter!” and she climbed into her car and sped off, leaving three American strangers in her house with four young boys.

We sat awkwardly and peered through the door at the kids in the next room. They had little concern about us but would occasionally eye us and then whisper and giggle. We washed our dishes and were tidying up the kitchen when her husband came home. He walked through the door to find three strangers with fistfuls of bacon and tea cookies. He looked at us briefly, smiled and said, “Cheers. Mornin’.” and then disappeared behind a door. I wondered how often his unhinged wife brings strangers home. He wasn’t the least bit curious about us or how we got into his house. We waited in the backyard for Granya, cooing at the chickens and burying the last of my sausage patty in the flower bushes.

When Granya returned, her car doors swung open and three more boys climbed out, including one with a broken leg. “Alright. You tree ready? V’got to catch the bus soon!” she said to us, winded. She was throwing things out of her car to make room for us. She tossed bags and knapsacks into the grass. She thoughtlessly flung the one boy’s crutches over her shoulder, sending him gimping off to retrieve them. We piled into the car with two of the seven kids and she sped into town. She rapidly bid us sweet farewells and best wishes as she barreled around curves and over hills. Her car came to a screeching halt at the bus stop just in time.

We clawed our way up over the boys and out onto the sidewalk, careful not to bump Peter’s broken leg. We thanked her one final time and with no more words she peeled off down the street, no doubt to pick up a few more boys. We stood silently, kind of dumbfounded by the whirlwind venture. 

"How peculiar." Jared said.

Notes on a Friendly Kidnapping (Part 1)

A mere 28 days before my 20^th birthday, Ari, Jared, and I set out for a backpacking trip through random, but mostly northern European countries. We started in Scotland where I met Lukas just three hours after arriving, became fixated on him, and then scolded myself, letting me know right now that we aren’t having devastating crushes on every fella we meet. “It’s day one for goodness sake!”

 Indeed I crushed on no others and maintained a steady and insulting email conversation with Lukas throughout the whole venture. Ah, a budding romance!

We then carried on to Ireland before flying to Sweden to stay with Ari’s family on the most unexpectedly beautiful island. We dropped down to Copenhagen to celebrate that 20^th birthday and then finished our trek with a few days in and around Amsterdam –now don’t you worry, I’m a good kid.

Back in Ireland we spent a few days wandering around Dublin before crossing the small country with a three-hour bus ride to the west coast. This is the very bus ride that tested my bladder against all odds and very nearly came out on top. We stayed in Galway for quite sometime, choosing to forgo a trip south to Dingle to save time and money. We struggled to fill our extra days in Galway as we waited for our flight to Sweden. Some desperate Internet research led Ari to discovering a petting zoo just three miles out of the next town. We took a bus to that town and to this day we don't know how to pronounce it. It sounded like a growl if a growl started with an ‘L’.

We set out on foot from the bus stop and trekked through light rain along the curbless, Irish highway. Cars and trucks bolted past us while we barreled straight across roundabouts in a panic. Our three miles turned into to four with no sign of the zoo. It occurred to me that petting a pig might not be worth a dangerous, four mile highway jaunt in the rain but we were too far along and I didn’t want to be the one to say so. With cars whizzing past us, we got off the highway to look for a place to stop and ask for directions. Jared led the pack down a narrow, rural road. He plowed confidently towards nothing while Ari and I followed behind, pressing our bodies into the road’s stone wall lining when a car would rush by. The road was clearly not made for pedestrians and we found ourselves running the blind curves, for no car would see us in time to hit the wall instead of us. Another mile went by and Ari became concerned. I was also concerned, but I was panicking silently so as not to alarm others.

We finally saw a house in the distance and elected Jared to ring the doorbell. “I don’t want to tell them we wandered all the way here for a petting zoo!” he exclaimed, but he sauntered up to the door the way only Jared can and rang the doorbell. Ari and I stood at the base of the yard by the road, pretending to be thoroughly invested in a conversation to make ourselves seem more casual. We waited. Jared rang again and got no answer. “So what do we do?” I asked as though I hadn’t already pictured our corpses being pecked at by vultures.

We elected to walk the five miles back to the bus stop. I entertained Jared and myself greatly with an improvised history of the area but Ari seemed less amused. She’s always been much more sensible. After a mile or so, a lone car headed our way. We debated flagging it down but we were already headed back and who knows who might be inside. The car stopped just behind us anyways and we all turned cautiously. Out jumped a little lady with a short brown bob and round glasses. “W’ere ya headed?” she asked abruptly but with a smile. Ari and I waited for Jared to talk. He admitted that we were on the prowl for the petting zoo. “Oh the Turoe Stone in the pettin’ farm. It’s a few kilometers up the way. S’really not worf looking but I’ll taik ya after I pick up me boy.”

She blurted this out very quickly and had all the doors to her car open before she finished talking. We didn’t say anything. We were all taught not to get in cars with strangers. She insisted. We claimed we didn’t mind walking but she told us it was too far and we were going to be disappointed when we finally got there. “The stone aint worf looking at.” she kept saying. We didn’t know what she was talking about but it was much less embarrassing than admitting this was all so we could coo at goats. She nearly demanded we get in her car and after much arguing that took place only between the looks we gave each other, we climbed in.

Four Hundred

For those of you keeping track, this is my 400th blog post. Isn't that pathetic?
That means I've attempted to entertain you 400 times.
That means there are 400 recorded instances of pathetic jokes by Laura.
400 of 'em.

That being said, I'm debating a blogging hiatus. All these years, the comedy just rolled off my tongue. The literary genius would come to me in my sleep. The stories wrote themselves.
But now my tongue is tied and my genius won't wake up.

Really it's that my mind is stuck on lots of serious things. Eww, serious.
I'm trying to think about so many things at once that my mind just stops when I try to work out solutions. Like a pair elevators doors with a big foot in the way. Allllmost and then DING, back to start. Does that make sense?
Anyways, while that doesn't affect my ability to sit and write jaw-dropping tales, it's got me entirely distracted. It's all empty up in my head and even when I have a small venture or exciting outing, I'll think back about it and all the details are fuzzy. I don't think I'm very present right now.
So, while I normally just tell you about what's floating around in my mind, these days it would consist only of dull, grown-up things and lots of unanswerable questions and a list of my flaws.
A real snoozer.

I'll keep mulling it over though. I'm real good at mulling.

Winter

My usual winter slump continues full force. We had a nice day there for a minute but it was all just a mean tease and now it's bitter and windy. I really hate it. 

I've been cold for two weeks and now I have spring fever.

Other people in other states have months of freezing weather. I've had a few days with temperatues in the 40’s and I'm ready to jump ship. Am I being dramatic? Abolutley.

Do I care? Not in the slightest. I HATE being cold and I HATE wearing multiple shirts!

I can feel my spirit being smothered out by layers of sweaters and long johns. 

I see no redeeming value to wintertime.

Can you tell I'm feeling hostile?

Hiding from Folks

When I was in college I spent an inordinate amount of time hiding from people.
(With this post comes completely unrelated photographs of SCAD friends.) (Like this one...)

Oddly enough, I was constantly finding myself in compromising situations so I would simply tuck myself away and pretend it wasn’t true. I would also flee from folks I didn’t like or worse, those pesky “school ambassadors” who invite you to cringe worthy campus events and then hold you accountable. “Where were you?” they’d ask suspiciously, as if they couldn’t fathom my distaste for organized fun. My second year R.A. was particularly overzealous with invitations and would make up nonexistent events to get me to go out with him.

“Are y’all going to the BBQ thing?” I’d ask Jared and Parv.

“What BBQ thing?” Jared would ask.

“You know, they’re doing BBQ at the park along the riv...”

“That’s not a thing.” Parv would interrupt. “It’s just your creepy R.A.”

Parv loved my encounters with Creepy R.A. (that’s what she called him and not really behind his back either.) and was delighted to hear that he came to my rescue when my smoke alarm went off. One time I locked myself out of my room and had to get him to let me back in. I found it disconcerting that he had a master key to every room and occasionally I’d check the shower before bed. It cost $25 to be let back into your room (don’t get me started on SCAD SCAMs) and Creepy R.A. told me he wouldn’t make me pay if I gave him a hug.  

So I hugged that jackass and told this tale to Parv and Jared with proud vigor, pleased that I had beat SCAD’s system. They listened patiently with smirks on their faces. I finished my rant and snuggled back down into my favorite chair at the coffee shop where we spent every Tuesday and Thursday night. Parv and Jared looked at each other and smiled.

“You know, Laura…” Jared said delicately.

Parv cut him off. “The first time you lock yourself out it’s free.”

On two separate occasions I hid from my roommates in my bed. It wasn’t that I was trying to hide but rather I was burrowed so far down into my bed that they didn’t see me and I realized very quickly, on both occasions, that they thought they were alone. So I laid still, hesitant to scare them or expose that I now know their secrets. The second time this happened, I woke up in my cocoon to the sound of juicy gossip between my girly roommate and her best friend. I laid there for an hour and a half, sweating up under all those blankets. I blew my cover by sliding my leg three inches to the left and both girls gasped and stopped talking. I immediately shut my eyes and pretended to sleep while they peered up over my covers to stare at me. They whispered about not knowing I was in here and then they packed their things and left.

Of all the time I spent hiding at SCAD, the most uncomfortable one took place in a parking lot. It was nighttime and all the malnourished eaters were leaving the school café and heading back to their rooms to endure their nightly stomach brawl. I was coming back from buying sculpting supplies and I parked my car in a dark corner, away from the crowd. While I gathered my things and turned off my car, I called Mom to chat and complain about life. About five minutes had passed when I noticed two kids walking towards the car next to mine. I assumed they were going to get in it so I turned my attention the other direction and continued chatting for a good half hour. When I finally hung up and turned to hop out of my car, I realized the couple was still standing there, between my door and their passenger door and they were doing some big time makin' out.

I experienced instant discomfort and sat motionless with bugged eyes and a hideous grin. I couldn’t open my car door without whacking the pair. I started going over my options and working on something clever but understandable to tell them when they glare at me like the unintentional voyeur I had become. While I worked this out in my mind, the pair got closer and closer and within moments were leaning entirely on my car door. I was trapped. I struggled to not laugh but l also got super anxious. What do I do? I’d been sitting in a dark car for half an hour. I can’t suddenly jump out now. What if the girl opens her eyes and sees me looking back at her? So I did what any normal person would do.
I climbed into the back seat and laid down on the floor.

I remember texting Jared and telling him to come pretend to get into my car but he never responded. So I laid across that bump on the floor in the back seat for a good 25 minutes. And I felt extra creepy emerging from the backseat of my car in an abandoned parking lot.

"I hate this place." I muttered to myself, hauling a bag of plaster mix back up to my room.

Big Thinkin'

I’ve been thinking about all the thinking I’ve been doing.

Just five months ago, as I settled into my new place and tried to summon a career path, I would sit down to write you a post about what was going on in life and this furious, confused rant would come out. I never knew how cross I was until I sat down and constructed Soap Opera caliber tirades to be preformed by a voluptuous and passionate Latina woman.

During the penning of the furious rage I would find some of my thoughts insightful, convinced I had a clearer look at the world than most kids. “I’m right about this.” I would think. “It’s all wrong. Ay dios mio! Todo estas mal!”

For your sake I knew better and would wait to post these angry rants. I’d go to sleep and wake up in the morning and read them again. I never once posted one. You’re welcome.

Coming back from my summer's venture was a real kick in the fanny. While I figured I’d come home by Fall, barring being discovered in a frozen yogurt shop, I absolutely did not want to come back to Charleston feeling lost and apathetic and like I'd never left. But that’s sure what happened. I was really nervous the first month I was home and I moved around cautiously, as if one small slip of any kind would be the end of everything. By October I was so anxious and troubled that I lost my appetite and shortly after, the snug fit of my favorite jeans.

I was thinking about all this and how five months have passed by and I still don’t have the answer to any of my angsty teenage questions. And I’m still not very hungry. The difference is that I’m too busy and tired to fuss about it. 

“Just get to work on time.” I tell myself as I debate an impromptu ukulele concert while rush hour traffic builds outside my front door. My most common thought is, 'Where do I need to be right now?' and I drive all over town from warehouse to lunch room to conference center to wedding venue and then suddenly, I remember the ocean and all the other colorful lives in this world and I think about the people tending rice fields in China and the little tots bundling up for another school day in a dark Finnish winter. I know I'm crazy but it all gives me a sense of missing something major. Or maybe missing out. Or missing the point. And all I can think about is how to get to it.
This is normal, right? 

Right?

Mentally Preoccupied

I was recently chastised for having not been keeping up with this blog. While I'll half claim it's because I'm busy, I'll also tell you that my imaginative juices have just not been flowing. I told you. It's called Bloggers Block.
So to give you an exceptionally brief update I'll tell you that life has consisted of many days in a lunch room, one especially cold wedding set-up, a far-too-brief visit from Mattie, and my first inkling of Spring Fever -partially brought on by this photo:

I've been doing lots of big thinking about what I really want out of life. I like to pretend that this is a mature reaction to my incessant whining about having to do anything at all when I'd rather be traveling and growing veggies in the backyard. I never wanted to stay in Charleston and have a real job but I've got a live one here that could lead to big great things.

But do I really care about big great things?

During the 45-minute Mattie visit we planned and then cancelled a trip to Iceland and Greece in March. We're both sort of free then. Well, I'm not but I could be if international travel was at stake. Mattie's lease in Atlanta is up in February and she's moving to Nashville in March. We thought we'd squeeze in a trip and then Dad told me I have a large payment of the Property Tax variety coming up soon in May. So that killed that. 

How much does The Man think I'm making here??

As for the rest of the clan, I've seen Ellen only once since she started her new gig. I run into Chris at work here and there and it takes so much for me not to exclaim "Well hey there Shambles!!" which I say to him every time I see him at home. Some of the folks at work can't know we're related and I almost blow my cover daily.

I think this is as close to Empty Nesters as Mom and Dad have ever been. Ellen and I both come over just once a week or so which is a weird thing for the Union family. Mom and Dad get so excited to have us come over that even Dad puts away his paperwork and sits cross legged, listening to us chat. They sit amongst piles of newspaper and balled up napkins and ask about everything from work to how my appliances are running. They've even tried to get me to spend the night despite my living just four minutes away.

I told them they're moving into Stage Two of decrepitude.