The Union Brief

Mom had an enraging and amusing encounter last week when she visited the doctors office for a check-up and the nurse added thirteen pounds to her weight for no apparent reason. Though the scale read a number closer to the Charleston heat index, the nurse wrote down a number indicative of the temperature in Saudi Arabia. Mom remained silent and angry throughout the duration of her doctor's appointment, weighed herself again on the way out –just to be sure, and came home festering. “I know why she did it.” my sweet mama said, “Because she’s fat! And I’m not!”

Ellen (and Chris) have adopted a yellow lab by the name of Missy. Missy is six years old and looks nearly identical to Sonny. She however is much more sprightly and healthy looking. Missy is taking some time to get used to her new home and while Chris was out of town last week, it became Ellen’s job to take Missy for her 4:30 am walks that Chris dutifully takes her on each morning. Ellen did a good job getting up for the walks but said she was so sleepy one morning that she looked down when she was halfway into her neighborhood jaunt and she realized she wasn’t wearing any pants. She had rolled out of bed, put on her flip-flops, and stepped out into the world. She assures us she passed no other humans at that hour but scurried home as quickly as possible.

As I mentioned, Chris went to NYC on business last week and unsurprisingly had a swinging good time. We heard reports of $90 brunches and rubbing elbows with the celebrity guests of Good Morning America. Rather than being happy for him, Ellen scolded Chris for having fun without her and the whole family turned on Ellen for being a jerk. She has since apologized.

Last week I had surgery on my wrist cysts. While I had intended to only have one removed with only some local anesthesia on that hand, I arrived to a dramatic show of a hospital visit where I was to be knocked entirely unconscious and forced to wear a shower cap and neon yellow, non-skid, paper socks. Dad came with me and was equally horrified by the ordeal. We thought this was a small outpatient procedure. “Back in my day,” Dad told my doctor, “They just numbed that one spot and then bashed it with a book. It worked fine.” My friendly doctor smiled politely.

Dad had lots of fun in the hospital that day. He told the nurses I had recently been released from rehab and still had a real drinking problem. When they prattled off a list of drugs and the order to take them, Dad responded affirmatively and then asked them “and what about for Laura?”

Dad would make expressions of horror any time someone touched me, pretended to turn all the colored knobs on the machines behind me, considered giving my IV bag a hearty squeeze, and stopped mid-inhale while bringing a rubber glove to his mouth when I shouted an exhausted, “Dad! No.” Dad’s laughter at his own antics was definitely audible throughout out the outpatient wing. When it was time to wheel me into surgery Dad was noticeably less obnoxious. The nurse and I became concerned. “Are you ok?” she asked Dad. Suddenly Dad looked sad to see me go and he gathered my things, kissed my forehead, and that the last thing I remember.

I woke up in a recovery room with a bunch of other lethargic people with flesh wounds. I don’t remember much between waking up and coming back home but apparently I spoke with my doctor who told me my cysts were more complex than expected and had been growing into my ligaments. The nurses told me I spent my time in the recovery room thanking people profusely and telling other patients that they looked like angels. I was told I received “The Sweetest Patient Award “ that day.

The last point of note regarding my recovery is Buddy. Buddy the loud, rambunctious, self- focused, jewel of my heart. Anytime I come to Mom and Dad’s house Buddy goes nuts. He runs and barks and jumps on me, scratching my thighs and forearms and holding my hands in his mouth. He expects good times and we run though the yard and roll in the grass and we do NOT cuddle. Buddy only tolerates touch in the form of belly rubs and fanny scratches. Fanny scratches are his favorite. For years I’ve put my face against Buddy’s nose and asked for kisses to no avail.

When I came home that Tuesday afternoon, Buddy did not hoot and holler. He sniffed me once and he just knew. For two days he followed me from room to room, slept quietly at my feet, and licked my face fervently to try to make me better again. I can tell he knows the anesthesia has worn off and he detects only traces of the pain pills I recently stopped taking. He’s got a lot more vigor and is barely withholding jumping up on me and instead gives me loving body slams and leans on me when I stand. I’m a bit worried that I’m not healing as fast and he thinks. I don’t know how much longer he can stave off the jumping and my hands aren’t nearly ready for his enthusiasm.

My folks have been patiently doting on me and we have an amusing shower ritual that involves all three of us jamming my hands into plastic gloves and taping them closed. Dad seems to be enlivened by the potential gore and enjoys looking at my stitches and determining things. Mom has been a real trooper too, encouraging me and acting calm even though I still can’t feel one of my fingers. Sometimes I catch her feeling woozy when she watches me get woozy when I watch Dad change my gauze. We’re a real tough bunch.
Also, as I can’t dress myself, Mom put me in this shirt.

What Have I Done

Have you heard I've gone rogue? Take a gander at this Lux & Union

I realized that working for myself would theoretically be more profitable and more importantly, I’d be much happier. You know how I feel about the ridiculous concept of having to report to others. “Here’s what I’m doing. Here is my lunch hour. I’m going to use the bathroom now. Let me know if you have questions.” …etcetera

In the last few years of working I’ve discovered that I have no patience for downtime within the parameters of my job. That is to say, if I’ve finished my work, it hurts my soul to stand around until 5:00 or until I am legally dismissed. It angers me somehow. Perhaps because I’m very efficient or perhaps because the entire time I’ve been employed by others I’ve also had my own projects going on that I find much more interesting and rewarding. I’d rather forgo a few hours pay if it means I am free to do my own thing.

So I’m doing my own thing. I’m my boss. I own a business. I have to make sure I survive. Wait. What? Suddenly, life seems a touch more stressful. Suddenly I’m responsible for making something work. Suddenly I understand all those annoying bosses I’ve had that took employee meetings to a level of seriousness that didn’t need to be present in a cupcake bakery.

My brain now runs around offering ideas and thoughts and scary concepts even after I’ve told it that it’s time for bed and I’m no longer taking suggestions for today. I secretly like thinking about it all. I’m secretly thrilled. I’ve got lots of good thoughts for Lux though a lot of them can’t be done until I really get things off the ground.

I do still have my job with the hotel. Last week I told them that in four weeks I would be putting in my two weeks notice. This is because I love my boss dearly and don’t want to leave her at all. Two weeks notice is just not enough time for us to prepare for being away from each other. I do believe we will be lifelong friends and that’s the only thing that makes me feel ok saying goodbye. I’ll miss all four-hundred hotel employees and the mailman, Doug who has the most contagious happy attitude and is already giggling before he even comes inside to give me the mail. Goodbyes are the worst.

Now back to business. I expect Lux to have a slow start. It’s the event industry after all and most events confirm their vendors at least six months out. Six months from now will be the event dead season. I imagine it will be March before I can even hope for consistent work. How will I survive in the mean time? I’ve not figured that out yet. I have some thoughts, one of which I’m unexpectedly excited about, but I can’t think about those other things just yet. I’m busy trying to figure out all the social media things I’ve blissfully not partaken in. Suddenly I have to be concerned about Instagram followers. That’s a stressful little world I’ve never paid attention to before. I spend a lot of time worrying about Instagram now. How do you keep people interested in hundreds of pictures of flowers?