Speaking of Ellen

You ever slept in a bed with a fitted sheet that’s lost it’s elastic in the corners? You know how exhausting and uncomfortable that night is?

I’m going to air some of Ellen’s laundry here because it’s important and relatable and I need to give the girl some credit. Ellen is in a huge funk. She’s lonely, frustrated, confused, angry, bored, and very tired of all of it. I am also tired of it all but not really because of her bad attitude but because I hate for her to be unhappy. Sometimes you can look a person and see exactly what they need and sometimes the fix to problem is a little more tricky. Ellen is embarrassed and angry about the year she has had and feeling those things is difficult. Feeling those things and not having someone significant to share them with creates loneliness. As her sister, my brain wants to shout “You’ve got me! I’ll listen. I love you. I’m on your side!” but as a person who knows that sensation well, you want someone who doesn’t already love you to come in and say, “This is tough stuff and I’m sorry and I want to help.” Something about the built in love you get from a family can’t always cover all corners of loneliness, like a fitted sheet with worn elastic on the bends.

Yesterday Ellen called to apologize for giving me a hard time when I asked her for help this weekend. Ellen often grumbles and drags her feet if you need her for something. She’s always been this way. Yesterday I asked her why. “What’s so bad about helping people?” Ellie didn’t really have an answer. “Why are you mean? Why is everything a burden? Why don’t you allow yourself to be happy?” She didn’t know. Now this sounds like a classic case of depression which, in today’s society, means slap a prescription in her hands and scoot her off into a pill-popping daze so that she never learns about attitude and perspective and can continue feeling numb with a side mediocrity. Ellen isn’t depressed. She’s mad. Ellen doesn’t need medication. She needs perspective. 

I’m preaching twenty-something wisdom here so hold in your chuckles and I’ll edit this in a few decades when I’ve got more life under my belt. Being bored is hard. Being lonely is harder and it can exacerbate boredom. In my life, the mix of boredom and being lonely created restlessness and I was miserable in my restlessness for almost a decade. Ah my hopeless twenties. I would rather be seasick than live a perpetually restless month ever again. It’s awful. Ellen even referenced my depression decade last night during the apology phone call. “You were down for years and no one got on you for being a jerk.” and that’s when I explained the difference between me and Ellen in our times of trials. And I will rant for you here, what a decade of antsy, angry, loneliness did for my outlook.

The most valuable notion (to me) is a matter of perspective. Things could always be worse and everybody knows that saying but what I liked to do is come up with all the ways a situation could be worse. This seems negative and counter-productive but it works and it gives me a use for the superpower my Mom gave me which is the ability to foresee all disasters in a given situation. Use what you learn kids. When you snap out of the pessimistic brainstorming session, you realize that you’re just inconvenienced and that will pass. Focus on the fact that things will pass. One time I got a truly horrendous stomachache and I actually felt better and more optimistic when I imagined how good it feels to not have a stomachache and I just couldn’t wait to feel better! It was like anticipating a trip to Disney. Oh boy it’s going to be so good when my belly feels better.

Next, being a grump. You know how you always remember to comment and complain when you’re stuck in traffic but can easily forget to comment and delight in the fact that the road is pretty clear today? Of course you’re going to notice an inconvenience, but you don’t have to let it ruin things. I’ve always been a patient person and I think that plays a solid role in keeping my composure but I’m not often angered by something that sets me back a moment or two. I’d never thought too much about this whole notion until Brett got angry about being cut of in traffic and I was over in the passenger seat feeling all zen about things and he tells this story often.
“How does that not make you angry?” he wondered. I had to think about it. I assume that someone cuts me off because there’s a valid reason for that kind of rambunctious behavior. Probably, the guy is just a jerk and there is no good reason but I decide that there is and it makes me feel fine about him going first. I almost always assume that rude, reckless drivers just really have to go to the bathroom. “Been there buddy. You go ahead!”

This is a great little notion because when you do this long enough, you do actually notice and delight in the days where there aren’t any cars on the road or it’s a short line at the grocery store, or whatever non-grumpy opposite it is you struggle with. (I’ll add here for the sake of contradicting myself, if I’m in traffic when I’m already late for something, I will not be kind.)

When life blows, try not to dread things. This one is hard. I dreaded work the next day before I even got home from work today. I dreaded being home too because it was too quiet and lonely and boring in there. I don’t have wise words on how not to do this but I was aware that my dread made everything seem worse.

Lastly, I realized the exponential growth potential of my own happiness. All of these things feel so obvious that I remember being annoyed by them when I was in my funk. Happiness is contagious. I love making people happy so I never had to make the decision that I wasn’t going give my problems to other people but I was aware of the concept that I could bring everyone down with my own gloom so I made a point to try to avoid that. And sometimes I failed. I made Mom cry many times when she asked me how I was and I told her the truth instead of being the happy Laura she knows. Some days I was too down to fake it and I noticed on those days that everyone I spoke to was down too. Well that seems odd. Well it was because they weren’t grumpy, they were just annoyed by my attitude. If I came in smiling, they smiled. If I came in scowling, they rolled their eyes and didn’t want to talk to me. Done. Noted. So come in with your best fake smile and the people around you won’t hate that you’re there. 

This has another point that I think goes under the radar most of the time: Listen to people and ask them questions about themselves. Does Stacy in HR like to make her own granola? Ask her how she got into it, why she likes it, if she has a favorite flavor. Stacy will be so tickled that you’re interested in her. Stacy likes to talk about herself. It's something she knows an awful lot about. Stacy will remember this exchange and like you and be happy to see you. Then even on a bad day, you might walk past Stacy’s office and seeing her smile at you will make you feel a little happy. Happiness can be simple that way.

Even in my Decade in the Dumps I was overall a happy person because I decided to be. Focus on the good things, give love, be hopeful, and remember that the good and bad in life is temporary. Ebbs and flows dude.

I write this now in such happy moment in my life where little can get me down. I’m too excited about the good things. But I know I could fall back into a funk someday. Things can go terribly wrong in an instant and I could look back at this post and roll my eyes and just hate. I wonder Ellen’s thoughts as she reads this. How annoying to get “life advice” from your little sister. But see Ellen is clever and tough and it’s very easy for me to look ahead and know that she’ll push through and the next phase will be a good one. I don’t know when that will happen. A lot of it is up to Ellen but a lot of it isn’t. She can’t make the right person come along and she can’t create her dream life out of thin air. These things take time and patience. She does have the option to help herself, pray, and use the heap of loving traits she has. Ellen is a resilient little person with lots of good things in her life, including her worn-out fitted sheet of a family. We’re there, covering as much as we can but she does need someone or something that will show up and pop in some fresh elastic to hold everything in place.
Then finally, she can rest.

More on Pups

Last week Ellen took Missy to the vet and found out that she had stage three cancer. For a long time now Missy has given me the willys. She always seemed kind of sickly and was very unsteady. She also licked the sofa a lot and I really hated that. But despite these things, she was the sweetest of sweet pups and only wanted to sit with you and be pat on the head. Ellen adopted Missy late in her dog life and she spent the last few years bravely venturing around town with Ellen, most notably out to and accidentally over the edge of our beloved family dock. She liked it out there once the fear wore off.

After some difficult mulling, Ellie elected to have Missy put to sleep Saturday morning. Missy was given about six weeks but hadn't been eating and still managed to hurl up goop and other things that send ninnies like myself running for cover. No one wants a pup to suffer and it's so hard to know how they really feel. So Belly and Missy came over one afternoon last week to have their picture made together. It was no shock to me that Ellen photographed like a dream - even on the verge of tears. Mom and I often marvel at how photogenic she is in general, let alone compared to the two of us drooling buffoons leering at a camera. I think Mom is beautiful and I do think she's a little hard on herself but I understand and support her aversion to having her picture taken. After the Horse Incident of 2006 I dared not have my photo made for five years but that's a tale for another day. But Ellen can saunter out into harsh daylight sun in a saggy grey T-shirt and her photos will look like stock pages for picture frames. I kills me a little.

I brought mopey Ellen inside with me while I uploaded the photos to my computer and Ellen was pleased by the pictures - particularly the third one down that we called "The Money Shot" where Missy looks as delighted by the day as Ellen does. Then there was few minutes where Ellen forgot her woes and mulled over various filters and captions for assorted social media feeds. I wondered if this was all a ruse for some updated headshots and I glared at her on her glowing cellphone and then looked down at Missy who was curled up silently by our feet. But that was a false alarm because once she set her phone down and looked at Missy, welp she cried. Poor gal.

Saturday morning after Missy's appointment, Ellen came over to Mom and Dad's house where I was working on some wedding florals and Brett was scampering around loading my car and feeding me breakfast to make sure I had some Wedding Day Fuel. Ellen came into the house with her puffy, bright blue, teary eyes and really brought the mood down. I think Ellen used it as an excuse to get lots of Brett-hugs. Brett-hugs make everything better.

Pips n' Lu - A Cuddlesome Two

I know I just mentioned my posting peeve and all but I want to tell you more about Pippa. She's the greatest! A little while after we had been living together and her fuzzy sheen wore off I realized that she brings nothing to the table. I wondered if I am a monster or if Pippa was just an animal that is now forced to exist in my home. "What are you going to do for me?", I asked her one day as I poured pricey dog cereal into a stainless steel bowl. The racket is not nice for my ears. She looked up at me, ignoring my question, and silently commented that she's tired of the same crappin' dog cereal. At least, that's what I think she was saying. A few weeks after these selfish thoughts, we jumped another valance and I can't get enough of her. We're kind of in love and though I have lots to accomplish in a day, she's free as bird and is ready and waiting for our next activity together.

Pippa is up for anything anytime. If you want to rest, she'll nap. If you want to go outside, she'll romp around. If you want to play, boy will she play. She's got heaps of energy. There has yet to be a moment where she has opted out of an activity. She is very fast and loves to run and outrun and chase people, dogs, and squirrels. She also chased Bobo one day, caught him, and then let out a piercing shriek. Bobo scratched her right between the eyes and she's been a little more cautious around cats since then. But for all this high-speed, brazen living, she's a skittish mama's-girl and tends to be somewhere close to my knees if anything is unfamiliar. She likes to sit in my lap during down time and enjoys sleeping in a lumpy pile on top of my legs or chest or head. Her elbows dig into my side as she tries to curl closer and closer into my bones. She hurts a lot and sometimes she stomps on me in a effort to make herself more comfortable. If I'm sitting in a chair, she is on me. If I'm laying in bed, she's curled up between my knees. She watches me eat, shower, type, and clean and then looks all heartbroken when I leave her home to run errands.

Oh but there's more. She let's me sleep-in but she can tell if I'm sleeping or just laying in bed and she's less tolerant with laying. She paces around the bed and clickety-clacks her little nails on the floor so I'll get up. She likes to bark at joggers and play-attack other dogs (I make lots of apologies to other dog-owners now) and even though there's an entire empty house available, she sits at my desk with me while I work. I started to take a picture with her in my chair every morning but I felt silly taking photos of myself. She'd never look at the camera.

Yesterday, she hurt her paw and hobbled over to me to take a look at it. My heart almost popped.
Pipsqueak still doesn't bring anything to the table. She's expensive and exhausting and has ruined lots of my furniture and somehow I realize that I don't even deserve her.

Running From Nothing

Since the beginning of time, the month of April brings one particularly awful weekend to the little town of Charleston SC. It’s Bridge Run Weekend and if you are not familiar, it means 40,000 people come to town to run across a bridge that is always open to joggers on a daily basis. Since joining the beastly wedding industry, Bridge Run Weekend has developed into an even larger obstacle in the already time-sensitive hustle to drive flowers to venues and get things set up on time. They close The Big Bridge at 7:00 in the morning, displacing lots of everyday cars to alternative routes creating traffic jams and high-pressure wedding situations. I once had a groom be late to his wedding because of the traffic on this day.

I was delighted to have weaseled out of my only floral obligation for this weekend this year and sat back ready to stay home, drink coffee, read a book…who knows! A free Saturday void of transporting goods or even changing out of my jammies. In addition to the 40,000 foreigners that pack into town a few days ahead of time, we also have a big tennis match that brings 90 thousand spectators and the Flowertown Festival, which also brings double-digit thousand people to town for one of the “SouthEast’s Top 20 Events.” This all happened yesterday, April 7, 2018. I’ll take a leap and suggest that the city event planners didn’t think ahead on this one nor did they bother to alert Royal Caribbean to the situation, as a cruise shipped also docked early yesterday morning to add a few hundred more fatties to the madness.

Count me out! I hate crowds, exercise, Yankees, fatties, traffic, porta potties, and all other temporary structures required for a mass influx of belligerent ne’er-do-wells.

Of course my friend group planned to partake in the bridge run. Last year Erik and Hayden scampered along with the’m’asses and they had the best time and had celebratory beers and showed up to Chris Union’s house to play games and eat snacks and sweaty Erik fell asleep on Mom’s white sofa. Naturally, they planned a repeat day but with Jenny and Brett and Ellen. No one even dared suggest that Big Lu come along because, let be realistic. And I supported my friends. “Y’all go and I’ll meet you at the finish line.”, I said, shimmying into elastic-waisted pants and setting the kettle on the stove. And I meant it. I’d love to come celebrate after.

Early last week Brett suggested that he’d enjoy the weekend much more if I came along. I said all the right things one should say as they move into a season of preparing for a lifelong marriage with that person. “I don’t wish to partake.” I said, “but I’ll do if you really want me to honey-boobear-cuddlebutt-snookums-jellyroll.” and then I looked at him with eyes of horror which he knows to translate as my real answer, which is “No crappin’ way.” On Wednesday he signed me up for The Bridge Run and I smiled politely at him and then excused myself to scheme plausible personal injuries before Saturday morning.

My friends were delighted by this news, not because they were excited about my presence that day or that the whole group would be together but because they enjoy watching me stagger through life. I am their lovable punching bag that takes the blame for most things whether or not I have anything to do with them. Was the night not a success? “Lu’s fault!” Did someone park too far away? “Lu did it!” Who’s gonna come in last place? “Lu will!” they shout in unison. I prepared for Saturday silently. I did not pander to my friends who hoped to see me frantic and looking for plausible personal injuries before Saturday morning. Instead I kept quiet and will now share with you the thoughts I had leading up to the day.

What if it is hot? Too hot? Am I healthy enough for a 10K? How far is a 10K? Does Kilo stand for a thousand? Is it 10,000 miles? Can a human even run 10,000 miles? Isn’t it only 3,000 miles to California? Kilo must not mean a thousand. You should just google ‘kilometer” and do the math. Where does the 'meter' part come in? Oh or google ’10K in miles’ that’ll give me the answer right there. But really what if it’s hot? I’ll need to bring snacks and water. I don’t have real running shoes. Wait a minute, I can’t run across the bridge! It’s three miles or something. Oh there you go, the bridge is three miles. Well that can’t be right either. Aren’t there two miles on either end of the race? Oh my goodness what about ISIS? It’s a perfect ISIS event. People everywhere. What if they blow up the whole bridge? What about a shooter? I’ll be trampled by the stampede if I’m not shot already. I don’t think I can do this. What if something happens to Ellen? No one’s hurting Ellen. I’d dive in front of the bullets. Whoa Laura, you’d take a bullet for Ellen? All of this is getting out of hand.

I woke up at 5:00 on Saturday morning, choked down some yogurt, and was standing outside in the chilly morning air with thousands of other people by 6:30. Everyone was very excited and I didn’t get it at all. I looked around for lone backpacks or people who looked suspicious. The volume of spandex present at the race was something that distracted me for a little while. I should sell athletic wear. Everyone buys it! Even fat people that don’t exercise… Brett and I spent a large portion of our wait-time looking at all the different shaped butts in the world, many of which should not have been adorned in spandex. I got hungry while we waited. “I’m hungry.” I said, “Let skip all this and go get breakfast.” This thought intrigued both Ellen and Brett. We were in the "walk/run" group because of Ellen’s knees (nothing to do with my athletic ability, thank you) and both of them agreed that it was a very different experience to casually saunter over the bridge instead of competitively race it. “You mean it’s boring?” I said and they agreed. I assumed this opened the floor for my intellectual observations on the matter which are “You know, you can walk over the bridge anytime any day.” And “I don’t think I get this.” Brett tried to explain to me the concept of personal goals and fulfillment as well as a sense of community and encouragement but it all went right over my head.

We walked that crappin’ bridge and Ellen struggled to not compete. “It’s killing me! I wanna get there first!” she would exclaim, but she said her knees were not prepared for a big run. Instead we people-watched. We saw people in costumes, an androgynous human playing an electric guitar, and also, a very large poo that seemed to have been dropped or thrown up against the side of the bridge. It was a large human poo and 18 hours later Brett and I are still working out the logistics of how one might shake such a poo out of an athletic pant-leg. Brett thinks it had to be fake but I reminded him of the fresh sheen it had and some slight skid marks in the surrounding area. I think Brett is in denial out of disgust rather than scientific evidence.

At the very end of the six mile race (10K is about 6 miles) Brett shouted a codeword and wrapped his arms around a startled Ellen while I took off, sprinting through the crowd. I would cross the finish line before Ellen and it would eat her up. Brett held on to that little bucking bull while I put mere meters between me and my first trophy. I crossed the finish line in an anticlimactic display of feeling silly (everyone around me was walking and pushing strollers) and I looked back to see Brett running too, maniacal “heehee’s” escaping from his lips as his long legs overtook Ellen’ stubby ones and he too, crossed the finish line before grumpy Ellen.

After all that we ate lunch as a big group and then went home. I felt no sense of accomplishment or skill and was only left with sore toes because my shoes are too small. I went to bed last night all achy and sore and fell asleep so fast that I don’t remember turning out lights or getting into bed.

That’s a pretty great feeling.