Up Next

Since returning from our Westward adventure, we’ve completed the biggest wedding of our Spring season. I have three more next month and then I’m on break again until September. During that time, I’ll be taking over for Margie at the Realty so you can expect that I’ll be grumpy and ranty about having to abide by set working hours. I’m also finally planning to work on the heaps of Tiny House Jobs that I’ve been putting off since moving in last year. Things like repainting the front porch and installing shelves, etc. I’ve also finally come up with a landscape plan for the backyard and now it’s too hot to plant anything so mostly I gaze out at the barren yard and wish I had started a year ago. 

Brett is almost finished building the city’s biggest compost bin. The size of the thing seemed to get out of control and I had to ask Brett to shave it down so that I could see over it. Brett comes home from work and scampers straight out to the garage to tinker with tools, admire his saws, and then mull over the compost bin. Admittedly, this gets him out of my hair while I’m cooking supper so I fully condone it. He likes to cook and has a hard time relinquishing control to me when I’m cooking because he can’t pass up the chance to add strange spices to different foods. I cook a hot, healthy home-style supper. Brett cooks flavor experiences. I love Brett’s concoctions and he enjoys my comfort food, but I catch him throwing things into my pans when he thinks I’m not looking.

On the weekend mornings, he can barely wait for me to get through my coffee small-talk before he darts out into the yard to play. He comes in much later in the afternoon and he’s always stinky and damp and for some reason, his left knee is always black with caked on dirt. He thinks he’ll finish The Bin this weekend and then it’s onto adding small lights to our outside gates so we can find our house at night. We’ve driven past it on a few occasions.

Moving into June, we are expecting the arrival of three babies, two friend couples moving into their newly purchased homes, and three birthday celebrations. That’s an exciting month ahead.

I’ll leave you with this photo. All of Brett’s co-workers have photos of their wifes and kids propped up in their cubicles. He didn't want to be left out. 

Abingdon, Virginia

Brett and I had the good fortune of receiving an adventure as one of our wedding gifts. Those Honbarrier people that I'm obsessed with gifted us a two night stay at the The Martha Washington Inn in Abingdon, Virginia. Brett and I had never heard of such a place so we thought it was a great gift idea and otherwise didn't know what it all meant. After work last Friday, Bubbs and I set out on the dusty trail, wiggling with delight and a sense of whimsy. We both love Virginia and have agreed on it as THE state to move to, if applicable. Around midnight we pulled over to spend the night in Hendersonville. I note the stop here because it was around this time that itchy Brett discovered a wee bit of poison ivy on his belly. He was put out about this and I made him stay way over on his side of the bed.

Our first stop the next morning was a CVS, as the little red dots were showing up on Brett's arms. It was 8:00 and the store had just opened. We walked in and didn't see a soul so we set out in search of a soothing cream. I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye and I turned to find Gale. Gale is in her late 60's. She works a the CVS in Hendersonville, NC and on this day, she was running on a light breakfast and a bottle of Benadryl. Gale had one puffy, red eye that was only half open. She looked dopey. 

"Can I help you with something?" she asked. 

Brett turned to look at Gale and then he said, "My wife has a terrible rash."

"No I don't! It's you. It's him!" I declared. The corners of Gale's mouth curled slightly in a suppressed smile. She turned slowly and walked us to the anti-itch section. 

"I think it's here." she said. "But I don't have my glasses." and then she inched off to wherever she came from. 

Brett spent a long time mulling over his poison ivy options and then had to go find Gale when it was time to check out. I made sure Gale knew that Brett was the one with the rash. Gale made sure we knew that she'd been stung in the eye out in her garden yesterday and the Benadryl coma was real. 

"Do you know how sleepy I am?" she asked me, peering out at us through eyes held at half mast. 

We loved Gale and felt bad leaving her to fight for consciousness in the CVS. 

Back on the trail, the forests gave way to the rolling hills and we were enamored by inclines and altitudes. "Look at that hill!" Brett would shriek. "It's so great!"
We listened to an assortment of podcasts and Taylor Swift hits before driving into Abingdon just in time for lunch. The Martha is a great place. The porch, the swirling staircases... it takes you back in time. It was originally built by a post-Revolution era general for his wife and nine kids. Then it became a boarding house, a hospital during war-times, an upscale women's college, and finally, a hotel. The hallways are full of photos of the female graduates from the early 20's and one of them looked exactly like Brett in a dress. Even he agreed. 

We spent the afternoon wandering up and down the main street, gawking that the peonies, eating snacks and drinking coffee. We wandered off the beaten path and found a brewery with a live band, so we sat and listened and took in the sights. Drunken dancers can entertain simpletons for hours. Just before a big rain, we ducked into a colonial basement and had an especially delicious dinner. I was enthralled with the great flavors. Brett was enthralled with the timber support beams and warped wooden floors. "Check out those cross braces!" he'd say with wonder while I slurped up a mouthful of the best salad dressing I think I've ever had.

"Is it citrus?"

"I think that's a load-bearing truss. There's a name for that."

"I think it might be orange. Maybe grapefruit. It's so great with the vinaigrette!"

"It's a Summerbeam. That's what you call the load bearing beams on a timber framed building."

"Oh man! Dip your meat in it!"

We talked and laughed and walked home in the rain. 

Brett shows off his rash.

Our second day really kicked my butt. The HonBons really talked up the Virginia Creeper. Despite how it sounds, The Creeper is not a local serial criminal that one should hide their children from. It's a 35-mile decommissioned rail trail that runs through forests and plains and farms and small towns. They told us to rent bikes and ride the trail so we did. It was a beautiful day; warm in the sun, cool in the shade and we'd both filled up on a hearty hotel breakfast and were feeling great. We were loving our bike ride. We found cows and deer and a sweet golden retriever that was running alongside a lawn mower, biting at the clippings as they blew by. Around mile six, I got a little hungry. We consulted a map on the trail. The next town, Alvarado, was just a few miles away. 

"Let's ride there and eat some lunch and then we'll head back."

"That sounds perfect."

We happily rode to Alvarado. The trail took us through some beautiful farmland and we discussed what a bummer it is that great scenery becomes commonplace. We noted how we would plan to do this every Saturday if we lived here but in real life, you just don't. Like how we rarely go to the beach. After eight miles my belly was gurgling and I was ready for a big meal. We pulled into Alvarado just as church was letting out and I felt silly in my activity shorts amongst so much God-fearing semi-formal attire. The problem was that Alvarado is closed on Sundays. The lone restaurant had a barricade against their front door. 

I slowly began a routine panic. 

"Brett," I said calmly. "I'm very hungry."

"I know."

"You know I have low blood sugar."

"I know,"

"We didn't bring any snacks!" 

"I know. That's ok. Let's rest a bit and we'll just ride back slowly. No rush"

Brett took his shoes off and put his feet into a freezing stream. I sat nearby calculating my hungriness on a logarithmic-milage scale. Due to the nice weather and our matching positive attitudes, I opted out of a Blood Sugar Panic and decided that I'd make it back okay but we better get crappin' going.

So we hopped back on our bikes and started the eight miles back. We'd gone less than a half mile when my legs burned with a fiery hatred. I was notably more winded and when did the petals start resisting? Then it dawned on us. We'd been riding down-hill all the way to Alvarado. My lunch in Abingdon was eight-ish miles up a mountain trail. 

"Oh dear." 

I'll spare you the painful details of our arduous trek. Well, my arduous trek. Brett exercises regularly so the possibility dying from strain was much less threatening to him. My hunger increased with the pain I felt all over. I had a death grip on my handle bars and the tension was running up my arms. My thigh muscles sizzled beneath my skin. Sweat beaded on my brow. My stomach screamed for sustenance.

"Oh look at the cows!"

Somehow I never lost my happy disposition. This was confusing to both of us and Brett often turned around to look at me, suspicious and unconvinced. That last two miles uphill were the worst and I'll admit that I began to think defeatist thoughts. I had to walk my bike up one particularly large hill that Brett sailed over like it was the first one of his day. Brett logged us at just over 17 miles for the day, which is not what we're thinking when we bee-bopped off with nothing but a cell phone and a half-bottle of water. 

We raced up to our room to change out of our sweaty clothes and then we ate an enormous BBQ lunch and immediately fell asleep. 

The second half of this day was the greatest part of our whole stay. We woke up from our naps and took our books down to the front porch and we sat in rocking chairs and read. Then it started to rain and I loved the moment even more. I pretended it was the front porch of our own grandiose mansion and I really wished the pups were with us, lounging on the piazza. We slumped on the porch for an hour or so and then took ourselves down to the pool for a swim. We had the whole place to ourselves.  Since most of Abingdon was closed by the time we were ready for supper, we drove over to Bristol VA/TN (Did you know it sits half on each side of the border?) and found a bustling little downtown and a place that serves hot wings so hot that you have to sign a waiver first. This was extremely appealing to Brett. 

"But Lu, you get a t-shirt if you can eat all six!"

I did not discourage him. I ordered summer salad and waited. Brett loves very spicy things and one of our favorite pre-bed activities is watching a Youtube series of interviews performed while eating progressively hotter chicken wings. People loose their cool and they burp and sweat and it really delights us. On a few occasions Brett has taken chilies and hot sauces into work and made his co-workers eat them. Sometimes they get sick. Anything so hot it must be served by people wearing gloves is right up his alley. But in the end he opted out. He chose the wings one level below that illegal one and it think it's mostly because I would have panicked if he showed any sign of pain or regret. I don't know where the hospitals are in Bristol VA/TN and I was not interested in finding out.

We did not want to leave when check-out time came the next morning. We liked the little town and loved The Martha and I had so much fun that I forgot we were married. I mean that in a nice way. I felt childish and giddy all weekend and we talked and laughed the whole time and then I remembered that Brett is my husband and I got all shy and embarrassed. We stand by our notion that Virginia is the state to live in and we support the Hon's notion that The Martha is the place to stay. We had the best time and sending a thank-you note just doesn't seem good enough. 

A Pinch of Nostalgia Lead Me To This

You know how sometimes nostalgia gets a tight grip on your little heartstrings and makes you want to go back in time, just for a few hours, to get that cozy feeling you had back when you'd hole up in your bedroom writing broody teenage letters to no one while Dad was downstairs simmering onions in olive oil and the smelled filled up the whole house? You know? I was waiting at a red light and a college girl crossed in front of me wearing the same kinds of Laura-clothes I wore in college and she looked equally bored and content which is a facial expression I wear most days, so then I overlaid my life onto that girl and wondered where she had come from and if she likes it here and if she misses the smell of her parents cooking supper downstairs. 

The whole thing took me back to high school and I could feel those feelings again; that complete boredom but with the hopeful anticipation of it all ending soon and you'll be set loose in the world. My plans were to go work on a farm in France, if you recall, so I was enduring the pettiness of small-town SC until I could take my true position as a global citizen of a wild and exotic world. 

I enjoy thinking about the things I thought as an angsty teenager. I like teenage me. She was so stubborn and hopeful. She still is and I standby most of the things I thought back then. What a ruckus it all is. I've got the nostalgic feels lately on account of moving into a new life phase, but a real one, not one only noted by the boundaries of aging another year. My quarter-century of oppressive school rules and the yearning for global exploration has ended and I've moved into a new stage of really wanting to be home and comfortable. Teenage Lu would despise me for saying so. 

I look forward to breakfast. And dinner. I like grocery shopping and reading in the daytime which has always been an indulgence I never dared allow myself. I love that giddy feeling your house has after you deep clean it before friends come over. Teenage Lu thought people like this had given up and had allowed themselves to believe the lies of society and succumbed to tradition without asking questions first. Teenage Lu would look at me and feel sad about all the life she was going to miss. 

But teenage Lu couldn't have imagined how exhausting it is to maintain your existence, and after twenty-fiveish years you're just too pooped to keep scheming. She was also unaware that she'd develop crippling anxiety that makes pumping gas as scary and exhilarating as a three day hike in Patagonia. 

Now don't go worrying that I've lost my sense of adventure. My global bucket list is still lengthy. Spontaneity still delights me and Brett and I go on wild adult adventures, hooking up the trailer late at night and stealing away with roadside finds. We've struck gold on our Midnight Raids and I know teenage Lu would happily ride in the backseat offering blasting cackles as her approval. 

But something does shift at some point and I think it's due to freedom. Teens ain't got no freedom, so looking down on folks that aren't utilizing it certainly makes sense. Once you get your young adult freedom and live with awhile, things don't feel so urgent. 

Or luxurious for that matter. Remember what a treat is was to get to go outside during science class? Poor little academic prisoners. When you're finally allowed to go outside unmonitored, you feel less inclined to flee the country in search of alone time. See how that works.

I get lots of unmonitored alone time both indoors and out. I'm allowed to plan travel adventures when it suits our schedules and no one is grading my productivity. This is really all Teenage Lu wanted in the first place. So what would she have done with these luxuries? 

I'll tell you ... because I am her. She would continue to cherish adventures and day dreams. She will encourage people to stick it to The Man. She'll love impromptu escapades with her sidekicks (husband and dogs) and delight her friends with stories from a wild life filled with debilitating anxiety. But in her late-twenties she'll also move into a stage of cherishing comfort and safety. She likes visually appealing spaces to rest and eat. As she ages and her joints creak a little more and she doesn't bounce back as quickly from unplanned dance performances, she values a comfortable bed to sleep on. She wants to try wacky recipes and read about other people's life experiences because life is interesting and complex to her. She'll also start a garden because she'll grow into a deep fondness for nature and plants and she likes the idea of being surrounding by things so wild and free. 

She'll also develop a seething distain for tourists and traffic, as they encroach on her ability to be wild and free. She may have to move to the country. Actually, she becomes a lot more short-fused than she used to be because she has a code of ethics and basic human manners-rights that she believes everyone should abide by.

Teenage Lu will have her restlessness satiated and it will change everything.
She'll become a lot more opinionated and grumpy.

Simple Things With Good People

I’m on the precipice of some big thinking. Back in those old days of singleness and steady employment, I had plenty of time for big thinking. I had a set schedule and no one to talk to except myself. Now I’m finding it hard to sit still long enough to come up with juicy thoughts. I’m always preoccupied thinking about cleaning the kitchen before Brett gets home and sending out those proposals before some other florist swipes that obnoxious bride out from under me, and I really should go polish my vases, and pickup some flea medicine and aren’t we running low on detergent? Did I order Margie’s baby shower gift? Oh, Ari turns 30 this week – don’t forget to call her. Did I submit that floral order? My tire pressure Iight is on again and I’ve got to meet that bride at 3:00. Don’t start anything that can’t be finished before 3:00. Should I make a cake for Ari? My parking ticket. Don’t forget about the parking ticket. It’s chilly. Where’s that sweater I like? Now what does this bride want? Horse hair? Oh, don’t forget to do a blog post soon.

I aint stressed er nuthin’, I just cant stop thinking. But I feel like some juicy thoughts are on the horizon so you just hang in there.

Last weekend, Ari and Nate invited us to do some pickin’ and grinnin’ and we’ve had strawberries in every form since then. We did our picking out at Boone Hall and I didn’t see a single face I recognized. They have a whole new batch of folks working there now and I looked at the girl selling the veggies under the tent and wanted to tell her that I used to be the girl selling the veggies under the tent and that it really means a lot to me, but I knew she wouldn’t really care, just like I didn’t really care when customers would tell me that they grew up on a farm or grow their own tomatoes or whatever meaningful flashback a farm gives to a person. Open land seems to give humans nostalgia. (Well lookathere, a big thought. Let's dive deeper.)

 

After feeling like we’ve been too busy for quality time, Brett and I had a Dueling Date week. I made a squishy Indian Bazaar on the back deck one night and then Brett took us downtown the next. On my ethnic night, I filled the back porch with pillows and clusters of candles and lanterns from my Lux inventory. We sat on the floor and ate supper with the mosquitoes and listened to tunes. On Brett’s Solid Furniture date, we ate supper with the upscale mosquitoes of Downtown and then went for an evening walk and that’s when Brett pointed out that from behind, it looks like Francis Marion is flashing people, and I don’t know how we’ve never noticed this before.

The best part of my week was an impromptu Ellen-Mama-Lu day where we went on an adventure to a home goods store in North Charleston. Mom called to tell me she needed outdoor pillows and to see if I needed anything and I said, “Nope, but I’ll come with you!” and then Ellen called seeing what I was up to and she said, “I need things! I’ll come too!” so we happily piled into one car and couldn’t remember the last time it was just the three of us in one car. What made the day so fun was Ellen. She was so happy and chatty and silly acting and Mom and I gave each other strange looks about how much she was talking. Ellen stopped saying much at all about nine months ago so this was a real treat. Ellen yammered all the way up the highway, making observations out the window and exclaiming silly things in foreign accents. My little heart felt like it was going to pop. 

Once we got to the store, we elected to share an oversized cart but within four minutes Mom was moving too slowly for Ellen’s taste so she wandered off in another direction. I followed Ellen out of curiosity and my endless study of her behavior. Ellen wandered up and down the “Storage Solutions” aisle, picking up small plastic bins, turning them over, and then setting them down again. “I need closet organizers,” she told me. Then she saw a tiny colander and had to have it. She also grabbed some coat hangers and a lantern for her back porch. I left her for a moment to look in the garden section and when I found her again she had an armload of incongruent home goods.

“Do you know where Mom is?” she asked.

“Huh uh. Want me to hold something?”

“I think if you pull anything, it’ll all come tumbling down.”

So we wandered the store for 10 minutes looking for Mom. Ellen’s armload of things sagged lower and lower as we walked.  

“Ooh I like that,” Ellen would say and then she’d waddle over and poke at it with a free finger.

“Want me to grab it?” I’d ask. She accumulated more things and soon, finding Mom and the cart became a desperate operation. It seemed like an hour passed. Where was she? And then, far in the distance, I spotted a lone shopping cart with a single pillow inside.

“Wait,” I said, and Ellen halted, “Look there, in the distance. That nearly empty shopping cart. Do you think?”

“Let’s see. One item in 45 minutes? I bet so.”

“It looks like an outdoor pillow.” I said.

“It’s tropical print!” Ellen exclaimed, “It’s definitely Mom!” and we barreled towards the lone shopping cart and found it hilarious that Mom was in fact, just out of sight, mulling over a second tropical pillow. 

Honbons: And Other Seaside Sweets

Two weekends ago my Hon's came to town for a beachy getaway. The anticipation had me wiggling in my seat all week and finally, late Wednesday night they arrived on Folly. Papa U pulled some strings to get us into a vacant rental house right on the beach. It was a week-long rental so Mom and Pops moved in on Monday and wiggled in their seats until the Hon's arrived. Staying in a rental house in your own town is a funny kind of vacation. It still feels like you're somewhere else, except that you have to drive into town once or twice each day to feed your pets and do a little computer work.

I woke up early Thursday morning so I could get to the beach as soon as possible. While most mornings require Brett to drag me out of bed by my ankles (Literally. He thinks it's funny.), I sprung right up and hurried him out of house, though I did this subtly and with much kindness. "Oh, you haven't packed your lunch? Well, you go make your coffee and put your contacts in. I'll take care of lunch. Go on. Don't keep The Man waiting... What, you can't find your wallet? Here, take mine. Just go."

The breakfast shift was ending when I arrived at the beach house. The home was lit by golden, morning sunbeams and the room smelled of coffee and bacon. Laurie and Don's happy smiles met me at the door. We did our normal story exchange, moving to different settings throughout the day. We also went for a chilly beach-walk where we found hundreds of slimy pink worm-slugs and a small man in a loose, satin diaper. Diaperman (not Diaper Man) was a real sight to see but Laurie's struggle to maintain her composure was the best part. We would go on to look for Diaperman throughout the weekend.

We snacked and told stow-ries and then all the old folks went down for their naps. I drove back into town to feed the pups and intercept Brett on his way home from work. We gathered up some supper supplies and by the time we arrived back out at the beach, everyone was upright again, talking and snacking and darting in and out of the ferocious winds outside on the porch. We ate our supper and finished the meal with two belated birthday pies for Laurie. Shortly after, we played a long round of Shanghai where there was a brief moment of political tension followed by Brett informing Don that all his "yammerin" was making it difficult to concentrate. I think Don talked the whole weekend.

We spent another day snacking on and chatting about life's best things. Laurie brought along "Frosted Heroin" which are her too-decadent-but-somehow-I-can't-stop-eating-them cinnamon rolls.  She also managed to bring an entire cooked ham and a breakfast casserole.
That evening, Will arrived from Helsinki and all of our attention went to figuring out what he and Katie are going to name their daughter. His lips were resentfully sealed, though we'd make guesses and his face would give him away. He never did tell us the favorited, prevailing name but we guessed a few of the runners-up and they are lovely names so I don't reckon that his reason for not telling us, ("I'm afraid you won't like it!") is all that valid. I plan to hold resentment about this until she arrives and someone tells me her name. Who wants to find out the next generation's name through a text message? You can't get that moment back.

Here's where things get real good. Laurie brought Crainium with her, a simple and delightful children's game. Oh we had the best time. We teamed up : Honbarriers, Unions, and People Under 40. While us kids did win, I'd have happily chosen defeat if it meant I could watch Dad be a blowfish again and hear Laurie humming classic songs to Don with her eyebrows acting as punctuation marks. You have to hum and draw and sculpt things with clay and spell words backwards and it's just hilarious to watch. These are the best four photos I've ever taken.

The next morning we jaunted off to church for an Easter service and came back to some long-awaited perfect beach weather ... so most of us piled out onto the beach and we even took Will on a search for Diaperman. Eventually Wilber had to catch a flight back home to Katie so we replaced him with Ellen and Lee. Lee delighted the crowd with his childhood musings and eventually Ellen gave him a look that said, "Shut up!" and then they left.

Since Brett spent that Easter Sunday with his family, it was down to five; my four beloved parents and me. We played a final round of Shanghai and ate peanut M&M's
Thinking back now, I don't remember most of the things we talked about all weekend, but that's how you know you're in good company; folks that cherish your yammerin'.

Long distance is the worst.