June

What a doozie of a month. It rip-roared right past me. The month started with riots and protests and there Brett and I were, dining on King Street with Jeff, obliviously munching away while angry mobs stormed in our direction. We paid and left and stepped off King Street and back to our cars just as the rage of injustice took out it's anger on the shops and restaurants we'd just walked by. I saw a photo the next morning of exactly where I was sitting in a restaurant and the chairs were over-turned and the table covered in glass from the broken window it sits next to. Brett and I felt very Mr. Magoo about it all. 

Oh lets see there were dog walks and dock time and I've become enthralled with the color of the hydrangeas this year. All over town they are pink and purple. Usually they are blue. And I love the blue ones but, for those of you that don't know, hydrangeas get their color from the contents of their soil. (It's the pH levels that matter.) So the hydrangeas have me wondering what went on to create a uniform color palate all over town for this boisterous bounty of beautiful blooms. I don't consider myself very girly (am I kidding myself?) but I gasped when I saw these. 

We celebrated Dad's birthday by creating the tackiest dining space we could and ordering his favorite East Asian food from a spicy restaurant downtown. We ate carrot cake and gave him the biggest air-fryer in all the land. We really labored over how to make his day special during a time when you can't go out in public and the birthday boy in question has to wear a big brace and cannot do much more than sit or stand. We accepted that tacky decor was the most celebratory thing we could do. 

Months ago, I found a lump on Grace's tail. I felt around and parted her fur to find what looked like a human molar growing from the scrawny bone that supports so bushy a tail. Dr. Eisenhauer and P.A. Lu decided we'd watch it awhile and then reassess. It never seemed to bother her until earlier this month when she began gnawing on it and ripping the fur out to get to it. Brett took her to the vet who told us it's an infected cyst and it's likely they'll have to amputate her tail. 

In a last ditch effort they put her on three weeks of antibiotics but told us to call on day two to determine if we thought they were working. There was no time to dilly-dally. We were certain we would see no improvement after only two days so we began a vigil for the tail. So bushy and feminine.

Grace was most bothered by the Cone of Shame and resorted to head-butting the ground to cause the plastic to crack and splinter and at night she'd drag it along furniture to ensure our sleep was as disrupted as hers. Shockingly, on day two the mutant tooth already looked better so we called the vet and told them to power down their miter saw. Grace went for a check up last week and the diagnosis is neutral. She can keep the tail as long as the cyst stays uninfected. This may or may not happen. 

Meanwhile we took Pippa on her first kayaking adventure and she was a nervous wreck. We left Grace at home because her tail has to stay dry and we thought it was the perfect time to introduce Pip to the wonderful world of water-crafts. She did not like balancing on slippery plastic and she really didn't like when Brett and I would drift apart in our separate kayaks. She would whine and cry as I paddled ahead so she'd leap and tumble from the bow of Brett's kayak and swim a hurried dog paddle over to mine where I would roll her in by the straps of her neon orange life vest. She's shake off, lick my face to assure me and then look over at Brett 10 feet away. Then she'd cry and jump out all over again. So we pulled our kayaks together and she tiptoed from one to the other, wheezing and darting her eyes. We tried to distract her with fetching a tennis ball and the bumps and bruises were innumerable. She was spastic and full of nervous energy. We gave up on this torture when she tried to jump from a kayak to the dock and landed her fleshy soft belly on it's rough wooden corner and let out a little squeal. 

The next morning she woke up with one eye swollen shut and we decided our dogs are money pits. (Money Pip). The eye opened later that morning with no need for medical intervention and Pip still went about her day, full-throttle and ready for anything... except kayaking.

We had visits with Jeff and his squishy cat, and visits with Ellen and her squishy daughter. Liv let out her first cackle when Lee choked on water and now she's withholding that melodic sound on the grounds of stubbornness, so we're all dancing around and fake coughing just to try to hear it again. 

Just before Father's Day, Grandpa Bob went off to go find Grandma so they could eat ice cream and get caught up. We loved on Papa Union and celebrated Lee's first father's day while he grinned from ear to ear.  I also snuck in for the tail end of the Eisenhauer men-folk Father's day fishing adventure. Look at these strapping fellas. (Julian was not interested in being photographed.)

Brett and I continue to work from home together which means he works semi-regular hours and I flounder around and fire off a few emails and tend to the Spite Garden and nap prodigiously. The thing is, I can't get my work done when he's home. I don't know why! I used to have a 9-2pm computer job here at home but between his podcasts, conference calls, and stress-inducing work tunes, I just can't stay in the "office" with him and get my work done. I scramble in and out when he's distracted and send proposals and invoices and floral orders and when my jolly giant gets back to work I scamper off like a rat in the subway. And I don't want him to move. Don't you dare go back to work or move your desk out of the sunny room. I LOVE having him here. So I haven't told him how disruptive he is. I love him too much. 

We have also been sticking to our workout plans which developed right along with the stay-at-home orders. Brett used to go to the gym on his lunch break. Now he works out in the evenings in our garage like a trailer park person. He leaps about and grunts and picks things up. He has created a home-gym in there and it's upped the ante. Meanwhile, I've continued doing my assigned exercises for my weenie core and flat fanny and I do this in the living room with privacy and air-conditioning. Admittedly, I've gotten into the spirit of things have begun to compete with Brett. He wins arm and leg competitions, but my giggle muscles have him beat. I can out-ab workout the biggest person I know and I'll never stop bragging. 

On the topic of trailer-park people, we received a hammock as a wedding gift because I crappin love everything about a hammock-filled lifestyle. For a year and a half I've needed Brett's assistance to hang the hammock. Between you and me, I've actually just been waiting for Brett to hang it because I don't know about the sinches and wenches or whatever you use to keep it dangling. And anytime I asked (which, in his defense, hasn't been frequently) Brett would politely redirect me to another activity. Finally I confronted him.

"Bubb, why won't you hang the hammock?"

"Lu, I don't want that in the yard, They're redneck-ish!"

"What?"

"Yeah. We may as well put your car on blocks and get a trampoline!"

I laughed and laughed at the Big Guy and then sent him to work. 

Turns out we don't have an ideal hanging location. We'll keep working on it. 

I worked on my stories, had a single wedding to decorate, planted some goodies in the backyard and finally finished painting Brett's front steps. And right at the end of the month we celebrated my 30th birthday.

Grandpa Bob

Life Lessons From Granddaddy Bob:

- Belch loudly and often 

- Keep busy until 5:00, then you can clock out

- Put trash cans in peoples beds if they won't do right

- The Pig Face is always appropriate

- Ice Cream is crucial 

- Pinch children you don't like and lie when they accuse you for it

I came to appreciate Bob early on when I watched him struggle not to laugh at his own inappropriate comments. In those times, they would be sassy remarks about his mom that he'd mutter under his breath as we all ate lunch after church at the Holiday Inn. I wasn't old enough to know you could make fun of your parents so he was a real fearless maverick. I have a very distinct little girl memory of Grandaddy Bob teaching me how to rake leaves and he did the work so deliberately I thought that this must be no joking matter. Grandaddy Bob isn't laughing. This must be important. I think of him every time I rake leaves and I still regard that particular yard task in it's own category, much more serious than mowing or edging. 

Grandpa Bob was a hard worker and an incessant worker but you could interrupt him and he'd have something funny to say. As I got older I realized that his witty comments were as much for his own amusement as any lucky by-standers and I aspired to be so confidently indulgent. Watching his entire face curl towards his nose when he laughed was the greatest. I've not seen anyone else so easily reduced to giggle tears. 

Grandpa Bob kept himself together until Grandma died. She was his purpose and he came unglued without her. I've also never seen another pair of people so obsessed with each other. They set the bar high for suitors.

Without Grandma, G-Bob had less to be happy about and looked to the past for his good memories. I heard lots of stories and then lots of stories over again and he'd slap his knee laughing about something Ruth said when they were newlyweds. 

Even in all of his confusion toward the end he was grateful for his three daughters bringing him "a hot meal every night" and the time Mom spent just sitting with him. He also couldn't resist the urge to make me laugh. It didn't matter where we were, a doctors office or the lobby of his hospice home, he'd lock eyes with me and make the Pig Face or let out a burp followed by firing his finger guns and then his face would curl up and and he cry laughing at himself.

We'll miss him and his subtle (and not so subtle) traits but I've never been more happy for a pair of people to reunite.

*  *  *  *  *

While I've got you here, I'll disclose our strange funeral tradition. When Nana (Bob's Mama) passed away, Uncle Dave took this photo of the family's sassy teenagers completely disregarding proper funeral decorum.

When Grandma followed suit in November, we did our best to recreate the photo. 

... and another with the family's newer additions (Margie and Brett).

It dawned on us last week at Bob's funeral that the family has grown. 

Keeping a straight face gets more difficult each time. I hate that these photos are coming in blurry. It's a new problem I'm having with this blog space and I don't know how to fix it. If you click on them they'll load clearly.

Anyways, enough of this irreverence. 

A Family Focused Film

My phone recently informed me that I was out of storage at the exact moment I was trying to document floral things for my my work stuffs. This was equal parts surprising and expected. I enjoy living a life full of such juxtapositions. I realized I was using up all of my phone storage with my signature quivery videos so I've compiled them yet again. Trouble is I've mostly been filming Brett and Olivia so I do hope you like those two characters. 

The Ticks

A few weekends ago, Brett and I took our hairy daughters on a hike in Francis Marion National Park. We drove the half hour north to the wilderness and then leashed up and headed out. T'was a hot day but the change of scenery was riveting. We walked for almost two hours, marveling at the oppressive humidity and wondering if we were pushing fat Grace too far.

On our way home I asked Brett to stop by the store of one of my brides. She had the vases I used for her wedding ready for me to pick up. On the way, I suggested to Brett that we should probably check the dogs for ticks when we get home and he shrugged off this statement. Big Guy wasn't concerned. When were just a minute away from the store, Brett felt something crawling over his knee and looked down to find a wee little tick. At this exact time I learned that Brett really hates ticks. He grabbed the tick in a pinch of napkin and handed it to me while he pulled into the shop parking lot. I peeked into the napkin and found no tick. 

"It's in the car!" Brett barked. 

"Ok. It's alright. We'll do a thorough tick check when we get home."

"No. It's in the car. It could get on one of us!"

"Yes, but that's ok. We're almost home. We can take care of it."

Brett developed the heebeegeebees and started flinching and slapping and rubbing his skin. His hair tickled his neck and he leaped about in his seat. I left Brett floundering around in the car and skipped into the shop and made small-talk with my bride. Oh she had the best time. And oh she loved her flowers. And gosh, "you have to send me the photos when they come in!" We jabbered on for a few minutes and finally I stepped out of her office and into the showroom, a wall of 8 foot glass windows. What's that trashing around in the parking lot? Is that a naked man? Oh gosh. It's Brett. 

I stepped outside and rushed over to our car. "Brett! There are people in the store!"

"I don't care!" he hissed. "I found two more on my legs. One of them had already attached!"

Brett had taken off his shirt and shoes and socks and had his shorts rolled up as high as possible so he could inspect his fleshy white thighs. He was crouching and twisting, pulling at the bottom of his butt cheek.

"Brett! Put your clothes on!" I looked at the showroom windows and flashed a polite smile. I'm certain people were watching. "Where did you put the ticks?"

"I've got to take my pants off,"he said and he reached for his zipper.

"You get into the car!" I demanded. "If my bride comes out here..." Brett climbed into the back seat with Grace and Pippa while I circled around the car to passenger side, smiling calmly at the building, and then ducking into the car. I spun around in my seat and Brett was down to his loolies. 

"Brett. Can we not do this at home?" I started giggle a little. I looked down and found the two ticks dropped into a water bottle.

"No! We're doing this now! It's not funny, Lu." 

Brett laid on his back between the dogs and not unlike them, had his hind legs in the air, inspecting his inner thighs. His feet were on the ceiling. 

"We're going to have to check the dogs," he stated. I rolled my eyes. I turned back around facing forward, checking the mirrors for curious customers and watching the one bloated tick roll around in the water bottle. Brett thrashed around in the back. The girls thought it was lots of fun. Suddenly Brett's underwear surged forward towards the dashboard. My eyes bugged.

"You're going to have to check my butt."

I looked over my shoulder at my naked husband bent into an unnatural shape in the back of my car. 

"Brett Eisenhauer, I will check your butt when we get home." And then I contracted uncontainable giggles. Suddenly this all struck me as very funny and Brett hated my laughter. 

"Lu!" he whined.

 I looked past him at the storefront and checked the road in front of us. The coast was clear.

"Fine. Turn around."

On his hands and knees, Brett turned to face the back of the car and I braced myself for an unstudied sight. I continued to check the surroundings and then turned to look at Brett. He was on his hands and knees but he had his butt curled under, the way a guilty dog tucks his behind as he scampers away. 

"I can't see. You've got to untuck." 

A still and silent moment passed and then a soft, whimpy Brett whispered,

"I don't wanna." 

He finally worked up the courage to uncurl and I'll tell you, I found the biggest tick of the day making its way towards Brett's darkest secret. I snatched it with more napkin bits and added it to our collection. 

Brett redressed himself and emerged from the backseat of the car to drive us home. I wondered what was going on in the store. We rode home quietly, did a household tick inspection with the following results: Brett 4 - Grace 2 - Pippa 3 - Laura 0, and then we marveled at the wild ride. I'm happy to report that no one became ill and we were able to give the ticks a proper burial (Brett flushed 'em).

Since this day, Brett has become sensationally amused by this tick story and proudly tells of his shame while standing by his overreaction. 

I found it all oddly endearing.