August

This month I had nothing to do and I also did not use my time wisely. At the start there I elected to begin writing new things. Fresh ideas. New perspectives. Maybe even something serious. But I didn't. Instead I found myself on a home improvement bender that has resulted in some tropical plantings, shelf installation, rearranging and subsequent furniture and crap donations. I painted and polished and dusted and I bet no one could tell that anything happened at all. I also finally cleaned the flower shop after my one tiny August wedding. 

In-between these things I've been "freelancing" for an overbooked florist friend. I enjoy freelancing because it's exactly what I do but without the grunt work and responsibility. I show up on wedding day, pack the car and then build fun things with others people's flowers. I also have a high pay rate as a freelancing professional though I work many fewer hours. With my florist friend I've gotten to goof off in some spunky new venues and make a few fun pieces that my sensible brides usually won't splurge for. 

We attended nephew August's 6th birthday party which I noted felt an awful lot like a strategic corner of hell, but as the lone woman present with no children, I was also alone in my dismay. There were 12 boys between 3 and 6 years old throwing legos while screaming and the parents casually drank wine and chatted over the wailing. I couldn't hear a thing they were saying and they minded me like I was the foolish one. 

One mother told me I looked frightened and told me that the trick is to focus on only one kid at a time. Don't look at the whole squirming blob, find one moron and laugh at his moronic ways. I honed in on a gangly blond. He had blue frosting on his face, a fist full of pokemon cards and was dancing a jig in place. Occasionally he would let out a rebel yell. She was right. He was a moron and in the moment I liked him. All in all, the birthday party did nothing to counteract my disinterest in becoming a mother.

This month, Pippa joined me in the office, read a fascinating memoir, and signed up for puppy boot camp after being forced to register as an offender. So maybe there was this little tussle between the pups and Brett's valiant, well-meaning finger found itself in Pip's mouth and broke just a tiny bit. If it weren't for the blood we wouldn't have taken Brett to the hospital. And if it weren't for the hospital, Brett wouldn't have had to admit that it was a "dog bite". 

"It's my fault," he told them, "I put my hand in her mouth." They didn't care. They made Brett name Pip on a legal document, and a few days later he got a follow-up call from DHEC. 

Pip heads to Edisto soon to learn how to behave in polite company. When she comes home, Grace is taking her place at camp for a few weeks. Brett and I are tickled, sad, embarrassed, delighted, and curious. 

For the record, we were not required to send the girls to behavior camp, we elected to on account of dog fights being frowned upon and Grace's ever shortening fuse. When discovering that vet stitches are three times as costly as human stitches we decided we'd save money if we were the only bite victims but the girls have expensive taste and prefer dog blood. 

In other news, after much protest and deliberation, Brett let me cut layers into his Prince Valiant hair bob.

It came out great and I'm quite proud of myself.

We have also spent lots of time with friends and family and people even though things are still iffy with that whole pandemic bit and I blame other folks for going out and spreading their germs but not me, I'm different. 

We had an adorably chaotic visit with Alston, Margie and Jordan and their two little toddling squirts. 

There was a "South of France" inspired afternoon repas with the Leisure Club.

We had Brunch with Ellie and Caroline where I had to fight Ruth for Brett's affection. She was after his peaches.

And lots of visiting with Liv.

Most importantly... dock time. It's a magical place. 

Coworkers

Ahh it's a rainy Friday morning as I write this. It's gloomy and cozy and Brett and I are in our cubicles.

He's on a big conference call and he expresses worried looks when I make too much noise. A moment ago I heard a distinct pooting sound on the other end of his phone and before I even inhaled my amusement he had a disciplinarian's finger pointed at me even though he was also grinning. The guy talking right now speaks so slowly Brett can't believe it. He does seem to say a word at each one second interval, as though he's relying on a sluggish metronome.

I've rearranged "our" office space to accommodate the "his and hers" file cabinets. I cleared my art supplies from the bookshelf to make room for math textbooks and construction manuals; big red binders of diagrams and volumes of codes from decades past. The floor around his desk is littered with scratch paper of "fast math" and rough sketches of beam connections. My desk is accented with overpriced colored pencils, fabric swatches and books about flowers. Brett still has my office chair and both dogs sleep under my desk where my feet go so I'll always be the most uncomfortable one in the room.

In the time that Brett has been working from home I've learned key details about the engineering world. Engineers are not great communicators. They are mathematicians, which means they spent lots of time alone as children. The most lively engineering conversations take place when there is more than one approach to solving a problem. They are enlivened by creative solutions. The worst engineering conversations take place when things are going alright and there's nothing but small talk needed to complete the phone call. There's a lot of "umm" and "yeah". Lot's of them make cringey Dad jokes, likely because someone had to sit them down and explain the importance of warmth and team work. Others say as little as possible. Most conversations go like this:

"Hey John, this is Brett from JMT. How you doing?"
"Hey Brett."
"Hey man, so listen, did you get a chance to look at the cable barriers?"
"I did. I did."
"Great."
"....."
"So how's it all looking?"
"... it's good. Seems to all be in place."
"Ok, well the original drawing with the rated wall assembly ... blah ...blah... blah... very long paragraph of information puntucated with questions and talking points ...."
"Yep...."
"Ok .... well if there's nothing left there then I'll let you go."
"Ok. Thank you."
"See ya, John." 

And then Brett hangs up and throws his hands in the air and will later receive an email from John with all the things they should have discussed on the phone call. Several times each week Brett is presented with corrections to make because the construction engineers and the manufacturing engineers couldn't have a translatable conversation that resulted in clarity of any kind. So Brett has to call both sides, gather their thoughts, and then combine them in an amended set of plans that will need further revisions because some Big Wig somewhere forgot to explain one of main purposes of the project. I've learned that engineers with good social skills are the ones that will go places. The ones you can't talk to seem to have another person in place to facilitate their communications. 
On the other hand, Brett does work with this one architect up in VA Beach (super nice guy) who can't ever seem to stop talking. It's mostly not about work but about life and his younger years and marriage and covid-19. He talks and talks and sometimes asks Brett questions to make sure he's still there and then talks and talks. Brett checks-out and does his computer work and lets lots of time pass before he responds to let the nice chatty guy know that Brett is busy. Brett has no problem letting a conversation go awkward so that it will end and I'll be over at my desk cringing and shriveling up just waiting for Brett to say something. He won't though and finally the guys goes, "Alright man, it's was good talking to ya..." 
Then they finally hang up and Brett throws his hands in the air. At the end of the day, Brett and his boss call each other to muse over all the fruitless and awkward conversations they had that day. The Boss Man's thoughts on the matter always crack us up.

On my end, Brett has learned that my Tuesday flower shipments never arrive on time. Wednesday is much more reliable. One day he impressed and amused me by looking over at my screen and saying, "That would look best with gold chargers." I wasn't working on table settings. He said it just to be part of my day and then we laughed and laughed and I'd have lost money that he knew what a charger was. He's also learned to identify some of the more common wedding blooms that I use and will address them by name as I bring them in. It makes my day. 
He also go to meet my main wholesaler a few weeks ago (a huge, manly guy - farthest thing from what you'd expect) when he delivered my late blooms and Brett and David wound up in the garage together discussing woodworking and welding for half an hour. They loved each other and now David asks more about Brett than he discusses my shipments. The best is when Brett remembers a specific troublemaking bride and months later, when I'm working on her flowers he'll realize who it's for and he lets out an exasperated "Ugh! That girl is the worst." This makes my day because something about Brett makes it seem like he isn't paying attention but almost every time I call him on it, he's heard every word and it turns out that I'm the jerk. Most of the time I don't expect him to be paying attention at all so when it loops around later and he relates my current predicament to a previous rant, I'm always confused by his understanding. 

We're still dreading him ever having to go back to the office. We listen to music and eat elaborate lunches and sometimes just run through the house squealing to get the pups excited. It'll be so lonely here without him. Though he did run out for a few hours the other day and having the house to myself felt like going into a school after hours. It felt strange and thrilling and eerie. I was giddy and confused by the privacy. I didn't know what to do with myself so I tidied up, watched a little tv in the daytime, and then just waited for him to come home. I wonder if we'll both have Stockholm Syndrome when all of this is over. 

Legacies and Whatnot

A year ago I received an email about all the normal things, but at the bottom, beneath the closing and signature was a quote that I imagine sits at the bottom of every one of her emails. "What about your legacy?" (Or something like that. I can't remember because I found it just as off-putting then as I do now.) The point is, I'm still thinking about it.

I wound up deep in thought about the topic but I'll walk you through it. First I thought, "Eww. That's your priority in life?" which led to hateful thinking about people who are hung up on being admired and fawned over. That's when it occurred to me that everyone wants to be admired in some way. I'll take a fawning here and there, sure! But I'm not moving through the world in search of fawns. I had to admit to myself that while I don't condone blatant attention seeking, I do understand why one may want to be remembered for something. 

The next day I looked up the actual definition of legacy. 

: a gift by will especially of money or other personal property : BEQUESTShe left us a legacy of a million dollars.: something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past The war left a legacy of pain and suffering.: a candidate for membership in an organization who is given special status because of a familial relationship to a member Legacies, or children of alumni, are three times more likely to be accepted to Harvard than other high school graduates with the same scores 

It occurred to me that Email Quote Girl hasn't read the definition. Now I know most people think of a legacy as something great a person did rather than the handing down of ideas and cash; petty or otherwise. Email Quote Girl just wants to leave a mark on the world. I shouldn't scoff. 

(Suppose all you "transfer" in life is an STD. Does that count? Has Quote Girl considered all of her options?)

The definition rolled around in my mind all day, as did ending your emails with a non sequitous quote. I have never once in life thought about "making a mark" on the world or leaving a legacy or being someone who's name lasts more than two generations past their bucket kicking. (Except briefly as a child when I thought I might become a famous trapeze swinger.) It occurred to me that maybe I'm the sad case here and not Quote Girl. Do I not think I'm a viable applicant for legacying? Why haven't I considered myself a future leader of something grand? Certainly my ego is big enough, what with my smug thoughts on people who want to be something. 

So I continued mulling and decided that leaving the kind of legacy that Quote Girl wants to leave, really isn't done by people who are scheming for their own remembrance, but instead is done by nice or nerdy folks that spent a lot of time doing one thing, be it studying atoms or feeding the hungry. I wondered if the Instagram culture considers that world they live in to be what they'll leave behind or be known for. What with all the followers and sponsors. Would you feel that you're giving to the world in some way? Even those girls that just post photos of their butts? Then I realized the Instagram Butt Girls are at least putting part of themselves out there to be admired or inspire someone else to exercise. That's more than I can say for myself.

But I wouldn't want my butt to be the legacy. But I'm also usually on the outside of things so maybe the people in 2065 will look back and appreciate the confidence of the girls on that app they used to use on those phones they used to carry around. "Can you imagine?" they'll say while they gather together for feedings. By then this will be done via nutritional tubes -but in a convenience kind of way rather than medical intervention. 

"Posting photos of your butt? Anything besides hologram is so dull... let alone butts back then?"

"Yeah, butts back then were sad."

"So sad! Those girls were trailblazers!"

I did some more thinking. The majority of people who ever lived haven't been remembered. They all had lives full of all the same things. They had birthdays and belly aches and breakups. They grew food and invented games and did voices and worked tough jobs and stubbed their toes. Their lives mattered as much as anyone else's but no one thinks about them. They were the people affected by the things you read about in history books. You only hear the names of the folks that made the decisions and you can read an interesting biography of their life but I bet peasant Phillip with the flat hair that worked King Henry's potato fields would have an equally relevant story to tell.

I decided I don't think I want a legacy. I'm happy just being a person that lived once. I don't want to miss out on normal life trying to be extraordinary. Brett thinks I'm a little bit wrong here and that I should make goals that I would want to reach and if someone crank's out a legacy by accident, so be it. 

So now I'm trying once more to come up with some dreams. For me I mean, not my transmittable legacy. Don't you think that if your loved ones like you a lot you've already won? Isn't a strategic legacy greedy? Poor Quote Girl is out there trying to be inspiring and instead she sent me on a bender about her questionable priorities. Wonder if she's on Instagram?

July

This is the first month that hasn't flown by. It kind of dragged on and on actually. It was busy. There was The Fourth to celebrate, my first golf outing (didn't go well) and weddings. There were friend visits and bike adventures and lots of time cuddling with babies and dogs. 

This month I lost lots of my Fall weddings and other than that whole monetary loss bit, I'm kind of delighted. I still have my morning computer work to do mind you, but my weekends are free! I've only got 6 events left between now and the end of the year and about 4 other weddings that I'm freelancing for. Some florist friends had multiple Spring clients postpone to the same weekends so all hands are on deck. 

Here is an arch we did for the world's tallest bridal party. The bride was over six feet tall. The groomsmen were a basketball team. Two of them were 7 feet tall. I don't know where they found an arch this tall.
During our other wedding on this weekend, Mom and I got so tickled together that we were doubled over, laughing so hard that no noise came out. There were onlookers who did not find us charming and it only made things worse. We couldn't carry our crates and boxes and had tears rolling down our cheeks and absorbing into our crappin' masks. We could maintain composure for just under one minute or until another human walked by and then one of us would hear the other wimper and cackles would follow shortly. If you're curious, we were laughing at Mom's hat. It's the little things.

Brett has settled into his work from home routine which has gifted me in multiple ways. Back when life was normal, we'd get up early and I'd sit in my morning chair and read while Brett futzed about getting ready for the day.

"You're so lucky," he'd say with an air of smugness, "I wish I could wake up and do nothing."

"You can Bubba. You just have to apply yourself."

He'd come home from work and the dishes would not be done and I wouldn't have eaten a real lunch and the dogs would not be walked and though he never complained, he asked me why these things weren't daytime tasks. I told him that I intentionally don't do house jobs during the 9-5 window (no laughing please) because it just takes one distraction and I won't get my computer work done. He'd roll his smug eyes at me and suit the girls up for a walk.

So when he first started working from home, he'd wake up, make coffee and get started. He'd load the dishwasher after a hearty home-cooked lunch and run the girls around in the yard. "Lu, can we load the dishes after we eat? It'll make it all go faster when we clean the kitchen tonight."

"It's not sustainable!" I shrieked and then we bickered a bit and went back to our desks. Fast forward five months. Brett wakes up and reads for an hour in my morning chair. He lazily makes breakfast and saunters to his desk at 9:00. He does not do the dishes after lunch. Most days we forage the pantry for a wimpy lunch. He does not take the pups for midday jaunts. He has commandeered my keyboard and my office chair and he seems completely oblivious to how he has fallen right into my work from home routine which I can guarantee you was established after much trial and error. I feel vindicated and my best friend is home all day. It's the greatest.

We got our first (and probably only) watermelon from the Spite Garden. It was alright. Small but sweetish. 

My friend Ellie (previously a semi-pro golfer (or something like that)) took us out for a day on the green. Brett and Ellie did the bulk of the golfing. Caroline and I held down the golf carts and offered narration services. We had lots of fun. Maybe I'll learn to play someday.

On a neighborhood bike adventure Brett and I and the pups found a dirt path that we just had to go down. We rode as far as we could into the woods and then ditched the bikes and continued on foot. We emerged at "secret beach" where we let the pups off leash and they leapt through the marsh grass and swam in the harbor. There's all kinds of exciting driftwood and seaglass and fiddler crabs there. We just keep going back. 

Below, in the cuddle section, you'll find Brett reading to Grace, Pip and I busted taking a nap together during work hours and finally, our new evening setup ever since I got rid of our second couch (for decorative purposes) and the pups still insist on being on the furniture.