Right there in the middle of Mom's birthday weekend, Ellie and Caroline elected to have their wedding day. They'd been engaged for at least two years and had no interest in throwing a wedding. Their monetary priorities go to their extensive leisurely traveling habits. They mulled and toiled and loosely planned a May wedding with about 30 guests. That whole covid deal cancelled their plans so they rescheduled to early September with just family and the likes of Brett and I. With no notable place to hold such tiny ceremonies, I had Mom and Dad (read, Dad) volunteer their yard for the 10 minute exchange, so Ellie and Caroline got married about 5 yards over from where Brett and I got married. That makes me smile.
Before you get the pretty wedding photos, let me shock you with this tiny montage of Ellie and I through the years.
We met in Kindergarten - aren't we cute in our little outfits? We became best pals and Ellie abused me all through middle school - ahh the braces and unruly hair. By high school she took to climbing me like a tree and though I never really got in trouble, I was often scolded by proxy because Ellie is a lovable, mischievous cartoon character of a person. Adults always fawned all over her so she had no healthy fear of her elders. She could light a small indoor fire and then charm her way out of any consequences. We had little in common but I loved her scary, wild way of living and she thought I was funny. As adults, she's still extremely good with people and has no fears while I live in silent dread of encountering other humans, but by golly we make each other laugh.
Enter, Caroline. The female Brett. She is principled, ethical, serene, purposeful, and the most well-meaning person you could meet. Caroline will not cut corners or make trouble. Caroline would never start a small indoor fire. I was relived to meet Caroline. Maybe she can keep Ellie out of trouble. Caroline is wonderfully tickled by Ellie's absurdity and Ellie brings some spontaneity to Caroline's diligent endeavoring. When the four us get together, we inevitably pair off. Brett and Caroline take to discussing political ethics while Ellie and I work to see who can make the most realistic farm animal sounds. Later, Ellie and I will present our case for selling it all and living in vans and traveling the county. Brett and Caroline will then ask all those burdensome logistical questions with the faintest of condescending tones and remind us that someone will have to flush out the toilet reserves on a daily basis. "You just think you'd like it," they have both said to each of us. We all just have the best time together.
As the only non-family invited, (and probably only because it was our yard), I surprised them with some big florals and matching but not identical bouquets. I made Ellie's more wild, Carolines more controlled. The irony was lost on them but I keep bragging about my meta-florical genius.
We woke up that morning and Pippa just knew. Something isn't right. I had expected I'd feel sad about driving Pippa to Edisto to leave her at behavior training for three weeks but instead I woke up with big nerves. Oral presentation nerves. Dry mouth, shaky hands. Brett and I couldn't come up with a reason for this over-reaction, except for it just being me. Pip eyed me suspiciously. We packed up her little brown dog bed, her collar and a bag of food. Brett grabbed the paperwork and I wrung my hands and tried to convince Pip it was a normal day. Grace stayed in bed, unburdened by the stench of my inner turmoil.
Typically car politics work like this; Brett drives and I navigate. Grace sticks to the left side of the car, rotating between laying down in the back left corner or standing just inside of the passenger window behind Brett's head. Pip patrols the rest of the car as we rocket through space but most notably she stands front and center with her front paws on the center console and her long neck stretched as far forward as possible so that her face is equidistant between Brett's and mine. To oncoming traffic it would look as though the three of us were sharing a bench seat. We often tell her to "backup" and then she'll do a quick perimeter search of the car before her head arrives again in the front seat. She's an adrenaline junkie.
On this day, this nerve-filled, nearly two hour drive, Pippa cowered in my lap like a little weenie. She trembled and batted her minuscule eyelashes at me and occasionally let out a wheezy hum. She pulled out all the stops. She played me like a fiddle and I was fine with it.
Collectively, Pip and I were very uncomfortable. We're both bony to start with and Pippa has claws. On normal days, when I'm not oozing of fear, I can pick Pippa up and toss her around like fresh pizza dough and she settles onto me wherever I've placed her. We're prodigious cuddle buddies. On this day, Pip's trust in me waned and she resisted my attempts to lift her into comfortable car riding positions. So I supported her hefty butt with my forearm while she clawed into my thighs for stability. It was awful for both of us.
We arrived at base camp. Pippa watched the other inmates having yard time and felt both joy and worry. We left her in the car while we spoke with her trainer, Simms, and then it was time to take her to her cell. Corner cells give nervous dogs a bit more peace of mind than ones open to other furry friends on both sides. For that reason, Simms reserved the very last kennel on the left for Pippa. A thoughtful notion. We passed through the office into the kitchen and then Simms opened the door to gen pop. Chaos erupted. Barking and leaping and twirling. All the other inmates were hooting at Pippa. Simms carried on casually and continued talking to us even though we couldn't hear a thing. It was deafening. She screamed at us, "It's usually quiet in here but they get excited when a new dog arrives."
My mom instincts wanted to pick up my love bundle and run away as fast as possible. Pippa hates loud noises. Simms lead us down the narrow path dividing the kennels while all the other pups banged their cups again the cell bars. Pippa melted into the floor. Her legs were vibrating. She army crawled the length of the building, eyes darting from cell to cell. We made it to her kennel and Brett went in with her. She accepted a few gentle pats from Simms while looking up at Brett with terror in her eyes. Her neighbor is a big black lab full of unbridled excitement. He was so excited to meet Pippa that he flipped his little cot up into the air with his nose and then he splashed around in his water bucket. Pippa trembled as she extended her nose to sniff her new neighbor. I noticed that the black lab's water bucket was chained to the wall and it turns out he gets too excited and sits in the bucket so they had to elevate and chain it. It was immediately obvious why he was at training school.
Simms didn't let us linger in the kennel with Pip. She said that's the hardest part for everyone so she ushered us out and I watched the betrayal wash over Pippa's sweet face as we left her in that chaotic, echoing prison. Outside, we discussed more of Pippa's plan and got to meet some other furry friends. We looped around back and saw that Pip had already learned how to use her doggy door and was in her outside pen wagging her little tail at the black lab. The tail wag made us feel so much better. We shouted our goodbyes to her and then we drove home recounting the whole thing over and over looking for highlights and positives. She liked Simms. She met her neighbor. Can go in and out as she pleases. It's fine. She'll be fine.
Since then we have received pictures, updates and videos from Simms. It took a few days of adjusting and then BAM. Pip loves the kennel. She loves the trainers and the other inmates and particularly loves "going to work" each morning.
"Pippa is doing great. Really wants to please and is happy to be obedient." We spoke with Simms last week and she told us that Pip has made friends with the other pups in her training group and that her up and down tail makes the staff laugh everyday. She was described as a sweet bundle of energy and she plays rough so they have to put her with other dogs that can take it. Here she is with her new friend Czabin.
Pippa greets all the dogs in the kennel with playful bows as she walks the line down to her room. The actual training area is a short drive from the kennel and when they let Pip out to load up, she races through the kennel and leaps into the car. She can't get there fast enough.
Pippa is blazing right through the training steps and has become a more "confident" pup that "lives in the moment." We laughed out loud at that.
Back at home, the house is quiet and clean without Pippa. We hate it. Grace is still more cat-like than not but she has made it clear that she enjoys being the only pup. She comes around for cuddles slightly more often and no longer goes on walks begrudgingly but with excitement and potential. We feel awfully guilty about what's headed her way. Not only does she have to go to behavior school, but Pippa will be back when she gets home. She'll never forgive us. We're anticipating a very different report from Simms once she gets to know Grace. Maybe we'll get a refund.
After Mom and I spent five days marveling at the property from this past May's boat wedding, Dad secretly pulled me aside and said, "Go book that house for Mom's birthday."
I was elated and I scampered off to book a ticket to the real life incarnation of my only dream. We planned a whole birthday weekend to be kicked off with a surprise party and snacks and cake and Mom's favorite people. It was all in place before the end of June. So we sat back and waited. Keeping secrets from Mom is difficult. Mom is curious and suspicious by nature and previously I hadn't realized how many questions she asks in a day. Ellen, Dad, and I almost blew the surprise many times.
In August, Mom sat us down to explain that she did not want to celebrate her birthday. She did not want a party and she really really really did not want to be surprised. We all smiled and nodded and then gathered together to decide if we would get in trouble or Mom would be mad about all of it. But it was already done.
When the big day rolled around, I checked us in, hung tacky decorations and then sat back and waited. My HonBons were only moments away. Carolyn was coming with the cake. Dave with drinks, Ellen with food. Aunt Georgia, church friends, the neighbors. Even Alston and Hailey. Ellen and I were oddly nervous. We were so certain we would be getting in trouble after all of this was over. When Dad texted the five minute warning, everyone hid back in the kitchen while Ellen, Brett and I waited on the porch.
Big Mama didn't see it coming. She was so excited about he house. I scampered on into the kitchen so I could capture her reaction face and as I joined the silent kitchen party we all heard Mom exclaim, "It's so old and exciting!" and that became the theme of the birthday weekend.
I didn't check my light first so Mom's big reveal is blurry but it still looks just like her.
Papa Don took this giggle-filled video.
I loved watching Mom make her way though the house and hearing about all of the plans we hid from her. She's always so wonderfully outraged by things. Celebrating 60 years of Nancy is a wonderful thing. In true 60th birthday fashion, the party was over by 8:30. Brett and I had been out on the dock with Laurie, Don, and Dave and his giant cigar and when we finally made our way back up to the house, only Carolyn and Georgia were left. I liked it best like this. Mom then opened her presents which consisted of lots of candy.
From here the weekend took on the pace of a true HonUnion. I was told that the parents slept until 9:00 that next morning. I heard they lazily got about their day, had breakfast closer to lunchtime and were finally up and ready by noon. I had big plans to be at the house by 8am but as I sprung out of bed and looked for my shoes, Brett quietly said, "Lu, I think I need to go take a Covid test."
I slowly turned to face him.
"Pardon?"
He'd had a tickle in his throat for a few days accompanied by a bit of achy muscles but who wants to read into these things. On this morning he also had a headache and scratchy throat. With the beach house and the Honbons and a wedding to attend the next day, we concurred that it was the responsible thing to do. We paid extra for same day results and I had to putter around until 1:00 to hear that he did not have coronavirus and thus I was able to drive back out to paradise.
"Where have you been?" Laurie exclaimed when I finally arrived.
I spent a good chunk of this afternoon exploring with Ellen and we had the best time. We drove a golf cart through the mosquito infested woods; flying up over little hills and taking curves on two wheels. We laughed so hard we inhaled bugs. The best part was our discovery of the zip line. We have to give credit to Laurie here for she saw the zip line hanging in the tress and pulled it back up to the tree house thinking to herself, someone will do this. She was delighted to see the following video.
Ellen was nervous to jump from the tree house so she did a test run on the ground. We should have looked father into the future.
When our nerves failed us, Lee stepped in to be the brave one. He climbed to the top of the tree house, grabbed the rope, hopped off the platform ... and then dangled there, spinning slowly like a forgotten piñata. He did not zip down the line. He was stuck just a few feet from the platform with the stretchy rope occasionally dropping him six inches or so. We had to push him into the bushes to get him down.
We spent our weekend doing all of our HonUnion things but with so many added activities at our fingertips. Mom, Laurie and I foolishly rode on the back of the golf cart during an evening ride with Don and Dad. Though he disagrees, Dad drove manically.
We held on for life while the tires bottomed out beneath us on curves. Mom shouted for Dad to slow down but when he did the mosquitoes attacked and Mom would yell, "Go, go, keep moving!" so Dad would slam on the gas and all of us would scream. Laurie mumbled happily, "This was a mistake."
Brett and I ran down to the end of the dock and jumped into the Folly River. Don and Laurie lounged in the tree house. Ellen took naps with baby Liv while Lee spent his day's out fishing on the dock. There was a boat ride and some Shanghai and one morning spent drinking coffee while I made floral dog collars for Olivia ... I mean a wedding that day.
We ordered pizza, bickered about pot pie, accused Brett of faking sick to stay home, battled mosquitoes, and told stowries. I watched Laurie's continuous investigation of the owners of the home. She snooped and deduced and one time I stepped onto the porch to find her looking at pictures of the owner's current home on Sullivans island. "Well their address was on the package in the garage. Look how much they paid for it in 1999..." and she turned her phone around to show me the details. "I'd have made wonderful investigator," she said, and I wholeheartedly believe it.
Mom giggled at Dad all weekend for such a great birthday. She has since regaled all of us with the weekend as though we weren't there, and her face was beaming about it while she spoke. She claimed this "the best birthday ever" and keeps using the word "magical".
I was just as excited for the Hon's to get to stay the weekend as I was for Big Mama. Those folks really like just sitting by the water.
Don and Laurie have a tendency to talk to me at the same time so my focus is torn polity between them. I love how Big Don's eyebrows furrow and his mouth falls agape when I look away from him to answer Laurie's questions. I enjoy peeking over at Don at any moment just to see what he's doing.
I also made them take the Enneagram personality test by which Don was appalled ("I can't be categorized.") so we tried to answer the questions for him which meant even more outraged facial expression. Later we discussed whether or not Mom should rub out Bobo.
It was an informative, magical weekend.
A perfect way to celebrate 60 years of a different kind of jewel.
Early tomorrow morning we drive over to the next county or so and drop Pippa off at behavior school. Previously neglected, semi-mistreated*, and then abandoned, I do not feel good about leaving Pippa in a strange place for so long. Yes yes I know she'll be fine. I have a hunch she's going to really love training school because she enjoys having an objective to carry out. She's so full-throttle and eager to please, I know she'll enjoy the challenge of it all. But for all her brazen living there's a timid little weenie version of her that get's in her head sometimes. She doesn't like to be alone and she's nervous around new people and sounds. She was so distressed in the kennel where I adopted her. I feel lots of guilt sending her back to a similar environment. If she thinks for even a second that I've abandoned her, well I'll just cry and keel over. I love this dern dog and I'd do anything for her.
My hope is that she'll be so tuckered at night that she won't have time to cry her awoo-woos longing for home before she completely sacks out. She won't think of our nighttime cuddles and eating her supper as fast as possible so she can go stand and watch Grace eat her supper. Pippa doesn't like sneezes or sharp inhales. Do I tell her new teacher to breathe softly? Who will sing gospel hymns edited to be about Pippa?
To the chorus of "This is My Story This is My Song"
"Little Pepita, Little Pepite. Little Pepita, she has four feet..." etc.
Meanwhile Grace will get a taste of the good life. She'll recall life before Pippa; back when she was a happy dog, and we imagine that she'll come to life over this month. Elated to be free of her wretched sister, Grace will come-to and participate in the day. No more sulking in the corner and refusing love-time, Grace will be the pup she intended to be before Brett went and picked up two other women. (That's Pip and me.) And just as Grace thinks her dreams have come true and life is all about her again, Pip will return home (smelling awfully strange) and then Grace'll be locked away in the same smelly kennel Pip just came from and her distain will grow to global proportions.
We figure Grace is going to make us pay for her stay at camp for the rest of time. Her bitterness runs deep. I'm already a little scared of her.
* Fine, I'm only assuming Pip was mistreated because of her perpetual flinching and melting into the floor when people reach out to pet her. Brett does not think Pip was mistreated. I think mothers know best.
