December

It being December and post-Christmastime with a looming new year feels a little like showing up for class half an hour late. I think I get it. Wait, what? Did I miss that part. Yep, yep I got it... eh.

Here is where I write introspection. What a year. What a time to be alive. 
But I have nothing worthwhile to say about it. Lots of my more sociable friends have had the hardest time staying home, not seeing people or going places. They have felt lonely and disconnected and bored. I know this has been a sad doozie of a year. I don't mean to discount that for all the folks that lost someone or something dear. Apart from the uncertainty and health hazards and political unrest and assorted surgeries that my family seemed to be competing with one another to collect, I've loved this year. I won't harp about it because it seems to be a jerk-like outlook and I wouldn't want to expose my true self.

This month included a number of wee celebrations - including one wild night where we ventured out to a real restaurant and ate inside of it.

Here's a picture of Brett when he found out he passed his test and was receiving notes of congratulations. I regret that it looks a bit like he's sitting on the commode. 

We continued our dog training, rushed to finish watching Dexter before it leaves Netflix, did lots of hearty cooking, and lightly decorated for Christmas. I've spent lots of time with Mops lately, musing about the season and watching a British drama series about a scandalous pregnancy in Victorian high society. It's a wild time. 
Pops had a light knee surgery (removed some inflamed cartilage) and is back to hobbling around for a little while. Meanwhile, Ellen developed a huge, rashy growth on her thigh that had to be lanced the day after Christmas. 
Special!

Here is Grace wishing terrible things upon me for not letting her inside. 

Also this month, I discovered that Grace is the reason that my makeshift raised-bed-garden was becoming shallow and flattened. This had been plaguing me, until I caught her in the act. Also, Pippa punched a hole in our button chair. Once punctured, she saw no reason not to inspect its inner workings and deposit them around the house. She admitted remorse after the fact. 

I had my last wedding of the year. It created a shockingly large mess in the shop that Mom found particularly amusing. We set up this wedding and then waited in the car for the ceremony to end. We had to transfer the ceremony decor into the reception space. During our wait, Mom became fascinated with the wedding guest's attire and behavior. She giggled and gasped and proclaimed her objections with fervor. I love watching her watch things.

Brett and I had an early Christmas supper with his family ...

... and wound up spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day on my side of things. 

We ate a big meal and told riotous airport stories and passed Olivia around like the Stanley Cup. She's on the brink of walking which just feels wrong. She tolerated her poofy Christmas ballgown quite well, refusing to allow it to hinder her explorations.

Since then Bubbles and I have planned a few more big meals for the year, attempted and failed to deliver baked good to our neighbors (no one answered the doors), and have concocted some schemes of home improvement. 

This morning I finished reading my 26th book of the year. I don't suppose I'll get to that again until retirement age. In some ways I'm proud. That's much better than 2600 hours of tv but it also speaks to my un-productiveness factor, which normally would seem like just another day but in this case it seems like I spent a year sitting on my boney butt and offering nothing to society. 

Hmm. Perhaps, it was just another year. 

Here's my stack on the far right, give and take a few titles.

I've got some hopes for next year, which is unlike me. I won't bore you with them. Starting a brand new year without having the standard situation to expect has me somewhat enlivened. I've ranted before about my amusement of people who think January is a reset button. How I let out hateful snickers at people who talk to a numbered year like a villain they have slain. Things like this make me not like me much. 
But now, with the Covid and all, who knows what will happen! Will we have a second lockdown? Another year of Brett working from home? Will I have another wimpy year of weddings? What's Biden going to do? Will someone I love get really sick? Will I try to publish my book? Will Ellen have baby number two in her belly by Christmas? 

What if the Covid vaccine makes people grow tails?

I'm intrigued. 

He Passed!

My big beautiful Bubba passed his PE exam. 

So there we were. 

Brett, silently sweating. Weeks have passed. When will we hear?
Lu, silently sweating. (Less related to nervousness and more to the blossoming damp person I've become in my old age. Why am I getting sweatier ever year?) Of course I want the Big Guy to pass. He can do anything. Not passing last time was surely a fluke. I wanted Brett to pass because that was his big goal. Having a goal seems like fun. What a thrill to meet it and then make it go away. But mostly I didn't want him to not pass because I wasn't sure how we would handle the blow. And by "we" I mean me. 

I don't care if Brett is a structural engineer or a homeless drifter. I'm not impressed by made up job titles you know. But being an intelligent, driven person means that Brett feels discontentment on occasion when things don't go as planned. This almost never happens but on the rare occasion that he experiences disappointment, he goes very quiet. He will not share how brokenhearted and defeated he is. He will carry on with everyday life except that he won't make any noise in the process. 

"Are you disappointed?" I may ask him. 

"Yes."

"What are you thinking?"

"... I ... I don't know."

How would I build him back up? How long would I have to suffer along with a mute version of my jolly giant? This is about me, you guys. 

In reality, we knew that him not passing this time around would be a possible path-shifter. Often times, he's not sure he wants to be an engineer at all and I wholeheartedly support him doing something less computery and more hands-on. Failing a second time could be a tailspin of lost dreams and new beginnings. His end goal with the engineering is to put that knowledge to good use in countries that could use the infrastructure. He told me all about this on our very first date together. The key phrases were "3rd world countries", "well water", "helping people." 

What a lovely person. Perhaps I'll go out with him again.

I mean look at that stink face. Who could resist?

Not passing the PE maybe meant a rethink, which I thought would be an exciting new adventure and so I played that tune each week after he came home from the exam in October. But secretly Brett did not think this was exciting because he's had his sights set on this for close to a decade. 

"It doesn't matter if I stay an engineer. I just need to know that I could do it." 

I don't know what that's like so I hastily abandoned his concerns.

"But we could just move and start over! ...in Europe! You; a tall, handsome woodworker. You'll wear loose, white button-downs with the sleeves cuffed at the elbows. A quiet, strong type. Me; your little wife (albeit fairly normal sized), I grow flowers in the dry, Mediterranean soil and sell vegetables at the market in town. I wear brightly colored skirts and a kitten heel. Oh boy, we're just the cutest American couple.... maybe I should take up smoking."

But he passed, so my dreams will have to wait. 

I couldn't be more proud of Bubbles. Look what he can do! Now, the world is his oyster. He can stay where he is, start his own firm, climb metaphorical ladders, become a scientist, or skip town in favor of slums that could use a long-legged engineer with big ideas and small ankles.  

Last night he was on the US AID website. Where will this PE take us?

I was going to stop there but I'll add a fun bit where we took a placement quiz on the USAID website. It asks pertinent questions about their various objectives. For example:

"How interested are you in reconciling at times conflicting directives from various individuals and offices in both Washington DC and your host country, organize a press conference for your Ambassador or for a visiting Assistant Secretary who is in charge of the region where your diplomatic mission is located?"

or perhaps: 

How interested are you in working with counterparts at the United Nations who may or may not be supportive, ensure that U.S. foreign policy interests are met through the implementation of resolutions on issues ranging from multilateral sanctions to humanitarian aid?"

And then you rank them on a scale of "very uninterested, uninterested, neutral, interested, very interested" and they spit out the areas where you may be a good fit (economic, consular, public diplomacy, etc). Brett was interested in and excited by many of the questions. "What a cool thing work on!" he'd exclaim. Then we took the quiz as me to see if there were any jobs I could do. 

My results came back; "You have little interest in this career path." 

We're glad that Brett has dreams.

November

November was a big month. Lee finally had his back surgery leaving Ellen as the only one in their home that is allowed to pick up Olivia. Lee waddled around only a short while before he was back up and moving with a John Wayne inspired saunter. He and Ellen are very excited to have him back in working order. Ellen continues monitoring Liv's daily explorations while maintaining an inner zen that we have never seen before. Who is this calm, thoughtful person? I like her. The other day, Ellen made sure that I had snacks for a short drive.

"Huh?" I grunted.
"Are you hungry? Here, take these in case you get hungry." she replied. I stared at her quietly.
"I think you just Mommed me." I told her.

Dad's achy toe nerves continue to fire on all cylinders keeping him awake at night and oddly averse to wearing socks. He has switched to a new medicine and he says things are getting better. Watching Baba Ganoush realize that he is in his 60's has been a little disheartening. Brazen, optimistic Pops is never down. Defeated? What's that? He knows no such concept. We've decided this was God's way of slowing Dad down gently. He'd have never slowed down on his own and doing it all at once would have deflated his spirit. Maybe, just maybe Dad will now have empathy towards other people with aches and limitations.
Or he'll continue to see them as excuses. 

At the beginning of this month I was scolded by a Catholic priest. There's this church out near Kiawah that really hates wedding decor. They allow folks to get married there but they get their pious panties in a bunch when the brides want a few flowers up by the altar. If and when you bring in a floral arrangement, you are required to donate it to the church afterwards. So, they don't want your flowers, but you have to give them your flowers. I've done one wedding at this church before and they would not allow me to put the flowers on the altar like we agreed to. They made me put the cascading arrangement that the bride paid a few hundred dollars for on the ground where it could neither cascade nor be seen by the audience. I never heard from that bride again. 

So I was helping out a florist friend with an elaborate wedding setup out at Seabrook. This was an over-the-top, dripping with flowers (literally) kind of wedding. So large and grandiose was this celebration that it took two days to set the reception space. There were white orchids cascading from the ceiling and a living room-sized dance floor with their new family seal painted on. I'm guessing this to be a $90,000 celebration. The day of the ceremony my flower friend asked me to deliver two urn arrangements to the church to place on either side of the altar. 

"No problem!" and I drove off towards that caustic catholic cathedral. I pulled up, unloaded the urns, shimmied through the church doors and walked the long aisle. To my dismay, stretched across the altar was a kitschy Thanksgiving display. Pumpkins, mums and gourds all slowly dying on a burlap runner. I mulled over my options. Looking at it as a wedding florist, my job is to create a cohesive look throughout the wedding day and most importantly, deliver on the bride's expectations. Looking at it as a bride, I'd be furious if I walked the aisle on my $90,000 white orchid wedding day and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade had settled down next to my Groom. 

I decided to move the display. But where to put it? There was nowhere to hide the knickknacks. I elected to drag the whole thing around behind the big marble altar and I left a little hole in the middle for the priest to stand in. I walked halfway down the aisle and turned to check that no gourd stems or dried lavender peeked out from the behind the altar. I placed the little urn arrangements and fled the scene, back to the reception setup. A few hours passed while I worked on centerpieces. Then my phone rang. It was my florist friend. 

"Hey, did you move some pumpkins at the church?"

"Oh yes, lots of pumpkins." I said proudly.

"I just got chewed out about a Thanksgiving display?" she said with a question on the end.

"Oh." I said, feeling all the heat in my body escape through my neck. 

"What happened?"

I explained the dilemma and my flower friend was very kind about it but was clearly upset about the verbal lashings she received from "a mean old lady." The lady screamed at her that she had no permission to touch anything on the altar. I felt awful about it. I should be the one that got screamed at. The church said we had to come back and put the pumpkin display back exactly as we found it AND take our flowers away. They don't even want to look at them. Flower Friend asked me to do this since she didn't know what it looked like. 
The ceremony was still happening when I got there, so I had to loiter in the back of the church in my black spandex pants and then wait for the place to clear out while the priest and the mean old lady eyed me from the pulpit. Walking down the aisle while they stood watching me felt like walking the plank with no pants on. I climbed the three wide steps to the altar and immediately set to work. The priest in his white bathrobe and pendant jewelry stomped right up to me and put his finger in my face and sternly said, "You listen to me. The next time you come here, you don't touch anything on this altar." 

"I just do what I'm told," I said, very matter of fact. In reality, I wasn't sure if this was true but they knew a wedding was happening that day. Did they expect their holy gewgaws to accepted in the scene?

"This... is MY church!" he barked.

I held my hands up as if at gunpoint and said "OK" with the sting of unconcerned teenager. I was livid. The whole thing was so stupid. I couldn't believe he was making such a scene of it. Also, I doubted he owned the building. He said something else to me but I wasn't really listening and then he and the mean old lady left me up there to reposition their seasonal gimmick. "And leave the urns!" the mean old lady said as she left. On my long walk back down the aisle I eyed my blessed bullies as they stood flanking the church doors. I thought of many rude things to say to them if I was a more courageous person and also not temporarily representing someone else's business. If I had been there under my own name I would have told them that they let Jesus down that day. 

Instead I said, "It's like nothing happened." and then I pushed through the double doors and strutted into the parking lot, pulling sunglasses from my pocket and shaking my hair in the wind. (That last bit is a lie. I think my knee double-bent as I stepped off the curb.)

In other news, here is a photo of Moppy hard at work for Lux n' U.

And here's a rough picture of our pig neighbor, Miss B (the animal - not the woman).

Brett and I had some Discovery Cooking days (did you know how easy it is to make pasta from scratch??), endlessly amusing visits with Jeff, and virtual game night with Alex and Jessie while they are quarantining. 

Pippa has taken to having full-scale wheezy meltdowns at about 8 o'clock pm. By this time she has been walked and eaten her supper so the highlights of her day are behind her. She falls apart hoping for a meaty nightcap. Be it a crunchy oat treat or her dental bone chew, she absolutely and completely demands to have it. We don't know how this happened. We are not consistent with treats. There is no time of day that the girls should expect one. Somedays are treatless. Other days they are gifted the remnants of our lunch. But suddenly, Pip now waits for 8:00 and then sits her little but down by the dog cabinet and bats her tail on the ground (thump thump thump) and cries her wheezy whistles with increasing volume and frequency. I think it is the most annoying thing. Brett finds it terribly amusing. Meanwhile, Grace rolls her eyes from her bed and prefers to know which treats we're giving out to help decide if it's worth getting up for.

Unrelated to everything, the winter light has scooted over to shining into our bedroom and it's become just the best place to curl up and read a book. I love this room in the winter time. In the summery months it's dim in there and not a place I like to kill time. Now it's all sparkly and warm and bright. Look how exciting it is in there. 

This is the sort of thing I take note of that I can hear Dad's reaction to. What does he think after spending a few moments reading about someone excitement over window light? Can't you just hear his confused disinterest? Makes me smile to think about.

The Parking Ticket

A few weeks ago Dad received a parking ticket in the mail. It was a $25 dollar charge for speeding away while a parking citation was being written back in mid-September. If anyone I know was to attempt such a stunt, it would be Chris Union however, he claims his innocence on this and he is, admittedly, fairly cognizant of proper behavior.

It is important to note that all members of our family borrow Dad's car because it is the size of a bus and the lot of us have the need to haul things.

The following conversation took place one recent Sunday at the dinner table.

* * * * *

"Hey by the way," Dad started, "Laura, did you borrow my car on the 15th?"

"What day was that?"

"A Tuesday."

"I never take your car on a Tuesday. My flowers come in on Wednesdays. I only take it on Wednesdays and Saturdays."

"I think you must have had it. I got a parking ticket on King Street."

"Why would I have been on King Street on a Tuesday? There aren't weddings on Tuesdays."

"How much is the ticket?" Ellen asked.

"Well where were you parked?" Mom interjected.

"It's $25!" Dad exclaimed, as though there were three zeros following the five. "I wasn't parked," he said adamantly, "I haven't been on King Street. That's why it must have been one of you." The group of us youngsters pulled out our phones to check our calendars. "I know it wasn't me. I never go downtown."

"You go downtown all the time," Ellen argued, "The printers, the lawyers... y'all go to dinner most Fridays." Dad let out a nervous giggle and thought on this idea. 

"Oh!" I looked up from my phone, "I had an eye doctor appointment on the 15th." 

"Good, so you took my car?" Dad suggested with a grin.

"My eye doctor is in Mt. Pleasant." I said, "Why would I have taken your bus?"

"Well I don't know." Dad said. The collective pushback on his accusation was beginning to make him unsure. "Well then you must have taken it." he said to Mom.

"I didn't take it!" she said with great offense.

"Well what were you doing that day?" Dad asked, his wannabe defense attorney side kicking in.

"I don't know!"

"Ah ha!" he squealed. 

"No ah ha! I don't need your car," Mom retorted, "I have my own."

"Wait a minute," Lee interjected. He turned to Ellen. "When was the AC out in your car?"

"Ah ha!" Dad exclaimed.

"No! No!" Ellen's trusty grin spread across her face. "I didn't! I borrowed Mom's car while it was in the shop."

"Why are you grinning?" Mom asked.

"I don't know!" Ellen shrieked, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Well then what was Mom driving?" I asked.

"I knew it! Pay up, baby!" Dad said with triumph.

"Oh you be quiet. That wasn't the same week. That was way earlier." Mom said, pressing her lips together and shaking her head.

"One of you did this," Dad said to the table, "You parked at meter 101 at 2:00 in the afternoon and sped off while they were writing the ticket. Lu, you borrow the car most, it was probably you."

"But I was at the eye doctor. I'm the only one at this table with an alibi! Maybe Brett did it. He's always buying wood. The kid loves beams."

"Where is meter 101?" Mom asked.

"Hey! Don't drag me into this," Brett exclaimed, "I was at work that day. You know, that job thing most people have." The table let out a you've-been-served style "Oohhh!"

"You've been working from home since March." I retorted.

"Oh!!!" the table roared in response as the ball was thrown back to Brett.

"No, I went in that day to print the the Battery plans. Remember, I picked you up from the eye doctor and we went for lunch."

"Oh," I said softly, "You're right. He did. We met at the doctor and went to lunch."

"What car did he pick you up in? Where did y'all 'eat lunch' that day?" Dad asked, obviously looking for holes in our story. 

"Is there a city meter map?" Ellen asked.

"It was his Jeep." I said. Brett settled back into his chair, vindicated and no longer a suspect. He gave me a sour look. 

"I looked online for which meter that is. There was nothing." Mom answered. Silence fell over the table.

"Lee?" Dad asked.

"We drive the same car, man." he said.

"It's $25 Dad, and we all know it was you." Ellen said. Everyone at the table giggled except Dad.

"It was not!"

"Wait wait wait." I interrupted. "The day I went to the eye-doctor, Mom went shopping with her sisters. I was invited but couldn't go." I mulled over the offer I turned down due to my eye appointment. The table waited silently for my revelation. "Y'all went to furniture stores in Mt. Pleasant!" I shrieked, "Maybe Mom took Dad's car in case she bought something big!" 

"Ah ha!" Dad gasped dramatically. "Pay up, Woman!

"I rode with Carolyn," Mom near-shouted, "and you know I never buy anything." She was indignant. 

"It was you," Ellen repeated to Dad, "You can't remember anything with that medicine you're taking and even you've admitted it."

"That's different. I remember the important things," Dad replied, " I have not been on King Street. Haven't been on King Street, Jerry!" Dad exclaimed in his best George Costanza.

"Dad, the other day I had to remind you that you were babysitting Olivia," I pointed out, "She was upstairs sleeping and you forgot." Dad let out a hearty and embarrassed belly-laugh. 

"It's true," he admitted to Ellen, whose face had dropped, "I forgot she was up there. I was going to the grocery store." He continued to giggle. 

"Well ok then," Mom said, very unamused by the confession, "It obvious it was you."

"I didn't! I wouldn't do that!" he declared.

* * * * *

The mystery of The Parking Ticket has yet to be solved. Dad marched his citation over to the DMV to fight for his innocence but the car on record was his. We're still waiting for their conclusion.

Mom and I deliberately walked King Street in search of meter 101. We strolled the length of that bustling road checking the meters for their numeric labels. Finally we made it to the hundreds. Meter 101 is on upper King, the restauranty portion of that strip. Realizing you never drive Downtown and find a parking spot right in front of where you're headed, the next few blocks worth of establishments all became suspect of Dad's destination. Admittedly, those aren't restaurants he frequents and it was a bit far from the printers. The only other options include women's fashion, the local West Elm, and a wedding venue that I haven't worked since June. 

Where was a Union-Barton-Eisenhauer coming from when they sped away from parking enforcement?

We may never know.