Honbons: And Other Year End Gifts

Mama and Papa Hon showed up on our doorstep the weekend before Christmas. There was a collective firing up of ovens in preparation for seeing each other. Laurie and Don arrived with breakfast casserole, Frosted Heroine, peanut M&M's, espresso toffee, peanut butter buckeyes, and homemade muscadine sauce, and Dad had a full supper on the table when they arrived. Buncha feeders.

The Holiday Shanghai Tournament began around 10pm. We put on a James Taylor radio station and tried our hardest to focus on the game even though we were all talking over each other about life. We noted that we've haven't seen each other so close to Christmas before and the added red velvet details and sparkly glittering trees made it all feel extra special. We promptly began discussing our future existence on "The Compound" - a farmlife-lite style cultish existence, ideally on Wadmalaw Island, where upon each family has their own home on the perimeters of the "Club House, where we will play cards and eat things until we all die. Brett isn't sold on the idea - he knows he'd be the groundskeeper as everyone else descended into decrepitude. We snacked and hummed. Dad blamed his unintellectual comments on his medication and Don provided background bass and obtuse musings.

Because they are beaming light sources of peacefulness, we had Springtime weather while the Hons were here. Will, Kate, and Evan had to sit this one out on account of moving to Richmond VA on that very weekend. Instead we brought over Georgie, Gigs, and Dave for a lowcountry boil. Ellen, Lee, and Brett were there too but they had to sit at the kids table in the other room. At the dinner table, we told stories of travel mishaps and bathroom blowouts. These are the things that matter. 

A visit highlight was a boat outing with Uncle Dave. The grownups went to a late breakfast at James Island's newest eatery, and then we met Uncle Dave at the marina just in time for low tide. We all stared at the boat landing with its few inches of wiggling water. "This'll be fine," someone said, and then Dave backed the boat right on down and sure enough, it floated. 

The Union clan thought it was chilly but the Hon's think we're just a bunch of sandlapper weenies.

We puttered and sped all through the harbor, spending a long chunk of time watching a containership make its way to the port. We passed by Brett's biggest engineering project to date, the raising of the Battery Wall, and all noted that it doesn't look any taller. We bobbed passed neighbor Jeff in a friend's boat, peeked in on the Tetanus Party Boat, and then came on in from the "harsh" elements. 

I like this next blurry picture because it looks like Don is recoiling from me, which is what I imagine most people wish they could do when I approach with thoughts and questions. At this moment though, Don was telling me about Woodrow Wilson, and I remember this because I wondered what made him think of U.S. presidents in the first place. I think it all started with Taft, but Don was sitting up there by himself so it must have been his own stream of consciousness.   

Brett and I had a Christmas party to go to, so I missed the final night/ Holiday Shanghai Tournament Finals, but I'll tell you that it ended with a tie. 
But you know I showed up bright and early on Sunday morning to soak up the last few nuggets of wisdom. First the Hon's planned to go to church before they headed home, then everyone decided to watch church from home, and then, before we knew it, we had talked through the whole thing. Laurie told us all about Evan, Dad talked back surgery, I told them about the time decided to be a life coach and wound up chatting with a handicapped, wannabe trans-person with a bad attitude, and Mom made sure the coffee pot never went empty. 

Ooh what a cozy warm way to wrap up a year. Until our next Christmas on the compound...

A Bustling December

You see how much time has passed between these informative blog posts? We've been all hustle and and bustle and Christmas cookies around here. Oh there have been birthdays and friend visits and holiday gatherings. Baking and barking and small backyard fires. We had a Hon visit in there too, with a low country boil, a boat ride, and the Holiday Shanghai Tournament. 

I'm using this post as my end of year photo dump, starting with my Elephant Ears because they've only got a few weeks left before the frost will kill 'em and I just really like them.

Ahh we started the month with our last wedding and subsequent last round of Car Tetris for the year. Packing the cars with all the wedding crap is something I enjoy doing. Everything is square or rectangular so it's really just a wet and heavy 3-dimensional puzzle. I'm honored to be known for my ability to efficiently pack anything from suitcases to grocery bags. I rotate and arrange and use every square inch available, and the results are pure satisfaction. Now why have I paired a car full of blooms with a gooey caramel cake? Because my holiday baking just couldn't wait for the appropriate season, so I started baking back in November. The total number of cookies baked must be in the hundreds. There was a babka, Moroccan pasties, multiple cakes, and a failed attempt at a puff pastry tart, but the point is, I need to cut back on The Great British Baking Show. 

Just before the last wedding, Brett began setting yard residue on fire, including lots of my dead sticks and stumps from the wedding season. Usually I throw everything into our compost bin but it is currently at max capacity. The roaring flames enlivened Brett's caveman ancestry and he rummaged around all over looking for things to burn. He was still out there well after dark.

We celebrated Chelsea's birthday at a fun spot on the water. It was a balmy nice day (we've had a wonderfully mild December) and we ate all the things a person should eat on their birthday.

Dad has continued what seems to be a month long experiment with his facial hair. We've had the pleasure of lots of family time, which means lots of one-liners from Popples. We mostly enjoy watching him enjoy his own commentary. 

The girls partook in a series of Holiday brawls, mostly indoors when we least expected it, and are now living in a light lockdown. They are together for just a few hours each day and otherwise rotate between being locked in a bedroom and having the privilege of "family time." We're loosely trying to figure out who we can give one to. We can't live like this... but we love them so much. Their previous warden/trainer Simms, is coming back by in January to "refresh" their lessons and help brainstorm some solutions. 

Here's Brett using our big new table to stretch out his quads. He's had a stressful month - one not conducive to spending all waking hours with your in-laws. All of his project clients got all whipped up about end of year deadlines and threw extra work at him just when he expected to wrap things up.

This year we did Christmas Eve with The Unions and Christmas Day with the Eisenhauers. And by Unions, I mean Mom's side. Aunts and uncles and cousins, oh my! There were squirming tikes, lots of sweets, and Erik and Chelsea were honorary family members for the night. 

Over at Jeff's house, we celebrated with four boys under 7 years old and it was a kind of mayhem I haven't experienced since Christmas in Orangeburg. Jeff's two boys (right) and Maura's two (left) shared a bench seat and they swatted and slapped and cackled all through dinner. I thought of the Brady Bunch and found myself wondering if Jeff and Maura have seen the Brady Bunch. I thought of the boys all being in high school at the same time and the amount of food they will consume. 
Brett and I relished in how quiet our house was when we got home. 

Foolishness

How have I only done one post this month? I've been writing up a slurry of things - seems like some of it should have wound up on my blog space. In addition to the "important" things I've been working on - more on that later- I've been thinking about two things. 

1.) My tendency to have conversations with myself out loud as though I'm not alone in a room.

2.) People describing me as a calm person. 

I'll start with the former. Every morning I sit with my cup of tea and I say my prayers. These I say internally, so you'd never know I was working up any sentences. Towards the end of my prayer time, my thoughts descend into lunacy and I wind up on a tangent that God probably tunes out because there are no direct requests or notes of gratitude involved. I imagine he mutes himself and takes another call because I forgot to hang up and he's much too loving to ever hang up first. 
While he helps another person with their real problems, my train of thought on Ellen having a healthy baby will lead to an indictment against excessive human breeding without preconsidering the many obstacles. "What do you mean?" I ask myself internally. But at some point I answer out loud, as though I'm being interviewed. When I realized I'm being interviewed, I have to turn on the charm, you know, for the audience, and before I know it I'm telling a riotous story from the college years as though there is someone else in the room with me. 

While I don't think this is normal behavior, I don't worry that I'm alone on this one. That being said, I've always been over confident in the relatability of my human experience. If I think and feel it, surely everyone else does. However, I am often told I'm strange, so maybe I should worry. Somedays my prayers turn into a job interview (I always nail 'em), the retelling of a classic Union story, sometimes I'm working out a complicated political system (helps to say it out loud) and other times I'm a featured guest on The Graham Norton Show. 
Today my prayers turned into the larger question of why I so frequently have audible discussions with myself. I offered many reasons: verbalizing leads to articulation, because no one else will talk to me, a lifelong fondness for interview shows, and because it helps to keep your thought train on its tracks. Your mind can't wander as far when you can hear the mania in real time.

Enough about that. Number 2. 

I am frequently accused of being calm, which mostly delights my but occasionally I feel like a real con artist. "You're so serene," a coffeeshop girl will tell me. "You have a soothing aura," a hairdresser stated. "Love your chill vibe," said a girl with a lip ring. 

"You see Laura there," a teacher once said to the class, "She'll be great with high pressure clients because she's so calm." I took their words with great pride and also hoped I'd never have high pressure clients.
I sure am a calm person on the outside, but it's just a mask I wear to try to fool my insides. Inside, clowns are doing cartwheels, bombs go off in morse code patterns, and there's water rushing from somewhere. A red alert alarm rings in my ear all day. "What was that sharp pain my chest? Is that car listing towards me? I think I sent those tourists in the wrong direction."

It's that the reaction part of my brain is calibrated all wrong. I'll really panic when things aren't so bad, like running late for a meeting or accidentally insulting someone. Oh my mind explodes with worry. My mood sours, my patience wanes, my heart beats up in my ears. My ability to perform simple tasks crumbles beneath my steadfast thumbs. 
But when something goes very wrong; medical emergencies, dog fights, or flower shipments that don't arrive, I loop back around to being a zen master. 

Below is a chart I've made of Big Lue's Reaction Calibration

Sure, I glide down the sidewalk with no reaction to the world around me. But that's because if I react, my brain will go into a true panicked state. It's like living with a nervous toddler narrating my consciousness. I've had to develop a second stoic-adult-consciousness to reassure the first one.  I must deny the toddler. If I give in even a little, I'll drown. 

It's like that time Ellen and I were on that winding bus in Budapest, both on the verge of blowing chunks. If I sat still and focused, I could make it through. Ellen however prefers to release her anxiety steam by narrating the very catastrophe before our eyes. I don't suppose there is a correct way to handle your problems, but no one ever calls Ellen calm.  

Anyways, here are a few silly pictures from Thanksgiving at Gigs n' Big Dave's.

Happy Things

 Here's a picture of Olivia looking like a porcelain doll. 

I've finished the last of my weddings for the year and have three weeks "off" to bake things and write stories and find ways to outrage Brett. I've put "off" in quotes because even though everyone around me scoffs at my working hours and chuckles when I'm relived to be free, I still have emails and proposals and bride meetings during my breaks, so there. 

Somehow I've been added to a list of contributing writers for that newspaper I was telling you about. I didn't sign up for this, nor did anyone ask me first, nor do they pay me, but they send me assignments and deadlines and I'm not entirely sure that I'm happy about it. It is a fortuitous happenstance and that's not lost on me. It's how the lazier version of me wanted things to go in life (that whole "opportunities falling into your lap" bit) but I don't have the time, or perhaps ability, to do the job as well as I'd like to. I wouldn't have taken on a monthly column writing job with the mix of things we've got going on at the moment. Now I know I just pointed out that I'm free for three weeks but that doesn't mean I'm watching reality tv and eating ice cream. Also, they've been making me interview business people for the column and I really don't like doing that. But I'll keep writing for them because I'm too polite to tell them that it's an inconvenience. However, in honor of the holidays, I interviewed my lovely friend Chelsea about her cookie business. You can read it here if you're interested. 

Pippi has reached a balance of pill-popping and personality and she's back to laying on me whenever possible. The more uncomfortable I am, the more she likes it.

She is well-known (and loved) at the vet's office by now and will strut right in to get her blood drawn because she's a seasoned pro. She's the most interesting mix of fearless and skittish. 

Grace is still indifferent towards existence, but she's sweet when Brett is around.

We met some new friends while celebrating Ellie's birthday...

and made Erik come over to try Brett's "Lee-inspired" eggnog and these molasses cookies we've discovered. He left happy about it.

Something came over me and I went berserk on Cyber Monday. In previous posts I've mentioned the inability of any direct descendent of Sadie Union's to pass up a deal. Now that the phones and computers keep track of what you're perusing about, they all teased and seduced me with major blowout sale prices. I bought lots of things, which is something I rarely do, and I've been staring through the window, watching for the mail lady everyday since. I'm embarrassed for her to notice the extreme uptick in packages. "What a greedy little troll," she will think about me as she heaves a hefty thigh out of her mail truck and waddles up the path to our front door. (Am I being defensive?)

I take a lot of pride in my thriftyness. I'm also proud to be empathetic and accommodating, and I always thought these would be the traits of mine that my future husband would really admire. But in reality, Brett wishes I would throw away the "rags" that I wear, buy some clean new clothes, and quit being so selfless. You just can't please some people. 

He was proud to hear that I cracked open my wallet and he's been overly approving of my new duds just to prove a point. It all looks ridiculous and we both know it. I also ordered a small piece of furniture and didn't tell him about it. It gets here on Friday and I'm 92% sure that he won't like it. 

I had also figured that my future husband would leave the "nesting" to me. Do you think Chris Union cared how Mom arranged the furniture? Do you think Chris Union even knows what color the walls are in his own bedroom? Crap no! Earlier this year he complimented a "new" painting Mom had hung. "It's been there 15 years," she replied.

Therefore, I learned that men don't care about these things and I have free rein over interior design. I was shocked to find that Brett has opinions on this matter (I genuinely asked him if he was in the closest - he resented the question and continued to date me anyways) and frequently protests my decorative additions. The green velvet piece of furniture that arrives on Friday is sure to spark holiday outrage. 

A Good Ole Before and After

Also whilst perusing my computer photo album the other day, I found all the "before" pictures I took of this house. I did this strategically back then, for I knew that someday I'd like to compare the before and after. Alas, I'd forgotten all about it ... until now. 
Something I really hate in life is when people take "before and after" pictures but the "after" is not from the same angle as the "before." It's not nearly as satisfying, and you lose the ability to truly compare the finesse of someones handiwork against the decrepitude from which it arose. I at least tried to park myself as close as possible to where I stood when I took these pictures the first time. 

I spend lots of free time looking at interior design crap. I love old wooden beams, walls made of glass and steel, big windows in kitchens, and I have a fondness for structural arches that may be unreasonable. We don't have any of those things in this house, so the overpriced someday-house I've drafted in my head contains lots of functionless decorative elements. It's bright and airy, and on the verge of ostentatious but instead it settles nicely into the categories of cozy and "design minded." 

This house however, the one I'm in right now, this cozy bungalow of comfort and color, is my favorite place to be. It has ever-evolving furniture displays, paintings that come and go with the seasons, and an abundance of dog hair and what we've decided is dirt that must come up into the house from below. It has slanted floors and walls that tick, vibrating bookshelves, and a gap in the front door large enough for amphibians to pass through with their carry-on bags. 

I'm real proud of this place. 

Now on to the pictures. Does anyone care about this besides me?

(Click the photos to make them bigger.)

Our "master bath" (below) is a room we created out of thin air. We slapped a wall up on that break in the floor, crammed a toilet in that cubby and a shower in that closet. If you're wondering, yes, we leave the blinds open while we tinkle. It's good sight-seeing while you're working things out. I do make a point of closing them at night when the lights come on. Brett is hardly concerned about these things - he'd be on the offenders list if I didn't intervene.

I want to paint the bathroom ceiling navy, but Brett won't let me. He like... doesn't get my vision.

The people that lived here before us moved out and left all their crap in this back room with no floor. They also left all their attic and garage crap for us to clean out as well. This is how they we found this room. As a fun fact, back in the 1920's and 30's, this room was used as a hair salon. There was a separate entrance for customers, and there are outlets high in the walls for hair dryers.

The sunny room acts as our office, dog room, crap room, and mud room. We pile our recyclables here, our giveaway piles, and anything that needs to be taken out to the garage. This room is never clean. It agitates me often, but it's also the only room that gets good light so in this case, love always wins.

A Rambly Old Time Post

Remember those blog posts I'd do where I had a bunch of random photos and a bunch of random statements, and that's all I'd give you? I was rooting around in my computer for a recipe I saved and I wound up on a photo album bender. I came up on lots of sweet moments but I'm just going to share a few. 

Most importantly, this one of my beautiful mama.

And here's a tiny montage of Ellen whilst traveling. 

It's hard to get her to participate. 

Finally, I found this one of the day I met Liv, and it shocked me to remember how small she was. She's a big, bossy, bruiser now.

While on the topic of Ellen and babies, she and Nick are happy and healthy and he's started kicking her when she eats supper. It seems he already really likes ice cream. I think we're 10 weeks from his scheduled debut. Seeing as Ellen exploded the last time, the doctors are taking Nick early via another c-section. Ellen is thrilled about it because she gets to be pregnant approximately two weeks less than expected. (She's always in a rush.) Mom and I are getting ready to prepare Liv's Big Girl Room since Nick will be taking over the nursery. We haven't settled on what murals to paint in their little rooms this time around.

EisenEars and I are still mulling over our big adventure plans but we've gots lots of fun thought pots on the stove. #vanlife (Brett has been saying that a lot lately.) Yesterday brother Jeff came over and gave us a presentation on joining the Peace Corps. We were not dissuaded. At the moment, Brett and I are both experiencing whine-worthy back pain and neither of us feels compelled to move around which really puts a damper on planning to be young and free. 

This is turning into a rambly post isn't it? Like the good ole blogging days.

Let's see what else. I've been writing articles for the newspaper man, wrapping up my weddings for the year (I have one more next month), already started my holiday baking season, and have been coming up with creative ways to tackle Brett to the ground when he leasts expects it. I'm his Cato Fong.  

Our favorite friends, Alex and Jessie, have moved back up to Rochester so now we have an absence of philosophically witty people that come into our house, kick off their shoes, and then stretch out on the sofa and ask personal questions. That's my favorite thing. They're such comfy people. I went over to take photos of their house for the listing and I took this picture of their pup Sadie growling at me.

Sadie really loves Brett in particular. She does this strange little dance whenever he comes over to see her. Did I tell y'all she once spoiled our surprise visit? She caught a whiff of us somehow and did the Brett Dance and then Jessie knew we were hiding in the house. 

Anyways, the house sold in three days. So they just packed up the rest of their stuff and left. We all knew they were moving, but we also all thought we'd have more time together so it's a little bit sad. We sure will miss them. And Sadie. 

I guess I'll wrap thing up here. I'm excited about the upcoming cozy home time. Christmas trees and whatnot. Brett is making eggnog as I type this. He's supposed to be working, but tomorrow is ole T-gives, you know. That's actually my favorite holiday. We'll have a big celebratory family lunch and all be napping by 4:00. It's the perfect day.  

The Mystery Date

I love surprises. As the unofficial head planner of this household, I've always already worked out where we need to be at what time and with what things. It's just a benefit Brett reaps by living with me. He gets to live all drifty and floaty and I just pull his little raft into the sunshine before he gets too chilly. I like doing it - I like being prepared. I don't like work surprises. But I love fun-time surprises! The kind of spontaneous weekend adventures that you aren't wearing the right pants for are my favorite. That's how you know you're having a true extemporaneous existence. 

Brett planned a date night and didn't tell me anything about it. He told me when to be dressed and ready, and he put that call-time into my calendar. I watched it get closer for two weeks, giddy by the mystery of it all. As I got ready that night I asked Brett to pick a shoe. He looked down at my heeled boots and thought for a minute. "I'd have never noticed that those are different shoes," he said. I chuckled at him. "Which ones are more comfortable?"
"These ones."
"Which ones could you run in?"
"Run in? What are we doing?" I declared, "But these ones. Should I wear flat shoes? Where are we going? No don't tell me!"
"Do you have any cleats?" he asked. He knew I was trying to pin down our plans. 

As we drove down Calhoun, I ruled out restaurants and options. "Ok so we're staying inside the Crosstown," I deduced. 

"Quit deducing."

"Are we going to pass King Street? Oh we did. We did pass King Street... Oh boy Meeting too? Where are we going?" Then Brett did a U-turn. I gasped with excitement. But then he parked and we jumped out of the car and he pushed me across the street. I couldn't guess where we were going until we got there because I'd never heard of the place. He took us to a little oyster bar in an old Charleston Single. The kitchen and bar were on either side of the staircase and the two dining rooms were upstairs. We sat up there and had a fun fishy meal and then Brett looked at his watch. "We've got to go. We've only got 10  minutes."

"Ten minutes to what?" I asked, "There's more to the surprise?" 

We paid our bill and pulled on our coats and made our way down the narrow staircase in the middle of the house. A waitress waited at the bottom of the stairs for her turn to go up. "Oh excuse us," we said, happily chatting with her as we made our way down. Then I slipped on the last step and nearly fell into her arms. She and I laughed about it but Brett was behind me on the stairs, making fun of me. Then he slipped on that last step too and stumbled into the both of us. The visual of this from the waitress' perspective is something I burst out laughing about that night in bed while Brett was sleeping. That tall, gangly couple wiping out on the staircase.

Out on the street Brett checked his watch. "Remember how I asked if you could run in those shoes?"

"Yeah."

"Well I was kidding then, but we're going to need to hustle. We have two minutes." So we took off running down Calhoun Street in our nice clothes. We cut across the church parking lot onto Meeting Street.

"Oh boy are we headed to the Music Hall?" I asked as we passed Marion Square. Brett grinned at me. "I love the Music Hall!" I exclaimed. "Is it a concert? A comedian? A puppet show? I hope it's not a puppet show."

"Hush up, woman." We scampered passed the pink hotel, and then Hutson Street, and we turned left on John. A crowd was gathered outside of the Music Hall. "Do you think we can get in without me figuring out what the show is?" I asked Brett. He was enlivened by this challenge. 

As we tried to jump in at the back of the line, a security guard stopped me. "Ma'am, we have a clear bag policy." All the people waiting in line turned to look.

"What does that mean," I asked him. He pointed to my purse.

"You can't bring that inside. You have two options. You can take that back to your car or you can purchase a clear bag for five dollars. It was in the email. You should have read it."

"Well I didn't get an email," I told him. "I'm on a mystery date." The big security guard looked down at me, up at Brett, and then grinned.

"What do you mean?" he asked smiling.

"I don't know what the show is," I said. "It's a surprise." The security guard and all the eavesdroppers thought this was the best thing. 

"So you don't know what's happening here?" he asked.

"Nope," I said.

"Dude," someone in line said to Brett, "You didn't even tell her what she's seeing? That's awesome!" 

"Shh! Shh! Don't tell her!" someone else said. Everyone really liked our surprise date, but they still made me pay $5 for a plastic beach bag. 

I'll have you know that I did make it all the way in with no clue. There was an opener playing though, so I quickly deduced that it was a concert. I turned my head away from the merchandise table, just in case. Finally the opener blew it and announced that Shakey Graves would be on soon. We really love Shakey. We've come to see him three or four times now and it's always a real show. We've spent two New Years Eves with Shakey. On one of them we were broken up and not supposed to be seeing each other, so it felt extra dangerous and fun. 

The opener came and went and we were still waiting for Shakey. The house lights turned back on and people clustered together near the front of the stage or wandered off to grab a drink while we waited. "Oh man," I heard Brett mumble. I looked up at him. His face was scrunched. Disgusted. Someone had pooted. "That's awful," Brett said softly. I looked all around us, accusing bystanders with my eyes. 

Truth is, it was me. I don't make a point of doing such things in public but it came on as a sneak attack and I was left with no choice. I felt a tectonic shift deep in my guts. I startled me, like some little worker bee in there dropped a stack of books. Clunk! Mere seconds later was a I forced to sully the air around us. Here's the best part. Brett was behind me. On either side of me were pairs of good ol' boys twice the heft of Brett. If a casting net dropped from the sky, capturing everyone existing within the stink cloud, and then we were all lined up for trial, no one would have accused me. Not that sweet looking girl in the little skirt and tasseled ankle boots. No, it was certainly the big guy in the stained tank top. 
I beamed up at Brett, which he knew to take as my confession. "Lue!" he shouted, equal parts amusement and outrage.
"No one will believe you," I told him.

By the time Shakey came on, it was past Brett's bedtime. Did I mention this was a Tuesday? We eventually found some seats, like old people in heeled boots that can't stand up for too long without getting back pain. Four or five songs in, Brett got sleepy.

"I don't think I'm going to make it through the whole show," he admitted. 

"My feet hurt," I admitted. 

"You ready to go?"

"Only if you are."

"Sorry I didn't think about your shoes. I'd have made you wear flats if I'd thought about it."

"Oh that's alright, I was thinking about the last time we were here and that girl in front of us..."

Before we knew it we were just having a casual chat over the booming Jazz-Metal stylings of Shakey Graves, so we went home and ate ice cream.

"Can We Meet To Discuss?"

Before you watch this, I'd like the record to show that I didn't intend to make this public. I chuckled to myself thinking of all the different people I encounter because of weddings and how amusing these characters would be in a montage. I made this for myself mostly, and Mom because this is exactly what we're cackling about when we get together and chat weddings. Sure I'd show Brett, just to remind him what a lunatic he married. Maybe Mom would make Dad watch it, but that was the extent of it. 

But Mom told me how much you'd like it, so I'll take one embarrassing hit for the team. This is based on my interactions with my brides. Many statements are direct quotes.

Another Mountain Adventure

We hit the dusty trail and took ourselves back up to Asheville. We had such fun up there last year with Ellie and Caroline, we thought we'd recreate it. We also elected to bring a pup with us. I made sure to book a pet-friendly Air Bn'b and then Brett and I took to deliberations. We sure weren't going to bring both girls. Who knows what dark and windy mountain trail we'd have to take to get them to the pet hospital emergency room. No, we'd bring only one. But which? We offered pros and cons for each dog. 

Pippa: Pros- would enjoy it more, Cons- unreliable when unsupervised
Grace: Pros- would appreciate being selected, Cons- disinterest in most activities 

In the end we brought Grace. "She's got less time to enjoy life," Brett said. Grace bristled at this comment. "I'm only two years older," I heard her sneer... in my mind. Pippa does well spending the weekend at Buddy's place and since Grace hates most living beings, we decided not to leave her attitude in the hands of any untrained pet-sitters. 

I'll tell you that she did enjoy moments of our adventure. She was burdened by the drive up, perturbed to have arrived in the dark, and already prepped for disappointment when she woke up the next day only to watch us sit around and drink coffee. But eventually we all left to climb some mountains and Grace's big bushy tail, triumphantly raised, forged the dirt path a few yards ahead of us. She got to do a lot of hiking without a leash and she reveled in the freedom. Ellie and Caroline frequently checked in with us about Grace. "Is she ok?" they'd ask as she laid curled in the far corner of the living room. 

"Oh yes, this is normal," we'd reply. Grace still huffed and sighed and never made any other noises. 

"Do you thinks she's happy to be here," Caroline asked. 

"That's more of an existential question for Grace," we said, "and we don't know."

We did all the things people do when they go to the mountains. We hiked, drank warm beverages, and watched scary movies at night. We ate scavenger-style breakfasts and then gorged on hearty, delicious suppers. 

We spent time enjoying the sunshine and the loose dogs that you find at breweries (Grace stayed home for that bit) and found ourselves wondering how breweries became an acceptable "family activity." There were children everywhere. Little ones! Which A) is not what one thinks of when visiting a beer based building where people go for alcoholic consumption purposes, and B) How do drunk parents manage their childrearing? What about all the crass, staggering patrons that your wee little munchkin will be interacting with? Because the parents let them run loose you know, poking at people's thighs and handing them rocks. I felt bad about the children and then realized that I don't have to worry about how those little tikes turn out ... which is something I can't help but worry about, so mostly I sat at the brewery and felt sad. Then Ellie and Caroline beat us at corn-hole which I really took personally. 

One morning we stumbled upon a dahlia farm so Brett pulled over just to let me frolic. They also sold pumpkins and jams and apple cider donuts. Brett bought lots of things from the farm, and it took everything he had not to eat all six donuts right there in the car. They were "donuts of perfect consistency."

We laughed and ate and napped and explored. By the end I had convinced everyone that we wanted to move there to open a farm animal sanctuary. Caroline would keep her job because she's the breadwinner and can work from anywhere. Ellie's job also transfers nicely and leaves her with lots of free time to hike trails and beat people in assorted sports and games. So Brett could be the grounds keeper (I volunteered him for this) and I'd just cuddle the sweet critters, bake cakes, and make sure the bills were paid on time.

Strangely, everyone agreed with the decisions I made for them, so I don't know what we're waiting for.