Pre-Keys

In the time between my Spring weddings and leaving for the Keys, lots of good, summertime things happened. 

Mom, Dad, and Brett helped finish up my Spring season while I milked my Covid recovery time. 

We did some porch sittin', some dock sittin', and took the dogs for a marshy adventure.

I had my first true, angry client ask for a refund. It was shocking as well as thrilling. There I was, regrettably adding dried palms to pink arrangements by the bride's request and then on the day of the wedding, she had a bridesmaid come tell me she didn't like them. So I took the palms out again and sat around feeling like I had let her down. 

The very next morning at 7:00, the groom, who I'd never met or spoken to, sent me and email explaining that "they" were very disappointed with the flowers and that I changed all of their decor plans without telling them. I could tell he'd never read the proposal and that she made him send the email. He told me that the planner had to remake the arrangements because I was not on site to do so. They felt they deserved a refund. 

So I emailed the planner who told me that she did not have to remake anything and that the bride and groom told her the reception space was lovely. So I emailed the groom and told him that he and his wife need to discuss the proposal she signed and compare it to what was presented. Good luck with your new bride, buddy. She seems great.
Like most people with a conscious, I'm the first person to suggest that I did a bad job ,and I often think I should send money back after weddings because I think I could do better. (I never do but it's he thought that counts.) In this case, I knew I had over-delivered and I was giddy to write back with a polite "oh hellllll nah." I've only ever felt that powerful over at the realty when telling people they owed rent. Do you think I'm secretly full of boiling rage? It's the injustice!

Here's a picture of some baby coons Dad found in the attic. We cooed and coddled and then set them up for success until Mama Coon came to get them. I loved them so much, it hurt way down deep inside. 

Someone on Facebook posted this photo from our time at high school. I showed Brett the picture and he was taken aback. "That's what your high school looked like?" he asked. "Was it yard time at the detention center?"

"Yeah, it's James Island. What do you expect? You know I'm not actually educated right?" Then he pulled up a picture of his high school with it's real buildings and trees and benches for people to sit upon. "That looks like a movie set!" I exclaimed.

This explains a lot about our expectations in life.

In the time that I finished writing my book and then turned on it, Dad set me up to meet with a guy that runs a local newspaper in the hopes that he would help me cut the line for a writing internship for a prestigious local magazine. (It was very Chris Union.) In turn, the mag required it's unpaid and temporary interns to have a masters or PhD ... so I'm not sure they got any applicants.
"They think too highly of themselves over there," Newspaper man told me. I wound up accidentally wooing Newspaper Man who is trying to help me by suggesting I write a new column for the paper. This is very exiting and kind but he writes about history and politics and I like... just want to talk about myself? He gave me my first writing assignment and like most men, left out all of the important information as well as what he wants it to be about. I'm working on it now and suddenly think, perhaps I'm not a writer.

I also heckled a friend who edits a magazine in Mt. Pleasant to give me an assignment or two. So I've got some pots on the stove but like... where do I get to write about what I think about things? 

Pip has taken to lounging on the back of the couch in her perpetual effort to be as close to us as possible. I'm not mad about it. 

There was an abbreviated celebration for Dad's birthday, a handful of good friend visits, and Brett and I have been cooking decadent meals for ourselves. We brag about it to our friends and then invite them over to have some but when we try to replicate them, we tank every time. Every. Time. Our friends don't believe us anymore. 

Brett and I also had to get our yearly blood work done for his company health insurance program and mine came back suggesting that I have pre-diabetes so now Brett won't let me have dessert. The blood report told me to "lose weight and eat better."

"Oh my blood work has said I'm pre-diabetic for years. Don't even worry about it." - Chris Union

The Keys : A Study of Parenthood

When the family decided to plan a trip to The Keys with three toddlers in tow, I knew things would be different. When Brett had to stay home because of work, I knew things would be extra intense. Assorted family members left Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to make their way to Marathon. Margie and Jordan chose to drive with their two tikes, while Ellen and Lee experienced Olivia's first plane ride together. She did pretty good, only vomiting once they got into the car in Miami. I wasn't coming until Tuesday. This was equal parts due to logistics, cheaper airfare, and saved me a few days of shrieking children. So I was on Buddy/ Bobo Patrol for a few days and spent my mornings in my favorite place.

I touched down in Miami at 8:00 am and Dad picked me up from the airport. We had breakfast at the slowest moving Denny's around, and then drove the two hours to Marathon. I cherish that kind of Papa Time. The moment we pulled into the driveway, Uncle Dave, Mom and Carolyn, ushered Dad and I onto a boat and we went for a little cruise in search of gasoline. That was the last near-sunny hour we had. 

The family was divided into two houses. The adult house held Aunt Georgia, Aunt Carolyn, Uncle David, and Mom and Dad. The kid house tolerated; Margie, Jordan, Owen, Ethan, Alston, Hailey, Ellen, Lee, Olivia, and little old me. The houses were a mile apart on a busy highway, so there was no intermingling without prior planning. 

At the adult house, things were quiet and clean. There was a warmish pool and a dock that stretched out over the clear blue sea. At the kid house, things were loud and sticky and there was thirty yards of sludge between us and the ocean. A sea of Fisher Price boobie traps lined the hallways. Spongebob Squarepants illuminated the room with song. Legos threatened your toes, blueberries tumbled out of couch cushions, and anything you touched was damp. Whining, shrieking, and wailing could be heard in perfect harmony. 

"Come get me!" I texted Dad after only an hour holed up in my room.
"Who is this?" he replied. 

With many visits to the Keys under our belts, there was no urgent need for sightseeing or attractions under a muggy grey sky. Instead we opted for lazy conversation, naps, and constant snacking; at least, at the adult house.  I rudely spent most of my time there and chose not to feel too guilty about it. After all, if I wanted to live under such harsh conditions, I would have my own children. And I wasn't alone mind you. All members of the adult house had to be specifically asked to show their faces over in the kiddie crack den. I'm not as hateful as you think I am. 

An excerpt from my travels:

Morning Log - Day 3

Woke to the screams of excited children. Skies are grey and hope is wearing thin. Laid in bed for an extra half hour to avoid the common room. Eventually began to feel rude. Emerged from bedroom to find that the three subjects were feeding. Most off-putting. Beans and berries smudged across faces. Surrounding floor and walls also painted in food.

Female subject briefly enjoyed my company before dragging her poopy butt along my leg like a dog scoots across a lawn. Nothing to eat in the house that doesn't feel sullied by surrounding air. 

When not fighting for survival, we often enjoyed the pool over at the adult house. 

One night, Margie, Jordan, Ellen, Lee, and I all went out for supper while the Guy Gals babysat. The young couples didn't know what to do with their freedom. We drove through a monsoon in sour moods looking for a place to eat. Once we dried off and sat down in a cozy pub, we all came alive and remembered what it was to be wild and free. I've missed my time with Margie. The hours we spent together at the realty office are happy times I think about and miss. (Not so much the working with disgruntled renters part.) 

Ellen had one full-scale meltdown that, mixed with the surrounding scene in the crack den, made me add a nail to my metaphorical parenthood coffin. I'm not sure how many nails I'll need to seal the whole thing up but we're already at five. 

Days went like this:

6:00am:  Owen, Ethan, Margie wake up and dump out basket of toys.

6:00-7:00: Owen and Ethan find creative ways to try to kill themselves.

8:00: Margie begins cooking breakfast for the boys.

8:30: Subjects are feeding.

9:00: Margie mops floors and repaint walls from breakfast feeding. 

10:00-1:00pm: Just try to survive. 

1:00- 3:00 Owen and Ethan nap. Margie prepares food for upcoming feedings, again mops the floor and cleans the walls from lunch feeding, and puts toys in the basket. 

3:01: Owen and Ethan dump out the toys.

3:02 -6:30: Another chunk of survival

6:35: Another feeding

7:00: Cleaning and repainting walls

8:00: Baths and bed for Owen and Ethan.

8:30-10:30: Margie sits quietly. 

10:35: Bed

Take a good look at the expressions in this photo. 

Oh I'm sorry. Is my hammering bothering you?

Occasionally the Guy Gals visited a store or two, the men folk went fishing, and Ellen got to take a nap. 

Highlights from the trip include:

-Getting some good cousin time

-The boat ride

-Uncle David becoming hysterical at the lunch table over the phrase "leak detection"

-Watching the tikes experience the swimming pool

-Lots of seafood

-Dad's running commentary

-Aunt Georgia's running commentary

-Jordan's Indian Accent

-Watching Alston enjoy Jordan's Indian accent.

You see, we still had lots of fun. On leaving day, the sun finally came out. We all threw in the towel and went home.

Writing Prompt : How Clean is Your House Right Now

My goal on any given day is to have a clutter-free but not spotless home. I do not like creaseless pillows and glass tabletops without a bit of smudge to them. There is a level of perfection and cleanliness in a home that gives me the heebeegeebees. In places like this my awareness of myself highlights every thing about me that opposes the space I’m standing in: every active sweat gland, the loose hairs clinging to my shirt, whether or not I recently washed my jeans. I imagine I will sit on the furniture and later rise to reveal an oil slick or a smudge of color shaped exactly like me. My clammy hands will fog up the glass tabletop. A long black hair will show darker as it falls to a white rug. Gilded light fixtures and thick, luxurious curtains only make me aware of my pimples and sideburns and how much I don’t belong there. 

I like a comfortable mess. Nothing sticky please. No piles of dirt. I don’t want cluttered surfaces or an unkept sofa, but I like textures and colors and evidence of human life. An overflowing basket of blankets or a forgotten coffee mug on a side table isn’t a lack of cleanliness. Instead they welcome me in. People eat here and lay here and play games on this scuffed up coffee table. I try to keep cushions in place and magazines stacked. We vacuum and fold laundry and quickly mop up spills. We also forgive a days worth of stacking things or bringing a project of many pieces to the kitchen counter and leaving it there overnight. Our house is clean. It’s not ready for a photoshoot or a visit from the Queen but it’s always ready for movie night, baking days, or a timely and undeserved afternoon nap.

Pesky Pups and A Surplus of Shrimp

On this particular evening, Brett took Grace fishing with Papa Clint, so I took Pippa to Dad's for dock time. Mom was out at band practice so Dad and I thought we'd have a father/daughter supper. When Pip and I got there, Dad wasn't home, but Lee and Olivia happened by on the golf cart. Buddy, Pip, Lee, Olivia, and I all headed out to the dock. It was low tide. I hadn't thought to check first. No matter. Pippa leapt off the dock into the shallow water without thinking about how she'd get back up. The tide was too low for the dog ramp.

Lee shuffled Olivia in his arms as he lowered the ramp anyway. I pulled Pip onto the floating dock by the scruff of her neck and then coaxed her onto the ramp from there, but the rope gave way and the ramp splashed down into the water. Pip fell back into the water but managed to climb the ramp pegs like a ladder to get back onto the dock. Lee passed Olivia to me while he tried to retie the whole rig. Livvy did not want to be held by Aunt Lu and Pip took a sudden and fiendish interest in Olivia. Pip leapt up to sniff Liv and dug her little claws into my leg for leverage. Livvy cried and I played defense as Pippa tried to climb me like a tree. Meanwhile, Lee worked to pull the ramp out of the water by a rope no thicker than an ink pen. Fat Budds took it as an invitation to inspect the ramp and walked out to the end of it and sat down. Lee struggled to hang on. I tried to convince Budds to come back to the dock by dangling a whining Olivia in front of him like bait. Pippa licked at Liv's toes and tired to pull my pants down.

"This is all going horribly wrong." I said to Lee as he endured the full weight of Buddy wound tightly around one hand. Buddy wouldn't budge. Lee couldn't get enough slack to tie it off. 
"I'm going to have to let go," he finally determined, and he slowly lowered Budds into the shallow water. Seeing Buddy in the water, Pippa lept from the dock into the marshgrass and swam over to greet him. The thrill of it gave both pups the zoomies and they swam from the dock, through the pluff mud, up onto the oyster beach between Ari's dock and ours. Lee and I smiled at each other and said, "Well that's not good."

The only hope was to get the dogs to follow us back towards the house. We could pull them out of the marsh near the yard, and anyway, Lee had to get home in the next 10 minutes. Pippa bounded through the marshgrass like a gazelle leaping across an African plain. You'd hear a rustle in the grass and then she'd spring up and out with all four legs perfectly straight, as though she'd jumped from a trampoline. Then she'd disappear into the grass again. She did this so furiously that she had to stop to catch her breath which is something I have never seen her need before. She barreled alongside the dock as we walked back but Budds had turned obstinate. He pretended he could not hear us and ambled off towards Ari's dock. We'd fuss and yell and Budds turned a blind ear. 
But Lee had to get going and I had to catch Pip. We left Budds in the marsh and walked back to the house. Lee and Liv hopped on their golf cart and headed for home. I tied Pippa to the patio, gave her a quick spritz to keep the mud wet (much easier to clean off if it never dries), and set out to retrieve Buddy. 

Moments before I'd arrived at his house, Dad got a call from a friend of a friend who had pounds of fresh shrimp for sale at a great price. No direct descendant of Sadie Union can turn down a deal, so Baba Ganoush set out to collect discount seafood. He happily arrived home with 50 pounds of shrimp that needed beheading and freezing, and fast! He happened to pass Lee and Liv on their ride home and he instructed Lee to dump the baby and come back to help with the shrimp. 

Dad lugged in the cooler of shrimp, put on some 70's rock music, and layered the kitchen counter with newspaper. He cracked open a cold beer, set out a bagging station, and settled in to peel. That's when he noticed, way out in the distance, is that Laura running through the marsh grass?

I'd kept sight of Buddy until he rounded the peninsula on the other side of Ari's dock. Though I called for him happily as though I was not infuriated by the blatant ignorance, Buddy was deep in his imagination, hunting for buried treasure along a forgotten seashore. I jumped into the marsh myself and ran through the reeds as they stung my legs. I thought if I could get close enough to Buddy, he'd let me join his adventure and then I could lure him home. I haven't run through the marsh grass in many years and I'd forgotten how warm and muggy it is in it's thickest parts. I dodged oyster shells and leapt over little streams and scrambled onto Ari's dock for a better view. I yelled once more for Buddy and his head poked though the grass to look at me. He was too far away. I couldn't catch him without having to swim. That's when I accepted that Budd's knows the way home - I just had to hope that he wouldn't tire himself out before he got back to land. I jumped down into the marsh to head back when I heard Dad shouting my name. He was scurrying down Ari's dock. I told him the whole story and we thought we'd take the jet ski out to fetch Buddy. 

"I'll go get the jet ski ready. I need you to put the shrimp back in the cooler and then come back out to the dock to help me get the jet ski into the water." We split from Ari's yard. Dad went back to our dock and I went into the house to cool down the shrimp. I sprayed Pip with the hose again on my way back out to the dock. She was visibly put out with me. Dad and I heaved the jet ski into the water and Pops jumped on to find his furry friend. I watched the marsh grass for movement and noticed our neighbor Jeff was now scurrying down our dock. 

"What's going on? I saw you in the marsh?" he said to me, so I told him the whole story too. Just as Dad passed Ari's dock, we saw Buddy sitting on the beach, resting from his wild time. He was tired. He opted to be deadweight as Dad tried to pull him out of the water and onto the jet ski. Lee arrived on the dock as well. 

"What happened? I saw all the shrimp. And Pippa. You weren't in the marsh when I left." Aided by his misfit search and rescue team, Buddy was hoisted from the muddy shallows and brought back to dry land for a bath. 

The fellas went inside to admire Dad's shrimp bargain while I washed the petulant pups. Buddy was exhausted. Pippa was ready for more. I corralled them in the playroom to dry - they couldn't be trusted loose in the yard - and finally came up into the kitchen, ready for things to go as planned. Dad had somehow conned Jeff and Lee into the beheading and Jeff's wife, Laurel, had joined for the fun of it. We listened to music and told stories and googled proper shrimp freezing techniques. 

Father/daughter supper night turned into a real adventure and everyone involved has several pounds of shrimp in their freezers.