In Other News

Big Guy and I went to a real live concert. It was a thrill. They sectioned off squared chunks for four people and spaced them 6 feet apart, and I think that's how all concerts should be from now on. We had personal space and snacks! We shared our square with Alex and Jessie and had a picnic supper. It was a soothing good time. Brett and I attempted a public selfie and we both got embarrassed. 

"Quick quick! Hurry!"

Grace destroyed The Spite Garden.

Last week we had one of those nights where it comes around to suppertime and you realize that you didn't pull any meat out of the freezer for supper. Now between you and me, I've been cutting back on meat in general, on principle. Veggies are always my favorite part of the meal and when you learn what they do to the poor critters...
But instead of turning it into a spontaneous vegetarian night, we thought we'd run down the street to a soup and salad spot that we love. But alas, they were closed. They shouldn't have been. The sign displaying the operating hours would suggest that we were there within the parameters of their most productive times, but the lights were off and the door was locked so we quickly arrived at plan B. 

"Let's go to Edison," I suggested, a swanky-for-James-Island place just minutes from our house. We pulled into the gravel lot, giggled our way to the front door, swung it open and stepped inside. Everyone in there looked up at us. I scanned the scene. What a well dressed lot of people, I thought to myself. In the same moment that Brett said, "I think it's a party," a man in a suit seated next to the door politely said, "We're actually a wedding group," and then he glanced at the door and then back up at me. Brett had already abandoned the scene. I smiled at the man. "Well I'll just go then," I said cheerfully. It felt like a walk of shame back to the car. It's the only time I've been put out about Edison having so many windows.  

"How about Rutledge Cab," Brett suggested, "They've got milkshakes." So we ventured Downtown. Grabbing a quick supper after a long day was turning into another chapter of our long day. The parking lot was full and happy eaters watched Brett back the car into a narrow space. One man really started at us and I wondered if he could tell that we'd just been rejected from a dining establishment. Brett pulled open the heavy wooden door and asked the hostess for a table for two. 

"I'm sorry, we're full right now,  she said. 
"No problem," Brett said, "What would the wait be?"
"We're full for the night," she said frankly, and then waved her hands at Brett like he was a bug she wanted someone to get rid of. 
"Do you think it's you?" I asked Brett.

We got back in the car. "Maybe God doesn't want us to have supper tonight." We backtracked to a favorite from our dating years, when Brett lived just around the corner. 

"Must be under 6 feet to eat here," I said, as though reading from a sign on the door. 

"What!" Brett gasped.

"Just kidding."

We were relived to be sat on the patio right away. A spontaneous alfresco supper is good for the soul, if not taxing on the wallet. We had a great meal, but the two things Brett ordered were sold out for the night and the only burnt out lightbulb in the place was over our table. 

I'm excited to tell you that Brett is almost done building our dinner table. He's been out there planing away in our hot garage. There was epoxy and funny angles and a chalk pen ordered from Amazon. Our yard is full of wood shavings and Brett's fingers are bedazzled with scabs but just a bit more sanding and a waxy sealer stain coat thing, and it will be done. 

He's never done any woodworking before and he just... made this. He constantly impresses me.

We've been having a lot of our Sunday Dinners over at Ellen and Lee's house. Little Livvy goes to bed just before adult suppertime so eating at their place means no rushed eating or hurried small talk. 

I've just realized that I haven't taken any pictures of their new house. This one is all I have.

During supper last week, Mom threw all of her built up wrath at Dad's hairdo. His whole life the man has wanted a ponytail. Sure, there is a chunk missing on top but he's surprisingly open to the combover even though we've all told him that it's horrendous. An amusing conversation about Dad's longish hair turned into a marital skirmish with the peanut gallery offering commentary. Dad hasn't cut his hair in weeks. His thick black curls are longest at the base of his neck and with a little effort, he can make the tiniest little ponytail. Now, everyone we've run into thus far, loves the look. Dad has a dignified salt and pepper beard that makes him look like a Mediterranean politician. Everyone loves the beard. Everyone also loves the hair. It is earthy and free. 

There we all were, frolicking in the decadence of Dad's assorted head hairs when Mom spouted her disgust for it with vehemence. 

"Woah," all of us kids said in unison, stunned at such an outburst from little, sweet Nancy. She thinks he looks "ridiculous" and is too embarrassed to sit next to him at church. As though everyone doesn't know they are married. She thinks the hair is lowly or something like that and even though she made this clear, she wouldn't stop talking about it. Outraged laughter filled the room as we defended Dad's do. 

"I have to say," she started again. 

"We get it, Mom, " Ellen said, "You don't like the hair."

"I think it's handsome." I said.

"You hear that," Dad aimed at Mom, "handsome."

"I wish I could grow that beard," Lee admitted. Brett stayed strategically giggly and quiet. 

"Now now, just because you don't like it, doesn't mean you get to ruin it for Dad," I said.

"I ought to cut it in the night while he's sleeping," Mom suggested. 

"Your tongue is sharper than scissors," Dad said, and we all howled with laughter.