Real Estate Weeble

Can you believe I have Covid again? Am I doing something wrong? Do you think some people just have weenie constitutions and will collect up any little Covid goobers it can find? This is my third time, just to keep you up to date, and yes, I have been vaccinated. If I was to rank my covid experiences, I'd put the first time in first place because it was certainly the worst bout of it. The second time is in third place and this current one is in second. I don't feel as bad as the first time but I feel worse than the second time. 

Anyways.

Here's a tent entrance (a "tent'rance") I did while helping a florist friend. Occasionally I get bent out of shape when working for other florists. I know it opposes the "helping a friend" concept but I don't like slaving away and then putting someone else's name on it. (You know, like working for someone.) Makes me think about the folks that come up with nifty new car designs and then Ford slaps its name on the back of the truck and the poor little artist just goes on back home to their sad-sack bungalow.

That said, I tend to love bungalows.

Speaking of which, I really shot myself in the foot with that whole, "I want to go see houses on my birthday" bit. Brett (and I) wound up really falling in love with one and that's when a real panic set in. Brett passed through the foyer, stepped into the living room and then looked at me and said, "Let's do it." He was all-in within 30 seconds.

I had the same experience (as did realtor Dad, and property management assistant Mom, who showed up just for fun) except that it was also a gleeful kind of uneasiness that washed over me as I continued through the serene, light-filled home with ceilings so high Brett looked small. I knew it was perfect, and in that same moment I discovered just how much I love our current house. I think this only happened because we could actually do this. I look at places all the time but they're either too expensive or they need a ton of work or they're too far out of town. I don't have to really consider leaving our place. This one didn't need anything (save for a crappin' bank loan). It was sturdy and clean. It had a brick fireplace in the middle of the house!

Brett and I went home and got into a tiff about what to do. Happy birthday! He wanted to do it. I wanted to do it - but I wanted to consider lots of things first. In most cities people have time to mull things over, but not here. Knowing we had to move so quickly made me freeze up.

"It's a lot of money. And a terrible time to buy," I said. 

"Well we're paying for the location and a house that I don't have to work on every weekend." Brett replied.

"It is sturdy isn't it?"

"Very."

"What about the garage? You'd have to get rid of all your tools... and the weight bench... and where will you put your drums?"

"I can get rid of those things."

"Where will I do flowers?

"You don't want to do flowers anymore."

"Yeah but I don't have another job. And the girls will have less yard."

"They're inside most of the time anyways."

"That's true. It sure is a pretty house."

"Very pretty."

"You know the floor plan isn't all that different from ours..."

This goes on into the next day and ends with the house selling on the third, presumably to another couple that had fewer hangups and less crap. I'll have you know that Brett, while disappointed, is not holding it against me but he does seem more reluctant to humor my latest find, which needs to be gutted entirely or possibly demolished BUT it's on the water... so... it's perfect. 

Can't keep me down!

Probably calling for help. 

Birthday Sunday

When your birthday falls on one of the more serious days of the week (Mon-Wed), it's important to begin celebrating the Big Day on the weekend prior. It helps build excitement and anticipation for exactly what it is, which is a weekday birthday. When your birthday is on one of the more futile days the week (Thurs-Fri) you get to celebrate on your actual birthday and then carry those good times on into the weekend. These are not official rules but I'm pretty sure I'm correct. 

My birthday is on Tuesday so I am currently in the midst of my birthday weekend. So yesterday, after attending a nearly 3 hour funeral, it was time to celebrate. We went to the grand opening of a new kombucha brewery, ate at a Mexican restaurant, and then came home to watch tv. That adequately sums up the celebrations of one turning 32. Today, my Birthday Sunday, I have three big plans. 

1.) I will bake decadent cookies ... to celebrate myself.
2.) I will take Buddy kayaking.
3.) I will make Dad take Brett and me to look at three houses Downtown. 

Say more about that last one. 

Well it's mostly for fun because we're celebrating me and I love houses. Brett and I recently discovered that we'd both really like to live Downtown. This sharply contrasts my alternate desire to live on vast acreage on Wadmalaw - but as long as Brett has to commute to Mt. Pleasant, we'll keep a pin in that one. We frequently take the pups Downtown and walk through the old neighborhoods and pick out the houses we like best, but somehow we never brought up actually moving Downtown. Is it because we have the biggest nicest yard and detached garage play area and the cutest house on our street? Yeah.

Somehow we stumbled upon our previously tucked away desires to live in the midst of the Charleston fun. Brett thought I wouldn't want to live down there because I constantly complain about the tourists and lack of parking. I figured he wouldn't want to move because he would have to forfeit the garage. But alas! We'd both like to live Downtown "for a few years." Somehow we agree on the timeline of it all which is shocking and fun. Do I still plan to buy land and rescue animals? Sure! Does Brett like that idea? Parts of it! Will we actually go buy a house Downtown? Probably not!

But it's my birthday weekend and there are two little dumpy houses we like, so I'm going see about seeing them today. The third house is just for funsies.

Just the most magical little big yard at Black Pig Farms.

The Tikes

 Isn't it weird that Ellen has kids? And that's them up there? Those are two adult people... they're just still really small and have issues with dexterity. 

I've gotten to finally spend some time with these little goblins and I can tell you that Olivia is 100% Ellen and it seems like Nick is 100% Lee. 

Liv is sassy, bossy, sweet, and bashful. She takes little interest in other children and prefers to amuse herself in whatever other ways she sees fit. She will make you sit where she wants, stand where she wants, and hold what she wants. She's too cute for you to deny her anything. When things don't go her way, a small grey cloud appears over her head. First there are only flashes of heat lightning, nothing of real concern, but haste, the winds will turn. It starts with a face of disgust, as though a foul smell has consumed her tiny nostrils, then you see a few teeth. A soft whimper turned whine. At this point there is still time to calm the storm. You can redirect her attention or assure her that "Mom will be right back." She'll look on with the "bad smell" face but hush her vocal concerns. Eventually she'll bust loose and pack up her things and say "Home now." I'll never forget the the time she was done with visiting hour. She grabbed her jacket and Ellen's car keys and said. "All done" and then went and stood by the front door. She wasn't even two yet. Ellen still kind of operates this way as a thirty-something, so it's definitely pay back time.

Nick over there is the quietest, happiest, calmest little dude who only gets riled up when he can't sleep. He'll let anyone hold him. He'll smile at any faces that make eye contact and he's recently started to stick out his tongue and laugh. While baby Olivia used to cry anytime gigantic Uncle Brett came around, Nick just looks up at him and hangs his jaw as if to say, "Y'all seeing this?" 

He is not concerned with what's going on around him though he will be too stimulated to eat. He really takes time with his bottles, leisurely enjoying the good things in life. Want to put Nick over there? Sure. Want to lay him over here. That's fine. He particularly attracted to this pretty black woman he saw on a page in a magazine. He just stared at her for ages. We've cut out her face and she sits on the mantle so Nick can look at her throughout that day. I hope he loves her forever. I hope he's this easy-going forever. If he's anything like his Papa, he was born to soak in life's best offerings. 

The Last Wedding

Once month shy of Lux's 6th birthday and on my last wedding of the year, Ellen finally came to work with me. Years ago, when asked the popular question, "If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?" she responded with, "I don't really take an interest in other people." 

Ellen has lived up to this disinterest and rarely tags along for any outings that aren't based on leisure activities. Her blatant disinterest in your life can often seem offensive but then you remember how far-reaching the concept is and you remember not to take it personally. A few times in my life I have convinced her to run errands with me and it's always great fun. I don't know why she is so resistant.

Hiring Ellen (unpaid of course) for one day proved to be no different. She arrived at my garage 10 minutes early (which greatly juxtaposes Mom's tendency to be 10 minutes late) and helped me heave my floral goodies into our trunks. She was wild-eyed and smily. Most unnerving. We had a 50 minute drive to the venue in our separate cars, so I gave her instructions and then we took off into the world. After a three mile stretch behind a 15mph tractor, bumper to bumper stand still traffic on the Ravenel, two direction reroutes, and the general Mt. Pleasant Friday traffic, we made it to the venue and hour and half later. 

I was certain Ellen would be fuming. I was close to fuming. We pulled up to deliver the bouquets and I jumped out the car to chat with the planner. I was discussing the timeline when I heard a loud bang with a prolonged echo. BAM! AM Am am am mm. I whipped around to find Ellen clinging to a mailbox, an amused wide-eyed look of terror on her face.
"Are you ok?" the photographer asked dryly.
"I slipped on the pine straw!" Ellen declared with suppressed giggles. She had to unwrap her limbs from the mailbox she used to break her fall. The laughter burned in my throat. She and I each let out a few ladylike giggles while the photographer stared with boredom in our direction. We kept it together until the very moment the planner and photographer left to go inside and then we both doubled over and blasted out our cackles for the sake of our health. I suppose to you had to hear the ridiculous sound of the mailbox and see the shock on Ellen's face to really appreciate it but I'll have you know that we laughed about this the entire day. 

If she was grumpy about the traffic, it all dissolved the moment we caught these giggles. We chuckled and guffawed all throughout unloading the cars, setting out candles, fussing with ferns, and counting votives. She was a happy little helper who took a great interest in the venue itself. 

"It's gorgeous here!" she declared. "I want to get married here!"

"You're already married," I reminded her. 

"I know but we never had the party! This place is perfect... would Mom and Dad think I was crazy? How much is this place?"

Towards the end of our day, I began the last piece of my floral puzzle, those pillars up there in the photo. I just needed to adjust the greens and then add some tropical blooms. Around this time, Ellen became concerned about the evening traffic. 

"Come on Laura, we gotta get outta here before traffic, I'm not sitting in that again!"

"This is the last thing on my list. You can go if you want to."

"No no. I'll stay. But hurry up!"

It turns out I am still not immune to the bossy demands of my older sister. I found myself flustered, rushing to jam flowers into place so I could get Ellen out on time. I cut a few corners and snipped stems too short by accident. About 10 minutes later, Ellen couldn't take it and decided to leave. It was great timing. I had nothing else for her to do and I was aaallllmost done. I thanked her for her help and she left. 

Now I could wrap up these details in peace. I finished my floral pillars and put them in place for the ceremony. Now it was time for my final walk-through. I adjusted centerpieces and arranged loose greenery, etc and 20 minutes later, a sweaty and exasperated Ellen burst through the elevator doors. 

"I gave the valet guys the wrong ticket. It took them 10 minutes and they brought up YOUR car! I parked it down the street. It's check-in time so there's people everywhere. It's going to be impossible for your to load up your car." I looked at her and then turned a votive just so. "Are you done yet? I'll help you load the crap into my car and then drive you over to yours."

But I wasn't done yet. But Ellen was now in business mode. No more giggling about the mailbox mishap or taking countless invasive photos of me while I worked. She was not going to sit in the traffic. 

"I can be done in 5 minutes if you help me do this one thing," I said. 

"Man!" she screeched, "What is it?" 

We relocated some potted ferns and then she decided to go find us a cart to load up my boxes. Suits me, I was still primping. Before I knew it, she had procured some kind of rolling trolley, stacked up all of my buckets and boxes, and had the elevator doors open and ready. 

I had two very minor things to check on still, but my fear of Ellen outweighed the fear of a slightly inconvenienced customer, so I did what any sane person would do, and I left the job 1% incomplete and joined Ellen in the elevator. I knew better. 

The valet took 20 minutes to bring her car around. She heaved my supplies into her trunk, abandoned the maintenance trolley in the parking lot, and then sped off towards my car. Her mood had not soured but she was certainly on a mission. She pulled up behind my car and then sat there while I carefully transferred everything into my trunk. 

"Hurry up, man!" she barked from the front seat. 

"This would go faster if you helped me," I said quietly.

"Oh I'm sorry!" She jumped out, grabbed an impressive armful of boxes, threw them into my car, got back behind the wheel and then sped off into the afternoon. 

Somehow, I still think she's a national treasure.