Cookin' Veggies

As I whipped up some walnut-encrusted artichoke hearts for supper the other night, I got to thinking about... like... my nutrition journey? (I hope you read that with the appropriate level of vacuousness.) Ditching the meat-eating has resulted in a fun shift in my mealtimes. We eat much more variety than ever before. We buy the frightening, foreign vegetables in the grocery store and then figure out how to cook them. We have "mastered" cooking techniques from around the globe, and by that I mean that we can make basic ethnic dishes without using a recipe. That makes a person feel very capable. We cook more, we try more, we increase our variety of vitamins and minerals! I've always liked cooking. Remember 10 year old Lue, whipping up creme brûlée after seeing it on the food network? But since factory farming spoiled my appetite, I've really gotten into a "learning and discovery" side of cooking that I'd never taken the time for. 

Here I am breaking at least two health and safety regulations. 

As for Brett, he loves it too and I'm not just saying that because I'm the author of this story. He's the king of kitchen experiments so in some ways, he sees it as a fun challenge. He does still eat meat, usually for lunch, but has been glad to skip it at suppertime as his part of reducing the environmental impact of animal agriculture. Aren't we a pair? 
He admitted that my initial declaration of vegetarianism worried him. He assumed we'd live a life of rice and beans, becoming even more lean and scary-looking, but I really blew him out of the water on the first month and he's enjoyed it ever since. 

Which got me to thinking about the varying reactions of my family members. 
When I said, "I'm not eating meat anymore"...

Dad: Supportive but confused. "You can't to that! You'll die!" From the start, he swapped to humanely-raised animal products and prepared extra veggies for me at Sunday dinner. As time has passed, he's asked lots of questions about factory farming, offered business insights on advocacy tactics, expressed pride in his "little activist", and cut down his own meat-eating because the research has gotten to him. "You're right about all this, Lue." (-not a direct quote.)

Mom: Confused and ever-so-slightly annoyed. There was a clear and present eye-roll. Since that initial and signature Guy-family reaction, Mom gracefully accepted my decision and moved on. Sometimes she forgets though, and offers me "the best grilled chicken Dad's ever made!" and then when I decline she goes, "Oh, right."

Lee: "That's cool." Lee just lets a person be who they are. I love that about Lee. As a water fella, he pointed me towards some happy fish protection programs and understands my appreciation for nature and critters.

Caroline, Ellie, Ari, Nate, Alex, Jessie, any and all of our friends: "Oh, ok. So anyways..."

Ellen: Immediate ridicule. She does not want to hear anything about animal cruelty (understandable) and subsequently chooses the path of cognitive dissonance so that she can enjoy her favorite protein sources.  She believes in protein even though I've sited the many sources that say Americans eat more protein than they need. If anything is ever wrong in my life, she tells me it's because I don't eat meat. I cannot be tired, achy, or congested without her reminding me of my dietary choices. If Brett eats multiple servings of supper (which he always has) she accuses me of not feeding him any meat. "Poor guy must be starving!" If I cook for the family and only provide enough meat for small servings (as dietary guidelines would recommend) she chastises me and called me a "loser." Last week she asked Mom and Dad where they think they went wrong with me.

For record, she and I both laugh while she cuts me down... so she only half means it.

Greecey Memories

Something made me realize that my big Greecey summer was 10 years ago. Ten! That was the happiest little whirlwind I had ever experienced and it's still the memory I have of being young and free. I said "the memory" on purpose. I mostly always feel somewhat young and somewhat free, but that summer I decided not to be a polite and studious southern belle. 

Actually, I didn't really decide to be a bashful party girl with a solid awareness of her surroundings. All the fun just pulled it out of me. 

I'd show up late to my classes wearing the clothes I'd gone out in the night before, because I never did go back to my apartment. Me and all the happy, local young folks that had nowhere to be the next day, would eventually wander out of the bars and onto the beach to wait for the sunrise. I put in half-effort on my homework and instead befriended the many groups of cute Australian tourists who kept getting off the ferry on the wrong island. They taught me Australian slang and helped my practice my accent.
I accidentally wooed the town heartthrob, caused a scene for an Albanian fella, bought my groceries in an open air-market, had internet access for only a half hour a day, wound up at a strange drum-circle one night, had the best nachos (of all things), and rode around the tiny island on that heartthrob guy's moped. He would come pick me up while all my friends had to walk. They scoffed at me for it. He'd drop me off wherever I was going and then disappear into the night, the way a mysterious Greek stranger ought to. (I checked with locals that he wouldn't kill me.) My friends would arrive all sweaty and tired, and I'd already be there enjoying a plate of souvlaki. 

I met wonderful, life-filled people from every possible country. I took a catamaran to Mykonos, photographed an ancient monastery, skipped sleep, ate pastries, feta, fruit and honey, and finally paid for it with a fever and sore throat. 

I've never had so much fun. 

From Paros I went to Wales and from Wales to Italy to meet with Jared and the family for a Mediterranean adventure. I got home from all that around this time ten years ago. 

Paros has been "discovered" now. It's in all the magazines and lists of "must-see" islands. Half of the people I spent my time there with are married and living somewhere else. A few are still there, staying up late and stepping on sea urchins. I want to take Brett there to have that fun and to visit my old pals, but alas, that specific moment in time is gone. 

Like the Surf Bar days. Or the musical Julie and Omar friend group. 
These little pockets of goodness. 

We Did It

We bought a little dump on the water. Here we are standing on our new dock. 

This photo is deceptive in two ways. I know it looks like we're standing on a portion of a spacious wooden pier but that's the whole dock there in the picture. Maybe there's another 9 inches or so. Also, the place is on James Island, not in Florida like those tropical blues are suggesting. I don't know what that blue filter is about.

After Brett's brief and ill-fated romance with that one house Downtown, I was apprehensive about showing him my latest find - because it was quite unattractive, not any bigger than our current home, and has about a fifth of the garage space. Also, it needed a major overhaul, or perhaps simply just needed to be set on fire. But that up there, that water, that made it worth it. 

It didn't take much to convince him so we called Dad, set up a showing, and then came home and redrew the floor plan on our white board.

Here's what we bought.

A'int she a beauty?

The place was built in '59 and seems to have not been touched since. The previous owner asked us to come meet her at the house so she could show us how it works. The short of it is that the previous owner never threw anything away, never weeded a garden, wasn't keen on updates, and doesn't believe in central heating and air. She showed us how she turned the gas on at the breaker when she wanted to cook something. "And then just flip it back off when you're done." She gave us a whole tour of this ilk and she believed we were going to continue living there just as she had. "Here's how you clean the pump when the water pressure goes low... that's why I kept this toothbrush." 

"Now the oven is from the 1960's but it still works- just remember that it's 50 degrees too hot."

But all that is worth this:

Now back to business. We're knocking out the center wall, vaulting the ceilings, and moving the kitchen into the dining room. I knew those three things the moment I set foot into the house but it took a minute to convince Brett and contractor Dad. But I knew I was right - I just had to wait for the men folk to think it was their idea.

Contractor Dad who works at the speed of light, was ready to rip out sheetrock on the day we closed. I was too. But not Brett. Brett wanted to have a full plan in place before we did anything. That's not how contractor Dad works. The first two weeks was a rough takeoff. We finally convinced Brett to just peek, just have a wee little peek at what's behind the sheetrock, and before we knew it, Brett was kicking through walls and swinging a hammer with gusto. 

This was the status as of last week. 

Since these photos, we have ripped out the ceiling in the main room and the floor in the kitchen. I really did myself a favor by marrying a structural engineer. He's been designing our vaulted ceiling which, given the roofline, has been especially tricky to retrofit. Dad hasn't vaulted a ceiling before so he and Brett have been working together on the plan and Dad has suddenly realized how willy-nilly he's been taking out and putting in beams this whole time. "I didn't know it worked like that!"

Meanwhile the previous owner keeps coming up with excuses to come over to see what we're doing. We'd been keeping her at bay until she finally got mad and informed me via email that she was coming over to pick flowers from the yard. (But those are my flowers now!) Then she saw the bit of construction and became "distraught." Later that night I received and angry email from her about how spoiled I am. So that was nice. (Not sure why I'm the only one being targeted... what is it with crazy old women hating me?)

Now she is only emailing Brett who she says is much nicer and more reliable than I am. 

Bit of weeding needed in the front.

View from the front porch.

But she can't keep me down. We love the new neighborhood (it's the last one on James Island before it turns in to Folly Beach territory), the yard full of fruit trees (grapes, figs, persimmons, pomegranates, and pecans), and the big plans I have for inside. 

Now I'll admit there was a period of bickering between Brett and I when he realized I'd already redesigned the whole house without him. And I didn't mean to do it without him - it's just that it all seemed so obvious. So then I had to wait around awhile until, again, he realized I was right. We're on the same page about most things, so don't go worrying about us. I just have way more time to think about it than he does so sometimes he gets left in the dust. But in my defense, his nickname in high school was "The Sloth" so...

We have ordered windows, kitchen cabinets, and designed a master bath and closet to take over one of the bedrooms. When we started this project, Brett and I knew we could do a "Reasonable Renovation" and make the place perfectly nice and livable or we could do what he's been calling "The Buxom Blowout" renovation which is making the house what we really want it to be. It cost money to make a place nice, you know. And sometimes you have to do what's best for the house. For example, we don't prefer open-concept houses, but this house needs light and space, so were sure we got that right, even though there won't be any room for funky artwork or hiding from unwanted guests. At the moment, we're going with structurally buxom, decoratively reasonable.

But once the invoices pile up, I bet everything will change. 

Bachelorette Weekend

From NC I took two short flights to DC to celebrate Jessie's upcoming wedding with all of her bridesmaids. The maid of honor, Sarah, and I landed soonest so we met in a salad restaurant in Capital Hill  (on Capital Hill?) and sat with our collection of luggage while busy political types in smart clothing brisked through for a quick lunch. Being that I'm not from DC, I gave bad directions to my Lyft driver from the airport and he had to take me all over until I could figure out where I was supposed to be. Did you know you have to specify cardinal directions in that town? I'd never make it. 

While in DC I pretended I was a handful of people I know who once lived there. For a time I was Brett, fresh out of college wandering U-street with his brother's friends. I thought of Katie Hon and wondered how often she ventured into the city as a youngster. (She's from real close by - according to my pocket googler.) I was Will Hon living with a buncha fellas and Petey, the big leaning dog. I was Papa Clint, kicking butt for shipping policy and putting my foot in my mouth. Did I venture into any of the same spots as all of these beloved people? Did I wander into Clint's favorite coffee shop or a place Brett may have taken a gal on a date? Is this what everyone thinks about when they go somewhere their friends have been?

Finally I found Sarah in the salad shop and then we talked and gabbed until our rental house was ready. We rolled our luggage down the mean streets of DC and I kept an eye out for purse-snatchers and yankees, though that Capital Hill area was quite pretty. We got to our house just as Jessie, Lydia, and Madison were unloading a car full of groceries. So then we all talked and gabbed until the weekend was done. 

Here is our beautiful bride in a crown that Sarah insisted she wear. I thought the bit of tulle looked like a toilet paper square - so it became the toilet paper crown and Jessie dutifully wore it around town. Sometimes, she would sneak it off of her head and look at me with great relief. 

We hit lots of DC highlights that you wouldn't expect from a group of gals on a bachelorette weekend. While I didn't know what to expect, I didn't imagine that Jessie's closest friends would be the drunken trollop type. Jessie is gentle, thoughtful, especially intelligent, giggly, and creative. Bimbo's aren't usually very creative. 

The group of us gals covered a spectrum of personality types and interests but somehow we all fell into perfect harmony right away. What a lovely group of girls. They're all quite smart (everyone had a masters or PhD), easily amused, appreciative of individuality, and shared a fondness for cheese plates. I kept trying to pick a favorite girl and I just couldn't. They all brought something irreplaceable to to the group. 

Here's the bulk of us.

We had quiet girls, loud girls, girlie girls, athletes, hippies, and scholars. We did all the things you would do on a wild bachelorette weekend. 

We wend to the natural history museum, the botanical gardens, assorted monuments, and toured the swanky neighborhood with all the international embassies. We did draw the line at the postal museum - the PhD wanted to go there but it was a tough sell. She ended up going in briefly by herself and came back with all kinds of neat things to share. Suddenly we all wished we had had time to go to the postal museum. 

This is Lydia. She made me laugh the hardest. I wish I had taken a proper picture with her. 

Here I am at the botanical gardens, just beside myself.

No one warned me what a hot place that DC is. It was 85˚, 95˚, 98˚, and 100˚ on the four days I was there, and it was a strange kind of hot - as though there was not a thick moisture barrier protecting your skin from the sun. You just dry roast there. I did get to experience the phenomenon called, shade. Down here in Charleston, when you walk into the shade, it's not really any cooler, you just don't have the sun on you. Up there in DC, there is a legitimate temperature difference in the shade! I could hardly believe it.

Three times over this weekend I became genuinely frightened about the temperature. It was too hot to be aimlessly wandering. 100˚ is dangerous. I quietly panicked in the back of the group until we got wherever we were going. Then I'd douse my snappy towel in cold water and send gratitude up to Jesus. I also experienced the phenomenon of having no exit strategy. When you're on foot in big city (Is DC big? It was new and confusing so it felt big.) you can't just get out of the elements. You have to endure until you get where you're going. Here, if I get hot, hungry or tired, I just get in my air-conditioned car and go home. I felt stranded out there on those clean city streets... I'm a real weenie. 

We made sure to stop for sweets n' treats whenever possible. One of Alex's sisters (Alex is Jessie's groom) lives in DC so she took us around in her car and dumped us out at the best sweet spots. 

Jessie is an organized and logical type so she couldn't fully hand over the weekend plans to Sarah. She did some research and found a jazz club she wanted to go to. So we all oozed that way and listened to some live tunes while we ate supper. I sent Brett a grainy photo of the space and he wrote back immediately, "Are you on U-street. It that Jojo's?"

We were. And it was. So I DID wander into an old favorite. Turns out that Papa Clint was a regular at Jojo's back in the day - they knew his name and his favorite cocktail. Papa Clint said Jessie must have good taste.

From there we wandered over to a "speakeasy" that someone had read about. In true speakeasy fashion, we couldn't find the door. We mulled and toiled before Madison just called the place. She was cheerfully chatting on the phone with the host when a couple walked past us and opened the secret door. We all turned our heads to look inside and the host on the phone was just standing there in the doorway. He looked out at us on the street and said in to the receiver, "Is that you all?" to which Madison replied "Yes." 

We all felt very silly. Madison spun around, I guess to break the tension, and continued talking, only to turn back around and find that the host had hung up and everyone had gone inside. I found the whole thing riotously funny but I was alone in my amusement. 

Our final day together was one where Sarah made us wear matching tank tops and took us on a booze cruise on the Potomac. Clint told me to keep an eye out for floating bodies.

It was less about the booze and more about the cruise, but this was the hottest day of our trip and me and another couple girls got to feeling a little woozy. We stood in line in the blazing sun to get onto the boat and then discovered that it was overcrowded, not air-conditioned, and to make matters worse, they were blasting electronic music. Sarah and I began to have wee panic attacks. It was too muggy, loud, and crowded in there for a two hour cruise. I decided it wasn't worth the mental turmoil for me. I decided I'd hop off the boat and wait in a chilly coffee shop in Georgetown. I told Jessie and Sarah my plan (I saw Sarah consider joining me) and in the same moment, we pushed off the dock. 

"Guess we're going to have to survive this."

The girls decided that the direct sun outside of the boat was better than the muggy factor inside the boat, so they all went to the upper deck. Lydia was too close to sunburnt to sit in the sun, so she and I cowered in a strip of shade on the back of the boat where the motor fumes came out. We breathed in that heavy exhaust and were thankful for the shade. 

Shortly after, it clouded over and we were able to join everyone upstairs. There was a real dance party going on up there with two other bachelorette parties. Our bachelorette group was definitely the least fun one on the boat. I spent most of my time talking to Anna (to my right up there) who's fella is from India. They're getting married and have to have two ceremonies -one in the US and another traditional Indian wedding in the city his family lives in. Anna is very non-traditional (doesn't actually want a wedding at all) (hates the implications of the terms "husband" and "wife") and is very unamused about all of it. It was a riveting conversation... and I think I secured Brett and myself an invite to the Indian celebration. 

On our last night together we had a 20's themed murder mystery party and a supper comprised of the leftovers in our fridge ... so, cheese and cake. The only thing more surprising than the sheer volume of group pictures we posed for, was just how much I'd enjoy this group of strange gals from the assorted highlights of Jessie's life so far. 

Papa Clint was right, Jessie has great taste.