Another Two Month Roundup

I haven't told you what we've been up to since February. That's the worthless power of a bi-monthly update. There I am, wondering aloud what we'll do with our lives and then I'll ramble on about Japan and house projects and meanwhile two full months will pass. I'm still stalling now as I type this... because mostly we still don't know. 

So! Scenes from the last two months:

Papa; dutifully fixing toys since '89.

My chicken group has set our sights on Food Lion. This weekend we have our third parking-lot protest. I'll go ahead and tell you that Food Lion staff have been lovely, as have the local police who come read us our rights. I hope corporate will cave soon, but this has been a delightful campaign.

Since his return from east Asia, the Big One has officially stopped working for the old firm, bought the required computer and softwares to do structural engineering from his guest-room office, made spreadsheets about finances, and somehow managed to be just as busy as he was when legally employed. I thought his temporary "retirement" would result in lazy mornings, whimsical afternoons, and periods of stagnant boredom, but I was wrong. I think I've just now learned that Brett Eisenhauer doesn't really relax. He takes breaks of course. He often leaps around the living room to incite the pups, slaps me around, goes surfing, and reads books in the hammock, but he doesn't wake up wondering how he'll fill a day with luxury and leisure. He finds things to fix, study, or improve. 

I'm slightly disappointed. 

I did not get the job I interviewed for while he was out (what a relief!) and suggested that the universe simply prefers me to be unemployed. What with all I do for the chickens...

It's actually that I want to do volunteer work professionally. I have too many good things I'm working on. It's a shame I don't get paid to do it, because it thrills me and there are so many different pots on that stove that things are always different and exciting. I've loosely decided to try to build a local coalition of sorts. It's still in the beginning stages but I've got a partner in this endeavor and she's much smarter than I am. She and I did go spend Earth Day at the College of Charleston - talking to kids about food systems and what not. I loved it a surprising amount (and now secretly want to work on campus with all the neat kids I met. Think they'd hire me to just encourage their good thoughts?) The kids I spoke to were so much more knowledgeable about things than I was at their age, and they're plugged into efforts and initiatives that you couldn't have paid me to participate in back then. I found it all encouraging and enlivening. 

Big Mama found a last minute deal for a beach house at Edisto, so the family loaded up and headed out. We had a near full-house with Ellen and Lee's squirts accompanied by Owen and Ethan, but that brand of chaotic goodness was short lived as the little ones still had to go to school. We snacked, napped, lounged in the sun, and played one full round of Shanghai. A cast of characters came in and out throughout the week but the home had one full-time resident, Big Mama U, who appreciated every second of being on Edisto. 

Ellen has moved into a new position at her workplace - something she's been waiting months for - and Lee Lee has officially earned his captain's license. Cap'n Lee it is! 

Olivia has taken an interest in outer space while Nick works on not wetting his pants. He's been doing a good job, but the excitement of an egg hunt proved to be too much this Easter, and he arrived back to the adults with a full basket, a big smile, and a sizable stain on his pants. I thought it was most amusing and when Ellen asked him about it, he ran to the end of the yard and hung his head in shame. 

Ah the next generation. 

Finally, in pet news; Pippa has developed a new mystery ailment and Grace has found a way to escape the backyard. Both of these inadvertently take a good hour out of affected days. Ferguson arrived home with a large puncture wound in his back (he's not bothered), Nora has taken to challenging Pippa for prime sofa real-estate, and one of my feral cats has had two kittens. One is orange and one is black and they are both so tiny and cute. They are afraid of me, so no pictures yet.

Brett told me I can't feed them. 

I understand.

New blooms in my wildflower patch!

Longing to escape for good.

While He Was Out

Enough complaining about the burden of love. 

With my beloved roadblock out of the way, I tackled a handful of house projects. Brett has lots of opinions on things - as most people do - but while he may feel strongly about about say, the color we paint the hallway, he doesn't feel strongly enough to ever put thought into it. So I may say, "Hey, I think I want to paint the hallway a sunny yellow or a broody blue," and he'll respond with, "Hmm... ok. Well, that's something we could talk about." and then I'll say, "Oh yeah? Don't want me to just do it? Be done with it? Change it if you don't like it?" To which he'll respond, "I just think we need to consider all the options." I've already done that, of course, so I'll say, "Ok, why don't you get on Pinterest and look at paint colors you like?" And then he'll grunt. 

I'll ask him a few times to do this and he never will, because he doesn't really care. He just wants some say - I get it. But meanwhile, weeks and months later, I'm left trying to determine how betrayed he'll feel if I just go ahead and do it. 

That was a real example up there, so no, I  haven't painted the hallway (and Brett probably hasn't remembered that conversation). But, while we was out, I had 4 projects to complete (none of which would result in feelings of betrayal): paint all the trim in the house, fix the ceiling in the main room, sand and paint a drywall patch in the bathroom, and pizzazzy up the patio. 

The painting went as expected, so I'll spare you a play-by-play. Dad hooked me up with two guys that could come fix the ceiling. Their names were James and Ricky. James was the head honcho, but anytime I poked my head in, James was sitting on a bucket playing on his phone while Ricky did all the work. They had to do a bunch of sanding while they were working so I emptied out the main room as best I could and then draped the place in plastic. 

James and Ricky helped with the renovations when we first moved in here, so they were interested to see the finished product. While they worked, I sat in my little office, typing away at my computer, occasionally answering phone calls, and being what would appear to be, a busy, working person. And I know they saw me, because sometimes they would poke their heads into the office to ask me questions, and it wasn't like I had cartoons playing on multiple monitors. 

One morning, Ricky asked, "What does your husband do?"
"He's a structural engineer," I responded. And then Ricky nodded his head and looked all around and out the window, taking in all the prettiness I suppose. James grunted his approval. I waited for Ricky to ask what I do for work, but he didn't. Instead he asked, "How many kids y'all have?"

"None," and I smiled.
"Y'all ain't got no kids!" James exclaimed from his bucket.
"Why not?" Ricky asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.

If ever there was audience who wouldn't understand a young woman's reason not to reproduce, it would be two men in their 60's who have spent a lifetime doing back-breaking labor. They did their part - I should do mine. So I simply said, "I've never wanted any." That is true, but the real answer would involve touching on philosophy, psycology, and a whole host of somewhat progressive concepts. They would never hear me out.

"What about your husband? I bet he wants kids?" 
I smiled but just shook my head. They looked at me in silent confusion for a moment.
"She's just not ready," James told Ricky. Ricky turned around to look at his friend and nodded in consideration. 
"How old are you?" Ricky asked.
"Thirty four." 

Then Ricky grimaced, flexing his neck muscles and exposing his bottom teeth in the universal sign for 'uh oh.'
"She's just not ready," James repeated. "She will." Ricky nodded again, comforting himself. 

"Yeah, she will," he repeated after James, "She will. She's not ready."

I waited for them to ask me what I would do instead ... like a career or life goals or hopes for myself, but they didn't.

"Who gone take care of you when you're old?"

They continued to heckle me about it for a few minutes, proud of themselves for each having four kids and suggesting that even if I adopted one, I'd be better off. I went back to my office tickled, only slightly offended, but mostly wondering what James and Ricky's lives have been like so far. And the lives of their wives, for that matter.

When they left that afternoon, I prepped the patio; sealed up and leveled out big cracks in the concrete pad and put down a coat of light gray concrete paint as the base layer. I ran out of paint right at the end, leaving a little 2x5 foot patch unpainted. I'd have to go back to the hardware store for more. I'd do it tomorrow.

Ricky came back the next day to finish the job without James. Again, he stuck his head in my office, no doubt noticing my multiple screens of USDA protocols and legal petitions on food distribution, and asked if he could borrow a bucket. I took him out back to the garage and on the way back in, he saw the unpainted patch of patio and noticed that it all looked different than yesterday. He pointed at it and looked at me, quizzically. "I ran out of paint," I told him. 

"You did this?"

"Yeah," I said cheerfully, "I'm going to paint something on it."

"Why?"

"Just trying to make it look nicer. It a dirty old cracked slab but I don't want to repave it." Ricky thought about this a long time before nodding his head and saying, "Well that's good. I guess it gives you something to do." 

Then he turned and went back inside.

I had to keep from laughing out loud. His lack of expectations of me is unprecedented. I've never met anyone who regarded me as a vessel for domesticity so openly. So singularly. Ricky finished up work on the ceiling and packed up his truck. I asked him what he was going to do with his weekend and we spent a good half hour talking ... only about him of course. I waiting for him to ask anything about me, but he didn't.

He's known around his town for his grillin'. He cooks for crowds almost every weekend and has people traveling to his neighborhood to taste his food.

"You should start a restaurant, Ricky," I told him, "Or least hire some folks to help you so you can take on all these jobs you have to turn down."

"I want to, but I don't know... I can't find any reliable help," he told me. He went on to show me several pictures of roasted animals - fully intact. "Here's a whole hog I did last weekend." I looked at the charred, blistered skin on what looked to be an adolescent pig, an image that normally perturbs me, but I had to keep from laughing. He swiped to the next, "Here's a turkey and a half dozen chickens." He swiped again. "And see here. Twenty-four beef cheeks," he declared proudly.

Ricky managed to hit all the highlights. His outdated patriarchal views, offensive lack of curiosity about the human he spent three days with (me), and now he's showing me the live animals he buys and roasts -  animals I spend hours each day earning tiny rights for. Ricky had no idea just how big he was fumbling for this particular audience.

I found him hopelessly endearing.

"Ricky, if people are paying for the food, they need to be paying for your time too," I told him. "You're staying up all night smoking these meals. Those are working hours."

Ricky looked bashful.

"Don't sell yourself short, Ricky!"

The last bit I'll tell you about is the patio. I wanted to paint a checkered floor on it. Now, I challenge you to do a googling about this because people frequently put in checkered floors - they are charming and whimsical - but, some people fail at it and they don't even know it. How can you fail at something as simple as lining up squares? Well I'll tell you. They line them up parallel to the surrounding walls. No! This is wrong. It will only look right, if you place your squares on a diagonal. Here, I'll show you.

            Classic and Soothing                                                                Alice in Wonderland - Funhouse floor 

It's all about the diagonal! (Tile size and contrast are also important considerations.) So, herein lies my problem - how do you draw out the lines for a painted checkered floor if you can't just mark every 24 inches and draw a line? I spent half a day tracing a square stencil (a roughly-the-right-size square painting I pulled off the wall) at an awkward diagonal on the concrete floor. I knew some engineer type could probably tell me a simple mathematical way to draw the lines, but the only one I know was in Japan. Google didn't help either. So I'd plop down my square, butt a loosely-straight board up against it and then drag my pencil as far as I could. The farther I got from my original square the more splayed and rectangular the sections became. Also, I took a step back and decided the square size was too small. But only barely. Should I start over with a bigger stencil? I've already invested so many hours and it was so hard to keep the lines straight.

I called Mom. 

It took a lot of hemming and hawing before she agreed that they probably are too small. "But I'll help you re-do it!"

Mom and I spent the next day trying to draw out the lines. It was no easier the second time around but it was significantly more amusing. We giggled and schemed and messed up and laughed, and when we'd step back, our squares were splaying out and becoming rectangular.

"Well wait a minute. How did that happen?"

"Hmm.. let's start again from over here."

"Ok."

We'd redraw the line, feeling great about it this time ... and then it wouldn't line up with the ending point.

"Well wait a minute. How's that?"

We'd carefully line up our wonky board, double check that the starting point and the finishing point were accounted for and then we'd start in the middle and each trace the board in a different direction. None of it ever really lined up properly and we were dumbfounded every time. Sometimes one of us would catch the other messing up in real time and then we would chastise and laugh at them, and one time I realized mom and I were both drawing the same line in the same direction - my pencil dutifully following behind hers. 

"Go the other way!"

We finally finished drawing them, stepped back, and agreed ... they're too big.

But we weren't starting over, so we starting painting. We had to make educated guesses on which of the many scribbled and scratched-out lines we intended for us to use as THE line, so painting proved to be challenging too. None of the corners meet up, the grey paint dried blue, and we were both astonishingly achy from three days spent working on a cement floor, but we got it done... if you don't look too close.

Limbo

Did I forget I have this blog? Yep. I sure did. Almost the whole month has passed and my brain just meekly said, "Hey Lue, uh... sorry to bother you. It's just that, well, you haven't done your blog in awhile... and well..."

"Enough!" I shouted in response. "You're right. I forgot."

It's because I'm living life in limbo. Brett and I had a whole strategy for the the first chunk of this year. It was all loosely laid out - and by that I mean, we had no real plans but we knew what we wanted. So in researching how to get that ball rolling, I stumbled upon a job posting of so much wonderful potential that I just couldn't help but apply. This was December 30th. 

On New Year's Day, I hopped on a call for an initial interview. Then I floated around my house for two weeks, unable to commit to any tasks because I was waiting for that email of next steps. Will they invite me to the next round? Will it be in-person? Will they not call me back at all? 
I don't know what you call this affliction, but I most certainly inherited it from Big Mama U. If we're waiting on something, we just can't do anything in the meantime. For example, if Mom has to be somewhere at 2:00, she'll spend the whole morning flitting about; straightening pillows, a quick email check, a scan of the newspaper. But no committing to any tasks that take legitimate time or mental acuity. Why? Because you could get too involved in your task and then forget about the 2:00 commitment. Or because doing other things could leave you without the appropriate mental capacity to prepare for whatever outing you've likely been roped into attending. 

For this reason, Mom and I both like to front-load our day so that we don't waste a morning twiddling thumbs, and so that once were done for the day, we can truly be done. We don't like to leave our homes after 2 or 3 o'clock. Also, we never had to discuss this. I reckon Mom was always this way, I grew into the affliction, and one day one of us must have verbalized our inability to do things while waiting for things, and that's when we each felt seen on the matter. 

So, I did mostly nothing for two weeks until my in-person interview... in Raleigh, NC.

Meanwhile, the ante was upped at Brett's job place. He's got projects that have come back from the dead, projects that refuse to die, checks that somehow just never get delivered (that is the longest saga), and this and that and all kinds of other things that never allow Brett to ever actually scratch any work off of his list. His entire profession keeps him in a perpetual state of limbo.

We went up to Raleigh for my interview. Ellie and Caroline came with us because Caroline used to live in the area and thought she could be very helpful directing us to areas of town we might like to live in if I happen to get the job. We had a big time up there - it's very pretty, even in the freezing rain we had while we were there - and then came back home to wait for the next steps. 

I did nothing for two more days. 

Then Erik came to stay at our house for one night. He's headed off for an adventure to New Zealand and rented out his house while he's away. The renter showed up one day early so Erik and his suitcase came over to our house. That night, we got a very big snow (!!) so Erik's flight was cancelled, and Brett had to work from home. So Erik and I spent a day flitting about, burning time, because neither of us really know what to do with ourselves while Brett clickity-clacked his keyboard in the other room.

The snow didn't really melt much, so the next day, Erik's flight was cancelled again. He had to spend another day twiddling his thumbs on our couch. Then I got an email with an official offer letter for the job in Raleigh. I got all nervous and screechy and called all my friends to ask what I should do. Brett beamed at me from his office chair. Erik rooted around in his bag of plane snacks while I made a list of pros and cons and declared that no matter what we're not selling our house.

Today, Brett put in his two weeks.

We have four extra chilly animals sleeping in the bed with us at night. There is snow on the ground and icy roads keeping us trapped at home. We have an accidental houseguest who doesn't trust his latest flight update. Brett has a future to plan. I have a really cool job offer in my inbox that is keeping me from doing anything productive until our path is set in stone. 

None of us know what to do with ourselves. 
What will happen next?

A Summer Sumry

The summertime imagery in my brain is the likes of salt marshes, the greenest grass, bike rides down oak avenues, beach towels, brilliant blue swimming pools, and hammocks. Oh! And screen porches. I imagine for people in the mountains it's bike rides on dirt roads, dips in chilly streams, climbing trees, and wooded explorations in dense, earthy scented labyrinths. For city folks I reckon it's hot cement. 

As a squirt, summer was so much longer than it is in real life, and it was full of potential. Just about everyday was open to you. In those first 16ish years, I learned summer to be a time of leisure, freedom, and possibility. I remember the first few summers where I had jobs that didn't disappear just because the weather went nice, and I had to reckon with the adult reality that summer is no different than any other time of the year, except that the weather goes nice and you've got the lingering feeling that you're being shafted somehow. 

This past summer, this summer of 2024, will go down as my least summery summer, if not also the most fast-paced, adulty, data-driven summer. I went from grad school to a job that was too big for me to a meltdown state and then back to calm nothingness again just in time for Fall. A true whirlwind - though also highly educational. 

So, in-between the left-brained mayhem, there were these colorful moments.

Just the best team of people I've ever gotten to work with.

Gregory Alan Isakov and Ray LaMontagne's concert... in the grass... with my favorite food truck present.

 I was beside myself.

Pre-Adventure Musings

Remember 10 years ago on this blog when you would get to see pictures from oh so many different aspects of my life? My walk to class, a friend in town, a big cake I made for a birthday. These days it's just Brett and all the critters we share our lives with. I'm thrilled about it, mind you. It's not until I go to write a blog post that I realize I haven't been out in the world. 

In any case, and speaking of being out in the world, we're heading out. So in some cases yes, this is an obligatory post with no real point to it, just so I can keep up with my sidebar numbers game. (Two posts a month is so minor. If I can't manage that I don't deserve to keep this blog.) I've got to get that second post in before the end of the month. 

I've been packing, vacuuming, and writing extensive instructions for the people looking after all the animals while were away. You don't realize what a job it is to care for your animals, as well as how unhinged you've become, until you're explaining that yes, you can take Grace to the beach, but don't force her to go too close to the water because the crashing waves really scare her. 

While the cats don't really care who feeds them, so long as they are fed, I particularly feel bad sending Pippa off to camp for the trip. Sometimes she has a great time a doggy camp and other times they'll report back that she was "a bashful wallflower." She and I have this drastic pendulum of personality in common. Sometimes I'm a riot. Other times I just want to go hug mom. So I can sympathize with being away from home AND having to spend time with... others. Grace will stay here at the house with Erik, our house sitter. 

Morning pep-talk.

Meanwhile, in preparation for our departure, EisenEars has been working extra late to finish things at work but today he called me with updates that are going to equal out to his team being "blown out" upon his return. Last night he was real stressed and whatnot, but today's news allowed him to really turn a corner. "You know, I'm so far in the hole, what's a few more feet?" he laughed as he stepped up to order a coffee. 

I have spoken to Ellen on the phone more times this week than takes place over the standard month. She's all whipped up and excited and nervous and, as you know, real bossy about our travel plans. I'm excited to spend the trip observing her in her natural habitat. Brett and I have a list of "over/ unders" on when in the trip she will say what phrases. I love this part of traveling. 

Mom and Dad left two days ago for Prague, spent a day and a half in the Charlotte airport, and finally gave up and went to Zurich. While it was an awful ordeal, I was particularly entertained by Dad's blasé texts on the matter. While Mom was fuming, he was sending gifs of Obama, Seinfeld characters, and airplanes flapping their wings. It's the little things. 
Today Lee dropped off the squirts with Marcia and Ellen, understandably, made a Target run.

Wild times over here in preparation for a grand Italian adventure.

A very brave first for nervous Nora. 

(Her first real cuddle.)

Springtime Giddiness

We made it. It's warm out. That felt like an especially long winter - but I reckon it's because winter doesn't foster lots of hopeful dreaming, and a lack of that sort of thing just leaves you wallowing around with  your stuffy nose and dry, scaly skin.

There was that limbo moment when the sun was hot but the outside temperature was still chilly. That was about a two week period, so both dogs, both cats, and I set up shop in the bedroom where the sun comes into the window and heats up the floor to a most excellent temperature. All the pets tolerated lazing in such close proximity to each other presumably because we all understood the yearning for a comfortable outside temperature and the universal luxury of sunbathing.

Now that it's warm out, all the people and animals are coming out from our hovels with our disheveled fur and pasty complexions, and the world feels full and busy again. It's fun being in an actual neighborhood because you get to track and monitor the activities of your neighbors. All the Spring, Summer and Fall joggers are definitely not Winter joggers - so months pass without seeing them. It's nice to see that they've survived for another go round. Friends start leaving for long weekend adventures, the flowers bloom, lawn care reignites, traffic builds, restaurants fill up... what a busy little anthill we live in. 

Brett and I are no exception and we've been outside as much as possible; visiting all the parks, public docks, and outdoor cafes with friends.

That reminds me. This is Ned Cricket. He has a broken foot and an ornery disposition. He's my latest rescue mission but he won't let me too close. I'll keep you posted.

I found a bunch of old seed packets in a storage bin while I was cleaning so I somewhat haphazardly sprinkled them into some dirt and now we have more seedlings than we know what to do with. This is photo is about 25% of them. I didn't think they would even sprout. Surely they won't all survive right? That will be too many tomatoes. Either way, the thrill I've been getting watching these grow might be unreasonable. 

A blog post of substance will be coming soon. I've overbooked myself for the month of April and am floundering around juggling things. I hate when I do this to myself. It usually only happens once or twice each year but it comes on so fast you can't stop in. 

In the meantime - Liv and Dad at Easter lunch.