Chaos

It's move out weekend and there is currently a hurricane shaking up the trees outside. We move into a temporary rental tomorrow and then the new owners of Black Pig Farms will hunker down here with all of their crap. I'm feeling preemptively guilty about the ugly tracks that our 16ft moving van will leave in the front yard tomorrow. We wouldn't do that on purpose you know. 

Packing up all your crap sure makes a pair go down memory lane. The "keep," "chuck," and "giveaway" piles do not seem to be growing at equal rates. 

"Do you want to keep this?"
"Yeah."
"Why? It's been in the attic since we moved in."
"Just because."

"I get it."

I began packing crap at the start of the month and I realized that all of those things that have been sitting in storage (and at my folks house) is most certainly stuff I don't need. It was the first group out. The "We won't need this between now and moving day" stuff - so really we should simplify our life and get rid of it. 

But we won't. 

In sappy house news, I tried to come up with what I'll miss the most about this place but it's not a certain room or view or spot in the backyard. What I'll miss is sure to be present in the next house - the shock-filled kitchen experiments, giddy cozy movie nights, pantsing Brett and then running away scream laughing.... these are best parts of life at Black Pig Farms. Isn't that icky? With Brett coming along with me to the new house and all, I don't think I'll actively miss this cute little structure. When I think back on my life in another forty years, what I'll remember about it will simply be the high happiness factor of our time here. 

It's been a real joy-filled home. 

Ellen's 34th Birthday Weekend

Even though today is her birthday, we just passed through Ellen's birthday weekend. (Please refer to my previous thoughts on appropriate times to celebrate one's birth date, here.) The weekend itself was a real doozie. Lee's brother, Dayton, got married, so there was lots of hubbub throughout the family to prepare for the big day. I got to make the rehearsal dinner flowers which were so happy and bright and celebratory. Working with colorful blooms is thrilling. 
So that was Friday; I made flower arrangements and Ellen and Lee went to the rehearsal dinner while Mom and Dad watched Nick and Liv. 

Saturday, Brett and I had a garage sale. The collection of tools and wedding decor that we can't take with us made for what we thought would be a tantalizing display for the community. I'm squeamish about asking for money in exchange for crap, so Mom came over to help move along the inventory. I found the whole thing terribly awkward while Brett made assorted man-friends throughout the morning. I've never seen him so chatty. He marked all of his wares too high (no one would bite) while Mom was practically giving away my vases and decorative bee-bobs. "50 cents!' she told one lady holding a $9 candle still in the plastic. In the end we made beans... but we got rid of lots of crap, so I suppose it was a success. 

From the garage sale, Mom darted back home to change into her wedding duds. Ellen was one of the bridesmaids and Liv was the flower girl. So Ellen left early that morning to get ready with the bridesmaids and Lee went to be with the groomsmen. Dad was home watching Nick and Liv by himself which went well except that Nick tinkled all over Dad's lap and then barfed on him. Dad told us last night that he's gotten to an age whereupon feeling that warm sensation take over his legs, it occurred to him that maybe he was the one that tinkled. He had to check.

At 3:00, Nick's babysitter arrived and then Mom, Dad and Liv headed out to the wedding. Meanwhile, Brett and I got our Covid booster shots and then went tile shopping for our new bathroom. We got into a decor fight so calm and understated that I couldn't decide if we were actually mad or just hungry. We brought a Lowes employee into our discrepancy and he patched it all up for us before we went over to Home Depot and gave them our business. 

Back at the wedding, on Ellen's birthday Saturday, she escorted her little blonde princess down the aisle. 

Proper, non-blurry photos to come.

She didn't throw any petals but she sure looked cute. So did Livvy.

Mom and Dad brought Liv home shortly after the ceremony so that Ellen and Lee could stay out and celebrate. 

Back at our place, Brett and I began to wither. 

"Does your head hurt?"

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Uh huh. Is your neck stiff?"

"Yeah. My legs are aching."

I was required to get a Covid booster for an upcoming adventure. Brett chose to go ahead and get the new bivalent booster because both Clint and Susan have Covid right now and Susan is unconcerned about spreading it to others. That night we tumbled into flu-like symptoms and watched Peaky Blinders to remind us that things aren't so bad. 

We got up the next morning (I intentionally didn't say "woke up" because I'm not sure we ever fell asleep) and tried to start packing up the house for our move-out day this coming Saturday. Little progress was made.

By the afternoon we were back on our feet and ready for Ellen's Birthday Sunday Dinner. Dad prepared a meal curated by the birthday girl and then we had cake. Lee's grandma made "the pink cake" for them and you wouldn't believe the amount of frosting Mom consumed. Then we gave Ellen her presents. 

"Brett and I have a little gift for you," I told her at the crowded dinner table. I pulled out the little envelope and passed it over to Ellen. 

"Ooh!" she squealed. Ellen opened the glossy white seal to reveal gift card to a favorite store on King Street. "Oh thank you!" she said. 

"Well," I interrupted, "There's a problem." The table waited for my explanation. "I went by the other day and well, the store has closed."

"What?" Dad said, "What do you mean?

"Well I walked by and it's gone. They're renovating it. Some swanky brand is moving in." The table began to snicker.

"What a horrible gift," Dad said, and then he laughed maniacally.

"Why did they sell you gift card if they were closing?" Brett asked.

"Maybe the employee didn't know." I suggested. Dad's unbridled laughter had the whole table grinning. "But there's an upside!" I added. "I checked, and they have a website with all the same goodies for sale."

"Oh!" Relief washed over the dinner table. Ellen smiled with satisfaction.

"...but you can't use gift cards online," I added.

"This is the worst gift ever!" Dad jeered and then he cackled; gut-busting, sinister laughs.

"I'm going to email them," I said, "Maybe they'll take pity on us!" The family had lots to say about my crappy gift, even though it was purchased with good intentions. 

"Well, thank you," Ellen finally mustered, with a touch of confusion.

Dad then recounted the whole exchange again just for his amusement. "Hey Ellen, here's a gift card to a store that's closed but don't worry, they have a website. You can't use the gift card online but I'll email them tomorrow!" "Hahhahaahaha!"

When the scoffing and laughter died down, Mom slid her birthday card across the table. Inside was a monetary donation, and words of love of course, and Ellen thanked Mom and Dad for their more viable gift. Then it occurred to Ellen that she owed me the exact amount of money that was tucked into her birthday card. "Oh no!" Dad yelled and then broke into another round of self-satisfying laughter. Ellen sheepishly pulled out the cash and slid it down the table to me. I snatched it up and tucked it into my bra. 

"Happy Birthday!" Brett cheered.

Ellen hung her head. "Thanks everyone."

A House Project Update

Contractor Dad has been kicking butt over at "the job site." He schedules other contractors to come in and work on top of each other in the name of speedy progress. We've barely had the place a full month and it's unrecognizable from the inside. Walls are gone. Ceilings are gone. Showers have appeared. We have air conditioning now!

I know it's hard to follow along on a building project in this way. You know I'll do a proper Before/During/After blog post when the time comes - but for now, here's our one big room. 

On the left there is our kitchen sink window. (Well, its the hole for the window- it won't be here until November. Who knew windows had such a long shipping time?) On the far right is the front door. That almost the whole house there in the photo; kitchen, living, and dining.

The ceiling has been insulated since taking these pictures, and the sheetrock is being hung as I type. Taking the ceiling out has really "transformed the space" (they say that a lot on home decor shows) in a way that's even better than we expected. Brett and Dad were convinced it wouldn't be all that much higher due to the house having a low pitched roof, but I ignored their naysaying and insisted, because I like...have a vision?... and they (and I) have been pleasantly surprised. 

In the back of the house, in our very pink bedroom, we replaced the existing wee window with the old sliding glass door that led to the porch. Oh the room is so bright now. 

A fun bit about having your papa be your contractor is that when you make requests (outlandish or otherwise) he scoffs and rolls his eyes instead of saying "Yes ma'am. I'm on it ma'am. You can count on me." The customer is always right you know. Sometimes I'll come to him wild with a brilliant idea and I'll present my scheme and twinkle my excitement in his face. And then he just goes, "No." and walks off. 

Initially, he had this sliding glass door prepared to be placed off-center and it drove me nuts. The window hole and surrounding exterior beebobs made it easier for it sit off to the right. I tiptoed and hemmed and hawed finally asked him, "Hey Pops, can we center that door in the room?" He didn't like it. He didn't think so. 

But you just have to wait him out and then finally he says, "That would look better wouldn't it?" Then he exhales, slumps his exhausted shoulders and calls you a nerd. The next time you come over, it will be fixed.

In the very last room in the house, we're making a bathroom closet duo. Pops has already rigged up a shower, made a wall out of thin air, and snuggled us a toilet area behind a half wall for privacy. 

The best part of the whole renovation is here...

... the archway. I love arches. I love them as doors, windows, cabinets, mirrors, you name it. They feel regal. Classic. European. I asked for three different archways in this house but Dad said no to all but this one; the one dividing the big room from the rest of the house. He said arches are sensationally easy to frame out so I scoffed at his unwillingness to arc my other two doorways. (It's that arched doors are really expensive.) Since this doesn't have a door, he approved. 

And I love this arched chunk of wall more than I probably ought to. 

Mostly Dogs And A Furniture Excursion

Well first of all, Hayden sent me these two pictures of baby Grace and I'm just beside myself. 

Look at her wee tail curled around Brett's wrist. 

What a bully she's grown into.

Here, the girls listen to me discuss my plans for the day. Pippa politely feigns interest most of the time. Grace just waits for me to leave. 

Ok, last one. Pip put herself in time out. 

Anyways, a couple weeks ago, Dad hired the toughest people he knows to help him move some furniture around. He didn't actually pay the hired help but he rented a Uhaul and barked at Ellen and me to meet him at the garage at 9:30. 

Ellen and I hoisted and heaved, pushed, shoved, twisted, and wrapped in protective blankets. Dad focused his efforts on the strategic packing of the Uhaul.

"Be sure to lock the knees and yank with your lower back." - Brett

Once we loaded up the contents of the garage, it was off to Aunt Melody's to gather more. I would tell you what this is all about but it's a secret mission; one that the church sent Dad on to do some good for some people. (You'd think the church could afford real movers - what with that tax break and all.)

We finally all piled into the truck, and it smelled real bad in there. 

"Eww! It stinks in here," Ellen exclaimed as she climbed into the middle seat. I noticed a wet smear on my seat as I heaved a leg inside.

"My seat it wet!" I shouted. Dad began to laugh.

"This truck is so gross, Dad," Ellen said. 

"Oh no it does smell in here." I said. Dad caught a case of the giggles.

"It's a smelly truck!" Ellen exclaimed.

"Smelly truck Jerry!" Dad yelled. 

We barreled along down the road trying not to touch anything in the smelly truck. There's no real point to this story but we laughed the whole time. 

The Two Girls and An Old Guy Moving Company

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.