Big Toilin'

It's a safe bet that Brett and I will have even slightly differing opinions on most matters. Even when we agree, we've often come to the same thought from different paths. So when Brett and I exactly mirrored each other on our feelings about moving to Raleigh, it left us paralyzed - because both of us were comfortably neutral on the matter. 

"We could go! Yeah! An adventure. A change. That's fun. Yeah!"
"We could just stay though too. Yeah! So cozy. I love our house. Our friends are here! Yeah. What's life without your people? Staying would be good too!"
"What would you rather do?"

"Either. What about you?"

"I don't feel strongly."

Brett is a great partner on account of loving me. While he had no reason to relocate to Raleigh, turns out he's real invested in my happiness. So, no, he didn't want to go, but yes, "let's do it! I want to watch Lue bloom!" In the case of being the reason we have to pack up our crap and disturb our half dozen animals so I can have a job, I really wanted Brett to be the one that tipped the scale one way or another, but he refused. Who knew being prioritized could be annoying?

Erik finally caught a flight out of town. The snow finally melted. And I finally decided I would accept the job. I found us a furnished place to stay for a few months while we worked out what area we'd want to move to. I started collecting boxes, chucking out old toiletries, and made a list of people I wanted to make sure I saw before we moved in 4 weeks. Brett told everyone at his workplace that he was leaving on account of his high profile wife. He beamed at my butt-kicking potential. 

Meanwhile, I spoke to two women who hold the same position at different organizations, and what I learned eventually made me second guess things. There were negatives about the job that I was choosing to ignore because the positives were so good. I got nervous that I hadn't really thought this through. The position is new for the organization, so when I asked about my day-to-day schedule or expectations, they didn't really have answers. Would I be in the office or with the public more? What ratio of time will be spent on strategizing vs education? Do you have a plan in place for starting the Fall program?  Most of my questions went unanswered. And how could they answer - they've never had anyone doing this for them before. That was all ok with me at first. I get to blaze the trail! 

But wait, we both mostly love our life in Charleston. I don't really know what I'm signing up for here. Do I upheave everything where we're happy, for the possibility of a 9-5 job that tickles me? And it's not like it's the kind of salary a person relocates for. It's a non-profit for goodness sakes!

Over at Brett's workplace, they didn't exactly accept his two weeks. They've thrown every possible goodie at him to make him stay. More money. Less hours. Work from home. Take a sabbatical. Choose the projects. 

Because Brett's so lovely about other people's trials, "negotiations" are still ongoing.

I stared out our big kitchen window at the sunlight sparkling off the high tide. I imagined the tiny patch of yard we would have in Raleigh in the characterless, development-community house we'd live in 30 minutes outside of town because everything is so expensive. The dogs would hate it.  

But then I'd think of the exciting job. All the juicy potential of the position. Spending my day advocating for farmed animals. How honored I am that they chose me. The calm and gentle boss I would have. The rescued animals right outside my office window.

Extremely reluctantly, and with a few false starts, I declined the offer.

Brett played it cool when I told him, but I know he's secretly relieved. He told me he's been looking forward to being unemployed in Charleston. A fun place to be a surf bum, apparently.

So I end this post as I did the last:

None of us know what to do with ourselves.

What will happen next?

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?

Year End Hubbub

Oh there's so much good hubbub. 

Alex and Jessie came to visit from Rochester, so we got to meet their new squirt, Cormac. He was the most laidback little champ we've met. He played with the same three toys the whole visit, ate whatever his parents ate for meals, and sat calmly to look at books and Christmas decorations. He has never watched tv or had a dessert, and I'm entirely impressed that Alex and Jessie have been able to pull that off for 10 months. 

We had freezing temps for the entirely of their four day visit, so we holed up inside and ate great food. On one day, we took Cormac for his first trip to the beach, then we rushed back home to bundle up. (Only Brett and I were truly bundled. In the house, Alex and Jessie were wearing summer clothes.) 

I started to feel icky after they left, and later that day Alex tested positive for Covid. This was my fourth bout with the illness and I put it in second place for worst Covid experience. It was a good 9 days of laying down.

Also, before we move on to more of the fun hubbub, I was very pleased to have captured this photo of my feral friends for you, but then...

...my favorite stray, Stacy, suspiciously kicked the bucket. I found her laying the backyard with no visible signs of being mauled, so I don't know what happened to her. All the cats hang out in the front yard, so I carried her over to where they meet so they could see her and wish her farewell while I dug a tiny cat grave. The other cats approached cautiously, sniffed her, and then sat far from her little body and watched me dig. I put a big rock on Stacy's grave to memorialize her cheeky, sassy existence. All the other cats came by to inspect my work, but Nora sat next to her for a good half hour before moving on with her day. 

She always had this grumpy expression but was the friendliest of the three.

Nora honors a fallen comrade.

Brett has been working more than not working, on account of his boss's sudden departure from the company. (Does that make it sound like he died? He didn't - just went to another firm.) Brett and the team (the team being Brett and his 22 year old assistant) have been having to pick up the slack. We are both so hopeful and thrilled for someday soon when he has normal working hours again.

I have nearly finished filming my next Instagram series on food labels. I'll debut the collection in January sometime. 

Other goodies, Brett has picked up the guitar again, there was a beautiful rainbow, Nick and Liv made Christmas cookies, and Alston took his girl to London where he proposed and she said yes!

We've had some friend Christmas parties....

(I got pushed out by the other two's unwillingness to smush in and then everyone laughed at me for "standing weird." How would you stand when posing alone, I ask?)

Family Christmas parties under harsh lighting...

and most recently, a pre-birthday celebration dinner for The Big Guy. 

There's been so much bustle, I've had no time to muse and reflect. So I won't! New Year's is overrated. 

Onward we go.

Dad Always Said Two Things

The first is the definition of the word “character,” from wherever he happened to read it at the time he decided to memorize it. “Character, is the ability to follow through with a resolution long after the mood in which it struck has passed.” He would recite this seemingly at random. It was rarely directed at anyone, though certainly applicable to whatever problem one of his daughters was having in the moment. But as teenagers, we simply heard Dad repeating something from the comfort of his lumpy recliner. Mom was the one truly dedicated to the meltdown at hand and what we ought to do about it. 

The other thing he said was the worst one, and was always directly fired at an intended recipient; have a positive mental attitude. Oh it made us so mad when he said this. It was always the last thing you wanted to hear when your manager signed you up for the late shift three days in a row or you were falling behind on a group project because someone wasn’t pulling their weight. 

“Well you could just have a positive mental attitude about it,” he would say cheerfully, as if it was just a switch you could flip to solve your problems. Family legend shows he said this to Mom when she had her stomach sliced open without anesthesia for an emergency c-section. It did not go over well. 

What I would go on to realize, is that my bumbling, giggly father understood something about life that so many people miss; and it is simply that you are in charge of what you think. It’s still much easier to posit than to act on, but the reality of that choice swamps you with opportunity. To me, a good, successful, and beautiful life is one that is grounded in natural things; human connection, safety, nature, a life where you get to help make things better for other people, or just make them laugh. I want no part of harming anything, consuming past my needs, collecting material things, or racing to “the top,” where I’d be isolated, possibly despised, and definitely out of touch. I’d hate to ever get to a point in life where a glass of sweet tea on the back porch is too basic to enjoy. 

A good life is one where you are allowed to ask questions, form your own opinions, care about unpopular things… and people still love you because you’re kind or funny or generous or human. A good life starts with an education, not the curriculum laden one they give you in public school, but a real one, that teaches you about environments of all kinds, systems, the ideologies of others, etc. This way, when you decide what it is you want to think about, you have the whole story. I think it’s hard to be given the whole story and stay right where you were; grumpy, exhausted, prioritizing oneself. 

Maybe your manager put you on the late shift because your disposition brings up the morale of the whole team. Maybe the manager’s spouse is in the hospital and you're the one they trust to handle things. Maybe it's all a part of a ruse to destroy you. This is considering the alternatives, choosing what to think. It proves the importance of having an open-mind; a skill no teenager thinks their parent could possibly have, until you realize his attention, awareness, and discipline was something he’d been choosing all along. 

(He's not sick or anything. I was just reflecting. 

This is why I don't write serious things. )

In Favor of Chickens

Ever so slowly, I've been helping build a little team of Charleston folks that will advocate for better conditions for farm animals. How niche. We host protests, table at festivals, harass corporations that still use caged-eggs in their supply chains, and also we have "humane happy hours." 

People usually giggle when I tell them about this but we've won every campaign we've set our sights on. We spent the whole summer heckling Hardees' parent company (CKE Restaurants) and they held out for what seemed like ages before they finally buckled last month. We had protests, petitions, email campaigns. We leave bad reviews and comments. We find the board members and put the guilt trip on 'em. We leave manager letters at our local franchises and say, "send it on up!" 

For three years now, it's worked every time. Now that CKE buckled, we've turned our cannons towards a cookie chain. 

This might seem annoying to you, but that's the whole point. We just wear 'em down - and even if you aren't an animal-loving vegetarian, I think you can admit that taking the hens out of cages is the least we could do. We're not asking companies to stop serving meat or eggs. We're asking them to do it less cruelly. 

Did you know caged hens live their entire lives in a space equal to an iPad screen? Most people don't know that. Also, they never go outside or see the sun. (Yes, even the Free Range ones you paid extra for.) The hens can't make nests for their eggs. forage for bugs, have dirt baths, or do any of the things they would naturally be doing. That's a life of torment - even for a chicken brain.

So here we are, kicking corporate butts in favor of chickens.

 

A Very Big Week or So

I was driving over the bridge when I noticed a Santa Clause-esque man on a moped, slowing down the flow of things, but giving the finger to anyone that went around him. He was livid; swinging around his tallest finger and shouting and throwing his arm around. Everyone nearby did their best to give him space, and then I wound up behind him on the same exit. He zoomed along a little under the speed limit and I kept my distance until we came to a stoplight. I got in the lane next to him, waited for the light to turn green, and then I gunned it to make space to get in front of him. Well he didn't like that one bit. He decided to gun it too; to challenge the roaring 4runner at his left. I could have easily out run him, but the speed limit was low and surely his little sewing machine engine would top out any second. I maintained speed and waited for him to crap out, but he didn't. He pushed that moped for all it had and then suddenly  turned straight towards my car. I hit the brakes, barely missing him as he cut me off. He yelled things and gave me the finger, and I just let angry Santa carry on his way.

...until we met at the next light. He got off his scooter and got all up in my window yelling every sort of expletive at me. He called me names no one's ever called me. I stared forward smacking my gum - hoping to looking unbothered by his meltdown, but on the inside, boy I was worried. I was mulling over what I could use as a weapon if he decided to bust through my window. I was also embarrassed because of the attention he had drawn from the surrounding cars. He finally got back on his scooter, gave me both fingers, yelled a few more F-you's, and then threw himself in front of my car again just as I was hitting the gas. I had to wait for him to putter up to speed before I could get going. I got stuck behind him for a long time, but he still presented his finger to anyone that went around me to get past him. A furious Santa. We finally parted ways, and two miles later, a lady pulled up next to me and said, " I want you to know, I saw the whole thing and I had your back!"
That's my mid-week highlight.

On Saturday, we attended Ari and Nate's annual Halloween party. 

On Sunday we went to a baby shower. I was warned ahead of time that there wouldn't be much there for me to eat, and since it was at a close friends house, I thought nothing of bringing my own little plant-based hotdog and frying it up on the stove while all the other party patrons mused about miniature things. The hotdog's savory fumes caused quite a stir which struck me as very funny thing to pull attention away from a pregnant lady. I regretted bringing the hotdog and learned the life lesson of not being too comfortable in your friend's house when strangers are present. It didn't help that Brett and Ellie had taken to a grape throwing competition of sorts, and I had to go in and tell them to act like adults... but first I had to see if my grape could make it as high as theirs. I think we may lack the reverence expected at baby showers. 

Then we went to a book launch. It was a spooky horror book, and since it was nearly Halloween, ghoulish costumes were requested. Ellie and I had a great chat with the girl who would be interviewing the author and we set a bet that she couldn't get the author to say a particular thing. So when the time came, there was a secretly riotous exchange between the interviewer, the author, and audience questioner, Ellie. Being the only three that knew the underlying goal of her question, we were fighting smirks, giggles, and eventually a triumphant exclamation on the part of the interviewer. Ellie and I lost. 

And finally, the biggest event of all over this bustling 10 day stretch; Papa Union saw a kitten on The Connector. It was leaping and flailing about, and Dad rocketed into action. He pulled over to get the kitten out of the road, and his eager presence must have scared the little squirt because it ran away, and slipped through a drain, and tumbled from the bridge down into the marsh below. Action Jackson wasted no time. He called 911 and had the firefighters plotting a rescue scheme. But Popples had a meeting to get to, so he tagged me in. 

Brett and I had been in Mt. Pleasant; him at the office, me at a protest. We were headed home with Grace in the car when Dad called and told me to "pull up behind the firetruck on the bridge and tell them who you are!" It was thrilling to hang out on the side of The Connector. I've driven over it thousands of times in my life, but I've never stopped to get out and enjoy the view, or dangle my head over the side in search of a muddy kitten. The firemen put one of their own down in the marsh while the rest directed him from up on the bridge. The little kitten was so far into the pluff mud that they had to use heat sensors to find it. The one in the mud with it then stuffed it into a bag that was hoisted back up onto the bridge by a thin rope. They rinsed off the kitten and then put that wet, foul-smelling, trembling little kitten in my arms. Two of the firemen were interested in what would happen to it. "Maybe we could us a station cat," one suggested. Meanwhile, Brett was disturbed that the firemen kept calling him Mr. Brett. "How old do they think I am?" he sneered quietly. I held kitty in my arms the whole way home. It never moved. It laid on it's back and stared at me and trembled and allllmost closed it's eyes but then forced them back open again. Poor little squirt.

We gave it a warm sudsy bath (only reduced the pluff mud stench by half), the option for food and water, and a soft, dark little box to hide in. My research led me to believe its was only about 5 weeks old, still being fed by mama cat. Dad called to check in. Unexpectedly, he wanted to keep it BUT MOM didn't. Can you believe that? There's a sweet ending though, because one of the firefighters came back to adopt it. Poor Pops didn't even get to meet the little guy he saved., but it's a got a big long life ahead thank's to secret softy and friend to the felines, Chris Union.

Brett and I hardly slept that week. We figured he was stressed from work (big changes going on there) and I seem to take on any ailment he experiences - so I had sympathy insomnia - but maybe life was just too exciting for sleep.

Honbons: And Other Soothing Balms

The pinch of time I got to spend with my Hon fam right there at the end of September might not qualify for an official "Honbons and Other..." style title, as those are reserved for lengthy, if not also highly attended HonUnions. Brett and I only stayed two days and three dinners with them, but my folks stayed a whole week, AND the Hons drop nuggets so abundantly, I feel I can make at least a dense snack out of them. 

So, we gathered on Topsail Island...

 

There was the ebbing of a storm, perhaps a tropical one, but I can't remember. Our sunny drive gave way to storm clouds and a drizzle as we pulled into town, but once we unloaded the cars, the feeding frenzy began. The following is a list of edible highlights: peanut butter filled pretzels, cookies and brownies, boiled peanuts, manicotti, chips and crackers, focaccia bread, peanut m&ms, and an assortment of carbonated beverages. There was also Frosted Heroin, but no one broke into them the first morning or even the second. Brett had been dilly-dallying around, waiting for a bun, and finally asked for one not long before he had to pack up his suitcase to go home. 

We met the newest member of the Honbon family, played some Shang, and sat to stare at each other in various venues. There were morning chats with coffee on the porch and evening chats with coffee at the dinner table. Brett attempted to surf the stormy waves while I watched anxiously from the porch. Evan helped me keep an eye on him until the tide pulled him out of sight. "I don't see him anymore..." She shrugged and then performed her school's morning announcements, complete with daily lunch menu. 

Evan was notably less interested in me than last time - a combination of not being roommates, her being older and cooler now, and the apparently off-putting news of my marriage to Brett. She is energetic, enthusiastic, highly expressive, and an interminable conversation. I think she might have inherited it from Papa Don. He's also always talking, but his musings are so low in tone you often accidentally write them off as the hum of a large appliance.

Equally enthusiastic, Ellen arrived with Liv on Sunday, and she had a surprising amount of vigor to her. We were all excited for Evan and Liv to meet - the next generation of HonUnion, oh boy, what big flip-flops to fill. Naturally, Ev was all-in even prior to their arrival. Liv took approximately ten minutes to warm up and then they were off with their matching mermaids and plastic egg creatures, and I think maybe some purses. They had craft time, drew on windows, and impressed all of us with their inventive moves the dance mat. They were thrilled about sharing a room with bunk beds, each planning to sleep on the top of their respective set. They were less thrilled when told they had to sleep on the bottom bunk (there was a good bit of whimpering) but then the whole thing imploded. After about a half hour of trying to sleep, Livvy came upstairs and whispered, "Evan won't stop talking." Liv slept in Ellen's room the next two nights. 

The quietest person in attendance was new baby Heath. Only the Unions think he's quiet because we were all sleeping upstairs and all the Hons were sleeping downstairs. I don't think I actually heard the little guy cry the whole time I was there, but the morning report was usually that of Heath's desire to stay up and party. During the day, he just sat in his little bouncy chair grinning at people, or was being passed from person to person like a basket of rolls at the dinner table. Baby Heath is really cute and smiley and squishy. I wish I had more to say about him but he's still working on holding up his own head, so we can give him some time. 

As is the case when given the opportunity, I followed Will and Katie around and asked them questions about life. What are you eating these days? What about books? Where are you shopping? What do you think life is really about? We discussed all manner of important topics from celebrities to espresso machines. I found out they got hit by an ambulance, and I heard a story about a library encounter that made me especially proud to know Katie. 

Meanwhile the adults played rounds of Shanghai to music that never changed. Will put on an album that cycled through itself at least eight times but no one noticed because they were deep in giggly conversation. He attempted the same stunt the next day, but his plans were thwarted after only three cycles when someone requested some french cooking music.

Brett and I took The Papas for a rainy morning out while we ran errands. We dropped them off at a coffee shop while we went to the grocery store. "We'll come back and get you when we're done," we told them as we waited for them to climb out of the backseat. Don said this must be what it's like to be Millennials, spending a day doing nothing in a coffee shop. I told him he'd have to have soy milk with his coffee and he gave me a classic Papa Don expression that I can pull to mind in an instant, and it elicits a giddy squeak from me every time.

Despite the soggy grey scenery, my memories are a sunny yellow. We took tiny beach walks to get energy out of the three pups, and Brett was again enchanted by Wando's ability to do what you tell him. Brett got a quick recap tutorial on Wando's proficiencies and then the two of them played professional fetch with dueling enthusiasm.

I sat with Lollie on the porch where she worried about me, patched me up, gave me precious advice, and was an advocate for those with high cortisol when the family heckled me for my tiny dinner portions. 

"I wish I had that problem," Ellen stated. "Cortisol makes me fat!"

"Me too," a few others agreed in unison. 

Ellen, Liv, Brett, and I headed home just as the sun came out and beach week could properly start. We had an eventful ride back complete with washed out roadways, lengthy detours, a quest for a car charger, a really gross lunch, and Livvy barfing up a bunch of red Starbursts in the parking lot of a Chevy dealership. Our four hour drive wound up taking eight hours. We were all scared of how Liv would fare, but she was a chatty champ and finally sacked out for the last hour or so. 

Up in the front seat, Brett I were deep in a discussion about the meaning of a good life as looked at from different perspectives. Why do people live in any particular place? If you removed x, would your purpose shift? Yes but that's not a universal value - in fact, I'd say it's a learned one. Well I'd argue the opposite actually because think about this...

After a half hour Ellen said, "Are y'all seriously still talking about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"How is there this much to say about it?"

"Well what do you and Lee talk about?"

"We talk about farts." 

We tried to pull her into it. "No, I don't know. I don't know about this stuff," she said.

"Sure you do. It's just your outlook on life," we told her, "Consider the scenario and tell us how you see it."

"I can't!" She fought us for a long time, unaware of her own philosophical abilities.

"Fine. Answer this, how has your life changed since having kids..... ok, and if you lived in a society with x instead, how would it be different?"

Well, Ellen caught the fun of considering and pondering and hypothesizing, and she waxed and waned poetic as we pulled into town. Brett and I were stifling our proud grins. 

"This is phase one," Brett teased, "Won't be long until you're radicalized!"

I spent the rest of the week lamenting my early departure on account of Brett's work schedule and my cortisol levels. The rest of the family did get to enjoy some sunny beach days and the bulk of the delicious snacks. Right there at the end I requested a family photo and I had the great fortune of receiving a Live Photo, so hearing people laugh while Health screamed, and Laurie talking as she blocked out Papa Don made it the best family picture I could have received. 

Most photos from the Hons.