I Forgot About The Blog Again

 I'm sorry. So here's the beginning of an essay I wrote on finding out about factory farming;

I ordered a duck club sandwich at an outdoor café in Paris and considered myself living the good life. I’d never eaten duck before, nor had I been to Paris, but since I was only fourteen and I was sitting with my parents, there was no real cause for such an inflated sense of self. My sassy older sister seemed to be experiencing the same burst of worldly independence, though she had the nerve to angle her chair away from the rest of us. Dad was tickled that I had ordered duck. As a simple family from James Island, the idea of consuming any bird other than chicken was lofty and refined - possibly too big for your britches. With enthusiastic spontaneity, Dad quacked at me as I took my first bite and it caused an immediate, heartbreaking revelation. Think how many broken hearts have sat, quietly brooding outside of a Parisian café; how wonderfully romantic. But how many were caused by the sudden realization that a duck died for your sandwich? The reality dawned on me as my dad continued to cluck and flap his elbows. I stopped mid-chew, completely repulsed. My sister edged farther away from us.

Though I haven’t eaten duck since that one bite that day, I can’t say why the Duck Club Revelation of 2004 didn’t cross the Atlantic with me on my way home. Life in a “meat and three” region doesn’t promote existential thinking about the origins of your meals. The popularity of eating some animals over others tainted my reason. Chickens were made for eating because idyllic marketing images said so, but ducks, well, they swim in ponds with fuzzy yellow ducklings and scoop up breadcrumbs. It would be cruel to eat the family.

 

Fourteen years later, after our muggy, backyard wedding, my new husband and I sat to write our wills. I had fought against taking his last name because I am not a trinket under his ownership. “That’s not what it means,” he scoffed, equal parts proud of and annoyed by my independence. We did however agree that if one of us kicked the bucket, we should have the right paperwork in place to prove that we loved each other. Both of our wills say, "he/she gets it all," but the lawyers wrote it in Shakespearean for some reason. Signed, sealed, filed away in case of emergency. But what if we’re smothered out together, holding hands in a fiery blaze at an illegal Folly bonfire? What would happen to our "assets" (small collection of animals and one overpriced rug)? We spent time researching non-profit organizations that do a good job allocating finances to the causes rather than the well-meaning pockets that started them. That’s when I had a second Duck Club Revelation.

"Wait, go back," I said, as The Fella clicked through the pages. "What's that one?".....

The Aftermath

What a ride this last year has been, huh? 

Getting the dream job, going to Italy, melting down, quitting the dream job, celebrating Christmas, getting another dream job, deciding to move, Brett quitting his job, and then deciding to stay. Bleh! We're both mentally exhausted! 

Since we met, I've described Brett as a walking beam of golden light, but lately he ranges from a sleepy storm cloud to partial sun. I miss his golden rays. He misses his golden rays - they've been squelched out by The Man.
So we're taking a few months off. No real jobs. No responsibilities - except mortgage, utilities, groceries, heath insurance, gas, pet food, and the Netflix subscription. 

Other than that, no responsibilities. And lawn care. But that's it!

Brett is headed off on a boys trip to Japan soon. He's always wanted to go to Japan, so we're both thrilled for him. I was not invited but also I was not, not invited - but I can take a hint. Boy trips are more fun when no girls are present, and who would take care of our four full-time and two part-time pets? And I'm not sure I'm up for a 14 hour flight to then spend 10 days pretending like all the boy activities are stimulating. 

"Will we be stopping for afternoon tea?" I'd ask, gracefully. They would have to remove their mud covered dirt-bike helmets to hear what I said. 

"Huh?"
"Afternoon tea. There's a lovely boutique..."
VROOM VROOM! Off they would go round the track again and again. 

No no. I'll stay here on pet patrol. Ever since deciding to stay in Charleston, my usual appreciation for Springtime weather has become an impatient beast. I want to hole up on the porch and read books and well, sip tea. I can't wait to be outside again from March to November. What is life indoors? This wait for Spring is killing me.

I have plans for while Brett is away. Plans that resemble the successful undertakings of his previous international boys trip - but I'll stay cryptic so I can surprise him. If he even reads this post, he won't read into that statement. Isn't it fun knowing someone so well? You figure out exactly what you can get away with. 

Our plans for our temporary retirement are minimal but they do include a half-bath renovation and abundant experimental cooking. Maybe we'll go on a big road trip or buy a business or join the roller derby. Who knows. 

Brett has been nonchalantly referring to this point in time as his mid-life crisis. It's led us to lots of big thinking on the concept. Does everyone have one in some way? What will mine entail? Does my on-going crisis about existence exempt me from this particular milestone? Surely I've served my time. I've always giggled at people that want to leave legacy of some kind, but recently I had the weight of "an unproductive life" settle comfortably on my shoulders for the first time. I've never worried about that before (because I don't really believe in productivity for the sake of it, and who cares what silly acheiviments society made up to keep you participating. You can't fool me with trophies and corner offices. Pshaw!) but it felt like a legitimate concern for a minute there. What am I supposed to do with that? 

Anyways. We're going to be stationary nomads for a few months until our savings dwindle too low. 
Then I guess we'll both go get jobs.

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.