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.

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.

I Quit The Dream Job

I wrote a whole big thing about this, but as has been a theme in my little blog space, I really can't publish it here on the very off chance that it is discovered by the people, places or things I'd be lambasting. Or in the case of writing on the dream job, there are a few pieces to the puzzle that I'd rather them not stumble upon. 

But I'll go ahead and tell you that things took a surprising and difficult turn. It bothered me a lot, and made me lose too much weight, which upset my parents. I hemmed and hawed and toiled before just finally throwing in the towel. It wasn't a towel I wanted to throw on account of how much I believe in the mission of the wonderful organization that took me right in with open arms, found me strangely impressive, and understood all the things I hate without me having to explain it.

Brett and I frequently muse on the different types of people it's good to have in your circle. You need the challengers and the comforters and the comedians. But the one we want most, and we've yet to find, are the ones that are looking through the same lens you are on the things that matter to you most. And it's not just that they're looking through the same lens, but they've also spent time doing the research to make sure it the right lens. A lot of us just borrow the lens that our parents or coaches or school peers gave us, and we never step back to analyze it, consider the other options, and confirm that this is, in fact, the lens that gives us the clearest view on life. (And of course there are multiple lenses for multiple topics for all the multiples of people.) 

When the thing you care most about is something that most people don't want to know about and will argue with you over even though they've never done the research, it can be especially exhausting to move through the world. People are personally offended by my food choices - and they want me to know it. The irritating bit is having heard all the "retorts" people give me on why I'm incorrect or being silly, possessing the knowledge and data and research to nullify their concern, and still being written off as unreasonable because they don't want to consider anything that might upset their lifestyle or belief system. And I do understand that - these are known as the theoretic paradigms of cognitive dissonance - which every human has, but folks don't like when I try to explain that. (It was one of my favorite topics in grad school. "People invested in a given perspective shall—when confronted with contrary evidence—expend great effort to justify retaining the challenged perspective" without truly considering the evidence provided.)

Anyways, over at the dream job, everything I wrote up there is already understood, and the work we were doing started from there. So if it goes well, we understand what a huge win it is, and if it goes poorly, we don't have to explain any ounce of why it's such a loss. They just get it. They're looking through my lens. And Brett and I don't have that in our in-person friend group - so that was a hard thing for me to let go of - in addition to all the food system progress I might have made for people in Charleston.

Therefore subsequently, I am unemployed, and I'm on a bulking cycle because I can mostly eat all my meals again, which I've learned is something I took for granted. 

So I'll just be here, eating my protein oatmeal and scheming my next big thing...

Photo taken by friends we love who pretend to tolerate my lessons on cognitive dissonance.