The Natalie Plan.

There’s always another shoe to drop, isn’t there? On my way to the meeting, Michael calls me with information that probably spiked my blood pressure enough to blow the sunroof right off of my car. At the same time my sister and her husband will be flying west, my husband will be flying east for another round of interviews in Charlotte, banking capital of the New South. He tells me to relax (I hate that), that it’s just the next two days and he’ll be back for the party and related Bay Area excursions. Not much I can do so I allow the anger to boil even though I know I shouldn’t. I rant loudly about the logo problem, the messy house, the gum, the early-arriving guests and the EIGHT STICKS OF DYNAMITE IN THE GARAGE! I just hate how low-key he can be about something Homeland Security would be all over, but he said to get the facts from Natalie before I react. He’s right (and that is what I’m doing) but I’m mad so I don’t care.

Yet, just as the suffocating weight of all I have to do and resolve threatens my already tenuous mood, one answer comes that takes some of the pressure. Natalie responded to my terse text message, in which I used as many exclamation points as I did letters: “Not a terrorist. Trust me.” Ok…. But what then? I can’t respond with questions while driving. It would have to wait.

The realtors were not as unreasonable as expected. Each thought a heart should be incorporated, but one wanted a pair of work gloves with a heart, another wanted a watering can sprinkling hearts, and another liked the original heart surrounding the house, only wanted the house replaced by the National Association of Realtors logo. These were all good and feasible-to-create images – I hadn’t expected that degree of clarity in their thinking. (I guess that in their line of work they have to be as good with details as I am.) I told them I would do some thumbnails of these three new potential logos and the project would be on hold until they had voted on their favorite.

I tried texting Nat again right after the meeting and no response, but she was at the house when I got there. Did my eyes deceive me? She was vacuuming! I hated to stop her but it was time for a long talk. She was really sorry about the dynamite – and had almost forgotten about it. (How could you forget about explosives under your bed?!) Her reason for having it was not as sinister as I had feared, though it wasn’t very smart. She and Stefan were going to try to blast a wine cave out of a hill at his parents’ winery as a gift for their 25th wedding anniversary! Thoughtful, but ill conceived. Now, I’m no engineer, but I don’t think it’s that easy to create a cave. For one thing, there are geological concerns, possibly utility lines - not to mention the likelihood of collateral damage, death and dismemberment. Natalie knew it was probably illegal to possess dynamite as they had tried a hardware store and even a gun shop (!) first with no success. (This isn’t Deadwood, S.D. – or 1857!) She and Stefan eventually bought their cache from some bikers who had bought it from someone on an Indian reservation. I told her she had to get the box out of the garage, though I lacked advice for what she should do with it after that. (Soak the sticks in a bucket of water?) Sigh. Nat was pretty contrite about what amounted to encouraging Andrew to shed his clothes in kindergarten too. And I learned her summer interest in concert promotion had been thwarted by the fact that Lynyrd Skynyrd was not interested in playing any vineyards – they were booked solid in venues of more reliable attendance (i.e. former Confederate states). I let her get back to cleaning. Later, the five of us sat down to a happy dinner to plan the weekend fun. I think we all need a little of that!