Today is Saturday. It’s not super hot. We went shopping and Randy started a weird art project. We rode the Anderson Ferry to avoid traffic. I love the ferry.
This weekend, there was a mass shooting in El Paso, but mass shootings are just a thing now, right?
I haven’t said this in a while, but your vote matters. Elections have consequences. For all that is fucking holy, they have consequences. It is imperative that you vote. Vote blue. I understand some people bristle at this idea, I don’t care. We are in peril. Vote blue. We can get back to nuances once the nazis are out of office.
But I digress.
Randy and I had a lovely morning at Findlay market. I love shopping there.
I love parting with my money and giving it to local people who bring food from their garden.
Also, I drank a vanilla latte that made me drop an egg. I mean, if I have eggs. I’m pretty sure I don’t. Maybe a straggler or two, but if there are any left, then they are mushy.
Anyway, as we were leaving, we saw a super old black man and a super old white man sitting on a wall listening to an old comedy bit on a cell phone. They were laughing so hard they were crying.
It was unspeakably gorgeous.
I don’t know what the bit was. It reminded me somewhat of Bob Newhart. It wasn’t Bob Newhart, but I think it was probably from that era. I didn’t hear any of the jokes. The phone was turned up loud and was audible, but all I could see were these two men laughing. I felt better about everything for a few minutes.
We came home and hunkered down for the day.
Joey is away camping at a music festival, so Randy and I are left on our own.
We’ve been acting up.
Joey has gone to this festival for years now. I used to freak out the entire time. Now, I just get a little anxious. Not the normal kind, the uncomfortable kind. This is still an improvement. At least my brain isn’t screaming and flashing red lights in my head the entire time.
Still, I have to check in. And Joey responded the way he does.
I texted him last Wednesday to make sure he made it to the campground okay.
Me: You make it okay?
Joey: No. We took a wrong turn, fell in with a bad crowd and now I’m in a gang.
Joey: What are you gonna do?
Me: I love you anyway.
But I digress again.
We came home and did what perfectly normal people do.
Randy got all my acrylic paint, went outside, and painted leaves and pine needles.
The acrylic paint ran out, so he resorted to spray paint.
We just wanted to take some interesting pictures.
We’ve been in this house a little over a year now. We don’t really talk to the neighbors and they don’t bother us. But I know how clannish this area is and most of our neighbors are related to each other. I’m sure they talk about us.
Now? I’m pretty sure they’re all a little concerned.
Who paints leaves and pine needles?
Crazy people. Awesome people.
It’s all good. We are who we are. It’s not terrible to be the weirdos.
Also, the pictures are amazing.
I’m sad, outraged and fucking tired that it’s normal to have mass shootings in our country.
I’m also grateful to spend my days with Randy. He’s fun.
We have to remember to have fun.
Edited to add: Okay, so Randy posted some pictures on Twitter and someone pointed out the type of plant that Randy painted.
We have a huge honeysuckle forest behind our backyard. We also had a ridiculously huge poison ivy growth in our backyard when we first moved in. The vines went 20 feet up the huge pine trees beside our deck. The leaves were nearly as big as dinner plates. At least dessert plate size.
Anyway, we paid a poison ivy remover dude to kill it. It was so big that we have to leave the dead vines wrapped around the 50 foot tall pine trees. The vines have grown into the trunks of the trees, if we removed them, it would kill the trees.
It appears we have another huge growth behind our backyard.
And Randy painted the poison ivy.
Now we have to call the poison ivy remover dude to come and kill this batch. Poor Randy. I’ll be at work. Randy will have to have the awkward “You appear to have painted your poison ivy leaves. One doesn’t see that often” conversation with the poison ivy remover dude.
Edited to add again: When I wrote this, the Dayton shooting hadn’t happened yet. Dayton is just up the road from here. Dayton is where the Erma Bombeck conference is held. I don’t even know what to say anymore. This is enough. Please, please call this number and demand of your senators that #MoscowMitch allow a vote on gun control. 202-224-3121