November 3rd approaches—Election Day in the United States. I voted early on the first day I was allowed to in Florida, but I still have to view the endless barrage of political advertisements.
It’s too bad one cannot opt out of the ads once one has cast his/her vote. It’s not like I can say, “Oh! Wait! I’ve decided to vote for the lying, cheating misogynistic ass currently occupying the White House because, DAMN that last ad was so freaking good!”
So, I’ve turned to my good friends, Mr. Guinness and Ms. Wine to help me through this trying time. The first one relaxes me and the second lulls me to sleep. They allow me to view the ads through a pleasant fog.
Don’t worry—I’m not overdoing it. One Guinness and one glass of red wine per night is the rule. Okay, maybe occasionally I’ll have an extra half glass of wine, but only if the bottle is almost empty.
Now, on election night all bets are off. I’ve bought champagne and I’m going to drink it regardless. If Trump wins, I’ll likely cry as I indulge, but if Biden wins, I might just bathe in the stuff.
Please keep us in your thoughts. Send good vibes. Pray if that’s your thing. Guinness and wine, while comforting, can’t do either of those things.
This list made me anxious. Does that make me a writer?
There might’ve been some hijinks going on after lights out last night. I’m no detective, but it appears the cat had a case of the munchies. Bag torn open. Kibble on the floor. Feline in question acting all casual, like, “Mom, this is how I always have my breakfast,” when I know darned good and well it’s not.
Yep. I think this is an open and shut case.
Book her, Danno.
As November 3rd nears, I’ve found my Facebook feed inundated with friend requests from men who apparently just now have realized how overwhelmingly attractive I am. I’m tempted to believe the bullsh*t and might have to let Angelina Jolie know that her days as a Hollywood sex symbol are numbered.
As tempting as it is to respond to these trolls with some snarky comment I simply scroll on by hoping that they won’t become despondent over my lack of interest. A male friend of mine said he’s been getting a record number of friend requests from women, so maybe my friends are as delightful and attractive as I am. Birds of a feather, you know.
Seriously folks, don’t respond to these trolls.
On this ship of fools
We tremble, gnashing our teeth
What will befall us?
Without a captain
Storm’s surge threatens to swamp us
Waves batter and bruise
Who will trim the sail?
This captain is not worthy
The task falls to us.
When Studly Doright and I returned home from our brief trip to northeastern Georgia we were faced immediately with two issues. 1) Our refrigerator/freezer had stopped doing its job, and many of the contents inside were rendered inedible. 2) Our television developed the odd habit of turning off after ten to fifteen minutes of viewing. The sound continued operating, but there was no picture.
Our first inclination was to call repair companies for both issues, so we googled the appropriate service providers and soon had repairmen scheduled. Neither could come quickly, though, and that was frustrating.
As we sat contemplating our situation Studly looked at me and said, “I think I can fix that refrigerator.”
Not to be outdone I said, “I think I can fix the television.”
Truly I was kidding, but once Studly began exploring the fridge and gathering tools, I decided to see what Google could tell me about our television’s problem. The hard part was in figuring out how to word my question, but after only three tries I hit pay dirt.
It took Studly about three hours to get the refrigerator cooling properly—and that included two trips into town for supplies. It took me approximately five minutes total to fix the telly and to call the tv repairman to cancel our appointment. Yep, I won. Studly just won’t acknowledge that there was ever a competition.
There’s an owl in my neighborhood. I can hear him hooting every evening, and I always hoot back. A couple of years ago the owl (probably not the same one I’m hearing now) did a flyover to check out the “owl” who’d responded to his hoots. He wasn’t impressed. After all, I don’t even have wings.
My hoot isn’t all that realistic either. I borrowed the one Gomer Pyle taught me in my childhood.
Still, I captured his attention for a moment. Girl owls, eat your hearts out.
Hooty-hoot and peace, people.
Just before sunset,
On an early fall evening
The sky glowed orange
I didn’t capture the actual color, but it was stunning in person.
I’d really like to take a nap, but I need to write something today. The question is, “What to write?”
Do I write about our refrigerator and freezer going on the fritz while we were out of town and the subsequent spoilage of all our perishables? Naw. That’s just depressing.
How about the television set developing a weird habit of simply turning off mid-program? No, that’s not interesting. Frustrating, but boring.
I could write about how my hands and arms look like pincushions because Gracie, our new cat, hasn’t yet learned to sheath her claws during playtime. At least she doesn’t bite. Not too often, anyway.
I refuse to write anything political even though politics are on my mind much of the day. One minute I’m hopeful, the next I’m distraught.
Maybe I should say something about someone I love who has tested positive for Covid-19, but I’m trying hard not to worry too much.
Here’s something! Our eldest grandson received notification that the college he has his heart set on attending not only accepted him into the program, but also awarded him a nice scholarship.
Now I can take that nap.