Do they not realize how insane and petty and ridiculous and dangerous they look?
Do they not realize how many lives they are impacting in such a negative way?
I've just about given up writing about anything political but this is ridiculous.
And scary. And if they think that this is going to win the hearts and minds of the people, I think they've completely lost it.
Well, it's Sunday. The day I approach with caution and pancakes. Today's pancakes are oatbran, flax, peach, banana, pecan.
When I went to let the chickens out, a train sounded, coming from the East. Since that tree fell and they had to cut through the brush to get the equipment in to get it out, we have a new window to the tracks.
Will the trains still run if they shut down the government? I have no idea.
The flowers will still bloom. They are immune to government intervention. I am grateful for that.
The variegated ginger lily Kathleen gave me. It perfumes the air.
The psychedelically fuschia four o'clock. It needs to check the accuracy of its timepiece.
The prom queen of all the blossoms- the Confederate Rose. Each bloom is as big as a baby's head.
There are more. But, if there can be death-fatigue, can there not be flower-fatigue?
I don't know. It's Sunday. Mr. Moon replaced the bird seed in the feeder with a higher-line product and the cardinals and tit mouses (mice?) have returned. Elvis and the hens are scratching in my office yard. All of his beautiful butt-plumage has dropped off but he will be getting fresh and showy new tail feathers here shortly.
I am going to clean out their nests today to see if that will help them to remember how to lay eggs because at this point, they are merely fertilizers, weeders and pets. Reason enough to keep them but I miss their pretty eggs. Perhaps they have been notified of the possible government shut-down. Perhaps the Koch Brothers are paying them not to lay.
But I doubt it.
Did you know that Vergil ran his first marathon yesterday?
He placed 19 in a field of over three hundred. That man. My goodness! We are all gob-smacked around here. We are all so proud of him. And Jessie rode over 24 miles on her bike, keeping track of him, up and down Asheville's hills. I love thinking of them there in the nestled-in-the-valley town of Asheville with its breweries, its charming downtown and old neighborhoods, its Flying Circus, its quirky dancing people.
But oh, how I miss them. It is becoming more and more a physical ache. Thankfully, they will be here in October.
Well, Sundays. It is cool and beautiful. We have eaten our pancakes. The hens are making their sweet talk amongst each other as they rustle through the downed pecan leaves. This is an entire day to do with as we will.
I believe we will keep it simple, I believe we shall keep it sweet. Let the Republicans froth at the mouth and wield their clumsy hammers and I will watch the birds and smell the sweet air and feed the chickens pancakes and hang the clothes on the line.