I am wondering tonight how the DT supporters are feeling about the way things are going. I suppose I could watch Fox news or go to one of the right-wing websites but I don't have the stomach for it.
Even on medication.
Speaking of which, I have no idea what I was expecting from a full fledged Ativan but I certainly did not reach any sort of Nirvana. I didn't reach anything except the end of the county line when I took my walk. Instead of heading right, I headed left and walked the sidewalk which the county so thoughtfully put in for us which is sorely underused but I'm still glad it's there. So instead of seeing woods and fields and the trash which people have dumped in the woods and fields, I saw yards and houses and dogs and said "good morning" to various people sitting on the their porches or in their yards. The No Man Lord Guy whose name I can never remember gave me his two arms straight up in the air greeting which is what he does and he seemed to be having a bit of a Wednesday morning party with a couple of guys in the yard under a tree. The smoker was smoking and when I returned, they were all tumbling out of the No May Lord Guy's trailer and seemed to be in fine spirits and we all said hello again.
This is not unusual behavior in Lloyd and quite frankly, very little which could possibly occur would be considered unusual in Lloyd unless it was someone building a mansion or putting in an office supply store or something like that.
I call the No Man Lord Guy that because for the longest time he had a sign nailed to a homemade cross which had the words "No Man Lord" on it but it hasn't been there for a long time. I did note today that he has used some spare lumber to spell out the words "I AM" leaning against his fence which is an interesting development. For all I know he is a Bodhisattva or Jesus Christ himself, come back to earth to live on a small piece of land in a trailer where he sells firewood and various other items, all used and seemingly donated like lawn mowers and tires.
Mr. Moon bought a plant stand from him for me some months ago, which you may remember. I think he's also taken him some things to sell when he has gone through fits of attempting to clean out his garage.
Whatever. This is Lloyd and I am grateful for the colorful inhabitants who come in all colors, shapes and sizes and at the end of the county line is the prefab home where the gay men live who have flown a rainbow flag in their yard for at least ten years and they may be the bravest people in town but I don't know that they've ever had any trouble at all.
So. That was about the high point of my day, not even having found any eggs. I did a little laundry, a little tidying, a little reading, watered the porch plants, helped Mr. Moon with a business letter, and took a small nap. I have to say that I did not waste much time worrying overmuch about anything but was in a state of fairly numb complacency which, although boring, was a huge fucking relief.
Tonight's menu is a venison meatloaf with baked potatoes and a salad from the garden. My grandmother and mother frequently made this meal although their meatloaves were strictly of the bovine origin and their salads were made of iceberg. Also, they both rubbed crisco into the skins of their potatoes before they put them in the oven and we always seemed to eat the skins after the potato insides had been scooped out and eaten with butter and salt, with their own pats of butter in them which, if you've never enjoyed baked crisco rubbed potato skins with butter smooshed into them, you've truly missed a treat.
No wonder I was such a fat little girl but then again, no one else in my family was fat and they ate the same things I did, including the butter-holding potato skins.
It still hasn't rained but has been windy today, on and off, the wind chimes tinkling little tunes, the leaves making more rusty-sounding songs. I have checked the radar and we may get the rat tail end of a front heading from west to NE and I would not mind that at all.
This is the news from Lloyd, Florida today and all of the remaining chickens are still alive and Jack has the pukes, probably because he eats like a pig here and then goes next door where he is known as "Hobo" and eats there too. I have never seen Maurice puke, ever, and still after all of these years, have never seen her at her toilette, either. She is a lady, albeit a bitch lady who still reaches out and snags me with her razor-like claw when I walk by her in the kitchen. And yet, I still love her.
Thanks for sharing my day. I mean it.