Stew weather

I’ve got a pot of stew going in the slow cooker. It’s very gray outside, cold and rainy. I’ll miss it when it’s not February anymore.

I’m not talking about or thinking about football again until next fall. And that’s all I have to say about THAT.

Super Tuesday tomorrow, and I’m voting for the first time. Not for the first time am I wondering if my vote counts at all. Pardon my french, but this shit gets rigged every election, of that I am sure. Ohio, Florida… what else, and when will the truth spill? It leaves me wondering how much a single voter can effect at all. And yet I’m voting, with some sort of misplaced faith, I guess. We shall see.

I talked to my sister on the phone yesterday. She’s INCHES away from a Jeff Foxworthy joke. Like, “If you shoot rodents on the outside of your house while standing on the insideof your house, you might be a redneck.” Or, “If there’s a stack of dead squirrels piled up under your birdfeeder, you might be a redneck.” I guess there’s such an infestation of red squirrels around her place (infiltrating the house, gnawing holes in things, stealing the bird feed, causing other miscellaneous havoc) that she’s had to cull the population with her pellet gun. Out the window, from the safety of her living room. The hawks come by daily to take them away, like she’s performing some sort of birdy fast food service.

No, the squirrels don’t make it to her stew pot. My hand to God, if that woman wrote a book it would be a best seller instantly. People just wouldn’t be able to decide if it was fact or fiction. I wonder sometimes, myself.

Okay, it’s a slow day on the writing topics. I’m out.