I mean, it’s Friday. And I took pictures of my garden, like I do every week…
But damn. What a week.
Kinda makes pictures of half-grown vegetables pretty silly, huh? But that’s what we do on Fridays – I pull never-ending weeds from the strawberry bed while Landry eats the strawberries. And then I take pictures.
I was hunched over the Twitter app on my phone until 3am this morning because I just couldn’t tear myself away. And the first thing I did this morning was reach for my phone, even before I could hold my eyes all the way open for more than 2 seconds.
So I’m kind of done.
I’m going to unplug as much as possible and play with my kid, who gets to be a completely innocent 3-year old, oblivious to the tragedies of Boston and West this week. We’ll practice writing her name and she’ll spend 38 seconds converting all the Ls to triangles. And then the triangles to As. And then get distracted and ask me to trace her hand before running off for an obscure toy she hasn’t seen in 6 weeks but just remembered that she NEEDS it. RIGHT NOW.
I’m going to thank the Good Lord for first responders and civil servants and the others who volunteer their lives so I can stand barefoot in my backyard and take pictures of ladybugs and baby figs on Friday mornings.
I’m going to drink wine outside on one of Houston’s prettiest ditches on what will hopefully be one of spring’s prettiest days. And probably Instagram the &%#$ out of it.
Because that’s what I do on Saturdays.
Or any day, after two glasses of wine.