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» Sunday, June 12, 2016What We Can Accept and Where We are Accepted
Woke up with a backache and itchy, runny eyes about nine, so took some ibuprofin and went back to bed until a bit after ten. Things had eased and we dressed. No breakfast; it was too late. We had to get to the grocery stores before it got too warm.
Took the car, forgot the handicapped sticker and—guess what, today there were handicapped spaces. Figures. Got through Kroger. Got through Publix. Got home and put the cold things away and turned on the computer and my jaw dropped the moment I logged on Facebook. Some nutcase homophobe who apparently supports ISIS (or ISIL, whatever the degenerates are calling themselves now) shot up a gay club in Orlando and killed fifty people and injured fifty plus more. What in the FUCK, people? Sorry for the language, but who are these .... these ... God, there are no words for anyone who does this.
James put up the new shower head we bought and I scrubbed out the bottom of the shower stall, and I treated his sink drain with baking soda and vinegar to help it drain better. Then read the paper, cut out coupons, watched more Lassie to make the afternoon go as slowly as possible. The only excitement (thankfully) was having to rush outside after a clap of thunder to give Tucker his walk. Soon after, we got dressed and got to go to a much happier occasion: the party Mel and Phyllis Boros were throwing for their fiftieth anniversary. This was being held at Pasta Bella; we took over the patio, which was liberally strewn with fans to keep us cool. We still had to move out of the sun twice as it shifted down in the sky. It was so hot even Alice was hot, and Alice never gets hot!
It was a grand, grand time. We had a green salad, a buffet supper, and several delicious desserts, but the best part was seeing everyone. Shari had come in from Birmingham and Robb Boros and his family from Iowa, Alex was home from the Bronx (he had been forced to work in place of the striking Verizon workers, even though he is an accountant, climbing telephone poles!), and Claudia was even there. We haven't seen Claudia in years, since she moved to South Carolina to take over her mother's house. She sold it awhile back and now is back at her old house in Douglasville where we used to go out and fly rockets in the pasture. She said maybe we can do it again, but I think perhaps in the fall when it's cooler (and that might not even be October—I remember the Hallowe'en launch where we lost the "Ghostbuster" rocket and it was high 80s that day); I don't think we could stand the heat anymore. The last time I remember going, it was almost 100 degrees and the minute James and I got home, we were so heatsick we fell asleep for a couple of hours.
Left about 7:30 and got home to find the Tony Awards on, so that's how we finished out the night.