Crowspiracy Theory

It’s just a day, and I’m in a mood. 

I heard that dang sound again, the one that’s a cross between an eight-month-old human baby crying and a howling cat.

Since I can’t stand not knowing the origin of something, I sat on the porch longer than I’d liked, waiting for the culprit to show itself.

Crow. A freaking crow. Around here, they’re a dime a dozen, and since I’ve grown up with them like they’re my own brother, that that sound came from one of them leaves me with one conclusion; a crowspiracy. Mark my words a murder will be upon us! Covid? Ha! More like Crow-vid.

I love Barq’s root beer. With ice. Always with ice.

Do you remember the band Sister Hazel from the ’90s? Well, I saw them in concert a few years back in a smallish venue in Seattle. All five of the original members – fatter, older, and balder – were there and sort of rocked the stage.

Good on you, I thought. They’re touring still, nothing big, but they’re doing it. Wives and kids at home and they’re doing it.

I don’t know why I mention that. Other than I dug it. 

Evelyn’s peeing in the grass nowadays. Don’t say anything, but she did the deed at a plant nursery the other day. Oh, and on the floor in Winco. At two and a half, the need to have a place to go on-demand is ever-present.

My husband and I are desensitized to anything pee or poo-related. But the 60-year-old male checker was not. “Pee. Like real pee, you say?” He immediately called for backup, stopped all activities related to his job, and almost got into a fight protecting the spot from a grocer patron, “No ma’am. I said, no. Don’t walk there.” Under his breath, kind of to me, “Geez. She didn’t have to be like that.”

Since my pee shame game is nil, I stood and waited, smiling internally, knowing that these things happen. I almost rubbed his shoulder and gave him an, “It’ll be alright buddy.”

It WILL be alright.

Love, Jaclynn

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