Day 135, self quarantine:
So here’s a fun fact I learned during quarantine: Gary really does have conversations with birds and now they visit him daily, too.
Yesterday, I looked out back and did a double-take.
“Gary! You’ve gotta see this! Omg there’s a bright red tropical bird in our yard!”
Gary laughed. “That’s Lou. Lou’s a cardinal. He’s been coming around since I installed Flo back there,” he said, pointing to the pink metal flamingo he brought home from Aldi a few weeks ago.
“Lou? His name is Lou?”
“It’s short for Louis.”
Okay, my husband is a lunatic but I guess I am, too, because I got it.
St. Louis Cardinals, duh.
“That’s amazing, Gary. Did you know that cardinals are spiritual messengers and when a cardinal visits, they bring good luck?”
“Really?” Gary’s whole face li up. He was into it.
Don’t forget, he’s still a hippie who never left 1969.
“Yep. I just looked it up. We’re gonna have good luck at noon, midnight, or within twelve days. Ooh, ooh, it also says the cardinal is our late loved ones letting us know everything is going to be okay.”
“Oh yeah? Where were they yesterday when you were dry heaving into a paper bag?”
I made a face at him.
“You know you believe this stuff, Gary. You’re the one who freaking talks to birds.”
But now I’m wondering if the cardinal is visiting because of Flo or us.
Actually, Flo is the last thing a cardinal wants to see.
So it IS my mother! Hi, mom!
Oh. It’s probably Gary’s mom.
Hi, Grandmom!
(Because I have issues, I didn’t call Gary’s mother anything until the kids were born, thus “Grandmom” 😂)
But wait, if the cardinal came today to let us know everything is okay after I thought I had coronavirus and had a horrible anxiety attack Saturday, then it’s gotta be my mom.
Yeah, I’m going with that.
Besides, she was a redhead at various points in her thirties.
With everything going on, I’ll take whatever good luck this family can get right now.
Holy cow, it says if you regularly feed cardinals, they take up residence in your garden permanently.
Omg, I’m sending Gary out for a bird feeder and food ASAP.
I cannot begin to tell you how gorgeous this bird is. At one point it flew so close to me I was too startled to get a pic and then it just kept flying from tree to tree until it finally landed long enough for me to get a decent shot through the screen door after we went back inside.
The entire time Gary and the bird were yapping back and forth with each other and oh crap, why didn’t I take video?
Welp, to be fair, I didn’t have time to react, the whole event was over in seconds.
Insert gross sex with Donald simile here.
😂😂😂😂😂😂
“So when did you learn how to speak cardinal?” I asked Gary.
You’d think after fifty years you’d know a guy.
“It was around ten years ago or whenever I went down to Nashville to help Julie and Adrian out at Studio Belew. Julie was doing some engineering work and I drilled holes for cables and stuff. I would sit on Ade’s deck in the morning and all of these crazy birds were out there. I started imitating their calls back to them and within minutes I had this whole Bird Man of Alcatraz thing going on. So now I talk to birds all the time and it’s why I get pissed when you throw out the bread ends without asking because I feed them every day.”
“Well, jeez, you could have told me about the bread.”
“I did. Like 100 times.”
Oy. He’s right. But honestly, if I’m not a drill sergeant doing clean up behind him in the kitchen, terrible, terrible things happen.
Anyway, my husband talks to animals. When I walk Jake with him, literally every dog in dog park runs up to greet Gary, not Jake. It’s hilarious. Gary knows all their names.
“Hey, Winston, how’s that arthritis? Phoebe! You got a haircut! Don’t you look beautiful!”
Phoebe literally got down and rolled over on her back on top of Gary’s feet.
He scratched her tummy and she made all kinds of happy sounds.
These are Gary’s people.
I’m hoping if god forbid Trump gets re-elected and his secret police come for me for calling Donald Tiny Penis Man, Grandpa Crazypants, and Bunker Boi on Twitter, Gary will let out an S.O.S. whistle to all of his friends in the animal kingdom and they’ll swoop down and rescue me from the clutches of the evil putrid Trump Republicans and/or Trump’s secret police.
But not before pecking out their eyes and ripping out their tongues.
Wait, wasn’t that a movie?
If not, it should be.
So we didn’t have good luck at noon or midnight yesterday - I guess it’s coming within the next twelve days.
Hear that, Donald? You’re resigning by August 7, 2020.
Be happy I said resigning. I’m really thinking way worse.
Oy, can you tell I’m not feeling my paralegal gig this morning?
I want to spend today out in the yard listening to Gary talk to birds.
Oh well. Some day soon.
Very soon 😜.
In the meantime, hey ho, it’s off to work I go.
Have an awesome Monday.
