bringing joy to the Catholic Worker movement

Gmorning.  I slept in, dreaming.

Today we have a conference call.  I nominate Ming to be the designated caller.

Yesterday I had therapy.  Ming's meeting with our friend went fair.

In the afternoon I cooked dinner, which is more like assembling ingredients for dinner because that's how taco salad works.  People didn't listen to the format.  They basically just made a burrito or ate burrito foods without a tortilla.  They didn't put down a bed of lettuce and do it right.

R even made a quesadilla, unauthorized.  The only ingredient bowl that was empty, at the end of dinner, was the cheese bowl.

Then we went to Freedom House to look around and goof off.  I said some withering apples were shameful.  I sang them a song.  It was inappropriate.

This land is my land--
this land ain't your land.
If you don't get off,
I'll blow your head off.
I've got a shotgun,
and you don't got one.
This land is private property. 

"Where did you learn that song?" J asked.

"Childhood," I said.

We talked about the new black sofa in Freedom House.  I didn't like it.  R wants to get rid of it and get some colorful smaller sofas.  When R wants to tease me, he tells me Freedom House looks boring.  One time I said it looked boring, and they never let me forget it.

R has a face app on his phone.  He took a picture of this serious Dorothy Day icon, and the app made her smile.  It was hilarious.  Bringing joy to the Catholic Worker movement.