Saved by Buffalo Fur Socks

I’m wearing socks made of buffalo fur. This morning, I made beef stew and banana bread and delivered lunch to my friend, Karen, recovering from knee surgery. I’m all Little House on the Prairie over here.

I made a pretty dippy protest sign for today’s demo and picked up my friend, Christina, who had a much nicer sign – better lettering and nicer color. Oh well. We were both dressed in layers, ready to stand outside a congressman’s office in purest Wisconsin winter, but the protest was held in the lobby of a suburban civic center. The organizers had great signs already printed – great colors on thick poster board – but I held mine up like it was art.

You gonna do this protest thing, you gotta have some sign pride. Right?

Sunday’s protest is about Ukraine. I’m thinking about getting a Ukrainian flag. Is that crazy?

Meanwhile, I put my homemade sign and the demo organizers’ printed sign in my trunk, figuring that in a month or two, I could have sign-a-rama, just roll up like Rockford whenever I see a demo, flip open the trunk, and whip out the right sign. Or flag.

I jest. But only because if I don’t, I’ll have heart failure. Things are that bad.

My socks and stew and banana bread and signs and my two friends are saving me.