I woke sore

My chest muscles were sore this morning when I woke...

Why?

I'd giggled and laughed too hard last night watching my husband vote in the Texas primary. Voting is not usually funny but in the weird 2016 election nothing is normal.

"Have you ever heard of Elizabeth Gray?" He was sitting at his desk. I was on the couch.

"Any relation of Meridith's?" We'd been watching an old Grey's Anatomy.

"She's running for president?"

"Of what?"

"The US. Along with 13 other unknowns and the biggies. I'll see what I can find out about her."

My husband is a journalist. Digging up info is one of his loves. The tapping of computer keys were interrupted by reports.

"No website." tap tap tap

"Lives in Taylor." tap tap tap

"I'm writing the local Republican committee." tap tap tap

"I want to write the political editor of the local newspaper." tap tap tap

"He's still in New Hampshire." tap tap tap

I start laughing watching his concentration. "Try the editor-in-chief," I say.

tap tap tap "I'm trying the local librarian."

tap tap tap

Before the evening was out, the librarian and another paper has gotten back to Rick. We've researched Taylor which was the home of actor Rip Torn. Pictures on Google images show the town as a nice place. We find images of her house which is very modest. We've learned which reality sold the house but nothing about Elizabeth herself.

Do we feel guilty looking for info on her?

No. If you run for president you are a public figure.

We know to get on the ballot it can cost $5,000 or 300 signatures from a certain number of places.

Rick's face is a study in happiness with each new fact gleaned, each response back. I keep laughing at his pleasure especially when he says, "An on-line paper says they are trying to interview her."

Elizabeth has become a real presence in the house as we try and determine why she might have put her name on the ballot.

"I think I'll vote for her. She'll get at least one vote," Rick says. His ballot is added to the pile of mail he'll take to the post in the morning.

We are in bed and Rick has switched to his iPad. With no more information or responses coming in he turns out the light. "Good night, Love."

"Good night Rick Boy," I say. "Good night Elizabeth."

This is a dueling blog.