I said I’d be back and here I am, but in between I forgot. Right now I’m thinking there is nothing worthwhile watching on TV, even for mindless relaxation. In other words, I am at odds with myself, feeling tense and thinking okay, steady, steady. Deep breaths, AJ, deep breaths.

I think I cleaned some four year old dust today – in a corner, behind an old coat stand. Shameful. Yes, I know, but at least now it is sucked into the vacuum – the dust that didn’t escape to rear up and attack my nose. I, in turn, sent the little escapees flying into another dimension with one of my robust sneezes. Actually, this cleaning thing is a hunt for the brass plate that fits on the mail slot. The screws loosened and the plate fell off and during the process of getting new screws, we had a misplacing accident. I have tried “being the plate” and psychicly recognizing my location. It did not work.

My attention has been diverted by a hawker – someone who does some sort of dramatic throat clearing. My father had this God-awful thing he did to clear phlegm; I can’t do it, but two of my grandkids can. And my husband has his own hawk. Drives me crazy. He just did it; I want to scream, “STOP THAT!” but I know that is not being understanding. Usually that doesn’t stop me, but tonight I am going easy on him . . . assuming he finishes up pretty soon.

The thing my dad did was so annoying that hearing it repeated in my grandkids’ genes does not tug at my heartstrings. I think it is a primal thing – my reaction. I am kind of shocked that I wrote that. You would think I would gladly listen to the hawking if he could still be alive – yet I know, really know, I would be rolling my eyes, if not remarking, on the sound.

I remember in “On Golden Pond” Henry Fonda had an angina attack on the porch toward the end of the movie. He kept saying “Ethel, . . . ” and after each utterance, Katharine Hepburn answered him with a desparate “what?” Yet after the third of fourth “Ethel”, she snapped, “Yes, what IS it, Norman?” (Well, words to that effect.)

I am not one to be patient. My father sat me on his lap and read me the funnies since before I can remember. He would explain them, too. Then I got older and was catching on by myself and would snap, “Yes, yes, get on with it.” I think I learned to read real soon after that.

Oh, here’s another confession: I can’t stand to listen to someone read aloud. They go too slowly. And if they act out the part or do dialect and accent, I think, “Oh, God.”  Storytellers . . . I want them to get to the point; I do not want to be expected to laugh, chuckle or react to suspense or humor in their story. Okay, Garrison Keillor is an exception, even though I don’t like his politics. Frankly, I resent his politics . . . appearing at the Democratic convention some years ago and saying what he has about McCain and Palin – the cad. Oh, well, I think I’ll just go chew nails and I think I’ll avoid Keillor stories afterall.

It is Saturday; people can sleep in. No one under the age of 16 did in this house did. Lordy! So we were up on a Saturday before dawn; it was dark outside. I heard Grandpa say, “There’s too much wakefulness in the air.” So, rats. Oh, but wait, I just remembered: it’s Sudoku Saturday – the most difficult one of the week – six stars, dontcha know. I’ll be back.

Just as the weather cools and it is getting time to hunker down, I find myself imagining closing up the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and totally changing my life. An apartment in a city, a minimum of things. In my mind’s eye I can see the place here standing closed up while debris carried by the wind gathers around the house and then snow remains unmarked around the doors. I’d be gone, just like that. Cold and wind and no smell of woodsmoke.

So here’s the deal: I’ll get this place in shape, all warm and cozy and neat and inviting and then, maybe I will leave. But first, there is this culling through of stuff, this fixing and sense of order. Once free to leave, I may stay.

I held a camera outside of the driver’s window and randomly snapped. Oh, I had the strap on the camera around my wrist.

This morning I get my ear stitches out . . . and I think there may be a little infection. Last night I thought back 41 years and remembered what we did when I first had my ears pierced with a hat pin and a cube of ice in an Indiana University dorm. Yes, we dipped my earlobe twice a day in a capful of Hydrogen Peroxide. (Why I capilatlized that I do not know; but once I did the “H” I figured I’d just go with it.)

So I soaked my ear and wondered why I had not been doing that all week. I think I totally forgot about it. I mean when you are 19 and from Indiana and it is 1967, you have this feeling you had better be responsible about putting holes in your ears. It is a big thing.  Now in 2008 . . . well, it’s a different story.

Oh, wait, was I 18 and was it 1966? Ack, a senior moment.

Robert is on his new cast and it is navy blue; supposedly it won’t show dirt that much. My doctor is having the same surgery (minus bone grafting) with the same doctor and I am taking in some pictures of the Robert foot when I get my ear stitches out tomorrow. Let’s see, surgery on August 22nd and still casted on October 21st.  Maybe the orthopedist is the “boot Nazi” – No boot for you . . . I can’t remember when he got booted last year or the year before. Maybe they are playing it very safe; maybe the bone grafting makes a difference.

We have to make some modifications to the invalid room – the bed is by the fireplace. Maybe we could just jack it up and make a slide down to the sofa. Oh, I don’t think so. Well, I will come up with something . . . It’s not like cast man is going to chase me and catch me if he doesn’t like being moved around the corner. After all, he spends his days now sitting with leg elevated. He can roll into another room to sleep. Of course, Summer steals his roll-a-bout when she gets angry with him . . . and you know Summer’s temper.

I don’t want to consider what Sesame Street character Summer would be. In fact, she would probably be the bricks falling off the building when they talk about peril and danger.