Category Archives: Just Me – AmeliaJake

Okay, I am not a big, fat liar nor am I on my deathbed or dead – I am here.

I should probably have written the title in a way that the “fat” was in reference to a fat lie and not to me, precisely. Yes, I am still overweight and those cheap, but strangely addictive butter cookies from Kroger’s didn’t help. They are seasonal and, knowing this, I bought extras when they went on sale. Now I am in withdrawal.

Today has been one to inspire grumpiness – my 5:30 to 7:20 am taking someone to work commute was not snowy at first, but the radio person said it was going to get dicey and there was an accident by a corner near my destination.  Well, crap. It did start to snow and there was an accident and then on the way home it started snowing harder and the radio said there were lots of accidents. By this time I was driving out of it. But that was not really the cause of my initial grumpiness. Radio morning drive broadcasters have changed a lot since I would listen. At this time, the local station has a woman doing most of the talking in a fast, high-pitched voice and she has no partner with whom to banter back and forth width. The weather and road announcements are about 10 seconds long and ALL THE REST OF THE TIME, she does rapid fire commercials and repeated updates on the latest political results.  The My Pillow commercial made me want to suffocate the radio, but I was concerned there might just be a sentence that indicated I was heading right to an accident back-up.

That’s petty stuff, I know. I got back and then nodded off for a nap with dreams that were unsettling. I guess I should not have lipped off about the  “My Pillow”.

Then we had a computer-induced problem . . . and, of course, I had no butter cookies to ease my frustration. My 12 Step program is that  number of steps to get to the kitchen; it is not effective. Do not try it at home.

While I’m griping about my actually not a problem day, a relative was having a hip replacement and then facing rehab. Why did I not think, “Oh, I am so lucky to only have a computer prob instead of having my hip cut into and discomfort following.”

Actually, now that I have been writing about those cheap butter cookies, I have a faint memory of sticking a box in a hiding place two weeks before Christmas. Maybe it’s still there.

 

 

Well, I am committed . . . to be here – mainly for Glenda (and anyone else who wants to read).

I have had this site for many years and for a number of them I wrote daily, sometimes well, sometimes mundanely, often redundantly and sometimes a waste of my and the reader’s time.

I have made comebacks and each one lasted one or two posts.

Now, I am here to stay because I want so often to email people, especially Glenda with whom I share grandparents and who emails me with lots of news of my father’s family and the surrounding where he grew up. She and I and her sister Susie and our cousin Lana  often would sleep on flannel sheets beneath a portrait of our great-grandfather in his Civil War uniform (Blue). Lana and I once shared a bed and she sat on Roy, but that is a whole different story and if you are really interested, you might find it my typing “Roy” in the search bar.

You see, although I often intend to email Glenda or even start to, I frequently get distracted and don ‘t do so. And I guess we aren’t much for phone yakking. I would have written “talking” but “yak” was a recent answer in a crossword puzzle and it was in the forefront of what is left of my 75 year-old -brain. Of course, now I am stuck with an image of me as a talking yak which will give you a glimpse into my not so mainstream personality.

This way, I can share my thoughts when the urge strikes me –  although some of my darker ones may be only in an actual email, because I don’t need  to publicize other folks personal business and because I don’t want to stir up in this election year any repercussions. (Although I may have an “Eyes Only” post to be very “M” about it.

I will readily admit, however, mainly because I have written it many times, that although I am not a fan of Trump, “AMELIAJAKE CANNOT STAND JOE BIDEN.” I have felt this way since 1988 before there was an internet and I wrote in 2016 when Obama and he left office, “Thank God, AmeliaJake doesn’t have to worry about Joe Biden anymore.”  But, as Dr. Phil would ask, “How did that work out for you.?”

So, what was I going to write to Glenda?  Well, pretty much the basics: arthritic knees, extremely cold weather, more whining about a scumbag robbing my mother’s house, finding a child-size baseball uniform of my dad’s that my grandmother had saved.

And, of course, I would have commented on her grandkids and the three great-grandsons, the oldest of which is a hoot – a brilliant hoot who looks just like his grandpa in my opinion. The other two GGsons are age one and kind of newborn so stories are still to come.

I don’t write much about my family because we do things like dropping a turkey right through the cooking bag  unto the floor. As Julia Child once commented, “Who’s to know?” and we put it in another bag and stuffed it into the oven. People might have suspected something had happened when screams of dismay and shouts of “Never mind, nothing’s going on out here” echoed out the kitchen door.

We are cold here, negative numbers and double negative digits in wind chill. We also have a situation where we parked a car on a soggy grass spot when the temperature was 34 degrees and a wet snow was falling. The car sank into the soil, the temperature plunged and now it is almost imprisoned there. It could be worse.

Taking down Christmas decorations and ornaments is one thing; organizing them for storage is another. I am of the opinion that next year we will have to open boxes to discover what is in there. This year I found a necklace I had been searching for for a year. It was a butterfly I had in a moment of whimsy hung on a branch last year.

I am not making any New Year’s Resolutions because I fear outcome of fiddling with the habits of a lifetime. So I will still be a procrastinator; I will still be making up Rube Goldberg solutions to problems; I will still not keep clutter off the kitchen counters; I will still haunt the aisles of the grocery in the morning for major markdowns on deli items, bakery stuff and meat I can freeze. I will still not  be concerned with house decor trends and I will still rant when someone looks at a perfectly nice house on “Househunters” and declare it “dated” and in need “of some work.” Heck, lose a loved one or be diagnosed with a disease and see how much that “dated” look matters. I imagine some folks might even bargain to get back Harvest Gold appliances and formica in exchange for the opposite situation.  Guess that gives you an idea of my twitchy personality. I should probably reveal these twitches sparingly; the shock could be like watching a horror movie.

So, that’s it for now. But if I’m not here tomorrow that means I am a big fat liar or I am deathly ill or dead.

Blogs have changed

About a decade ago, I could look at any number of blogs and be caught up in the middle of someone’s drama: one lady came home from a mission overseas and found out her husband was having an affair; one lady  who lived in a SMALL heartland town declared to everyone that religion was a hoax; another woman made fun of her sister-in-law . . . and all the other relatives. Then it occurred to folks that perhaps there would be fallout and the diary into the ether of the internet was not the same as the one hidden beneath a floorboard.

And now my reading is duller.

Sunday evening in late September

It is almost eight o’clock and it is almost dark. Three months ago it would have been still daylight. I am not fond of early darkness and even less pleased with a dawn that comes so late in the morning.   I think this feeling has grown as I have aged; I like the light. I want dawn to have arrived and be waiting for me when I wake, not the other way around.

I am glad not to be still of high school age when Sunday night rolls around, for I was, and still am, a procrastinator. I well remember vowing to not let the week-end homework wait until Sunday, but each week I broke that vow.  I believe that Sunday evening grind forever colored my mood about that time in the week, even if I have nothing hanging over my head for Monday.  Of course, there was that rush of relief when all was done and in a way, I think I miss that. And that sounds very much like the concept of hitting your head on the wall because it feels so good when you stop. That thought made me either grimace or grin and I really can’t tell which.

 

Why I am back here?

I’ll tell you why I’m back at this site, typing these words. It is because I have been almost overwhelmed, almost defeated and frankly, am right now spitting\d that every damn thing has become Uber politically, socially, and “whatever” correct. Yes, it is driving me to the destination of total disgust, with a stop off at crazy.

The New York Times bought Wordle and now they are removing words that they deem offensive. Tell famous writers that “wench” is out; tell historians they can’t inform students that people were lynched. And, for God’s sake, don’t let anyone even suspect the first civilizations had slaves. Hello, Aesop. Hello, Spartacus. And, oh by the way, Babylonian king Hammurabi’s Code of Law (which guided rulings on slaves) was chiseled in stone.

But, this is a wee part of my tirade. Facebook and Twitter abound with people outraged by any comments that even allude to the a questioning of a “bandwagon” trend of the day. People post all day long about how kind and nice and loving and wonderful they are and a lot of them show selfies in elegant houses with big glass walls.

I’m here because I’m a coward. No one comes here. Were this a facebook post, I would be criticized. Oh, wait a minute, this wench would be lynched.

A little adventure on Route 172

I went to Fairborn, Ohio Saturday and south of Van Wert, I take 172 to 33 to I-75. But when I was coming down 172, I started thinking that I wasn’t looking forward to the monotonous drive down I-75. I mean you get to I-75 and it’s fast and you think you’ll almost there, but you’re not. You just click off the mile markers as you pass them.
So I decided to not turn left onto 33, but stay on 172 and mosey along. I just wanted something different, and I could always hightail it west to the interstate. Well, I started to notice garage sales and then signs that sale “172 Garage Sales” and I assumed it was the few miles north and south of Celina.
NO. I would find out later I was on the route of the World’s Longest Garage Sale. Fortunately, it was the third day and the serious vultures had come and gone.

In this hidden place

I can be here and probably not get my feelings hurt. Nobody has to feel they have to write back the courteous sentiments that they are glad to hear from me and say they are sorry to here any bad news and quickly wish me a take care. In other words, the brush off.

Is it my personality? Maybe. But didn’t they spend much time with me and share things? Is it my politics? Well, we Deplorables don’t have the same attraction as the “world peace” beauty contestants. Saying, “Let’s take a look at this situation” doesn’t stir the same camaraderie as “Let’s March” or “Let’s tear down statues” or “Let’s be lemmings.”

Colin Firth – don’t play bad guys

If I were beautiful and  younger and absolutely irresistible, I would do everything to get Colin Firth to think I was the greatest thing since sliced bread with peanut butter. He is so refined and proper and handsome and gentlemanly. So when I see a movie with him in it, I really anticipate the daydreams (impossible as they may be) that accompany watching it.

Today, I stumbled on a movie in which he was a lead and he turned out to be a crazy bad guy. Is nothing sacred for me in life? Does nothing work out right? Sigh.

May 24th, 2021 – Please be over soon

FLARES ARE POSTED HERE AS A WARNING TO READERS:

I really don’t want to wish my life away, especially now that I am on the far side of the middle of my life span. However, today has been just a day of a miasma of doom. I am upset about the government; I am aggravated by the speed of which internet twitter remarks and news opinion pieces can zoom around the world and are manipulative and seem to threaten bad things if one were to simply ask, “Well, has this been considered?” I am disappointed by people who just want to be angry at everyone all the time and throw away all their opportunities. I am disappointed by myself. My head aches; it’s hot and humid; I cannot make myself do anything productive today – psychically lifting myself to my feet is not working. Okay, I made a meatloaf. All these hours awake and I made a meatloaf. Wow.

I am going to throw myself into a cryptic crossword, which may or may not give me the slap I need.