Of course, you know I am doing this so I can put more stuff up in the attic and that makes even me sigh and shake my head. But, anyway, I worked for three hours up there and made a dent. I also immediately put my water bottle down and did not find it again until I had worked my way back to the pull-down stairs after those three hours. You guess it: sigh, sigh and sigh.

I filled several trash bags – big and little – while I was up there and right before I myself descended, I tossed them down. Then as I headed down myself, I let my mind wander and when I got to the visual level of the floor, I stepped off what I thought was the bottom step. But, no, those white trash bags were bulging more than I realized and I wound of tumbling sideways from the third step. Of course, my landing was cushioned, but the handrail snapped off.

Alison was up there and heard me and came running, inquiring, “Did you fall?” I didn’t think fast enough and said, “Only at the bottom.” I should have whimpered from my position on the trash, “Oh, it was awful,” and let people help me to the sofa and bring me snacks and goodies. Maybe I could have convinced someone that my aches could be soothed by going to the store and bringing me two boxes of Little Debbie Boston Cream Pies.  Or maybe three. Oh, the possibilities missed.

So, what should I do today?

Now, there’s a chore that hangs over my head every Wednesday. No, I’m not going into my “people who load as much air as trash into the bags” rant. But I will be thinking of them as I brace the bins against the garage wall, climb up on a ladder and – augh – stomp trash.

When Summer was younger, she used to get excited and bounce up and down, boasting, “Grandma’s letting me stomp trash!” She has since wised up. Drat.

Shane’s bite lasts as long as it takes to open his mouth and swallow and then he wants another. For me, the peanut butter is sticking to my tongue, teeth, roof of mouth and before I know it, he has had four bites by the time I manage to swallow one.

I have been aware of this for a long time; I just became acutely aware of it this morning because I really wanted to savor my sandwich and I was hungry too. So I stuffed four bites into my cheeks, put one on my tongue and started a marathon chewing session. Sometimes I tease my grandkids about chewing each bite 35 times. (Of course, Summer and I are so competitive, we have had “most chews” contests.) Let me tell you, I may not chew a bite of peanut butter 35 times, but having five bites in your mouth at once is not something you wolf down.  Chewing is inhibited by space and I think I actually chewed more than 5 times 35 times.

My plan needs modification – maybe smaller bites for Shane. Could he tell? Oh, I think so. Added to the speed of eating difference, he doesn’t care for the crusts. Come on,  you darn dog, it’s not like you taste it going down. I think he toys with me, knowing he can always do the “puppy dog” eyes thing.

I could just stop snacking on peanut butter sandwiches, but he’s an Australian Shepherd and you know how they have their routines. Drat, foiled again.

I once dreamed that I wound up with a group of 30′s gangsters and we were in a car that crashed into the woods when we missed a fork in the road and the Fed’s were all around and we were doomed. Sometimes I think the “Oh, my God, how did I get into this mess” memory of that dream keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Oh, no, that straight and narrow idiom just typed itself; no thought of symbolism with the fork in the road. But, wait, the straight and narrow is what got us into the shoot ‘em out situation. I think our driver must have been a secret admirer of poetry and was thinking about The Road Not Taken; he must have been too literal. i mean, “Mugsy, that doesn’t mean leaving the pavement!” I’ll bet I’m over-thinking this.

The visual aid is a little over the top, too, dontcha think?

Of course, I missed the commercials, but I imagine I’ll be seeing them replayed, given the cost to put them on the air during the game. Oh, rats, I haven’t been watching TV since I got my Kindle. Well, I’ll look them up on the Internet. Obviously, this is just mindless rambling here – bear with me, please . . . I’m indulging myself.

Cameron has discovered the movie Deliverance, but is hesitant to watch it. I believe his imagination is taking him to places where the movie might have gone had it been made in 2011 instead of 1972. He could watch it the way he used to watch scary movies when he was little – from underneath a blanket. Now, Summer was more of a “behind the sofa” watcher – sort of like having a Jack in the Box behind you. Oddly enough, they both took great delight in getting me to watch Snakes on a Plane.  (If it had not been so over the top, I would have been watching from behind the sofa and with two blankets over my head.)

******

Special note to Pottermom: Super Bowl Sunday – I thought of you.

And here it is:

I thought, “I KNOW THAT COW!” I put “cow limo” in the search slot and found THIS POST.

And then I tried to rent it. It was out of stock in the Redbox machines here, so I vultured back to the site over the next half day and BAM! It showed up at the Redbox at Walgreen’s. I rented it. He watched it that night. I watched it the next day, which was yesterday.

I spent the rest of the day recovering. (Probably the partial nudity shocked me.)

I not only know how to fix a garbage disposal but I know how to castrate bulls.  I think that removes me from the helpless woman category.

POTTERMOM’S STATEMENT:

I not only know how to fix a garbage disposal but I know how to castrate bulls.  I think that removes me from the helpless woman category.

Woo-hoo. I’m a Pottermom wannabe. I want to take a bull castration course – do they have an online one or correspondence one – so I can  put this on my tee shirts.

Pottermom – You are now the heroine  of all the (female) folks here at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and the guys hear your name and snap to attention.

ALL THIS in reference to the post below . . . THIS ONE.

However, in the last part of her remarks about her day, she mentioned the garbage disposal quit and she had to call her husband, who was on a business trip, to find out what to do. Oddly enough, he texted her the information about a handyman.

Ah,  you don’t put out a box of tissues, but line up origami works of art – yes, go ahead, blow your nose on the giraffe. (Okay, I also made that up – although I wouldn’t be surprised if it were out there.) However, you have never heard of using a (wooden) broom handle to give the disposal a little jolt?  You make money off of crafty sites on the internet and yet you cannot do a little search about troubleshooting garbage disposals?

I know I am being testy here. Maybe I will work my way out of that mood during the day – or I could just let Sophie whack me upside the head with a broom handle. And, yes, as a witch, I do have quite a collection.