I couldn’t find the saw I use on branches and maybe that should worry me, but I think I put it “someplace safe”.  So I pulled this little saw I have from behind the sofa; yes, not a typo, it was behind the sofa out here on the porch . . . maybe because we have the Christmas tree out here? Or maybe because I came in the back door and didn’t want to drag it through the house.

Hmmmmm. I’m thinking now. I’m thinking: Could my branch saw be behind a piece of furniture? What was the last thing I sawed with it? Maybe it wasn’t a branch . . . maybe it was a replacement Scrabble letter. No kidding; my granddaughter lost a “u” last year. We found it a couple of months ago, but by now I like the “funky” replacement better.

But never mind all this  – I sawed the shrub branches with my little saw. And now the muscle in my right arm is a tender. I have let the shrubs grow and grow because I liked the wilderness feel, but now they are too big. really too big. I got that idea last year and climbed up in them . . . Climbed up in them?`you ask incredulously. Yes, I said they were really too big. Anyway, I thinned them out, but apparently not enough so today, I attacked again.

This may take some reconstructive surgery.

Yes, Governor, we emailed you and we got an immediate acknowledgment of that email; I believe it indicated our email would be answered. We have not heard from you.

Yes, “That Boy,” my mother is waiting to see what you have to say.

What was it she said four years ago? Oh, yes . . . “If I had known that boy was going to do this*, I wouldn’t have voted for him.” I believe it is election time again.

*the Daylight Savings time thing.

Oh, yeah, we also wrote about you HERE.

I’m telling you straight out – right at the beginning – this is not the kitchen at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. A picture of that would probably be mostly of the butter knives we use in spreading the PB . . . and jelly. Maybe some bread knives for when we prepare our Pioneer Special with the loaf sliced by hand and to a thickness specified by the customer. Ah, it seems so odd to call them customers . . . they’re our friends who really just pay for their food and drink and we provide the place to gather. Heck, we don’t care if they brown bag their own PB sandwiches.

I’m off topic. The picture is of the kitchen where the United Brimfield Methodists make their famous beef and noodles for the Apple Festival. I don’t know if there are really words worthy of describing it – that deliciously comforting food. Just being in the place where the noodles and beef come together to make the ambrosia of the Heartland is an honor.

Well, for all I gripe about Indiana – it has given me  beef and noodles and for that, I am so thankful.