Yesterday I bought a four-pronged cane at an auction . . . for me. The cane, not the auction. There I was standing on a sore knee and right in front of me was the cane. I bid; I got it for two dollars. So, yes, I am definitely going to the doctor about it this week – buying a cane in front of everyone at an auction seems to be a fair sign that I have accepted the fact I have a knee problem that is not going to fade away.

A knee problem . . . and, auuugggghhhhh, sciatica. Let’s see: If one half of AmeliaJake started walking east from San Diego, taking four aspirin every few hours and the other half of AJ started walking west from the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, taking six aspirin periodically, where would they meet and merge and discover the need for stomach care?

Hmmm . . . the eastward walking AJ half would reach mountains first and that sounds painful. Of course a strong winter wind streaming across the prairie could push back the westward walking AJ half. I’ll bet I need calculus for this.

Yes, the day after Thanksgiving – and my performing of all those domestic and culinary tasks that have never been my forte. Last night, I was thinking, “Oh, sweet sofa.”  I remember waiting to watch the weather channel show on the Hindenberg and then my glasses were off and the TV was off and it was, oh, about 2am.

So now we move into Christmas and I am hesitant about decorating – chasing festivity as it were. I am going to try and convince everyone the pathway to festive feeling and good cheer is through cleaning. But wait! Start now and you can get more cleaning time and chores. Yours free. Just call AmeliaJake now and say, “I want to be a member of the Christmas Festive Cleaning Brigade. We can play Cleaning Carols and drink your form of festive grog – Coke, beer, whiskey, wine, Diet Coke. I’ll even break out the Diet Cheerwine.

Yes, just a little carol to the local transformers and “jumpers” – whatever they may be – that acted up for several hours last evening. Gosh, darn, I could not use electricity to vacuum or run the washer or the dishwasher or to turn on lights to see to clean up. It was such a hardship. Fortunately, we have a large supply of handy little headlights on elastic bands, so we could make it safely to the food and read our books.

I accidentally picked up a crabmeat cheeseball yesterday instead of shrimp . . . Guess I’ll have to go back today.

That golden area toward the edge of the middle left is Thomas Bickle’s light as it looks from where I am sitting this morning.  Last Christmastime when Thomas was on hospice care, I put up our outdoor lights that twinkle on the slim branches of large bushes that have lost their leaves. At night the lights seem to be floating. I said they were Thomas Bickle’s lights. I’ve written off and on about Thomas and his folks and no need to retell it all here.

But we are thinking of him . . . and Thomas still shines.

So, we are putting on our hunting clothes, although we may forgo the flap-earred, fur-billed trapper cap, and starting our search for a turkey. The Thanksgiving kind. If I can manage it, we’ll go for a turkey, with a turkey breast tucked in between the legs in the roaster – and we’ll do the jumbo legs you buy separately in a pan.

Oh, rats, I have to find the Pilgrims – the little guys who go on the table and and on a tiny Thanksgiving “tree”. Some of the Pilgrims are candles from when I was under ten years old – a chubbly little girl and boy with wicks in their heads. Maybe one day we will light them and they will burn down to their little feet. Or not. That is sort of a “no going back” action.

I think right now I am still a pilgrim . . . and that’s all right.

Unfortunately, we didn’t go to Logan’s today; we just went to Fort Wayne. I love Logan’s; it is what I would like the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse to be. See:

But the PBC&R looks like this:

and this:

and this also:

But nevermind that. We were in Fort Wayne to take Colin to his doctor’s appointment and, oh by the way, we stopped at Goodwill. I bought a clock that plays a bit of a Christmas song on the hour and a little wooden box for keeping things in. I love little wooden boxes for keeping things in. I also got a pair of Land’s End jeans.

And now I’m in the place of the last picture . . . and a bunch, flock? school? bevy? of Raggedy Ann’s are staring at me from the love seat on the far wall – the one with the western sunrays in it.

I am not one for cleaning, but I have been doing it lately. The kitchen, the porch. Oh, the porch started getting cleaned and organized and then it became my center of operations and looks like a farm tool shed now, but nevermind that; it will probably get better. Yesterday and the day before I was upstairs working on the master bedroom and sitting room. Get this: I have been vacuuming by sitting on the floor sticking my wand  – and it is not magic (actually it sucks. Ack! Get off of me, you pun monster.) – under things and into narrow crevices.

I have discovered “vintage dust” but I sucked it up before I realized the potential for an ebay sale. I also found a Bush/Qualye sign stuck behind a bookcase. Okay, this was not a surprise. After the ’92 Clinton event, I pulled the sign out of my lawn in West Chester and kept it; then I moved it up here. Most of the time I don’t think about it, but I can’t truly say I was surprised to pull it out.

Years – decades – ago when I was very little, my grandmother opened up an upstairs window and heaved out a bunch of stuff. My grandfather gathered it up and took it to the tool shed. I think I am fighting a loosing battle.

Ah, icy snow and Augggghhh, a two hour delay.  Summer celebrated by boisterously dancing around the living room, chanting, “No gym, no gym, no gym.”  Exercising to exorcise the demon gym from her schedule. Okay, whatever.

Now we have a bright blue sky and lots of sun . . . for today. Tomorrow and the following days – clouds. Oh, did I forget tonight? The band concert? Uh, let me think of the word I want . . . oh, yes, the trusty ACK!

Robert is in the walking cast with the boot over it . . . and a cane which I miraculously found after an exhaustive search. He can now climb stairs. And it looks like the den will become the den once again, fireplace and all. Actually, maybe I should start a good fire to dispose of all the detritus that has accumulated in this invalid room. I could wear my pointy black hat and do my own chanting.

I went over to the nursing home this morning and left as they were settling down for lunch. I think they give them too much chicken, but some others don’t agree:

and