Of course, I’m not a Noble County girl; I’m a LaGrange County girl. Now, if I were in Europe and meant someone else from Indiana, I would say we were from the same place. But, here, when I’m in Noble County, I’m only really just living here – I’m not FROM here. I’m from this little bitty village one county north and just northeast of Shipshewana. I’ll have to scan in some old photos – including a tintype or two.
It was four degrees outside, according to the bank sign that registers warmer than it really is, this morning when I took Alison to work. I was a little chilly in my sweatshirt – I had worn a regular PB one and not the sheepskin- lined one. Had there been wind, I suppose I would have had to opt for a jacket as well. (Rest assured that I always have a warm coat and blankets in the car with me – just as I carry sturdy shoes for walking in the car all the time . . . You just never know.)
But, yes, four. We think it is supposed to warm up some and then hit single digits by the end of this coming week.
Of course, our friend, 4, thinks that he is being given a shout out when the electronic signs flash his name. He spends a lot of time with us here in The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse because he likes the privacy it affords him – being a celebrity and all that.
Ever since “the book” came out, he has been sought after for talks, autographs and all that. Unlike most poker player in saloons, he sits at a table where his back is to the door. Once, though, one well-read lady came in, stopped dead in her tracks and exclaimed, “I’d know those ears anyplace!” She quickly reeled herself in and to show his gratitude, 4 sent over a napkin with his autograph. She was thrilled.
Four, by the way, likes his foldovers with honey.
I see that I missed calls last night after I had dozed off. I am going to make sure I put my phone on vibrate and on a wood surface from now on. Of course, that may make for a startled, panicked “HELLO” but at least I will not miss calls I really like to get.
I have been thinking of reorganizing the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse because that would only be slightly more work than cleaning it up and getting things back in place. However, if I actually reorganize, folks have let me know they have opinions. Lydia – remember Lydia? . . . well, here she is:
She’s the piano player of the Red Piano. Okay, she says we should move the piano closer to the fire in the winter and within reach of the soda cooler in the summer.
Hmmm, I think I have another picture of Lydia. Let me look. Why yes, here’s one of her in her winter hat:
Oh! Oh! Oh! And here’s one of her and Der Bingle and another friend on the afternoon they were worried about being bombarded by alien signals:
Gotta love Der Bingle – he’s a real sport.
I believe I’ve lost my inital train of thought . . .
Well, despite the view from the front door, the storm went south of us. However, it brushed across us enough to close the schools after an initial 2-Hour-D. So THEY are HERE with ME. Sydney was upset when no one headed off this morning; he likes the peaceful quiet of a normal school day. He, of course, was homeschooled, excelling in management classes.
Alison is not working today and had her traditional oatmeal breakfast. Oatmeal is tough stuff; I preach: “Soak that bowl; soak that pan.” Personally, I have a peanut butter foldover or an egg and toast. I am craving eggs now . . . strips of toast being dipped in yellow yolk. Peanut butter foldovers are easier to clean up, though.
Well, I see the snow has stopped and the sun is a faint, muffled circle in the overcast.
Okay, fine, enough of the weather – here’s some hot air: I have said it before and I will say it again, I cannot tolerate people yelling between rooms. Absolutely cannot stand it. And I wish I had electric collars for folks and the remote control in my little hand.
Yell. ZAP. Yell. ZAP.
ZAP.ZAP . . . well, you looked as if you were going to yell.
I went to the nursing home this morning, but I wanted to take something for the door to replace the wreath I had made for Christmas. I had considered making a winter/springtime wreath, but, well, sometimes you are just wreathed out. So I got – ready for this – nicely crafted sunflowers for the door. They were left over from the fall, but there was a warmth and the yellow was the promise of sun.
I went in but Emory’s bed was empty and his wheelchair was beside it. Kathryn lay dozing on her own bed. I always awaken her when I go – she says she has plenty of time to sleep and rest there. Her face was strained and when I asked she said Emory was in the hospital in intensive care. He’s 95 . . . and a half, as we used to say as kids. He’d gotten very sick while his daughter and her husband were there visiting yesterday afternoon and the paramedics took him to the hospital, with the family following. Kathryn returned at 10:30 pm and the nursing staff gave her something to help her sleep.
He was resting better this morning and I stayed with Kathryn through lunch and until she started snoring – she won’t mind me saying that – afterward. Their son was coming later in the afternoon to take her over to the hospital.
So now we wait.
Emory, sunflowers are waiting for you.
UPDATE: Emory is out of ICU and in a regular room
I am at a lost at what to do today; to be honest, I am a lost at what to do first or how to find an excuse to do nothing. Need to get a refill for high blood pressure medicine and that means a trip to the Wal-Mart because they have it for a total of $8. Oh, and I do need deli rye bread. The big challenge about this is not to let anyone know I am heading to WM or I will hear, “Oh, pick up this and that . . . ” and receive cell phone calls about adding something else to the list.
Need to get my porch (bunker) straightened up . . . need to take Sydney to the fairgrounds, need to get over to the nursing home, need to run some lemi-shine through the dishwasher.
Whoa, there is a light bulb over my head – an idea – Yes! The answer is “tomorrow”. Okay, Der Bingle, I will take Sydney to the FG.
I am now the shortest one in the house; I have always been short. I don’t know if that is really accurate because I remember when I was under 12 people said I was going to be tall like my Aunt Dorothy. It didn’t pan out that way. In the day, as they are saying now, I used to be thin enough. Then I plumped out and it is a well-known I now resemble a Weeble. For all I know, I may have morphed into a real Weeble . . . except I occasionally fall down.
It was in my genes: shorty.
RATS
Okay, this is a view of a crunchy peanut butter foldover on deli rye with the shot focused in on the bread. After I reviewed the pic, I decided to look at my foldover to see if the loop was a hair. No, it is not. It is too little for me to see, even with my glasses. I believe it is some type of fiber – and the brown at the lower left and right side are the edges of fiber I think I can see. Gee, what IS in that bread?
When I posted pictures in previous incarnations of WordPress, you could click on them and see an enlarged view. But then, in WordPress 2.7, you couldn’t. I noticed this when I tried to click on the mother’s hand picture to see it in its truly scary alien form, but it just stayed the same. The axe was the same. So, little WordPress people, I asked the question on Google and found a lot of people had been asking it, which made me feel as if I weren’t the only dull knife in the drawer. I am learned you must “link to image” manually now; it doesn’t do it automatically.
Such a little thing, but it makes me feel better. I used my resources and I got the answer. See, this is a bit of “Grandma speak” – you preach to “think things through” and to “ask yourself what the story problem tells you and what do they want to know – it may tell you much more than you need” and to “not panic if you don’t know something but think of ways you can find it out” and so forth.
Of course, once Summer and I went through a carwash and I said, “Oh, we’re being eaten.” We continued the analogy of digestion throughout the ride and then we reached the end and the conveyor rolled us out. Summer and I looked at each other and I said, “Okay, this is an example of my not thinkging it through.” Then we giggled.
When someone knows you quite well, and sees something he thinks you would enjoy and gets it for you, it is nice. Of course, some little surprises I sort of keep to myself because maybe other people don’t need to wonder about why I would like certain things.
