I am very happy with Turner Classic Movies; I enjoy the commercial-free presentation of the old flicks.; I like watching the classics – be they classic good or classic bad.  Robert Osborne is the host for many of the movies; he is okay – not handsome, but okay. Alec Baldwin joins him on one night – maybe Saturdays; I don’t like Alec Baldwin – he is, in my opinion, a jerk . . . and, lately, a pudgy jerk. But this is, as I said, my opinion of “Mister I’m Going to Move if Bush is Elected” – and isn’t he the one who said of Henry Hyde: “if we were in another country… we would stone Henry Hyde to death and we would go to their homes and kill their wives and their children. We would kill their families”. (cited HERE)

And, of course, there is that matter of the “rude pig” phone message to his daughter – see, he’s not all politics.

Oh, could it be AmeliaJake is off on a tangent? Okay, back to the class of TCM. They have a Robert Osborne BOBBLEHEAD for sale. I don’t think that is the “class” of classic; I think that is the “ic(k)“.

Well, you are forewarned:

Come to think of it, I could do some less than classy things with an Alec Baldwin BOBBLEHEAD . . . like run it over with my car. Oh, I could get more creative than that.

Oh, last Friday, Cameron made an offhand remark: “When Grandpa rolls into town, the crime rate goes down.” And then he chuckled. I don’t think he knew then that his words would  resonate in his grandmother’s mind, triggering a determination to create a police state. When Summer chimed in, “You’re weak; you couldn’t hurt a fly; people walk right over you,” I seriously considered getting myself a black uniforn with tall black shiny boots. I am still considering it. And I am cracking down.

And the next person who 1) leaves the little door to the mail drop open 2) leaves the light on in the mail room 3) leaves the mail room door open 4) leaves the vestibule door open is going to be flogged.

THAT’S JUST FOR STARTERS . . .

Last year I cited two articles I had written about local soldiers and their experience at Normandy on D-Day. You can revisit them HERE.

I am letting my hair dry sans brushing or combing or anything- the prospects are not good and perhaps it has something to do with my last post . . . or not. But anyway, yesterday we went down to Fort Wayne – we being Alison, Cameron, Summer and I – and eventually wound up at Glenbrook Mall where I lost my prescription sunglasses (They were turned into Lost & Found), ate at the Food Court (Where I lost my sunglasses), took advantage of a sale at Yankee Candle and spent a lot of time in Barnes and Noble.

I got lucky at the last place in that 1)  I remembered to check the large print books and 2) found Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul for Kathryn Feller.  I was so pleased to see it because it is chockful of short stories which don’t require a big commitment of energy and can be read over and over just for the pleasure of it.

The book was on the top shelf, so I looked around and spotted a gent with long legs sitting in a reading chair; I approached and asked, “Are you tall?” He said it thought somewhat so I had him get it down for me. Customers sitting in bookstores are usually pretty nice – and maybe he was a store detective keeping an eye on things . . .  so maybe he was wondering if while he helped me someone nearby was lifting a book. Or not. I have a devious mind. (My life is filled with so many tangled webs, I need a big trunk to keep them in. But wait, the web thing is about deceit; I’m not quite sure it is fully synonymous with devious. But then again, where did all these webs come from?)

We got home and there was a big brouhaha type argument between me and  the person who got to stay here in peace . . . and didn’t do one bit of picking up. At all. So I stomped around and fed Sydney and then got to thinking 92 is 92 and perhaps I should get in the car and run the book over to Kathryn. So I did. And then I felt better. Not a whole lot, but some.

When I got back, folks kind of took turns peeking at me to see if they needed to set out flares, but apparently I was stable enough that no alerts were issued.

My good friend Maxwoo – Here & Here –

joined me for a snack.

And then I started a sudoku from my new book.

This afternoon, after a couple of weeks of events and having “things” come up, I made it over to the nursing home for a couple of hours to see Emory and Kathryn. Both of them had gone in the facility van to a restaurant for lunch earlier and Emory was pretty tired, so when dinnertime came around, he convinced the staff to let him skip dinner and go to bed. Kathryn went on down to the dining room to get a cup of hot chocolate and after seeing her settled, I headed home.

Somewhere on Rte. 6  – on the bendy section of  the Ind 9 dogleg – I started thinking that I don’t think of myself as looking the way I do in the mirror, and I don’t mean just shape. We’re talking face as well. Now, I recognize myself when I pass a mirror, look at a picture, or catch a glimpse in a window, but it’s not how I see myself in my mind. I have learned what the mirror says I look like, yet I am always thinking, “How can I look like that?” So what do I think I look like? Well, darned if I know.

Even thinking about what I see in my mind when I think of myself doing something comes up with a blur – just an ephemeral poof person.

In The Music Man, the method for learning to play an instrument was thinking; maybe I can think myself into a good look. Yeah, I’ll have to sit here and think.

The house was sleeping – everything as quiet as a mouse – and I, AmeliaJake the Great and Wonderful Grandma of Limitless Talents, awoke in plenty of time to get Summer to the school for the bus to Cedar Point.

See, she is smiling

as she zips herself into my treasured Pacific Beach windbreaker.

It is supposed to be chilly and rainy there with a possibility of thunderstorms. I think, however, she is going for the “I’m on my own” feeling more than the rides. Last year, we looked up all the ride videos on the Cedar Point site and rode the virtual front seat . . . and oooohed and ahhhhed and fake screamed. This year that was old, dontcha know. She’s a veteran.