I went to get the Krinner tree stand and it was a “non voila” situation. And it wasn’t anywhere in the general area, or in the non-general area. I could not find it. I went up to the attic several times . . . up to the cold, cold attic . . . and I didn’t find it.  I looked in the basement. I went through things over and over again in the general area. Then I lay down on the sofa and pouted into my blankie. This morning I started searching again – obsessed and maniacal. Once more into the attic and going at it like an archaeologist and I found it.  That “and I found it” sort of eased in there without fanfare, didn’t it. After the massive search, it seems it should have been an “Eureka” moment. Well, I just found it; that’s it and I immediately got the tree in the stand and spent the morning and early afternoon decorating and cleaning in the living room.

The actual tree is stretching out and getting ready for lights tomorrow.

I’m boring myself here.

A messy workshop – Listening to Bing Crosby and hanging tiny ornaments. Oh, I am wearing a ribbon around my head with about six bells attached. Just in case you want to know.

1981 Oldsmobile coming up.

Oh, now Bing is singing The Littlest Angel –  a tear jerker. A butterfly with golden wings, a little piece of a hollow log, two shining stones from a riverbank and the worn out strap of his faithful dog.

Der Bingle is already on his way back to the Ohio Redoubt, having left before I awoke – having left in deep darkness. Only now is the sky starting to lighten a wee bit. He has to work today. Okay, enough of that – he might get the idea we actually appreciate him.

Oh, while he was here, he gifted us with a new airport, as in one of Apple’s finest, and our little computers are running so much faster on the Internet; it seems that the newer macbooks don’t interact well with the old model airports. When I first got this computer, I turned it on and it raced through all sorts of inner computer tasks and then absolutely crawled on the Internet. It was sooo slow, sort of like dial-up only not that bad – but sometimes close. We would do the little happy dance but we’re kind of achy today.

What is this with the first person plural? Am I the Queen of the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse or am I channelling some of the patrons, such as the beloved Spikey, pictured below. Oh, speaking of that post, do you know what happens when you glue your fingers together with super glue – actually do it instead of just reading about it? You start to get ideas, that’s what. Not clever ideas, mind you; college prank ideas. Snicker ideas. Things you would never do. And then, you start to think: What if it were back in WWII and I were an operative in an enemy country? What clever super glue things could I think of? Uh . . . a solder watching the Channel sees an armada of ships, applies lip balm, and calls headquarters with a message that turns out to be :”MMMMMM    MMMMMM!!!!!! MMMMMMMM!!”  Probably too iffy.

MUST . . . STOP . . . THIS  . . . LINE . . .  OF . . . THINKING

We have a tree – a Fraiser fir. I’t about 8 feet high which is our max in this house. So we are at the beginning; we have done the pile in the cars and go to the tree farm and choose a tree and stop on the way home for the tree-getting Steak & Shake tradition meal. We are at the nitty-gritty part; now we must transfer said tree out of its temporary bucket home and into the wonderful, wonderful Krinner Tree Stand . . . oh, but first, we have to figure out where in the house we are putting this tree. And what to put on this tree.

For some weird, unexplainable turn of fate, I, the rustic AmeliaJake who is always going for the sentimental, am in a mood for white lights shimmering like stars. And then delicate ornaments such as stained glass and crystal bells and flat golden silhouettes. But I see myself looking at the tree, envisioning this and then turning to see people holding homemade stuff and old ornaments needing repair in their grubbly little hands. Their little puppy dog eyes looking at me.

But, AmeliaJake, where have you gone?

Well, rats, I’m here; I’m here . . . hand me that popsicle stick reindeer Cameron and I made in first grade – the day I had been in the dentist’s chair for over two hours and then the novacaine wore off like the snap of fingers right in the middle of the reindeer-making. And that elf, and the plastic Santa from when I was very little, and all that other . . . junk. Sigh.

Heck, let’s even hang a coaster from the corner table at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse smack dab in the middle. (Like we have coasters . . . hahahahahahaha. Okay, just chip off a splinter of the table.)

Oh, by the way, I actually super-glued my thumb and finger together yesterday while putting one of Spikey’s spikes back on. We have to designate her as real, because Summer once tried to introduce an imposter.

Don’t worry, I kept my wits about me and made sure to remember the brand of this super glue that really works super.

I thought I had posted this yesterday – but it’s not here. Maybe something distracted me or maybe it was a lot of senior moments all in a row. I do the Peyton Manning system of pill delivery: Open the mouth and fire that baby on a bullet pass right down the throat. As the vet’s says, “… Haven’t choked a dog yet that way.” Yesterday morning I took him to the fairgrounds and there was a spring in his step, an enthusiasm to his trot. And he’s been eating and drinking, although I have cut way back on his food . . . and now those milkbones look really tasty to him.

Monday was a strange day. The appraiser came in and spent about three hours going through the house and outbuildings. He was very nice and respectful and at one point said, “She certainly liked to read.” We came across Aunt Sara’s opera glasses from way back when and I found the library society’s booklet from 1900 about the bylaws of Lima High School’s book-lending procedures. At the back they listed the former presidents and secretaries. Men were always the president. But I recognized names in the secretary column: First Grace Wisler, then Anna Wisler, then Sara Wisler, then Jessie Wisler – three great-great aunts and a grandmother.  Also listed were alumni classes – about six per class. I guess Old Doc Wade must have been too young to have made that edition – must have graduated in 1901.

Years and years later, he would tell Grandma, “Jessie, your heart will never kill you.” He was right. And when Grandma broke her hip, he was there in the operating room and made the orthopedic surgeon repeatedly re-set it until it was just right.

The guys from Miller’s Garage in Middlebury pulled the 1981 Oldsmobile diesel out of the basement garage and hoisted it on a flatbed and took it to Max Myers for evaluation. It’s black and long and, well, just big. Daddy bought it when Quentin was born, because he bought a new car when Robert William was born. Who knows, maybe we’ll get it revved up and I’ll show up on Quentin’s doorstep – hope his driveway is nice and long.

I’m rambling.