Cameron, Summer and I took a bit of a side trip up to Scott – the homestead of the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse.  We don’t have internet there and, so I tried to post via my phone. It wouldn’t take my password to get into WordPress.  I don’t know if that is because there is a setting that must be made for BlueHost access or not. My phone is still pretty much a phone with GPS capability; it is sort of phony in terms of an internet device – well for an old fogie like moi.

It was HOT by our standards and no air-conditioning, but the house is shaded by tall trees. However, the night remained warm, not so bad really since the humidity was relatively low. Today, though, we were hit with a thunderstorm that was followed by sticky, oppressive – but not sultry – air.

Der Bingle was in Iowa with some of his brothers, or maybe all of them – a few at a time – to see his mother and visit his father’s grave in Harmony Cemetery in Hancock County, Illinois*. This would have been the time of VanceFest, but , unfortunately fate moved the place of meeting from the croquet courts of Cedar Ridge or North Liberty to the resting place of family ancestors. I’d like to think that the spirit continues with my father-in-law and W.A. himself joining in through memories. I wonder if they told the story about the one uncle who was “thrifty” and used old ammunition while pheasant hunting: the grapeshot came out of the barrel and just arced to the ground. (Corrections on this story are welcome in comments – such as was it Uncle June or Uncle Chell?”Actually, any and all stories are welcome.)

Der Bingle picked me up a couple of treats on the trip – a cow print tote and a special cow shirt. He sent some pictures on his phone but so far only one has come through.

Ah, yes, there is this thought to ponder. You have heard of the straw that broke the camel’s back . . . Well, this afternoon in Kroger’s, Der Bingle was checking out and the young high school/maybe college freshman guy looked at the marked down copy of Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull and asked if this was the one set in the desert. Der Bingle told him that it was South America. The kid stared at the front of the package and remarked, “So (old) Harrison Ford is Indiana Jones.” This story is the inspiration for a new feature on this blog: The Tipping Point.

I will get Woo to figure out how to feature it and add it into the template along with this picture.

* List and pictures on Vance graves.

Tomorrow is Kingman Fraternal Cemetery Day. I drive down with a big pot of geraniums located in the backseat –  seat belt holding them in place – and a little cooler next to me in the front. And a camera. Right now, my rear end is sore from working with the mighty wet/dry vac at Mother’s and walking behind the little mower on this little lawn.Maybe I will put a pillow on the driver’s seat for tomorrow.

Sydney is going to the kennel for some rest; Shane is staying here with the crew. HA! That is what Shane is thinking right now. He’s too young to know about laughing last laughing best. In the next couple of weeks, Sydney will be sending Shane off for a “neutral” visit to the vet/kennel. Maybe, just maybe, Shane will not feel so macho he has to run INTO cars while he is chasing them. Perhaps he can learn not to chase . . .  Nah, I’ll bet not.

I’m walking around the talking with the dead part of being at the cemetery because there is so much too say about and so little. It just is.

Throat tightening . . . Okay, backing away from that path and thinking about making certain my ipod is charged – I’ll probably listen tot he same song all the way home. For some reason Sweet Gypsy Rose is tempting my ears – maybe it’s the beat, or maybe it’s the trombone slide part. Wonder what the theme song for Thelma and Louise is – minus the off the cliff part?

I still have not decided which way I will go; I could just activate the GPS and listen to the voice repeat, “Recalculating route.” I wonder if computer voices have an exasperation aspect that can be factored in if you have a bozette driving?   After a certain point, you would hear, “Stop the car, get out, back away and wait for the police. You obviously should not be driving. In fact, don’t stand there, sit down.”

I was thinking of having Spikey and Rose and Woo and E4 and AP ride along with me, but that would probably guarantee I would be stopped by a trooper who would look at all those smiling faces and say, “Stop the car, get out . . . ” I’d have to call Foo to vouch for me. Or maybe not. I find it interesting that many people in my family practice saying, “Well, officer, yes we are making arrangements for this woman  . . . “

Big pots of geraniums, each with a spike in it and each waiting for the addition of some sort of ivy looking stuff.  I looked in Mother’s bank statements to see to whom she had written a check for flowers last May and found Nature Scene. I looked and looked for the place and then thought that perhaps it wasn’t listed because it is run by Amish folks. Well, it is actually Nature Lane and it does not have a website. It is on a dirt road. But I found it . . . and now we have geraniums.

As I type this, I think I am going to get up very early Thursday and take the arrangement for my father’s grave down to Kingman.  I’ve just left Google maps in my yearly search for a route that will make a straight line on a four lane highway to Kingman. By now I have discerned a pattern when it comes to the results of this search. I will have a rough idea of meandering there.

I mowed at Mother’s last Wednesday or Thursday and yesterday, when we took Shane and Sydney up there to romp and to share charcoaled hot dogs and brats with us, we had to mow again. Zounds! And bushes are growing longer tentacles to grab me as the mower skirted them. Do you know I found tons of leaf debris inside my shirt and underwear? Well, I guess you do now. The other day I found a little green wormie bug, but I didn’t want to tell Summer about it because then she would probably mow no closer than 20 feet to any foliage.

We now have HEAT – for us. It was close to 90 degrees. (Yes, I keep forgetting to locate the degree symbol on the optional keyboard) But back to the temperature: ALMOST 90. We were HOT. Well, not August Dog Days hot – the air wasn’t laden with moisture. But after highs in the low 50’s last week, it was hot.

And the stuff with Mother’s estate is on the front burner, now . . . and kind of boiling over.  You know, the things that I filed under procrastination.

We are adapting here with Shane, or maybe Shane is adapting to us. Frankly, I find the sound of the loudly squeaking Wubba comforting – it says Shane is close by and Shane is enjoying himself. I believe I will record the Wubba-ing, maybe even film it. Perhaps we should play along with our home-made instruments – or we could send him over to the Bluegrass festival at the fairgrounds.

We took Shane to Mother’s yesterday – we being Cameron and I. We had the leash that is like an infinite slinky; we had a 30-foot aircraft cable; we had the “when all else fails, squeak the Wubba toy.  He was so good in backyard, we were able to let him off leash and he followed Cameron around. They had a long spell of Wubba fetching while I finished up a tiny bit of mowing and then we went onto the front porch to sip drinks and snack. I put the red aircraft cable around a tall pine tree outside by the porch steps and we left the door open so Shane could come in and out at will. Then we all spent some time out front . . . and he was so good.

Well, one time he ran across the road to look at the neighbors’ little dogs and we lectured him up one side and down the other. Then we were playing Wubba in the west side yard and all of a sudden Shane took off toward the road. Cameron made a tackle . . . Shane slipped through and ran right into the back side of a mini-van driven by a Mennonite lady who turned around and came back to see what had happened.

It was the THUMP that got everyone’s attention.

We hurried Shane into the car and headed for the LaGrange Small Animal Clinic where Miss Alice and Lucy Lib and Tippy and Tiffany and Little One went with Mother. The vet checked him over and said he thought he was fine, and to prevent soreness gave him a shot of anti-inflammatory and some pills for the same purpose.

We talked about Miss Alice and Daddy and Mother and Miss Alice’s ashes and I started to cry from the stress of Shane and the memories of Miss Alice and Daddy and Mother. Cameron patted my hand.

We came home and told people and then later I told Quentin and I stammered, “You said he chased cars; you didn’t say he ran INTO cars.”