Our consigliere.

Today. Some time around 11 am. I don’t want to go. I vaguely remember the dentist remarking that the tree little places were small and he didn’t think I need Novocain. He asked if I’d be comfortable being in the chair about 90 minutes and I answered “Yeah” because I wanted to get out of the office then.

Oh, auuuggggghhhhhhhh.

But, yes, I’m glad I have my own teeth and that they seem to be fairly strong, genetically speaking. So I will go . . . but I won’t like it. I’ll be wearing my inner five year old face of displeasure under my barely passable neutral adult expression. I thought about sending Rose in my place, but she has gone to Ohio for some R&R. Come to think of it, I have never actually seen Rose’s teeth. Let me imagine her with teeth . . .

Nope, can’t do it. And as much as I am tempted, I won’t photoshop them in. I mean that would really piss her off. Ack, I said “piss”.

ACK! I DID IT.

Cameron has misplaced his cell phone and he looked pretty darn thoroughly. He didn’t find it. So we started a search together that included his lifting heavy furniture and me using the super sucking wet/dry vac to a)maybe latch onto the phone and b) to grab some dirt. We started on the porch and worked our way through the living room and into the den and then into the kitchen and ran out of steam in the dining room.

So much sucking; so much dirt; so much taking things apart and putting them back together. And no phone.

I don’t think Cameron has the talent for going into his memory and floating into that last moment with the phone in his hand, so we are going at it without vibes.

Maybe I will lie quietly tonight and and chant “Be the phone . . .”

This is up by Bluffton and the river isn’t very wide at all; in fact, it is a small fraction of the eastern floodplain  down by Covington in Fountain County  where my dad is from. Well, he’s from Kingman, but it’s close. Or, maybe it is not – close that is. Given the times I have headed out to Covington from Kingman on the little roads that meander around in that old territory, it could be oh, way far away.

Long ago they built the Wabash & Erie Canal and over in Delphos, Ohio, you can see one of the locks. I am humbled by the thought of all the people slowly making their way west. And that is something, since I have one of those egos that is an “I” carved out of granite. Come to think of it, it’s more of a “ME”.

I was sitting here at my little table at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and planning to post . . . and then I thought, “I’m mundane.”  So I closed my laptop, said “So long, Oolong” to the others, and headed up to Mother’s for a little mousetrap checking and potential mowing.

There were two mice caught in traps; all the other traps had sprung prematurely or had not sprung at all because they are the new Victor mousetrap made with plastic. They are not a better mousetrap. I did my best to set them again, but I am not confident. Aha, I was going to show you a picture and went to the Victor site and found out I have not been using the traps correctly – they are pre-baited and disposable. Okay, made a little mistakie. Nevermind.

On to the mower. I backed it out, gassed it up, did the oil thing and started it and flicked the mower switch. Such a CLANGING. It was not a good sign and so I went into the okay, let’s get this figured out mode and lay down beside the Wheel Horse. I had found a wee old pen knife in the shed – about two inches long – and was using it to cut away stuff from the shafts. Then I put it down beside me and when I went to get it again, I couldn’t find it. I looked for several minutes – I mean, where could it be? But I gave up and got something else. Still it clanged and I realized that the motor itself was not revving to well.  I dug into the air filter and engine and poked debris out and, yes, we had power and the blade went fast enough it did not wobble.

I was good to go. And I did. For about four hours, or maybe five. Then I had no more gas and, gosh darn it, I had to stop. So I decided to look for the knife again . . .  I used a metal rake and I used a plastic rake and I watched for the sun to reflect on a blade and nothing worked. I am going back with a big magnet.

So, this is to be continued.

One day last spring I had to be in the ER waiting room while somebody was being seen; I just know it wasn’t me.  A lady in a wheelchair was pushed up to the intake desk; she had fallen and maybe cracked a bone or sprained a muscle. She was elderly in the way I will be in, oh, 10, years and her husband looked a little older. He was slender, casually well-dressed and poised. It seemed like a regular visual encounter in a waiting room.

AND THEN, their two twin daughters came in. They were very tall, very slender, very professionally coiffed and dressed in designer-like black dresses. They were accessorized and they were probably somewhere in their thirties. One could have imagined them showing up in a Manhattan ER and being quickly escorted to the VIP section – which of course isn’t listed on the directory, but exists.

I was short, squat  and dressed in the work clothes I had been wearing when we had to head off our patient. They were not, as I have said.

They also stood in the waiting room as if no one else were there; I suppose they didn’t want to embarrass us by indicated we had been noticed. Or they were very snooty. I found myself wondering, since their mother did not seem to be in pain or distress, if they had taken time to dress for the occasion.

I think I am being unfair; I just would have liked it had they shown some awareness of an old woman, wincing in discomfort as she waited – of the little boy standing there all nervous while his mother held his splotched and crying sister.

This was quite awhile ago, and I still think of it now and then. I think I would have liked it had I not been jealous of their looks, icy cold though they were. But, rats. that’s me and it doesn’t look like I’m going to change.

Quentin now says that Shane is living in WubbaLand. He has three old Wubbas and three new ones and a Wubba that you can stuff a cookie in and a Wubba frisbee, I can’t help it; we all love Shane and he loves Wubbas. Yesterday, I bought him a red one, a leopard print one and a bat one that is special for Halloween.

Do you know the newer Wubbas have sort of a lively, high-pitched, double squeak and the older ones, more or less, squawk? The sound of double-squeaks and squawks is music to our ears – it is the sound of Shane being happy. Of course, the music is a little off-key when it’s very early or you are very busy and he is sitting there interpreting the squeaks as “Play with me NOW.”

Summer and I went up to Mother’s to retrieve dead mice and set new traps and Shane went with us. He took his red Wubba and as we got ready to leave, we realized it wasn’t in the car with him. We drove around the back field and finally spotted it deep in grass – good thing I didn’t get him a green one. Quentin said I should have left it there since he has so many, but darn it, it was the VERY FIRST DAY he had it and my mind is such that the only reaction is: “WE ARE NOT LOSING THAT WUBBA ON THE VERY FIRST DAY!”

So, yes, we squeaked most of the way back home.

Just a little hair tussle after Summer remarks about the “balding” situation.

Wide angle lens catches hand to mouth steak barbecue event.

That’s me,  AmeliaJake, sprawling here with the laptop on my lap. I would take a picture but my arms aren’t long enough to get much more in than my face and the back of the screen.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I woke up a lot and then this morning the alarm went off . . . when I was asleep. I snoozed it three times.

I will let you know how this day turns out . . .

For a long time Der Bingle and others have been appalled that I have not been taking advantage of Netflix on my computer. So, yesterday, I don’t know why, I finally did. I watched No Way Out with Kevin Costner. I’ve been wanting to see it again for quite some time. So I watched it.

This comes after several conversation with Quentin during which I went down the TV guide channel, going, “No, no, no, no, no . . .”

After No Way Out, I chose The Last Emperor. I was watching along when all of a sudden the screen went red and the message came that the connection was running slowly and they (Netflix) were adjusting something. Then the Internet failed.

Okay, during No Way Out, I was interrupted by people and I got testy; The Last Emperor didn’t function to my satisfaction at first. I was testy . . . and I let people know. Then I got it to play and watched for over two hours and didn’t want to be interrupted.

For some reason, if the film is on a TV and I am sprawled somewhere, I can deal with it – these people interruptions. Watching up close and personal on the computer makes the  interruptions get almost the same response as if I had been disturbed while reading.

The bothering the reading AmeliaJake is not pretty.

I guess I had better back away from this Netflix thing before something bad happens.

CHANGING SUBJECTS,  I come to the Bear Wubba situation.

Shane has four Wubbas – this is one of them. The others have no faces. Last night I found this Bear Wubba sitting up on a chair with Rose and a couple of her friends. It appeared he was trying to escape his Wubba fate and seek refuge with the members of The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse gang. And it appeared they were giving him sanctuary.

I believe they are working on a petition to have him washed and scented with a dog repellent. Then I suppose he will belly up to the Foo Bar. That is, if the judge grants his request. He’s staring at me right now with his cute little eyes. What fool decided to give a Wubba a face? Rumor has it we will be making a trip to Fort Wayne to secure a inanimate-looking plain-old basic red Wubba.

Sometimes I know I am a bit off-centered in my mind.