I am listening to music –  a playlist burned from my computer onto a CD disk. The little CD player is sitting on a chessboard/checkerboard that is the top of a table. That top is hinged and I do have to be careful that I place things so the player does not splat itself on the floor. But aside from that minor complication, it works well – my little music setup.

I just pulled songs out that took me to parts of my life – aside from any philosophy and beliefs. Some are tunes I heard before I could remember and some of those were refreshed in the poignant scenes of a movie, such as Roses of Picardy in the documentary about TR and again in The Whales of August with Lillian Gish and Bette Davis.

Oddly enough, I don’t mind the bouncing from one emotion to another.

Count Your Blessings; There’ll Always be an England; Hello Love; I Saw the Light; Buckle Down Winsocki; Running Bear; God Bless the USA; This Little Light of Mine: Forever and Ever, Amen; Love Lifted Me; The Stein Song; Old Time Religion (Tennessee Ernie Ford); Roses of Picardy; 1234; Wabash Cannonball; Men of Harlech; Achy Breaky Heart; Surfin’ USA; Where the Blue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day.

I was going to add The Minstrel Boy, but 1) I forgot and 2) I was running out of CD space.

Maybe one is here if I can add it to the post. And if I can’t, well. hum Buckle Down, Winsocki.  Or any tune of your choice.

I have things to do today that involve getting other people to certain places and, frankly, I don’t know when these things are supposed to happen. I’m certain someone will come and tell me – they always do.  I have decided to go where the day takes me today and, for heavens sake, I hope it is not into any cleaning job. Since I am the queen of the two minute showers, I am not worried about getting my act together. See, I have some talents . . .

For some reason that reminds me of some 11 years ago when we were in Fountain County to bury my father beside his parents in the Kingman Fraternal Cemetery. We stayed at my oldest cousin and his wife’s house and got there, oh, sometime in the late afternoon. I don ‘t know how I was dressed, but I suppose it was utilitarian and I imagine my hair was going a bunch of different ways. I only remember this probable scenario because the next day when we got up and got dressed to go to the funeral home, my cousin-in-law remarked that I looked quite nice . . . and my cousin blurted out, “Why, it’s like she’s another person.”

Yes, it’s true. That’s me. I’m grinning now; I like things that make me grin.

So, it’s off to go with the flow today – starting sooner or later with that two minute shower. Well, I shouldn’t have added that because now I am thinking of the flow of water whirling around the drain. Hey, it looks dark down there.

Barker’s Jewelers called that my amethyst necklace had been restrung and was ready to be picked up. So I go in my car and went to get it because it is one of my favorite things – the stones are irregular and polished and feel like silk sliding through my fingers. That, of course, means a lot to someone who has always found comfort in the satin edge of a blanket – a “feeler” my father dubbed it.

I went farther south than the store is so that when I turned east and then north, I would be in a position to park in front of the store. That route took me past the Strand and there it was on the marquee: The King’s Speech – 7 pm.”  So at 6:45 I was tucked in my seat with popcorn and soda and waiting for the movie to begin.

I thought it was a really good movie. A very good movie.  I thought the make-up of the actor playing Churchill was awful, but then the name of the movie wasn’t Churchill’s Speech.

I didn’t think of it at the time, but remembering the scene of King George walking out of the broadcast room, the thought “Bertie plays the Palace” crosses my mind and I am proud for him.

I started to write a bit of a post yesterday and then stared at the screen and thought well, perhaps later.

Well, in that “later” my DVD player broke and so did my little firestove. I called Der Bingle to tell him and the first thing he said was, “Good thing you don’t have a pacemaker.” Then Quentin called to console me and laugh a little with me. . .and my phone beeped “low and low and cannot get any lower” battery and the charger was not near me.

My blog did not put itself out there yesterday . . . and maybe you were very lucky.

So many people probably are aware of my war on dandelions and the gnome army that is alliance with them, thanks to the efforts of LZP. So many people are probably not and they are lucky. So stop reading now if you want to remain in that category.

If you want to delve into the history, you can type dandelion or gnome into the search slot and get more than enough. If you type in POW, you will see THIS.

But, anyway, spring is coming and both sides are preparing. I received this in the mail this morning from Himself, LZP.

Then on the back of the envelope:

This is part of the note:

This is what they will be listening to.

Well, the Lawn Home Guard is practicing “Men of Harlech” and we have word that the Scottish Brigades are joining in – gotta love the bagpipes.

I call us girls because that’s what Mother called us: “You girls . . . ” This is what we were looking for last summer and I think Glenda really  may have found something  like it, and because I probably just glanced, I  agreed it was the real thing.

But this is it. This is THE cookbook – the one I tore the pictures out of when I was one and stacked them beside myself. Those pictures are stuffed back in there along with notes and gosh, I don’t know what. I haven’t opened it yet. I imagine Glenda should be the archeologist. I took a picture of it from the side also because I think that view captures the years of use more accurately.

Oh, on one sheet of paper that fell out I saw a list of names – Woodrow, Drake, Alexander. Sound familiar? And first names such as Parke and Trell and Al and Glen. I shoved it back in before I thought I should look at it more closely. Maybe it was a list of people who would be at a dinner and she was thinking of something they especially liked. I know Robert Allen was a cherry pie fan. In fact, I remember one Thanksgiving in Indianapolis Robert Allen was looming over the pie as it was brought it and the housekeeper shooed him away.

I don’t know why I remember that – maybe because I was pretty young and he was looking at that pie so intently it made me think perhaps the wolf in Red Riding Hood was real.

I am in no hurry to look out the door to the backyard; it is filled with caught in the snow stuff and dog debris. I need a hard freeze with no snow to clean it all out. That won’t be today, though. Which brings me to the question of what will be today. Ah, that’s a hard one. Der Bingle has to stay in Dayton this weekend to field potential work glitches, which works out with the rain since we were going to take the dogs on an outdoor adventure. Rose is not happy, however, for she stayed this week to bolster my spirits with the promise that a relief column would arrive with Der Bingle.

You’d think this was the Alamo to hear her lament about it.