Last night I had a long and complicated dream that wasn’t terribly upsetting, but not pleasant – except for the segment about the doughnuts at the Festival. ¥es, big pastries and doughnuts that looked delicious were piled on shelves; I looked at them and yearned but did not buy any because they were so packed with calories. I DID NOT REALIZE I WAS DREAMING. I could have stuffed my mouth with them, but, no, I turned and walked away.

That’s just not fair. We all know nothing is fair in life, but that takes the cake. AHA! See the cliche that came to mind so fast I didn’t realize the irony until it was typed. My subconscious can link things together on a grey, rainy and chilly day, but it can’t come to my aid in a dream under a warm blanket at night?

Hmmmmmmpppppphhhh!

Hello. I have expressed this BEFORE and I am doing it again: They are plastic and they are garish. I don’t care for plastic flowers, but I can deal with them, imagining the people who place them on graves can’t afford real flowers. But, for goodness sake, what is it with the manufacturers and these colors? What must the Chinese workers think of us?

Oh, are these for Easter? Well, they are still ugly. That’s my opinion.

Feels like 32 this morning. Supposed to be a high of 54. My sentences are short, which, according to Der Bingle, is a rarity. Oops . . . Looks like AmeliaJake is returning to her usual self, and, actually the first two things with periods after them in this post are phrases, not sentences at all.

I once read that Alan Greenspan says his IQ is 20 points higher in the morning than the afternoon; it is looking like I wake up at 3:47 pm every day.

I am the only one here who is not sick; everyone is saying, “so far” to me when I remark on it. I keep telling them to stay away, which has its own benefits. Yesterday I started cleaning the garage and now all these potential helpers are down and out. In fact, as I started working in the garage, Summer opened the door and told me her throat was scratchy. Hmmmm.

I woke from a nightmare this morning in which I was venomously yelling at people in the house and other people who had come in the house for a meeting . . . You’d think my throat would be sore, come to think of it.  But it’s not.

Now let’s hope I haven’t jinxed myself. Of course, even if it gets sore, I don’t have to tell anyone. No reason I should join the symptom-talking chicken noodle pack when I can just keep quiet and be off by myself.

And, as an added bonus, the sun is supposed to be out all day today. So, let me enjoy this blue sky, although I think I will keep a ten foot pole close at hand.

BACK! BACK! YOU SICK FIENDS. Hey, I never claimed to be Mother Teresa.

Oh, I was going to title this post “The first lawnmowing” but just didn’t type it. But I did mow part of the yard . . . which makes me wonder why they don’t call it a yardmower. Quite possibly, it is because those of use with “yards” first used goats, sheep and other animals to keep the grass down.

I could have used some sheep; the lawnmower isn’t working exactly right as far as throttling is concerned. It cut the grass but I didn’t need to fear anything shooting out the side. It sounded puny and, actually, I felt puny just listening to it. I walked slowly as if that would make us – the mower and myself – not real noticeable. I didn’t look at anyone who passed because I thought I would see pity in their eyes. I could take it but I worried for the little mower that has Electrolux stamped on it. Maybe I vacuumed the lawn, er, yard.

I am watching Hereafter. Because it is a movie. Because Matt Damon is in it.

Quentin was on the phone with me last evening when he started remarking on a Work of Art that was located alone a nearby walkway. He decided to take a picture of it and as soon as I hung up, my phone notified me that it had come through.

This is it.

Well, this is a phone photo and, even enhanced, the middle portion blends in with the tree. However, you get the idea. I’m not certain the idea I’m getting is the idea the artist intended.

Yesterday while singing Happy Birthday, Summer and I launched ourselves into a songfest duo that started with repeated renditions of the HB song and moved to Amazing Grace – which Summer sang to the tune of The First Noel. We then did several choruses of This Little Light of Mine and came to a finale with The Song that Never Ends.

We were exuberant. The same could not be said for others and we heard one voice from upstairs commanding, “DONT’ BRING THOSE PEOPLE IN HERE.”

This is LZP, who has a Master’s in Psychology – just thought that might prove a little unsettling to remember as you view him in his second job role of Grand Weed of the Dandelion Federation.

Ah,  you thought the war of the dandelions and their gnome mercenaries vs. The Amazing AmeliaJake had died down? No. Yesterday, I almost died when I looked down at the foundation of the house to the south and ACK! saw a dandelion nestled up so very close.

We are dealing with him, eliciting all information he has before . . . well, just before.

Anyway, here is The Grand Weed himself. (Note the fancy G for Gnome on his glasses.)

It’s been a long day. My older son, Summer’s father, received a new gas grill for his birthday and Summer and I put it together in the living room because it was in the 30’s outside. Things got a little warmer inside as two different generations of “Miss Grabbies” messed with directions, screws, washers – three kinds, and a black and white picture of colored wires.

Took us about four hours.

Personally, Der Bingle and I are charcoal people. Go figure.

All the folks here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are sitting around talking about what a nice person Pottermom, a Colorado ranch kid turned Texan, is. Rose sighed and said, “Now, AmeliaJake, you could do well to be more like she is.” I know, Rose. I know. (Both Rose and I sigh in unison because we both know it’s probably hopeless.)

But, anyway, Quentin in Texas is in a house where the air conditioning gave out last year. He’s like his Grandma Sarah in some things . . . Hey, I don’t need that; I can take it. Well, I nagged and cajoled and pleaded about getting a new one installed and he kept saying, “I will . . . I will.”

There is a saying: Never Try to Outstubborn a Mother. I take it seriously. I emailed Pottermom who lives in the same metropolitan area he does and, it turns out  not very far from him, and I asked if she had any advice about air conditioning businesses.

She emailed back all this information in a really friendly way, punctuated with personal observations and contacts. That took time. And it is greatly appreciated. So we are hoping Quentin will get out of the heat without his mother losing her cool.

***

While we were munching foldovers and drinking “cures” and talking about this, Sophie piped up with a remark about how nice it was of Albug to share her experiences when I (The Amazing AJ) was in my colonoscopy period.

My mother hung a small plaque at the basement door that reads:

“I shall pass this way but once. Therefore, any good that I can do, or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again”
-William Penn

You see it every time you go to the basement or just come into the summer eatery area. She also had an embroidered version of it framed on another wall. Version isn’t the word I want, but I just can’t hit the nail on the head right now. It’s kind of like the “sultry” thing in Throw Momma from the Train.

I am so glad Pottermom and Albug have passed my way.