First there was snow and then continued cold; Sunday the temperature was (gasp) 82? and humid – a tough adaptation for my senior body. ACCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!! Senior body . . . Did I actually type that because it seems so undeniably true to me now?  No. I had a moment of hesitation but decided what’s what is what; the moment it was staring at me in computer print, though, I had an almost anaphylactic response.

Back to my train of thought: Yesterday was a just right day  for working out – sunny and cool.  I raked at Mother’s and picked up yard debris and re-stacked old outdoor furniture for a future determination of what gets rustoleum and what get tossed. We would have done this last summer, but the huge willow came down and crashed into the deck – one man said he thought it was the biggest tree in LaGrange County. It was a heck of a clean up and that was a really hot and humid summer and am I working my way to another senior body reference? Better not be.

A lot of the chairs are retro chairs, only they are the real McCoy from that retro time. They have sat around forever, but I don’t believe people sat in them for the past few years. When Der Bingle sat down in one to contemplate the fallen tree, the metal bent at the curve and he wound up on his back looking at the sky. I think I have pictures, but I’m not looking now. Maybe I will look later; maybe it is on an old hard drive. See, I have things to look forward to . . .

I tried to start the car in the basement garage . . . dead battery. Sigh. I tried one of the lawn tractors; it fired up, but then backfired repeatedly when I took it for a test run. So that means a service call, which I already knew was prudent because I was not as familiar as Mother with the terrain and hit some hidden rocks with the blade and then there was that time when I sucked up the corner of some outdoor carpeting. That was bad. Once I caught a piece of rope that was attached to a tarp. That was bad.

I was accountable and responsible and resourceful, however, and worked in the aforementioned heat for what seemed like forever freeing the blade. Sometimes being resourceful is a pain, dontcha know. Sometimes I just want to yell, “Miss Scarlett, I can’t birth no babies.”

Oh, I also have to get a new knob for one of the gear shifts . . . it just vibrated off one afternoon. I probably then mowed over it and adapted to grasping the gear shift differently. Der Bingle  says we adapt to easily to things that we really should fix. I don’t know – maybe I can make a new knob out of duct tape . . .

I moved old boards and put my hands into grass matted against outbuildings. (See, it was cool enough for snakes not to be likely little yard buddies.) I washed some of the porch windows. And I picked up more sticks. There are still plenty left as well.

In between all this activity, I sat on the porch and relaxed with a cold drink. I did my usual thing of closing my eyes so all the ghosts could come out. Sometimes that brings tears out from under my closed lids, but that’s okay.

When I got up to go back to work I glanced over my shoulder and up for some unknown reason; I saw a mounted puzzle and thought, “Oh, golden rings nestled in the trees” without really being aware of having thought it. Then I stopped mid-step and realized I had also seen girls with a cow and men jumping . . . It came to me – the Twelve Days of Christmas. Leaping lords. Maids a-milking. Gee, Mother, how long was that there and I missed it?

This morning was a little rocky psychologically – so much to do, so much manipulating to mesh what  has to be done with what other people feel must be done. And, of course I can’t push all the conflict onto others; a lot of things in my job bag that I know must be taken care of are vying for time at effort – sometimes the same exact parcel of time.

So I lay down on the floor and thought about it all, even considering letting my bag of marbles spill open and having them roll everywhere – just for the heck of it. Lying on the floor feels pretty good, letting gravity have its way. And when I sat up a cool drink was nice as well. I don’t think there are any metaphors here; I think it is all matter-of-fact.

I thought about a lot of other things on the floor, but some have already slipped from my mind or from my feeling any urge to expound on them here at this time.

Although I did think of that Shakespeare line about being true to yourself and you cannot be false to any man. I don’t know if it is better to express my true feelings, i.e. “You lousy bum.” or if I should say, “Oh, that’s okay.” I don’t suppose Shakespeare was talking trivialities. Perhaps this is where the “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” comes in. Of course, “Silence implies consent”. Well, damn, these little sayings are sneaky things. I could tone down the “You lousy bum” exclamation.

You know what I want to do if you know me at all: I want to jump up and down and yell repeatedly, “You lousy bum”. That would be being true to myself. I wonder if Shakespeare would step in and take the resultant flack. I doubt it.

An obvious title.

And so it did.

Yes, LZP and the Free Dandelion Force with gnome mercenaries have magnolia blossoms, while we are roseless. Rose decided to take a trip back to the Ohio Redoubt of the West Facing Cave and spend a little time on Der Bingle’s balcony. She’ll probably order Cousin Vinny’s Pizza as well.

We will have to depend on Sophie for psychological comfort. Say, has anyone seen Soph?

heh heh heh, (evil cackle). With the warm weather the Gnomeland Security (codename: Travelocity) is traveling east. The magnolia tree blooms at 6:47 am . . . unless it’s raining. (I added the last bit.)

Everything we wanted to know.

This message just in on the ticker:

(In reference to the dunce caps)  it is all part of covert operations…  or as we call it  gno-lan-sec-cov-ops

So they are claiming zee dunce hats . . . zhey are  – how you say? – a ruse.  A little trickee to fool us?

Do zhey think we are zhat dumb? HA! And, by the way, Shane was in the top 1% on the Doggie SAT.

So, we are going to RED ALERT.

This message was dropped upon us in leaflet form from a low-flying bi-plane from LZP – somewhere in Iowa.

The seeds have been carefully packed in bird poop ready for yard dispersal   Agent Shane will dig a hole for headquarters. The commander is worried however about Agent Shane, we put his brain into a bird and it flew backwards.. He is on secret double probation.

Accompanying this written message – and it was, indeed,  in GREEN – was a picture of  members of Gnome Homeland Security.

But before I post it, I want you to look at this picture I grabbed off the Internet of a DUNCE cap.  I think it is relevant.

And, now, the picture of the GHS. Notice anything?

We were monitoring the radio transmissions last night, listening to all the personal messages during the intermission of the symphony – The tea will be poured at four; Tom, your cousin arrives tonight; The sparrow laid an egg; The creek flows swiftly; Song number three repeats . . . and so forth. One message must have been so urgent that it was sent in the clear for those concerned:

Fear not peep*delion help is on the way

Shortly thereafter a smart pigeon, not to be confused with a smart bomb or homing pigeon, flew by Augustus, which pretty much verifies the fact that smart pigeon is an oxymoron, and the Big A grabbed this picture . . . and the pigeon.

So, my dear Peep de Lion, they are sending mercenaries from the woods to aid you. We will be ready.

Hello to all the Dandelion supporters out there. Look! Your Peeps spy has been captured by Augustus, the vigilant and crafty puppy of Lawn Trooper Squad 319.

We will use scopalamine for the questioning period . . . or, perhaps, heh, heh, heh, we will  . . . oh, maybe . . . uh . . . KEELHAUL him.