I don’t know why, but today does not seem like Monday to me. Perhaps because a good part of yesterday afternoon was devoted to walking very slowly through Home Depot looking at stuff we will need to do some spiffing up around here. While I looked I was also organizing in my mind how I wanted to describe problem areas and what preferences I had to ‘people who can handle a saw and glue without winding up with leg glued to head and only a few fingers to try and pry it off’. Important point, that.

My afternoon purchases were a clamp-on metal light, which will highlight the dirty areas for cleaning before fixing, and light bulbs. (Yea to AmeliaJake for actually putting that 2 +2 together)

On the way out, I saw a big bag of grass seed from Scott’s that normally sold for 44 dollars, but was on sale for $10. I will try to follow the instructions, but darn it, just the act of putting that much grass seed on my poor yard is worth the $10 in emotional boost.

By the way, if ramble I must, let me ramble this: In some areas people are actually spraying a paint solution on their lawns. I am assuming they are spraying something green. It could give a whole new meaning to grass stains. And to criminal investigations: Look at this jury folks – green paint was found in the crevices of this sneaker and our expert testified it was consistent that used by  THE GREEN UP YOUR LAWN COMPANY employed by the victim.

Now I am thinking about sneakers; were they named because you could sneak in them? And what was the motive of the developer? Did they advertise in Cat Burglar magazines?

I have a cat that I wouldn’t mind being burgled, but it is Mother’s cat and so I can’t put out a contract. Everyone else here thinks Tiffy is so cute  . . .  I am not a cat person. So Tiffy and I tolerate each other. Did I ever mention members of this family think nothing – NOTHING – of using Pfalzgraff bowls for milk?

Soon I am going to use one vacuum to suck the filter on another one clean er than it is now. Ah, yes, it is going to be that type of day. With luck, no glue will be involved.

We have a 60% chance of rain today and, actually, right now it is getting still, more cloudy than it was – and I think I can smell the rain. If one didn’t get used to smells, I am certain I could smell me; I exerted quite a bit last evening, sweated and dozed off sitting up reading before I was to shower.

Now I am sitting up again, still planning to shower – pretty much immediately. But first I checked on the weather report and because I am so bored with the day after day repetitiveness of showering I am considering standing outside with shampoo and body gel and waiting for the rain.

I haven’t decided about the clothing part yet.

I knew someone to throw a red blanket on this developing idea – to rain on my parade – to douse the flame of the idea – to nip it in the bud. Wait. The bud? What is going to happen to my bud? Where is my bud, by the way?

Okay, I am going to shower the old fashioned way and I will look for nip marks so I can identify my bud. Of course, if it were the nip and tuck of plastic surgery . . .

ACK! So it is with my mind in this gear that I start my day; I’m the only one who knows it at this time,  though. Everyone else is just innocently going about their day, not knowing an AmeliaJake is at  High Kookdom  level and is lurking among them. I imagine soon they will start wearing detection badges such as those that indicate how much radiation you’ve been exposed to.

I like lovely gardens with well-tended flowers and shrubs and hedges – gardens with stepping stones leading to a gazebo-type structure with comfy chairs  and places for glasses and pitchers and books. I am not of the caliber to bring such a place into being without a mentor and extra hands. So I have decided to find the beauty in wilderness.

I can’t call it a cultivated wilderness – that would take planning; it is more of a draw the line in the grass type of wilderness. Some might not choose the word wilderness; they might aptly name it weeds and overgrowth. I can’t say that they would be wrong.

It is, however, how one decides to mate their talents and resources – or lack of – with a goal that is believable and doable. I might be in the territory of semantics and different drummers here – the territory of the untaken path taken. But I am pretty good at making arguments for the unorthodox way of doing things; it works out well for me. Not that others agree with them, but the major premise is that what I am doing pleases me – that I like it.  Once that stopped a mainstream, traditional decor person in her tracks: She remarked most people did so and so and I replied I ignored that trend because the way I did it pleased my mood and my mind and made be feel good. I think she actually considered using her own preference regarding a House & Garden trend a couple of times thereafter.

But I am rambling and I know it, so I will be a bit more specific. I have decided to let nature have its way in some areas of the couple of yards I have some say in. For instance, all over town, I see neatly trimmed hedges and other plants contained within corresponding right angled flower beds. I have chose to let my hedge be adorned with grape vines cascading over it and myrtle gone wild as an edging undergrowth. I’m only trimming the vines enough to ensure the health of the hedge itself.

I’ve let the trees at the end of the hedge and driveway  -where a woodpile and fence follow the turn – grow and sprout out uneven branches. I’ve pruned some, but not for the sake of evenness; I do it for the sake of keeping  the canopy which reaches out, providing privacy and shade, to be functional. I’ve tossed wildflower seeds willy-nilly into the area where myrtle and new shoots of hedge poke up. And I leave it alone.

Then I mow the area between this  – okay, I’ll call it overgrowth – and put lots of grass seed down and line the edge of the driveway with thick red mulch.

I find it restful to look at – like viewing the free spirit of nature.

I suppose I will have to find an artful garden sign that says something about nature in its original state to forestall offers to trim and shape and, yes, weed.

At my LaGrange County home, I am taking the same tack – although I need to think it all out, making certain the rose bushes are the continuation of plants brought out from back east in the latter part of the 19th century are well-maintained. I can’t remember them not being there each summer, first blooming a deep pinkish rose and fading in stages to white. And the trumpet vine that took it on the chin when lightning hit its supporting tree has ventured forth again. I will baby that for awhile.

Lots of places, though, are becoming oasis of wild grasses of varying colors. (And the mowed paths among them have become – I hope temporarily – driving lanes for practice for grandkids.) Yes, I will have to keep an eye on the herb garden so that those fragrant plants are not crowded out. I mean the smell too good when I mow around them not to see that they flourish.

Two days ago I paused the mower and took a picture on one of the paths I have carved out by outbuildings and woodpiles. And then Shane left the back porch and came running up to bark at me to keep going. It’s not a great picture but tiny yellow flowers were tucked in the green and I found them pleasant to look at.

I snapped the shot and went on . . . and Shane went back to the screen porch from which he supervised.

Yesterday I went into an outbuilding and immediately wondered if something had died under it. well, no, something had died in it. This is not an oft-visited outbuilding, but I am afraid a cat visited once and that proved to be not a good decision.

I came upon this realization in steps. Mind you I was not thrown back through the door by the smell, nor did I have the urge to rub Vicks Vapo-Rub under my nose. Then, with more light, I found myself wondering – just for a moment – who left an old trapper hat amid the other stored stuff.

But I did not bend over and pick it up and that was fortunate. It was not a trapper hat; it was a cat. And, by now, you can guess it was dead. A dead cat. A dead car for me to handle, speaking figuratively. Literally, I used plastic bags and a three pronged garden implement with a long handle.

It was educational. First or all, the fact that I could do this without running off screaming, “DEAD CAT! DEAD CAT! DEAD CAT! DEAD CAT! DEAD CAT! ” surprised me and actually impressed me. Then I noticed that this was not just a cat that was dead; it was a cat that was mostly hide with no real insides.

This observation did not cause me to falter in my mantra: You can do this . . . and I did it.

But while I was doing it, THE VISION popped into my head: It looked like a hat. If you are familiar with the movie Con Air, you will understand when I say it looked like a hat I could wear on my head driving through three states. After visualizing my cat hat, I remembered coon skin caps. You know, the ones that were furry like a teddy bear. They were made by using a narrow rectangular piece of material joined at the narrow ends to make a circular fur wall; on top was stitched a round piece of the same material and then a ‘tail’ was added.

But MY VISION made me wonder if Fess Parker – okay you young folks, Davy Crockett – was really wearing a hat constructed as I just described. Well, maybe Fess Parker, but I am thinking perhaps the actual men of Davy Crockett’s day killed a raccoon, had someone slit open the belly, tan the hide and then put the result – minus the legs and head – on their heads.

ooooooh, I don’t want to think that. On the other hand – or head – there was my dead cat right in front of me looking as if he could just fit on a head.

This is not the type of thought one likes to find out  resides in the head of AmeliaJake. But here is the real kicker: While I was considering the dead cat/hat question, I was also thinking, “Too bad I don’t have my copy of 101 Things to do with a Dead Cat with me.”

Why am I bored? Heck, do I need a reason? It is an out-of-date magazine waiting room bored. Only I am not in a waiting room . . . exactly. The gloomy, sunless winter and spring this year fugued me out, prompting me to feel as if it were all just one long endless session of same old, same old. Then this summer we moved into the “Hotness” and it went on and on – until  today.

Today I walked out and it was in the high 60’s in the early morning. Tomorrow the high is supposed to be in the mid 70’s. So, I shouldn’t be bored anymore. But my eyes shift from right to left and back and I know the ‘Hotness” is lurking out there, waiting to oppress me again.

All of this is nonsense; I am just in a funk. Now where did I put my anti-funk spray?

I have two new laptops in my home and today we will add a third. East Noble is issuing all students laptops from fifth grade up; the younger ones get ipods and ipads. You can see the FAQ list by going HERE and then scrolling to the middle of the page where a pdf. file is provided. It raises some interesting points . . . and I think it is going to be an interesting year for East Noble, to say the least.

UPDATE: You can find an analysis of the effectiveness – so far –  of these programs in  this well-documented ARTICLE.

Here is our touring correspondent – Two Moo – as she sets out to see what she can see. (Dusty dog prints courtesy of Shane)

Shameless Shane enticing Q to Indiana

Der Bingle’s birthday was the 26th and Someone’s birthday is the 7th and since Der Bingle had be here anyway, we went to Fort Wayne. You know, I believe other people out there go to NYC, Chicago, LA and San Diego; we went to Fort Wayne. Oh well, we are who we are.
We had a good day – lunch at Logan’s, a stop at Glenbrook Mall, a visit into Best Buy where Grandpa got Someone a present, and a stop for drinks at a gas station on Lima Road – where quite a bit of blueberry icee plopped onto my shirt.
Now at home, Grandpa and Shane are out for a romping, Cameron is reading and Someone is figuring out her present.

Oh, I got a couple of new skirts at the mall and changed into one at the store because Someone said I was wearing “old people” clothes.