Yesterday Summer and I painted the garage door and today I painted both sides of the vestibule storm door and  one side of the big door. Not that this is a big deal, but it is for AmeliaJake. Now, though, I’ve kind of got the urge to paint my way through the house – walls, trim, all rooms . . . the same color. I need to distract myself before I paint Shane.

JUST KIDDING, QUENTIN.

I did read up on Wagner power painters and apparently they clog a lot and take an awful lot of cleaning afterward. Sigh . . . it could have been so cool.

Okay, so this is what happens when you start going through old boxes. This is AmeliaJake at about Summer’s age. She had a nifty response: “You have a funny-looking face. Did anyone ever tell you that. You don’t look like a girl – too much testosterone.”

For a couple of days I’ve been doing hands-on, arms-engaged, legs-revved up chores on two different floors. Yes, I could have said stairs. I want to go back and revise the first sentence to eliminate the unintentional rhyme, but somehow it has put a thought in my head: Back off the keyboard, sister, or your fingers get it. It’s too early to argue, and I am too sore and stiff. Old muscles, dontcha know? I’m waiting for the aspirin to kick in.

Not that I’m not glad it’s morning – officially by the clock that says seven in the dark. I was glad to really wake up from my dream of trusted people terrorizing me. I “woke” once during the dream, but I was still dreaming and when things continued as they had been, I held my head and was terribly distraught. Sometime later I did awaken, but I didn’t trust it for the first few seconds.

Then I was relieved, greatly so; but I am stiff and sore. That I can handle . . . well, Bayer and I can handle.

Cameron takes the trash out on Wednesday night – unless Monday is a holiday and then he takes it out Thursday night. Of course, Tuesday and Wednesday could be holidays as well, but it’s not as common as the Official Government Mondays. Not that this has any bearing on my point, other than last night was Wednesday.

Cameron came up to me out of the blue – well, black night – and said, “I thought someone stole the garbage cans.” Not what you would expect to hear, especially when you know said cans are full of garbage. This is what happened:

I abhor putting out trash that isn’t in the cans; I stomp it if I have to. I climb up on a stepladder and step onto a piece of cardboard I have placed at the top of the mound of air-filled trash bags. And the level goes down by about a third; it used to be a half but my ranting has earned a bit of improvement, although the people with whom I live are recidivists. Big old frustrating recidivists!

Yesterday it was raining so I did not brace the cans against the outer garage wall; I wheeled them inside the garage where I stomped. I did not notice the bulb was kaput on the garage ceiling. The cans are dark; the garage was dark; the space where they usually  sit was empty . . .  Oh, my gosh, someone stole our garbage cans!

But then he found them and that’s all she wrote.

Well, I’m experimenting in photoshop and it took me a long time to make two layers to show this four layer cake.

Lots of stuff –  and so I went out and bought some of those plastic shelves for storage. You know the type –  round plastic cylinders that plug into holes in the corners of plastic shelves. I got the gray ones and I put them together in the basement. That part does go fast . . .  open the package, stuff a round peg in a round hole and tap it with the side of a hammer.

It’s toting stuff to the shelves that’s a bummer.

But that is better than toting logs to the fireplace because they burn up and then people want more logs. I think I need to get them a tree trunk and stick in in the fireplace; they could shove it in more as it burns. There might be a few technical issues with this method, but I’m sure I can work them out. And who’s going to argue with AmeliaJake when she has her chain saw? Maybe I need a chain saw holster.

People keep asking, “Have you ordered the firewood yet?” Too bad Apple doesn’t have an app for delivering wood from the pile to the hearth. I think they should just put a video fire as the background and screen saver on their computers.

It isn’t cold yet, but it’s coming. Tonight I realized that I needed gas when the little light came on; I had been putting it off because when I went to bed a couple of nights ago, the price was $3.18 and the next morning it was $3.55. I got some tonight for $3.47. This is my new temporary obsession.
See, the price of gas diverted me from my main thought: It is getting chilly standing out there by the pump waiting into you can get back in the car and warm up. The days are coming when I will hunker down in my coat with my back to the wind and think,”This will not last forever” over and over again. Pumps too cold to read your card; gas moving slowly through the hose; the flap over the gas inlet sleeted shut; salt on your shoes.
And it’s time to winterize the car, as in getting an affirmative answer to the question: Can I live in this car for at least two days? Always lots of gas, extra blankets, food, water, cell phone, books. Egads, I’d better dig out some real paperbacks . . . or build in a little cranking device that will charge my Kindle battery.

Okay, less than 24 hours ago this was an Angry Bird; Alison brought him home for Shane. He squeaked and Shane demanded that he be thrown again and again. And, then, uh-oh.
Look at the top tuft; I can’t put the squeaker on audio because it doesn’t work anymore.
It’s probably not related, but perhaps being angry does shorten your lifespan.
Or maybe it was the dog . . .