Today we have clouds and all the schools in the area had a two-hour fog delay. East Noble, however, had no school because of scheduled teacher things. So, that means the fog was wasted as far as Summer is concerned.  Tomorrow morning she will be pontificating about the fates that made the day before foggy. Damning them, more than likely. Oh, yes. I am so eager to greet the new dawn in about 17 hours.

Tomorrow is Alison’s 41^st birthday; let’s see I had just turned 44 when Cameron was born.  Of course, I am about two decades older than that now . . . but so is she. And somehow, it seems like the laugh is mine. Because tomorrow is her birthday, I agreed to a dratted, dastardly Alison Wal-Mart run – an event that needs an intermission.

Halfway through I developed a sinus headache – not the really painful kind, but one of the ilk where your eyes feel as if they are first being squeezed shut and then progress to feeling as if they will pop out. Imagine the cartoon characters with the springs behind their eyes.

We also got hair treatments – but at Scizzor Worx, not Wal-Mart. Robert William got a hair cut, rolling in on his roll-a-bout. Alison had a trim and feathers put in her hair – teal for ovarian cancer and pink for breast cancer. I got re-toned and styled.

I’ve to tell you Scizzor Worx is really and okay place. They listen to what the customer wants  – I have never walked out of there as a helmet head.

Shoot, now that I’ve triggered helmet head in my mind, I saw a lady the other day whose hair was puffed out as if she were wearing a Hershey’s Kiss on here head. It made me think of the Martians in Mars Attacks and I kept waiting for her head to explode.

It was supposed to be warm but it is chilly and damp and we are going to have a fire. Maybe I should go remind them to start it in the fireplace. Gee, sometimes I am so snarky even I am impressed.

I woke up with a start about 3:30 this morning after having a scary dream and decided the best thing to do was get up, get a drink, relax a little and then lie back down.  I’m in the relaxing part now – checking the news and surfing a bit.

Then I noticed the Google logo and clicked on it. You can look HERE and I guess for today at least, you too can just move your cursor over to the colorful logo. It the birthday – the 90th – of the guy who dreamed up Gumby.

Four o’clock in the morning and it had to be Gumpy. As Bette Davis said, “Life surprises you; it always does. So, sigh,  Gumby. Saturday Night Live jokes; private jokes; not so kind remarks. I will be thinking of Gumby all day. Using a phrase another Bette made famous, today Gumby will be the wind beneath my wings.

By tonight I will, no doubt, be Gumbied out.

I was surprised to come here and find I had not posted; I really thought I had noted down the what-nots of my mind on this writing place. But they are not here; if I find them in the refrigerator I am going to start worrying.

I’ve been craving Sudokus these past few days. In fact, I just finished one. I have also been thinking of those hands-on puzzles that show up in nice stores around Christmastime. Hint. Hint. This should work because I wrote about knives and a chef’s knife and a slicing knife came for me from Amazon.com, thanks to Der Bingle.  They are color-coded – I sliced today with purple. Purple handle, purple blade . . . just so you are seeing it correctly. The chef’s knife is rose.

Rose says there is no connection to her name, but I think the color is to remind me of Sweet Rose when I am cheffing so I will not go Full-Ramsey.

I’m going to be checking out the other colors. I must remember to cut within the lines. Oh, well, I’m getting silly here.

Stretched out, head propped up, getting ready for Kindle reading. That’s me.  I have not watched much TV at all since I got my Kindle. But I don’t think that’s the only reason I haven’t been watching Breaking Bad and then taking great delight in recounting the convoluted plot to Der Bingle.

I just can’t feel comfortable  watching after Jesse shot Gale point blank. That might seem strange since I was not upset with the evil drug dealers head being cut off his body and mounted on a tortoise and fitted out as a bomb. Yes, it was a booby-trapped head – on a tortoise. Thought I’d repeat it in case you missed it the first time around.

And I watched it when Jesse forgot to put a plastic liner in the tub when they were using acid and it ate its way through the tub and the floor and a bunch of goop landed on the first floor.

But Jesse committing murder just took it out of the “this is so crazy, it’s not real” category for me. Of course, though, I want to know how it ends so I’ve peaked at the reviews – and I’ll be doing it next year as well for 15 or 16 more episodes. Maybe in the final finale, it will all turn out to be a wild daydream while Jesse sat in Walt’s chemistry class.

I doubt it.

I am feeling very sad. Sad enough to want to go off by myself and sob. There is no particular reason for it; nothing is that much different from yesterday. And, of course, there is where a psychiatrist would say, “Perhaps that is the problem.”

But I don’t think it’s that; I think I just feel sad. Why not?

So what am I going to do with this sadness? Heck if I know.  Oh, dear, I just remembered the post before this one . . . If anyone turns up murdered, I didn’t do it. It would just be a coincidence. Then would this be where the psychiatrist would say, “There are no coincidences.” And I would be so piqued I would pull out my new knife from my shopping bag resting beside the Shrink C ouch?

I suppose it would take me so long to get the plastic off, he would manage to run out the door.

This plot is thickening too much. You know you don’t think so much about being sad when you’re trying to decide whether you would run after him? Maybe hide the knife. But where? It’s not like you can swallow it. Or flush it down his private toilet.

Throw it out the window? First wipe your prints off. What if it hits him as he runs out the main entrance to the street? What if the window doesn’t open. What if the session was being recorded? THINK, AMELIAJAKE, THINK.

I don’t know . . . maybe being sad was easier.

No, I am not running with them or cutting in a direction that a slip could cause a problem with blood. I don’t have any. Or maybe I do but I don’t know where they are. I can’t really blame others – I’m bad about grabbing any knife to cut through leather or cardboard or plastic. Of course, when I grab that knife for meat, it works as well as pulling dental floss back and forth on the surface. Actually, maybe not as well.

Finally, after all these years, I am hearing the distressed comments made by people watching my above usage guidelines. They were right. (I figure constructive criticism and advice travels through my brain at the opposite of warp speed.)

So now I want to get a little set of knives and guard them from those who have been doing as I have done, and like me, will not do as I now say.

But how to choose? I’ve always used stabbing potential up until now as a guide.

This is a complaint; I am going to whine; you are warned.

For years Crate & Barrel has marketed a whole lot of great glasses. I have my favorites for everyday use and my special ones. I depended on that store. Unfortunately, my own wits weren’t dependable, because last year they had a BIG sale and if you spent $100, shipping was free. Now, the sale was so big and good that $100 could buy so many glasses I just couldn’t justify it. (Such as where to store them) I didn’t think deeply enough to realize they were cutting way back on what they were going to carry. No more bodega glasses, no more leos, no more a lot of glass items I liked. I’m bummed.

Now they are diversifying and even have a sofa in the catalogue. Bummer. Bummer. Really bummed out now. Good Heavens – a sofa?

But wait, there’s more. Guess from where they are importing the double glass-sided bodum ones ? China.

Maybe it will help if I call their customer service line and tell them I am going to hold my breath until they bring back some styles. Or not. Of course, I’d have to use a video phone because otherwise it would be like miming  on the radio.

However . . .  I just happened to see this style which is made in Spain and has great reviews.

Mowing, errands, doctor appointments (not mine) have kept me busy. Reading a book about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran theologian who was hung in Germany shortly before the end of the war has triggered a reticence in me. (Hope no one was drinking coffee and choked) Yes, he was raised in a very intelligent family  – his brother was involved in atom-splitting – and in an atmosphere of intellectual discussion. One of the family’s unspoken rules was if you didn’t have anything worthwhile to say, you should stay quiet.

So . . . . gee . . .  I could be in a bind here.

Bonhoeffer was  upset by people borrowing Luther’s Hier stehe, ich kann nicht anders (Here I stand; I can do no other.) statement for their own agendas.  Groups like the Nazis, for one. But it sounds so good: Here I stand; I can do no other. It sounds so Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

I find myself wanting to say it every time I make a remark about house rules – such as no eating in the living room. So far I have held back . . . but I think it in my head, and, get this, I sometimes say it when I’m alone in the car.

Oh, dear, I should have heeded the Bonhoeffer Rule here.

Ah, yes, Halloween is on the horizon.

Somewhere we have a picture of Robert William dressed as a Raggedy Andy sitting in a bean bag – next to his dad in a flight suit, but the latter wasn’t a costume. I also have a picture of Quentin in a dinosaur costume – my mother made it for him.

A little suddenly-remembered aside here: When Robert William was Raggedy Andy we lived on an Air Force base where everything was, of course, super safe. So I wasn’t right next to him; he was trailing behind. I heard shouts and turned to see him spreadeagled under one of the giant dobermans that lived kitty-corner from us across the street. The other one was standing by his head and they were calmly sniffing him.

When the grandkids were little, we did orange lights and spider lights and bats. And Alison had a virtual cauldron of candy waiting for trick of treaters. This year, she’ll probably station someone outside with the candy, but I’m forgoing the decorations.

That is, I’m  going straight to a harvest theme and Thanksgiving. I’m thinking pumpkins and gourds and. as November approaches, turkeys and Pilgrims. Of course, we will turn a couple of pumpkins into jack-o’laterns; you know the drill: newspapers under the pumpkin, the hole on top, scooping out sticky pumpkin guts . . .

Now, LZP likes to keep the kids entertained in his neighborhood and this guy is already on his porch:

I don’t know if I decide to actually go to bed now if I will fall asleep or lie there thinking I could have read a few more pages. I’m thinking about it. That’s what I’ve been doing a lot lately – thinking about what I might or might not do. Even little decisions such as vacuuming up the dog hair or not.

I think other people have periods like this – a blahness; not really feeling blue, just not having any sparkles on your days, not all bubbling over with anecdotes to share.

Okay, I’ve decided: I’m starting a new book and then going to bed.