I just looked at the blog’s first page and saw an enormous stretch of blank space below my remarks on my dead dryer. Was that an inadvertent moment of silence? Well, it gone now . . . not to be disrespectful.

Yesterday my new roaster arrived; I had decided to get one because my old inherited Westinghouse ones were showing splotches on the blue/white cookwell and the heating element on one was getting hotter than the turkey . . . and because someone stepped on the lid of one of them and bent it really bejesus. Not to be disrespectful.

This new baby is supposed to handle a 22 pound turkey; we are going with a 19.54 specimen with extra drumsticks tucked in. It has a brushed steel outer shell. Oh, I mean the roaster, not the turkey. We all stood around going, “Oooooh, ahhhhh.” Yes, it’s so nice-looking NOW but I know what that brushed steel is going to do, so I just wanted to mention the oohs and ahhs before we got to the oh’s and aw’s.

You have to “smoke” a new roaster before you use it for the first time. Fortunately for me, other people must have missed this in the instruction book because right on top of the unit was a separate message: You MUST smoke the roaster before using. I guess the company figured out they should include an in your face notice because some people had an aroma in their kitchens that was not appetite-inducing.

And, the instructions said to do this outdoors. So we did and, yes, the whole garage (with door up, even) smelled acrid. In fact, you could see the smoke pouring out of the roaster. Oh, that must have caused a stir in some households: “Holy Moses, the turkey is on fire, Agnes!” Maybe there were cases where even older grandmas than I with respiratory problems came bursting out of the kitchen door . . . or were found crumpled on the floor. I don’t even want to contemplate the wording of the obituary.

This morning the roaster is safe and sound back in the kitchen, still in its ooh and ahh condition. In 48 hours we will be plopping the turkey in it and it will become one of the kitchen help. From shiny cover to oily smudges . . . it could be a book title.

I joked about the heart defibrillator on Black Friday deals and then my dryer died. I thought about taking two extension cords, plugging them in, cutting off the other ends and putting the bare wires against the dryer, but I figured it had been “down” too long. The repairman confirmed it and said he would deliver and install one if I got it from the little Sears store here – so I did.  I got a very basic dryer because the laundry room is tiny and because I didn’t want to spend more money than I had to. It is white and plain. Boring. But if it works for a few years . . . YEA! Actually, the last time I had an exciting dryer, it was a Maytag with a lint filter in the drum – it would fall off and the dryer sucked in clothes.

That dryer and I fought for a quarter of a century. Maybe one day they’ll make a movie about us. Or not.

So, right down there in the last post, I was thinking frustrating thoughts and I decided to check out Amazon Kindle’s book deal of the day. The Amazon.com page pops up and I am reminded colorfully that this is Black Friday Week. I have not been a Black Friday person – stories of items being pitched over people’s heads in a relay pass play to the guy in the check-out line and fisticuffs. It is a young person’s game. I suppose I could try to swoop down on a digital deal, but there is a real chance of something akin to “ebay bidding fever” in that scenario.

However, I clicked on the little box that listed Black Friday Week deals and scrolled down. Are you ready for this? No, really ready?

Okay, look:

My favorite part is the ordering for Christmas question.

I know it was a clever idea to raise people’s awareness by putting this on the amazon site at Black Friday Discount prices, but,  gee,  it didn’t make me feel too upbeat. And neither did that pun.

Of course, some of the people here are referring to it with a less classy word than tailbone. But moving past that, there is nothing you can do for a tailbone, except wait for it to heal.

Sigh.

I went searching for  Christmas decorations today because I have lost my Thanksgiving Pilgrims once again. They stayed on the little “Thanksgiving tree” when it took on a new crew of Christmas guys – tiny little nutcrackers and a Santa or two – and by gosh, once again, they have disappeared.

I did this after I worked in my bedroom and sitting room for about four hours – even cranking open windows and washing the outside of them. Whoa! I know. I know. I am thinking someone has cast  a spell on me.

But, back to the lost Pilgrims; I did not find them even when I went into the attic – stretching over the missing step in the ladder. I found lots of other stuff, though, including my bushel-sized craft basket with all sorts of Christmas ribbons and berries and bells and whatevers. And I toted it downstairs.

Then I showered and then I operated on the little bear I got on sale at Wal-Mart last year. He only had a few clips holding him together and , uh, he didn’t summer well. So we got strong thread and floral wire and put him back together again. This is what I like about the Christmas decorating thing – not having everything all shiny and perfect, but enjoying finding fixes and using my imagination to Christmas-tize everyday things. I’m planning on using a badminton racket I found in an old box for something. I don’t know what yet, but I’m looking forward to figuring out an unexpected twist. ‘Course, the badminton racket gave me a headstart on the unexpected part. It’s not exactly a wreath.

And speaking of wreaths, I found my Thanksgiving one from last year. It’s a grapevine one with a funky turkey in the middle.

I’m nattering so I’m going to be quiet now.

I’ve taken to waking up about five in the morning – fairly easy to do once you are no longer being sucked into late night movies. I like it when the house is quiet. Of course, right now, Shane starting barking; that dog is psychic. Anyway, I usually get up, get a cure, sit down and scan the weather and news sites.

This morning I pretended I was wearing a blindfold in the kitchen because when I first walked in I saw the collateral damage from Someone making a late night cheesecake for her brother’s birthday today. Before I made myself ignore everything, I noticed big splats of beige stuff in the area of an abandoned mixer. I don’t know, maybe Shane just saw it too – I did the the light on.

Let me be specific as to the important fact: There is no counter space on which to make a foldover.

Actually, it kind of makes me wish we had a ceiling fan in our narrow kitchen . . . who knows what art could have been created.

Well, today, in the job category for Someone who wants wages, I had been thinking bathroom, but yesterday left me irritable and bummed and tired. I didn’t want to even think about doing it, so when she came like a little dockworker waiting to be picked, I had to delay. Until I walked through the den and thought once again how bad the rug looked.

I got it in my head to ditch it and get another remnant to fit in the floor space left by two sofas and the hearth and low catch-all shelves on the fourth wall. So I did and we started pulling out the old rug. Actually, I must confess, I had a tri-level rug in there. It made sense at the time. When the first rug got stained but was still basically clean, I just decided to leave it down as padding. And then that happened again.

Getting them out was a challenge – the weight, the legs of the sofas. But what was jar-dropping was the amount of dirt that showed up from under the sofas and underneath end tables. We cleaned out the ashes and sprayed off the firescreen and corralled a multitude of dust-bunnies formed from dog hair and pieces of bark that flaked off the logs.

And tiny clutter. I mean the clutter field was vast but the actually cluttering things were little. That’s when I started thinking leaf blower.

Oh, did I mention Robert has been pretty much living in the den during this last leg cast session? I think he is like Pigpen. It was a BIG job.

Then I went and washed half the outside windows in the den. That’s 32 little squares of glass. Tomorrow maybe I’ll fight the bushes and get my stepladder over to the west side where there are 32 more. Or I may come to my senses.

With it Internet going full tilt and all the craft magazines and Southern Living, Midwest Living, etc magazines, I am mired in all these attractive and cheerful and festive and colorful Christmas decor suggestions.
Too much for me. Too much for my house. So many reminders of Christmas acoming that there’s nothing special. Of course, if you have a lot of decorating comrades, it’s a little different; having to dragoon stepladder and garland people, though, is a downer on the festivity meter. Makes me want to combine garland and duct tape get and get criminally creative.
Meet Scrooge. That would be me, AmeliaJake. Yes, the same AmeliaJake who used to wear antlers on a headband – as well as the occasional Santa and angel – all with twinkling lights. Oh, and I mean wear them out in public. Yes. That AmeliaJake.
I think I have a bee in my bonnet. Maybe I need to go to the Island of Misfit Grandmas.

I looked at my email and saw a message, marked by my mail program – Thinks this is Junk, that came from Wal-Mart, touting its electronic must have gadgets. I really like gadgets, don’tcha know, so I clicked on it and right there were these words and this picture.

HP Dandelion Breeze

Yes, it’s a small picture but no way am I going to look around for a bigger one; my apple has already been dusted by the airborne seeds. Breeze, my foot. More like “The Wind of Infestation.” I do not know if the Dandelions and their allies, the Gnomes, are behind this are not, but I guess it is a reminder to keep our guard up.

Could there be some link to Der Bingle and Shane returning from the fairgrounds with a still yellow dandelion straggler that was left on the collar of one of patrons? Like some sort of Mafia message? Maybe I will have to change Der Bingle’s name to Der Fredo . . . as in kiss on both cheeks and whisper, I know it was you, Fredo.

It was about 3:15 when I woke up, not because I couldn’t sleep but because I already had. I should do something such as stay lying down and daydream beneath closed eyes. My imagination is off, though, and the thought kept recurring that I was lying there bored. So I got up and got a drink and (more than you need to know) went to the bathroom. In just a minute it will be four a.m. and that’s technically a morninsh time rather than a middle of the night time.

I remember that’s “prepare the turkey for the roaster” time on some Thanksgivings – especially the ones my mother and grandmother were in charge of. I doubt that will be the case ten days from now. ACK! Ten Days!?? Wait a minute, where IS that darn roaster?

I guess this is the time of year when I fantasize about buying an outdoor turkey fryer, mainly because I think Thanksgiving should have fireworks like the Fourth of July – which could be accomplished by lowering a frozen turkey into the hot oil from a second floor window. But, dontcha know, turkey has to be well-cooked and I’m not sure exploding would thoroughly do it. Besides people would be really upset about getting their serving from bushes, the fence and whatever else is out there .  . . once the novelty wore off.

We could have a banner:

FIND YOUR TURKEY AND BE THANKFUL

Of course, we’d have to explode a steak for the dog.