It’s the closest to the top on my left index finger. I am fairly certain it is an old lady pre-arthritic bump –  or would that be a pre-gnarl? I have always had short and crooked fingers, but now I have a nascent bump. I guess this getting older thing is real. I knew it intellectually, but, whoa, we’re getting a litter visceral here.

I need someone to take a picture of my two index fingers held together in front of me. They both point forward for about a third of the length and then veer off – the left to the northwest and the right to the northeast. Sometimes it reminds me of a two-headed snake.

Yes, obviously, I am at loose ends tonight, just letting my mind wander around. I should turn on its GPS, but sometimes its just as well not to know where you are headed. That would be the ignorance is bliss thing.  Or close to it.

Aha, Der Bingle has arrived; I called out to the kitchen, “Is that you? There’s some ham on the counter for you.”  He doesn’t need to know I heard a voice 45 minutes ago and yelled the same thing, only to have Cameron answer, “No, it’s me.” Shane is going to the fairgrounds . . . because he is soooo spoiled. His paws may freeze but it’s the principle of the thing, dontcha know.

Quentin sent me three pictures of Shane from when he was a pup. He says he’s gotten bigger, but he still has the same look about him. In other words, he really is his inner puppy.
Because one of Shane’s eyes is blue and other brown, the light-colored one came out red in the photo. I assumed fixing it would result in a dog with two brown eyes, but no, the software actually worked.
So, without further ado, here’s the 2007 version of HRH Shane.

I feel most like myself in the early morning – as if maybe there is one more chance for a dud. It may or may not be a true intuitive feeling, but so far, I keep giving it a chance. I guess hope and dawn feel good.

I think that paragraph was an aside, before there were any remarks to be an aside to. Which perhaps requires its own definition, but, heck, I just typed “I bought a free (Kindle) book” and that is an iffy sort of transaction. I’m going to let it go.

I ordered a cat story book; I do not like cats. My mother left me with a cat and my daughter-in-law and granddaughter are caring for her. My son too. As for the two of us – that cat and I – we tolerate each other and I wonder what in heck brought my mother to take to cats after decades of being a dog person.

I think it may have been a wish to have a companion; I think it may have had something to do with the fact the first cat showed up on Christmas Eve after my aunt had died; I think a series of books about cat detectives slowly brainwashed her. As my father used to say in reference to one cat, “Yo-Yo and Co-Co saved that cat.”

So, anyway, I was drifting along the titles of free Kindle books and came upon on that actually had the word cat in the title. I thought of Mother and went on down the list. Then I came back and read the synopsis; I wasn’t impressed, but the note on the author caught my attention:

Anne L. Watson is a retired historic preservation architecture consultant and now pursues a variety of interests, including photography, soapmaking, and baking with cookie molds. “Skeeter,” her first book, has been followed by several others, including the literary novel “Pacific Avenue.” A former resident of San Pedro, California — the setting of “Skeeter” — Anne currently lives in Friday Harbor, Washington, with her husband and fellow author, Aaron Shepard, and one formerly-stray cat.

i think the primary hook for me was soapmaking, although I’m pleased with the historic preservation part. My mother liked old buildings and once she made home-made ketchup, maybe because she thought my dad would appreciate its taste. It wasn’t bad, but some did blow up. KABOOM. (I have such learned some people stick problematic canned acidic foodstuff in sand. Now that is an aside.)

It is on my Kindle now. This one’s for you, Mother. Just don’t expect me to go hugging a cat.

I was sitting here, practically blahhed out of my head – and a little grumpy, when I decided to trudge out to look at the mail. HA! Guess what? This:

Let me explain. LZP sent an ambassador from Gnomdelion and I mentioned in passing, or maybe during one of interrogation sessions, that he looked like a sock puppet. So I get a note from LZP, notifying me he is sending an official hat to wear during ceremonies with the ambassador. I figured it would be a big yellow thing that would make me represent a (cough, choke, cough) dandelion on a fat stem. I even mentioned to Der Bingle that I would probably wind up with bumblebees flying around my head.

I was wrong, as you can see. I could get a better picture, but that would involve letting someone see me. I am not ready for that yet.

Contrary to those experiences people have about a brush with death, my mood today is so blah it is a near-life experience. I need to modify that and say that I am overwhelmingly blah with a good dash of the grumps.
I got up this way. For all you know, I might have embedded a temporarily invisible video that any moment is going to show a monster coming out of the screen to bite you. But, I didn’t. I’m just sitting here.

Listening to someone tell in detail about a dream that was seemingly never-ending and convoluted can be, well, not all that interesting. I like it better when things are encapsulated, such as when Alison said yesterday that in her night’s dream I told her I would have to go the hospital because I had slipped on a deviled egg.

Now, last night, I had one of those goes on forever dreams and it was about all the incredible setbacks of trying to negotiate the way home from a point some miles away. Believe me, it was detailed and convoluted. One thing, though, occurred to me when I was reflecting about my dream this morning: I was supposed to carry something with me and at times I would find I did not have it. So I would sigh and retrace my steps until I had found it. I wasn’t happy about it, but I did it.

So, maybe, I have a bit of responsibility in me.

Oh, wait, Rose and Sophie are telling me it was just a nocturnal aberration.

It started with the Maid-Rite issue – a picture of a supposedly loose meat sandwich on an Internet news page. I clicked on that picture and spent a couple of days tapping on my keyboard and hearing about steamburgers and church ladies.

Ex: I sat many times on those little chairs over at the Denver (Illinois) church eating steamburgers. Approximate quote from Der Bingle. We have one of those little chairs; Der Bingle’s grandparents – members of that Denver church – freshly painted one and gave it to our older son when he was about a year old. I remember that day well.

Well, anyway, today I caught the word “wasabi” in the group of suggested articles. I like wasabi and apparently it has health benefits. I clicked on the tiny picture and saw the big ugly-looking thing.

Maybe calling it ugly is judgmental; no maybe about it, really, and I’m wrong, wrong for even flinching at all. I don’t think too many people would want to have some company make wasabi-looking lights for a Christmas tree, though.
Well, I’m not going to think about it anymore.

Okay, I think I am getting a handle on this. First of all, Maid-Rite sandwiches are browned or steamed ground beef mixed with various stuff and served on a bun. See recipes. My Loose Meat Sandwich is just browned and well-drained ground beef on a bun, period. MEAT, BUN, NOTHING ELSE.
So, a Maid-Rite is a sandwich that includes loose meat, but it is not a pure loose meat sandwich. In fact, some of the “stuff” added in may very well cause the meat to stick together. I would say Maid-Rite is using the description loose meat loosely.

Oh, my gosh, the nightmares, which are better, I suppose, than nightcows, who keep waking me up to get them drinks of water. Okay, the nightmares obviously affected more than I thought. Come to think of it, maybe the cows did send the mares because of my starting a post title with Holy Cow and then writing around ground meat.
But, never mind that, back to the night. I woke up with a start at three, coughing and asking myself if my throat was sore and if now I was getting a cold. I thought about; got up, checked the furnace because it felt cold got a drink and checked my email.
I should not have done the latter. There was a message from AP, who prompted by Der Bingle left a comment about loose meat burgers being steamburgers. I knew I’d never heard of that, but then I’d never heard of anyone else’s loose meat burgers in the first place. Heavens to Betsey, there’s a place named Ted’s in Connecticut that was on an episode of Man vs.Food that featured the restaurant and steamburgers. Who knew? Not AJ.
Then I went back to sleep and dreamed all the dead people in my family were alive and crazy and being driven even crazier by a long-lost really crazy elderly great-aunt, who had come to visit in her huge vintage convertible.
I was in the dream and suppose I was crazy too, considering I went out one door, got lost and climbed back in the house by hoisting myself up to a porch floor that had grown way higher than the top step leading to it. Had to somersault through a wooden screen door, I think.
That’s when I found out everyone had gone so crazy they wigged out and the old aunt stomped out with her unknown husband in tow and drove off.
When I went to sleep last evening, I had been thinking of a Shakespeare quote. I think it triggered, To sleep, perchance to dream. Tonight I’ll think of Yogi Berra. No, then I’ll dream last night’s dream all over again.