I mowed for six hours straight at the LaGrange house yesterday; well, I was riding, so that helps. The part out back was very tall because mowers were in the shop due to some little accidents I’ve documented here, but don’t choose to revisit. The embarrassment factor, dontcha know.

Fortunately for me, it has been extremely dry there; rain showers and storms have skirted around it for several weeks so I did not have to contend with what would be the equivalent of chopped spinach clogging the mower and overworking its engine. On the other hand, if I were sensitive to pollen, I would have been draped over the steering wheel or flat out on the ground, covered with yellow. My engine would have clogged up.

Now, today, we are supposed to get rain, and that’s okay because the grass isn’t hanging over my head anymore – nor is it tickling my knees. Yes, the rain will encourage the battered little blades to green up and grow, but that’s better than the little dust bowl we’ve been experiencing.

I wonder if I have jinxed myself into lots of moisture and a summer of mowing and mowing and mowing. Oh, well, right now I’m just glad I didn’t put off the marathon mowing until today.

A gold star, please.

I was just scanning the Internet headlines and there it was: SCIENTISTS CONFIRM EXISTENCE OF ‘OLD PEOPLE SMELL’

When you are past 60, it is just not thrilling to think of yourself in this light. And I am not going to listen to any late night comedians for a few days.

Yesterday I wrote a post about the Kindle Daily Deal, which was, as you know from the title of this post, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating. The author, Elisabeth Tova Bailey, left me a comment and I was curious enough to seek out her webpage. That would be THIS ONE RIGHT HERE.

I was impressed by her writing style and the reviews on her book. Click on the bio tab and you will find this quote:

“Elisabeth Tova Bailey has written a wonderful readable book about a snail that has 2,640 teeth. That’s a lot of teeth and they are all replaceable. Ms. Bailey is not replaceable.”

—Sam Gross, New Yorker cartoonist

The fact that a New Yorker cartoonist is the source is no small potatoes, and the information on the 2,640 teeth is a first shockingly interesting and then, for some of us, the source of scary daydreams – and Heaven help me tonight.

Now, steady yourself because you can hear this teeth in action on the webpage cited above. It is all audio and leaves the visual to your imagination; for me that started out as a snail and evolved into a very large snail. Don’t worry, I’m sure you are made of stronger stuff than I. However, you might have a different image – oh, like a snail crawling into your ear and somehow getting into your brain. Sorry, there. Though I doubt you need worry since this is a Maine wild snail and as we all know in Maine, you can’t get there from here. Or, more accurately for one’s sanity – here from there. Then, of course, you may live in Maine and then all bets are off.

Some of the folks here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are giving me those looks that suggest I shut up.
So I will, but not before I point out that this one final quote:

“Brilliant.”—The New York Review of Books

I have always been a reader. Before the days of my Kindle, I have been known to read a book and then use it to prop up a wobbly sofa leg. There have been a few times when I have actually removed the book, looked at the title and reread it, disregarding the sofa leg-sized indentation reaching all the way through the paperback tome.

I am not particularly a discriminating reader, giving a lot of books the benefit of the doubt if I want to distract my mind from worries. I do have some standards and they are not necessarily low: I stop reading books in which the author devotes several pages to how disgusted he is with a thinly-disguised political leader or stops his story to promote some “cause”. I also do not read porny stuff, and find it annoying when a good writer adds it gratuitously.

Now that I have my Kindle – which I am NOT going to use to prop up furniture – I am reading more than ever and there’s the rub. Every morning, Amazon drops by my email box to tell me of the Daily Deal. You have to watch yourself because those 99 cent and a $1.99 purchases can add up.

Today’s offerring has given me a lift in the title: The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating. I clicked on the book (and you can, too, right HERE) and decided it was not for me. The gist of the story is that an active lady gets a debilitating illness and spends a lot of time observing the antics of a snail living on a bedside plant. One reviewer points out there is romance in the book, although I doubt you can get too graphic with a snail. What do they do? Rip their shells off in the heat of passion on an African Violet?

And, by the way, where did the suitor snails come from? I got the idea this was about a girl and her snail.

I don’t believe that it is not a well-written book; it is just at this time I do not want to think about having only the energy to document a snail on a plant. Now, of course, if the title were The Sound of a Wild Snail ______, I might think differently. Oh, that would break one of my main rules . . . although every rule has exception, dontcha know.

Recently I noted in a post that Yankee Candle was offerring scents for men. I’ve got a suggestion based on an email I received from LZP:

It was 95 degrees here today and the freakin’ dump is on fire
the whole county smells like a big smokey pot of chittlin’s.
aarrrrggghhh
at least this wasn’t Joe’s wedding day…
I am going yo go soak my head now….

I was so inspired; I suppose I should not have my experimental lab in the house, though, as I work on creating the recipe for BURNING DUMP.

But I have just been doing that since noon; where have I been before that? Beats me, I thought I had posted at least twice. Do you suppose I dreamed it? Well, since I see nothing posted, I must assume there was a glitch and you know what? I’ll bet they were the best two posts I have ever written – maybe literary award quality. Oh, well, the perfidious aspects of computer publishing.

Oh, then, maybe I just wasn’t paying attention to the passage of time. Ah, let’s go with the explanation in the first paragraph.

All the graves have been flowered. I stood there alone in front of each one. A lot of emotions bounced around in my head. There were some tears.

BACK TO THE TRACK.
Only 34 more laps to go. I think I liked it better when the cars were slower. And do you believe this, but they went to commercial for a promo about “Wipe Out” – a show about people trying stunts that result in body whacking.

Another commercial!! Caution flag out and 30 laps to go.
29 to go.
20 laps to go.
We will pause now while I watch closely and Two Moo prepares the bottle of milk for the winner.
OOPS, Marco A. will not win today.

ASHLEY JUDD’S HUSBAND WON!!

And I’m off to the kitchen

Ah, I see Two Moo decided to post her own little entry during the trip. Two Moo did not make it clear that the carpal tunnel brace did NOT go into “used” toilet water. She looked like the cow who ate the cat who ate the canary last evening and I think maybe she was ambiguous on purpose.

It was a nice trip; I had lunch with my cousins. We laughed at old memories . . . and at the story of the time AmeliaJake knocked the brace into the toilet (like an hour before) . . . and we pooled all our support and good wishes behind Patrick, the son of the cousin who wasn’t there because he and his wife have been with Patrick in Minnesota.

Lana came over – the cousin who is now 63 and not a year younger than I am until August, late August.

That evening Susie and her husband and Glenda and I went out to dinner at a place called Duck’s; they served a buffet of delicious chicken and pork tenderloin and mashed potatoes like Mother made, great gravy and really good green beans + plus a beginning salad and ending desserts . . . such as CHEESECAKE.

It’s a small place in West Lebanon, Indiana. I followed Susie and Marshall there and then followed Glenda to her house. This “following” business in the land around the Wabash isn’t hard, as long as you remember you’re supposed to be following and not daydream yourself onto another road, but it does give you a disoriented feeling. Old roads from old times, sometimes running through thick woods that line the ridge above the river. And then, you will break into an expansive view of really flat low fields that were once river bottom and probably still are in years of floods. There is a definite wilderness feel to this part of the state and literally “follwing” is so much better than trying to follow directions.

See:

Because I order Yankee Candles online, I get a lot of emails notifying me of sales. I take advantage of the semi-annual ones – six for $69. I doubt these four fragrances – or should I call them smells? – will go on sale.

No, they are too much of a novelty for women to buy for sons, husbands and fathers. I am a little uncertain about the Man Town scent, but actually, Riding Mower and 2×4 don’t sound bad. First Down is supposed to include the smell of leather, but a lot of other things could be included: sweat, spilled sour beer, over-used recliners . . .

Okay, AmeliaJake and I got to Susie’s and AmeliaJake went to the bathroom and knocked Susie’s carpal tunnel brace into the toilet.

The pot fell over in the car.

Then things got better.

More later.

From Two Moo, your friend.

That’s what we’ve always called them – pots. I guess florists and greenhouses refer to Memorial Day flowers by some other name, although it escapes me at this time. Mother’s pot, Daddy’s pot, Grandpa Shimp’s pot and Grandma Shimp’s and Auntie’s.

I think calling them pots is related to getting the actual container, sticking your fingers in the dirt and putting in geraniums and spikes and some sort off ivy or fern go together. Pots and black soil . . . and doing it because your heart asks you too. I don’t think of the dead people lying beneath the stones; I see in my mind those people doing the potting thing in years past and me following along, helping (or getting in the way). I even remember the sensory aspects of the times we did it – the nearness of Grandma’s starched and ironed house dress, the coarseness of the dirt on the work table’s surface, the smell of geraniums, the heat of the sun as we toted pots from car to grave, the silence as we stepped back and looked at the flowers by the gravestones.