Now if this were tomorrow at this time, I should be in the drivers seat heading out to Fountain County – meeting my cousins in Attica. Every time I think of Attica, I see Gregory Peck in my mind. Atticus Finch, don’tcha know. I don’t know what I saw before I read To Kill a Mockingbird – all I remember is my dad asking if I wanted to go through Attica or not on the way to Kingman. And then, of course, he always asked about Yeddo. It was an ongoing joke which began before I can remember. I suppose the name was funny when I was little. He’s dead now; in fact, it’s his grave to which I am going on Thursday. However, his voice and that question pop into my mind whenever I see the Yeddo sign.

Maybe when I die, my last word will be Yeddo, but I doubt it. I don’t think I have the same fondness for Yeddo as Kane had for Rosebud.

I’d like to take a lot of pictures of my way down, but I will be in the car alone. I need someone along to document the route across Indiana that I take on Memorial Day Week-end . . . because it is pastoral and because I usually get lost, despite GPS. I should have an album of AmeliaJake Lost Places. Actually, I am usually not truly lost; I am mostly a little lost. That is probably worse because I think, “Oh, surely I can figure this out.” That isn’t so bad most of the time, but when I get down in the area where east and west roads lead to the floodplain of the Wabash River, I can do a lot of backtracking.

Better save my strength for tomorrow.

Two Moo tries out iPad . . .

Two Moo has been looking at the blog and confided to Der Bingle that she thinks I have been losing my “cowness” and am in need of a few rehabilitating lessons. She has come to visit for the week. I hugged her and thanked her for coming to save me and she said, “Don’t get used to it.” I guess she will be heading back to the Ohio Redoubt next week-end.

I think I will take her on my road trip down to Kingman Fraternal Cemetery; we can cruise along rural Indiana roads and raise our moos in song. She is making me clean out and vacuum the car and even take it in to have the brakes checked. They are tweeting and we are not talking twitter.  We’ll need the ice cooler and drinks and GPS in case we get led afield in the search for pastures.

But, of course, more about that later.

I had a little “aha” moment. Mrs. Feller at the nursing home really likes hot fudge sundaes from Dairy Queen. Fortunately, there is one in Albion where North Ridge Village is located; unfortunately, during the trip from store to car to NRV, there is a lot of melting. I tried all sorts of insulation and then, BAM!, it came to me: IT’S THE BLASTED HOT FUDGE ITSELF.

But that is her favorite and, fortunately, there was another “BAM” and I thought of getting the hot fudge separate. I am trying it out today. Then I thought, “Why, I can take my own sprinkles and cherries and whatever.” I think I should go slowly: one-step-at-a-time, AmeliaJake. I know how I can get out of hand.

I love my little experiments . . . and the failures make such good stories. So, today is Friday Sundae. Oh, my gosh, fried ice cream . . . fryday sundae.

Must get self under control.

Yesterday I moved a small woodpile; I could show you a picture of the empty place where the old rotting (aging) wood was, but that would involve moving my sore muscles. I will be using the old wood in the firepit, so I didn’t move it far; mainly, I cleared it out of the little nook formed by the side of the shed and two lengths of fencing that meet at a right angle.

There were leaves that ranged up to a decade in age tucked in the layers of the pile and under the metal supports – that were there to keep it off the ground so it wouldn’t rot. I think pieces of those leaves crept into every fold, wrinkle and pore on my body – and into every pocket. I thought I could feel things moving around on me. I showered. Oh, it felt so good. Then I thought I felt something move on my head . . .

I calmed myself and got my imagination in line and now I am thinking about what to do today. Resting is an option – resting and aspirin-taking.

Yesterday I mowed – and Summer helped; yesterday I decided the front yard was just too dry and the grass was thin. And so I moved the sprinkler, with which I had been giving some transplanted flowers a boost toward survival, over to the the front of the house. I moved it for a little while. Then I forgot it, although I had cautioned myself not to. I remembered it that evening and sent out a vocal memo that the sprinkler needed to be turned off; everyone claims they didn’t get the memo. (Hmmmm)

This morning the sprinkler was turned off . . . and I guess maybe I will take advantage of the Big Wet and sprinkle grass seed. I don’t know how effective it will be, but you never really know. That’s what I say when I’ve goofed something up and am trying to rationalize something positive out of it. Sort of like: Er, we were thinking of taking that fence down anyway and now there will be more access to the breeze. I’ve been meaning to get some rags so I can polish silver and this blouse with the new stain will do nicely. Oh, I’ll just sit and relax while I cut open this vacuum bag and look for (fill in the blank).

I think one of my most difficult situations to come to terms with was when I had moved to the edge of the prairie (Iowa State University-Married Housing on the fringe of the campus.) We were the first residents in the expanded section; it was brand-new two-story with sliding glass doors downstairs and modern crank-out windows upstairs – a small slice of a brick townhouse building for $88 a month. Der Bingle was getting his master’s and working as a teacher’s assistant with a salary. Clean, new beginning . . . but I left the windows open on a windy day during plowing season in Iowa. All that rich, black topsoil over everything. It was a NEW place and didn’t need a deep cleaning . . . and then it did. Don’t think dust; think dirt. Maybe I should have planted corn.

Well, as promised, I present Lilio Esther:

Lilio & afghan

Lilio & homestead

Lilio Esther and farm friend.

Lilio has been seeing Amish folks and buggies and, then, when she was half dozing, she watched a special on Rumsprnga, the period during which Amish adolescents are encouraged to explore the world outside their religious upbringing. She got a little confused. She thought she was supposed to acquaint herself with the Amish lifestyle. We do not know if she is going to go “Full Amish” or not. If she does, I will probably have to replace the flowers in her hair with a bonnet.

I believe tomorrow I will post a picture of her as she tries out her new look.

I probably forgot to mention that Cameron, Summer and I accidentally put the cat’s flea medicine on Shane, the dog. Of course, we all panicked and called the vet . . . but it is okay and we can go ahead and put Shane’s medicine on him. But the cat can’t get the dog’s medicine; that would be bad. I guess I’m going to have to apologize when I go to the cemetery with the Memorial Day flowers. (Ack! Imagine my having to bury Tiffy’s ashes on Mother’s grave by the light of the moon.)

Today I went to Fort Wayne and wore a linen skirt with leather shoes that are not sandals, but do suggest sandals – in that they have a couple of holes in them (by design) and scalloped edges. I didn’t have any footies to wear inside my shoes and I just didn’t want to put my bare feet in them.

But I did have nylon anklets, and so I put them on, put the shoes on and then cut the excess away. Hey, it made sense to me and it worked.