This morning LZP sent me a link to Awkward Family Photos – THIS LINK. I think the quartet of friends right below this post would fit in nicely. Click on the link with caution – I haven’t seen my picture or family yet, but I am able to identify with so many of them.

Say, maybe I should get a group shot of all of us here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Rose . . .

Lilio gave me permission to snap a photo of her with her team of orientation counselors. I can’t say that I noticed it at the time, but seeing it now, I am wondering about the counselors themselves. Do they look a bit far out happy to you? Does Lilio seem to be considering making a break for it?

Do you think Lilio wanted a picture for the side of a milk carton?

Well, I’m certain everything will turn out fine for Lilio once Rose, Emily and Sophie figure out just who is supposed to be taking the “medicine.”

Today was Indiana’s primary election day and I hurried and voted at around five since the polls were going to close at six; I could have gone earlier, but elected to shower since I didn’t want to be one of The Great Unwashed. I thought the little group of poll workers was a tad passively off-putting. Not that they were nasty, more as if the Ice Cream truck had been circling the building but never stopped for orders.

I wonder if a much higher percentage of one party’s registered voters turned up to vote than the other. Hmmmm, maybe I’ll check the totals per precinct tomorrow and figure it out. And perhaps since I was there at day’s end, there had been “snarky words” already exchanged.

Anyway, I voted and got my “I voted today” sticker and went on to the grocery where I hit the meat counter just at Manager’s Special time. Another person – a man – had blocked off access with his cart, but I thought, “Not today, bozo,” and made him share. Maybe voting is empowering in more ways than one.

Where have I been? I know I’ve had my fingers on this little keyboard a lot, but I haven’t come here. I don’t know why. I think I am having a “lull” because I don’t fit into the categories of totally bummed, catatonic or literally handi-capped with casts on my fingers.

Or maybe the reflective and imaginative part of my brain has been poisoned by a dandelion supplement. Hey, you know what . . . I may be coming to the other side of the lull.

Oh, let’s make certain you can see the headline:
Crews with saws to carve up frozen cows in Colorado
And the explanation under the picture:

Three rangers and three ranchers are on their way up a mountain near Aspen to carve up cattle found frozen in a cabin before the carcasses thaw.

Bill Kight of the U.S. Forest Service says the group started out early Thursday with plans to cut up the remains and scatter them.

Air Force Academy cadets snowshoeing in late March found the dead cattle in and around the cabin near the Conundrum Hot Springs. Rangers believe the cows wandered into the structure during a snowstorm but couldn’t get out.

Forest Service officials were trying to figure how to get rid of the dead animals before they defrost and decompose. They explored burning or blowing up the cabin with explosives but decided to cut up the carcasses instead.

You can look HERE to read the original.

Uh, some of here are so upset we are going to get tipsy.

I am letting my hair grow out in its natural, but presently unknown, color. That would be some mixture of white and grey and feeble light brown. I don’t have to remember that I am doing this. People tell me about it in my family; non-family members avert their eyes. It doesn’t matter to me; heck, I’m short enough most people look right over me. I am a front row group picture person. Always have been.

Actually, lately when someone is talking with me and, of necessity, looking down, I wonder if the straight line of dye vs. roots makes them think of a drafting table, sea-floor spreading or, perhaps, the Prime Meridian or Dan Brown’s Rose Line.

It is not that I don’t want to color my hair; it is just that I can’t seem to really feel like me. One time I walked out with a color that my husband said was me and I felt was me, but now we can’t recreate it – and there is the matter of the “color?” of my roots.

It’s summer; I sweat a lot and wash my hair a lot; I wear baseball caps a lot anyway. I’m going to find out just what I dealing with coming out of my head now and then consider my options. Is there such thing a growing-out grey highlighted color?

I could spray paint my roots. Maybe a nice purple. Then people would know it was me: There goes Crazy AmeliaJake . . . making a statement again. I would probably feel like me.

Lilio is not the only one needing to talk to Rose. She’ll be here tomorrow, thank heavens.

Gosh darn, we can’t show you pictures now because we don’t think she’d want to be seen with the restraints on her wrists and ankles and the hospital nightie replacing her grass skirt. Calm down, it’s not that bad; at least, that’s what the chief psych doc says – just little post traumatic stress.

It was so silly, actually. She saw the dandelion stems magically reappear in multitudes – tall, tall multitudes – and went out in our new warm humidity to get some sense of the land of swaying palm trees. Then she started to concentrate on the grass, since you know her grass skirt had been temporarily bent recently. She concentrated Sooooo hard she didn’t hear the mower.

IT’S OKAY. It was a close call, but it’s okay – except that she’s a little, oh, what would you say? agitated? Emily and all the others in the Cafe & Roadhouse circle have rallied around her. (To tell the truth, they’ve hung big flat screen TV over her bed and signed up for Netflix . . . but they do care. Really. You know I’m just joking, right? Of course, you do.)