Kindle/Amazon sends me emails about books there computer analysis thinks I might like. It is probably right on this suggestion, but the title and description made me think I didn’t want to spend $10 on an electronic version. This was a book I needed to hold and see sitting on my cluttered, over-sized window sill. And I bought the paperback edition for a whole lot less and Amazon Prime shipping.  It will come in two days and I am experiencing what the Whispernet Delivery of Kindle books has poached upon -eager anticipation. (Not that I don’t appreciate instant gratification; it’s me, AmeliaJake, after all.)

We didn’t know Andrew Barker of Kendallville, who passed away at age 46 on August 26, 2012 – didn’t know him at all. Didn’t know who his father was until the obituary was published.

Now we know: Reverend Dan Barker. We’ve written about him here – about an award he deserved a hundred times over.  All of us here are thinking of the family . . . feeling for the family.

If there were words, I would use them; sometimes, there are none.

Early in the morning I will pull out of my driveway so I can be at Lutheran Hospital’s professional building at 8:45 to see the surgeon about my parathyroid gland. That didn’t seem so early when I made the appointment three weeks ago.

I expect he will send me for an MRI and maybe even set a day for surgery – since my parathyroid hormone is in the mid to high one hundreds and normal is around 30. My calcium is high and my Vitamin D is “in the basement” and according to the internet, 99% of the time, this means a benign tumor of the gland.

It’s supposed to be a quick operation that most sites say will make me feel “so much better” even if “you don’t think you feel bad now.” Maybe out-patient; maybe overnight. I haven’t thought about it much, but then yesterday I wore my cow hat to the nursing home to see Kathryn and her roommate Clara and Clara laughed hoarsely because she had laryngitis.

Suddenly, I thought: CUTTING ON NECK BY VOCAL CORDS . . . LARYNGITIS???? AmeliaJake with laryngitis??? There could be a lot of cheering in the house . . . I guess I had better buy myself a big white board with a couple of markers – one in red to indicate Grandma is yelling.  

For a few days, my birthday present from LZP was lost in the mail . . .  BUT IT IS HERE NOW!!!!!!

He also sent a talking cow mug – that will take me a little time to get on video. See, you have something to look forward to.

It is soooo me.

In this post there is a picture of the Gingerbread Grandma that Summer made for my birthday. Oh, heck, maybe I have the picture still; let me see.

Yessirree, Bob, here it is.

Then we ate it, but not all of it. There is a grandma torso now on the table; I can’t complain, I started it off by doing the lobotomy. Then a hand went, a foot . . . another foot. It’s gruesome. I don’t know if I can manage a picture. But I can:

She also made me another cake – picture to come – Oh, here it is:

that is a four layer grey-iced tower. Inside, each level is a different color, representing a rainbow. The idea was grey hair but still full of life . . . she said.

Her grandpa was afraid the grey head would hurt my feelings, but Summer told him we understand each other . . . she’s right.

And, for some reason, I was tempted and succumbed and took a picture of Der Bingle’s grey/blond curls.

It’s raining and my lower intestinal tract is upset . . . and I thought, “What an opportunity to sit here all comfy and read and surf the web. I don’t know what site I was on, but I saw a link to a Travel & Leisure series of photos about scariest bridges. Of course, I clicked on it, because I am a twit. Do you know that? A dumb old twit.

Yes, the bridges are a little off-putting – oh, I am sorry for that – but what ambushed me was the thought that it would not be good to be on some of them when the little intestinal tract thing singled, NOW.

If you want to look, you can connect by clicking one of these phrases: RIGID WITH FEAR or NO GUTS, NO GLORY. (Oops, another little intestinal pun. I’m going to pay for this I know.)

I don’t know if this will work or not, but I wanted to share a card that popped up on my computer this morning. It’s from Jacquie Lawson collection and I hope you can see it HERE.

Obviously, my comments on mowing have been noticed.

Now let’s see if this works.

Because Der Bingle is heading out to San Diego at 7am from the Fort Wayne Airport (has to get there by 5am to get seat assignment) tomorrow, which is my birthday, Summer has made me two cakes today.

Here is one of them: The Gingerbread Grandma

Yikes, this time moving on thing is a trite saying, a cliche, a rumor you hear when you are younger – but, this month, it’s a kick in the pants.

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Remember one of the songs? Will you still love me when I’m 64? That song; those lyrics. Well, I remember hearing it when I was under 20 and on Monday, I can change that “will you?” to “do you?” and the “when I’m” to “now that I am.”

It doesn’t seem old now . . . to me. Summer has a different viewpoint. The question is: How may times is she going to refer to this 64-ness come Monday. If I get ready to go on my walk that day and put on my ipod to hear THAT SONG, I’m going to . . . well, I don’t know, but she could be in trouble. Maybe there will be a new song – Will you still love me when my grandma goes postal with my hair and scissors? Too drastic? Well, I’ll think about it while I’m still 63.

You will have to use your imagination because I took no picture of myself yesterday as I emerged from a day of mowing into evening.

A layer of mosquito repellent
A sheen of daylong perspiration
A covering of dust from all the stirred up dirt from the drought conditions.

Gosh, almighty, do I love soap.