That’s what all the folks here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse tell me. The folks who are left, that is. So many have taken “extended vacations” at the Ohio Redoubt that I am wondering if it was something I said. I don’t know, maybe something in reference to flat triangular noses – sort of like What’s the point of a profile shot when they have mug shots taken? Or maybe, Gee, if one turned up missing and we put a picture on a milk carton, would we wake up to find a thousand candidates at the door?

Yikes, do you suppose they were just using my non-organization skills to cover for the real reason – my lack of tact? There was the time Two Moo was sitting here while I was looking at types of cows on the Internet and remarked to Der Bingle that this one type looked like his big leather chair in the living room – kind of a burgundy brown.

Say, do you suppose we are spelling Two Moo’s name correctly? Maybe she is actually, To Moo, as in to mooo of not to moo, that is the question. She’s a big fan of Shakespeare, dontcha know? Well, maybe I shouldn’t say “big”; enthusiastic or dedicated or devoted might be more tactful.

Then it could be Too Moo – implying her cow essence is so exquisite that it approaches the sublime. Oh, dear, I just glanced over and it appears I walked by her and dropped my sweater on her head. Forget tact; they are probably going to tack me to the wall and duct tape my fingers so I can never post again. Oh, dear, I think I’ve given them an idea.

Here is a picture from the wedding of my cousin’s son and his new wife, Katie.

It is a special day . . . with and extra special back story.

I felt a little chilled this evening, so put on a heavy sweatshirt and lay down under a blankie. I woke up about two hours later as my cell phone chirped at me and I was hot. A nostril is stuffed!!!! Oh, rats, is it a summer cold? Come to think of it, I did sneeze some today.

Summer colds are bummers. I remember standing in the August heat at the LaGrange House when I was a teenager with my head leaning against a door frame as I sought a bit of a breeze, a box of Kleenex in my hand. However, we are having a relatively cool August, especially when viewed against the torrid 2012 July and maybe it is just an errant bit of pollen and  reaction to a cool afternoon rain.

I suppose I will know by tomorrow if I will be digging out the Vicks inhalers or not. Nothing like the sinus days of August with a furry dog at your side, a Wubba to be thrown in his mouth. Hey, she’s just sitting around; this would be good exercise for her. What is so infuriating is that he will chase it and bring it back, but he wants you to tug and fight to get it out of his mouth to throw again. Or would that be infurriating?  Oh, what a bad pun . . . those must be brain cells exiting with each sneeze.

My foot is just a little sore, but the rapid descent into the window well was a jolt and later I felt my muscles tingling here and there with a questioning whisper: What happened! Yes, apparently, orange is the color of befuddled muscle thoughts – who knew?

So today, Der Bingle and I did a little tomato propping-up and weed pulling. We need all those little green tomatoes to think RED.

I have been sitting here daydreaming so I guess it is time to push publish. (Something about that old saying: S__t, or get off the pot.)

While walking along the front brick wall of the house, behind the shrubs, I suddenly heard myself scream . . . because I was falling into a window well.  The right leg went in and down and the left one did something and wound up a tiny bit bent at the ankle.  I just stayed in that position for about a minute and thought, “I am not feeling any immediate pain.”

I don’t exactly know how I extracted myself; I think I reached out for a branch and used it to pull up and roll over onto the level ground. The top of my left foot was a teeny bit sore, but I completed several tasks on it and it is still only a teeny bit tender.  I think I lucked out BIG TIME.

Rose says she has a potion but I don’t know if it’s for drinking or rubbing

Summer and I went up to the LaGrange House today and rode two mowers and got most of it done, excluding, of course, areas around the actual house where roofing materials were laid out.

But . . . it wasn’t quite that simple. The old medium rider started but the big, fairly new one did not. BECAUSE ANOTHER BLASTED MOUSE FAMILY HAD INVADED THE ENGINE AND REALLY PACKED “STUFF” BETWEEN THE STARTER GEARS.

However, the roofer used his power tool to get the screws out of the cover and I grabbed the gunk and then used a small screwdriver to work it out from where it was STUCK in the gear teeth. Summer rode the one that started right off for an hour until we got the mouse home operational as  mower, and then we switched. We mowed and mowed and mowed and then we put them in the garage. I think I am going to hang bags of mothballs around them.

We took slices of bread, but forgot our peanut butter. Alas. However, we were pleased that the Verizon ipad hot spot worked while we set around on the back porch, cooling off and experimenting with our electron gear.

And, then when we detoured on the way back to drive by the bison ranch, we only saw some brown blobs on the horizon and Summer kept dying in her handheld game. But I ran into Scott’s and got some manager’s special beef prices.

All in all, it worked out to be a good day. (No gas was spilled in the trunk.) Woooo-Hoooooo.

When I pulled into the driveway yesterday afternoon, the grass was incredibly long – skinny and weak, but long. It had just been mowed a few days ago . . . and here we were with a last gasp mower and this derelict-appearing yard. So, I roused Cameron to see if we could manage one last beyond the call of duty action for said gasping mower. Unfortunately, when I tested it out, I immediately hit a grass-submerged rock  by a tree . . . and that was not good. Oh, not good at all. But it restarted, vibrating to beat the band and clanking loud enough to cause passing drivers to turn and stare.

Calling on 50+ years of experience, I told Cameron, “I’ve got this one.”

I got my hands in a position to minimize the teeth-jarring vibration and started off at a fast clip, knowing my time was borrowed. It didn’t cut evenly and I had to go over several areas . . . and it almost died several times. However, it drew on some inner strength and the motor revved up on its own.

Then, as I was chasing down errant tufts of grass, it ran out of gas.  Done.

I have yet to turn the mower on its side and look at the blade; when it first happened, I was of the opinion that what I didn’t know would help me persevere and when it was over, I couldn’t bear to see it at the time.

So, I will probably bring the Lawn-Boy mower down to Kendallville, or get another mower I have here fixed. That will definitely be the time when I tell Cameron, “You’ve got it, now.” These mowers are much heavier than the little red 20″ cutter that gave its all. I’ll say this: Briggs & Stratton, you guys make great engines.

I do have an electric mower, but that one with its 18″ cutting width and trailing cord is a psychological challenge – better suited for  little teeny tiny lawns – the ones that take four passes and you’re done.

Now, for today’s possible news. I may just get up the nerve to mount the old Wheel Horse and try to tame the re-growing grass at the LaGrange House. But that’s only possible.

Yes, I was just sitting there at a stop light, noticing that the truck in front of me had numerous bumper stickers and decals all over it. This is one of them:

People

Eating

Tasty

Animals

It is not safe for me to post anything tonight, because I was just looking through my iphoto collection and happened upon the series of pictures in which Summer has a blue plastic hanger that has broken  along the base of the triangle. She is mounting it on her nose in various positions. It is so tempting to just include three or four or more of the pictures. But that would be bad . . . and the consequences would be severe.

On the other hand, Steve Martin became famous by wearing an arrow through his head – and by having a lot of talent. Oh, speaking of Steve Martin reminds me of the Pink Panther series and that reminds me of my utter clumsiness with wheelchairs at the nursing home. Walking someone into a wall is not cool, but it was better than when I clipped wheels with another wheelchair occupied by a lady who gave me the look of death.

Whenever I show up in the dining room door pushing Kathryn, about 30 white-haired heads swivel to watch the show – and I feel like a novice gymnast on a balance beam

Yes. But it is going to go back up to 64 within the hour . . . the infamous “they” say.
UPDATE: It’s a half hour past the time it was supposed to be 64 and it is still 58. I have a little space heater on and we’re breaking out the afghans at the Ole PBC&R.