I cannot find my Pacific Dorfman hat that I plop on my head and over my hair when I go walking or mowing or just about anywhere that isn’t a coronation. I am starting to get a few signs of withdrawal. Of course, I have misplaced things before, so this is not exactly old hat to me. HAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH. Oh, yeah, getting manic, shaky and over the top. Oh, no. It’s even sub-conscience – over the top . . . oh, please.

But, mooving on, I get email alerts from SimplyBovine.com. Yes, that is surprising and I often look at things like these:

And, of course, if I can’t find my Pacific Dorfman hat, I could go with this.

from this website.

Yesterday was Summer’s birthday; she is now 16. Some people like to be treated like a queen or princess on their birthday. Summer announced she was “Dictator for the Day” – ah, yes, of course. How could we not have anticipated it? I have a picture of her cake; it was a BIG one, with a picture on it of that blasted my cat left for us to take care of and that Summer has decided is hers. I will post the picture when I overcome my temptation to do a little photoshopping. Oh, I am an evil one, I am.

I read last night until one, and then I went to sleep. However, I awoke at 6:30 am and my eyes are a bit heavy and really the most comfortable in the closed position. But my mind is not of the same state; in fact, it is nagging me with the thought of another book . . . another book . . . another book. I have bonded with my Kindle; it has put books back at my fingertips and I find I feel more myself as long as I can read often. All sorts of things – with some notable exceptions, including the high class science fiction Der Bingle and Quentin are so fond of. (For them, the Mysterious Galaxy bookstore in San Diego is tantamount to a shrine.) They have gone to book signings and meet the author sessions. They discuss upcoming books and I am clueless. Now, using the Kindle and its applications for Mac, they actually PRE-ORDER books and start waiting like kids at Christmas for the electronic delivery.

Well, that paragraph wandered around a bit, but who cares. Really? It’s just me chatting away. Frankly, I have always hated topic sentences and strict little paragraphs. And, as I have groaned before, I am not much for themes. “Discuss the theme of this book, essay; what message is the author conveying and how does he use analogies and other literary devices?” Oh, better watch out, my sleepy eye comment seems to have foreshadowed a cranky mood.

How did this happen? I thought I was in a good mood, happy with my Kindle and my titanium spork. And I am; I am. However, I do hear the cranking sounds in the background. I am going out to walk and we will see what I feel like when I get back.

First the socks, then the shoes, then the ipod and the hat . . .

I am ready for future visits to Camp Nature Boy in Iowa. Der Bingle sent me a titanium spork – a real one, not the rip-offs fast food places use.

Here’s the original picture:

And here it is flipped so you can actually read the words:

If I am ever photographed as a medical subject or protected witness, I want the black rectangle on the eyes to be replaced with this:

But first I have to learn how to use it:

Oh, one of the tines has a serrated edge to be used for cutting. Nifty, n’est-ce pas?

Whoa! I just emailed someone that it is 57 outside, but re-checking, I see that it is 55.  Of course, it is just eight in the morning.  And, of course, the grass still needs mowing AGAIN. However, I am happy for this respite and anticipating being hugged by the coolness when I go out to walk.

Yes, I know, come winter I’ll be longing for the warmth of 55.

Today I tossed a couple of freshly-washed blankets over a fence and the clubhouse climbing set; and, now, dry, they smell so very good – almost like taking a bit of a sunlit day to bed with you. I think a decreasing number of people are aware of this smell, since, more than the advent of dryers,  the spouting of infamous and ubiquitous Homeowners Bylaws.

Where did it start? In subdivisions after WWII? I think that was you had to hang your wash on a certain day . . . and from that came the “no clothes line for you” attitude of the up and coming. Jeez Louise.

But, anyway, tonight there will be old-fashioned “stuff your face in the comforter and sniff” activity going on here.

This morning when I headed out on my morning walk, I had the sidewalk all to myself all the way down to the high school and then as I was heading over toward the lake, I saw movement off to my side. It was a young female jogger passing me, her ponytail swaying with her movement. Well, okay, I can remember back those decades and jogging at Wright-Patterson AFB on base housing. We were all young in that neighborhood and I remember pushing, pushing, pushing and gasping at the finish on Apricot Court in front of a duplex designed to reflect a Tudor influence.

I didn’t think too much about it – the time passing, that is. I concentrated on the upward grade and then the jog (figure of speech) over to Park Avenue.

Then I looked ahead and saw two people coming my way, a woman and a older gentleman . . . with a walker.  I wondered if  he was remembering when he had a steady stride. We passed and I smiled and I think he did too.

And then I saw a young, redheaded postman headed toward me . . . and he just scowled all the time.  Maybe he saw my ipod earphones and thought computer and email and postal cutbacks.

Not long after I reached the house, sweaty, but invigorated and made myself some lemonade.  I can’t think of a finalizing little thought on the experience with which to end . . . and so I guess this is all she wrote.

So far, this day shows definite signs of frittering. I mowed last evening; I slept all nice and comfy. And the morning is blue sky and sunny and not too hot . . . Why, it’s a Goldilocks day. Seeing the word “frittering” in print in front of my face made me think of corn fritters, which led me to corn muffins, which led me to John Wayne’s  answer to Katherine Hepburn in Rooster Cogburn.

Why are you shooting corn muffins in a meadow while my father’s killer is on the loose?

We’re celebrating, Sister.

Celebrating what?

Being alive, Sister, being alive.