It will get down in the 40’s tonight, which is okay, but seemed out of reach in July in Iowa. Oh, yeah. The tomatoes are having their last hurrah and we set the thermostat to heat. Some of us have throat infections, but others are okay. I am in the latter category, but am ready to call a doctor at the first sign of scratchiness since my surgery date for my neck is September 26th and I do not want them to postpone it.

Tonight at the nursing home, Clara told me that she had four boyfriends: She got up with Will Power; she then went to see John; later in the day Arthur Itis came to visit and stayed until evening when she went to bed with Ben Gay.  She prefaced this by saying, “It’s a joke.”

I came home from my walk this morning and was met by Cameron who announced Shane had been fooling with my computer. Well, I was sweating and wanting to make some raspberry/lemonade and pressured him to tell me it was not a dog’s physical aggression toward the computer, but rather some research he has done.

I made my drink and headed out to the porch and found Shane’s accomplice Grover (as in blue and furry and monster) sitting on my computer with a note between his butt and the laptop.

Gives me’s mor Wubbas    (signed) Shane

Okay. We all know how Shane loves Wubbas and he had brought up a song on YouTube that he wanted to haunt my mind:

It worked; I am humming Wubba, Wubba, Wubba

Maybe we need an intervention . . . especially when I noticed the tabs at the top of the google search page: (click tiny image below to enlarge)

I’ve been not myself lately – I’ve been cleaning. Frankly, my idea of doing housework would be to open the windows and throw out lots of stuff, nail down the stuff I wanted and have big winds blow through. Or I could be rich and have a housekeeper; of course, she might take one look at my house and throw me out the window.

My cousin Ann and her husband, Bob, are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary this Saturday in Covington, Indiana. I had actually thought I’d make a trip down but, heads up here, AmeliaJake, the days have gotten away from you and the open house is the day after tomorrow. Rats, there probably would have been good snacks, too – not that my main intention would not be to see my relatives.

Yes, I have no email; I have no email today. My little icloud seems to have lost its silver lining, but Apple is trying to get it back up “ASAP” – but for now, I’m a sap because I forward email from a couple of other accounts through my Mac. I don’t know if I remember the passwords for the others . . . maybe I need to start looking in my hard drive for a folder entitled “Secret Passwords”. Of course, I wouldn’t label it that, no I would think myself too clever and give it a code name.

You know what I’m thinking now; yes, I’m thinking that gosh I wish I could remember it.

I woke up fairly early this morning and thought I’d just lie cozy in my blankets as it got light. Well, it hasn’t. It looks pitch black out the windows and it is 6:23 in the morning. Of course, it is already 10 days into September.

It was chilly in the back vestibule and I see the high is going to be 74?; on July 10th, I think we were seeing temps of lows in the 80’s and highs in the 100’s. And daylight, there was a lot of daylight.

As I have grown older, I have become fonder of the light outside – days starting early with horizons in view. Now I see my reflection in the dark window and I wait for my daylight fix.

While trying to cut soft food with the side of my fork, said fork broke. The metal tines and curved part popped off of the handle; it was once a sporty little summertime fork with a plastic handle and now it is . . . still usable. I ate the rest of my stuff with it as we sat outside after grilling. Der Bingle did not notice until he saw the tine part lying on my empty paper plate. Makes me wonder about my table manners. But then, who continues to use a broken fork? A. AmeliaJake B. Rose C. Shane.

Time for the titanium spork to come to my rescue.

After joining Clara, (Kathryn’s roommate) watching parts of the Democratic Convention while Kathryn was sleeping, I mentioned to Clara that if I didn’t have a stroke, heart attack or wind up with a television on my foot during this election period, it would be a miracle. She, of course, laughed and I laughed too, BUT I knew it was very possible I could have TWO feet with TV’s on them.

Clara’s the same age as Kathryn (95) and she said maybe she didn’t have enough information to vote this year. Then she added, “But I suppose I should.” Clara is smart about everything – especially how to accept all aspects of life . . . She doesn’t call the room she and Kathryn share “my room”, she calls it home. And she remembers the past with enjoyment, but she doesn’t pine over its being just that – the past.

Actually, what I am getting around to saying is that I was good; I did not respond to Clara’s voting potential with a full-court press steering her to my choice. I held my tongue. Yes, a miracle I know.

Later, while the TV was doing a little “analysis” and showing Bill Clinton and Obama hugging, she said, “I just don’t see how THAT MAN can support THAT ONE. So we have hope . . .

I am publishing this picture in the “antique” effect because I cannot bear to bolster my full color memory of the moment. People tell me Shane is spoiled. Uh, maybe they have been seeing things clearer than I because there is STEAK in his bowl with the dog  food . . .  and cheese!

So what is the problem? I didn’t offer him a small portion to sniff and pass judgement on first – could that be it? Was it because I did not have a napkin over my forearm? He doesn’t like his dinner companions?

Maybe this all started when we  bought him a rotisserie chicken at Thanksgiving because dogs can’t have turkey? Those who know my family know that I didn’t start that tradition –  it was Robert Grismore and Miss Alice. I mean the man would bring home a chicken breast from the Essenhaus for her. (This would be the same man who got down on his hands and knees to comfort Socrates (our cocker spaniel) when he got his feelings hurt and crawled under the bed.)

A visual memory from an earlier post: Robert Grismore, grandson Robert & Miss Alice.

When I first started walking in town, I immediately noticed that I see so much more than when I drive down these streets – albeit at the legal s l o w posted speed. Some places have become mini-milestones in my walk and I decided I would snap some pictures before we got into fall. As it turns out, it was the last sunny morning since then. (Oh, yeah, there’s the blasted Obama poster inside someone’s enclosed porch that  is no longer on my route – that would be a blood pressure spike and not a milestone, touchstone or whatever.)

But, getting on back on track, there are a lot of attractive spots that I notice – these are just a few that somehow trigger thoughts in my mind and not just pleasure in my eyes.

This one . . . this one right here – there are a few errant grass blades among the petunias that reside on a steep slope fairly early in my route. I like that; it’s been darn hot this summer and I can’t see the sense of some lady balancing precariously to pluck them out.  The purple flowers greet me each morning with good cheer and sensibility and I appreciate them.

Then there are these marigolds. They have stood all summer in straight lines like soldiers guarding the sidewalk. I sometimes imagine a little General Patton Marigold standing at the end of the walk, telling them, “I’m proud of you men; you have stood your ground, not given an inch, despite the drought, despite the incredible heat. I would be proud to lead you little marigolds into battle anyplace, anytime.”

And here’s the porch that says “Welcome, Midwesterner, stop and chat and have a sip of lemonade:

Then there is the place where a side yards opens up to a vista of good cheer:

Here’s one of my favorites – the little “don’t forget me “puppy-faced” sunflower who greets me each day and sometimes I think I can see a little sunflower tail wag.

Now we come to the curving row of begonias; for most of the summer, they were a spot of color in a brown lawn like mine. I would think of an Army fort form the Old West – a nod to color and life in a dry, harsh land.

This is the side of a house on the corner by the fairgrounds; there are a lot of graceful and pleasant flowers in the yard, all blending together to create a park-like atmosphere. But I’ve always enjoyed turning the corner and seeing this against the foundation.

Despite my attraction to sunflowers, I have found one spot that makes me just a little uneasy. It is located in a corner lot, where the backyard flowers lean over toward the sidewalk on the side. Often, because the open expanse of the fairgrounds is opposite the site, they will sway in a slight breeze and THEY PUT ME IN MIND OF THE DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS. I sometimes wonder if the big yellow head is going to bend over to mine. But what is more disturbing are the red flowers that tower on stems that suggest they could take two Triffid-sized steps and grab me. Maybe they would only want a hug . . .

I walked today and it was humid and I got back with sweat dripping off my nose and chin and running into my eyes.  Sometimes I apply Estee Lauder’s foaming skin cleanser to my face before I go. It goes on as a white cream and quickly turns transparent with increased skin warmth as your pores open up. (I usually look down when a car passes and the true transparent effect has not yet been achieved.) Your face feels a bit tingly and so clean when you wash it off. Now, sometimes, if you put it on too heavily, it will take a while to go transparent . . . and if you put on too much and it is very humid, your face will foam.

Fortunately, I decided I wouldn’t use it today.