Der Bingle has a penchant for ordering things from Amazon.com that he feels will catch my fancy. One time, he sent me a hollow blade rose-colored knife and it has become one of my favorites. So, he ordered another one, but I believe they have changed the color; it is pink.

Does that make it a gay blade?

I was in LaGrange County yesterday and Shane was running in the north field and I was walking around in my sweatshirt and now it is over 30 degrees colder and we have ice and snow on the roads. And so it is a good thing that when I returned yesterday, I bought some more logs into the garage. Shane, by the way, helped by guiding me from place to place.

I thought I heard him say, “But, AmeliaJake, I have no hands with which to carry wood for you.” I will give him this: he did not lift his leg and water any of the logs. That would have been . . . not the bee’s knees.

I saw a reference to burned bridges in a post and then, for some ridiculous AmeliaJake reason, wondered, “Hey, maybe I should burn some bridges in front of me?” Choices of paths in life – forget the forks in the road, think more of every intersection being a five corners thingie – and at the start of each path a bridge. Soooo . . . maybe some of the times when you’re walking across a bridge and you’re thinking, “Why am I doing this? Why? Why?” and the answer is because it is an irresistible impulse to be STUPID, you should run back and set fire to the damn bridge. Or throw a grenade on it.

I don’t know; perhaps this thought comes from seeing old revival handouts with illustrations of the road to Hell being lined with temptations. I think those drawings had bridges in them; maybe not.

Of course, burning is a bit drastic, but I have imagined myself putting barricades up . . . and I know I would be thinking I could take them down.

Why are these thoughts like hitting myself in the head with a rock? I don’t know, but I’m going to stop and see if it feels better.

I spent around eight hours in the bunker moving around furniture and spraying surfaces with cleaner and using my swifter on the cobwebs. I changed light bulbs and filled two trash bags. The bunker was Mother’s creation and she always had to have a bar in her refuge – not for alcohol, for perching on a bar stool while sipping coffee or working a crossword or puzzle.

Once I mentioned that I thought the space would be more inviting without the bar and she replied, “I have to have a bar.” It has been over three years now, and Mother, I moved that bar around the corner. I moved it even though I found out you had BOLTED some parts in place. At one point, I was sitting on the floor, bracing my back and pushing with my feet. It was not easy.

I think the opened-up area shows potential; I know you would be in a snit. I did not remove the god awful lamp from the bedroom – mainly because I did not have a handy replacement. Sentiment just can’t overcome the pure ugliness of that lamp. There, I’ve said it.

Now I’m going to start thinking about changing the paint colors – – YIKES, WAS THAT LIGHTNING BOLT????

So, uh, the weather is going to warm up next week for a couple of days, but, uh, today it is too cold to do any Socmaonkeyjawea Indian fire dancing outside, let along grilling . . . so hmmmm. Der Bingle stayed in Dayton for work so here I am wondering if I should take the pledge of DOING SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE. Yikes, I really don’t want to, but I gave myself a treat with the promise that I would work all day long. I should have had more will power.

But, anyway, now I’m starting and to keep myself honest, I am listing down what I do. And if I don’t update this post, it is because I am a cad. Holy Moses, my red-headed Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse cohorts are already marking their ballots; yes: CAD. Such faith in the character of AmeliaJake . . . tsk, tsk, tsk.

Now, they’ve started a pool: If I do start, they are all picking times when they predict I will quit. It’s not working . . . everybody wants two minutes after I start. Foo will keep the money until they figure it out. (Foo is pretty smart.)

OKAY, HERE IS THE UPDATE:

I actually did it; I worked until 7:20 pm without sitting down . . . and then I took a shower. To boost my morale I kept track of what I did on a piece of computer paper – small writing, both sides. WOO-HOO. Oh, my butt hurts.

Now, the question is: Do I want to get up and do this again tomorrow? Not really, but since I visit Mrs. Feller on Sunday afternoon through evening, I’ll have to shower and be on my way by 3:30 pm. So maybe I’ll give it a go. Actually, Foo has put her green eye shade on and is insisting I bet my winnings in the pool money double or nothing. I think she knows something about muscles stiffening overnight.
Oh, do you remember Foo? Well, in case you don’t, here she is:

THE MAGNIFICENT FOO – She sets the bar high (inside joke)

Early, early last evening, I pulled an afghan up around my chin and lay back with my head resting on a wadded up throw. It was just a little “resty” period. I woke up sometime later, sort of dazed and thought, “Gee, I guess I’ll go to the bathroom.” Not as a tourist, you understand. Someone banged on the door and demanded, “Who is in there!?!” and I felt like yelling, I’m peeing as fast as I can.

I was not gracious about it, since there are other bathrooms and stalked off to put my afghan not up to my chin but over my head. Then I woke up and wondered how long until dawn. TWO-THIRTY IN THE AM. It was going to be a long wait and I sighted and got up for a drink and a look at the internet news . . . like are we still status quo or is an asteroid coming? Then I looked up some reference material on a book (Bull Canyon: A Boatbuilder, a Writer and Other Wildlife by Lin Pardey) I’d finished about building a sea-going yacht over a three year period in a dry canyon near Lake Elsinore, California. No electricity, phones and, belatedly realized, yearly wild fire threats.

Now it’s an hour later and it’s still a long way until dawn, so I’ll finish my drink and lay down and pretend I’ve been out in the cold and have stumbled on a warm cabin with a fire laid and waiting to be lit. Then I’ll savor the feel of my imagined sleeping bag and feel my eyes go heavy as I watch the imagined fire. Or so that is the plan.

A couple of weeks ago – well, maybe three – I decided to go through a bunch of stuff and photograph the layers as I piled it onto shelves for future arranging/packing/whatever. It was a day of rediscovery. I was right about photographing things – I wouldn’t have remembered where they were.

This evening I was on iphoto and decided to scan through some pictures; there they were, doing what I had intended – jogging my memory. So many of them. All sorts of memories.

Here are two – just because.

Someone put a bowl of chili on the hearth and Shane at it; this may not be pleasant. It’s a cold night to be opening the door over and over again.