I called a repairman yesterday and was lucky to have him come, even though it made his day long. He couldn’t get the door open and he said, “This is a really old one.” I told him I was old as well. Someone was supposed to try this morning but they didn’t show, so it was time to tell the chunky from the creamy.

I got the door open with a state of the art tool I will not mention because it would reveal why someone’s shirt is wrinkled up on the floor of the closet.

I guess if I knew the repairman were actually coming, I could bake him a cake.

I have called an emergency repairman and he thought he could come, but I am thinking maybe he can’t. I have worked most of the day trying to get my oven door to open. I have thrown the circuit breaker and put my hand down into the den of electrical death, looking to manually spring the latch. (I took a picture of the electrode placement of those I had to unhook in able to get my hand in there.) I have used high tech coat hangers and ALL SORTS OF THINGS AND IT WON’T OPEN AND I AM GOING TO PANIC AND I CAN’T EVEN PUT MY HEAD IN THE OVEN . . . but then it’s not gas anyway.

Now I could start removing screws but I really, really think that is not wise. I mean I already had to take out two to expose the lock mechanism.

Maybe I will sit down and try holding my breath and . . . I think the reviews on this technique are good, however.

Some time after five this morning, I started to dream – very vividly and so realistically that I thought in my dream, “This can’t be a dream so I had better get used to what is going on.” I also at one point thought, “If I am going to wake up, this would be a good time.” Finally I did, but it was a slow climbing out of a deep boot-sucking ravine of grogginess. I can remember snatches of the nightmare and that is actually more than I want to recall. I suppose it was constructed out of my symbolized deepest worries and fears. I never did like symbolism. But, at least, it is over. I think. I have had instances in which I have “awoken” from one dream into another . . . and that is crushingly terrifying or disheartening.

Everything is in physical disarray around me; see, you can hide a lot in vocabulary: everything is MESSY. And after my nightmare, I embrace the messiness – the wonderful, wonderful clutter.

The birthday box from LZP came today. I was going to post these pictures before but I had to go Albion to the courthouse to get a notary from the tax office because the State of Texas will not accept a regular notary public at the bank. Here in Indiana, we just sign over the car title . . . Then I went to the post office to mail it.

I’m going to make a video of the birthday card tomorrow. It really deserves a video.

Just part of the contents

And, of course, the hat. Der Bingle wants me to wear it when I play Solitaire at the nursing home . . . You know, Card Sharknado.

You will notice the gummy worm package is OPEN for eating.
THANKS TO LZP AND SAMBO

I would have said Summer had a good day at school if I had posted yesterday, but I was in the backyard with the firepit and Shane and two of his blasted Wubbas.

I lifted this photo from someone else’s blog. It’s around three years old and the little girl is now five. It’s titled D____ in Action and her image makes me smile with its spunk and zest for life. She started first grade yesterday. I think she’s going to have a grand time and I know her teachers and classmates now and to come will feel themselves fortunate to share her journey.

At least I think it is 3.6 that I saw in the red typeface at the top of the page, nagging me to update. So, finally I did. Once it was done, which was almost immediately, a page popped up touting some of the new features to make your blog more interesting. Uh, who is going to update me? This is one of those moments when I purse my lips and my eyes shift from side to side as I ponder this question. Is there an answer somewhere? I’m taking a wild stab and saying no, I don’t think so. Well, maybe I could go scrub my face.

It is almost six in the morning and I do not see any lightening of the sky to the east. In June it was there, but not now. Of course, I knew this would happen, but still I have to brace myself for it here. Fall, unlike January 1st, has always seemed a new year to me – probably going back to my school days when we sat for that first day in our new school clothes. And it was not an unwelcome feeling and the shorter days brought more comfortable temperatures and then festive times such as Halloween and football and Thanksgiving and, of course, Christmas.

I just looked a a fall catalogue sent by The Yankee Candle Co., complete with scratch and sniff pictures of candles named Brown Sugar and Spice and Autumn Woods and advertising phrases, such as Wreaths of Welcome and The Joys of Autumn. It is a potentially cozy time of the year.

So why must I brace myself? Because as I grow older, I miss more than before, the early dawns – the day that calls out like a Horton’s Who: I am here; I am here. And then there is Kendallville, just a small town in Indiana. For some reason, and there is no good one, I have never been partial to towns ending in “ville” . . . but here I am, thinking, again for no good reason, that fall settling in would be more acceptable in a place named Oak Park or Bedford Falls or Terre Haute . . . or San Francisco.

Well, I could think not of Kendallville; I could think of fall at my alternate place. That would be Shipshewana. Oh, yeah.