This morning. This morning just before school. This morning just before school, someone could not find her glasses and panicked – as in screaming at the world. You cannot get a panicked screamer to retrace her steps in her mind. Her mother found them after 45 minutes of searching in a room where someone had claimed she had not gone.

The living room sofa is still turned over, because we just have to calm ourselves. Lordy! I am waiting for reality show people to call and ask if we’d be interested in being the topic of a show.

My father was born on November 12, 1918 – the day after the First World War Armistice – and got his middle name Pershing from General Pershing, leader of the American Expedition Forces that war. He died in February, 2000. He has been dead for 13 years, going on 14. It does not seem possible, then again, it does not seem possible he would have been 95 today, but that’s what it comes down to – 95.

This November 12th, it is 23 degrees outside right now. I popped out into the back vestibule to grab a “wake-up” caffeine-infused diet cola and did notice it was “brisk.” I also noticed that I need to replace the insulation around the door that goes to the garage – it’s right by the door that goes to the vestibule. The cold air might have aided the caffeine, but the thought of fooling around with coiling rubber gasket-like rope and attaching it to a door made me decide I needed to fortify my spirit with some time under a warm afghan . . . just ’til I get my mind ready for the task, dontcha know. Although I could just ask a bunch of Raggedy Anns to stand one atop another right there by the crack where the door meets the jamb*.

No . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea and I probably should just delete that bit, but then, again, their reprisals might make the day interesting. Sort of like Cato and Clouseau.

I’m so proud of the fact I refused to lower myself to make a pun about being “in a jam” because of that idea. Oh, I guess I blew it.