Most of the people here have been having sore throats with elevated temperatures. I have been fine, but yesterday and today my throat has become a little scratchy. I think it may be psychosomatic, but in case it is not, let me say, RATS. And if it is not, and gets worse, people will be saying, Yes! She’s not talking as much.

Time will tell. In the meantime, I have decided to take it easy while time tells. That would not be a Margaret Thatcher decision, but it works for me. Ironically, I feel as if I want to “do” something, but that may be because I have already decided that I will not “do” anything. I remember having a tremendous amount of writing to do in a short time in Cincinnati and having an urge to really clean the kitchen. Oh, I could get it so shiny if I just didn’t have these articles to write . . . I don’t remember finding myself feeling like that in the kitchen at other times.

Well, maybe I will do this one little thing: put my favorite afghan in the washer. It is beginning to smell as if someone might have wiped snacking fingers on it a time or two. Maybe some with popcorn butter on them? The sun is out and it’s a little windy, so it should smell quite nice when dry. Yell if it starts to rain. Thanks.

Last Thursday at a B&B in Howe, Indiana, I saw some hostas with blooms and lamented that my hostas had put all their energy into making leaves after having been almost wiped out by the really cold winter we had.

Well, I walked out back today and there they were: blooms. Maybe the Wubbameister made them nervous about showing their faces.

Shane likes this position, but he is on probation since he jumped out the window after a squirrel and almost gave Cameron a heart attack.

I think he needs a little navigator’s flight helmet – the leather kind – when he rides in the passenger seat. He has come to really like that seat and growled at Summer the other day when she suggested he move to the backseat. He prevailed.

I have spent the day re-reading The Lords of Discipline by Pat Conroy; I need to go back and start going over some more of the other good books I have read instead of letting myself get sucked in by a 99 cent Kindle book that sports an intriguing little plot description. My main problem is the nagging question: What happens next? Even if I have been wise and downloaded a sample and it turns out to be a crummy book, curiosity is a hard siren to fight. It may not kill the cat, but it uses up small sums of Kindle money that could be added up to purchase a well-written book.

There are no days when there are no stories, just days when one is too lackadaisical to write about them. This is one of them. I did eat some left over Cousin Vinny pizza however – the one with artichoke hearts as one of the toppings.

One view of the soupy salad. Der Bingle had words to describe it . . . and they referred to Shane’s occasional upchucking.

Ok, were I a reviewer of restaurants for a publication other than this blog, I would have to return to this restaurant to feel that I was being fair. But, I gotta tell ya, based on my first, and probably only visit, it was a disappointing experience. Not a really horrible, terrible eatery experience, but definitely one that left some things to be desired.

So what, you might ask. And even if you have not, I am going to tell you anyway. I could start by saying there was  no seating hostess  available and no sign indicating one could choose a table, but that pales when finally told by a server of the half-filled restaurant that they had no more menus. NO MENUS. The server was obviously not one comfortable with English we could not discuss the matter. He could bring us drinks and chips and salsa, but his English was not adequate to explain there was no mild salsa, just a choice – one salsa with a bite or no salsa for you. Actually, we did then have to ask twice for the salsa they had to go with the chips that brought to the table.

A waitress explained that they did not have enough menus and were usually busy on Thursdays? Yes? We weren’t certain how this was related, but, hey, the people who kept coming in did seem to be drinking very large margaritas and large beers. Maybe there is a drink sale on Thursday; I don’t know.

There is something I do know about: my taco salad with beef. I don’t feel like talking about it now, because it was like SOUP. I took a picture and will revisit this soggy topic tomorrow.

The little blond boy who died in the car. The little blond boy who died in a hot car. The little blond boy who died in a hot car when his father allegedly forgot and left him there throughout a workday. Anyone following the story knows that several factors have surfaced that do not jive with the little boy being forgotten all day, or forgotten at all. The parents researched hot child deaths and said it was their greatest fear.

Great fears tend to make people over vigilant and leave them self-guessing themselves – think of someone with a gas stove returning home to make certain it was, indeed, turned off. Think of someone afraid of home invasion repeatedly checking locks.

Maybe a note on the steering wheel or visor? Maybe a wallpaper picture of the child on a phone or computer? Maybe an irresistible urge to run out to the parking lot to check, or a call to daycare if it were the other parent’s turn?

Their greatest fear.

I  can’t fathom the reported behavior of the parents because I cannot imagine anyone being anything but devastated beyond words, let alone reason if something like that happened. However, whether I can understand it or not, apparently the father talked about having committed a felony after pulling into the parking lot with the dead child in the car. The mother sat her husband down and asked him if he thought he had told the police too much.

I have driven with a little blond boy in my backseat during two different times of my life. I feel myself shudder and grow physically ill at the thought of opening a car door and realizing what the new reality was. I would be on my knees, sobbing, hysterical. I would probably be demanding to wake up from the nightmare.

If it were their greatest fear, I am dumbfounded they would not have taken extra precautions, and obviously what I am suggesting is the unthinkable: A little boy being purposely left to die.

We had some adventure today, and it has nothing to do with me getting wet. The wetness comes later and was run of the mill.

This morning, rain was predicted for the afternoon and so Cameron and I took Shane over to a corner of the fairgrounds and then Cameron spent some time driving around, practicing. It was cool and cloudy and Shane road with his paws and head out of the car – I mean you don’t go fast on fairground roads. There were a lot of squirrels about and when Cameron slowed to an almost a stop for a turn, Shane spotted one and JUMPED OUT OF THE WINDOW!

It was faster than fast; he was in the car, he was out of the car.  Cameron slammed on the brakes and the plastic cup of water I had been holding between my thighs for Shane if he wanted a drink sloshed all over my shorts. But, of course, that was not our main concern. Where was Shane? He showed himself some distance off and refused to come when Cameron called. It was a stubbornness that was not appreciated.

We need to have a serious discussion with that dog . . . and I had to insist to Summer that my wet shorts were from the jostled cup of water. Sigh.

That, though, is not the wetness of which I spoke. After the trip in the morning to avoid the rain, the forecast changed to no rain today, but rain tomorrow. So I started out on a slow walk and half way through, it rained. Not very hard, not cold, and not long. However, I did get wet all the way through to my socks. Do  you know that wet walking shoes can be very heavy?

I am clean and dry once again, although my hair is still wet and in need of fluffing. I am now going to fluff.

I walked  yesterday and soaked my clothes with sweat; I walked today and did the same. I didn’t think I’d do it two days in a row, but it is Quentin’s birthday and I felt like doing something he would be proud of. Not the walking, but the keeping on walking. I alter my stride and the bounce in my step to cater to muscles when they start to ache, Then when I finish up and my clothes are wet and my face dripping, I savor the endorphins and Raspberry Lemonade.

That’s what I did today.

Oh, and I showered.

As we approached the Lagrange House, I noticed the corn was very tall, taller than I had seen it elsewhere. And then I saw the grass. It was up there, but not as much as I thought it could be, because, I found out, a neighbor family had mowed it. I guess living between two rivers and a creek and frequent rain and temperatures in the 70’s to low 80’s is a good growing medium for THINGS THAT HAVE TO BE MOWED. Not to mention pruned. Summer and I went at it – she on the big mower with the accelerator pedal  and me on the little cart that can scoot up close to things. In other words, I shifted . . . a lot. I also got stuck in a couple of holes but since I was on the lightweight cart, I was able to put it in reverse and, pushing with my foot, get it moving.

The day before she and I replaced the ceiling fan (with light) in her room. I will skip all the details and just mention that at the end I was standing at the circuit breaker talking on my phone to her on her phone up by the fan:

I’m throwing the switch on the count of three.

Just throw it.

The lights came on in the room. I am slowly approaching the fan; I am pulling the light switch. IT CAME ON!

Then I ran upstairs and we stood there, thinking, my gosh, it works?

Today I am being a bum. Maybe I will go for a walk and maybe I will just keep on bumming.