Here’s an interesting link that Der Bingle sent to me today about drones, something he knows some things about – or is it crones that he’s familiar with?

Come to think of it, I do Google a lot.

I sit down, there he is, staring at me. I look down at his feet and my feet and there it is – a Wubba. Only his new game is not “Throw it for me.” His current idea of play is “Let’s see who can grab it first.” Of course, it is always Shane, but then he doesn’t want me to take it and toss it; he just keeps his tooth grip on it while I am trying to pull it free.

I give up . . . But there it is again, free game between our feet . . . AND THE SAME THING HAPPENS. Over and over again. The icing on the cake is that he doesn’t even do a tug of way deal; he just stands or sits there and holds the Wubba.

Sometimes he will lie down and close his eyes with the Wubba right by his head; I will think that this is my chance. HA!! It was a trick.

One of us is going to need therapy.

This morning I went over to Pottermom’s blog and right in front of my eyes was a yellow minion wishing me Happy Birthday in a post dated August 27th. There was one below it from the 26th. Both of these posts did not show up on my computer until today, the 29th.

I don’t understand it, but I understand that I feel bad that maybe she thought I had just looked and not appreciated her sentiment enough to even say Thank You. That would be so wrong. Thank you, Pottermom; I’m two days late, but thank you big time.

Just a few minutes ago, it came to me: I am a boring person in Kendallville, Indiana. Now, the question might be: Am I boring because I am in Kendallville? But we all know it is not. Heck, I know librarians who are less boring than I am. Well, I know of librarians; I’m pretty much not a librarian-type of person – they organize, dontcha know, and we tend to avoid each other.

While people are out skydiving, I would be happy to sit here and watch “Five Graves to Cairo.”

Well, I’m not going to worry about it. I mean, what if I confused non-boring with crazy? I think I’ve taken this thought a sentence too far. Yes, I suppose I actually can be considered as somewhat (and thank God for modifiers) crazy. Wait a minute! Am I trying to organize these musings? Do I harbor an inner librarian? No. No. No. Of course not. I am not organizing; I am just stating things my way.

Come to think of it, “My way” – as in getting – might be a better description than boring. I’m just going to sneak out of this post now . . .

Der Bingle sent me a link to an article about gnomes used in an Austrian political campaign.

I am almost left speechless, with the exception of asking, If like they are Schwarzennegger, is it implied that They’ll be back.

We didn’t eat much chicken in my house when I was growing up, mainly because I think my mother was tired of it after The Great Depression and the war years. They had plenty to eat during those times, it just wasn’t store bought food or specialty items. Everything came from the farm, even the ice was cut out of the lake and stored in sawdust for summer.

Once when Mother went to her Uncle Sam’s for Sunday dinner, she looked at the table and exclaimed, “Chicken again!” I think “Toots” was in her mother’s doghouse that day.

So, like I said in the beginning we didn’t eat much chicken at all, although Mother did develop a taste for Kentucky Fried Chicken in its heyday. And Daddy would go to the Amish restaurant Das Essenhaus and order two chicken breasts – one for him and one for Miss Alice. (Our first Australian Shepherd)

Now, Alison, on the other hand, is a chicken-eater and so is Summer; I learned it was easy to slap chicken breasts in a baking dish, toss them in the oven and present one to Summer and she’d be, if not happy, mollified. It was pretty easy. I got to the point where I liked chicken salad when I made it myself – I ain’t eating no ground-up gizzards.

Der Bingle doesn’t like chicken either so we work around him, but we do now have it in the house. Today I saw on a news site that lots and lots (as in tons) of chicken was being recalled and thought, “Oh, Lord, Der Bingle is going to be restless.” However, when I clicked on the link I found out they were talking about chicken feet. Pots of chicken feet. You really had to see the image to feel the full effect, so, here, be my guest:

Well, at least if Mother were Chinese and in her childhood now, and if it were a Sunday and she was at her uncle’s, she wouldn’t have cause to exclaim, “Chicken feet again!.”

Well, I don’t know. I go out and look it and then I think of my soon to be 66-year-old-body, which barely measures five feet. That, by the way, is how I estimate distances by eye: How many AmeliaJake’s end-t0-end to cover a span.  Ah, yes, that room is about four AmeliaJakes by a little under three AmeliaJakes. I have actually lain on the floor to make certain a distance is actually 10 feet and not nine.

But that is not what this is about; this is about a scooter and the sense of keeping it. Okay, I have a couple of grandkids who could ride it, but then I wouldn’t want to be in any way responsible for road rash or a little leg or arm injury.

Now the nice thing about scooters (under 50 cc) in Indiana is that you do not need a license to ride it or a license plate to take it out on the road. You also do not need a license to go sideways over the handlebars because you are too short to put a foot down without inviting a major change in the center of gravity.

Can  you buff out little scratches in the fiberglass body?  That would make it look brand new and the odometer is under 1,500 miles.

BUT IT IS SO CUTE!!!!!!

Oh my gosh, I just looked at sales listing that reads:  White Honda Metropolitan Scooter seeks new partner. Must be good-looking, young, spiffy, bubbly, adventurous and capable of not embarrassing said scooter or driving into a tree. Used by little old lady, who had to be let go due to uncoolness, unspiffyness, non-adventurous body and well, not bad looking for an old lady, but hey, old lady looks and perky teen-age, early 20 looks just can’t compare. Aim: companionship and fun, marriage possible but not preferable given white scooter’s zest for seeking- new- horizons-at-the-drop-of-a hat.

What? I’m being ditched?  Hey, it feels different on this side of the story. Actually, little scooter, I am feeling used. You just sweet-talked me into  a professional spa treatment, including new battery, at Hayden Honda, and now it’s So long, Old Lady. I thought I was your AJ, your buddy – and I was just a Sugar Mommy????

Step by step I open it.

I haven’t had a great deal of time to settle down and be coherent about the contents of my box. Were people here, I would be hopping up and down, drinking cola, snacking away and chuckling over possible names. Frankly, I’m still working on figuring out just who is who, but the scarecrow came right out and told me her name was Sally. She said she was a real scarecrow cowgirl and not one of those Brokeback Mountain guys.

Actually, her being a scarecrow may be why the crow first let on he was a bird and still refuses to give more than his serial number.

Along with my cows and bears and sock monkeys, we also have a couple of pigs, a crow. and roosters. The latter have special meaning to me because Lydia Vance, Der Bingle’s grandmother, used to collect them. She had red hair, although it was a beautiful Barbara Bush white when I knew her and was what I like best – a character . . . who had a lot of character – the upright kind, the iron in your backbone kind, the ‘do the right thing kind’.

I was going to put the work kook in the post title instead of “user” but I held back . . . but only until now. There I’ve said it: Kook. To tell the truth it wasn’t so much the duct tape because it was used for a reasonable purpose, if you want to restrain someone; it’s just the whole darn thing.

The local paper headlined with Man Buried up to his Neck; I cannot cite that article because a subscription is required. However Wane.com has it summarized nicely:

CROMWELL, Ind. (WANE)- Two Auburn men are facing felony charges, accused of tying up a Cromwell man and burying him up to his neck.

According to NewsChannel 15’s news partners at KPC News, Phillip Longsworth and Karl Karn are both facing a charge of criminal confinement causing bodily injury.

The incident began when Longsworth reported someone had stolen a saw from his business. That was when he and Karn allegedly lured the victim -who they say had knowledge of the theft- to Longsworth’s business.

Police say the two tackled the victim, bound his wrists and ankles with duct tape, dug a hole with a backhoe and then buried him up to his neck.

Investigators said the victim lied about the saw’s location in order to get the two men to leave and then escaped on his own.

The victim is not facing any charges related to the theft of the saw.

Both sources have a picture, but wane.com has this one is color:

Maybe this is why the K word popped into my head . . . or maybe not. I’m playing it safe here.

My tummy is upset today; this is not one of my frequent complaints. Oh, I may have lower tummy emergencies, but they are quick events. This morning my upper tummy is uneasy and is, therefore, a pain in the neck. As one who has experienced motion sickness from infancy on up, that nausea has also been an event-type experience.

I would make lemonade out of these lemons, but the acidity isn’t wise, so I will sit quietly and read. Oh! The sacrifice of a day pruning shrubs and cleaning out window wells. I’ll just have to put up with it, I suppose: A book, toast, and a bit of Sprite.