Monthly Archives: October 2015

Just Me - AmeliaJake, Kendallville, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

Well, this was a fine How do you do

As I noted a couple of posts below, out of sentimentality, and a possible craving for traditional Bayou Billy Cherry Wine, I went to The Apple Festival in Kendallville. My grandson and I and his mother had first gone on a cold and rainy day when he was six, and now all these years later, he had it in his head to get me over there to see the sheep shearing.

I video-ed it on my phone, came home and uploaded it to YouTube and then discovered my granddaughter had logged into YouTube on MY computer and had left herself logged in. All of my uploads wound up in her stash. I know my mouth was in a grim little pucker when I copied all the embedding code to insert into my post; I just let the videos post attached to her email. Because I was PISSED.

Yesterday, she comes to me and says she’s getting emails about sheep shearing and I explained why and if she didn’t like it she could transfer them. Well, she did, but ACK! she did not re-embed them in the post. I have four blank spots down there. That is just soooo cool.

So, of course, it is up to me to fix it, while wearing my scrunchy face of irritation, which is slightly better than the Evil Look of Death.

Just Me - AmeliaJake, N. Riley House, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

Just like that – a big, stabbing reminder

I have been packing things up and prioritizing where I put them; translated, that means, I am trying to minimize the amount of digging I will need to do when it suddenly occurs to me that I must have my paws on something.

This morning I came upon a Red Hots box that had been a gift:

redhot box

I like to stash things in these types of boxes – metal tins and wooden cigar boxes and whatever – and I wondered what was in this one. It didn’t rattle, but it had weight. And I opened it:

busy bones

A package of Busy Bones for Shane; he could smell them through the wrapping so I put one pack in a tin box. And there it has stayed. And then I cried.

Shane’s sudden death – it has latched onto so many other deep feelings. I have no real idea why, but there it is. Maybe Shane gathered the spirits of loved ones in his heart.

It is less than a week until the year’s marking of his passing. I am not the only one mentioning it. Maybe we need to have an old-fashioned wake.

Just Me - AmeliaJake, Kendallville, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

Kendallville Apple Festival

I wasn’t going to go; it was chilly and rainy and I had been many times before. The eats and drinks were expensive. Sixteen years ago I went with Cameron and his mother and he was a lot shorter than I; we ate apple burgers in very chilly weather and I remember my leather-soled shoes sucked the cold right into my feet.

Cameron wanted to go, but I gave excuses . . . and then I decided to take one for the team and go for “old time’s sake” for “the family” aspect of it. We walked over and his sister joined us later. We got a Bayou Billy mug and shared lots of refills for a dollar a piece.

And we watched, because Cameron really wanted to do so, the hourly sheep shearing. You know,  it was interesting and the man who sheared was retired for five years, but had been shearing for 57 years. Once he had sheared the stomach, he was able to take the rest of the coat off as one piece. The sheep just sat there, completely docile. He said not all were like that. And when Cameron steered his sister to watch another shearing, we saw a sheep with an attitude. I filmed part of the shearing and I think I accidentally filmed the inside of my pocket as well.

We listened to some musicians in the Swine Barn, which they have a fancier name for when the festival is on and then listened to a really good quartet, which included a man and his daughter. The father had performed professionally on cruise ships and elsewhere and the daughter graduated from a Boston college that specialized in musical training – like you have to be very good to even get in. You know music is being performed well when even a tone deaf person truly appreciates it.

Actually, if I were able to carry a tune, I would probably be jealous of the singers for being so good; however, when you’re as clueless as I am (bad), you just embrace it and appreciate someone who can actually do this thing they call singing.

Then we ate a pretzel with cheddar cheese, but I think they were running low on the cheddar because there was a distinct jalapeno twang to the dip. I guess sitting on hay  bales – or is it straw? – and having your tongue tingle will become one of our memories.

But guess what? Yes, they had no apple burgers!!!!!! How could that be?

Just Me - AmeliaJake, N. Riley House, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, This and That at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

Ah, the hole got me

Well, I didn’t fall through the hole in the kitchen floor; it really was way too little. I didn’t trip in it because it was pretty close to the wall and I put a tile over it. But I will tell you: Freeing up that hole from the relatively heavy exhaust mechanism of the Jenn-Aire and then being stuck up in the joists where the pipes were joined together for venting was, okay, repetitive pun coming – exhausting. That last part was while leaning off a ladder while bracing against a wall. Not bad for 67, but you know it left me with a few sore muscles.

Even my little fingers were inflamed from working with gunky screws and bolts that didn’t exactly want to turn easily or were not in a very accessible position. Oh, excuses, excuses. Actually,  I haven’t been at the computer because I have been guarding the oven, which looks so beautiful – much more impressive than in this picture.

oven

Just Me - AmeliaJake, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

That hole in the floor

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When the scheduler called yesterday to say the delivery guys would be here this morning, I mentioned that the old stove was vented through the floor. “Oh, that won’t be a problem; I’m sure they can handle it,” she said. I didn’t believe she was right. Those fellows bring things in and take things out; there is another group that does things more complicated than putting a plug in the wall. I figured I had better take preemptive measures.

Understanding the idea of looking from one floor to another through a gaping hole, uou might not think it but when I finally saw it, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been working for close to three hours to free the big, strong, black steel exhaust pipe from the kitchen range to the conventional round vent pipe on the other side of the floor.

That baby would have come out without a bit of trouble had I: 1( been the person who installed it and 2) if it hadn’t been covered with grime so that you couldn’t see the little-headed but very strong screws that held it firmly INTO THE OLD THICK WOODEN FLOOR. Then there was the screw on the other side of the floor that secured the exhaust pipe to the vent pipe, and it was covered with that kind of silver tape that sort of melts into the surface when it gets hot. Scraping that gunk off was a lot of fun, really . . . over my head, at an angle to the ladder, up by a joist and amid cobwebs.

I am salvaging the old range because I think it has possibilities and in a few hours two men are going to come and but a black, shiny LG range in it’s place. I DO NOT WANT ANYONE TO TOUCH THIS APPLIANCE.

LET THEM ALL EAT COLD CUT SANDWICHES!!!!!