As I pulled out of the driveway this morning at approximately 5:50 in the dark morning, I braced myself and looked at the lights, which last night I referred to as “slugs”, and I thought they looked much crisper and not tending to blend together, forming a glowing slime trail.

I don’t know if it was because I was slightly farther away or because the light bulbs had to adapt to the cold temperature. That last idea has no basis in any scientific education, but, what the heck?

I had made a slight adjustment last evening, but I hadn’t expected it to make much of a difference. Apparently, this change in detail was worthwhile. You see, before the lines of lights looked like Arabic writing and I had some apprehension it might be saying something provocative. I’m not going to apologize for the topical reference; it just popped into my head and like too many things that enter my head that way, it has popped out of my mouth – well, in this case, off my fingers.

I have chores to do; I do not want to do them. NOT ONE OF THEM. I tried to put them in context of making things nice for the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, not to mention Santa, Scrooge and any visiting reindeer, but it didn’t work. I didn’t get motivated. Now, if I had a legion of elves running around with dust cloths, brooms, nice smelling polish and a cheerful attitude about cleaning bathrooms, maybe I could get more into the spirit. You know, we’d have plates of little sandwiches and a cheese ball and crackers and sparkling water and upbeat Christmas music on the CD player, and I think then I could get in the mood as supervisor of the little guys.

I might even vacuum, hopefully not sucking up any elf hats.

Hmmm, I might be in the mood to start a fire, watch a movie and, uh, let clutter find its way into the aforementioned fire. I can see myself playing around with this idea.

I put out 450 lights on the front bushes but I think they look odd. When I did it before, the effect was of dancing fireflies. Tonight, it looks as if someone has taken a white marker on a photoshop scribble. I knew there would be a random aspect to the display since I pull down branches and then let them lift the lights up high, but this looks like totally out of balance. I don’t know if I can adjust them too much because it was difficult to just get them up. I might wind up having to just pull the plug. Not only is the path erratic, but the lights don’t look like fireflies; they look like glowing slugs.

You don’t want to see a picture. Really, you don’t.

Recently someone used the phrase “so you” in referring to something I had written; actually, I hear that a lot about what I do, say and write. I never gave it much thought; after all, isn’t everyone “so themselves.” Maybe; I suppose so. However, perhaps a large number of people are a quietly blending in type, not being quirky themselves. Dare I say they are “normal?” And where does that leave me? No, I don’t want to know at this late stage in my life.

What Jack Nicholson said in A Few Good Men probably fits me: Truth? AmeliaJake, you can’t handle the truth. I can only peek at it every now and then, such as acknowledging that I went into the Dollar Tree in Kendallville and bought candy cane antlers and a red blinking nose and put them on and took pictures and sent them to Der Bingle and LZP.

LZP texted it back that the antlers suited me and when I mentioned the red nose, he replied, “Why did I already know that?” I think that translates as “so you”. WordPress is having problems uploading the pictures and maybe that should tell me something.

While I am waiting to try to upload again, I might as well mention that I also bought some ribbon, and gold, red and green bells and made a headband which I then put on and did a video of headshaking. I’m not going to try to upload that one – the old AJ jowls sort of jiggled while the bells rang.

No, they didn’t. That is silly. They would have if I could think of a punchline, but, alas, I cannot, so forget about them going into a bar. Maybe in a week or a month, or next year, I might think of a HA HA for this venture. And, I assure you I will let you know if I do.

I heard, “Two Irishmen walked out of a bar . . . No, that would never happen.” Other than that, I don’t know any real going into bar jokes. Of course, there’s the “3 Scientists Walk into a Bar” that is a Facebook page and I’ve seen it on www.weather.com

Enough of that, it’s just my prattling. Oh, AmeliaJake, think this through. If you say enough of the prattling, you won’t have anything to write at all.

In this basket are part of the trimmings for one of my Christmas trees:

(The rummage sale price tag on the bell has class, dontcha think?)

I may just skip the tree part this year and take them out of the basket and put them right back in, still allowing myself some bits of memory. Actually, one of my memories about the tree that usually holds these things is that I have to tie it to the window latch or it will fall over. You see, I would put it on a coffee table in the sitting room and the legs on the base would be just a wee bit too big to balance really well.

I probably have a picture of this tree from earlier years somewhere on this blog, but I’m not going to look for it now. I might be tempted to enlarge it and pin it up over the coffee table.

Here in the very western part of the Eastern Time Zone we now are in the month that is a countdown to the shortest day, and, oh yes, Christmas. It is chilly outside and wet and DARK and I am sitting here listening to The Irish Tenors without having to wear earphones. I don’t know why people around me find them annoying, unless it is my predilection to play the same song over and over again until my mood moves on to another song. I particularly like The Holy City; I find it invigorating.

I need to motivate myself to walk about 5o feet and get the alcohol wipes so I can test my blood glucose. Oh, my, it seems such a daunting task. I’m surprised there isn’t an app where I can get a read out from my cell phone. Good thing I don’t have to churn butter; how did they do it in olden times? It all seems so quaint when you see it at fairs and festivals – yeah, because someone else is churning.

It is amusing to remember decades ago when I would watch my grandmother doing some chore and hop up and down, exclaiming, “Let me! Let me.”

Okay, I could use a bit more ice in my drink, so I guess I’ll do the two bird, one stone thing and go and get both ice and alcohol wipes.

A few minutes later: I did it and I added in a bathroom stop and I washed my hands really well and I stuck my finger. Now the sky is getting a wee bit light and maybe, just maybe, I will do something with all this leftover turkey. Then again, I don’t know because using the butterfly wing theory, I might initiate a major disaster across the globe. Maybe I should just sit here.