My normal trash pick-up day is Wednesday – as in the crack of dawn and maybe even before that. That means, of course, that Trash Day is really Tuesday – as in “try to get it out in the evening and not wake up at 2 am with the thought: TRASH.

This is especially important in the summer when the daylight lasts long and people take walks and you do not want to set smelly trash bins by the curb until it’s almost dark . . . but that entails thinking “Don’t forget the trash” all day long. It can be onerous.

BUT, when Monday is a holiday, trash pick-up is moved one day later, so all day Tuesday you think your trash mantra and then have to follow it up with: BUT, NO, IT’S TOMORROW. Then when tomorrow comes – which is today – you must not fall into the usual thought process of believing the weekly trash crisis has passed.

NO. It is still hanging over your head. Right now, I am aware that the trash goes out tonight, and I have to think that all day. I do not have a “smart” house that turns on lights and heaven knows what else. No, my house will not tell me at dusk to take the trash out. But, forget the lights, forget the thermostat, forget security, just having the house tell me to get out the door with trash might be worth it. Although, that would involve remembering to change the schedule when a holiday is on Monday . . .

My usual response: SIGH

My father died in February of 2000; this was the 19th Memorial Day that flowers were placed on his grave. Mother’s last trip with me to Fountain County Fraternal Cemetery was in 2008; she couldn’t go in 2009 – she was dying, but she kept it from us. So I went alone, not knowing that in 2010 I would be making trips to both the cemetery in Fountain County and one in Sturgis, Michigan.

Recently – that means the last two years – I couldn’t get to my dad’s grave so my cousins put flowers there for me. They said they “talked to Uncle Bob and told them how much I loved him.” And I was so grateful to them.

This year was looking iffy, but I decided I was going, and my grandson accompanied me. It was a long trip and I didn’t get back until way after 10 pm, but back there in central Indian was a big pot of geraniums, hand-delivered to the man who always held my hand.

That made it a good day . . . and maybe tomorrow I’ll write about the little engine glitch that resulted in us sitting for two hours in a dealership service waiting room in Lafayette – but they had free muffins and the technicians got the car in right away, replaced a part and had the geraniums back on our way. And, actually, maybe that  helped to make it a better day. Those geraniums made it to a soldier who would have been 100 years old this November.

When you read about something not good happening to someone else and it takes you aback, you can’t even imagine what it would be like to be that person or a member of the family.

Never did I expect to turn on the news this morning and hear an announcer say, “Coming up: Susan Bayh . . . brain surgery.” Of course, the station went to commercial. I went to the Internet.

Yes, she had surgery and yes it was a tumor – glioblastoma (cancer). She had  a benign tumor removed in 2015 that was the size of a plum. And now, this.

Yesterday, I complained of starting the day with a lamp that was out of kilter; well, now, that has been put in perspective.

It was a heck of way to start the morning: it was gloomy, dark and cloudy and something had happened to my lamp overnight – something BAD. The bulb still worked but the floor style lamp had somehow become unscrewed from both the base and from the part that holds the socket. The shade, bulb and socket were at a 90 degree angle and the pole was leaning about 30 degrees off of vertical.

This has happened before, and because I figured I couldn’t break it any more than it was, I fiddled around with the four foot hollow rod through which the cord reached from the base to the part that holds the top. Against what I considered all odds, I got it back together. Realize this rod was measured to just barely be long enough to accommodate the securing nut-like features that screw onto each end. It is not a pretty sight to imagine to watch a non-professional attempt this. At times the base was braced by my two outstretched legs while I tried to manipulate the top part on . . . and then, all the pieces  would fly where they were not supposed to be.

So it was try again . . . and again . . . and again.

And now (evil elves?) have struck again. Now I am going to have to try and do the incredibly frustrating task again . . . or NOW is trash night and I could just slide it into the big brown bin. I suppose I’d keep the shade.

Maybe I will try it once or twice. This is not the type of feat one posts on YouTube. I think I have talked myself into tossing it.

I have to admit the thought of staring at the worm picture whenever I came to this blog was off-putting. So when I hopped over to Turner Classic Movies Schedule, and saw The Grapes of Wrath and Casablanca listed for this evening, I jumped at the idea of posting the color picture here:

(Oh, by the way, I did notice the “hopped” progressing to “jumped” in the above sentence, but just sighed.)

Now, getting back to TCM, you can go the the schedule site and see everything all lined up. In addition, you can clicke on a movie you might want to see and TCM will send you an email reminder. This is nice if you scroll into the next few days and find a classic you have wanted to re-visit. I always think, Oh, I’ll remember that . . . and then I never do.

Well, let’s hope Henry Fonda and Humphrey Bogart moved the worms down. I mean, Here’s looking at you, Worm just doesn’t have the nostalgic romance of that rain-swept runway in Africa.

It used to be, on days when the weather was uncertain, that it was fascinating to watch Weather in Motion on The Weather Channel website. I noticed that once things started to “move” on the site, videos began showing up of weather events that were occurring or had just occurred.

Then the video parameters enlarged – at least that’s the way I see it. I considered some of the topics to be only peripherally relating to wind, rain, sleet, snow, etc. For the past two of three days, I have checked the weather and found this picture staring back at me:

It’s about vacations and hotel pools, and I’m guessing you could start to wonder about any concrete pool – if you tended to be a worrywart. I don’t know but it’s possible the picture of the worms (parasites – think Monsters Inside Me) could make swimming with sharks seem less foolhardy.

I know it is May, but with this spring weather, it does not feel like May. There are finally leaves on the trees, but they came out almost in defiance of the cool weather. And now I look at the calendar and realize that Memorial Day is one week from tomorrow.

ONE WEEK!!!!!

ZOUNDS! It is geranium time for AmeliaJake, along with some trailing ivy and asparagus fern. And potting soil, leaving me with hands that will take some time to actually scrub clean. That’s not the half of it: I do NOT yet have said plants, which means I am going to have to go get them. Then pot and deliver them. And all of this in the next few days.

Some years ago I nearly melted getting pots to graves, but it had been a warm spring. This year, with only a few warm days in which I discovered my AC had been hooked up incorrectly, I am going to be – shall we say, irritated – if find the temperatures at 90+ degrees for cemetery trips.

It probably sounds disrespectful, but I find myself wishing Amazon.com with Prime shipping were in a position to help me out.

Der Bingle works at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base and the window overlooks the landing area by the Air Force Museum. He saw the Memphis Belle come to the museum, as well as the P-51’s. I asked him if he felt transported back in time, but since WWII is before even our time, I think he identified more with watching a documentary on a very large screen.

After I had thought about the Memphis Belle for awhile, my mind switched over to a man I interviewed in Ohio who had flown P-51’s in WWII and the article I wrote:

Diane Sawyer of CBS News once said that because of all the people who’d told her stories about where they were on Pearl Harbor Day, she sometimes felt that she too could remember that day — even though she hadn’t even been born by December 7, 1941.
Lately, my thoughts have been turning to German POW camps in the spring of 1945. I’ve read a lot about the war and seen film footage, but it was only this year that I talked face to face with a man who had been held captive after being shot down on a strafing run in his P-51.

This year, for the first time, I realize I have a feeling for, rather than just a knowledge of, the shock of captivity and the relief of being freed. A few months ago, West Chester resident Bill Randolph sat not more than three feet from me and spoke of his experience 48 years ago in Germany.

Right up until the moment he bailed out, being a POW was something his mind would not let him consider.

“I’d either survive or I’d be killed. I never once thought I’d be shot down over enemy territory. The army took pictures of all the airmen to distribute to the French Underground so they could recognize us. And when they took that picture, I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

But it did happen; and Bill Randolph survived that which he had feared most. He says he thought he was in shock; he thinks he kept himself in that state “so if something were to happen, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Maybe so, then maybe young Lt. Randolph was just discovering a side of himself he did not know existed.

He was interrogated for five days in Frankfurt by a Luftwaffe officer — one who had a book of information on him as well as copies of what was on the squadron bulletin board back in England.

When that was over, he was shipped to a camp. “This was a living hell,” Lt. Randolph states so matter-of-factly that there is no room for doubt.
The prisoners were sent to camp in boxcars. On the way, Americans fliers, unaware of the cargo, strafed the train. The memory of those minutes is clear in the Lt. Randolph’s mind.

“There were three waves of them, and by the time the third wave came along I was down on the floor trying to dig into the fibers and saying prayers. Because of this experience, I felt like I had gotten closer to God…it was a spiritual thing.
It was there in that boxcar that I felt like that. I was allowed to go to the edge of disaster and brought back to live my life. I think because of that I’m more tolerant…that I know something I didn’t know before.”

As the Allies drew nearer, the prisoners were moved farther from the front lines. It was a “terrible” eight-day march. The new camp was near Munich, about 20 miles from Dauchau.

“You spent most of the time not thinking about anything. When you did think it was about food; no romance, all you thought about was food. I wanted a big chocolate sundae.”

Then Patton came.

“As far as I’m concerned , Patton won the war. He came in the camp and he was about 8 feet from me. We didn’t make eye contact, but I could see his eyes. He was saying, ‘Men, I’m proud of you.’ And he was saying anything he could to make us feel good and he had kind eyes. He was gentle: he was a good man. I was very impressed with him; he could lead me anywhere.”

After talking with Bill Randolph, I think I can almost remember it. Somehow he passed on to me a piece of experience..Now when I think of General Patton, I no longer see George C. Scott in front of a flag; I think of a man with kind eyes telling hungry, worn out soldiers that he was proud of them.
The past was in the air that day we talked; and I breathed it in.

**And a little post about the response to that article can be seen HERE.

I have been complaining about the off and on rain we have been experiencing that precludes mowing. Well, today is clear so that old adage “be careful what you wish for” is poking me. It is going to poke me right outside to the mower and the tank of anti-weed stuff, and gee, maybe those rainy days weren’t so bad after all.

The grass – and that would be a minority occupant of my yard – is tall. The weeds are hardy and that blasted dandelion that survived round one of chemical warfare is reaching tall and strong toward the sky.

This is not a time to flag nor fail ( I mentioned yesterday I had watched Darkest Hour again) and so I have no choice but to get at it. I think I shall use my hand to form a “V” and then a “W” – Victory over Weeds.