I have had this site for many years and for a number of them I wrote daily, sometimes well, sometimes mundanely, often redundantly and sometimes a waste of my and the reader’s time.
I have made comebacks and each one lasted one or two posts.
Now, I am here to stay because I want so often to email people, especially Glenda with whom I share grandparents and who emails me with lots of news of my father’s family and the surrounding where he grew up. She and I and her sister Susie and our cousin Lana often would sleep on flannel sheets beneath a portrait of our great-grandfather in his Civil War uniform (Blue). Lana and I once shared a bed and she sat on Roy, but that is a whole different story and if you are really interested, you might find it my typing “Roy” in the search bar.
You see, although I often intend to email Glenda or even start to, I frequently get distracted and don ‘t do so. And I guess we aren’t much for phone yakking. I would have written “talking” but “yak” was a recent answer in a crossword puzzle and it was in the forefront of what is left of my 75 year-old -brain. Of course, now I am stuck with an image of me as a talking yak which will give you a glimpse into my not so mainstream personality.
This way, I can share my thoughts when the urge strikes me – although some of my darker ones may be only in an actual email, because I don’t need to publicize other folks personal business and because I don’t want to stir up in this election year any repercussions. (Although I may have an “Eyes Only” post to be very “M” about it.
I will readily admit, however, mainly because I have written it many times, that although I am not a fan of Trump, “AMELIAJAKE CANNOT STAND JOE BIDEN.” I have felt this way since 1988 before there was an internet and I wrote in 2016 when Obama and he left office, “Thank God, AmeliaJake doesn’t have to worry about Joe Biden anymore.” But, as Dr. Phil would ask, “How did that work out for you.?”
So, what was I going to write to Glenda? Well, pretty much the basics: arthritic knees, extremely cold weather, more whining about a scumbag robbing my mother’s house, finding a child-size baseball uniform of my dad’s that my grandmother had saved.
And, of course, I would have commented on her grandkids and the three great-grandsons, the oldest of which is a hoot – a brilliant hoot who looks just like his grandpa in my opinion. The other two GGsons are age one and kind of newborn so stories are still to come.
I don’t write much about my family because we do things like dropping a turkey right through the cooking bag unto the floor. As Julia Child once commented, “Who’s to know?” and we put it in another bag and stuffed it into the oven. People might have suspected something had happened when screams of dismay and shouts of “Never mind, nothing’s going on out here” echoed out the kitchen door.
We are cold here, negative numbers and double negative digits in wind chill. We also have a situation where we parked a car on a soggy grass spot when the temperature was 34 degrees and a wet snow was falling. The car sank into the soil, the temperature plunged and now it is almost imprisoned there. It could be worse.
Taking down Christmas decorations and ornaments is one thing; organizing them for storage is another. I am of the opinion that next year we will have to open boxes to discover what is in there. This year I found a necklace I had been searching for for a year. It was a butterfly I had in a moment of whimsy hung on a branch last year.
I am not making any New Year’s Resolutions because I fear outcome of fiddling with the habits of a lifetime. So I will still be a procrastinator; I will still be making up Rube Goldberg solutions to problems; I will still not keep clutter off the kitchen counters; I will still haunt the aisles of the grocery in the morning for major markdowns on deli items, bakery stuff and meat I can freeze. I will still not be concerned with house decor trends and I will still rant when someone looks at a perfectly nice house on “Househunters” and declare it “dated” and in need “of some work.” Heck, lose a loved one or be diagnosed with a disease and see how much that “dated” look matters. I imagine some folks might even bargain to get back Harvest Gold appliances and formica in exchange for the opposite situation. Guess that gives you an idea of my twitchy personality. I should probably reveal these twitches sparingly; the shock could be like watching a horror movie.
So, that’s it for now. But if I’m not here tomorrow that means I am a big fat liar or I am deathly ill or dead.
