There was a to-do about Duck Dynasty? It is already the week-end before a mid-week Christmas? I receive text messages on my phone asking, “Where are you?” and read them hours later? Perhaps my phone and laptop and ipad are syncing and forgetting about me – which makes me think of some futuristic movie I once saw, but can’t remember anything more about it.

So, in visualizing my situation, I am thinking of those twisting ribbon loop problems on tests – you know, the kind that want to know if Point A in on the outside or inside of the loop. Still, giving it a bit more thought, I see my circumstance is different . . . Heck, I’m not even on the loop.

Being an action figure this week may be tricky; maybe I should just be an applique on a pillow.

I’m back, and guess what, there are no maids at this place. And Christmas a week away! Zounds! So this is what I am going to do: I am putting my iphone in my pocket after selecting “music” on the menu, placing earphones in my ears, and then tying a scarf around my head to keep the earphones securely in place. Some of you think I am kidding; others definitely do not. As my husband says, I grew up at an age when I thought “I Love Lucy” was a training manual, so you can bet the latter group is correct.

I am using my iphone so little beeps will tell me if a call is coming in. I don’t know how much cleaning and preparing I will get accomplished but I, myself, should be a festive sight.

I feel wimpy; I remember temperatures in double digit negative numbers and wind chills to boot. It is only 8 degrees outside and I scurried like a little squirrel to run out into the back vestibule. What if I don’t have the courage to reach out the front door for any packages being left for Christmas delivery?

You know, I may have to break down and actually PUT ON A COAT and ear muffs . . . because I am getting older and wimpier. Or, perhaps, just maybe, could it be? I am getting a little common sense. Naaaah. Not AmeliaJake.

Of course, if you really want to see people who laugh at any temperature above zero, you can come with me and watch the high schoolers pour out of the building after school . . . some in shorts. No kidding.

Actually, this cavalier attitude is more of a modern thing – not much in evidence when we walked to school, did not have enclosed malls, had mailboxes out by the roadway . . . and were handed a snow shovel and aimed out the door

The storm slid on a southwest to northeast slant south of us; Indianapolis got whammed and the snow reached up to the south of Fort Wayne. Der Bingle came up on I-75 in Ohio through slick snow, but entered a perfectly dry driveway here. It was cold here, though, and his car stood out in parking lots – it was the only one with crusted snow on it.

But last night, we had some and this morning we have a 2-hour delay at East Noble. I know; these trivial tidbits are boring. Our Christmas tree is up, but undecorated; that’s boring too. It does have a beautiful shape – maybe we should just go for the real nature look, although I do have that reel of colored lights I bought when the getting was good at Wal-Mart and carried around in my trunk for about a month.

Yes, I bought lights in November . . . because these days buying lights in December is too late. We could have a crazy decorating theme: one person holds the reel and another goes skipping through the house, letting the long, long strand play out. That would probably lead to tripping the light fantastic, which would lead to the ER.

I don’t know; maybe I should just wrap the lights around my head and flirt with electro-shock treatment. Or perhaps I already did that . . .

Der Bingle does not like The Irish Tenors; I have no idea why, but he just does NOT like them. And tonight I am listening to Fairytale of New York from the We Three Kings album.

Does anyone remember my listening to Count Your Blessings all the way from Kendallville to Fairborn? Well, that’s the way I’m listening to Fairytale of New York – over and over and over again. Each time through I wait for the part about the boys of the NYPD choir and Galway Bay. And each time I am relaxed because I don’t have to worry about Der Bingle whacking me on the head – not that he ever has . . . but he does have other ways.

I found a site on the Internet where there are instructions on how to make a 3-D paper snowflake. It is incredibly easy and looks like this when done the first time by a rank amateur (AJ).

I’ve made a bunch of them and some smaller ones, as well as the old standby – the construction paper chain. Actually, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time . . . and I listened to Christmas songs too.

Now I need some cocktail shrimpies and whiffs of evergreen and the crackle of a fire and sparkling grape juice.

I didn’t click on the view post option this morning and so went all day before I realized there was a massive BOLD font accident. And then when I tried to fix it, I failed the first time. Perhaps it was good that I did not do much today.

The excitement, other than the above, “oh, my gosh” moment, was the arrival of my new ricer. The old one just totally gave up the ghost this Thanksgiving. This new one is all shiny, but the old one had a red handle . . . that eventually bent and was bent back using the handle of a wooden spoon for a brace until that also gave out. Of course, don’t let me confuse the issue – the handle stayed red, it just broke more. Breaking Bad maybe.

I think I am seeing a wisp of the old AmeliaJake in that last sentence.

Here’s a little ha-ha at AJ’s expense:

I have a small collection of old kitchen implements, many having been touched by people of five generations. When I was looking on the internet – actually, Der Bingle heard my “OH NO!” from the kitchen and started the search – I saw a picture of this odd-looking thing that is among my stuff . . . and then exclaimed, “That’s a ricer?!?” I guess all my young life, I was given the training wheel ricer while perhaps in another room the pros were using the sort of art deco-looking one.

I’m going to have to try it, although I can see myself sending a potato sailing toward the ceiling.

Okay, it’s all nice and dark outside just like it’s been the past four to five days that I haven’t posted anything and don’t remember doing much of anything. The pattern may hold, even though I have just stopped in to say “Hi.” I can understand my not doing anything, but it is odd that I am not expressing my opinion/observations about something.

When I was little, my parents were always telling me: If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Heck, after all these decades could I finally be heeding that advice? Oh, I so strongly doubt it.
JOE BIDEN IS A JERK!
Okay, I was right; that’s not it.

Gee, you don’t think I’m in my tsunami mode do you? Pulling back, pulling back, pulling back and them just totally bombarding this space with big surges of words?

Oh, you know I can’t hear musical tones . . . but last night Clara and I sang cheerful Christmas carols in the room. I relied on “grin power” to mitigate the tonal part; it kind of worked.