Hi, there, this is me, Rose, posting for AmeliaJake because she is lying here with a cold cloth on her forehead. See heard from Pottermom about the benefits of that little yellow flower she is always complaining about. THESE FACTS. Right before she collapsed on the couch, she said, “Maybe I was w-w-w-w-w (at this point I hit her on the head and she managed to get it all out) wrong.”
Soon I will be making her a dandelion tonic. Hahahahahahahahaha. And, you know, as chief counselor here, I think I, Rose, should, make her face the facts every time she scrolls down the blog entries.
For you, my dear, sweet, AmeliaJake:

No one got her nose punched in the decision to stop for a quick shop and then stopped again for a lunch at Logan’s.

Although at Logan’s, I was giving someone a controlled experiment on launching peanuts with a fork, just aiming one low across the table. Well, it went straight up and came straight down. We got curious and tried different techniques and it was always up and down. So, I suspect Logan’s has anticipated hooligan behavior and shaped its forks to not be peanut launchers. I guess they have had people who are “controlled experimenters” visit their restaurants.

I suppose I am going to have bring my own fork. JUST KIDDING.

I have something else to worry about. The dandelions are back in my grass – not widespread, but they are there. LZP and the Gnome Alliance have widely proclaimed the benefits of dandelions, and yeah, I have to admit there is some validity to their claims. The same can be said of leeches . . . shudder . . . so maybe we could just cultivate the big Yellow D’s in confined areas, designated for medicinal purposes.

We have someone in the house who has an appointment deep in Fort Wayne territory – not out in the Dupont area where you have to make up an excuse to travel the extra stoplight infested streets to get to the mall or other stores. Best Buy, is that you I hear calling me?

We are going to be right there on Coliseum and after all this time, a bit of mall walking sounds inviting. I know, I know it’s not like Chicago or San Diego or Cincinnati or even Dayton malls, but it has the advantage of being here. No Apple Store or Crate & Barrel, but . . . it’s here.

DON’T PANIC, DER BINGLE! I am just thinking of a bit of ambiance and maybe a refill on my skin moisturizer. Uh, perhaps I should let my fingers do the walking over to the ads and see if Estee Lauder is giving away anything FREE with a purchase. Giving away and FREE are redundant . . . sorry. See, that was a little distraction.

Of course there is the possibility the person with the appointment will have a snit in the backseat and not want to stop anywhere. Well, I guess we’ll see which one of us is stronger. I think this means I’m leaving you with a cliffhanger. Tune in later to find out the answers. Hope they don’t involve the police and punched noses.

I was feeling sorry for myself, wallowing in despair, using sorrow for a pillow . . . so I mowed the lawn. It worked.
Sweat: the great elixir.

I am not a fan of April Fool’s Day, so we skipped it. We had a 48-hour-long March 1st here at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. We did cook out on propane, however, and that might have been tempting fate . . . Oh, of course, they blew up on April 1st – they were April Fools.

I was careless with my cell phone messages and missed one last week. LZP sent pictures of two of his trees in bloom and I heard only one alert. I saw the big tree full of blooms, but I wasn’t aware of the second tree – a little one – until today. It is Miss Jody’s Tree.

This month will mark one year since she passed away. We will always remember and we will probably always not be able to find words. Well, there are these, though: Jody, we will always look after your dad who loves you so.

Yesterday I wrote a post about a blog I found that talked about a couple building a new downsized house next door to their old Big House in Concord, Massachusetts. And I wondered about possible problems with any historical district rules. That’s enough of a recap for here; the original post is right under this one, or if you don’t want to scroll, click HERE.

Well . . . I checked back in today and guess what? Yes, a new post talked about the HDC being concerned with the color of the house. It is blue; I think it is a light blue, but that still puts in the category of blue as in Red, White & Blue. An American color scheme, dontcha know?

One of the homeowners wrote: While people have grumbled about the paint color and the HDC is on the warpath again . . . And when that happens, all manner of things will be well. We will just be another house on Main Street. Albeit the blue one.

The HDC puts out a 95 page guideline pdf (HERE), in which pictures may be found. Some of the houses appear to be in the blue family. But, to make sure everything is in the appropriate spirit, details are listed.

The Act states that the Commission “shall pass upon the appropriateness of changes in exterior color features of buildings and structures within the his- toric districts wherever such features are subject to view from a public street, way or place.”
A hearing before the Commission is not required to repaint a building or structure the same (existing) color.
A hearing before the Commission is not required to change the color of the building or structure provided that the chosen color scheme is in keeping with the period and style of the building or structure from the historically ac-
curate list available in the Commission office and the choice is confirmed by the Commission staff. A written rec- ord of the appropriate color choices, along with sample chips, is required to go on file. Please consult Commis- sion staff. If it is determined that the colors are proximate to those on the Approved List, given the architectural style, the owner will be informed in writing that a hearing is not necessary. Any other color choices require a hearing before the Historic Districts Commission at one of its regularly scheduled meetings with samples of color choices.
Color compatibility with adjacent structures should be considered in choosing your colors to promote vis- ual harmony of the streetscape. How- ever, several houses with identical color schemes in one area may not be appropriate.
Additional procedures on preparing for a paint color hearing, copies of the “pre-approved” appropriate color list, and additional resources on choosing historic paint colors are available for review in the Commission office.

The guidelines pdf. actually quotes Henry James right at the get-go of it’s no-no list.

“Putting the three or four biggest cities aside, Concord, Massachusetts, had an identity more palpable to the mind, had nestled in other words more successfully be- neath her narrow fold of the mantle of history, than any other American town.”
Henry James, The American Scene, 1907

I don’t know but maybe he meant to say “more palpable to the narrow mind”.

I have ancestors who were in the Revolutionary War. I would like to think they were fighting for the right to say, “I don’t like that color” as opposed to, “You can’t have that color.”

Gosh, we can really get worked up here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. Maybe we’ll use some of this energy to put a pink flamingo out front.

I came across a blog written by a seemingly very nice lady who lives in Concord, Massachusetts. Yes, this is THE Concord I’m talking about – THE Concord where the shot heard ’round the world originated.

She and her husband are building a new downsized house next to their older, big one. I was glancing at the pictures and reading a bit about the move one door down the street – do you use a moving van? – and it dawned on me historic district edicts might be a concern.

I mean this was THE Concord of Emerson, Alcott and Thoreau to mention but a very few, and because this house is on the river, perhaps close to The Old North Bridge, it seems reasonable to assume there is some regulatory body. Considering Walden Pond is there as well as Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, I would think the entire town is probably considered an historic district.

Which brings me to this: Exactly how to you justify rules for the hometown of Civil Disobedience author Thoreau? Oh, I know you want to preserve the Colonial Era for history’s sake, but, by gosh, this is a thin line here. In the American tradition, can you tell embattled landowners that they cannot erect, oh say and gasp as well, an A-frame.

Ah, but there is another American Tradition a’trending – the gated community, evolved from its poor cousin, the dreaded homeowner’s association. Heaven help those living next door to an HOA Gestapo memeber.

I don’t know how old the original “Big House” is, but people have been living in my mother’s house out here in the wilds of Indiana since before the Civil War and if anyone had told her just what she could and could not do with a tree or shed of paint color, they would have had a hell of a fight on their hands.

Heck, if anyone came to me and said, “AmeliaJake, you can’t . . .”, Mother would climb right out of her grave and tell them a thing or two.

I’ve gone way off topic here; I started out admiring a house’s design and appreciating a lady’s thoughts and now I’m into a rant. In this case, I am not going to identify the blog, but if the one or two readers who check in would like to know, just give me a nudge and I’ll link you up with Kate and Pete.

I wasn’t going to go and then I was and then I wasn’t and finally I did. I went and mowed at Mother’s. I knew I might have trouble getting a mower started and was steeled for it. I should have been wearing a lead shield; I think I believe little animals that build nest in motors emit sub-atomic rays that threaten your will to live.

They were probably watching and chortling while I spent almost two hours with the Wheel Horse that acted like it was ready for the glue factory.

It started – the tractor – when this whole episode started. It started for a moment, then died. I would try repeated and it would try, but no go . . .literally. So I sighed and hooked up the battery to the car. That was not going to work, but it popped into my head that maybe the air filter was dirty. It wasn’t.

I peeked in the hole beyond the air filter and saw “stuff”. I thought it was a little stuff, but it turned out to be BIG STUFF. I pulled a lot of stuff out through the little hole and there was still more, so I investigated and found four screws with hexagonal heads set in special little screw indentations. I did not have a little bitty socket tool . . . but the man across the way did.

More precisely his young grandson did. This was lucky for both of us because it gave the boy a chance to use his tool set other than working on taking apart about everything in his grandpa’s house and, for me, there was a way to get the engine cover off.

After all my time digging out the infamous STUFF, I figured I would find some areas where it remained. The engine cover exploded off with the pressure of the remaining STUFF which was a GREAT BIG WHOLE LOT.

And the engine – she roared to life. And I mowed and mowed and mowed until evening grew nigh. I put things away and locked up the shed. Oh my, I forgot to mention that last fall at the last mowing I had hung the keys to the padlock on a nail inside the shed and later absent-mindedly closed the doors and padlocked them – which of course does not require a key to do. And I did it. So, yesterday, I had to pry off some wood, crawl into the shed – and it was warm enough for snakes – to retrieve the keys.

The little nest-building rodents were probably thinking, “SERVES HER RIGHT.”

So I look up from the padlock to see an old, white-bearded Amishman on a bicycle pulling into the yard and asking, “How’s Grandma?” I said, “What?” He repeated it and I pointed to myself with a question on my face. He said he was talking about the lady who had spoken with him a couple of years back about taking some trees down.

After talking with him about her death, I ascertained that his son’s name was the name that Mother had left written on a note page on the dining room table. That mystery solved. We talked some more and one thing led to another and he mentioned when his mother died. She was born in 1917. What??? My dad was born in 1918. I said to the old man that I was 63, and would be 64 in August. You’re going to love this: he said he was 63 and would be 64 in November. ACCCCCCKKKKKKKK.

Oh, Lordy, I am an old Amishman sans beard . . . although I have referred to may chin hairs on occasion.

As I was driving later on a east-west road with the setting sun at my rear, I realized the shadow of my car stretched out far in front of me and I could see my head in the shadow. So I put up my hand and tried to make a shadow puppet. I am an old Amishman sans beard on an (east-west) road to senility. I don’t know what I would have told a police office had I been stopped.

The pronunciation of words – and, by the way, pronunciation one of the words involved – was the substance of a disagreement between Summer and me yesterday. She was leaving the room and used the word “preferably” and I corrected her with “preferably”

She came back, took my laptop an started looking at dictionary pronunciations. After much grimacing on her part, she finally found her version at some site.
We then started researching advertisement, interesting*, and a few other words I can’t remember.

*About interesting