I don’t believe my sons saw the movie Bambi, although I guess, through the grapevine of kidtalk, they got the gist of it. I know I didn’t arrange for them to see it. I have never, ever seen the purpose in breaking young little hearts – or old ones as well. There was no need to for me to watch an old dog stuck in a hole in “Homeward Bound.” I left the sofa at that point and did not come back. To this day, my grandkids will say, “Well, if you don’t want to watch this, I can always put in “Homeward Bound.”

Yesterday evening I was reading  a book of remembrances – vignettes of lives in the East End of London in the early 1950’s – and I had read through several when I came to one that had no AmeliaJake Warning posted at the beginning. I read along and even when I should have started to suspect, I did not; I so identified with one character, I could not help but be cheered when good news came. I was so happy for this character I was totally blind to what the cynical AmeliaJake would have seen in any other scenario. The crushing moment for that character crushed me too. It was like it was me, sitting there, experiencing it.

I shut the Kindle as fast as I had slammed “Little Red Riding Hood” closed when the parent reading came to the part about the grandma being eaten. I have not re-opened it. I squashed down the sobs and went in and watched Ironman 3 with Summer and Der Bingle.

Today I am going to keep myself busy and get a lot done, because I know, that sooner or later, I am just going to have to take some time to ferry Shane over to a secluded spot at the fairgrounds and while he chases squirrels, just sit in the car and let the sobs out.

I put a pun in the post title . . . because I’m AmeliaJake and I can’t help it. I am just remarking on it, because, well,  I know it probably gets tiresome and I’m sort of sorry.

Okay, on with what I was going to say. About 20 minutes ago, I wasn’t going to say anything because I was feeling really, really low. I don’t think it was sorry for myself low; I think it was just concern for someone who I just can’t seem to help low.

But, I looked out on the front step and there was this box from Iowa, from Sue, the mother of the girl featured on the left sidebar.

Scarves!!! I had to take pictures – of the fringe and the colors and her card. (I have blotted out the personal information, but I’m certain if you would like to commission something knit, I could pass it along.) I asked her to make these because she made me a shawl a while ago is soooo great and comfy and gets lots of compliments.

I’m thinking of exploring the idea of commissioning her to make me several loosely knit colorful berets to wear inside this winter so I can color my head if not my grey hair.

I really, really like them; I guess that’s obvious. I don’t think my iphone camera does them justice, but I was in such a hurry to get these pics taken and posted . . .

Gosh, the sun sure did come out today.

Here is the note I am dropping off at my doctor’s office.

I don’t know why I am sharing this – all of the folks at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are staying far away from me. Some are even holding up crosses . . .  and one is coming with a spray can of something . . . Looks like .  . . still can’t make it out . . . Word Bug is on it . . .  Auuuugggggghhhhhhh.

A few weeks ago I contacted the trash service in our area to pay my bill and ask about an additional trash unit. Well, the trash unit never showed up and it didn’t dawn on me that maybe the bill hadn’t been recorded. Then this week, the company tried to call me, only they did not have my phone number – it was someone else’s.  So my trash delivery got cut off. Oh, woe is me. I called them and found out my call had been registered but nothing more, so I arranged for another unit to be delivered. She said it would be here within the week – Oh, heavens, let it be soon. Really soon.

I just had to vent this because even though I didn’t get trashed, in this situation it is the pits and I am bummed out. Maybe I will discover that we threw something in the trash that was important . . . and we can still retrieve it. I doubt this is the case, but you never know where you might find a silver, though dirty, lining.

I will be getting scarves in the mail, handmade from Iowa. Woo-Hoo. It is always nice to be looking forward to something arriving at your doorstep . . . well, until it’s a brown paper bag on fire and filled with you know what. I’ve never experienced that but I’ve heard legends about it.

It is 62 degrees here  right now, but it is supposed to get cooler – 61 and then 60. Tomorrow, though, will find us in the 50’s. It is also raining outside, not hard but wet is wet. It is probably a little blessing for me because if it weren’t raining, I would be obliged to go out by the shed and look closely at what I glimpsed yesterday afternoon: my big woodpile fell over.  It fell on ancient bricks so the jumble is not sitting on the bare ground at least, but that is about it.

It was the woodpile made of relatively-new heavy wood, not my woodpile of older, lighter, let’s-get-the-fire-going-real-fast wood.

I saw the woodpile fiasco after I had done close to seven hours of seriously yucky housework. I do not like housework, as everyone here knows, but I did it . . . and the woodpile fell down. Perhaps it is a sign. This morning my muscles ache.

As I sat here with my aching muscles, I looked at the Kindle book page and for a moment read one of the headlines of the suggestion paragraphs and listings as Books You Have Refused to Look At. Then, I started thinking about some of the books that have been recommended based on my viewing history; I have sometimes wondered if they feel I have a taste for trash. I have also wondered if they might be right, but I’m letting that thought go.

One of the Kindle Daily Deals is a book about a sanctuary of outcasts and is based on the author’s time spent in prison for fraud. The front cover made me immediately think of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and when I read about the fraud part, I wondered about the value of rehabilitation, but that is my skeptical nature, I suppose.

I am not buying the book, not even getting a free sample, because somehow it just offends me.

Ah, my little bean bags, I just looked at the weather prediction and it is supposed to be 65 degrees today, with sun. But that is today and right now it is not even light out and I have a nice heater-warmed afghan on my legs.

I also have a sneeze forming behind my nose . . . or no, I guess not. Well, that was anti-climatic.  Oh, no, it was drips! A dripping nose, well, rats, this doesn’t bode well for enjoying the smell of sun-kissed autumn air of very late October.

I don’t know if my day is going to turn out to be as boring as this post or not. Then again, sometimes boring ain’t bad.

Hyatt Hotels have an ad in the New Yorker, promoting their spa-like offerings. It is a cartoon panel ad showing a woman at the airport with bath care bottles that won’t fit in a plastic bag and discovering, to her delight, that her Hyatt Room provides them. The ad is merging spa with amenities to create the word Spamenities, which is in a script font  in a cartoon panel.

I’m so very sorry, ad people, but what I saw was Spam; it leaped out at me. I did not realize it was an ad at first, I thought it was a real cartoon, poking fun at various skincare products.  Now I see that I  had erred, but I am now thinking, “Well, gee, I’ve seen articles about 29 uses for WD-40 and 65 uses for baking soda” . . . and you get the idea.

I have a yellow hat that says SPAM and a tee-shirt as well, courtesy of LZP, but I think having SPAM on my face is a little iffy – a little too far on the trendy curve for me.

It is about 3 in the morning and after falling asleep reading fairly early in the evening, I  awoke at 1:30 to discover I could not get back to sleep. so I got up and cleaned the kitchen, not thoroughly, but to a greater degree than it had been. My hands now smell like cleansers, not exactly a perfume, but better than they did before. I guess they are “kitchen clean” hands as opposed to “scented soap” hands.

I like the smell of clean hands; I always have. I remember when I was a little girl and being tucked in bed, my father’s hands were always freshly scrubbed ans smelled so comforting. Shane’s paws smell a little different, but that’s okay, I’m a big girl now.

I’m going back to bed – not going to stay up and have an incredibly early start to the day. We’ll just call this practice for true Monday.