Stomping trash means climbing up on a ladder and stepping on top of the trash bags in the bin.(First place and opened pizza box across the top.) That climbing part puts you closer to the sun and there you go, melting away. One of our trash bins has lost a wheel and so I must call and ask for a new one. I noticed it last week, but forgot to call then, so someone – not me – will find themselves fighting the bin down the driveway.

Amazingly, I did not come in the house when I saw the missing wheel and shout, “Hey, the wheel’s missing from a trash bin!” No one knows I had all that time to call. No one except Rose and, of course, she’s too nice to tell. This reminds me of the time I forgot to mention that if the motor scooter dies, you should always check to make certain the spark plug hasn’t vibrated loose. I seem to hold up well to some bits of guilt.

Anyway, yesterday it was 96 and I didn’t feel this hot. Today, at 90, I do; perhaps it is because I am older.

We are in a drought, moderate as of today, but tomorrow the weatherman says it will move up a step in severity. My grass is brown – but buckhorns are dependable to grow no matter what and that is what they have done. I’m not mowing them.

I am going to sit right here and drink iced tea.

Oh, by the way, I have a high calcium level which led to a test of my parathyroid hormone. It is 140 and should be 70. Usually this indicates a benign tumor on the gland, requiring surgery. Der Bingle asked, “So . . . you are going to pay someone to slit your throat?” Say, this seems to link back to the grisly Amazon booklist mentioned right below. Maybe it’s a paranormal event. Hmmmm, wonder what my paranormal hormone level is.

Oh, great, Amazon’s Kindle division just sent me an email about “grisly reads for summer”. I guess the little monitoring computer program has flagged me as a person who might enter someone’s house and wonder if they have some body part in their refrigerator. I have to admit I just finished a book about the plague breaking out in England, but it dealt with one family quarantined in their house when their son became sick – and while internet, cell phone service, regular phone service and then electricity failed.

And maybe I have read a few murder mysteries . . . Still I don’t go in for the Saw movie type stuff. Uh, I did read about a serial killer last week. And when Alison put a big cauliflower in a pot of water, I remarked it looked as if she were cooking Green Giant’s head.

Perhaps I should download a bunch of free books about torrid romances, sweet romances, ill-fated romances, historical romances and other categories in that overall ilk. It says something about me that I would be more upset having those books on my record than the “axe split his head in half” kind.

I guess I’ll think about that . . . and maybe I should go check my refrigerator.

Rose and Pernilla stayed for some sprucing up of their hairdow; Rose, of course, has been the victim of overwork and overstress hair syndrome and Pernilla apparently found some “while she was sleeping” resistance to her more stringent behavior rules for the denizens of the Ohio Redoubt. One loop of her hair stretches a good nine inches from her head. We have been advised not to show a picture of that . . . and we are taking the advice.

The group here has decided they no longer want to remain in the shadows, only mentioned as regulars at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. They say they have opinions. Oh, this might get embarrassing for this old innkeeper, but they will not be denied.

I haven’t decided with whom we should start – maybe German Jake who lost an arm in the war and has his little checkered sleeve pinned up. (I have found that these folks do not seem to age as quickly as do Der Bingle and I and are quick and agile and lively and full of stories – and future plans.) Oh, that would be the First World War – he was a flyer, dontcha know. He’s still looking for the little floppy-eared American flydog who riddled his tri-plane with bullets. Just a little reunion . . .

It’s a quarter after eight in the evening and daylight and that’s fine with me because I can come to terms with it still being Saturday. I say this because Morpheus mugged me at about 4:30. It was the food, I think – a buffalo burger, beans, potato salad and one hot dog. The heat might have been a factor, although I think it was more the early rising and full tummy.

Der Bingle and I talked about metal roofs (rooves) today and house paint. A metal roof on a house over 150 year old. It would look good and they are supposed to last almost forever. Yes, if I would have to sell the house, I could say, “The roof will be there after the walls have fallen down.”

Shane barked in the car and we tried to get him to understand he should not do that. Finally, we just took evil pleasure in his looking out the passenger side and barking at one person at a stop light, while in the lane next to us, a gaggle of motorcyclists in varied colors and wearing German-type helmets waited for the light to change. He never knew what he missed. Actually, it’s kind of sad.

So we got home and cooked out and ate and then I passed out on the sofa while Der Bingle read his Kindle.

My nose is sore and I think it’s sinus pressure, so I am trying various head positions. Tomorrow morning I am taking my nose to the LaGrange House to talk about a new roof. The tree trimmers have come and gone and now I can really see the roof, which is very steep and is going to be replaced. If I want to get my mind off of my nose discomfort, I can imagine myself clinging to the steep roof; I froze on a roof that had about half the incline some years ago and was about nine feet above the ground. It was embarrassing and, fortunately, before the era of cell phones with cameras.

Actually, that didn’t work and I am still quite aware of my nose. I am going to move on to Plan B, which involves visualizing the mucous (snot) rolling down the sinus ducts and out my nostrils.

I would advise you to try and forget what you have just read.

Yes, this is clematis and it’s just sitting there in these two pictures. The vine made a leap of faith and grabbed onto a branch hanging down. I think it is vulnerable, but I imagine it was desperate to reach sunlight since other trees have also grown.

I may be doing something similar, just sitting here, looking for sunshine. Of course, I’m not rooted down and I suppose that’s worthy of reflection.

Hey, Quentin. Want to play?

Okay, I’ll settle for this bozo.

Is anything over there interesting?

How about over this way?

Maybe Der Bingle will entertain me if I stare hard enough.

Decisions, always decisions.

Rose, with Bing beside her keeping watch and Sophie sitting nearby, ready to counsel if needed:

Report from the Ohio Redoubt.

Rose, wrapped in the Healing Blanket with her head resting on the Pacific Dorfman free-spirit hat.

Rose is riding back to the Ohio Redoubt with Der Bingle for some “balcony time”; I hear they are going to stop at Starbucks. Rose just gave so much of herself for others and pushed herself so hard even after she grew very weary that the winds of worry bent her clear over – but they did not break her. She thanks everyone for the good wishes and says she’ll be back soon.

Actually, Pernilla came down with her attitude adjustment incentives for me, AmeliaJake. Yes, she means well, but sometimes her Viking ways are a little rough, especially when she leads with her helmet.

Not too long ago, I said I was going to start titling posts in a manner that would allow me to find them with less guesswork in the archives. That didn’t last long; so I guess this could be any given sunny Saturday morning – whether I ramble a few sentences or make a momentous announcement.

By the way, this is not the latter, and given what I have written already, I guess it is a rambler.

Our Rambling Rose, now that I have stumbled my thoughts in her direction is doing better; she spent a couple of days snuggled in a Healing Blanket cocoon and last night Der Bingle counseled her. Pernilla, whose picture I have not shown here yet, accompanied Der Bingle for the purpose of “whipping me into shape” and did pack her whip.

Pernilla is an organizer – a strict one. She is Swedish, but has incorporated her own version of “keeping a stiff upper lip” into her guidelines for the behavior of  those in the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and the Ohio Redoubt of the West Facing Cave. However, she is not opposed to the swollen upper lip method to persuade one to toe the mark.

Oh, look, Der Bingle had a picture of the Big P on his phone:

I guess I’ll wait to see how this goes over before I add any more comments about Pernilla, assuming my fingers can still work the keyboard.

UPDATE: Ah, Der Bingle felt we should show Pernilla full-figure so he sent me another picture – one with her sitting in Two Moo’s arms. Actually, when I opened the email, her picture was 90 degrees off . . . sort of looked as if she were “laid out”. (That observation might be an oops on my part.)

LAID OUT – VIEW WITH CAUTION