I don’t know what to do today. Yesterday, I suddenly had the urge to have my hair trimmed, cut or shaved off and so hopped in the car and went to the shop and didn’t choose an option. I let the hairdresser do it. I’m going to a wedding on Saturday and fortunately no roots are showing; they will probably spout Friday night. When I wrote the check before I left, they have to see the driver’s license and ask your birth date. It seems the person couldn’t hear the 1948 the first time, so I said it again, louder. Still, she didn’t catch it, so I said it even louder 1948.  Yes, everyone in the shop knew.  Of course, I don’t know what difference that makes to me; I mean they were looking right at me – they didn’t need a date to tell I was older.

But, back to today. It is supposed to be cooler. Perhaps I should go up to Mother’s and fly a kite. Or I could stay here and clean. Maybe I will try on the clothes I am wearing to the wedding and, having assured myself they fit, head off to Mother’s so I don’t risk staying here and eating too much while I clean. (Did you know you can hear tittering over the Internet? Well, you can and I do. Just stop it.)

Maybe I’ll do the trying on clothes thing right now . . . because I might have to  panic.

Trying on time – feel free to hum, get a snack, whatever.

Okay, I am back.

Yes, yes, yes and thank you Talbots (sale): Linen skirt, check; white knit top with crochet collar, check; linen big shirt/jacket, check.

Well, now that that is settled. Well, sort of. I actually took advantage of the sale to get two skirts, so which to wear? Oatmeal or Seaglass? Probably wait until the last minute. And the skirt waist is big enough for reception goodies. Woo-hoo. Oh, little Indian Happiness Dance.

So what to do today? I forgot about needing to clean the inside of the car . . . and we have to determine if Summer is coming along. Alison thinks she should stay because she will be bored, and there is the  scenario where Der Bingle and I return with wedding goodies in our tummies and splat ourselves on sofas and Summer says, “Finally, you’re back; where are we going now?” I don’t know how she would respond to the suggestion of the balcony. Actually, I do know.

Today is sounding more complicated. And it’s already 8:42 am. As John Wayne would say, I’m burning daylight.

There is a line of weather to the north of us that is moving at a southeast slant and we are under a thunderstorm warning – the severe kind. I can feel it coming, the way you can anticipate the end of tiring walk or seemingly endless chore. I know that we have had a some tree experience with storms of late but I still crave the physical feel of the storm.

Sometimes, however, it just dissipates or heads a wee bit in a different direction and you feel like the embodiment of dozens of rubber bands stretched to the breaking point, but never past that point. You have to gather yourself back in slowly. I remember when we lived in Ames that would happen – and because we had lots of prairie storms, the percentages produced more than just one or two of those stifled sneeze weather moments.

I distinctly recall standing at the end of the parking lot which reached to our unit – 162C – and realizing the release of a zesty storm was going to give way to continuing sultry. I know that word is an adjective, but when it sits on  your shoulders for a number of days, it transforms into a heavy, free-standing noun.

Ah, the sky is getting darker; the wind is picking up; I have checked to see that my computer is not plugged in. More wind . . . dry leaves are blowing and bushes are dancing around. I could go out and just stand in the finally changing weather, but, of course, there is the ZAP factor.

It is very dim in here now and I can see the silhouette  of the ceiling fan against the white ceiling. THUNDER. WE HAVE THUNDER. And, now, the rain, horizontal at times and buffeted by gusts of wind. Heavier now . . . and carrying the smell of rural soil and crops. Fresh. So much better than the condensation that clung to the windows this weekend. Whoever or whatever is out there is soaked. And I am snuggled in a comfy corner at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse.

Is this a literal feng shui moment?

Had I had my computer with me . . . and Internet access . . . I would have posted yesterday about the impromptu, make up your own course and rules croquet game that Summer set up when she faced an unexpected obstacle.

Yes, Shane chased the balls down and ran off with them.

And, Shane isn’t the type to learn: Okay, that’s enough, good joke, but no more.

Yes, in reference to my post yesterday, today is the next day, but it is only starting – slowly.

People at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are not bustling around; they are tucked away in various corners sleeping off yesterday. I was away and I believe they played and told knock-knock jokes that left them gasping for breath between guffaws. You know, some of their oldies:

Knock-Knock

Who’s there?

Ann

Ann Who?

Ann the Dog.

I know . . . it’s not funny. That’s why it’s so funny. Maybe that is why; maybe it is because Summer was three at the time.  Oh, my sides, they ache from the laughing.

Did I just write that? Well, I guess it’s going to be one of THOSE days. Wocka-Wocka. Gosh, I miss Fozzy Bear.

UPDATE #1.

Augh, I thought “oh what the heck”  – just like that, no punctuation or anything – and flopped down and pulled a blanket over me and snoozed. So now I am having a second getting-up. Maybe I wouldn’t do this if I had a burlap blankie; however, burlap doesn’t come with satin feelers so I can’t bring myself to try it. Of course, we could sew a nice liner on the burlap and add a feeler . . . which somehow would defeat the purpose, but would no doubt be a conversation piece.

Even my cafe & roadhouse friends are up and about . . . maybe they are thinking of holding a smelling-salt foldover under my nose.

UPDATE #1.6

Well, I looked at the camera – didn’t have to get up to do it. I’m going to have to check the color setting and whatever – maybe we were taking pictures on the wrong focus choice, but anyway, here are four people from Der Bingle’s early birthday gathering.

Cameron with stuff in the background. I think he dieting and conditioning program are going well.

Colin and his mother.

And, of course, our dear Summer.

Got up and went to Indianapolis to take Colin back to Options.

Stopped by Keystone Mall to see the Apple store and Crate & Barrel.

Got off on an exit to go to Taco Bell. It was a road with roundabouts and we never managed to reach the eatery.

Went to another Taco Bell and scarffed a salad.

Plodded on home.

Sat down.

Got up and showered.

Sat down.

Got up and got dressed.

Went to Fort Wayne with Cameron and Alison for his appointment.

Stopped at a GoodWill.

Stopped at Speedway.

Got home.

Sat down. Have moved only when necessary.

Last night I woke up to what sounded like a dog breathing rapidly, urgently and in a near-death way. I steeled myself to face the situation and then realized the ceiling fan was making the sound. Sydney was sleeping peacefully right underneath it. Just one of those living in the moment episodes. Personally, I would have rather smelled roses.

Driving to Mother’s yesterday, I started thinking about nothing, literally. I think about it periodically; I can’t remember when I started, but I was little. I know I lack the mental ability to get to the bottom of this nothingness question, but it fascinates me anyway.

It’s a nothing/space question, really. Like what is at the end of the universe? Nothing. Well, how long does this “nothing” stretch and when it ends, what is there? Nothing. Or the old you circle back in a dimension you don’t know about and can’t understand to where you started answer. Well, a circle or let’s be liberal, a globe, has an inside and outside, so what is outside my circle path? I suppose it is some form of nothing.

We’re blending into forever here . . . as in what happens when the time’s up in forever? I feel my brain when I delve into this area; I believe I can actually feel the little electric messages going back and forth in confusion and panicking. I haven’t heard them scream, YOU ARE TOO STUPID TO THINK ABOUT THIS yet, but it is only a matter of time. Or they don’t have enough function left to express that truth.

Of course, nothing is empty space. I guess you can make nothing by sucking everything out of a enclosed cube. But then you have “empty space” if you want to call it that. I suppose anything that can be defined is something, even if it is empty space.  So, when we get out way past the stuff in the universe, past every darn electron, mathematics still exist and I would think you could still have a defined cube with nothing in it.

What is after empty space? Nothing? Auuggggghhhhh.

Quite seriously, forget the “oh, they look like ants” mentality and think about how far away you can get on a straight line from where you are. And none of that “the straight line actually bends” crap; I am talking a theoretical straight line. Now if space curves, my theoretical straight line should part company with the galactic one, going off on a tangent, so to speak. Well, where does it go? Into nothing? And what is this nothing.

It happened, I have gone in a circle and am back where I started.

Rose, could you come over and rub my head?

You wonder why I have not been talking about the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and its swinging and slamming screen door? It is because the denizens there got a feel for this summer’s temperatures and humidity and decided to turn on the air-conditioning and watch Netflix movies and DVD’s and Phil Harris’ four to five week passing away on The Deadliest Catch.

I asked them about the ambiance of the old time place with condensation on the outside of the drinking glasses and perspiration on your stomach under your shirt and they told me they were leaving nostalgia for late autumn, winter and early spring.

Then Foo asked me if I wanted her to prepare a cucumber foldover.

They are contagious. You may remember I got a small air-conditioner and stuck it in the little eating nook at Mother’s. Well, I got another one for the west room and Cameron and Summer and I installed it  – in our own haphazard way. The advantage of the west room is that it can be closed off from all other rooms. And there is a TV in there. Cool, huh?

Then we went out back and tried to fly a couple of kites Mother had purchased at GoodWill and which we found in the Club 70 little yellow getaway. (Mother had it erected just under a willow and my dad remarked she wouldn’t be so happy with it when a big ole limb came down. She didn’t think it would but one morning she got up and looked out and there was a green blob. She quietly went out to investigate and found the limb had missed the building by a fraction of an inch. Only then did she point it out to my dad.)

That was a long parenthetical wandering. I suppose I could have just included it formally in the paragraph, but it was just a memory that popped up so I let it sneak in.

There are a lot of things in that yellow shed and one thing I was going to bring back was a table . . . but it has many things stacked on it. That will be something for another day. The table is an old one – solid wood and heavier than anything. But it has short legs; Mother sawed them off because she wanted it to be the right height for puzzle working while sitting on a sofa. I don’t know what it would have gone for at an auction with four regular legs? But she needed a table with short legs.

It’s a drop-leaf and I’m bringing it home to put a computer on for now . . . in front of a sofa.

We also found a painted small circular saw and I sent Cameron to put it on the back porch. I forgot it so I guess I will head back this morning.

I’ll be leaving now. Seeya.

Summer has been having a few ha-ha’s at our expense; she says that the leaning cow was actually a cow that had hurt two feet on one side and was leaving to get help. Of course, she would be leaning to the hurt side, wouldn’t see? Or not? If she were leaving, she has come back, so it would have to be the leaving and returning cow; well, we are going to stick with the leaning cow. Besides she sometimes “leans” on us to do things – and she doesn’t stop with our getting hay and fixing the fence and sprucing up the meadow/pasture. No, she fancies herself a conscience. We don’t tell too many people that.

They might ask, “What does your conscience tell you?”

And we would have to say, “Moo.”