We don’t have a George with us, but I couldn’t resist. I figure the founders of Mount Vernon, Illinois had GW in mind when they named the place. However, I suppose everyday a farm boy walked to this spot where a school wagon picked him up, the driver giving  the command, “Mount! Vernon.” I don’t think so, though.

We discovered Midwest policeman are forming motorcycle wolf packs. One holds a radar gun at a group of cars and others zoom out and catch them. We drove slowly and witnessed many revenue enhancing situations.

We were thinking of going down in a half hour for Kickback free food here at the motel, but I just realized we are now on CENTRAL TIME and so must add another hour on to that. That’s okay. Oh, by the way, a Steak & Shake is very, very, very close and I suspect Cameron may hike over for a milkshake tonight.

I don’t want this to get out of hand. It’s just three days. Three. And one and a half of those with an unknown dog. So I looked at the pile of stuff I had accumulated in the sitting room and decided that I am driving to Mount Vernon, Il in jeans and a shirt with many pockets. Once there I may put on a clean shirt and, depending on the temperature, shorts. At night pajama pants. The next day, probably the clean shirt from the day before and jeans (or shorts) to drive to Memphis and then a change into a sort of beat-up shirt with pockets and jeans. I might sleep in these given the factor of “the dog”.  Memo: keep the key card buttoned in one of my  shirt pockets for midnight nature outings. Then early the next morning another beat-up multi-pocket shirt . . . uh, the white cotton vented one that can be bleached –  and old khaki pants with pockets on the legs.

Well, that made the pile a lot smaller.

I hope Shane has thought this through and is packing light. Collar, leash, jammies.

Arriving home, I expect to be covered with paw prints, doggy saliva and crumbs from dog snacks – not to mention dripped condiments from drive-thru fast food.  Der Bingle sent us a portable Bissell hair eraser vacuum from amazon.com – it sort of looks like a cat.

I started thinking about going alllll the way to Memphis, picking up Shane, trying to sleep in a “pet friendly hotel” and driving alll the way back home.  Our new plan is to leave on Friday and go approximately six hours and then stop and do the flop on the bed thing; Cameron can explore the hotel – I see me as a flopper. He’ll have to locate the ice machine, though. I imagine that will be his prime directive.

THEN four hours into Memphis and getting Shane settled in. Then the 10 hour push home. Pushes home are always not that bad . . . and I certainly hope I have not jinxed moi-self.

We have a Kong Wubba * waiting for Shane; Quentin says it is his favorite toy. It came in an Amazon.com box two days ago and looks like a colorful sap you see in in gangster shows. Suddenly I have the idea to get a pitching machine and load it with Wubbas and let Shane run and run and run . . . until he is very tired and wants to lie quietly and sleep. Might be a good investment.

We have another concern: Sydney will run right up to the property line and/or road and stop. Quentin says Shane has a tendency to take off. So there may be a lot of long leashing and fence slat nailing and me yelling “SHANE!!!!!!!” And, of course, there is the matter that I never really cared for the name Shane since I don’t particularly care for Alan Ladd and the movie of that name. It is probably too late to change his name to Duke . . . or Percy, for that matter, which in the latter case is good.

It is Collaboration Wednesday but there is a two-hour delay for fog, although the fog is spotty enough, I thing the weather condition should be referred to as “frequent foggies to be expected”. Once in the northern suburbs of Cincinnati, I drove down into a low spot and was surrounded by fog. Unfortunately, I rolled down my window and the fog rolled in the car; I shut my window. Sometime after climbing back up the hill I realized I was driving a fog-filled car in  clear air that even had sun. Jeez-Louise.

The high today is predicted to be 58 and that is about 15 degrees higher than yesterday. We are having rain on a lot of days and are chilled and damp . . . but the grass keeps growing. I need sheep for Mother’s yard. I suppose I should put up posters: Uncle Sam wants Ewe. No, I shouldn’t. Sometimes I just don’t know what happens to my mind.

* I originally thought the Kong in Kong Wubba referred to it being a King Kong version; no, Kong is the name of the company.

Saturday Cameron and I will be getting up very early to head off to Memphis where we will meet up with Quentin; Quentin will have Shane with him. This is Shane when he was little:

And this is Shane now that he is bigger:

We will be bringing him back to Indiana with us. We hope he likes us . . . He may be like the dog in Marley and me.

And this summer, we will take him up through these gates –

And he will get to spend lots of time running here at Quentin’s Grandma Sarah’s.

Maybe I’ll dig out one of my dad’s old jackets for him to cuddle on. Daddy would like that.

But first – the road trip . . .

It is cold and very windy here and this morning I decided just to go with the indoor flow and watch the movie that was coming on – the Sean Connery/Harrison Ford pairing episode in the Indiana Jones series. That reminded me of the recent (as in a couple of years ago) fourth installment and what I thought of it.

Indiana Jones and me, AmeliaJake

May 28th, 2008 ·No Comments

Okay, so Harrison Ford is a few years older than I and he’s playing Indiana Jones again. So I think, oh, that’s going to be sad and they should have left it alone. Then I think well, he’s doing stunts and practicing with the whip and this might be inspiring.

I liked the movie; I enjoyed the movie. I’m not going to talk plot or anything . . . except to say that he didn’t appear as young as I thought he was going to. One other thing, all the way through the movie I couldn’t rid myself of the idea of “old man pants” – as in the way they fitted. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but, yeah, I personally can’t get away from it – old man pants.

I got a new comment on an old post referring to Ree Drummond, Pioneer Woman; one that mentioned how much effort she has put into her blog. Yes, there is a lot of time and work involved in it; I have wondered if maybe she wishes it were not so successful, that it has not become such a job. Letting my mind wander, I came to think there is a lot of money involved and good publicity and it occurs to me that this business could be very important if Mad Cow Disease shut down the Oklahoma cattle market for awhile. I know the Drummonds are smart businessmen and you don’t want to put all your eggs in one basket and they don’t; this blog revenue can’t hurt . . . and the blog’s public relations fallout for the  rancher business has got to be priceless.

Yesterday Cameron and I were at Mother’s, killing weeds and doing some more mowing. And, by the way, the ball fell off of the gearshift on the Toro; I fear I may have run over it. Luck wasn’t with me in finding it so I’ll have to find something to screw on it. But, that’s that. We brought a bag of charcoal with us and lighter fluid and hot dogs and little sausages and we cooked them in the little red Weber grill.

Just the two of us – my teaching him about charcoal fires and draughts and our coming back periodically to see how things were progressing. I had looked for the short piece of stove pipe with holes punched in the bottom with an old fashioned can opener to help the coals progress but didn’t find it until I backed over it with a mower and flattened it. That is another story; actually, I guess I just told it. Come to think of it, maybe that is why the Toro threw its gearshift ball on the ground.

We didn’t bustle the way folks do here with the gas grill. As we waited for the stuff to get all brown and hot, we sat on mis-matched chairs from the deck and sipped soda out of the cooler. My hot dogs tasted really good on the whole grain Aunt Millie buns – so much better than the gas heated ones. And Cameron toasted his buns – just as my mother used to do. I think some things are in the genes. He also prefers stoneware to acrylic plates.

I mixed up a mean bunch of weed killer in the spray tank and we will see how effective it turns out to be; I have a kill everything bottle of stuff in reserve for the fence lines, but figure we need experience with the more forgiving week killer first. One year Quentin and I used the strong stuff and didn’t realize we were dripping as we went from site to site. The yard looked perforated that year.

The dandelions have been sneaky this year – I will go into that later. Now time to go to school . . . for Summer.

Well, now, Summer feels as I do about the nincompoop who started the 30 Minute Delay Collaboration fiasco. She didn’t remember either; we pulled up to school and I said, “Oh, Summer, it’s Wednesday.” I won’t quote Summer; suffice it to say she now feels the passion of the Resistance.

And, then, of course, there was Sydney who had to wait a half hour to go to the FG.

The water heater man is here and so it is out with old and in with the new and let’s hope there’s a hot time in the ole town tonight.