We are getting our 3rd new toilet this afternoon. Which leaves one still not replaced, but it tells me it’s doing fine and I can’t help thinking, well, okay, I’m older too, but I’m still managing. Although, come to think of it, while you can hear running and/or dripping water, can you so easily detect a leak of brain cells. I’m not going to write anymore about this.

Yesterday, I went to the graveside services for a lady who sat at the same table with Kathryn at the Nursing Home. One day she showed me a picture of a grandchild and on the other side of her wallet was her Driver’s License with her birthday in bold numbers. She was five years younger than I. She had diabetes and didn’t want to go on dialysis, but once she did, she said she had to admit she was feeling better. Then one morning she couldn’t be awoken and died four days later.

Maybe thinking about her was why I missed a turn on the little roads that led from the out-of-the way cemetery. Navigating by the compass in the car, I finally realized I had gone WAY too far east and needed to head north. Roads are few and far between, so I bit the bullet and took a dirt/gravel road, sending dust flying behind me. When I finally got home, I noticed the trunk of the car and it appeared there was a big monster-like handprint on it. I don’t even want to know.

Later that evening I went for a walk and, as usual, wound up where I started. It seems that happens a lot with my thoughts as well.

I was faced with a line-up of things to do and had just almost signed off the Internet when the Internet signed off on me last Saturday morning. Only it wasn’t the Internet; it was power to the plug the modem and whatever plugged into. It took us a while to realize this and identify the Switch of Death – one of us at the circuit breaker box and another clear across the garage, house and up the stairs, talking on cell phones. It was Saturday; we didn’t call an electrician; we plugged everything in another plug.

This took awhile. Then a couple of us went to LaGrange and, golly, gee, we found out there was a big leak behind the water heater. The man across the street had mentioned that there were a lot of garter snakes out this year and there is no way I, AmeliaJake, am going to even go down in the basement to investigate. I made it halfway down the stairs and then really leaned to turn the pump off. I thought I heard a rustle; maybe it was my imagination, but I’ll not betting on it.

So, two things to take care of THAT WEREN’T ON MY ORIGINAL LIST!!

I am ready to listen to this mp4 that Pottermom sent me about cricket voices at reduced speed:Crickets Clip.mp4

This may not play, so I will check back and then check with others for help in getting it to do so if it won’t. Well, that was a great sentence.

SEE, THIS IS WHERE IT GETS FRUSTRATING – THAT JUST PLAYED A BIT ABOUT A GAS CAN, DIDN’T IT. SIGH. LET ME LIE AND BLEED AWHILE AND I WILL RISE TO FIGHT THIS BATTLE AGAIN.

I don’t know how many nights I have heard crickets in my life. Obviously, a lot.

It is the next day; Quentin called just as I finished the above, one-line paragraph. Yes, you were spared any nattering on about evening and the sound of crickets. But, when I went to sleep, I dreamed about baby-sitting a toddler who needed to be watched every moment. It seemed like a long night.

Today is supposed to be hot and muggy; if the forecast is still in effect, we will have storms. But the weekend, is predicted to be very pleasant, with nights in the 50’s and highs just above 70 degrees.

Der Bingle has had poison ivy on his face – a bad case, judging my the pictures he has sent me and by the “shot in the butt” in addition to steroid tablets. His brother, to whom I forwarded the pictures, has already announced he is going to dress up as Allergy Der Bingle for Halloween.

Of course, that wouldn’t be as scary as wearing a Joe Biden mask.

Guess what type of mood I am in? Well, it would be a good one if I could use shock collars on befoulers of the improved environment. So, on to other topics.

Why, I believe I have gone brain dead. I can’t even rally a good rant about sanctimonious people; I suppose, if I don’t come round soon, I will have to defibrillate myself or have someone whisper “Joe Biden” in my ear. Aha, I couldn’t stop myself from visualizing that smirking grin of his and I can feel my spirits stirring. Boy, would I like to clean his clock. Mop the floor with him.

I need a Joe Biden foam rubber stress doll – a full size one. I won’t use the word “wo*dchipp*r” because I don’t want to trigger any scrutiny – although I’m probably only one of a great many who can see how it might naturally come to mind when thinking of JB.

Here’s an interesting link that Der Bingle sent to me today about drones, something he knows some things about – or is it crones that he’s familiar with?

Come to think of it, I do Google a lot.

I sit down, there he is, staring at me. I look down at his feet and my feet and there it is – a Wubba. Only his new game is not “Throw it for me.” His current idea of play is “Let’s see who can grab it first.” Of course, it is always Shane, but then he doesn’t want me to take it and toss it; he just keeps his tooth grip on it while I am trying to pull it free.

I give up . . . But there it is again, free game between our feet . . . AND THE SAME THING HAPPENS. Over and over again. The icing on the cake is that he doesn’t even do a tug of way deal; he just stands or sits there and holds the Wubba.

Sometimes he will lie down and close his eyes with the Wubba right by his head; I will think that this is my chance. HA!! It was a trick.

One of us is going to need therapy.

This morning I went over to Pottermom’s blog and right in front of my eyes was a yellow minion wishing me Happy Birthday in a post dated August 27th. There was one below it from the 26th. Both of these posts did not show up on my computer until today, the 29th.

I don’t understand it, but I understand that I feel bad that maybe she thought I had just looked and not appreciated her sentiment enough to even say Thank You. That would be so wrong. Thank you, Pottermom; I’m two days late, but thank you big time.

Just a few minutes ago, it came to me: I am a boring person in Kendallville, Indiana. Now, the question might be: Am I boring because I am in Kendallville? But we all know it is not. Heck, I know librarians who are less boring than I am. Well, I know of librarians; I’m pretty much not a librarian-type of person – they organize, dontcha know, and we tend to avoid each other.

While people are out skydiving, I would be happy to sit here and watch “Five Graves to Cairo.”

Well, I’m not going to worry about it. I mean, what if I confused non-boring with crazy? I think I’ve taken this thought a sentence too far. Yes, I suppose I actually can be considered as somewhat (and thank God for modifiers) crazy. Wait a minute! Am I trying to organize these musings? Do I harbor an inner librarian? No. No. No. Of course not. I am not organizing; I am just stating things my way.

Come to think of it, “My way” – as in getting – might be a better description than boring. I’m just going to sneak out of this post now . . .

Der Bingle sent me a link to an article about gnomes used in an Austrian political campaign.

I am almost left speechless, with the exception of asking, If like they are Schwarzennegger, is it implied that They’ll be back.