I’ve said it. A lot – sometimes with a tear-stained face and sometimes with freshly stepped in manure my shoe. Yes, I pretty much run the range of self pity; I would guess I’m above average on the amount I do that, but I know there are tons of people who succumb to the same foible.

Yesterday, while standing in line in Wal-Mart with stuff for Robert’s birthday, including brown eggs from chickens that had been fed a vegetarian diet (You can find a little humor in the smallest places), I saw a wee boy in the cart in front of me, blond, blue-eyed and a usual baby look. His grandfather or dad, and I’m guessing it was his grandfather shopping with his daughter, the baby’s mother, told me the boy had a medical list of issues a mile long and there would be countless trips to Riley Hospital in Indianapolis. He said they had had a garage sale for a fundraiser and had netted $17. Seventeen dollars, sigh. I unfortunately can see people quibbling about price at a fundraiser for a little boy. “Hey, there’s a scratch here, will you knock off a dollar?”

Just two days before I had heard about a young nursing student whose mother died of cancer this past summer and then was diagnosed with it herself. She is trying to keep going in school and, I was told, trying to maintain the family home for her younger brother. I don’t know if her father has already passed away or has skipped out, but, my goodness, a young woman with a teen-aged brother, alone with cancer. If anyone has a right to put her head against the wall, and scream Why me?, I would think she would. (That was another story from Wal-Mart – I’m almost afraid to go again.)

Well, when I look in the mirror today and see another chin hair, I think I’ll just forget the Why me, Lord? question. Human nature being what it is, however, a full beard might trigger it.

I believe there are no pictures of birthday cakes below. I suppose I could tell you that the empty space is because they were all eaten soooooo fast, there was nothing left to photograph. Alas, that is not the truth. I screwed up and forgot to include them.

Here they are:
FACE

DOGFACE

Today was Robert’s birthday and we had a small family gathering and Summer made two cakes. It was, I suppose, a watershed birthday in some ways. Summer made two cakes and I over-rotissoried a pork tenderloin. I won’t show a picture of the pork, but here are the cakes:

We watched some episodes of Games of Thrones because I’d promised Cameron. Exciting, huh?

The constant new technological world  has people not realizing that you had to go to a library and, if smart, “let your fingers do the walking” (Yellow Pages – old phone book lingo) in the old days. I am not using the new phrase, in the day, because I am talking old here. Got it? Now, of course, it may be at your fingertips, but you can just “swipe” or ask Siri. Until the smart phone gives up the ghost.

As I wrote yesterday, my phone developed a quirk – it would not call and not message, although I was able to text to Ohio. Don’t try to go figure – the tech guy at the Sprint store couldn’t figure it out. He tried everything to get my phone to snap out of its snit. Well, it would not.

And so, I now have a new phone. I have long been eligible for upgrade, but did not want to go big and the iphone  5se wasn’t included in the upgrade plan. I was happy with my iphone 5 and well-satisfied to be offered a 5s.

They were very nice at the store and offered to transfer my data to the new phone. Ack. They did not realize how many pictures I had and Heaven Knows Whatelse, Mr. Alison (another classic movie reference) It took a long time and they babysat my phone while I ran errands.

Later that afternoon/early evening I was texting when all of a sudden the phone told me I had no SIM card; yeah, right. I got in the car and went back and the fellows gave an ooh and ah look of disbelief and opened it up, reset the card and sent me on my way, with the invitation to come back if I anything came up.

We will see. Actually, I suppose I will go back if nothing comes up . . . on the screen.

Fingers crossed, pleased.

Oh, and by the way, technological glitches can be very tiring and you get nothing else done. I could have gotten tired in the old-fashioned way – mulching and putting the downstairs in some sort of order, following the great dryer installation miracle. I’ll think about doing that today.

T……H………..I………………..N………………K…………………..I……………….N…………………………..G

I tried to use my phone this morning and, sorry, it would not work to call – not to message. After experimenting, I found it would text to Ohio and so I did and said, “My phone won’t work.” Right to the point.

I took it to the Sprint store and the “tech guy” came in at 11 am; I was told to come back in about an hour or so. I will now have a moment of prayer for my phone. That may seem irreverent, but, boy, is it relevant.

I don’t use Facebook much at all, as I have said before; and, as I have then gone on to to refer to someone on Facebook, I will keep up the trend:

I looked at someone’s page – a person who is on my small list of friends – and there was an invitation to comment. It said: Tell ***** what’s on your mind. Oh, now that could be the start of the end of a beautiful friendship if you happen to be in a dark mood.

That was a reference to the last line in Casablanca if anyone is young and reading this and did not have parents like Robert and Quentin who were indoctrinated in classic movies and literary quotes. Oh, little things such as: It was the best of times; it was the worst of times; God bless us, one and all; Call me Ishmael; Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. Oh wait, that last one is William Faulkner and it is a little inside joke for Quentin.

That is all I can think of to post in the title spot. Well, that’s not true; there are a lot of sentiments I could cite, but I am worn down and the day is early and who knows what could happen, so let us stick with tsk, tsk, tsk.

I’ve talked about the snow and the mulch and then it warming up. We have a weather advisory of weather in the 20’s, so I am hoping this scene is not repeated:

I’m particularly impressed by the bleeding mulch stain by the car wheel.

Now, I have another picture to show you. I have a large green wicker basket – large in the since of tabletop large. It has been one of my favorites and I keep daily stuff in it by where I usually sit. Often I put it on the floor where I can readily reach down for things and drop them back in. Well, for a couple of days, I have found what looks like a situation where the basket has been overturned – stuff scattered.

I noticed it again this morning and finally got annoyed enough to stop refilling it and actually look.
Here’s the view:

Where is the bottom? I suppose now I will have to haunt rummage sales and GoodWill for another basket. That is not straight forward: the basket has to speak to me and hint of an ambiance I can use to construct comforting memories about it. Most people could just get a box or a basket; not AmeliaJake – I am sooooo hight maintenance.

It warmed up enough that I could get out and start putting mulch here and there – one bucketful at a time. I discovered that under the top layer, the mulch pile was frozen. Getting at it was like scraping frost off an old freezer – or one which  has not be closed correctly. After a while, I decided enough; I came in and started a wash. Of course, the dryer is kaput, but never mind, a new one is coming.

Actually, I had better mind, because the laundry room is a nightmare to maneuver appliances in and out of. When the washer came, I requested strong, agile, innovative thinking young men. They got it done. Please, let tomorrow go well.

Then I sat down and an ad popped up somewhere on the browser page about hand-crafted bracelets with whatever words you wanted on them from VERMONT. You know what Vermont is, don’t you? Yes, it’s Ethan Allen and The Green Mountain Boys. Back in the 50’s, this was big, fun stuff in school – almost like Robin Hood.

Vermont: the battle at Bennington and the Don’t Tread on Me flag.

But do I need a bracelet with words from some poem or Churchill on it. No, hey I’ve got a wrist and a magic marker.

It snowed on my mulch and the mulch by the car froze on it. I suppose that sets the tone for this summer, which is looking like a shaggy landscape  by a little known company: Old Lady is Me Landscaping. I should put the words on separate little signs so pedestrians can read them one after the other just like the old Burma Shave signs on the highway. Right there is evidence I am an old lady. Good Heavens, I remember reading them while standing on the hump on the floor of the back seat in an old sedan.

I have here in Kendallville a postage stamp yard, but you know, it feels bigger when measured in bending and picking up twigs and chores that use other muscles.  You have to sigh; I mean you pick up a stick and then what do you do? Stand there and hold it? No, you have to take it to a pile and then go out for more. I wish someone would invent a wood magnet. Oh, I didn’t think that through. A tree would no doubt fall on me.

I got desperate and called for a pile of mulch; it is just too much hassle to pack up bag after bag of mulch, or so I thought. Now I have a pretty big pile of mulch and I stuck a shovel in it. I have a feeling it is going to be me, the shovel and my wheelbarrow dealing with this mulch. Too bad you can’t train ants to pick up a piece on their hard-working little bags and take it to a designated spot. I mean if they are going to call them Army ants, lets get some work out of them. It would probably be better than digging latrines.