I am trying to organize some important things into compact satchel type carriers that can easily go from one house to car to another house to back to car. Some things should probably just stay in the trunk of the car until needed and then returned – like the small sledge hammer, it is heavy. The pipe wrench would fit into that category as well, not to mention the small axe, and maybe the pruning saw because it wouldn’t fit in any bag too well at all.

Now the gadgets: that’s another matter. Der Bingle knows I have a penchant for gadgets and frequently sends me things from Amazon.com and when we go in a store, I gravitate toward such clever little things that I just might need sometime, but, more than likely, just crave playing with them. You have to watch temperature of some of these things – batteries and all that. On and off buttons are a concern too – jostled the wrong way in a bag and you may find a super flashlight boring a beam through the bag’s material. Then, there is the matter of the bag that suddenly starts making little motor noises.

But even if I get this all sorted out, there is the “borrowing” factor – folks have got the taking part down pat, it is bringing back part that is proving to be a problem. I have become very suspicious of anyone wanting a special screwdriver; heck, my experience with scissors is legendary and probably documented on this blog somewhere. Who else has to put “DO NOT TOUCH OR DEATH” on their scissors in magic marker? I have even drawn skulls and crossbones. Yes, this is my life.

My mind wanders. I started thinking of Pottermom scuba diving and all the equipment she has and thought if I did that activity, I would panic, hyperventilate and need to breathe into a paper bag. Ha, try that underwater. So do they have a plastic paper bag? You remember that little sledge hammer? I think now might be a good time for someone to tap in on my head.

For the next few months, we are on traditional Indiana time. So far west in the Eastern Time Zone it is ridiculous, we used to stay on Standard Time year round. Then some Bozo got the idea we should go on Daylight Savings Time in the summer. Lordy. And the now President of Purdue University, who was once Governor sort of hinted when he ran several years ago, we might regain our year round time status. My mother was always opposed to “Fast Time” – and Mitch Daniels was a hope. Later she would say, “I never would have voted for that boy if I knew he was going to join the Daylight Savings Camp.” She came to call it God Damn Time or Governor Daniels’ Time.

But, for these months, we are back on sane time. I am not even going to think of the first of March when the current bozos have decreed we again move the clocks ahead, THREE WEEKS BEFORE WE USED TO HAVE TO DO IT. Talk about upsetting your circadian cycle; well, no let’s not talk about it.

I will add, one person in this state was always on what we came to call “Mother Time.” So, take that, Governor Daniels.

I suspect that I am not in the greatest of moods today.

A couple of hours have passed and it is a fact: I am not in a good mood. The sun is shining, but I am not. In fact, I can feel my scrunched up mouth expression really showing itself.

Could it be the backyard leaves I raked into piles yesterday that are waiting to be tarped and tugged out to the street?

Two of last colorful views – for Pottermom and Quentin, of course:
Red leaves:

These leaves are actually purple.

Well, maybe you can see the purple better here, but it’s not much better.

And then there are these pictures:

Part of my pile at the edge of the street and driveway

Part of the pile by the curving sidewalk next to the driveway

This makes them look smaller and you can’t see the ones just in the street beyond the curb, but, really, it’s a lot.

Yes it was a lot of raking, but I felt connected to my mother and father and grandparents who worked very hard and had the same idea expressed by Lauren Bacall in a blog interview:

She leans forward and pokes a finger in my chest. “Remember what Bogie and my mother both used to say: ‘Character is the most important thing. All that matters is character!’”

A couple of days ago I posted two pictures of the warm and glowing color on one of my trees. The day I did so, the leaves that were on the ground were dry and light and would have been easy to rake. I did not do so and that night it rained; it rained yesterday as well and the ground looks mucky now.

We had some wind yesterday evening and this morning, more of the trees are again the winter sticks that insist on remaining that way until usually late April or early May. It can get depressing; and, in fact, it’s depressing right now because the leaves that fell off those sticks are now on top of the wet ones that were there before.

It is in the 30’s. Gee, a real vacation resort here. However, when I checked the forecast I found out that the wind I see moving my bushes is expected to last all day and right now the sky is blue. It is blowing out of the WSW. Trying to rake to the east would be counter-productive and raking to the west would only help put more leaves in neighboring yards. So I am waiting to see what happens. It is supposed to be a strong wind. And, by gosh, I think I already feel uplifted – amazing, no?

Having achieved this state, I am delaying walking into the kitchen where I know people have left stuff that needs to be cleaned up and into the laundry room where clothes are waiting. Perhaps if I opened the windows, the mess would all just blow away in that WSW wind. Of course, having identifiably clothes and dishes and so forth splatting against neighboring houses could incur retribution – and with Halloween right around the corner, it could be chalked up to hooligan activity. There are times it is best to think things through.

Today is the Grand Opening of the newly-remodeled Kroger store in town; there are streamers on the parking lots lights and pennants at the very top of each pole. Of course, they are dancing in the wind. However, they have mounted this tiny little Grand Opening sign; odd, but then it’s their business . . . literally. I am guessing that they will be trying to attract shoppers with bargain prices and I’m betting that if they are encouraging lots of people to come, they won’t be crowding the aisles with samples. I think companies will want Sample Day (of the Holiday Season Kind) to not be overshadowed bargain-hunters overruning the tables they set up in the aisles.

It makes sense: sample day is to entice people to spend a little extra for that that special touch for a meal or to introduce a new snack or holiday-themed item of the eggnog category. I may be wrong, but since I am on a diet, I don’t have much riding on my analysis. Now, if Quentin were here, we would make a fun time of Sample Day and I certainly would not want to miss it. Comparing impressions of what tastes good and plotting strategic multiple passes of the best booths.

Now, we are not the type of people who take advantage of such things, but we like to pretend that we are espionage experts, snarfing up important information hidden in crab meat concoctions. And, more often than not, we would buy what was being offered for out taste buds to sample. It is such a minor thing, I suppose, but I dearly miss those times of light-hearted sly moves and laughter.

And I miss going to the store with my parents, who would never, ever consider entering a business in anything other than very presentable dress, who would be very polite to all the workers and, especially Daddy – strike up a conversation with anyone from a sample lady to a fellow mopping up a spill. I wish I were more like them, and I wonder why I wish that instead of actually trying to be that way. Am I so got up in my selfish concerns that I can’t put a bit of effort into treating the daily things of life with some respect?

This is a time of an overwhelming sense of loss for me and I’d like to let that wind I mentioned carry off some feelings and emotions and just get in step with the ending of A Christmas Carol and have some good will and keep the holidays well.

Instead of packing things away, I want to be digging into boxes and pulling out decorations for fall and Thanksgiving and Christmas traditional items and the warmth of memories that reach across the years and build with each season. I’d like to imagine someone pulling out something decades from now and saying, “My grandmother always loved this little Santa – she said it was on her tree when her grandmother was alive.” Or to put out a tree stand cover and point out the fact it was made over weeks of time at the LaGrange House. Sequins, embroidery, gold braid making reindeer and sleighs and Santa’s – all coming together on the big oak table that had been her grandfather’s.

Well, I’m supposed to have some creativity so maybe I should actually show a little of it. I should start by making a huge batch of pixie dust to throw on the Scrooges I encounter – and I guess I could sprinkle some on myself as well.

I think if I could be granted one wish, it would be to have those around me open to being in good spirits – no humbugers.

For Pottermom and Quentin:

Yes, the trip to Indianapolis tired me out, along with getting up at 5:30 to drive people to work, not to mention the cleaning of the middle basement in the Lagrange County house. It was the washer that gave my spirit a gut-punch and just stilled my fingers lest they type not nice words.

This has happened before, a little switch that goes crazy and won’t let the washer do anything for more than two seconds. I did manage to get the dial right on the spot where the pump in activated if the switch is working when the switch actually decided to spit out a burst of power. Thank God for the concept of siphoning; it was like a giant took a big suck on a hose in a gas tank and the water kept draining out. No bucket brigade was needed.

A new washer is going to be delivered Thursday morning; that will be dramatic because the laundry room, an altered pantry, perhaps former coat room – who knows – has this tiny access point. I got the old washer out and, of course, found yucky, mucky dirt underneath it. Now if this new Maytag can get installed and turn out like my first Maytag, that will be good. The first one lasted about 25 years. It was so old it was avocado green. That’s old. Pretty soon I’m going to have to start checking my color in the mirror.

Then, on the way back from Fort Wayne, a sensor “had a fit” according to the service technician and the engine had reduced power. We are waiting for the new part and so far, the sensor has not acted up again. Supposedly, if it does, there is a good chance I just need to pull over, turn the car off and then restart it. In today’s language, I suppose that is akin to rebooting it. Anyway, I am not depending on my accelerator for any powerful zooms around cars or turns into traffic.

I had a dental cleaning appointment for Thursday morning, the day of washer delivery, so I had to call and cancel. They put me on a call list and actually called last night and I got my teeth taken care of this morning. No cavities, Ma.

And in case you are wondering, I have bags of really dirty clothes because I chose this week-end to do battle with the middle basement room at Mother’s, dontcha know?

Okay, the world may be flat and I might have walked off the edge, hung there for a few days, clinging with weakening fingers and finally pulled myself back up and am typing this with a pencil in my mouth.

Or . . . I got to reading some books and going to Fairborn, Ohio where I indulged in City Barbecue and then driving back and getting really tired and then reading some more.

I haven’t decided which scenario makes the best sense, which undoubtedly indicates the fall off the edge and the jolt of grabbing hold at the last section and the stress of hanging there for all that time has caused cognitive thinking problems. I believe I could take various lines of reasoning in circles, although that leaves me wondering if they would be 2D planes or 3D spheres.

Whatever, apparently the shock has wiped any memory of what is on the bottom side of the earth – or maybe it was too dark to see. This might be a spell of Forest Gumpism with a pinch of crazy thrown in; it’s sort of like malaria, it comes, it goes. Now, to find the quinine in this analogy.