Ah, yes, do you remember the lady who knitted scarves for me? No, well, it was Sue, Jody’s mother, and there was an article in the paper about her participation in a special group. So far, just the one picture is in the article, but I am betting more will show up on somebody’s site.

I feel comforted knowing I have an “in” with someone who can help me disappear if need be. I will just wrap my scarves around me and stand in downtown Iowa City.

It is possible I should have made my subject matter known earlier in this post, but, gosh, I’ve gotten too lazy to cut and paste. But HERE is the article and here is the picture that accompanied it.

I had a urine test today and it showed no bacteria . . . but they are sending it off to be cultured.

I had a wee bit of adventure before dawn this morning – and thank heavens I had turned the light on in the garage. I was out there, in the shadows filling up my arms with light, dry wood to start a fire in the basement. I carefully made away around some stuff – and I was being very slow and careful. That kind of describes the way I fell: although I was placing each Emu-booted foot slowly as I progressed with my load of wood, something snagged on a boot and slowly down I went, trying to aim myself toward the side of the car so I could slide to the floor and not just flop.

The wood just arced up and then there was quite a clatter – more than any reindeer hooves made, I’m sure. I don’t know if there was a yell or not; I just remember seeing the side of the car in front of me and then I was looking under it. I knew at once I was not hurt and gratefully started to wonder how far my screams for help would have carried with all doors shut in the cold of the morning. Then I thought about how cold it was there on the concrete and got up and gathered my wood and went on – there was nothing else for it.

The fire is going . . . and I still am too. So I guess I can start counting my blessings . . .

Yesterday was an upsetting day for someone I know. A male student had a birthday yesterday and his teacher chose that day to have a very negative conference with his mother. I heard about it and I could not help but think it was a bit over the top, and, of course, I am deliberately understanding my analysis.

Here in the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, we had a bit of a situation as well, Not a personal one, although some of the regulars – such as Fred who is getting ready for his seasonal job at NP Productions, took time out from making his things to take list: pointy hat, pointy shoes, green and red pants, etc to just make fun of our own pre-holiday experiment. Actually, some of my cohorts are declaring it was “her” (AJ’s) experiment.

In my defense, I think it was a nice little foray into culinary trial and error procedure. You see, the store had huge turkey legs on Manager’s Special and I thought with Thanksgiving coming up, I might just grab them and toss them in the freezer. However, I walked past a display that featured “Cook your turkey in a bag” kits. Soooo . . .  I thought, what about turkey legs? The bags were cheap and two to a box and I followed the instructions – put flour in, shake, add meat, zip tie shut and clip off a corner for venting. The first instruction, though, was to follow the cooking instruction for the item to be cooked. Okay . . . I just stuff the extra legs in my super duper Nesco oversized roaster with the turkey on Thanksgiving. Right. But now I just had six big legs with big bones and an oven. What temperature? How long? Heck, I had no idea. That didn’t stop me.

Then I was distracted and quite a while later, exclaimed, “THE TURKEY LEGS!!” Oh, yeah, they were done – falling off the bone done. Anyone who wanted to eat them King Henry the Eighth style would have needed not a bib, but something to catch pieces that just fell off.

The bag was kind of cook, though, with absolutely no mess. I’m seriously thinking of getting one of the counter top convention ovens they are selling now for under a hundred dollars to just, well, have fun with, and take with me to other . . .  wait for it . . . other venues. Dontcha just love that word?

Maybe we should start advertising the PBC & R as a “venue” for your wild parties and/or weddings  . . . and possibly wakes. Then maybe I am just typing like crazy to delay going down in the basement and starting on the “making a dent” type of housekeeping. Of course, I could use the fireplace cleaning method – start a blaze and toss the unwanted stuff in. No mess, no fuss, no evidence.

I’m just going to take my hands off this keyboard right now. It’s probably better that way.

When the blahs hit, it is better to find something to perk you up, but then, again, there are times when it is best to just roll with them. I am doing that now and if I could sing, I would probably be going Roll, roll, roll your blahs. But then, again, I think I would not really do that. I don’t know why I typed it in the first place; the blahs can have weird effects on  you. Ah, perhaps I should slowly remove my fingers from the keyboard.

I don’t believe my sons saw the movie Bambi, although I guess, through the grapevine of kidtalk, they got the gist of it. I know I didn’t arrange for them to see it. I have never, ever seen the purpose in breaking young little hearts – or old ones as well. There was no need to for me to watch an old dog stuck in a hole in “Homeward Bound.” I left the sofa at that point and did not come back. To this day, my grandkids will say, “Well, if you don’t want to watch this, I can always put in “Homeward Bound.”

Yesterday evening I was reading  a book of remembrances – vignettes of lives in the East End of London in the early 1950’s – and I had read through several when I came to one that had no AmeliaJake Warning posted at the beginning. I read along and even when I should have started to suspect, I did not; I so identified with one character, I could not help but be cheered when good news came. I was so happy for this character I was totally blind to what the cynical AmeliaJake would have seen in any other scenario. The crushing moment for that character crushed me too. It was like it was me, sitting there, experiencing it.

I shut the Kindle as fast as I had slammed “Little Red Riding Hood” closed when the parent reading came to the part about the grandma being eaten. I have not re-opened it. I squashed down the sobs and went in and watched Ironman 3 with Summer and Der Bingle.

Today I am going to keep myself busy and get a lot done, because I know, that sooner or later, I am just going to have to take some time to ferry Shane over to a secluded spot at the fairgrounds and while he chases squirrels, just sit in the car and let the sobs out.

I put a pun in the post title . . . because I’m AmeliaJake and I can’t help it. I am just remarking on it, because, well,  I know it probably gets tiresome and I’m sort of sorry.

Okay, on with what I was going to say. About 20 minutes ago, I wasn’t going to say anything because I was feeling really, really low. I don’t think it was sorry for myself low; I think it was just concern for someone who I just can’t seem to help low.

But, I looked out on the front step and there was this box from Iowa, from Sue, the mother of the girl featured on the left sidebar.

Scarves!!! I had to take pictures – of the fringe and the colors and her card. (I have blotted out the personal information, but I’m certain if you would like to commission something knit, I could pass it along.) I asked her to make these because she made me a shawl a while ago is soooo great and comfy and gets lots of compliments.

I’m thinking of exploring the idea of commissioning her to make me several loosely knit colorful berets to wear inside this winter so I can color my head if not my grey hair.

I really, really like them; I guess that’s obvious. I don’t think my iphone camera does them justice, but I was in such a hurry to get these pics taken and posted . . .

Gosh, the sun sure did come out today.

Here is the note I am dropping off at my doctor’s office.

I don’t know why I am sharing this – all of the folks at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are staying far away from me. Some are even holding up crosses . . .  and one is coming with a spray can of something . . . Looks like .  . . still can’t make it out . . . Word Bug is on it . . .  Auuuugggggghhhhhhh.

A few weeks ago I contacted the trash service in our area to pay my bill and ask about an additional trash unit. Well, the trash unit never showed up and it didn’t dawn on me that maybe the bill hadn’t been recorded. Then this week, the company tried to call me, only they did not have my phone number – it was someone else’s.  So my trash delivery got cut off. Oh, woe is me. I called them and found out my call had been registered but nothing more, so I arranged for another unit to be delivered. She said it would be here within the week – Oh, heavens, let it be soon. Really soon.

I just had to vent this because even though I didn’t get trashed, in this situation it is the pits and I am bummed out. Maybe I will discover that we threw something in the trash that was important . . . and we can still retrieve it. I doubt this is the case, but you never know where you might find a silver, though dirty, lining.

I will be getting scarves in the mail, handmade from Iowa. Woo-Hoo. It is always nice to be looking forward to something arriving at your doorstep . . . well, until it’s a brown paper bag on fire and filled with you know what. I’ve never experienced that but I’ve heard legends about it.

It is 62 degrees here  right now, but it is supposed to get cooler – 61 and then 60. Tomorrow, though, will find us in the 50’s. It is also raining outside, not hard but wet is wet. It is probably a little blessing for me because if it weren’t raining, I would be obliged to go out by the shed and look closely at what I glimpsed yesterday afternoon: my big woodpile fell over.  It fell on ancient bricks so the jumble is not sitting on the bare ground at least, but that is about it.

It was the woodpile made of relatively-new heavy wood, not my woodpile of older, lighter, let’s-get-the-fire-going-real-fast wood.

I saw the woodpile fiasco after I had done close to seven hours of seriously yucky housework. I do not like housework, as everyone here knows, but I did it . . . and the woodpile fell down. Perhaps it is a sign. This morning my muscles ache.

As I sat here with my aching muscles, I looked at the Kindle book page and for a moment read one of the headlines of the suggestion paragraphs and listings as Books You Have Refused to Look At. Then, I started thinking about some of the books that have been recommended based on my viewing history; I have sometimes wondered if they feel I have a taste for trash. I have also wondered if they might be right, but I’m letting that thought go.

One of the Kindle Daily Deals is a book about a sanctuary of outcasts and is based on the author’s time spent in prison for fraud. The front cover made me immediately think of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and when I read about the fraud part, I wondered about the value of rehabilitation, but that is my skeptical nature, I suppose.

I am not buying the book, not even getting a free sample, because somehow it just offends me.