UPDATE:

Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish; my update didn’t publish. I don’t know where it went; it hasn’t shown up on any draft or whatever. You didn’t miss much, I was simply remarking that I had noticed blue skies and felt that might mean I should go out and be active. However, I quickly looked at weather.com and discovered more rain is on it’s way. So I said, “Be still, my reading heart.”

I’m going to push “Save Draft” . . . Oh, wait,  you can’t on a post that has already been published once. I am going to open another window and recheck the weather prediction because I am not seeing any clouds coming toward me.

Aha:

Next 6 Hours:

Widespread showers and thunderstorms developing by late afternoon. The thunderstorms could produce heavy rainfall. Increasing clouds with temperatures steady near 76F. Winds S at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 80%.

Back to my book . . .

I put on a linen shirt over my sleeveless top because, compared to yesterday’s 87, it feels chilly this morning. I used to say it was gloomy or dark outside as I searched for a word to describe these days. I finally thought of it; it is: Brooding. The evergreens outside the windows which are on three sides of me show pockets of black and the branches hang heavily.

Well, so much for description. Okay, a bit more – thunder is rolling over my head. It is a good day to sit reading or tackle some project inside. Oh, dear me, which option will prevail? Maybe I should read and conserve my strength for all that lawnmower work the rain is generating. That does seem wise – a downright genius thought.

I left the nursing home as big black clouds hovered right out the west-facing door. I had no idea – Kathryn’s window faces east. I drove along, thinking I would see dark clouds in my rearview mirror. Well, I did, and then I saw them on top of me. It seemed odd because on Hwy 6, which I really don’t care for, I was averaging 50 mph.

But things started hitting my car. I got home, grabbed a blanket I had put over the fence for outdoor driving and headed on in. I looked at the weather warning and it said the storm was moving at 50 miles per hour. Oh.

Well, I had to take desperate measures and hit myself over the head. I spent yesterday upset with myself for pointing out how someone else should be really happy at a good situation; I knew I shouldn’t remark on it and, yet, I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t not push the send button. I was wrong.

Yes, I know. AmeliaJake wrong . . . how can this be? But sometimes  the thing you see in another is what is actually a really big part of yourself. As soon as I made my feelings known,  I could see –  and could not stop seeing –  how very much I do the same.  I am always complaining about my situation, never being grateful for the things I have been given . . . and sometimes squandered.

Yesterday, everything seemed to be geared to  show me that – not just my conscience. I did business with a man whose wife was just given the diagnosis of mouth cancer with a six-month life-expectancy; she was there and she calmly said she didn’t think she’d worry about it because her liver had failed from the side-effect of pain medication and she’s in her seventh month of life after that . . . but they only thought she’d last four months.

I really needed to hit myself over the head, but, of course, being AmeliaJake, I used a stuffed animal.

I see that a little town around here is having a 3-day festival. A lot of little towns have festivals with old-fashioned midway games and food booths and a DJ playing records at a park in the evening. One of the major attractions at this festival, according to the notice, is the return of the mechanical bull. (Perhaps they had a bull at Little House on the Prairie gatherings – only a real one.) There’s a picture: this mechanical bull is set up in the middle of what looks to be a giant turquoise air mattress. On Sunday, they are reviving an old tradition – a community picnic.

I notice there is never a “Relive Summers Past in an Un-air-conditioned House” attraction. They could set up a family kitchen  with a porch attached – a porch that has a swing. People could spend time in the “kitchen” with fans going and sweating iced-tea glasses and then as their clothes begin to cling to them, they could move out to the porch where they could talk to people passing by on evening walks. Or you could set up a circle of fake porches, chock-a-bloc and folks could talk back and forth over the narrow space between them while using a fan from a funeral home or church to stir a bit of personal breeze. You know, one of those cardboard cut-outs stapled to a piece of wood that resembles a small paint stick.

I did stomp the trash and did some other stuff and then I hopped on the Honda Metropolitan and rode around the block. All the time I was thinking, “Remember, look where you want to go . . . because you will go where you are looking.” I don’t know remember that happening on a bicycle, put maybe that was because I was pedaling it instead of being along for the ride.

I thought that in big capital letters when I went around a corner because for a moment I glanced at a car at the stop sign.

White scooter, grey hair. Woo Hoo!!

Maybe I need to take Rose along next time, but perhaps her screaming would distract me. She’d look cute, though. I think I’ll get Der Bingle to take a picture of us when he comes.

I could strap a lot of Raggedy Anns to my legs and arms and body in general so they could all have a ride . . . and provide a little padding if needed. Oh, dear, thinking like that could get me in trouble. I guess I need to look where my thinking is taking me before I actually let some thoughts form.

Today is Wednesday to most of the world; to me, it is the day before the trash is picked up early Thursday morning and that means we have to stomp it down so the trash lids will close. Why? Well, because a lot of our trash bags are, in a way, airbags, If I could drive comfortably with a bag of trash from our house on my lap, and if I had a wreck,  the air in the trash bag would probably totally cushion any collision I might have with the steering wheel.

I’m sorry I had that little visualization because it is sticking with me, just as the smashed, smelly trash would be in that situation. I had a Stomp the Bag Before Putting it in the Can program/campaign but it did not prove successful, and so now I do my best to round up a stomper – one who stands on top of the mound while I steady the can and ladder. Sometimes I have to be the stomper and that does not make me happy – although, with a nod to my personality, those are the times when I feel the job is done right.

Trash Stomping Day looms from early morning until the bins are actually out there, and in summer, that means until almost dark so people don’t have to skirt yucky stuff on evening walks. The cold of winter and early fall of night do have some benefits in dealing with this task, although ice can be tricky.

Enough of that. I haven’t decided what I am going to do today and it is already nine o’clock. I have managed to get some chicken breasts in the oven to bake for spicing up Shane’s lunch, so I am not hauling around that responsibility on my shoulders. I’m being serious here – really –  I mean I can’t just give the dog dog food. I can hand a kid a hot dog, but the dog, well, I actually cut up the chicken and blend it in with his dog food. And then I take it out to the porch and sit here while he eats. Otherwise, he might worry that I am off doing something he would be interested in, or, Heaven forbid, eating something really good.

In summer, though, I try to eat a lot of lettuce and vegetables; it doesn’t drive him too crazy and he will beg for carrots if there is dip on them.

Circumstances involving a local family have highlighted the details of obtaining a Power of Attorney. At this SITE there is a short exchange that can get you thinking. From the little reading I’ve done, maybe it would be wise to get a durable Power of Attorney that comes into effect after an unexpected incapacitation. Not that I’m planning on knocking anyone over the head with a piece of firewood.

I wonder if you can have a Power of Attorney for your spouse in case you are abducted. Or if I need one for Der Bingle if he winds up in the Place of Probing.

WARNING: I quickly researched a topic in this post and didn’t read the entire article I sited. I should have been alerted by the name of the website – CRACKED. Still, it’s got some interesting stuff in it . . .

Today I am going to mow in LaGrange County, assuming I cannot find any excuse to do otherwise and that the 20% chance of rain doesn’t single me out. I don’t mind the mowing, except that it takes hours and the dratted grass grows back. Usually quickly. Last summer I had a long spell of not mowing, but that was due to outlandishly hot and rainless weather for Indiana. I remember fireworks were banned on the Fourth of July.

I have yet to see a snakey this summer so I am dealing psychologically with that first EEEEEEEECK!!!!!  of the season.

I have now reminded myself of the island off the coast of Brazil that is populated with Golden Lanceheads. Let’s see if I can find a reference – I know you just want to have such thoughts in  your head. Oh!! Look! I’ve found a SITE that tells of six scary islands. I actually have not read further than the first sentence of the second island concerning the plague in Italy.

Of course, I will go back and read about all six islands . . . because I am on the crazy side of stupid.

I may or may not leave the house today.

I scanned Internet headlines today and found this little eye-opener: Worst Charities. I’m interested now in seeing a breakdown of the financial dealings of America’s Best Charities.

I didn’t see this yesterday; I don’t know how I missed it. But this morning I woke up early . . . and I think it was because this was nudging my psychic vibe detector: POST FROM POTTERMOM ABOUT SOMETHING FOR SHANE

I immediately sent Quentin the link because we are talking about this fellow below and he’s sort of well, uh, maybe I’d just better not say anything.