I was in LaGrange County yesterday and Shane was running in the north field and I was walking around in my sweatshirt and now it is over 30 degrees colder and we have ice and snow on the roads. And so it is a good thing that when I returned yesterday, I bought some more logs into the garage. Shane, by the way, helped by guiding me from place to place.

I thought I heard him say, “But, AmeliaJake, I have no hands with which to carry wood for you.” I will give him this: he did not lift his leg and water any of the logs. That would have been . . . not the bee’s knees.

I saw a reference to burned bridges in a post and then, for some ridiculous AmeliaJake reason, wondered, “Hey, maybe I should burn some bridges in front of me?” Choices of paths in life – forget the forks in the road, think more of every intersection being a five corners thingie – and at the start of each path a bridge. Soooo . . . maybe some of the times when you’re walking across a bridge and you’re thinking, “Why am I doing this? Why? Why?” and the answer is because it is an irresistible impulse to be STUPID, you should run back and set fire to the damn bridge. Or throw a grenade on it.

I don’t know; perhaps this thought comes from seeing old revival handouts with illustrations of the road to Hell being lined with temptations. I think those drawings had bridges in them; maybe not.

Of course, burning is a bit drastic, but I have imagined myself putting barricades up . . . and I know I would be thinking I could take them down.

Why are these thoughts like hitting myself in the head with a rock? I don’t know, but I’m going to stop and see if it feels better.

I spent around eight hours in the bunker moving around furniture and spraying surfaces with cleaner and using my swifter on the cobwebs. I changed light bulbs and filled two trash bags. The bunker was Mother’s creation and she always had to have a bar in her refuge – not for alcohol, for perching on a bar stool while sipping coffee or working a crossword or puzzle.

Once I mentioned that I thought the space would be more inviting without the bar and she replied, “I have to have a bar.” It has been over three years now, and Mother, I moved that bar around the corner. I moved it even though I found out you had BOLTED some parts in place. At one point, I was sitting on the floor, bracing my back and pushing with my feet. It was not easy.

I think the opened-up area shows potential; I know you would be in a snit. I did not remove the god awful lamp from the bedroom – mainly because I did not have a handy replacement. Sentiment just can’t overcome the pure ugliness of that lamp. There, I’ve said it.

Now I’m going to start thinking about changing the paint colors – – YIKES, WAS THAT LIGHTNING BOLT????

So, uh, the weather is going to warm up next week for a couple of days, but, uh, today it is too cold to do any Socmaonkeyjawea Indian fire dancing outside, let along grilling . . . so hmmmm. Der Bingle stayed in Dayton for work so here I am wondering if I should take the pledge of DOING SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE. Yikes, I really don’t want to, but I gave myself a treat with the promise that I would work all day long. I should have had more will power.

But, anyway, now I’m starting and to keep myself honest, I am listing down what I do. And if I don’t update this post, it is because I am a cad. Holy Moses, my red-headed Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse cohorts are already marking their ballots; yes: CAD. Such faith in the character of AmeliaJake . . . tsk, tsk, tsk.

Now, they’ve started a pool: If I do start, they are all picking times when they predict I will quit. It’s not working . . . everybody wants two minutes after I start. Foo will keep the money until they figure it out. (Foo is pretty smart.)

OKAY, HERE IS THE UPDATE:

I actually did it; I worked until 7:20 pm without sitting down . . . and then I took a shower. To boost my morale I kept track of what I did on a piece of computer paper – small writing, both sides. WOO-HOO. Oh, my butt hurts.

Now, the question is: Do I want to get up and do this again tomorrow? Not really, but since I visit Mrs. Feller on Sunday afternoon through evening, I’ll have to shower and be on my way by 3:30 pm. So maybe I’ll give it a go. Actually, Foo has put her green eye shade on and is insisting I bet my winnings in the pool money double or nothing. I think she knows something about muscles stiffening overnight.
Oh, do you remember Foo? Well, in case you don’t, here she is:

THE MAGNIFICENT FOO – She sets the bar high (inside joke)

Early, early last evening, I pulled an afghan up around my chin and lay back with my head resting on a wadded up throw. It was just a little “resty” period. I woke up sometime later, sort of dazed and thought, “Gee, I guess I’ll go to the bathroom.” Not as a tourist, you understand. Someone banged on the door and demanded, “Who is in there!?!” and I felt like yelling, I’m peeing as fast as I can.

I was not gracious about it, since there are other bathrooms and stalked off to put my afghan not up to my chin but over my head. Then I woke up and wondered how long until dawn. TWO-THIRTY IN THE AM. It was going to be a long wait and I sighted and got up for a drink and a look at the internet news . . . like are we still status quo or is an asteroid coming? Then I looked up some reference material on a book (Bull Canyon: A Boatbuilder, a Writer and Other Wildlife by Lin Pardey) I’d finished about building a sea-going yacht over a three year period in a dry canyon near Lake Elsinore, California. No electricity, phones and, belatedly realized, yearly wild fire threats.

Now it’s an hour later and it’s still a long way until dawn, so I’ll finish my drink and lay down and pretend I’ve been out in the cold and have stumbled on a warm cabin with a fire laid and waiting to be lit. Then I’ll savor the feel of my imagined sleeping bag and feel my eyes go heavy as I watch the imagined fire. Or so that is the plan.

A couple of weeks ago – well, maybe three – I decided to go through a bunch of stuff and photograph the layers as I piled it onto shelves for future arranging/packing/whatever. It was a day of rediscovery. I was right about photographing things – I wouldn’t have remembered where they were.

This evening I was on iphoto and decided to scan through some pictures; there they were, doing what I had intended – jogging my memory. So many of them. All sorts of memories.

Here are two – just because.

Someone put a bowl of chili on the hearth and Shane at it; this may not be pleasant. It’s a cold night to be opening the door over and over again.

I’ve been trying to decide if I feel a little under the weather today or not; it could go either way. However, I looked at the weather forecast and decided that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time as an undercover agent.
Look at what I found out:

… WIND CHILL ADVISORY REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 8 PM EST /7 PM CST/ THIS EVENING TO 11 AM EST /10 AM CST/ TUESDAY…

HAZARDOUS WEATHER…

* WIND CHILL READINGS WILL DROP TO BETWEEN 12 BELOW AND 18 BELOW ZERO TONIGHT INTO TUESDAY MORNING.

* WEST WINDS OF 10 TO 20 MPH WITH AIR TEMPERATURES IN THE SINGLE DIGITS CAN BE EXPECTED.

IMPACTS…

* PROLONGED EXPOSURE MAY LEAD TO FROST BITE ON EXPOSED SKIN.

PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS…

A WIND CHILL ADVISORY MEANS THAT VERY COLD AIR AND STRONG WINDS WILL COMBINE TO GENERATE LOW WIND CHILLS. THIS WILL RESULT IN FROST BITE AND LEAD TO HYPOTHERMIA IF PRECAUTIONS ARE NOT TAKEN. IF YOU MUST VENTURE OUTDOORS… MAKE SURE YOU WEAR A HAT AND GLOVES.

This includes LZP in Iowa, AmeliaJake and cohorts in Indiana and Der Bingle in Ohio.

NOW WE JUST HAVE TO AVOID THE PURPLE PEOPLE EATER. Er . . . or was it the People Eater was purple? Odd, I’ve known that song for years and only now am I envisioning it.

Every morning I check to see what the Kindle Daily Deals are and today it is 25 romances. GROAN.

THAT IS HOW MY DAY STARTED. It’s 5 p.m. now and I am sitting on my soft sofa in warmth after having spent part of the afternoon outside while ribs were grilled, along with hamburgers. Der Bingle decided to start a fire in the firepit and I felt an Indian phase come over me; yes, I danced around the fire and I used a tiki torch post with the remains of a lantern on it for my staff. After awhile Summer joined me and we just let the Indian fire rituals flow.

I think my Indian name is Socmonkeyjawea; Summer’s is Paw of the Cat Rabbit. The latter may be subject to change, however. I think there may be a picture or two on someone’s phone of me. So far I have received no blackmail messages.

It is possible some people think it would have been better had I buried my nose in a romance. Just possible.

Today I just looked around and just accepted the fact that I am in a “fed up” mood. And that’s how I’m going about this day. So far it’s not been too bad; I actually thought about a task that I had been putting off and decided to just stick my hands right in the mess of papers and do “something’. It’s always good to set your goal at ‘something’ because it’s really, really flexible.

Unfortunately, my efforts are now evidenced by stacks of half-sorted correspondence and “Oh, so that’s where I put those instructions” type of stuff. I don’t mind; I know how to step over clutter. There is the benefit of having a full trash bag as well . . . now to haul it out – but that means two woodpile exercise trips.

I’ll probably be back, whining about something else.

About a quarter past one in the afternoon.

A prominent man was eulogized today, and perhaps right now they’re filling the grave. He was the real article when it comes to nice people and was gifted with abounding energy. Don Moore worked hard for his family, his friends and his community, and, quite frankly, I don’t think he considered it work. I interviewed him a couple of times, but I’ve lost the notes from the more personal of the two. I think they got frozen on the hard drive of my old Apple PowerBook 100 – one of the first really portable laptops.

But I remember. I suppose if this were Ohio when I was writing there, it would be a safe bet I would have been tapped to write a memorial. I’ve thought about those types of articles in the past few days, my memory having been jogged by this week’s happening.

You stare at a blank screen and you start writing and somewhere in there you will happen on a phrase that will stick with readers; if you are lucky, you may draw close to the essence of the person and trigger wordless memories in those who knew him.

In this case, there would have been so much to say about Don Moore; I’m sure it was said today. There is one detail he mentioned while talking with me – a detail about the loan he took to buy the radio station. He borrowed money from his mother . . . and he paid her back. He just added that last bit in passing, but with a truly proud look on his face.

I think Don might have said about a lot of his doings that it was in his genes – his energy, his need to be moving and doing something. He was happy to do so much for so many, but I think he might have been a bit self-conscious about taking credit for being such a good man. And he might have said it was in his genes to be a decent man, but I think he realized that in paying his mother back he had done the most decent of things and had shown her she had indeed raised . . . a very good man.