I am sucking down a Diet Sam’s right this very minute because I think I really need it. What made me think this? Could it be because I kept hearing the ding from my mail alert and clicking over to look and thinking, “Oh, gee, there must be a malfunction.”
There was. It was in my head.
Last night I had typed NIPSCO into the search part of my mailbox to locate the electric bills AND I FORGOT TO ERASE IT.
It’s cold here today; you know how everyone talks about feeling it in their joints and whatever – I guess for me it’s the brain. Which, I just realized – somewhat belatedly because of you know, the brain thing – that winter is here for quite a while and . . . oh, I lost my train of thought.
I changed the picture on my facebook profile because there were some comments that it was kind of off-putting. The new picture was taken with the Photo Booth app on my Mac and a lamp was shining brightly on my face. I look a little shiny and balding, but the red-eyed, pointy-teethed me is not the first picture you see.

vs:

And now I am sitting on my butt because cleaning a bathroom floor on your hands and knees is tiring – not to mention, somewhat demoralizing.
I think I will sit on my butt and read my Kindle, which will drive Der Bingle crazy because he left his Kindle here this week-end. Oh, Dear Der Bingle, I feel your pain.

That box, necessary to our house because we inherited Mother’s cat, the infamous Tiffi, stays in my cart when I go through the check-out line. Neither I, nor the cashier, have any desire to lift it; two lifts, into my cart and then into my trunk are enough for me.

It struck me the other day that I have lost more pounds than that box weighs. That’s kind of scary and a real incentive to keep it going. I suppose I am going to look at tasty things now and see and smell cat litter. Lordy, what a thought. Having gotten it in my head, however, I need to use some AmeliaJake modifying tactics: I have to divide the list of tasty foods into two categories – and right now I’ll just call them “Litter” and ‘Not-litter”.

I’m going to have to do better than that. . . Oh, yeah. Rats, why did I ever get this thought in my head? And why did I type “rats”? Why?! Rats and cats.

I’m over-reacting. I know myself; I’ll overcome this and be nibbling a cookie before you know it.

Oh, dear, as I finished typing that final “f” the vision of a little AmeliaJake corpse popped into my head. Not a close-up vision, more like seeing a giant figure in the distance toting me away under his arm like a piece of wood. I suspect I get alternate visions of what I write a lot, but don’t pay much attention; this one caused me to temporarily stop chewing my foldover.

Oh, well, moving on . . . and continuing chewing . . . I am thinking today would be a good one to putter around on the main floor, washing a few dishes and pushing the vacuum a wee bit. I am feeling – here it comes – a little stiff from my exertions in the basement yesterday. I traipsed around down there with stepladder in tow and spray cleaner and paper towels in hand. I also kept the fire going and decided that for a bit of exercise, I would make two trips from the big woodpile to the little stack by the door every time I went outside.

Of course, the “getting wood to keep the fire going right now” trip did not qualify as one of the two extra exercise trips. Somewhere along the line, I figured I’d load myself up with the “keeping the fire going” wood so that I would have to make fewer trips outside . . . and you know, the extra exercise thing.

This worked okay until I really loaded myself up and by the time I reached the kitchen, realized I had a bit too much. So I left a log on the kitchen counter. It is still there. My granddaughter remarked on it; others didn’t feel it deserved mentioning . . . and, obviously, no one was struck with the idea of carrying it to a hearth. Hmmmm. They seem to be the kind of folks who need to be hit over the head with a piece of firewood to get motivated. Oh, and guess who has one close at hand . . .

Darn! The law does get in the way some times. So I’ll take a couple of aspirin and maybe make a trip to Wal-Mart – that way the aspirin can help out with two things.

That post title should get me slapped in the face by lots of people. I sat here this morning, looking all around the Web for things of interest. I knew what I was really doing; I was putting off getting down to business in the basement and cleaning out a corner. After all, I have already been doing MIGHTY sorting in the master bedroom and sitting room. (And, by the way, while doing that I came across another letter my father had written Quentin when he first went out to San Diego. The date was 10-10-99 and he would be dead on February 10th. Seeing his handwriting, reading the first sentence . . . Gosh, it took my breath away – Talk about holding yourself together from the inside out.)

Today is a change of scenery day – actually not too much scenery, mostly lint and dust and redoing some plastic on a basement window partially converted to Jenn-Air venting. Actually, it’s kind of a cleaning out the area for cleaning . . . Yes, I know, the ounce of prevention thing would have been smart – the maintenance frame of mind.

I was not looking forward to it, nor was I happy with the fact that the rest of the basement would loom behind my back, waiting its turn. Then, of course, there is the massing of boxes in the lobby awaiting a trip to the attic – probably this week-end since the temperature will be moderate up there.

So, I sat here and thought I’d just have to get at it, and then, all at once, it came into my mind that I am able to do it. I am not at this moment, on this day, lying somewhere ill or injured. After a couple of pictures flashed in my head, I found myself grinning and thinking, “Wow, I get to get up and go work in that basement. Woo-Hoo.”

When it comes right down to it, a kick in the pants can be quite uplifting.

I have been making a photographic record of all the stuff I have been going through and re-stashing because I have learned that the old “I’ll remember where this is” assumption is just a BIG, FAT LIE TO YOURSELF. For a day and a half of this endeavor, a box set on the love seat from LZP for Der Bingle. Then, last night, the latter asked me if it had arrived and when I answered in the affirmative, he told me I was to open it because buried inside was something for me, AmeliaJake.

Well, yes there was. I was so pleased that I put on my polar bear pj pants. I suppose I might be confusing you here.

Okay, the surprise was Sock Money slippers (the Ambassador’s minions) and I wanted a picture; it seemed only fitting that I wear my new Christmas polar bears also. Of course, my camera has so many photos on it of the contents of drawers and whatever that I didn’t want to wait for the download, so I am taking this picture with my phone. It is of only one of the guys because if I focus on the middle of the two, they each look a little “not right”. (Then, again, they are Sock Momkeys so maybe . . . Oh, better watch my mouth.)

Without further explanation, I give you

First this:

A cow oven mitt . . . and she’s got a partner, a steer oven mitt. I’ve got a picture of them together but she wanted to first meet you up close and personal. Of course, I can’t expose her tender underside to hot dishes from the oven, so I guess she will find her future in warm plates – sort of tummy heating pads.

She said since she is here meeting you, she wanted to do some spokesman work (spokescow?). Well, anyway, here’s the scoop. Rose has gone to visit the Ohio Redoubt for a some post holiday relaxation. Rose is especially deserving since she stood sentry during one of the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse renewal of spirit events.

Beneath The Sacred Healing Blanket, special co-operators of the PBC&R gathered for the journey – -wormholes are probably involved, NO! Not the moth kind!!!

And here they are after, all bright-eyed ready to rock – no pun intended in reference to the wicker rocking chair in which they convened.

2013 . . . are you ready for them?

This afternoon I was in my nook at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse with the fire going in the little firestove when Summer came out and plopped down beside me; and because she had been watching Ice Cold Killers & other murder shows on the Investigative Channel in the living room,  I told her to go ahead and turn the TV on out here. She said, “Good. Really Bad Men is on next. This little TV hadn’t been on in ages, but, hey, for a murder and violence marathon continuing over from New Year’s Day, why not?

So we worked out way through about three hours of gruesome crimes. At one point she left for a short bit during which a looooong commercial/solicitation for the SPCA came on. It was about Betty, a dog who was hit by a car and not taken to a vet and still tried to nurse her two pups as she lay dying. It covered officers finding Betty, taking her to the hospital, discovering she had a broken vertebra, as well as broken legs and was dehydrated. It went on and on and ended with a guy saying he hoped Betty made it. Then came the appeal for viewers’ support. At the end, Summer returned to find me almost a basket case and didn’t really understand why.

Then, further into our viewing pleasure – and believe me, after watching Betty’s story, murder was not bad –  the channel started to repeat it and I jumped up and said I was outta here. I came back to find Summer about in tears, watching through her fingers and then giving Shane big hugs. About this time the murder shows were winding down or we were getting tired of them and Summer’s mother came out and the two of them got me to watch What About Bob? out here. Three of us lined up on the sofa. I suggested maybe the BIG TV in the big room would be more comfortable for them but somehow that idea didn’t carry the day.

So, we put in the DVD and it starts playing in black and white with no sound. Summer and I looked at each other and thought maybe we didn’t remember the film starting that way and then going to color. After a while, we figured out it had never done that and something must be awry with the connection. I held Summer’s plate of popcorn chicken while she fiddled with the cords and absentmindedly threw Shane a piece which bounced off his head. The connection-fix became lengthy and Shane implored me for more bites and pretty soon it was half gone.

Finally, we got the movie going and Summer discovered her chicken had decreased and her mother had fallen asleep (probably medicine for a broken shoulder), but we kept on watching – a grandma, a Summer, Shane with his constant attempts to get us to throw a Wubba and a sleeping body. The latter didn’t bother us too much since we’d watched all the murder stuff; we just leaned her over the end of the sofa.

Now, at the very end of the movie, Summer let Shane out and pushed the door closed, her mother woke up and asked, “I slept through the whole movie?” and we eventually  headed into the kitchen. Then I thought, “SHANE!” and opened the door. He came in and Summer’s mother exclaimed about his cold fur. Summer apologized to him  and then stood up and I looked at her and said, “Betty.” It took her a moment and then she collapsed to her knees and  sprawled on the floor, moaning.

It was a Bambi moment.

Got to go. Shane wants out again.

I do not have a cold but I have COLD right outside the door and the coat rack is full here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. It is 11 degrees, but since I am a Northern Indiana girl I did not realize this when I stepped into the vestibule – without my jeans on. Yes, in the dark of the early morning I grabbed a diet cola wearing only a long shirt and my underpants. (Underpants, not panties – like I said, because not only am I a Northern Indiana girl, I am a rural Northern Indiana girl.)

Anyway, grabbing the drink and then standing there assessing the supply of soda, water and sparkling grape juice, I did think that there was a bite in the air.  Sitting here with those bare legs under a blanket, I am feeling the tingle that warmth brings to cold and so I looked and saw the “11”.  For some folks, I suppose that would be and “!!”.  Of course, we have been much colder up here between Lake Michigan and Lake Erie, but this is the first time this season it has been more than nippy.

We have had some days though with rain in the 30’s and a strong wind that were just nasty as far as outdoor comfort is concerned. The cold in the Cincinnati/Ohio River Valley was worse, I think – a wet cold that crawled up the cuffs of sleeves as if they were wicks. Dry cold is like dry heat – just plain better.

I didn’t look to see what the high is going to be; I’ll have to because my “guess-o-meter” has not yet been calibrated for this winter.  I’ll need to be ready to judge when the soda needs a sleeping bag thrown over it or actually brought into the main house. As for this morning, the diet cola wasn’t even slushy. I am not really missing the diesel, though, as cold sets in  – watching the glow light wasn’t that festive . . . and then there was the time I backed out of the garage with the block heater still plugged in. That was not cool.

I went to bed last night thinking that I did not really like odd-numbered years for some gut-level reason. I suppose I don’t put in much time thinking about this since roughly 50% of my life will be spent in odd-numbered years and wishing away half your life is not smart – especially since I sleep away a third of it.

I am taking a long time to say that I grimaced at the thought of 2013 (emphasized by the traditionally unlucky “13” ) and then thought, “Oh, rats, I really can’t hurry this year along because I will turn 65 in it and, wow, that is a milestone tripping spot on my way to the more comforting 2014.”

This morning I took a deep breath, opened my laptop and looked at an Internet news site. I saw a picture of Joe Biden and his grin and since AmeliaJake can’t stand that man, shuddered and decided to look elsewhere.

I have been reading a blog named Rechelle Unplugged; Rechelle is a very intelligent woman and she has recently moved from her dream house. She announced it a few weeks ago and then, yesterday, spoke in more detail about the move. She wrote she decided to put her house on sale in June, thinking it would take a year or so to sell, but she did not say why she decided to do that.

Quite frankly, Rechelle has within the past couple of years become an atheist  – an out-spoken one. She has done this in rural Kansas. She has also authored Pie Near Woman, a satire of  the Sooner Ree Drummond’s Pioneer Woman site, which many would have preferred to be later than sooner and, actually, never. There are folks, though, who are PW’s fans and can’t take Rechelle’s site as satire.

This – the atheism and the satire site –  might (cough) not have been the best PR for Rechelle in her rural Kansas town and, honestly, it crossed my mind that her husband’s career might have been affected, not to mention the social interactions within the community for her.

I was curious and thought about that ‘why’ but did not know how I wanted to word my inquiry. Then, having bailed from the news site, I got the bright idea that perhaps someone else had asked it and went to the comment section to look.

Yes,  Wandering Chopsticks had done just that. I clicked on that site on a whim and found it is a really good blog. At first glance, I thought it was all about food, but it far more than that and I read several posts. The lady who writes it says as a child she would check out volumes of the encyclopedia from the library just to, well, I guess, learn about whatever. Finding her site, I feel as if I too have accessed a source of things I did not know and she is an articulate guide.

Of course, this is all a vague description because I have just found this site and because she is precise in stating what one can and cannot do in reference to her site. It is all common-sense – courtesy and permission types of stuff; I want to be careful not to cite anything in particular until I have my crediting ducks in order. In short, I would say, if you think I have some good sense, you would probably find it worth checking into on your own.

So, this odd-numbered year, which is further marked by triskaidekaphobic possibilities, has not started out badly for me. Of course, I will knock on wood and cross my fingers and, feel happy to be in 2013 and that turning 65 is better than not.