This morning I opened my email and viewed the message from Amazon about the Kindle Daily Deals:
When I clicked on the Learn More button, this is what appeared:
It would be very easy not to notice that there are TWO “1’s” in the price instead of the advertized ONE.
First of all, I really am not certain of the spelling of Old Kook’s name – not that I don’t have the “Old” part down, although, now that I think about it, it could be “Ole”. Pushing that to the back for right now, it is the “Kook” part that gives me pause; could it be his nickname was Cuke, as in cucumber. Maybe he loved those green, oblong things; I don’t know.
We were watching news coverage of the impending Frankenstorm yesterday in the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, when a tall gent walked in, ordered a regular foldover and a drink and quietly munched and watched the TV with us. When he came in, he said, “Old Kook says hi.” When he left, he said, “Old Kook will see you later.”
Now, my father-in-law knew an Old Kook; perhaps this is the same one – a peanut butter eating time traveller, since both men have passed away. My father-in-law would think not because he was not really a whimsical person; he was more of a story-joke person. Der Bingle and I would listen to some of his jokes and then laugh, although I confided on more than one occasion to Der Bingle that while I was listening to the story-joke, I was also praying I would recognize the punchline. Der Bingle understood my concern.
However, there was one story that my father-in-law told that has become a a trigger for instant laughter. It was not a long story: Old Kook was at a gathering spot when a brawl broke out. He yelled, “Count Old Kook in,” and joined the fray. A minute (or less) later, he came crawling out under a table while calling out, “Count Old Kook out.”
This was a minor laugh story to my father-in-law, but it struck Der Bingle and me at a burst out guffawing level. I think I remember my father-in-law watching our response in confused surprise. I mean, to him it was mildly funny, but we thought it was FUNNY – as in have to open your mouth so your cheeks don’t explode funny.
That was decades ago, and as Virginia learned in The Sun that there will always be a Santa, so there is forever an Old Kook. We are happy he is in the neighborhood and will keep a cucumber in the fridge in case it really is Old Cuke and he wants a slice or two on his foldover.
This is going to be short because I’m thinking of drowning my frustration in peanut butter. I announced I was going to Wal-Mart; Alison asked to go; then she asked if Colin could accompany us; then we took a pole for a paint pad out of the back seat for him; then she went to lean it against the garage wall and turned and fell flat on her face.
Her arm hurt a lot so we went for x-rays at the ER. No break, but a bad sprain. Back home with pain medicine, muscle relaxers and heating pads. I didn’t get over to the nursing home and Summer and I baked chicken for their supper. It was frozen; we had to defrost it. While waiting for that we waited for certain numbers to show up on the dial of the microwave as it turbo-defrosted. Oddly, we found it entertaining. I doubt we would find it so again.
The lights are low at the PBC & Roadhouse; the fire is flickering. I’m sitting here thinking all I need now is to hear Lili Marlene on a scratchy record.
Well, as Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is another day.” If I am in the middle of trend, this could be worrisome. Maybe I need to have a great day and then opt for the Groundhog Day Syndrome, first diagnosed in Bill Murray – though I doubt I could ever learn to play the piano.
Somebody turn that record up so it will drown me out . . .
I am sitting here with my computer and, for some reason, decided to look at Wubbas. The first one I saw is only in stock in the small size.
BUT, this one is available in large.
However, it looks like it might get us in trouble with the PETA people. Still . . .
So, I mentioned this morning about the driver’s license problem and I spiffed up and went off to get the deed done. Well, there was no new picture; they just ran off a computer copy of my old license with the amended expiration date and told me the new real license would be mailed to the bureau itself and they would call me when it arrived. It was easy, but I had really begun to look forward to getting rid of the old picture because I had scrutinized it before I went in so I would actually want to go to the trouble of getting a new license. I scowled at the fat, beady-eyed face . . . and now that’s me again for a few more years.
Do NOT expect me to scan it and post it here . . . better a line drawing – circle, two dots of eyes, dash for a nose and a slash for my mouth.
Usually during election season, Early Sam, an early morning regular at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, takes his hearing aids out before he even comes through the door. This morning he forgot, but thought it was all right because I have been reticent about saying much this election, other than my usual, “I can’t stand Joe Biden.”
BUT, Sam had not been around when I discovered that my online-renewed Driver’s License for the State of Indiana had been lost in the mail. They can’t mail you another; you have to go to the BMV and get a new one – and today I am doing that. Putting on a nice blouse and scrubbing my face and going to stand in line. I have been grousing. I had accepted the fact that my former license picture, crappy as it was, was going to be with me for more years.
Now I have to go and stand there and “Do not smile” – they tell you that – and then look at an older crappy picture. Plus, like I really want to go down there.
I think Early Sam was upset because he has trouble getting his hearing aids out quickly with his arthritis. I took pity; I helped him. He didn’t look at me because he has learned how to read lips . . .
Drat having to go to the bureau and, yes, I can’t stand that buffoon, Joe Biden! As a lot of people say, he’s the best bodyguard Obama has.
Sunny, high 70’s, but colder tomorrow and rain. Obviously, I should paint a bit and rake leaves or wash windows. I really don’t want to do those things. Really, really, really. I am ready for someone else to do all those things, while I do a little dilettantish raking.
On the other hand, it might be fun to experiment with painting – trying out a method somewhere between the brush and the spray method. Oh, let’s call it the “Pour Method” or perhaps the word splash could better capture the essence. I notice the riding lawn mowers are getting bigger and bigger blade swaths as retired gentlemen say, “Oh, I’ll just mow that field.” So maybe I need to think in terms of big paintbrushes. Yes, with a support arm operated by a joystick.
UPDATE: Well, I used the leaf blower on the back yard and Summer and I painted the little back decks – with brushes. Woo Hoo. Oh, yeah, I painted my thumb gray accidentally and Summer has paint in her long hair. She remarked on it and then said, “Why Grandma, how did you get your hair in the paint? Oh, never mind, you have gray hair to start with.” She has to sleep sometime . . .
I received a call from my cousin last evening and she and her husband are in the area; we are going to meet tomorrow for lunch or whatever . . . we’re playing it by ear. Everyone knows I’m tone deaf so maybe I should be opt for the “seat of the pants” guidance. Perhaps I should wear one of my LL Bean outdoor pants that have the double seat.*
*I was going to include a link to LL Bean, but it seems they are no longer advertising double seat pants. The pants are almost exactly the same, but now the rear extra layer is forming “back pockets” and they no longer make them for women.
