No, none of the regulars eating foldovers and sipping cures here is diving into any Alan Greenspan/John Maynard Keynes pool. Newfie just happened to mention how so many Yankee Candle offers are showing up in our email. She pays attention to candle, dontcha know, being from Newfoundland and all that. (Sorry, Newf, just a little jokie. You know, about Newfoundland having its very own time zone and it being on the half-hour when everyone else is on the hour.)

But, anyway, the candles. If you pay attention, Yankee Candles are not much more expensive then those at Walmart – assuming you buy them at “sale prices” and I do. The regular price of a large jar is $25.99, but more and more often, they go on sale for Buy one, get one free. I love the semi-annual sale when I can buy six for what works out to be $11.50 a piece.

I like the flickering light and the scent of my personal favorites, such as Macintosh and Peach. However, there is no way around it – you are burning money. And I won’t spend $25 buckaroos for that on a regular basis.  I let well-off people do that. However,  I suspect they are holding off a little now as well, because not only are the candle sales becoming more frequent, but this time all scents are included – according to the email.

Relax, Der Bingle, I’m not buying any more.

However, I do recommend these at this price:

I turned down the thermostats awhile ago . . . because it is sunny and 52 degrees. Tomorrow, the weathermen are estimating a high in the low 60’s. Gosh! It’s getting so hot. Well, not really, since we didn’t exactly have any drawn-out, ice inside the windows and time to put another rug against the bottom of the door COLD.

So far, this has been a winter to make wimps out of us. I hope I am not jinxing us into ice storms and cold spring rains.

Please let us have a good spring and coolish summer because the Grandma up to Scott Town house is being eyed by tree trimmers and roofers. And painters? I liked the hidden away Miss Haversham look, but Der Bingle and others pointed out that nature was eating it up.

I am also considering not having my hair colored for awhile – heck, I’ll be sweating and dirty and it will be stuck under a ball cap. Maybe I’ll decide I won’t get it done until I become more fit. Perhaps I am feeling the stirrings of going natively rustic.

There must be something in the air today; I am considering going out and breathing really, really deeply. The results could be scary. I could take some jars out and fill them with today’ air to save for a day when I am in a down and out, put your face in the nachos mood.

I need to calm down; it’s not time to slam the screen door yet.

I’m bracing myself for next weekend – Daylight Savings Time, dontcha know? Yes, one week from today at this time, it won’t be this time. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAA.

Oh, God, I’m losing it.

I’ve been reading a book on my Kindle about the Collyer brothers in Harlem. They packed their house with trash and junk and probably some valuable stuff, too. Homer and Langley. They both died in 1947 – March, it was. This is what happened:For years Homer had been bed-bound, or more accurately, pallet-bound because he was severely rheumatic and blind. Langley took care of all his needs.

BUT, with all that junk in the house, there were only paths and tunnels, some of which were booby-trapped as security precautions. Langley accidentally tripped one and was crushed to death; Homer died of starvation on his pallet close by.

I don’t know the exact words, but the author said the family was a little odd.

Franz Lidz is the author of Ghosty Men: The Strange but True Story of the Collyer Brothers, New York’s Greatest Hoarders, An Urban Historical. It was a special deal yesterday and cost me a dollar, not the normal price of seven dollars, plus..

There is hope for me!!!!!! I can still walk through my house . . . well, I do have to climb in some rooms.

I’m usually fairly good when it comes to finding things on the Internet; but when I wanted to show my grandkids a picture of what we (Grandpa and I) used for writing paper in the early 1950’s, I couldn’t easily locate a picture. Not that I won’t keep looking, but I think I’m going to have to go through some of my father’s things to see if one of the things he saved from my childhood was written on that paper.

What originally got Der Bingle and I thinking about the paper was a conversation in the past about bread. Bear with me, please, the connection makes sense. You see Der Bingle and Quentin pay attention to eating healthy bread, and, from my unbiased view, it appears their idea of healthy bread is a dense slab of fiber. It takes a lot of chewing, and, in fact, they refer to some of it as “twig bread.”

OKAY. RIGHT HERE SOMETHING WENT WRONG.

There should be more paragraphs; I wrote them. I wrote about the barely processed paper we were given in early school years and mentioned that Der Bingle told Quentin we had “to write around the chunks of wood” that were embedded in the sheet. Then I added more about the really fat pencils we had to use.

I was going to hit publish, but Summer came out and I went for “Save Draft” and, apparently, what later showed up was NOT all she wrote. I don’t want to fool with it this morning, so I just threw out the gist of the original paragraphs.

I don’t know – maybe the gist is the geist of my thoughts yesterday.

Soon I will go and wash my hands although they are already freshly washed. I was the first one to open and use a fragrance of  SoftSoap that smells like crushed sweet flowers. Scratching my nose makes me think I am standing in perfume aisle after an earthquake. I’m exaggerating here, I suppose, but that scene typed itself so it must be in my subconscious.

I COULD NOT STAND IT. I went into the kitchen and found the regular soap and scrubbed my hands really well! It was a Robert Grismore washing; yes, Daddy, I “backed” them.

Then I went into the bathroom and looked at the offending bottle – raspberry and vanilla. I think it is the vanilla that drives me crazy. Actually, I am going to have to wash my hands again with a bar of Irish Spring; I can catch a whiff of the vanilla under the regular soap smell.

What a way to start the day – already caught up in the “OCD of the Day.” Well, maybe tomorrow will be compulsive eating of Snickers.

A long time ago I registered with Facebook because someone asked me to – and then I forgot all about it. Then I got an invitation from someone else and I think I registered again and that account faded from my memory. Finally, in something to do with a login to one place wanted to link to a Facebook account, I inadvertently created a third account. I started getting messages and alerts from Facebook and when I looked into it, I found I was totally confused. Totally.

So, I am attempting to get passwords, accounts and links confirmed, deleted or deactivated. As it stands right now, if I were a spy, I wouldn’t know to whom I was sending the vital information on the invasion.

Today I am, among other things, diving into the deep pool of passwords and email addresses. I am going to need flippers and a big air tank. If I don’t surface, just sprinkle my password ashes at sea.

I have come to view Monday as the precursor to the end of the week’s exclamation, “Oh, rats, I didn’t get anything done this week.” I don’t start out with the cheery thought of getting everything all caught up; I don’t even start out with the thought of making a dent in the list of things I have to do. I just open my eyes and know it’s the start of the melt down clock.

That is ridiculous. Before I know it I am going to be anticipating ruing the procrastination that will not actually occur until May.

Somewhere in my mind, I know there is a logical way out of this. If only I could figure it out. Well, maybe I’ll concentrate on it tomorrow.

Having only heard Ree Drummond’s voice on a few snippets of interview footage, I seemed to automatically “forget” to actually watch her cooking show at least once. I have heard it is painful to watch, confirming my suspicions. Still, that is hear-say and to be fair about it, I need to watch an episode. So the TV is on the Food Network at 9:57 this morning, in anticipation of her 10:30 air time. I imagine that even if I wander out of the room for a minute or so, I will not be able to “forget” to see some part of it.

Oh my gosh!! It’s on now at TEN and it’s meatballs, red velvet cake and that ubiquitous green bean casserole at a church pot luck.

Giving it my full attention.

UPDATE: Well, it was boring.

Yesterday, I came home in the afternoon,scanned through some of my email and I found a reminder that MobileMe was going to be ending service. I have never cared for the MobileMe account that used to my Mac account. Having an address @mac.com seemed more reserved and respectful than the address @me.com.
I was notified I would have to use icloud.

Okay, fine, whatever, better than @me. I clicked on icloud to switch over and guess what? I had to upgrade to Lion. And in a moment of weakness and fear of becoming a really old lady in the really slow lane, I thought, “Why not?”

Well . . . first I had to buy the Lion upgrade, but the little old lady image had predetermined I would part with 30 bucks, and I did. it started to download. IT WOULD TAKE ALL NIGHT. I was running around telling everyone to stop sucking any bandwidth at all. IT STILL TOOK ALL NIGHT.

But, here I am this morning, experimenting with the lion that came close to mauling me – and maybe in some little corner of my laptop it has. At first I thought all the notes on my desktop had been lost and was figuratively on the floor pounding my head, moaning, “I am dead. I am dead. I am dead.” Yes, a little melodramatic, but so terribly me. Or should I say, @me.

BUT WAIT . . . I think maybe the address stays @me.

@aaaaaaauuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhh.

This is Camp Nature Boy making an appearance in the up and down winter of 2012. It is LZP’s backyard in GPS terms, but is for some, more of a clearing in time when clan members meet.
Usually, the fire pit would blazing as well as the grill and there would be lawn chars and coolers around.
But mild or not, you can’t get around the fact that this is February, so apparently the custodian is close to the source of extra warmth.
And the one Sam Adams tells all the absent now, but will be returning, “Hey.”