I’ve taken to waking up about five in the morning – fairly easy to do once you are no longer being sucked into late night movies. I like it when the house is quiet. Of course, right now, Shane starting barking; that dog is psychic. Anyway, I usually get up, get a cure, sit down and scan the weather and news sites.

This morning I pretended I was wearing a blindfold in the kitchen because when I first walked in I saw the collateral damage from Someone making a late night cheesecake for her brother’s birthday today. Before I made myself ignore everything, I noticed big splats of beige stuff in the area of an abandoned mixer. I don’t know, maybe Shane just saw it too – I did the the light on.

Let me be specific as to the important fact: There is no counter space on which to make a foldover.

Actually, it kind of makes me wish we had a ceiling fan in our narrow kitchen . . . who knows what art could have been created.

Well, today, in the job category for Someone who wants wages, I had been thinking bathroom, but yesterday left me irritable and bummed and tired. I didn’t want to even think about doing it, so when she came like a little dockworker waiting to be picked, I had to delay. Until I walked through the den and thought once again how bad the rug looked.

I got it in my head to ditch it and get another remnant to fit in the floor space left by two sofas and the hearth and low catch-all shelves on the fourth wall. So I did and we started pulling out the old rug. Actually, I must confess, I had a tri-level rug in there. It made sense at the time. When the first rug got stained but was still basically clean, I just decided to leave it down as padding. And then that happened again.

Getting them out was a challenge – the weight, the legs of the sofas. But what was jar-dropping was the amount of dirt that showed up from under the sofas and underneath end tables. We cleaned out the ashes and sprayed off the firescreen and corralled a multitude of dust-bunnies formed from dog hair and pieces of bark that flaked off the logs.

And tiny clutter. I mean the clutter field was vast but the actually cluttering things were little. That’s when I started thinking leaf blower.

Oh, did I mention Robert has been pretty much living in the den during this last leg cast session? I think he is like Pigpen. It was a BIG job.

Then I went and washed half the outside windows in the den. That’s 32 little squares of glass. Tomorrow maybe I’ll fight the bushes and get my stepladder over to the west side where there are 32 more. Or I may come to my senses.

With it Internet going full tilt and all the craft magazines and Southern Living, Midwest Living, etc magazines, I am mired in all these attractive and cheerful and festive and colorful Christmas decor suggestions.
Too much for me. Too much for my house. So many reminders of Christmas acoming that there’s nothing special. Of course, if you have a lot of decorating comrades, it’s a little different; having to dragoon stepladder and garland people, though, is a downer on the festivity meter. Makes me want to combine garland and duct tape get and get criminally creative.
Meet Scrooge. That would be me, AmeliaJake. Yes, the same AmeliaJake who used to wear antlers on a headband – as well as the occasional Santa and angel – all with twinkling lights. Oh, and I mean wear them out in public. Yes. That AmeliaJake.
I think I have a bee in my bonnet. Maybe I need to go to the Island of Misfit Grandmas.

I looked at my email and saw a message, marked by my mail program – Thinks this is Junk, that came from Wal-Mart, touting its electronic must have gadgets. I really like gadgets, don’tcha know, so I clicked on it and right there were these words and this picture.

HP Dandelion Breeze

Yes, it’s a small picture but no way am I going to look around for a bigger one; my apple has already been dusted by the airborne seeds. Breeze, my foot. More like “The Wind of Infestation.” I do not know if the Dandelions and their allies, the Gnomes, are behind this are not, but I guess it is a reminder to keep our guard up.

Could there be some link to Der Bingle and Shane returning from the fairgrounds with a still yellow dandelion straggler that was left on the collar of one of patrons? Like some sort of Mafia message? Maybe I will have to change Der Bingle’s name to Der Fredo . . . as in kiss on both cheeks and whisper, I know it was you, Fredo.

It was about 3:15 when I woke up, not because I couldn’t sleep but because I already had. I should do something such as stay lying down and daydream beneath closed eyes. My imagination is off, though, and the thought kept recurring that I was lying there bored. So I got up and got a drink and (more than you need to know) went to the bathroom. In just a minute it will be four a.m. and that’s technically a morninsh time rather than a middle of the night time.

I remember that’s “prepare the turkey for the roaster” time on some Thanksgivings – especially the ones my mother and grandmother were in charge of. I doubt that will be the case ten days from now. ACK! Ten Days!?? Wait a minute, where IS that darn roaster?

I guess this is the time of year when I fantasize about buying an outdoor turkey fryer, mainly because I think Thanksgiving should have fireworks like the Fourth of July – which could be accomplished by lowering a frozen turkey into the hot oil from a second floor window. But, dontcha know, turkey has to be well-cooked and I’m not sure exploding would thoroughly do it. Besides people would be really upset about getting their serving from bushes, the fence and whatever else is out there .  . . once the novelty wore off.

We could have a banner:

FIND YOUR TURKEY AND BE THANKFUL

Of course, we’d have to explode a steak for the dog.

Not too long after I talked about resting eyes, Summer asked about jobs . . . and I steeled myself and said, “Let’s get rid of all the clutter in the dining room.” Whoa. It was a job, and I have to say she was a willing and cheerful worker. Wages helped, I suppose.

****

Oh, it is some hours later. Alison got sick and I spent about six hours in the ER with her. I read most of a book on my Kindle while there; saw Purdue beat Ohio State in overtime and the beginning of the Minnesota/Wisconsin game.

I also got a kink in my back from the rather hard, straight-backed chairs in the exam room and am now treating it with a pack of shortbread cookies – Sandies. I may have to double the dosage.

Well, at least one of them. Summer and I cleaned out the furnace room, pulling up rugs and vacuuming with a power sucker. Oh, yeah, it was cool. Next, we’re going to paint the floor with cement paint and  put some throw rugs down.

There’s a round table in there that is covered with Maxine comics; it is great for working jigsaw puzzles in the dead of winter . . . and warm. I’ve got to get a picture of it, but right now I’m a bit stiff from yesterday. So I’ll do it later.

But it is nifty down there –  a little hideaway with a poker -themed light over the table. That would be poker as in card games; we did have a fireplace poker in there, though. Could be we puzzle-workers were protecting our territory from over the shoulder kibitzers.

Well, that post title implies I have no drive, no oomph, no motivation. But, au contraire, I have plans . . . for, er, not just me.

Actually, I think I should say I have oomphff – love those double f’s.

I have enlisted Shane to be the taskmaster for one of our denizens here. Yes, he follows Person C around and hounds him as to his obligations. A partial translation of one of his monologues is: Yo. You get it done or I chew your arm off. No, wait. You can’t throw Wubba’s then; I chew your leg off . . .

We have having a big pot of stew here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse today

At this point I was interrupted and it is now two hours later. Two hours of AmeliaJake time!  I could stew but what’s the point . . .  I think I’ll go oomphff somebody.

People here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse have discovered the old basement station of the Underground Highway for Refugee Raggedy Ann’s and Andy’s. Here I must tell you that they are all of the Poo and Jake persuasion, but let’s just let that be for now. (Except for this LINK.) Of course, this refers back to the black blot on history when Barbie’s were asserting their plastic muscles.

But, anyway, at that time the refugees had to keep warm and so there is a fireplace in the Underground Station . . . with a really effective screen that protected them from sparks. Well, for years folks here walked by it, not really wanting to carry wood to the basement. And, then, Poof! (Not to be confused with Poo!) these people where attracted to the warm side of the force and they are having lots of fires.)

So, I ordered more firewood. Two loads of firewood. Don’t forget there’s the fireplace in the den as well.

I am counting on Alison (She who loves fires but has a bad back) to get her drafted wood-bringers to do the stacking. I’ll just stand back and watch – from a safe distance.

They’ll need a chant: TOTE THAT LOG . . . DRAT THAT BLOG.

My phone, a Sumsung Conquer from Sprint, thinks I am on Central Standard Time. I had to take it off the automatic setting to have it display Eastern Time. I realized it this morning, about right now as the sky has lightened; I was unaware of the situation when I awoke during the night. I was “lost in time” or at least displaced in time.

Personally, I think it is a sign that Indiana should be on Central Time – or at least not go on Daylight Savings Time if we remain in the Eastern Time Zone. Let’s see, how far east is the Atlantic Ocean? Oh, yeah, way, way far.