Well, I’m experimenting in photoshop and it took me a long time to make two layers to show this four layer cake.

Lots of stuff –  and so I went out and bought some of those plastic shelves for storage. You know the type –  round plastic cylinders that plug into holes in the corners of plastic shelves. I got the gray ones and I put them together in the basement. That part does go fast . . .  open the package, stuff a round peg in a round hole and tap it with the side of a hammer.

It’s toting stuff to the shelves that’s a bummer.

But that is better than toting logs to the fireplace because they burn up and then people want more logs. I think I need to get them a tree trunk and stick in in the fireplace; they could shove it in more as it burns. There might be a few technical issues with this method, but I’m sure I can work them out. And who’s going to argue with AmeliaJake when she has her chain saw? Maybe I need a chain saw holster.

People keep asking, “Have you ordered the firewood yet?” Too bad Apple doesn’t have an app for delivering wood from the pile to the hearth. I think they should just put a video fire as the background and screen saver on their computers.

It isn’t cold yet, but it’s coming. Tonight I realized that I needed gas when the little light came on; I had been putting it off because when I went to bed a couple of nights ago, the price was $3.18 and the next morning it was $3.55. I got some tonight for $3.47. This is my new temporary obsession.
See, the price of gas diverted me from my main thought: It is getting chilly standing out there by the pump waiting into you can get back in the car and warm up. The days are coming when I will hunker down in my coat with my back to the wind and think,”This will not last forever” over and over again. Pumps too cold to read your card; gas moving slowly through the hose; the flap over the gas inlet sleeted shut; salt on your shoes.
And it’s time to winterize the car, as in getting an affirmative answer to the question: Can I live in this car for at least two days? Always lots of gas, extra blankets, food, water, cell phone, books. Egads, I’d better dig out some real paperbacks . . . or build in a little cranking device that will charge my Kindle battery.

Okay, less than 24 hours ago this was an Angry Bird; Alison brought him home for Shane. He squeaked and Shane demanded that he be thrown again and again. And, then, uh-oh.
Look at the top tuft; I can’t put the squeaker on audio because it doesn’t work anymore.
It’s probably not related, but perhaps being angry does shorten your lifespan.
Or maybe it was the dog . . .

Today we have clouds and all the schools in the area had a two-hour fog delay. East Noble, however, had no school because of scheduled teacher things. So, that means the fog was wasted as far as Summer is concerned.  Tomorrow morning she will be pontificating about the fates that made the day before foggy. Damning them, more than likely. Oh, yes. I am so eager to greet the new dawn in about 17 hours.

Tomorrow is Alison’s 41^st birthday; let’s see I had just turned 44 when Cameron was born.  Of course, I am about two decades older than that now . . . but so is she. And somehow, it seems like the laugh is mine. Because tomorrow is her birthday, I agreed to a dratted, dastardly Alison Wal-Mart run – an event that needs an intermission.

Halfway through I developed a sinus headache – not the really painful kind, but one of the ilk where your eyes feel as if they are first being squeezed shut and then progress to feeling as if they will pop out. Imagine the cartoon characters with the springs behind their eyes.

We also got hair treatments – but at Scizzor Worx, not Wal-Mart. Robert William got a hair cut, rolling in on his roll-a-bout. Alison had a trim and feathers put in her hair – teal for ovarian cancer and pink for breast cancer. I got re-toned and styled.

I’ve to tell you Scizzor Worx is really and okay place. They listen to what the customer wants  – I have never walked out of there as a helmet head.

Shoot, now that I’ve triggered helmet head in my mind, I saw a lady the other day whose hair was puffed out as if she were wearing a Hershey’s Kiss on here head. It made me think of the Martians in Mars Attacks and I kept waiting for her head to explode.

It was supposed to be warm but it is chilly and damp and we are going to have a fire. Maybe I should go remind them to start it in the fireplace. Gee, sometimes I am so snarky even I am impressed.

I woke up with a start about 3:30 this morning after having a scary dream and decided the best thing to do was get up, get a drink, relax a little and then lie back down.  I’m in the relaxing part now – checking the news and surfing a bit.

Then I noticed the Google logo and clicked on it. You can look HERE and I guess for today at least, you too can just move your cursor over to the colorful logo. It the birthday – the 90th – of the guy who dreamed up Gumby.

Four o’clock in the morning and it had to be Gumpy. As Bette Davis said, “Life surprises you; it always does. So, sigh,  Gumby. Saturday Night Live jokes; private jokes; not so kind remarks. I will be thinking of Gumby all day. Using a phrase another Bette made famous, today Gumby will be the wind beneath my wings.

By tonight I will, no doubt, be Gumbied out.

I was surprised to come here and find I had not posted; I really thought I had noted down the what-nots of my mind on this writing place. But they are not here; if I find them in the refrigerator I am going to start worrying.

I’ve been craving Sudokus these past few days. In fact, I just finished one. I have also been thinking of those hands-on puzzles that show up in nice stores around Christmastime. Hint. Hint. This should work because I wrote about knives and a chef’s knife and a slicing knife came for me from Amazon.com, thanks to Der Bingle.  They are color-coded – I sliced today with purple. Purple handle, purple blade . . . just so you are seeing it correctly. The chef’s knife is rose.

Rose says there is no connection to her name, but I think the color is to remind me of Sweet Rose when I am cheffing so I will not go Full-Ramsey.

I’m going to be checking out the other colors. I must remember to cut within the lines. Oh, well, I’m getting silly here.

Stretched out, head propped up, getting ready for Kindle reading. That’s me.  I have not watched much TV at all since I got my Kindle. But I don’t think that’s the only reason I haven’t been watching Breaking Bad and then taking great delight in recounting the convoluted plot to Der Bingle.

I just can’t feel comfortable  watching after Jesse shot Gale point blank. That might seem strange since I was not upset with the evil drug dealers head being cut off his body and mounted on a tortoise and fitted out as a bomb. Yes, it was a booby-trapped head – on a tortoise. Thought I’d repeat it in case you missed it the first time around.

And I watched it when Jesse forgot to put a plastic liner in the tub when they were using acid and it ate its way through the tub and the floor and a bunch of goop landed on the first floor.

But Jesse committing murder just took it out of the “this is so crazy, it’s not real” category for me. Of course, though, I want to know how it ends so I’ve peaked at the reviews – and I’ll be doing it next year as well for 15 or 16 more episodes. Maybe in the final finale, it will all turn out to be a wild daydream while Jesse sat in Walt’s chemistry class.

I doubt it.

I am feeling very sad. Sad enough to want to go off by myself and sob. There is no particular reason for it; nothing is that much different from yesterday. And, of course, there is where a psychiatrist would say, “Perhaps that is the problem.”

But I don’t think it’s that; I think I just feel sad. Why not?

So what am I going to do with this sadness? Heck if I know.  Oh, dear, I just remembered the post before this one . . . If anyone turns up murdered, I didn’t do it. It would just be a coincidence. Then would this be where the psychiatrist would say, “There are no coincidences.” And I would be so piqued I would pull out my new knife from my shopping bag resting beside the Shrink C ouch?

I suppose it would take me so long to get the plastic off, he would manage to run out the door.

This plot is thickening too much. You know you don’t think so much about being sad when you’re trying to decide whether you would run after him? Maybe hide the knife. But where? It’s not like you can swallow it. Or flush it down his private toilet.

Throw it out the window? First wipe your prints off. What if it hits him as he runs out the main entrance to the street? What if the window doesn’t open. What if the session was being recorded? THINK, AMELIAJAKE, THINK.

I don’t know . . . maybe being sad was easier.