I call us girls because that’s what Mother called us: “You girls . . . ” This is what we were looking for last summer and I think Glenda really  may have found something  like it, and because I probably just glanced, I  agreed it was the real thing.

But this is it. This is THE cookbook – the one I tore the pictures out of when I was one and stacked them beside myself. Those pictures are stuffed back in there along with notes and gosh, I don’t know what. I haven’t opened it yet. I imagine Glenda should be the archeologist. I took a picture of it from the side also because I think that view captures the years of use more accurately.

Oh, on one sheet of paper that fell out I saw a list of names – Woodrow, Drake, Alexander. Sound familiar? And first names such as Parke and Trell and Al and Glen. I shoved it back in before I thought I should look at it more closely. Maybe it was a list of people who would be at a dinner and she was thinking of something they especially liked. I know Robert Allen was a cherry pie fan. In fact, I remember one Thanksgiving in Indianapolis Robert Allen was looming over the pie as it was brought it and the housekeeper shooed him away.

I don’t know why I remember that – maybe because I was pretty young and he was looking at that pie so intently it made me think perhaps the wolf in Red Riding Hood was real.

I am in no hurry to look out the door to the backyard; it is filled with caught in the snow stuff and dog debris. I need a hard freeze with no snow to clean it all out. That won’t be today, though. Which brings me to the question of what will be today. Ah, that’s a hard one. Der Bingle has to stay in Dayton this weekend to field potential work glitches, which works out with the rain since we were going to take the dogs on an outdoor adventure. Rose is not happy, however, for she stayed this week to bolster my spirits with the promise that a relief column would arrive with Der Bingle.

You’d think this was the Alamo to hear her lament about it.

A couple of days ago I titled a post “Amensia” because of a finger mistake. If you type something in the title box incorrectly, WordPress does not red-line it, which is what would happen if it were typed in the content box. So I goofed and no alarms went off. Der Bingle made a little comment about it and I looked and Wow! I had typed Amensia instead of Amnesia. So I changed it.

But there is something about “amensia” that has stayed with me. Is it those first four letters that spell “amen”? The So-Be-it factor. I mean when you’ve done your best – or near best – and you are at the point when you have to either get it done or not (You know, the do it or get off the pot thing) – maybe it’s time for an Amensia. A Geronimo exclamation.

I don’t think, though, it necessarily has to be anything earthshaking. It could be a task you abhor, but must do. Toilet cleaning is an example. I imagine I will soon find myself standing in bathroom doorway – cleaners in hand   –  sighing and bracing myself and yelling “Amensia!”

Or I could get one of my cohorts here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse to do it. They’ve been quiet lately, in the background, sitting at their tables munching foldovers and drinking cures, or hanging out at the Foo Bar where there are little umbrellas in their cures. Did I ever mention Foo serves her drinks in steins and adds the umbrella for sophistication. A lot of the time, a patron will write a song name down on the little umbrella, stick it in Lydia’s favorite drink  and put it on the top of her upright red piano . . . and she’ll play the request. They request a lot of songs and Lydia has to take frequent bathroom breaks . . . so maybe I should see if her fingers can tinkle the ceramic as well as they do the ivories.

Uh, did I make a finger mistake? Did I mean to type “tickle” in that last sentence?

Ah, well, on to my day.

AMENSIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was just thinking this morning about doing some things differently – the turning over a new leaf thing. And it popped into my head that perhaps that is one of those expressions that has prompted images to pop into heads and maybe theories about vocabulary. Actually, the first thing that popped into my head was not that thought; it was the image of a little person running out in the yard and turning over each new leaf that falls in the – uh – fall. Thousands of new them. Each one a leaf. It would get boring and turn into a long job which would only end with the ritual of turning over a new snowflake. Of course, I’m wrong: You don’t turn over a snowflake; you verify that it is not like any other snowflake you have seen.

Okay, just forget the part about snowflakes. I’m going to. I’m getting back to the leaf thing. You’re turning over each and every leaf and all of a sudden Newton’s Apple smacks you on the head and you think, “I’m going to leave.”

And that’s why the plural of leaf is leaves.

But if the leaf of which we speak in this turning process is a page in a book and the part to which a page is attached is the spine, why don’t we call it a rib? That would make a book a rack of ribs which could be a reason for bringing reading material to the table.

It could be an odd day today.

Sometimes, when I least expect it, Summer will come up with a compliment – though maybe not intended.

Yesterday we were in a fast food restaurant and she said, “A lot of old people are in here.” I just took a deep, sighing breath. Then she asked, “Why don’t you look like them?”

THIS article was on the front page of CNN.com and above the word blasphemous was this picture:

My first thought was “Errol Flynn was Jesus?”

Anyway, I read the article about the scholar John Dominic Crossan and found it interesting. I don’t usually mention religion, but I think about it – and I guess he does too.

I keep things in special boxes, most of which are made out of wood. Some came from Thailand when my husband was in service there; others are from GoodWill where people have turned in kid’s projects or crafts of which they have tired.

In one box, I have for years seen this flowered note as I have pawed around for a necklace or a ring or something special. I slowly began to think it was something other than it is. I looked at it today; it was from grandmother . . . and the Lana Jane she mentions is that cousin of mine who is nine months younger than I. Come April, though, we will both be the same age – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. Oops, forgot myself for a moment there.

Back of card

And what she wrote.

Cameron is a reader. He likes history and philosophy and he retains a lot of he reads. He also can pull a quote out of his head for humor’s sake: When Shane was being somewhat stubborn, Cameron expressed Shane’s attitude with “You can go to Hell; I’m going to Texas.” It sounded familiar to me and Der Bingle reminded me it was what Davy Crockett said to Congress.

Cameron needs a push when it comes to novels, however. I have told him good writing and English usage seeps into your mind and subtly improves your ability to say something well. I have also pointed out that in novels, you are exposed to the universal emotions and worries that you might think are something unique to you. You learn about people and you learn about yourself. Good memoirs can do that as well.

(Since I updated WordPress, a large space is appearing beneath posting of an image.)

I came across my copy of The Tender Bar by J.R. Moehringer yesterday. I found it an exceptional book. I thought of handing it to him, but I have learned. So I called him over and asked him to log into his Kindle account – which is unfunded. I typed it in and paid for it and it downloaded to his computer/Kindle . . . whatever.

Sooner or later, he may take a look at it and find a sentence that will link his heart and mind, a sentence that will stay with him, not because of the drama but because it hits that “sweet spot” of thought and emotion and language.

So, it is a new tech age now. From Grandma to Cameron . . .  Start reading The Tender Bar on your Kindle in under a minute. (Courtesy of Amazon.com)

Here is about ten minutes ago:

And here is what is coming in the next hours:

We are hoping Der Bingle doesn’t have too much trouble, but the storm is moving east and he is moving west and WAIT! I here hear (see, relief caused a homophonic moment) his voice.

So I will tell you the story of a 62- year- old AmeliaJake figuring out how to do a partial screen shot of a map in motion on weather.com. Felt like I was back doing geometry proofs. As it is, on a Mac using Snow Leopard you have to go to applications and get the grab thingie. And save as a jpeg and not a jpeg-2000.

Yes. Well, that’s why they call it whether.