Sometimes people overhear me. I guess it happens to everyone. But now I am wondering if someone just happened to read something I was posting on the QT. You know, overread what I was writing.

I was writing about the book Anglo Files that I saw reviewed in a blog called Rechelle Unplugged. It used to be called My Sister’s Farmhouse for some reason she changed it. God only knows. Oh, smack my hand on my forehead, Rechelle, I forgot there for a moment. Anyway, it was a figure of speech.

I was writing that I really wished Der Bingle would order this book from Amazon.com for me for Christmas – just sort of a one item list.

Then I got to thinking . . . I wonder if he overread that little private notation. Then, of course, it wouldn’t be a surprise. I could deal with that.

I have one of those alpine trees. You know the kind – skinny with scraggly little branches. This one is about four feet high and you can put them around the house in different places at different seasons. About a year ago, I put one of my plant stakes in the branches; this one was a stick with a coil at the top so the cow head would bob around. Yes, cow head. I’ll provide a picture later.

I thought I should decorate this tree with white lights and crystal bells, but the Alien Tree, which is most probably controlling my brain, led me to use LED colored lights and hang some golden and silver ball-shaped bells.

I suppose I am not done; more instructions are probably in the pipeline. So far the cow is looking somewhat perplexed. She may tip the tree.

I don’t think they are up yet, but soon . . . soon. It will be tense. Last Monday, Summer remarked to me that the afternoon of the next day, Tuesday the 23rd, would be the best time of Thanksgiving break. You know, when you walk out of school and vacation looms before you. And we mentioned how each day would bring people closer to the looming Monday.

Well, it’s here.

It is too bad we are the type of personality that just can’t enjoy the here and now. No, the moment that we start something we like we see the end coming at us. I would step off the plane at San Diego and the second I started walking toward the main terminal I would be thinking how sad I would be when it was time to walk the other way.

But back to this morning . . . no, no . . . let’s wait a few more minutes.

I, tremendously wonderful AmeliaJake – yes, THAT AmeliaJake – woke up way before dawn today and thought, “I’ll bet those bozos (Yes, calling folks bozos is not that tremendously wonderful, but it just I am in a position of being the tremendously honest AmeliaJake.) didn’t take out the trash last night.

Let me shorten that: The bozos didn’t take the trash to the curb.

Usually it goes out Wednesday night, but when on holiday weeks, it is a day later. That, of course, was last night . . . and included the increased Thanksgiving debris, dontcha know.

In the cold of Indiana, outlined  against what will probably be a blue, gray sky, AmeliaJake got the trash to the curb.

And just a few minutes ago, I heard the trash truck come.

Other people are up . . .  and I must spread the news of the epic feat.

No, not my rocker. Well, maybe I am but that is not what I was thinking. I’m thinking turkey into the roaster. I decided to forgo the Sarah Grismore “get up at 4 am method” and started prepping myself with a Cure and some Alka-Seltzer (cold variety – Orange Zest -) at 6:03.  I’ll be taking my morning medicine and then I’ll put on my pants and shoes and hit the kitchen.

***

And she’s stopped; the clock says 3:56 pm. The dishes, pots, pans, roaster are washed. The food is packed away and I’ve decided this is possibly the last Thanksgiving I am celebrating in this fashion. I think it is time to evolve. We pretty much feast every day; the people we eat Thanksgiving with are our immediate family. I almost think we should eat very humble food on Thanksgiving so we realize what we are missing is that for which  we are thankful. I don’t think that idea would prove popular here, but it’s a thought.

With the festivities of Christmas encroaching on Thanksgiving (See post below), I also think to have a day of quiet activity would make us aware of how much we take the basics for granted.

Oatmeal, tea, a book, a fire, a comfortable chair and plans for the year to come would be something I would look forward to. (Yes, yes, yes. I know it should be “something to which” but the heck with it. The way I type it out of the gate is how it stays – because that’s how I’m thinking.)

We know it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet, but we are just enjoying making some decorations. Summer and I made this tree, which is dubbed “The Alien Tree’ because of the alien angel on the top. Today we discovered it may be controlling our actions so we are considering wearing tinfoil hats.

Then there was the matter of the garland on the stairs. Cameron and Summer and I did the first part of it and bit by bit we will had special ornaments to mark it as uniquely 2010. Do I have veto power over some choices? Well, I don’t know.

Here is a helper.

Summer in jail-like position.

Cameron practicing for a visit to the jailbird.

The anniversary of Mother’s death, the news that Colin is returning, Thanksgiving planning, sorting through estate stuff  . . . and I am progressing like an Etch-a-Sketch line produced by using my toes while blindfolded. It, like the image I just created, is not pretty.

But I am here and I have my cocktail shrimp in the freezer ready to thaw and my turkey in the refrigerator actually thawing. I have eggs to be deviled and a special yam dish for Der Bingle. I know where the ricer is for the mashed potatoes. I have corn to fry and the roaster is clean and ready to go.

This is one of my least favorite things, dontcha know – cooking.

I will talk to Rose and Sophie and hope they will hypnotize me into believing I am reading a book while I deal with those things you find in the turkey’s cavities. Oh, yuck, that was not something I wanted to pre-think.

I don’t know . . . Summer and I talked about getting an oil fryer and dropping the turkey (still frozen) in it from an upstairs window. The fireworks would really highlight the day.

Last night in preparation for Der Bingle’s week-end arrival, Summer made a welcoming ornament to hang in the vestibule. Nooooo, it is not as nice a gesture as you think. She and I were wandering around The Dollar Tree and came upon these three red balls hanging together for, yes, a dollar. They were covered with overlapping petals that reflected light in a chaotic rhythmic way. Summer and I looked at each other and said in unison, “There’s a seizure waiting to happen.”

This is when I got the idea we should make an ornament to say “HI” to Der Bingle . . . well, I got part of the idea. The whole full-fledged thing formed in my head and pounded for a way out when I spotted the skinny tin Santa with green-striped pants.

I have no pictures at this time, but later watch out.

Then we bought bells and red and silver pipe cleaners and, at Summer’s insistence, glitter. I told her to do what she wanted when we got home; after all, she’s been an apprentice for quite a while now. She had me add the last bells and one ball so I could have a participation factor.

I think it was while I was doing that she glittered the dogs. And in that process, glittered the floor.

The ornamental hanging Santa in transit.

Had trouble sleeping, then got up early to take Alison to her 12-hour nursing shift, came home to ride herd on getting kids schoolbound and then sat down to look at the Internet news and weather. And so it is NOW and I am writing this post because my alternate choice was taking a wee nap by just rotating 90 degrees like a chair going from upright to lying on the floor. I was already reaching for an afghan when out of the corner of my eye what did appear but a little Sydney curled up, with visions of doggie treats in his head.

What would be dancing in my head were I to be the one napping? A giant SUV towing a sports car on the road to my beach house?

Sydney got up and I decided to do the lean over bit with blanket. It felt so good. And then I got up and rearranged the furniture on the porch.

And then I learned East Noble was being evacuated to the YMCA because someone had sent a letter with a bomb threat. They let the kids back in after and hour or so and then they came home with no details. I asked Summer, “They sent a bomb threat LETTER?”

A while back East Noble had a night of vandalism and I think the incidents are probably linked. I imagine the police were taking photographs of the surrounding area during the evacuation and are looking for faces to question.

It should be an interesting few days.

My house was re-roofed in one day. One short late fall day. I guess that was possible because I had an army of Amish roofers up there . . . and on the ground. And we are not just talking shingles; they built a hip roof to replace the flat roof of the porch and repaired the top of the skylight internal chimney. That would be the ten foot shaft that reaches from the bathroom ceiling to the roof over the attic.

Unfortunately, I had an “in the ring” seat instead of a ringside one and couldn’t watch the process. I did like looking out the window and watching the shingles go up on a conveyor belt. I just realized that I had no urge to jump on the belt and ride up – I am getting old.

What I did think about was roof walking. The men were scampering all over the top of the house. Had I been up there, I would have been attached to it as if I were a flattened squirrel. I am fascinated with having the roof sit right on the ground so I can see if I could walk around on it if it were more a hill that a two-story platform. Of course, even if I got the hang of it, you couldn’t play croquet on it. ACK. That is what comes from having one of those minds that lacks a sensible filter. But, then, it’s not a stupid remark; I mean you really couldn’t play croquet.

Even if you had nets around the perimeter, the balls would always wind up there again after you placed your ball a mallet’s length back up. What about velcro on the roof? This would require the correct amount of force in your strike . . .

I suppose by now alarms are going off in my brain and the little nano maintenance guys are running around yelling, “What has she done now?” and “Shut down that synapse!”

I don’t see them as looking like maintenance men, though. I just assume they are gnomes and elves – with little voltmeters and maybe tool belts. It does seem like sometimes I hear whistling in my head when I suspect they are working.

Sometimes I like to fool around with them – such as just watching some inane TV show and then, suddenly and without warning, start thinking about a difficult math problem. I’ll bet the klaxons go off then.  Then they find out it was just a drill . . . maybe that’s when I get headaches.

Uh, maybe I should just close my computer and close my eyes and let them crawl back in their bunks.