Post a little nod to my muse – Cran-Mango juice (5 cal) and whoomp:

ACK spitooooie If you are going to drink flavorless liquids that are good for you….. cough sputter thud might as well have one of Dr. Bill’s Famous Pine Floats. take a glass of water and drop a toothpick in it… enjoy…
I will stick to the beer, gravy and milkshakes..
Poncho and Lefty

But, this is okay, because I saw something yesterday that will have the Crisco Kid hoping that Kendallville was not a test market. I saw marketing of the Lay’s potato chip flavor contest winner: Southern Biscuits and Gravy.

Now maybe a sophisticated college town like Iowa City with its famous writers’ workshop and wouldn’t put such chips on their shelves. Maybe he will have to ask me, the Indiana Hoosier Rural Girl to send him some. NOT THAT I LIKE THEM.

Frankly, I don’t like runny stuff on my biscuits and, wait a minute, I don’t care for biscuits. Unless they are the cookie kind as in shortbread, but that’s another continent. You know, the ones that come in imported boxes with foil lining and each cookie (biscuit) is embossed.

Isn’t it about time for the dandelion rebellions to start again. And, by the way, I do believe I saw a know quaffing down mango juice. Come to think of it, I don’t know if that supports me or not. Probably should have just kept quiet.

This is an odd thing to write about – a variant of cranberry juice, but I am prompted by the need to acknowledge that I was wrong in my assumption I would not like it. Yes, AmeliaJake was wrong. I don’t know what I thought it would taste like – perhaps mango ruined by cranberry. But the mango flavor can’t be denied and it is refreshing and only five calories per serving.

I find it a nice alternative to flavored iced tea, and, in true AmellaJake fashion I have started mixing it with various flavored iced teas. I need to start writing down my ratios of what to what or I will find myself with something truly delicious and be unable to reproduce it. (That happened to one of the researchers extracting insulin from pancreatic tissue in Montreal and when he couldn’t repeat his formula, the first credit and a Nobel Prize went to Fred Banting – a rural physician with a bachelor’s in medicine and with an idea. Actually, it’s a complication controversy involving a big wig researcher who shared the prize because, although he scoffed at Banting’s idea, provided minimal laboratory space.)

I know I am getting off subject here, but since I’m pretty much the only one paying attention, it really doesn’t matter. However, I will get back to liquid refreshments of questionable concoction. This past week end, I mixed pink lemonade mix with raspberry flavored green tea and it was really, really good. I have no idea how much of the former was in the glass when I sloshed in the latter. I also am not certain of the strength I used for the original two components themselves. I thought it would be okay enough to drink; I did not expect it to taste great.

So, now, I must enter the big world of experimentation; at least my kidneys will be happy.

Rental car returned safely; trip to Fairborn made; return executed with gas stop at St. Mary’s. Yes, I am that boring today.

I’ve been driving a Hyundai Sonata rental car while mine has been in the shop. It is new, which is a nice treat. It is also very clean inside, which is definitely not AmeliaJake’s style – not that I am proud of that. I will always be a cluttered car lady, but I really should keep it cleaner.

The Hyundai has features to which I am not accustomed, such as a phone connection system. I did not try to use it, but it I did turn it on and the screen said it was trying to connect with specific names and phones. I shut it off. I do think one of the names had “Shakes” as a moniker included in the formal name. I thought Okaaaay, and pulled my hand back slowly.

The engine is extremely quiet, but the sound of the tires on the roadway is prominent in the cabin. That’s not a complaint; I’m just remarking on something that struck me as odd. I do like to hear the engine, reassuring me with its steady hum and its take charge firm voice when I have to pull out into traffic or pass someone.

I suppose the dashboard right in front of the driver could be a distraction: it keeps giving me all sorts of information. I don’t suppose it much different from other newer cars, but it does at times seem as if Herman Melville is in there, writing a car version of Moby Dick – or Leo Tolstoy and War and Peace.

I am not comfortable here in this new editor feature. It looks too sleek, not intimate. It’s a lot of white looking right at me, waiting for me to write something. I am intimidated; I am not used to writing on what looks like an invitation to something fancy. I am not Willa Cather, not that she was fancy, but she was a top drawer writer. I am not even Danielle Steele – Oh, but then the background would probably be some torrid color.

This looks like something that should have a DO NOT TOUCH on it.

Holy Moses, I just let my fingers hit the wrong spot and all these options jumped out on the screen and covered up my text. Maybe that’s the editor – you know, just pushing everything off the page unceremoniously. Sort of like a homework essay with a lot of red ink on it..

Here’s the question: Is there any going back? Okay, two questions: Why do they have to fiddle around with everything?

I’m not writing about the weather; I’m writing about “the AmeliaJake full-fledged congested chest” – and I find that an example of life’s unfairness since I have never had a chest in the after puberty way that most females do. Flat as a board; and I slouch so I think my chest actually curves inward. I have let these sentences take this tack because I need to laugh at myself with my fingers since chuckling aloud initiates a spasm of coughing that sounds like gravel being shaken in a tin can.

And, actually, I’m feeling better now – noisier, but better. I haven’t had a real cold in a long time and, in fact, I have been expounding the theory that I have been exposed to so many cold viruses over the years that when I feel one coming on, my body surprises me and drags up so antibodies from some cold when I was six, 18, 39 or somewhat older even. The cold hanging over me seems to say, Oh, never mind.

NOT THIS TIME. I have actually cancelled plans because of this cold because it has been so tiring, playing with my oxygen consumption during the day and waking me up at night. I’ve been to worn out to read and that says a lot. OKAY, enough complaining. (But, AmeliaJake, you have such a talent for it! Those folks at the Foo Bar have such a knack for reminding me of my traits. I may have to institute a cover charge.)

It is frustrating having this cold cause me to cancel a trip to the Ohio Redoubt; Der Bingle is one to wait on me without even being asked. I take it for granted and I’m certain I have developed an almost subconscious use of little suggestive, trigger sentences that will have him volunteering to go to the store for some treat or tucking my feet in with a special blanket . . . or letting me watch whatever I want on Netflix without even a sigh. I’m shameless – subconsciously, of course.

Tuesday, I take the car into the repair garage and get a rental. I may have mentioned it in the last post, but I am tempted to say, Let me pay more and have a Hummer for the three days. That could be disastrous – Fine, you don’t want to play nice with the lanes, let me just drive over you. Or finding out if I really could drive off-road all the way to the LaGrange House. I should never be allowed to have a big vehicle such as that; with it would come responsibility that I am not hardwired to handle. It’s almost fun to imagine me with a tank, although that brings up the image of Dukakis in one during the 1988 campaign and nobody should have to revisit that vision. (Well, here’s an example of losers being dropped like hot potatoes: automatic spell-check says Dukakis is not a word. Too bad it doesn’t question Biden. But then, I suppose it doesn’t because Biden has probably become a synonym for clown, jerk, bozo. Or, maybe, it is a verb now: to biden.)

Altogether now: AMELIAJAKE CAN’T STAND THAT MAN.

At the top of this post format, there is a green squiggle and beside it is written, Try the brand new editor. I suppose I will cave, because the site will nag and nag and I’ll get frustrated. Of course, I am already frustrated; why, why does every site have to keep changing? I suppose the programmers want us to think of it as improving the site. I really don’t think so. Drivel will be drivel and insight will be insight and creative thoughts will not pop out of a new editor format.

Actually, this little to-do with update has spurred me to quit writing so much drivel and get more creative. I was so, once upon a time. Then I got in a rut and that rut is getting deeper. If I don’t watch out, I will need a little WordPress icon ladder to climb out. Actually, one of those cherry pickers might be fun, but I’m pretty certain, I’d be stuck having to scrounge up a ladder.

It is still snowing and cold outside and I am in a bad mood. You might have noticed that without my telling you. My mouth is puckered up in a petulant scowl and I wouldn’t mind having something to kick. I don’t know if it is an old lady thing or not. I suspect it is an AmeliaJake thing, possibly made more volatile by it being an election year.

After eight years of Joe Biden, I would have expected myself to be more cheerful, but the prospect of this Hillary, as opposed to the Sir Edmund one, is not making me feel on top of the world.

I could go on griping, but I’d better save something for tomorrow.

It’s not going to be a lot of snow, but then a coat of ice doesn’t need thickness. I looked out to see wet, white stuff covering everything and continuing to come down. I have to go to Auburn on a two lane hilly road; I am certainly not taking the “back roads” that may cut a mile or so off the trip, but are narrow with very sharp turns and when seen outlined on a map, look like a maze.

And on top of it all, I have a COLD – the first really bad one in years. Nose stuffed, chest congested and figuratively a pain in the neck. Let’s home it doesn’t become literal. I hate it when you find yourself shuddering as you think, I have to swallow.

Yes, for months I have been getting emails about burial and funeral costs and now, while looking at one site, this little headline popped up in a sidebar box.

I’d say the results are in and statistics seem to indicate that I am getting older, which is better than getting not so. However, even at this late date, I am thinking that maybe this aging thing could have been thought out better, but it would probably get all political. It seems only the Grim Reaper has the trump card.

I went yesterday to arrange to have my car repaired and, wow, if I play my cards wrong, I can get two accidents being taken care of at one appointment. It is supposed to be icy, icy and icy and I have to go out this evening.

It is raining right now and the temperature is 31, so it is a good thing we don’t have many hills here as we did in northern metropolitan Cincinnati.

I have a lot of firewood in the garage and vestibule but the rest is getting wet. It should be all right, however, because the wood is seasoned and a hot fire from the dry wood will make it burnable – it’ll have a hissy fit, but it will burn.

They are selling something odd at the grocery: a slice of a tree trunk with sort of an asterisk cut into it. They say it’s an instant bonfire. I think I’ll let someone else try it out. If I were a good kindling maker, I could make a little money on the side, chopping up my logs. A pack of kindling (small) sells for six dollars. It looks like it is mostly fat slivers of wood and I think it would burn up fairly fast – don’t bother getting the hot dogs out.

I wouldn’t make roasting hot dogs tonight, but I don’t feel any enthusiasm, although people would probably show up when I stuck my roasting stick in. I keep intending to rig up grill to fit over the fire – or a spit to hold a bean pot, but then I forget. I think it would do people good to have some beans cooked in an old cast iron pot over a fire. We could eat them in pie tins and say things like, Boy we had a hard day of cowboying.

But back to the winter storm; I have this fear that the easy winter is going to turn into a spring that refuses to make a commitment and we will have precipitation and 30 degrees temps every other day or so. Last week, 50 cars slid off the road in this county in about two hours time.

I’m looking out the window and that rain, well, it’s looking like sleet and the neighboring roof is starting to look glazed. Rats, now what did I do with the scraper? Oh, it’s probably in the car which will ice up and the doors will refuse to open, necessitating the hair dryer technique.

I want a Hummer. No, a tank would probably be better. Best of all would be a beat up old Volvo that would tank its way along and if you slide into something, it will be able to take it. Actually, that reminds me of the winter Quentin and I aimed an old Volvo at the space between the two towers of snow at the driveway entrance. More than once, we bounced off and had to re-aim. That was the year Quentin had to rescue the Cocker Spaniel Little Ann from a monstrous drift. And she’d try it again. Sigh.