Yesterday, Der Bingle and I had decided to watch something via the Apple TV and he aimed the remote at the television. My computer was sitting on the coffee table in front of us, supposedly sleeping, when we heard music coming from it. After looking back and forth at each other and the computer, one of us bravely reached out and touched it . . . and opened it.

The song it started playing then was “I found Jesus on the jailhouse floor.”

Actually, at night when we turn the heat down to sleep, you can be six feet from the glass doors to the balcony and still feel the cold coming off them. I’m not complaining; I’m inside – but it does get your attention. Yesterday the sun was shining very brightly, but the temperature was in the single digits. The outdoors seems so inviting from inside; like a plant you felt yourself being pulled to the windows and experiencing the uplifting feeling of wanting “to do” something.

Yeah, well, had you gone out, what you would have wanted to do would be be GET BACK IN.

Today, Monday, is a Federal holiday, which means Der Bingle, who works on base has a day off. So, it feels like it’s Sunday, but, of course, it’s not – even though tomorrow will definitely feel like Monday and I’ll have to concentrate to remember TRASH DAY.

We are supposed to get some snow today, being on the northern edge of the southerly-oriented storm path. Yes, that’s thrilling, I feel thrilled, thrilled. Oh, yes, definitely thrilled. My gosh, I’ve thrilled myself to pieces; now I have to gather them back up. I’ll be busy for awhile.

I stayed up late reading a book that disappointed me, and then I woke up early to go to the bathroom. I checked my email and the news and thought up a Words with Friends word and then, the next thing I knew, I was writing a review of the book, indicating I had been disappointed. I abhor it when I and others are vague, so the book was The Quaker Cafe. I am in the minority with my opinion.

I don’t usually write reviews because as one who has done some writing, I know how blasted subjective judgement can be. I wish I had a talent in math; I mean, people can’t roll their eyes and get snide at 2=2=4 and in chemistry something either blows up or it doesn’t.

Once I saw a book with a titled Sound of a Wild Snail Eating. The title tickled me and I made a whimsical joke in a post. Well, I got an email from the author lambasting me for writing a review of a book I had not read and citing some of her positive reviews. Hey, it was a jokie. I had even written a follow-up post, citing the New York Times Book Review’s comment of “brilliant.”

Now, I’ve gone and not made a light-hearted joke about a title; I’ve panned a book. Heaven knows what I’ll find in my email.

But that is not the stupid part; the stupid section is me staying up and not going back to sleep and now I am tired and really not revved up to pack for a trip to Ohio . . . and get up for an 8 am hair appointment tomorrow before driving down. Fortunately, Words with Friends has made me more aware of words and I am thinking of one now: nap.

It’s like this: I felt a bit of pressure in my sinuses this afternoon so I thought I’d just lie down and tilt my head a certain way. I fell into a nap; I don’t think that’s a widely used idiom, but if you can fall into a deep sleep, why not a nap? Then I woke up and thought, Oh my dear goodness (or something of that ilk), how am I ever going to get to sleep tonight?

So I read a book, did a couple of Sudoku’s, laughed at the thought of housework and took part in a Words with Friends game. I have been told, by the way, that since I only play with one person, my game is Word with Friend, but that’s a technicality and like Rhett, I don’t give a damn.

Later, I found my mind becoming befuddled as I tried to think of words my letters could make and I decided it would be wiser to wait until the morning to continue. I was feeling drowsy and I lay down in my jammies. That’s what I did – I lay there. After a while it occurred to me that my befuddledment was perhaps somewhat akin to being tipsy and having a craving for silly jokes and bad puns.

That brings us to now. It is difficult to have a Gatsby party for one and herbal tea doesn’t usually flow from a fountain. And it definitely has NO BUBBLES. I suppose I will have to tell myself a bedtime story about 90 people – electricians, plumbers, carpenters and maids come in and, after sending me to hotel room with a mini-fridge, redo my house overnight. Kind of the way workmen swarmed over the heavily damaged Yorktown in WWII to get it back in service 72 hours after it arrived at Pearl Harbor.

Oh, and gardeners with floodlights, and, hey, I’ll let them work on through the day tomorrow. It is such a nice little fairy tale.

Well:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

I think there is a new version now that deals with morning light, but this is the first one I learned, just like I learned the words to Jesus Loves Me in Sunday School before I was old enough for real school. I say I learned the words, because everyone knows I could never learn the tune.

Guido here to say hi to all you folks out there, especially Estelle. (Private jokie, Guido-style, dontcha know?) So how’s it going? I’m sort of bored here myself, so if anyone has any suggestions for a party, let me know. Yes, of course, a bat isn’t the first guest that you might think of inviting. But hey, I’m cool; did you know I was Babe Ruth’s bat boy back in the day. HoHoHoHoHoHoHoHo . . . ah, deep breath. Hey, I got a million of them, folks. I can come up with a funny right off the bat . . . Ok, maybe that was a little bit in left field.

Well, I’d better go now. AmeliaJake’s jealous of my sparkling personality.

About 40 years ago, a lady of unbounded energy and ambition introduced me to Estee Lauder. I can remember standing at the counter as if it were yesterday. I bought a foaming cleanser, and astringent and a moisturizer. And with age, I have lost the astringent and added other products – oh, like Night Repair, for instance.

Now, one of my grandmothers did not have a wrinkle on her face at the age of 80. I have not been that lucky, but for a long time, my skin retained a fairly youthful look. When people questioned my age, I replied “genes and Estee Lauder” and let it go at that. I don’t know how much credit goes to the company’s skin care products, but I ain’t fooling with the habit of a lifetime.

I could remember the lady’s name at the time, but she has since remarried and the last name escaped me. However, I knew she had a notable career and with a first name and some key words, I found what I believed to be her current name. So I Googled some more; I found one site that I knew was her, but as I scrolled down, I came across a picture that – taking into account her love of life spirit – proclaimed she is definitely the one.

I know they usually block out the eyes to preserve privacy, but, in this case, the eyewear is the dead giveaway. So, in reverse, I give you my Estee Lauder connection:

This fellow appeared outside my window and is still there:

And Der Bingle was a Joe’s Crab Shack at Pacific Beach: