They tell me that when I was very little I would sit for long periods of time just watching the bubble lights do there thing. Hey, I was a little girl – little girls concentrate better than little boys. I watched them a little this year, but because the tree was located where it could be seen from many places in the house, it worked out that none of those places was a sitting area where the seats faced the tree. So most of my watching was a pause in my walk-bys. I need a little tree with about seven bubble lights on it just for me – maybe next year.

It’s still this year, though, and soon I will be taking the bubble lights off the lower and stronger branches of our Frazier fir and packing them away. The colored lights all come down, but the white ones I usually leave where I have placed them haphazardly on fake ficus trees and tumbling down from the crook of a goose-necked floor lamp.

I call these remaining white lights “Winter Lights” or “Northern Lights” and they usually last until the days start to lengthen and the sun itself shifts and begins to brighten the house with new angles.

And speaking of changing seasons, here comes Summer.

Normally, I get lots and lots of notifications of special offers in my email. I let them come and scan through the senders because I have learned sometimes a retailer will offer stubborn resisters of email offers a really, really good deal . . . before the offer goes more public a day later or whatever. I do not turn my nose up at 50% off products I really want to buy anyway – oh, like Yankee Candles and Easy Spirit shoes/boots.

But what makes up my email is not my point here; my point the amount . . . and what happened yesterday. From the magic number of 2:22 pm until way after 11, I received not one notice, alert, or anything at all. Now, just three days after Christmas, I found this extremely odd. For nine hours, nobody wanted to alert me to any deal, anywhere, at any price.

In today’s world, that might almost be a sign that the world has ended – sort of a sky is falling scenario.

I have been thinking about today’s world and how short amount of time it takes to make something an “antique” – and I am not talking about moi. But surely duct tape is forever as the fixer of anything . . . but then we thought that about baling wire. Sigh.

It is almost 11:30 am and I just realized I am walking around with this nice knit green thing on my upper body and an okay slip on the lower half. I am not wearing my skirt yet. I’ll tell you why I called what one would expect to be designated as a blouse or shirt a green thing; it is because it is a hunter green nightshirt. I just noticed that . . . after I noticed the slip situation.

And I don’t care.

I found a sweatshirt among my mother’s things that says “Make my Day” and has a little stick figure wielding a rolling pin. I may just put that on.

And the scary thing is I am actually in a good mood.

No, I am not going to talk about the AmeliaJake facial exercises; I have been scrunching my face today because I have been in a very bad mood regarding total strangers. Not total strangers I have actually seen, but ones who have popped up in Mary Poppins style blog entries. It just worked out today that I clicked on some random links that wound up taking me – one way or another to a blogger who, golly gee, just has to be a Stepford Wife and Total Saint.

Three times I read entries about people who had really unfortunate, frustrating and exasperating days and went on and on about each moment being a treasure. Yes, I understand fully that given a choice between tragedy and anguish and having a spouse carelessly flush the only set of car keys, I would gladly go the lost car key route. But, in every day human nature, wouldn’t someone normally yell, “You flushed the car keys???!!!” Would not that lead you to the door on which you had mounted foam bricks so you could safely bang your head?

Apparently for some, this and other irritating situations are not at all the teensiest bit upsetting. Not even enough to justify an “Oh darn.”

So now I am in the position of being annoyed by sweetness and light . . . which just makes my day and scrunches my face.

UPDATE: Just after I pushed published, I looked up and saw that WordPress was nagging me to update to 3.8. So finally I did just to get them off my back and, frankly, Scarlett, my dear, I don’t like the update.

You know, maybe I’m just not in a good mood . . . Do you think?

Well, Christmas came for AmeliaJake Who; once again it came round just as it always has. But this year, this little AmeliaJake Who had the distinct feeling of stepping outside of the parade and watching part of it pass by.

I am beginning to believe that there comes a time when memories catch up with you, when the list to which you have been adding each year grows too long and it is time to let some traditions become honorary, sort of non-voting board members. I’m getting used to this philosophy and I think it’s starting to fit me.

And now I’m going to go have another glass of sparkling cranberry juice – another fluted glass, because, gee whiz, I just like it that way on the days I’m wearing a silk blouse . . . and an apron.

Finally, finally, I got a bit of Christmas spirit and sat by a roaring fire watching movies with two grandchildren, who were actually co-existing and joking. Then I thought I should go out to a 24-hour store before tomorrow when they will close for a few hours before they will again be open constantly for 364 days. I need to stand in a parking lot and yell, Merry Christmas you old Bailey Savings & Loan . . .

Forgive me for this next paragraph, please. It is just so ludicrous I have to write it.

I went into the bathroom and I while staring into space, daydreaming, I realized I was looking at a hole in my underpants. Heavens, I knew my standards were low, I just had no idea how far down they had slipped. I was horrified. I pulled off my boots, pulled off my pants, pulled off my underpants and put on a brand-new pair. And then I put my pants and boots back on. But, gosh, it’s hard to get the festive back on.

But I’m going to try.

I have in my pile of “things I found at GoodWill” a couple of very nice little pictures with holiday themes. I believe they came from a very organized person’s home because placement instructions are on the back of each. “Laundry room” is written in red marker on one. Laundry room? Okay, someone is very neat . . . and it is not me.

I am indulging in a Christmas without prompts. Yesterday I decided that. I reached in boxes and grabbed bits of garland and snarled up coils of bells and shiny balls and stuck them here and there – including the middle of a double doorway. Just keep to the right and if you brush the hanging “decoration”, well, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings, right?

I found a tree about 15 inches high that had been packed under something heavy; it was flat – spatula flat. I sat there with it between my knees and tugged and twisted little branches until it was rehabilitated, added some red berries and tiny silver bead garland and sat it on a window sill with a little stuffed hedgehog completing the outdoorsy motif. At least I think it’s a hedgehog; if it’s a tiny beaver, there could be trouble.

There was a to-do about Duck Dynasty? It is already the week-end before a mid-week Christmas? I receive text messages on my phone asking, “Where are you?” and read them hours later? Perhaps my phone and laptop and ipad are syncing and forgetting about me – which makes me think of some futuristic movie I once saw, but can’t remember anything more about it.

So, in visualizing my situation, I am thinking of those twisting ribbon loop problems on tests – you know, the kind that want to know if Point A in on the outside or inside of the loop. Still, giving it a bit more thought, I see my circumstance is different . . . Heck, I’m not even on the loop.

Being an action figure this week may be tricky; maybe I should just be an applique on a pillow.

I’m back, and guess what, there are no maids at this place. And Christmas a week away! Zounds! So this is what I am going to do: I am putting my iphone in my pocket after selecting “music” on the menu, placing earphones in my ears, and then tying a scarf around my head to keep the earphones securely in place. Some of you think I am kidding; others definitely do not. As my husband says, I grew up at an age when I thought “I Love Lucy” was a training manual, so you can bet the latter group is correct.

I am using my iphone so little beeps will tell me if a call is coming in. I don’t know how much cleaning and preparing I will get accomplished but I, myself, should be a festive sight.

I feel wimpy; I remember temperatures in double digit negative numbers and wind chills to boot. It is only 8 degrees outside and I scurried like a little squirrel to run out into the back vestibule. What if I don’t have the courage to reach out the front door for any packages being left for Christmas delivery?

You know, I may have to break down and actually PUT ON A COAT and ear muffs . . . because I am getting older and wimpier. Or, perhaps, just maybe, could it be? I am getting a little common sense. Naaaah. Not AmeliaJake.

Of course, if you really want to see people who laugh at any temperature above zero, you can come with me and watch the high schoolers pour out of the building after school . . . some in shorts. No kidding.

Actually, this cavalier attitude is more of a modern thing – not much in evidence when we walked to school, did not have enclosed malls, had mailboxes out by the roadway . . . and were handed a snow shovel and aimed out the door