First of all, I don’t usually put specific names in post titles, but I have a reason. If the company checks through blogs to see mention of their establishment, I wanted to point this out: I don’t like the new menu. The Roadhouse Burger is gone, for one thing. I had an “Old-fashioned Cheeseburger” which tasted okay,  but in terms of verbally-induced happy and party ambiance, was totally lacking.

But now, a few pictures.

*Gee, these kids look nothing like Der Bingle and me. Oh, but Summer wore a sweatshirt with our last name on the back. We tell her to back away from trouble. And Summer and I do have similar personalities – after all, we formed the Mean Girls Ice Cream Eating Club.

Der Bingle can get vocally upset about some things. My mother gets that way about most things. He and she have something in common – they can go over and over the grievance when something reminds them of it. Maybe someone in the world breathed in and out – that can get them going.

Today, Der Bingle calls to inquire about Summer’s mood and ask if Grover had been found.  Okay, I’m a little twitchy myself and refer to a “non-action” of someone else. That was enough to get the”inappropriate use of earphones” speech going. Now, I agree with it, as I agree with a lot of what Der Bingle thinks. However, he is sort of like one of those stuffed animals that has a built-in recording. You know, the kind that makes you look for and find a screwdriver and take the battery out . . . and hide the battery.

So, the twitchy one – me – twitched and exclaimed, “You’re like my mother: how many times have I heard about the snowplow man who refills her driveway and mashes down her snow shovel sculpted pillars   . . . and the man who mows his lawn too often  and . . .” I think we hung up then.

I call my mother to tell her about how she and Der Bingle have driven me bananas. She laughs and then says, “AmeliaJake, I have a serious question for you . . .  The refrigerator freezer is letting the ice cream get soft and the refrigerator section is warmer than it should be. Could it have something to do with the outside temperature?”

I know I need a brick wall to thunk my head against because I know Mother is not referring to the outside outside temperature. No, she is referring to the temperature outside of the refrigerator – that is, the temperature of the kitchen. Mother believes in heating by pilot light. Not that she can’t afford heat. She does this . . .  and other things because she is, well, Mother.

Yesterday, a particularly angled north wind was blowing, making the use of her favorite little wood stove in the kitchen unfeasible. She could have turned up the regular heat; she did not.She never does. It drives me crazy. She believes in putting on more sweaters. She believes in seeing her breath. She approved of Scrooge’s rationing of coal for the stove where Bob Cratchit worked.

Fortunately for me, Mother gave me some years ago a piece of a foam “brick” wall that I can put on a door and bang my head on when necessary. I use it a lot.

Actually, I am not a breadmaker, nor for that matter, a breadwinner. I am indebted to Der Bingle for just about everything.  Anyway, Cameron announced, oh, about a week ago, that he wanted to make bread. Well, okay, I thought, we can handle that. His mother, Alison, was thinking about homebaked bread herself, so things seemed to be working out.

There is a wee bit of a problem though; breadmaking is one of those things that really should be passed down from one person to another. I’m certain my grandmothers baked bread, and I think my mother knows and has worked with fancy breads . . . but we had storebought bread for our peanut butter sandwiches. Mother didn’t believe in letting me in the kitchen, telling my father that “anyone who could read, could cook”, thereby sliding away from the fact that so many aspects of skills are the tricks of the trade sort of thing.

So, I’m thinking this bread experiment would be the blind leading the blind and probably frustrating. I rounded up Der Bingle and we went to Wal-Mart and bought a BREADMAKER. We are in the process of making our first basic loaf. We may or may not post a picture of our first product.

UPDATE: Oh, I accidentally typed breakmaker as the post title – tempted to leave it. The bread was eaten before I could get a photo. Maybe tomorrow.

Here is Sydney’s new buddy from Rural King.

Then when we checked out with our tarp and stakes and dog treats, gummy worms and gummy bears and those yucky circus peanuts Der Bingle likes -as well as some wintergreen mints to send to Quentin along with a cute little brown resin bear that carries big bears hugs. The wintergreen mints are pink and Quentin got his love of them from my grandma whose first name was Jessie and who was born in 1881. I loved her dearly. A generational link that skipped two generations – my mother’s and mine – and ties together two who are so dear to my heart.

Oh, yeah, I also got gummy bears, but I’m not supposed to tell that to Der Bingle’s bear colony friends. But, anyway, here we were, checking out and the cashier says if we buy a Rural King burlap bag for $1.49, we will get 10% off our purchase. I say yes and then mention about buying a lawn tractor or something like that and getting 10% off. The cashier tells me, “It has to fit in the bag, Ma’am.”

Well, you know I watched “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” last night and a couple of days ago I was writing about Hub’s speech in “Secondhand Lions”. And, so now the lost cause mantra is in my mind – especially the part about lost causes being the only causes worth fighting for. I was puttering around upstairs, thinking that I needed a lost cause and this thought popped into my head: Look into the mirror, AmeliaJake.

Well, that’s self-pity. I’m not a lost cause; I can’t be; I love and care about enough people to not be a lost cause – to not let them down. And so, by gosh, I’m fighting for this non-lost cause. I may not be successful, but I am certainly going to try. Because, you know, I should try.

When Alison works as a nurse at the hospital, I drive her over sometime between 6:15 and 6:30 am. During quite a bit of the year, it is dark at that time – we are so far west in the Eastern Time Zone, dontcha know. When the snow is melting off the grass and fields and the landscape blends with the grey of asphalt, everything is dark. And when the sky is like coal, it is very dark.

When Alison works and I take her, I am doing a routine thing; I am not driving to the hospital because I am bringing someone ill there or because I have been summoned because someone I care about has been brought there. I keep in the back of my mind the fact that  people in other cars may be doing just that and that their minds may be distracted by distress and worry. I pay attention .For someone this morning, it was lucky that is the case.

All this happened in a fraction of a second – I saw movement and thought paper in the wind? an animal very close to the ground? Oh, my gosh, it’s a jogger! Just then Alison exclaimed, “Is that someone running?! What a fool!”

Yes, it was. In all dark clothing and athletic shoes that were not at all reflective or noticeable, a man was jogging and crossing in front of me. I did not hit him. But I barely saw him. It was so dark when I passed him, I could not make out anything other that he was tall and covered in dark clothing. He ran with arms bent at the elbows and held up by his chest.

After I had made the loop to drop Alison off, I passed him again on my way back.  I tried to see him – to see the look on his face – but it was too dark. I barely saw him running so very close to my car.

I imagine he will be at it tomorrow as well, at least this tomorrow.

Yes, sometime yesterday after arriving home from school and learning about Grover’s promotion to the president of the Coke company, Summer snatched him. I don’t know what good this will do her since Grover will undoubtedly use his double secret cell phone to activate the “No Coke for Summer under any Conditions” directive. We are trying to get a reading on his triple secret GPS signal, but we are beginning to think our engineers may have gone one secret too far.

I’m certain Grover would want us all to remain calm during this episode in his exciting life . . . and I believe I can heard his special message to me, AmeliaJake: “Keep Looking!!!”

Hey, you bears there with Der Bingle in the Fairborn cave . . . here is something you guys might consider. CLICK HERE.

Sydney and I are alone in the house. No other person is here.