So, this morning we woke to a 2-hour delay, and . . . and it is past eight and there are no extensions – no 3-hour delays and no closings. I know from personal conversation with the “delay czar” here in the East Noble district that they make the decision, if at all possible, by eight. And it is after eight . . . fa la la la la la la la.

Now it is 8:07 and it is holding. Zippity doo dah.

Of course, Summer and Cameron and Colin will probably not share my interpretation of this news.

But I am dancing, dancing. Too much enthusiasm?

I was awakened early this morning – which would have been 4:45 in the A of M, as every now and then I hear someone say. So I decided to look on the Internet for the weather and whatnot because it is verrry cold this morning and I suddenly had a desperate need to know how cold.

Well, the Internet provider is having some problems so here I am in Word, which tried to sneak in Times New Roman on me instead of my usual Geneva. Once upon a time, I had a font that presented like words clipped out of a newspaper on a ransom note. I kind of liked that. Heck, I liked it a lot, but there weren’t too many things I could use it for since anything longer than “We have Hazel. Put $500,000 in a brown paper bag and leave at the big tree at the corner of Elm and Fifth. Do not contact police.” got a little overwhelming.

We are to finally decorate the tree today and, Bob, I feel for you. It is not that I do not want to decorate but I am in a phase of delicate lights and a few special ornaments and just about everyone else here is voting for a brightly-lit tree laden with every ornament in the house, including all the school project decorations.
I know – that will make it family and friend oriented and “special” but I am thinking Bob will look like a boob, sort of a brightly-lit post-it note board.

I guess it is in the eye of the beholder. Last evening my eyes were filled with George C. Scott images as Scrooge . . . but I dozed off before the “see the light of Christmas spirit” scenes and think I may have been “humbugged and bah-ed” – maybe a Stockholm Syndrome thing.

I believe I detect a note of irritation in my posting this morning. Oh, really, AmeliaJake? Why is that?
Well . . . I don’t really know. Perhaps I need to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” over and over and over again. I may be low on my “Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls; Merry Christmas, you old Bailey Savings & Loan” spirit level.

Yes, that’s probably it.

Yes, sitting on the sofa on the porch. I have been doing domestic things instead of plopping myself in one spot at the PBC & Roadhouse and pontificating. Gathering leftovers and bagging them for freezing . . . cutting up a ham for slices later on . . . grinding up the chunklets of ham remaining for h-o-m-e-m-a-d-e ham salad. (The proceeding typed out approximately to the rhythm of “Bringing in the Sheaves”.) Then I put a roast into cook and then I made cupcakes and then I browned Sydney’s ground chuck for his special dietary rice and meat and dogfood supper. (Now that sentence was quite a bit like alternate lyrics squeezed into the Twelve Days of Christmas rhythm. )

Maybe you are stuck back on the cupcake section. Yes, I can understand that; that is sooo not AmeliaJake. Actually, I am hoping that Summer will decorate them and leave me in peace. Of course if Colin comes in first and sees them and yells, “CUPCAKES!!!!” it could be bad since Summer is in spirit a wolverine. Oh, well, let the games begin.

UPDATE: YES!!!!!!

Tomorrow is “tree day” as in bundle up and trudge out and select a spruce or fir and saw it down and put in on the wagon and haul it back to the barn and pay for it and have it bagged and stuck in the trunk. This is only the lead-up, however, to the “putting the tree up” which for years involved the stand, usually strong cord and frustration. Things have gotten a lot better, though, since I invested in my beloved Krinner tree stand. I just need to remember to cut the tree low to the ground so we will have plenty of stump.

I are so fond of this stand . . . I’m swooning.

Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse is getting spruced up . . . .spruced . . . get it? Hahahahahahahahaha. Over the top again, heh?

A BASKETFUL OF SANTAS

ERNIE and BERT

SUMMER’S WREATH – from scratch, i.e grapevine on.

NO, I DIDN’T DECORATE THIS DOG . . . these are just things waiting to go up, but hey, he doesn’t look bad.

UH . . . LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE

Religion is something I don’t talk about much. I don’t know about miracles or God-given truths. I don’t know about a lot of things involving the universe and dimensions and philosophical stuff. I have come to realize I am bunch of electrical connections in my brain that make me eccentric and iconoclastic and not naturally nice. But in the past couple of years I have come to realize that Christian principles are pretty important and good guidelines. And I have discovered that gritting your teeth and taking the “should do – would be best” route is a sound decision, even though all your little fibers yearn to  throw a tantrum and/or bang your head on the steering wheel.  Maybe that is what finding God is . . . realizing that you have the potential to be a wise cookie. And maybe the real glory of Christianity is that a group of people actually gathered to pay attention to the teachings of caring and kindness and, well, just being decent.

OKAY – We return you to your regular scheduled AmeliaJake . . .

Okay, I just heard the name of someone I didn’t know existed in Scully, Mulder history – William – and I don’t know who he is. Must research. Aha, here’s someone’s synopsis: Right Here.

This guy . . . I forgot to tell you about him last night. He looks kind of awful; that’s because when Summer and I were in the general room of the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse by the room divider, which is actually up against a real wall, I reached for him while saying, “Hey, let’s decorate the Colt.” And his helmet fell off. Right on the floor. We laughed.

hahahahahahahahhahaahaha. We are not kind; last year we called him “loser boy.” Okay, I started it, but the others picked it up.

We decided to glue his helmet back on – only we couldn’t find the Gorilla super glue and had to use regular Gorilla glue.  First Summer attempted to reattach some skin (flesh-colored paint) on his forehead and the piece broke into several littler pieces that had no intention of sticking. So we went on to the helmet and the head. Noticing Summer had put quite a lot of glue on the helmet, something clicked in the back of my mind . . . but didn’t reach the front until the moment she was going to put helmet and head together. “Put him upside down or the glue will run on his face,” I yelled. Good thought, Grandma. But, uh, when I was in the kitchen making a crunchy foldover and getting a Diet Coke, I noticed glue had overflowed the helmet and run down the outside and he was . . . gluing himself to the counter. I called the surgeon and she pulled him off the counter – but his helmet flew off as she turned him upright and hit the floor again.

So he dried standing up and this is what happened in close-up. Gotta love the tip of the nose glue drip.

Loser Boy.

(Sorry, that was cruel . . . very cruel . . . heartless . . . unkind–What the heck; he gets millions.)

My grandmother was born on December 1, 1881 – so yesterday she would have been 127 years old.  She used to get an orange for Christmas. Now, today, I saw a lighted cow lawn decoration at Meijers. I was too stunned to take out my phone and take a picture, so I will go back with my real camera and get some shots. I don’t know if I will show them to my friend “Moo” or not.

Oh, someone already did that and you can see it on flickr HERE

Yesterday I bought a four-pronged cane at an auction . . . for me. The cane, not the auction. There I was standing on a sore knee and right in front of me was the cane. I bid; I got it for two dollars. So, yes, I am definitely going to the doctor about it this week – buying a cane in front of everyone at an auction seems to be a fair sign that I have accepted the fact I have a knee problem that is not going to fade away.

A knee problem . . . and, auuugggghhhhh, sciatica. Let’s see: If one half of AmeliaJake started walking east from San Diego, taking four aspirin every few hours and the other half of AJ started walking west from the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, taking six aspirin periodically, where would they meet and merge and discover the need for stomach care?

Hmmm . . . the eastward walking AJ half would reach mountains first and that sounds painful. Of course a strong winter wind streaming across the prairie could push back the westward walking AJ half. I’ll bet I need calculus for this.

Yes, the day after Thanksgiving – and my performing of all those domestic and culinary tasks that have never been my forte. Last night, I was thinking, “Oh, sweet sofa.”  I remember waiting to watch the weather channel show on the Hindenberg and then my glasses were off and the TV was off and it was, oh, about 2am.

So now we move into Christmas and I am hesitant about decorating – chasing festivity as it were. I am going to try and convince everyone the pathway to festive feeling and good cheer is through cleaning. But wait! Start now and you can get more cleaning time and chores. Yours free. Just call AmeliaJake now and say, “I want to be a member of the Christmas Festive Cleaning Brigade. We can play Cleaning Carols and drink your form of festive grog – Coke, beer, whiskey, wine, Diet Coke. I’ll even break out the Diet Cheerwine.