Yesterday was my father’s birthday; he would have been 90. I was thinking about him off and on during the day and at one point mentioned to Der Bingle that if my father were alive and were turning 90, I would be worried about him dying. Der Bingle just dropped his head and sighed.

Yesterday I came across a stuffed moose and saw that Quentin and I had decided his name was Short Flat Moose. We wrote it on masking tape and stuck it on his butt. It was there yesterday when I turned SFM upside down, albeit yellowed and crinkled. Today I went to take his pictures and when I turned him rearward, there was no tag. I was taken aback and looked around the area. No tag. So I guess you will just have to take my word for it that he is Short Flat Moose. Of course, maybe he didn’t like his name and wants to change it. Maybe he would like “No Name on Butt Moose”.

It was a small fire, sort of a firelet. I was looking at the newspaper, searching for a Kroger ad about Holiday Season Sample Day* and one section flopped in the area of a votive candle.  A small black hole appeared and I yelled, ran to the sink and turned on the faucet. I was about to push the paper under the water when I thought, “Wait! This is the Living section; the sudoku is in it and it is Saturday and a 6-star one.” So to prevent the drenching of the puzzle, I splashed water on the fire area. The sudoku, Mother Goose & Grimm and Get Fuzzy were saved. (GF mentioned “the supreme cat” so we cut it out.)

I tore the sudoku out of the fire scene on the facing page and put it somewhere . . . . and never saw it again.

AUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

*More about this later. (The salmon cheeseball was delicious.)

Yesterday it was feet. Today I have worked my way up to knees. And the left one hurts. I walked by someone today who was remarking to a friend, “At 60, your body starts to fall apart.” Okay, that was uplifting.

Ah, I don’t want to talk about knees. I want to eat . . . a burrito. Here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, I guess I’ll have to hide in a closet to do so . . . or smother it with PB – an interesting, but not compelling, thought.

They are stretched out here in front of me and my light-weight thin-soled skechers feel wee bit tight, but I don’t want to slip them off – that will doom me to be sent on an errand or something. So I am leaving my shoes on and rotating my feet around, toes pointed at some far place. Yes, this is my moment: my feet. Thinking about my feet is keeping me from thinking about this post. I’m going to think feet some more; I think that is about all my mind is up to now.

Oh, I didn’t have to come back to check the spelling of hemorrhoid . . . because I didn’t blog about the management style of Rahm Emmanuel as described by a colleague: between a hemorrhoid and a toothache. So nevermind.

Indiana . . . what happened? My red state is blue? Well, in more than the color on the map. A lot of us are pretty blue this morning.

But then, we at the PBC&R are remembering a special warrior who quoted in 1976 another warrior:

I will lay me down and bleed a while
Though I am wounded, I am not slain
I shall rise and fight again.

So, let us get on with it . . .

I just came back from voting. It was a very solemn place. No one said anything really. No real smiles. Ironically, the day is beautiful here – blue skies and fall colors.

So, I vote today and I am wondering if this evening/night I will be saying, “Fasten your seatbelts; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

The dentist’s office called this morning; they had a cancellation and I was able to get my old filling replaced at 10:20 this morning. Well, to be honest, my dentist was alone in the office today and I had to sit in the comfy chair reading for about 45 minutes. Ah, yes . . . it was wonderful. They kept checking on me and apologizing for the wait and I’m telling them it’s fine. No one interrupting my reading. Oh, yeah.

So I have a new natural looking filling where there was metal before. We think the old one was allowing tiny parts of food get in and under it and causing discomfort; well, we’ll see how this one does.

After the numbing wore off, I ate a burrito supreme and had a mixture of Mountain Dew, Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, a splash of red punch, Baja Mountain Dew and  Sierra Mist. Don’t tell the folks here at the PBC&R.

Oh, no. It’s Venom 911. Of course, I must watch. Oh, heavens, a guy was bitten at a nursery. Ack.

Last night a KGB man in a fur hat and black leather trenchcoat was helping to give out candy at my house. With Sydney. I took a picture of them, but used my cellphone so I could forward it to Quentin and then didn’t really get one with my camera. I’m thinking, however, if I check the camera, I will find Alien Poo in a tree.  Summer hid behind the bushes; Alison put on a witch’s hat and Robert sat on the step with his black cast sticking out and actually did the ploppinp of  candy into little kids’ bags. Cameron (almost 16) slept through the entire thing. He came down later to mimic steering a car and saying, “Look out, small children.” (See entry below.)

I am going to the nursing home this morning (also see below) and will no doubt tell my story with many flourishes, acting out the parts of the K-9 cop, the dog and myself sobbing once I got home. I just felt that dog betrayed me: It was a speed trap. Well, get over it, AmeliaJake.

Hmmmm, I think I’ll wait until after the breakfast crowd to get over it. This morning, with every foldover will come a “tell over” of my distress.