Well, ain’t this great? No one was hurt. The roads right around the intersection of Washington Center Road and St. Joe Road were very icy. Something happened in front of us . . . and it was loud and crunchy. It was also cold while talking to a bunch of police that gathered around all the cars involved.

The other accident people were very polite; the police were very polite; the car rental people were really polite; the insurance people were really polite; I was very polite; Cameron was really polite. I think the Buick is, as the French say, LaCrosse. And, see, I can still pun politely, though I feel like punching the wall.

It has just occurred to me that Street Foods are not the same as Road Kill.

I am just a wee bit younger than Joe Kenda; let’s just say that Joe and I are separated by almost two years. Had I been born on the 28th of August rather than the 27th, he would be two complete years older. Oh, if you don’t know who Joe Kenda is, well, don’t feel bad, because I myself was out of touch with cable TV for a few years. But last year, someone turned on the ID channel when I was walking through the room and Homicide Hunter was on. I got sucked in and watched, and the next day I mentioned the show to the man who was installing new lights in my kitchen:

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “my wife and I really like that show.” So we got to talking about Kenda and a couple of other shows that were on ID that summer of 2016. I can’t remember who was the person in the other show, but I do remember remarking that I thought that fellow was quite off-putting and he agreed. As I said, it was summer and there was sort of a Kenda marathon going on to fill space, several days worth of shows and, well, I began to watch them. I had no idea the show had been on for what? four or five years?

Because I am who I am, I pulled out my laptop and started researching Kenda and his career. I discovered his show is extremely popular with just about everyone. He is very smart and can talk for quite a while in short sentences that use words that belie an education and he does not fall back to the “Uh . . .uh . . .uh” mumbling that so many of us use when relating a story.

And, yes, he does tell stories – stories that are actually accounts of the cases he worked on in Colorado Springs in a 20+ year career in which he became the head of the Major Crimes Division. He says he has a great memory; I believe him. Either that or he is making it up as he goes along, but that wouldn’t work because the only way not to ensnare himself in inconsistencies  would be to remember what he had said. That, of course, would require a great memory, so going back to square one, he probably does remember things really, really well.

That was sort of an awkward sentence, but at least by typing, I could just pause and not have to go “Uh . . .uh . . .uh.” He does have a few catch phrases that have caught viewers’ fancy and found the way to posters, mugs and whatever. “My, my, my” and “Really?” are two that jump to mind. Of course I realize “Really?” is not  a phrase; it is one word. However, with Kenda’s intonation and facial expression, it seems to say a lot along the line of Boy, are you lying to me and we’re going to get to the bottom of this . . . and you will wind up on that bottom.

It is not unlike John Wayne and “Pilgrim” or  his trademark, “Welllll, yeah.” Why do I compare Wayne and Kenda? Because when I was much younger, I remember the constant remark regarding men trying to “John Wayne” it. I can’t help but wonder if there are a bunch of cops (police persons) out there who are trying to be cool and calm now like Kenda. Maybe the wives of such men are nagging them to be more Kenda-like – soft voice, polite, not distracting from his message by yelling. Actually, I feel sorry for some of the police people who probably have to endure ribbing about Kenda. Human nature being what it is, you know it goes on.

So, Joe, if anything shady happens here at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, it’s not  your jurisdiction, just like it’s not Columbo’s. Not that anything would happen, shady, that is.

Perhaps one person will recognize the reason for me linking to this post.

And, Lordy, when you are looking at a resale house, there is the matter of the structural condition of the house. Now, that’s basic, but it often gets overlooked, quite frankly, by the cosmetics of the interior.

Right now I’m thinking about a sturdy brick house with lots and lots of room so you don’t get cabin fever in the long Northern Indiana winters. This would be one with big bedrooms that actually come off of what is an upstairs lobby, not a cramped hallway. This house might have a 30 foot living room with western exposure, with one end of the living room connecting to a paneled den with a working fireplace that has a south and west wall of windows and the other end that has two sets of French Doors, one leading to an enclosed and separately heated porch, where the windows let in lots of light filtered by woodsy evergreens outside that provide privacy in town. This sentence is getting long, so let me start another one. Another set of French Doors gives entrance to dining room, and, yes, there’s a long kitchen through a swinging door, so if you’re being informal, the two rooms can blend together and if you are (cough, cough) being a little fancier, you can keep the swinging door shut so that diners don’t have to know cooking the meal might have been a little messy.

I’m thinking about this fictional brick house that has a basement that contains a large common room, a knock about catch all room, a fruit cellar, a dedicated furnace room and a separate stairs to the garage.
If memory serves right, this house has a front vestibule and a back vestibule to keep the outside at bay when doors are opened.

Aspirin is one of my best friends, and if you add a little caffeine and a wee bit of sugar to the mix, it will go the extra mile for you. I am learning as I age just how many muscles I have; and I am glad for them, don’t jump to the conclusion I am complaining, which is what I am wont to do.

I have been bustling around – unfortunately, some folks have bustled behind me finding “new” floor space on which to drop things. Ah, is there room for sarcasm here? Most definitely.

Hedge and bush trimming went well for quite a while, until I was watching a certain section of the cord so carefully to make certain I did not cut it that I cut another section. DRAT! Perhaps better than the time I tripped and weedwhacked my leg, though. I don’t remember why, but there was a reason I could not release the trigger immediately.

I saw a man mowing a tiny stretch of lawn with a big tractorlet mower and spent quite a long time wondering how he turned around. I also saw an older man, short with white hair (no helmet) on a huge, huge white motorcycle; his toes just touched the ground as we waited for a red light to change. It is not tactful to say, but if this is part of his bucket list, I would say he’s gotten pretty far through the list already.