I see that I did not come back to comment about the birthday, and for that matter, I did not come back at all. I thought I had been here yesterday, though, but I guess not. I have just come from Thomas Bickle’s blog, written by his mother.

I find when I go to his site, right as it is mounting on the computer, I instinctively look to his light, the amber one on the western window sill. I look before I think; I am looking to see if it is still on. That is silly and I know it. First of all, what happens in Texas is not going to affect this little light in Indiana; second, Thomas’ light will always shine, even during the times when the light bulb is changed. Thomas and his parents have touched me and Thomas’ light will always be in my heart.

We are having a party here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse to celebrate Der Bingle’s friend’s birthday today. We won’t type the number . . . because someone here is going to be that age in one month and one day. (But for right now, she is not . . . sorry, just a little ill-conceived ha ha there. Well, hmmm, you can guffaw when she is “that number”  and what do they say? He that laughs last, last best? But, of course, he will  be laughing last because it’s one month and one day later. hahahahahahah. Uh, sorry again.)

Deep breath here as we continue to settle down and wish our Georgia buddy a Happy Birthday and work some more on his present – yes, a present being made with our own little hands. We are too silly this morning; we will come back later.

The CheerWine worked. I feel better. I had a good heart-to-heart with my friend Spikey

and she got me listening to upbeat hymns. Well, I guess they aren’t hymns – they are more like religions songs: That Old Time Religion, Standing in the Need of Prayer, Count your Blessings.

I can see my husband’s grandmother and two-great aunts – they would be Liddy, Cuba and Venda – standing in the kitchen drying dishes singing Count your Blessings. . . . See what the Lord hath done. Perky religious songs.

Oh, by the way, Spikey was first mentioned at the RED PIANO.

I have not been in a good mood lately, and this early afternoon exclaimed, “I am not going to be your patsy, anymore.” Whoa, big talk for a short, fat, getting older woman. In fact, maybe I should start carrying an old-fashioned Margaret Thatcher type of handbag so I can whop people over the head or in the solar plexus.

How do you spell “whop” as in “to hit”  – It doesn’t look right. Maybe I should say wallop.

Oh, what the heck.

I think I will apply for a drill sergeant job so I can yell at someone up one side and down the other, give them a good dressing down and make them run five miles real fast right after having fed them spaghetti – spicy spaghetti . . . and then I will run over and perform the Peter Finch role is the post’s play . . . I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.

Perhaps I need drugs . . . I kid.

I am going to shower and then drink a Diet Cheer Wine.

For the past few weeks this show about Jon and Kate and their twins and sextuplets has been running at a marathon pace on TLC. It used to be The Learning Channel; now it has evolved into the tabloid station. Ten Years Younger; What not to Wear, A Baby Story, Baby Coming Home (or whatever that title is), Trading Spaces. And now, hour after hour of Jon and Kate. Acccccck.

Blue sky, temperature in the 70’s and a breeze. It is uplifting and makes you feel like partying. I don’t know how I would like all days being like this. Isn’t that odd?

It was a long one – this nightmare I had – but one part was so terrible and it wasn’t the part about me on a large bicycle on the highway having all sorts of problems. It was the part where I was in a taxi – an old boxy yellow one – and Sydney was somehow didn’t get in and was racing after the cab as it went faster and faster.

I screamed at the driver to stop, but he was driving from the back seat looked like a sadistic KGB thug . . . not that I have knowingly seen any. I started banging on the windshield and it began giving way like an odd sugar glass concoction. But all the time, Sydney was running harder and harder. It was awful, just awful.

I am still in that period of getting my emotions out of that after dream state that sometimes leaves you vowing you will never close your eyes again.

Once again we have received notification from Georgia about a very interesting story . . . THIS ONE.

Last fall the Georgia guy had a problem with pulmonary emboli and that was scary and bad. But he has done well and has even lost 40 lbs . . . and is planning to lose more. I am really proud of him. Of course, now he’s on my case. Can’t fast talk my way out of it, not up against his master of communication. Probably have to just lock my lips and throw away the key. Remember when teachers did that to get students to quiet down. No eating, no talking . . . oh, sheesh.

The coming in threes thing? Well, Phil on The Dangerous Catch had a blood clot goes to his lungs . . . and now Alex the Ice Road Trucker has one.

The one thing they all have in common – Bing’s friend, Phil and Alex – is that they all kept on going, instead of going to the doctor right away.

We’re glad things worked out . . . real, real glad.

I have tortoise shell frames on my face around my new lenses. I also have tortoise shell prescription sunglasses. I think maybe the regular glasses may look a little dorky and the sunglasses look cool. So I need to move to a sunny spot so I can wear my sunglasses all the time. Ah, but then, I should have purchased bifocal sunglasses. I think I will post a picture of my glasses sans face first to lessen the shock value. At my mother’s I think I will just wear a bag over my head.

I purchased them at Lenscrafters and was someone upset when it became apparent that many of the options are  . . . wait for it . . . special order. Hey, guys, the reason I went to you in the first place was to get my glasses immediately. As a pretty much lifelong spectacle wearer, I have had my share of waiting for glasses to come in. And I am a Baby Boomer; I expect things now.

But I have them and I learned that styles have changed a lot since I got my last pair in ’05; so many are like the little visor thing that Jordy wore on Star Trek. After years of metal frames, I am now back in plastic and while the warm color softens my face, they certainly do stand out. Then again, the wire ones were blending into the creases in my aging face and I looked like a Mennonite.