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I have come to really like sunny days; I have learned my lesson from this dismal Northern Indiana winter of 2007/2008. And today it is sunny, right now and it is predicted to remain so. If it does not, I may just have to go hunt Jim Cantore down. Today is also the Kendallville Home & Garden Show; it was yesterday too, but I forgot. I think my mind was dimmed by the overcast. It’s a small show, but, hey, what the hey? Or something like that.

What DID I do? I have an idea – something not correct when it comes to blog innards. Drat, this template business is no place for flying by the seat of your pants. Google Webmaster had this warning, and, yes, they called it a warning, on my dashboard sitemap slot:

URLs not followed

When we tested a sample of the URLs from your Sitemap, we found that some URLs were not accessible to Googlebot because they contained too many redirects. Please change the URLs in your Sitemap that redirect and replace them with the destination URL (the redirect target). All valid URLs will still be submitted.

Okay, I am going to have to think about this. It reminds me of science classes, especially chemistry, when the teacher announced that answers had to be exactly correct . . . something about the difference between blowing ourselves up or not. (See, that’s what I liked about math problems – you could make an error and not wind up with a “7” sticking out of your forehead.)

My grandson who is 15 decided today he wanted to watch The Ten Commandments, which is a long movie, but a good one. We rented it and he and his sister – age 11 – started watching it; I was around the corner in the other room finishing up some stuff, but listening to the dialogue as I worked. I could picture the scenes in my head from memory. I guess it was about the time Moses encountered the burning bush that I went in and drew up a chair. It occurred to me that my granddaughter, who was not particularly enthused about watching this “old” movie, would find the special effects humorous. To her credit, she didn’t say a word; I was the one thinking that it looked like an electric fireplace, and a bad one at that. Irony – it works in mysterious ways. I was the one thinking Charlton Heston; she was the one thinking Moses. I was the one visually examining the divided Red Sea; she was the one immersed in the drama. I was the one looking at Edgar G. Robinson and thinking “Chicago Gangster”; she was the one deploring his behavior.

So it ended and we moved into the kitchen for a snack. My grandson sported his signature grin and asked, “So who’s up for The Greatest Story Ever Told?”

I don’t deserve a present and I certainly don’t need one – but I want one; I want a gadget. Or, I wouldn’t mind going to the mall and getting some perfume and then sitting in the food court sipping on a mixture of fountain sodas. Maybe some nachos. A new phone? A new computer? A new house? A new locale? Gee, do you think I might have an emotional need that I am trying to appease with instant gratification? And it seems it needs to come from an external source; can I not reach inside myself and find something satisfying?

This is a rambling thing here; I was planning on doing something outside today, but the sun of the past two days has gone and we have the overcast we have had almost all winter long. I think that is where I am getting this downer feeling from. It was something to find oneself actually surprised to see blue sky and shadows. Sort of reminded me of becoming ill and staying that way and then one day getting better . . . and you didn’t realize how bad you felt until you recovered.

I had toxemia long ago when I was pregnant with what I thought was my first child. Actually, there were two, at the beginning. One died and I was quite ill, lots of edema and high blood pressure, groggy thinking and all that. The elderly and experienced physician had an inkling – but this was before the days of ultrasounds. He noted on my chart “twins?” quite early but the one died before he could distinguish two heartbeats, so there we were.

Just a few hours after delivery, my blood pressure was normal; the nurse was surprised. And all my thoughts were so much clearer.

I don’t know where this is going, other than to wonder how much I have so gradually changed over the years. If I suddenly could experience my 20+ year old body, would I be amazed at the difference in how I “felt”? I suppose so. I guess it would be best to appreciate my physical state now, rather than wonder about what it felt like in a couple of decades – if I make it that long.

Gee, I am more content.

No, no one would really rent a purse. A handbag is a different story, however. Handbag is Queen of England and the late Queen Mum; Margaret Thatcher knew a handbag was classier, that’s why the green grocer’s daughter carried one, somewhat to the alleged annoyance of the Queen. They – and I don’t know who I mean by that they – are now renting expensive handbags and jewelry to ladies. I am not surprised by this. Someone apparently listened to enough sales personnel talking about charity fundraiser customers “buying a dress” and leaving the tags on, but tucked in . . . and then, yes, returning the dress. Often they sported perspiration stains on the satin and enough of a leftover expensive fragrance to leave the sales people fuming. But, of course, they could say nothing to the wannabe Mrs. Astor’s. The rationale for the buyers/returnees was, of course, that the salon should be thankful for the – cough, cough – advertising . . . ooooh, such as commercial word, dontcha know.

Anyway, take a look at this website; I found it on the right sidebar of the Pioneer Woman’s site. Now, wait a minute. It strikes me that rental handbags and jewelry are on a site where people come to see men in chaps and lovely mares, not to mention calves losing nuts and vast vistas of the prairie. It strikes me as odd. Or not. I can see ladies wanting to feel a part of a western ranch life – wannabe pioneer women if you will. So this is a place where you advertise rental high fashion, designer wares? Is this target advertising . . . oh, the questions that conjures up.

No, wait, that should not be “Ah” at all; it should be “Auuuuggggghhhhh”. I decided that I’d fool around with my template and have a sitemap. Well, I did, and in doing so I discovered that one had been included in the theme I had chosen from WordPress. Okay, that is good. I thought I’ll submit this to Google search and I then came to think it may have already automatically have been submitted by my host because Google webmaster tools said one was submitted but had errors. Oh, so I made a sitemap with their generator and submitted that one which was accepted. I think I have goofed things up royally. Cripe. What a mess.

I got all the cans from the better part of this winter ready to the recycling place. It took a long time; some of the bags had broken, quite possibly because I had nudged them when backing up and they were covered with snow. Or maybe I nudged them on days when the snow had blown off and they were in plain sight – if it had been light. Of course, some times I didn’t think to look at all.

The temperature was warm enough for me to be out in shirt sleeves and there was a slight breeze from the southwest. I know this because when I straightened up to rest occasionally, the loose strands of my hair would blow around my face, and I would have looking to the northeast. There was a lot of time to think.

And I thought and I realized there are only so many times you can say “I’m sorry” to a gravestone before you realize you could have done one of two other things: lived my life better or said “I’m sorry” earlier.

My mother read an article about Belle Gunness and suggested I look her up on the Internet; seems she’s a serial killer that died in a fire in La Porte; no, wait, it might be that she faked her death and moved to California where she did a few more deadly deeds. So, I looked her up and found THIS, which takes the story up to the fire. I need more information, so I’m taking a deep breath and diving into the Google pool.

Gasp, gasp. Another LINK and they are both with a black background – this one has a line of dripping blood. And, then there is the Wikipedia entry –  stuff about Belle Gunness including the fact that a rock band in the Netherlands was named after her . . . and the lyrics to a folk song:

In old Indiana, not far from LaPorte,
There once lived a woman, a home lovin’ sort.
Belle wanted a husband, she wanted one bad,
She placed in the papers a lonely hearts ad.
Men came to Belle Gunness to share food and bed,
Not knowing that soon they’d be knocked in the head.
But while they were sleeping, she’d lift the door latch.
She’d kill them and plant them in her tater patch.

Well, I’ll have things to tell Mother tonight, not the least of which is that DNA testing is being planned for the Belle in the fire and the one in California.

I was watching a show a couple of nights ago; I don’t remember what it was, because I wasn’t really watching. The TV was on. Now, I think it was this show that had a segment about a French caver lost in a maze of caves and the things his brain automatically did to allow him to survive. Probably, I realize now, this was something on the Discovery Channel . . . the phrase “human limits” is tickling my memory.

It doesn’t matter where I heard it, and actually I am now worrying that I can’t remember what my primary activity was when the show was on. Rats, another senior moment. I’m been typing aimlessly here – although I tried to get you to assume there was a purpose – because I have delaying facing the dilemma of my lament about life being short and my overweight status. This comes right after I blogged about actually living better and actually losing ten pounds as well.

AAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.