Often when I look at the Internet news headlines, I see a little camera icon at the end. That means you have to watch it; you can’t quickly click and see the text of the article. No, first comes a commercial and then the introduction of the story and reporter and, finally, the story.

If you want to linger over a part of the story or go back to check on something, too bad. Well, I find that annoying.

Just now, I saw there was a story on Cooper Manning, the eldest brother. And it was one of those “watch” ones. Yes, it was interesting to hear Cooper’s interpretation of the Manning accent, but I really would have appreciated not having to listen to all the repartee between anchorperson and onsite reporter.

Okay, all day yesterday one family member worried that we would be snowed in beyond all snowed in periods of the past. We would never be able to get out of the house again  and, gasp, Wal-Mart trips would be a thing of the past. Ah, dare I dream of such a blessed outcome.

It snowed, but at 4 am, when I looked out the porch door as Sydney went to reconnoiter a location for his outdoor privy, there was very little on the ground and none on the bushes. An hour changed that and soon the school closing started moving across the bottom of the TV screen.

I got the worried nurse to the hospital, although I did take the precaution of leaving Sydney at home in case I were to slide and crash, slide and wind up on a curb or in a ditch, slide and slide and cause him to be jolted around the car and injure himself.

A dastardly freezing rain or really wet snow or, judging from the perfectly round ice balls on my trunk, hail smacked into windshield and clogged the windshield wipers. I ended up driving with my head hunched down to look out under the wiper arc for awhile – sort of in the posture of a little old lady with severe neck osteoporosis. It was slick and the intersection were ruts and humps of snow, shoved by cars turning and plows doing the same.

A short trip and actually  enchanting  once I was headed back down Riley Street. I got home; let the dog out and took some pictures of the night and the snow and the dog and the light left on for anyone wanting to come home.

Aha, I was just sitting here with the TV on Fort Wayne’s CBS at a low volume and when I shifted my laptop, I caught a glimpse of the screen. (You have to realize that some of my mornings I look at the laptop while in a deep sofa slouch; well, you don’t have to, but it would be helpful to understand why I could not see the screen.)

By the way, the TV was on CBS in the first place because I looked this morning to see if East Noble was going to have a delay. They did not.

Getting back to that moment when I saw the screen, the name Dorko was being broadcast and there was his picture. Not a bad looking man at all. Trim and distinguished.

Just last week, I happened on the Dorko name and wrote a little about it. And now there he is on television. Oh, Good God, I looked again and the show is “Martha”. Now, that’s great; Martha Stewart drives me crazy. She goes to prison and comes back to a TV show and design collections with department stores and Kodak Film Gallery.

Well, Martha is neither here nor there and I guess I should climb on the wagon, take the pledge – no more Dorko remarks. It just lends itself so easily to that sort of thing . . . No excuse. Get a grip on yourself. Have some class, AmeliaJake.

I must protect the little diesel with some more Diesel 911 because the temperature is supposed to plummet later today and over night. Well, if plummet is the word, then I guess it is supposed to happen fast, and checking in with the weather site, I see that a significant drop is looming during a couple of late night hours, followed by a continued downward trend.

45 Degrees today; high of 19 tomorrow.

Block heater to be plugged in; diesel protected from windchill; additive in fuel tank.

In the dentist chair at 9:00 in the morning. Hey, that’s not bad; it’s getting up and being clean at that time. I am more of a later in the day person, not to mention an on my own schedule person.

My teeth are fine; I should floss more but they are okay. Most of them are over 53 or so years old because they are my second teeth – my real ones, in you will – and  I’m 59. They can still wreak havoc on a hamburger, though, and are strong enough for corn on the cob and steak.  Maybe next year I will have some fillings replaced – some of the old, old ones.

I learned my lesson about not keeping watch on my teeth; a filling cracked and fell out of one – bit by bit, or bite by bite – and more decay started, followed by a really painful abscessed tooth. It had to come out and now I have a one-tooth bridge. That is the only tooth I have lost due to cavities. Lucky, lucky in the genetic tooth department, or maybe the fluoride in the water category.

I love my teeth. Is that too strong an emotion? It is not the way they look but what they do for me – such as staying with me and not leaving me to fiddle with dentures that might fall out when I sneeze. Don’t laugh; that happened to Harold Hagerty in the basement of the  Scott Methodist Church when he was on election day duties. Oh, actually, I think everyone laughed at Harold and I know the story was retold a lot. In fact, look, I am retelling it now.

I used to hate being tone deaf. Actually, I didn’t know I was until midway through elementary school. I should have guessed. My mother asked me to sing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and then laughed; well, I remember that moment. I asked what was wrong and she said, “Oh, nothing.” Yeah, right.

Then in second grade, the music teacher came in and had each child come up and sing back to her the notes she had just sung. I had no idea what was going on. Then it was my turn: the teacher and the kids laughed at me and I didn’t know why. It was awful.

Today I read that a gentleman had written he could only manage to listen to a vinyl record 10 times before being annoyed by this distortion caused by needle meeting vinyl. Heavens to Betsey, it is amazing to me that anyone could pick up something such as that. Frankly, I listen to music for the cheerfulness factor – and the lyrics.

Here’s something that will shock music fanciers: I like The Stein Song by Rudy Vallee as sold by itunes. It is tinny and fuzzy and oh, so great. And I never get annoyed.

Come on, everybody sing . . . and sing ’til the rafters ring.

I forgot to look and see what J.A.K.E.S. stands for; that is, I forgot to look again. I looked once but I can’t remember. Anyway, maybe it is a secret since it involves our dear Jakey whom we dearly love, but who does have a tendency to run afoul of the law. Jake has many entrepreneurial enterprises and often does his own law work. Maybe we will post a picture of the Jakester quite soon.

Some things I skim over and Dorko was one of them; that’s the last name of the new head guy at Lutheran Hospital. Then I saw it again . . . and it registered. Now, I feel for this man, I really do. I know he is a very successful man, and no doubt quite well off financially. I don’t know how old he is or when the term “dork” entered the vernacular, but it is probably not something is is happy about.

Excuse me, I am going to do a Google search. Ah, here it is – a reference to the word: Dork , and here is part of that entry verbatim:

Dork is a term used to describe someone who has unusual interests and is, at times, silly or stupid. A dork can also refer to someone who acts on his own motives without caring about his peers’ opinions. The term occasionally implies stupidity, though perhaps less often than it once did, and it can paradoxically imply an unadmirable (bookish, academic) intelligence, much like the terms “nerd” and “geek.”

. . . The adjectival form of dork is dorky, a word that was mainstream enough by 1971 to appear in a Peanuts comic strip.^[3]

Oh, that 1971 mainstream reference means he has been dealing with it for some time; maybe it is the reason for his success. I know, I know, it probably represents a proud family – quite possibly of Dutch descent. There is nothing wrong with Dorko as a last name, not really. But, gee, it does kind of take you by surprise in a headline. He could have taken a French bent and changed the spelling to Dorkeaux and moved to Louisiana; heck, that kind of sounds like a name in a novel:

The dew lingered on the vines growing along the edge of the veranda where the morning shade kept the sun’s heat at bay. Mr. Dorkeaux always took his coffee there when weather allowed, often gazing across the lawn that rolled down to the river where Suzanna had first climbed in the boat that eventually spirited her away.

Ever so polite detectives had come and asked questions, left, returned and finally disappeared into the the same river mist that had closed in on the scene all those years ago. Suzanna Dorkeaux had become one of the wisps of Southern family history who every now a then appear in shadowy form on the outskirts of a evening lawn party. It was whispered that her travels – as Mr. Dorkeaux referred to them – had taken her to places where she could find no rest, no peace. And so, she was drawn back to her marriage home – Dorky Park.

Oh, no, no, no, no, nix that idea.

Of course, as I said, Joe Dorko has done well for himself.

Maybe my last name should have been Bozo.

This is Charley, the trolley. He got the name Charley when Quentin was little; he misheard the trolley word and so Charley was initiated into our world. Charley used to run around a little tiny railroad, but over the years lost his track . . . or we lost track of it. He stayed for a long time in the china cabinet and on my bookcase, and then I took it into my head to put him on the tree in the sitting room.

He has the job of taking the elves back and forth between the beach and cliffside resort where they spend the off-season.

Hi there,

I’m the Gingerbread Man. AmeliaJake was going to write about me and how sweet I look hanging on the tree. Then she saw the way the camera captured my facial expression and she is backing away slowly. By the way, it only appears as if I am carrying a bat; that is the side view of a flat ornament behind me.

Do I look a wee bit bent out of shape to you? I am. I am tired of Maxwoo and her insatiable appetite for my kind, as she calls us – Tasty Boys.

AmeliaJake was going to say how much she enjoys putting me on the tree and watching the lights reflect on my copper. She tucked me away for the year all comfy in a folder paper towel, gave me a little kiss even, but now she is considering resting something heavy on the lid. Foolish old lady, I have already escaped.