Some titles sound so intriguing; however, some blurbs about books are very vague. I think some people don’t want to hurt the author’s feelings, having been in that place themselves and others heeded their mothers who told them, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” A lot of times this does not help a potential reader.

And then, sometimes, someone – oh, say AmeliaJake – might tease around about a title, having a little fun, only to get a hot email from the author claiming AJ was a sinner for reviewing a book without reading it. ???? It was a joke about a title. AJ, whose real identity will remain secret and no way connect to moi, was just glad she hadn’t made a funny about a Mafia hit man . . . or an angry lady with a cream pie in her hand and a good aim.

I was looking at a book this morning, lured by the title, and then started through some reviews. Most led me to believe I really wouldn’t like it that much, mainly because of subject matter. But I have been known to be wrong before. However, while considering it, my eyes glanced over to the right sidebar and I read this: I hardly know what to say about this magical, yet creepy, little book.

Believe me, it helped, and if I miss out on the greatest masterpiece of the 21st century, well, so be it.

I’m been up since about four this morning wrestling with the age-old (not quite) question: Can infectious gunk be transferred over the Internet? I am pondering this while my body is aching, my nose running and my breathing making this odd sound in my throat; I am pondering this because Pottermom had The Gunk. She is in Texas; I am in Indiana. I do believe I am (up-to-this point) living proof that Gunk, Gunkoids, Gunklets can find their way across the ether, enter my screen and leap out on me.

They leaped; they made a beachhead; they are heading inland.

When Pottermom wrote she had The Gunk, I felt sad for her . . . I guess I didn’t really “feel her pain”, but I do now.

I just realized, since I have established The Gunk can travel over the Internet . . . then I am, uh, passing it on. You see, when you are not feeling well, you don’t think things through adequately. I suppose I am a vector. Rats! AmeliaJake . . . out-smarted and used by The Gunk.

Since I had just finished a Cipro treatment, I took another home UTI test to verify that the tests were accurate. It turned dark purple again so tomorrow I have to go in and give another specimen. Just thought I’d mention it . . . you’re welcome.

Last spring it seemed March would never end and now it is already almost half a year later and I realized the Apple Festival is coming round again. I’ve been to a lot of them; I especially remember the year it spit snow and I had on leather soled shoes and my feet were freezing when I ate my apple burger.

I also remember the year the temperature was almost 90 and the apple fritter cookers could only do 10 minute shifts over the vats.

They used to have trolleys that ran from the Main Street area to the Fairgrounds, but they had to go to enclosed buses because some jerks decided to yell out obscenities from the open air trolleys. Yeah, that was cool.

We – meaning a changing number of people from the PBC & R – usually walk over and make our decisions on the spot as to eat something depending on the temperature and the crowds. The Swine Barn, is home to scores of crafters and in the center, with bales of hay for seating, is the performance area. I see Wes Leninkugal is coming again and so I will probably make a point of being there at that time. A couple of years ago I bought his CD that included various stringed instruments. Unfortunately, later I stepped on it.

The Wellspring Fiddlers were a family and I don’t think they come any more – which is too bad. I took pictures of one of the years past, however, showing the group and Mother, Summer and Alison,

That’s great uncle as in the son of his nephew. The nephew is Eric and this is his new son, Jackson Rodney. I, of course, am a great-aunt only because I married someone older than myself.

And here is a picture of the little guy with his grandmother.

Oh, and the middle name of Rodney? Well, that’s because the baby is named after his grandfather, Rodney, who is Der Bingle’s brother. Yes, he has more brothers than just the infamous LZP; in, fact, there were six boys in all – Der Bingle is the oldest and Rodney is #5. LZP’s number is classified by order of the Gnome Alliance.

Yesterday we took Robert down to the ortho doctor because the ankle he demolished in 2006 is acting up again; he is wearing his orthopedic boot now and when he sits down, it sticks out if front of him. I knew this and yet I walked past the loveseat on the porch the way I normally do and tripped over it.

I went down hard and squarely on my kneecap and it hurt and then it didn’t hurt much anymore. It looked okay and continued to do so until about three this afternoon when I looked down at my knee and thought, “Is that a ridge growing out of it?” I called to Alison who came out and said it was growing and that you almost expected it to start talking to you. So, since it was Friday afternoon . . . well, I went to the ER, in a peg-legged sort of way.

I had x-rays and found out nothing was cracked, broken or dislocated. It is severely contused they say and I have a prescription for pain medicine because I believe they think in the middle of the night, it may feel different than it does now. So here I sit with my leg in a compression bandage and instructions to stay off of it as much as I can for a while.

I suppose I should have fish for supper . . . because I’ve got a fine kettle of them.

I saw there was a comment on the last post; it was from Pottermom. It contained this computer talk: http://www.americanthinker.com/blog/2013/09/slowing_the_biden_juggernaut.html. This is it in a quick LINK. If you go there, you will see this picture:

I may be talking about craziness, but this, this is madness.

So, I think I was a little loose in my description of my state of craziness, or, perhaps, what could be called my craziness aspirations. (See Previous Post) Pottermom mentioned the jump the shark reference going back to Happy Days and, so, I went and looked it up too. I guess when you jump the shark, you do something so gimmicky that you start to decline in your essence. Well, something along those lines . . . whatever.

What I really meant was that I felt my craziness was reaching a really high level, breaking boundaries. I meant, I think, it was going sublime.

sub·lime (s-blm)
adj.
1. Characterized by nobility; majestic.
2.
a. Of high spiritual, moral, or intellectual worth.
b. Not to be excelled; supreme.
3. Inspiring awe; impressive.
4. Archaic Raised aloft; set high.
5. Obsolete Of lofty appearance or bearing; haughty: “not terrible,/That I should fear . . . /But solemn and sublime” (John Milton).
n.
1. Something sublime.
2. An ultimate example.
v. sub·limed, sub·lim·ing, sub·limes
v.tr.
1. To render sublime.
2. Chemistry To cause to sublimate.
v.intr. Chemistry
To sublimate.
[French, from Old French, sublimated, from Latin sublmis, uplifted.]

I was thinking I was forging new pathways of crazy. It is possible that I just jumped for that high, unreachable star and didn’t make it and fell into the shark’s mouth. Yes, that makes sense.

I have decided to jump the shark of craziness. I do not know what this means exactly, but I guess we will find out. oh, here’s a hint: I am wearing my Esther Yoder Hair and my Emu boots with shorts.