I need to work harder at getting a picture of our cow tree here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse – a picture, that is, which will do it justice.

It’s a skinny Alpine tree, about four feet tall and we wanted it to be understated, so it has only 20 lights on it. They are, however, a nice warm golden glow. So far we have various cows on the branches, a cow angel at the top and, for some reason unknown to our consciousness, a pig and a chicken.

And, yes, the tree is leaning.

A picture soon – cross my heart.

I am comfy. I just looked on the news and saw shoppers looking as if they were in a mosh pit. I read that there was a big scramble for Black & Decker waffle makers; I don’t know if the shoppers emerged looking like waffles themselves or not.

I think if I were younger – much, much younger, I might entertain the thought of being part of an organized group to hit the stores and get some major bargains . . . a festive, youthful adventure with most of the fun being in the planning of the operation, the surgical precision – – – you know, the Special Ops kind of excitement. The aim would be to get some nice presents for people with a savings in money but an increase in effort and clever planning.

I don’t know, though, if the experience would leave me overall disappointed and dismayed by the rough rudeness of the crowd. I suspect a lot of the seekers of bargains might not be all that filled with the festive mood of the event. I MIGHT GET PUNCHED IN THE NOSE!

But, since I am “old” (Summer’s definition), I am going to stay on my sofa and be happy with the ongoing book sales on Kindle – and the opportunity to download samples. But, wait, I could put on a green eye shade and recruit young people for a gang of shoppers; uh, using the word “gang” is already casting doubts on this being a festive, goodwill endeavor. The green eye shade is tempting, though.

Der Bingle and I did benefit about four years ago on Black Friday; late in the day, we had to go to Wal-Mart for something and while walking through a main aisle, noticed that 19″ unknown brand flat screen TV’s were still in a small stack – despite the big markdown. Der Bingle didn’t have a TV at the Ohio Redoubt then and we decided to buy one. Well, four years later it is still going strong; he later got a good deal on a 32″ one with bonus points and I inherited the Sansui one. I still don’t know anything about the brand, but it works fine and takes up way less space in my special nook.

Maybe I’ll wander over to Wal-Mart late this afternoon . . . you never know. Then, again, I may waffle on whether to go or not.

Another day of housework. Yesterday I spent most of my time in the 20 by 20 catch-all room over the garage and in the attic. Today was bathrooms and the amazing plasticizing of upstairs windows, not to mention stair vacuuming. Oh, I mentioned it. My thigh muscles are burning.

Oh, and there is a big pile of firewood in the driveway to rack . . .

I don’t know what is happening to me . . . Perhaps it is a result of my accidentally putting Icy Hot in my mouth instead of toothpaste. I thought it best just to say it in a short sentence rather than serving it up as one of my involved stories of my life.

Alison’s should still harbors a broken bone and I am still here playing at Nazi nurse. I’ll leave my technique to your imagination.

I just saw blue and red flashing lights reflected on a brass lamp shade – it’s the cops on the side street. Hopped up and looked and everything. You don’t need much imagination to realize the level of drudgery here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. I mean, when you go Woo Hoo at cop lights, you’re in sad shape. Or, more accurately, I stared at the reflection on the shade and thought, Oh! Could it be? Is it? Yes! Woo Hoo. Of course, this is following an afternoon of vacuuming cobwebs in the bunker . . .

I am tired; I have been going door to door, selling the holes in Swiss cheese. Shipping is free. Actually, the company doesn’t package them; they arrive at your door without box or wrapping paper. Don’t trip over them.
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Alison has been diagnosed with a broken bone in her shoulder. So a couple of times a day, I wrap her up in ace bandages and duct tape. Last year at this time, she fell and cracked her tailbone. I didn’t duct tape her then . . . You can think about that for a while – or not.

Meanwhile, I’m going to rest my bones for a bit.

My cousin Glenda is a dynamo and she is directing the musical Hairspray at Danville Area Community College just across the state line in Illinois. I’ll be heading down on Thursday morning to Attica, where I will meet up with my cousin Susie and we’ll go over to the matinee that day. Then I’ll come home Friday morning.

Up to now, the college has done plays under Glenda’s guidance and this is the first musical. Musicals, I have learned, take way more time and preparation and money than do plays. And then there are the performances which last a couple of hours; it makes me think of cooking a holiday meal – all that work and then chomp, chomp, chomp and it’s over. Ironically, Glenda has also worked as a caterer.(She is so good that she was coaxed out of cooking-retirement by the promise of a LARGE donation to the musical’s budget to cater one gathering.)

Now I’m the kind of person who would want to bronze the food and the actors. I mean, think of people eating the Mona Lisa . . .

November 11 is Veteran’s Day; it’s the day WWI ended. Tomorrow, the twelfth, is my father’s birthday. His middle name is Pershing, after General John J. (Blackjack) Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Forces. I don’t know if he would have been given that middle name if he had been born a little earlier or later; actually, I’ve never thought about it. Frankly, I think it is a better middle name than the one his father had – Oscar. Then again, Byron Oscar had a brother named Guey – pronounced gooey. I thought that was funny when I was little, and I still chuckle at it, to tell the truth. I think it was Guey who died (drowned) in the Wabash River way back when; I know it was Roy who was sat on.

Yesterday I was alone with my thoughts in the early morning and, then, later in the evening. Both times I stared at the New Post page at blog administration and found my fingers still. The election’s over and it is very hard not to feel that, overall, “It’s over.”

And, just by clicking to a new paragraph, I am not going to be able to dismiss that feeling of mourning. However, there is nothing to be served by being a broken record . . . uh, a glitched-up mp3 player in today’s terms.

We have been moving furniture around here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse – not a lot, but giving the place a warmer, cozier atmosphere as the cold weather sets in. Ironically, it’s going to be 70 degrees and close to it tomorrow, but, hey, I’m pretty certain the overall trend is leaning toward “freeze your nose (or other body part) off.”

We have welcomed the days when the back vestibule can serve as a soda pop and bottled water cooler. Some of us, however, (that granddaughter) welcome the cool beverages but are wont to ask someone else to actually go out into the vestibule. Almost makes one want to shake up her Mountain Dew . . .