For a couple of days I’ve been doing hands-on, arms-engaged, legs-revved up chores on two different floors. Yes, I could have said stairs. I want to go back and revise the first sentence to eliminate the unintentional rhyme, but somehow it has put a thought in my head: Back off the keyboard, sister, or your fingers get it. It’s too early to argue, and I am too sore and stiff. Old muscles, dontcha know? I’m waiting for the aspirin to kick in.

Not that I’m not glad it’s morning – officially by the clock that says seven in the dark. I was glad to really wake up from my dream of trusted people terrorizing me. I “woke” once during the dream, but I was still dreaming and when things continued as they had been, I held my head and was terribly distraught. Sometime later I did awaken, but I didn’t trust it for the first few seconds.

Then I was relieved, greatly so; but I am stiff and sore. That I can handle . . . well, Bayer and I can handle.

Cameron takes the trash out on Wednesday night – unless Monday is a holiday and then he takes it out Thursday night. Of course, Tuesday and Wednesday could be holidays as well, but it’s not as common as the Official Government Mondays. Not that this has any bearing on my point, other than last night was Wednesday.

Cameron came up to me out of the blue – well, black night – and said, “I thought someone stole the garbage cans.” Not what you would expect to hear, especially when you know said cans are full of garbage. This is what happened:

I abhor putting out trash that isn’t in the cans; I stomp it if I have to. I climb up on a stepladder and step onto a piece of cardboard I have placed at the top of the mound of air-filled trash bags. And the level goes down by about a third; it used to be a half but my ranting has earned a bit of improvement, although the people with whom I live are recidivists. Big old frustrating recidivists!

Yesterday it was raining so I did not brace the cans against the outer garage wall; I wheeled them inside the garage where I stomped. I did not notice the bulb was kaput on the garage ceiling. The cans are dark; the garage was dark; the space where they usually  sit was empty . . .  Oh, my gosh, someone stole our garbage cans!

But then he found them and that’s all she wrote.

Well, I’m experimenting in photoshop and it took me a long time to make two layers to show this four layer cake.

Lots of stuff –  and so I went out and bought some of those plastic shelves for storage. You know the type –  round plastic cylinders that plug into holes in the corners of plastic shelves. I got the gray ones and I put them together in the basement. That part does go fast . . .  open the package, stuff a round peg in a round hole and tap it with the side of a hammer.

It’s toting stuff to the shelves that’s a bummer.

But that is better than toting logs to the fireplace because they burn up and then people want more logs. I think I need to get them a tree trunk and stick in in the fireplace; they could shove it in more as it burns. There might be a few technical issues with this method, but I’m sure I can work them out. And who’s going to argue with AmeliaJake when she has her chain saw? Maybe I need a chain saw holster.

People keep asking, “Have you ordered the firewood yet?” Too bad Apple doesn’t have an app for delivering wood from the pile to the hearth. I think they should just put a video fire as the background and screen saver on their computers.

It isn’t cold yet, but it’s coming. Tonight I realized that I needed gas when the little light came on; I had been putting it off because when I went to bed a couple of nights ago, the price was $3.18 and the next morning it was $3.55. I got some tonight for $3.47. This is my new temporary obsession.
See, the price of gas diverted me from my main thought: It is getting chilly standing out there by the pump waiting into you can get back in the car and warm up. The days are coming when I will hunker down in my coat with my back to the wind and think,”This will not last forever” over and over again. Pumps too cold to read your card; gas moving slowly through the hose; the flap over the gas inlet sleeted shut; salt on your shoes.
And it’s time to winterize the car, as in getting an affirmative answer to the question: Can I live in this car for at least two days? Always lots of gas, extra blankets, food, water, cell phone, books. Egads, I’d better dig out some real paperbacks . . . or build in a little cranking device that will charge my Kindle battery.

Okay, less than 24 hours ago this was an Angry Bird; Alison brought him home for Shane. He squeaked and Shane demanded that he be thrown again and again. And, then, uh-oh.
Look at the top tuft; I can’t put the squeaker on audio because it doesn’t work anymore.
It’s probably not related, but perhaps being angry does shorten your lifespan.
Or maybe it was the dog . . .

Today we have clouds and all the schools in the area had a two-hour fog delay. East Noble, however, had no school because of scheduled teacher things. So, that means the fog was wasted as far as Summer is concerned.  Tomorrow morning she will be pontificating about the fates that made the day before foggy. Damning them, more than likely. Oh, yes. I am so eager to greet the new dawn in about 17 hours.

Tomorrow is Alison’s 41^st birthday; let’s see I had just turned 44 when Cameron was born.  Of course, I am about two decades older than that now . . . but so is she. And somehow, it seems like the laugh is mine. Because tomorrow is her birthday, I agreed to a dratted, dastardly Alison Wal-Mart run – an event that needs an intermission.

Halfway through I developed a sinus headache – not the really painful kind, but one of the ilk where your eyes feel as if they are first being squeezed shut and then progress to feeling as if they will pop out. Imagine the cartoon characters with the springs behind their eyes.

We also got hair treatments – but at Scizzor Worx, not Wal-Mart. Robert William got a hair cut, rolling in on his roll-a-bout. Alison had a trim and feathers put in her hair – teal for ovarian cancer and pink for breast cancer. I got re-toned and styled.

I’ve to tell you Scizzor Worx is really and okay place. They listen to what the customer wants  – I have never walked out of there as a helmet head.

Shoot, now that I’ve triggered helmet head in my mind, I saw a lady the other day whose hair was puffed out as if she were wearing a Hershey’s Kiss on here head. It made me think of the Martians in Mars Attacks and I kept waiting for her head to explode.

It was supposed to be warm but it is chilly and damp and we are going to have a fire. Maybe I should go remind them to start it in the fireplace. Gee, sometimes I am so snarky even I am impressed.

I woke up with a start about 3:30 this morning after having a scary dream and decided the best thing to do was get up, get a drink, relax a little and then lie back down.  I’m in the relaxing part now – checking the news and surfing a bit.

Then I noticed the Google logo and clicked on it. You can look HERE and I guess for today at least, you too can just move your cursor over to the colorful logo. It the birthday – the 90th – of the guy who dreamed up Gumby.

Four o’clock in the morning and it had to be Gumpy. As Bette Davis said, “Life surprises you; it always does. So, sigh,  Gumby. Saturday Night Live jokes; private jokes; not so kind remarks. I will be thinking of Gumby all day. Using a phrase another Bette made famous, today Gumby will be the wind beneath my wings.

By tonight I will, no doubt, be Gumbied out.