Yesterday it was gloomy and wet outside for a good part of the day and then it dried out, with rain predicted again for the night and the next day and maybe the day after that. Although a young man had mowed the grass last week, it had spouted up and I knew there were some areas that were vulnerable to having hostas and myrtle mowed because of their closeness to grass.

So, when late afternoon came and the area was dry, I got out the electric mower and a couple of cords and had at it. At first, there was a sense of Here we go again, another year of mowing that had started when I was twelve. Then it started to feel not bad, and progressed to good as my hair became wet with perspiration and my Netflixed muscles got a wake-up call.

Exercise in a gym may be good psychological boost to morale, but exercise from doing work outside can be really uplifting. You are getting something done, and you feel less guilty enjoying 21st century America when you know your ancestors got here by fighting seasickness on sailing ships and then got to the Midwest by walking out behind oxen.

We have so much and we take it for granted. It’s good to be reminded how refreshing a plain glass of water can be.

Ack, ack, and double ack.

A few years ago I lost enough weight for people to notice, for me to feel better and, and as a result, I looked a bit more like my mother, who was very good looking. I kept the weight off for more than a little while and then in the past months, I have put it all back on.

So I have to do it ALL OVER AGAIN – or eat myself into a ball with my head and limbs being little nubs. Even as a “near ball”, which might or might not be akin to near beer, I couldn’t be a first class roller. My little nubs would keep me on an erratic course.

Believe me, I am not thrilled about this. It puts me in the position of 1) just doing a Nancy Reagan “Just say NO” or 2) manipulating my mind into little motivational tricks to keep my mouth closed.

Perhaps this is punishment for watching “600 lb. Life” and criticizing enablers only to enable myself to scarf down pinwheel sandwiches and cheese balls with cheddar pretzels. I have this great talent for knowing when the pinwheel sandwiches are going to be marked at half price . . . and I have paid the price.

It’s not like this happened overnight; I saw the trend and thought Oh, I’ll get this in line. Well, that was a big, fat lie to myself. Gee, look how easily the adjective fat pops up in my expressions.

This is sort of like taking a semester length course and then reading all the material the night before the final. Oh, you tell yourself if fate will let you get a “B” at least, you will always keep up with coursework. And you turn around and do it over and over again. It is a big, fat character flaw. And I am on my way to becoming a Fatty McFatFat.

When I had my new furnace installed in October, we were still having warm days, but the evenings were quite cool and the temperature inside my brick house stayed fairly consistent. I had set the touch screen thermostat on Heating Mode with an upper cut-off and it worked well.

Then we had a some very warm days a couple of weeks ago and when I walked through the dining room, I saw the temperature inside was 77 degrees; I thought I was getting a bit warm and the room seemed close. I’ve written about the segment where we found out the Cooling Mode was connected incorrectly and so no matter what amount of fiddling I did with the thermostat, the outside unit would not come on. It was fixed, for free, and I decided to go to the Auto Mode. And, I need remedial thermostat training.

Actually, I don’t think I ever understood the ins and outs of this thermostat; there had not been a quiz. It appears there are periods of the day and you set what temperature you want during those time periods. I tried it and, frankly, it got fairly cold one night.

I started fooling around with the thermostat again – and “fooling around” is the most accurate way to describe what I was doing – and made things worse. It seems you can add as many periods as you want, and name them if you so desire. (Awake, Sleep, Away, Home, Work, etc.) Finally, I found out it was possible to delete periods as well. This was fortunate because somehow I had filled up the thermostat window with lots of periods, each wanting to have a temperature designated.

What I want to do is set temperature that triggers the heating mode and, if necessary, the cooling mode. I may have to consult YouTube. It will probably work out, assuming I do not let my AmeliaJake-ness take over and make a bunch of time periods that I can name, such as George, LaTisha, Harvey, Annabelle, Jack. I know that’s not right, but it is so tempting.

It is good news. Last year when the new thermostat for the new furnace was installed, one wire was inadvertently attached at the wrong place and so the outside unit did not receive a message which said: START UP, THEY ARE ROASTING IN HERE. There was no cost. Woo Hoo. And, because the spring continued to be cool – the day the AC man came the high might have been 50 degrees – we actually did not roast.

Memorial Day is not far off; imagine that. It has been an odd year in relation to seasons. If this were the real, the authentic, the rocking chair on the porch old days, I would be one of the old-timers remarking about days when we used to melt in our band uniforms while marching on Memorial Day.

I am still an old-timer – just writing on a blog – and not counting the days until I can wear white shoes. Such rules. My goodness. Oh, by the way, I still often call the refrigerator “the icebox.”

Cameron and I have started to make a habit out of watching “600 lb. Life” on Wednesday nights; I don’t know why. We don’t make fun of anyone; I think it started out to be surreal – people too overweight to get out of bed and yet somehow making relatives bring them food and more food.

But L***, the psychotherapist who sees patients referred by the bariatric surgeon because of their eating habits, DRIVES ME CRAZY. (It’s a short trip, I know) There are three or four therapists to whom he sends patients, but when he announces it, I almost yell at the TV: NO! NO! NOT L***. Tonight luck was against me. It was the L woman. I will not state that she is, but I will say that, in my opinion, she is an AIRHEAD.

And, after an entire season, of holding my fingers from typing about her, I now feel the irresistible urge to put her in the Joe Biden category and let everybody know it. AmeliaJake can’t stand L***.

Let me introduce my therapist: Her name is Feisty, although sometimes she too has to give her feist a kick in the patootie.

Rose recommended her. You remember Rose –

Rose is out scuba diving with her bestie, so she’s not available this week.

Anyway, Feisty says I don’t need a couch or a box of kleenex for our sessions; she is recommending drinks and foldover sandwiches, with 35 calorie per slice bread and a thin layer of PB from the largest jar I have seen. Feisty says we’re probably going to use it all before she deems me ready for function, maybe even need another jar.

Maybe I should contact one of those telephone shrinks who advertise on TV?

First there was the multiple car pile-up on icy April 17th that totaled the car; then the rider mower at LaGrange signaled there was no way it was going to make it through even the beginning of this season; now – after a long, cold spring –  I selected the cooler option on the thermostat and became aware that THE OUTSIDE UNIT WAS NOT STARTING UP.

I checked circuit breakers and went outside and “professionally” looked at the non-working unit. I did not spy a reset switch which had been mentioned in internet articles, along with the warning to not fool around with anything if you didn’t know what you were doing. I might have been qualified to look for a red button, but I knew I had no business poking around any wires. So, no red button and  I am on a waiting list for a diagnostic visit from the repairman. Friday, but maybe sooner if there is a cancellation.

It is an adage that things come in three’s; well, I don’t know if perhaps I am starting a cycle of THREES. That is to say: three unfortunate events, then three more, and then a third series of three. I am a little worried about getting up from the sofa.

ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN: I could get up and catch my foot in wires and send my computer flying to destruction; I could start down to the basement and end up cartwheeling down; I could  . . . oh, gosh, just anything.

But, I will go ahead and attempt a shower – at least, whatever happens, I will be clean.

That’s right; you can’t tow a John Deere lawn tractor, although “Nothing Runs Like a Deere” according to their slogan. This is a quick For Your Information, Public Service Announcement post-let. It is not a full post because I have a full day and so must hurry and forgo what would be my usual account of the John Deere purchase which would follow the pattern of  an Alice’s Restaurant story. So, no pictures, no circles and arrows, no dumping of garbage, no Group W bench.

And no little asides about John Deere green vs. Kermit the Frog green and which is easier.

The basics: I had to get a lawn tractor; I researched it; I wound up at a John Deere dealership  – GreenMark – and became the proud owner of a super shiny green machine. The salesman familiarized me with the position of the levers and the pedals on the mower, including this little L-shaped thing that sticks out the back and should be pulled out if you want to push the machine. Then he mentioned that you should never, ever tow it. If you run out of gas, you push it. And he stressed he had seen many an expensive machine ruined because it had run out of gas and been towed and so he made a point of telling people. Good.

This is now in my mind like a phobia. What if I go crazy and tow it; okay, I should say crazier. I will probably make a sign: DO NOT TOW to ease my mind. And I can’t casually say, Oh, my John Deere mower is great; it toes the line. I probably would never have considered that sentence, but my phobia center is obviously right next to my pun center in my brain. Bad.

Now to the errands of the day.

I wrote an email to someone yesterday that referred in passing to the temperatures this “spring” and I commented that the long-lasting cold to cold-ish temperatures had left me unsettled and stuck in hibernation.

What I did not write then, but will do so now, is that this long winter has resulted in scales on my eyes. It has become a routine to pull into the driveway up to the backdoor, hop out and settle in to read or binge watch some Netflix series – Babylon Berlin being an example.

Yesterday the temperature edged its way over 80 degrees. It had reached up to and past 60 in the past few days. Do you know how fast grass can grow? Well, let’s just say that for right now the old adage about watching the grass grow isn’t really applicable. Not at all.

I went outside and surveyed the yard and while standing on my driveway heard something hit the concrete. I looked down and Heavens to Betsey, it was the scales from my eyes. Seeing all of the summertime jobs that are demanding to be done, it was tempting to bend over and put them back on my eyes.

But the scales are yucky looking; maybe I will opt for sequins.

It has been a trying day, and I have to write that I am really annoyed when people write such things in a blog and then don’t get specific. So I am a hypocrite, but is not that it has been a major traumatic day – just a series of topics with backstories that would be be boring.

On the other hand, today a yogurt fell out of the refrigerator and did NOT crack open and splat the contents all over the floor. I did NOT get out to the car and realize I had forgotten something. Double stick tape did NOT get all fouled up and wind up being a tape ball yoyo. I watched a couple of history documentaries that had, in my opinion, a good tinge of revisionism and did NOT feel like throwing anything at the TV. I suppose I am most grateful for the non-splatting yogurt.