Hello, there, this is the time of Girl Scout Cookies. We had some ladies with their little Brownies commandeer a couple of tables here in the PBC&R this weekend and peddle several varieties of the GS treats. I am not new to the cookie business . . . I wish no one would read over my shoulder because then I wouldn’t have to deal with snide remarks referring to my cookie familiarity and my weight . . . but back to what I was saying before the guffaws started. Okay, I sold Girl Scout cookies when I was in scouting, and I sold them as a Brownie as well as a full-fledged GS. It was different then; I think we had maybe two kinds, sandwich and mint and we went door-to-door.

My first time out, I was a Brownie going with two big girl Girl Scouts. I don’t know what I thought my job would be – tagging along, I suppose – but I definitely remember how it turned out. The two GS walked me to the edge of a porch and told me to go to the door, ring the bell and look way up at the tall adult who answered and ask if he wanted to buy a box of cookies. Then they would come up with the order blanks and do the paperwork. Oh, yeah, they stressed I should grin. I was six and I think missing front teeth. And I wore saddle shoes.

They were right, of course, and when I got to be a Girl Scout (flying up, we called it), I would send the accompanying Brownie up to the door because – dontcha know – Brownies are cuter.

This is about blogs and CarePages and CaringBridge Pages. There are some blogs I read every now and then because they are nothing but whining and complaining. I figure, even though I am a master at both, I can pick up some new-fangled angles on technique or whatever. Never too old too learn and all that jazz.

I also have been introduced to some stories on the CarePages/CaringBridge sites that provide an avenue for the families of people with serious illness/injury to keep people updated. For instance, the daughter of a physician here in town has a six-year-old daughter who was diagnosed by him with a brain tumor last year.  In a couple of other cases, people have referred me to sites.  I guess I follow about three. When I go to the sites, I think to myself, now, AmeliaJake, remember when you are finished reading the update, you will go about your life but these people about whom you read are spending most every moment of their lives worrying about a loved one. You are not here to “make yourself feel lucky it’s not you.” And, actually, I have come to feel for these people in the back of my mind during many times in my days.

There are hundreds of these pages. There are tons of blogs filled with complaints about  mothers-in-laws and neighbors and snotty kids and whatnot. We’ve been talking about this at the PBC and we have reached a consensus that perhaps the constant complainers should be asked to just scan down a list of families reporting on CarePages and CaringBridge. Might give them a little perspective.

You see, before the Internet, we would read about the occasional family dealing with illness in a feature article in the Sunday edition of the paper. It would be a one day visit and thoughts were interpreted through the writer. Now, now with the Internet, the thoughts come across in the words of the parents and grandparents and you learn these people aren’t one-time topics or feature articles; these people are people who live every day . . . just like you. So, perhaps, maybe, there just might be one postive thing you could post about . . . because, the ironic thing is, they often do.

What are we going to do today in the PBC&R? I really don’t know. It’s SuperBowl day and lots of people will be live blogging trh commercials. Maybe I will live blog the PBC; maybe I will not. See, we are at a lost here today.

Sky’s bright blue and the temperature’s up to the 30″s – so now we just have an outdoor icebox and not a freezer. But guess what? If you take the $2.84 sale-priced Red Baron pizzas out of the boxes, you can get a lot in the freezer in the basement. Of course, you need a good memory to remember which is classic crust, stone-baked and garlic.  Oh, well, the pizzas are a “seasonal” offerring at the PBC&R – seasonal meaning on sale. We do keep some in reserve, though,  in case one of our stop-ins has the dreaded peanut allergy.

1 pm: Just turned the TV on and there is a movie about a bipolar man on a homemade racing bike. Do I really want to watch this movie?  Ack, all of a sudden clouds are drifting across the sky. Last week I watched a movie about a relatively young woman with Alzheimer’s. I felt bummed after that. Maybe I should see if I could find a documentary on contented cows of California.

1;23 pm: Oh, my, although the guide called it a homemade bike, it is actually a bike he is building for himself for best performance. It is a customized bike. And, all of a sudden, as I typed that, I took the idea of customizing my hair in my head. Color is what I am thinking. Hmmm. An exciting adventure, perhaps? But another thought pops into my brain: Think it over. Don’t be rash.

Hello, the guide was right: his would be a homemade bike since the other competitor’s bike was designed by a computer and cost about half a million. So how much can I afford for my hair color. Maybe I should go for a wig . . . or a hat.  Here’s a picture of a hat Der Bingle emailed me. We are all almost in shock.

See, we were in such shock, we obviously had no more events in our day . . . .

It was four degrees outside, according to the bank sign that registers warmer than it really is, this morning when I took Alison to work. I was a little chilly in my sweatshirt – I had worn a regular PB one and not the sheepskin- lined one. Had there been wind, I suppose I would have had to opt for a jacket as well. (Rest assured that I always have a warm coat and blankets in the car with me – just as I carry sturdy shoes for walking in the car all the time . . . You just never know.)

But, yes, four. We think it is supposed to warm up some and then hit single digits by the end of this coming week.

Of course, our friend, 4, thinks that he is being given a shout out when the electronic signs flash his name. He spends a lot of time with us here in The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse because he likes the privacy it affords him – being a celebrity and all that.

Ever since “the book” came out, he has been sought after for talks, autographs and all that. Unlike most poker player in saloons, he sits at a table where his back is to the door. Once, though, one well-read lady came in, stopped dead in her tracks and exclaimed, “I’d know those ears anyplace!” She quickly reeled herself in and to show his gratitude, 4 sent over a napkin with his autograph. She was thrilled.

Four, by the way, likes his foldovers with honey.

I see that I missed calls last night after I had dozed off. I am going to make sure I put my phone on vibrate and on a wood surface from now on. Of course, that may make for a startled, panicked “HELLO” but at least I will not miss calls I really like to get.

I have been thinking of reorganizing the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse because that would only be slightly more work than cleaning it up and getting things back in place. However, if I actually reorganize, folks have let me know they have opinions. Lydia – remember Lydia? . . . well, here she is:

She’s the piano player of the Red Piano. Okay, she says we should move the piano closer to the fire in the winter and within reach of the soda cooler in the summer.

Hmmm, I think I have another picture of Lydia. Let me look. Why yes, here’s one of her in her winter hat:

Oh! Oh! Oh! And here’s one of her and Der Bingle and another friend on the afternoon they were worried about being bombarded by alien signals:

Gotta love Der Bingle – he’s a real sport.

I believe I’ve lost my inital train of thought . . .