My grandmother was born on December 1, 1881 – so yesterday she would have been 127 years old.  She used to get an orange for Christmas. Now, today, I saw a lighted cow lawn decoration at Meijers. I was too stunned to take out my phone and take a picture, so I will go back with my real camera and get some shots. I don’t know if I will show them to my friend “Moo” or not.

Oh, someone already did that and you can see it on flickr HERE

Yesterday I bought a four-pronged cane at an auction . . . for me. The cane, not the auction. There I was standing on a sore knee and right in front of me was the cane. I bid; I got it for two dollars. So, yes, I am definitely going to the doctor about it this week – buying a cane in front of everyone at an auction seems to be a fair sign that I have accepted the fact I have a knee problem that is not going to fade away.

A knee problem . . . and, auuugggghhhhh, sciatica. Let’s see: If one half of AmeliaJake started walking east from San Diego, taking four aspirin every few hours and the other half of AJ started walking west from the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, taking six aspirin periodically, where would they meet and merge and discover the need for stomach care?

Hmmm . . . the eastward walking AJ half would reach mountains first and that sounds painful. Of course a strong winter wind streaming across the prairie could push back the westward walking AJ half. I’ll bet I need calculus for this.

Yes, the day after Thanksgiving – and my performing of all those domestic and culinary tasks that have never been my forte. Last night, I was thinking, “Oh, sweet sofa.”  I remember waiting to watch the weather channel show on the Hindenberg and then my glasses were off and the TV was off and it was, oh, about 2am.

So now we move into Christmas and I am hesitant about decorating – chasing festivity as it were. I am going to try and convince everyone the pathway to festive feeling and good cheer is through cleaning. But wait! Start now and you can get more cleaning time and chores. Yours free. Just call AmeliaJake now and say, “I want to be a member of the Christmas Festive Cleaning Brigade. We can play Cleaning Carols and drink your form of festive grog – Coke, beer, whiskey, wine, Diet Coke. I’ll even break out the Diet Cheerwine.

Yes, just a little carol to the local transformers and “jumpers” – whatever they may be – that acted up for several hours last evening. Gosh, darn, I could not use electricity to vacuum or run the washer or the dishwasher or to turn on lights to see to clean up. It was such a hardship. Fortunately, we have a large supply of handy little headlights on elastic bands, so we could make it safely to the food and read our books.

I accidentally picked up a crabmeat cheeseball yesterday instead of shrimp . . . Guess I’ll have to go back today.

That golden area toward the edge of the middle left is Thomas Bickle’s light as it looks from where I am sitting this morning.  Last Christmastime when Thomas was on hospice care, I put up our outdoor lights that twinkle on the slim branches of large bushes that have lost their leaves. At night the lights seem to be floating. I said they were Thomas Bickle’s lights. I’ve written off and on about Thomas and his folks and no need to retell it all here.

But we are thinking of him . . . and Thomas still shines.

So, we are putting on our hunting clothes, although we may forgo the flap-earred, fur-billed trapper cap, and starting our search for a turkey. The Thanksgiving kind. If I can manage it, we’ll go for a turkey, with a turkey breast tucked in between the legs in the roaster – and we’ll do the jumbo legs you buy separately in a pan.

Oh, rats, I have to find the Pilgrims – the little guys who go on the table and and on a tiny Thanksgiving “tree”. Some of the Pilgrims are candles from when I was under ten years old – a chubbly little girl and boy with wicks in their heads. Maybe one day we will light them and they will burn down to their little feet. Or not. That is sort of a “no going back” action.

I think right now I am still a pilgrim . . . and that’s all right.

Unfortunately, we didn’t go to Logan’s today; we just went to Fort Wayne. I love Logan’s; it is what I would like the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse to be. See:

But the PBC&R looks like this:

and this:

and this also:

But nevermind that. We were in Fort Wayne to take Colin to his doctor’s appointment and, oh by the way, we stopped at Goodwill. I bought a clock that plays a bit of a Christmas song on the hour and a little wooden box for keeping things in. I love little wooden boxes for keeping things in. I also got a pair of Land’s End jeans.

And now I’m in the place of the last picture . . . and a bunch, flock? school? bevy? of Raggedy Ann’s are staring at me from the love seat on the far wall – the one with the western sunrays in it.