That Georgia guy is coming today – all the way from Warner-Robins. It is a long, long trip but at least he doesn’t have a long, long trailer behind him. Now, most don’t know to what I am referring; it is just not a passing nod to RV’s. I’m talking about the movie with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz – that would be “The Long, Long Trailer” –  which when we found it on DVD or VHS left Quentin repeatedly rolling on the floor in fits of laughter. We sort of cringe, identifying more with the Lucy Duo.

Speaking of Lucy, I used to run out of the room when I was five and she got into terribly embarrassing situations. My husband is convinced a whole generation of girls was warped by Lucy. I believe I was severely affected. I fight it daily, but still have the urge to go steal John Wayne’s footprints.

But I wasn’t really speaking of Lucy when I started; I was talking about Grandpa coming. Summer is shaking in her boots, or would be, if the kid would do anything but go barefoot. I imagine he will be calling with progress reports during the day and we will be checking on Google maps. Our Sprint to Sprint minutes are great at times like this, but come to think of it, they are great all the time. Since he will be mostly on Interstates with the little mile markers, we will be able to pinpoint him about as well as if he had GPS.

When he was travelling and renting a lot of cars, he would get GPS when he wasn’t in San Diego. We rented one once in SD and his profile wasn’t updated and so we got GPS. I like to ride along and convince him to turn wrong and have the computer re-evalutate the situation. The voice is always so nice; it never says, “You dummy! Are you blind? The turn was obvious.”

Well, keeping my phone charged up and in my pocket, I venture into the rest of the house.

I once read the book Red Dragon which started the Hannibal series and the whole thing about it was this serial murderer was in the act of “becoming” the Red Dragon. He referred to his “becoming” and even ate a famous painting to get it actually inside him. What this has to do with me is that I have this sense that if I just do “something” I will “become” better; well, more than better. But it nags in the back of my mind that another who sensed this becoming sensation was a bad guy.

As I handle most things, I will handle this by saying “Oh, well.”

Now, my problem is I do not know what I am on the edge of becoming. Nor do I feel extremely certain that even if I feel I am really close, I should take that step off of the Me as I Am Right Now Cliff. I am sensing a possibility I am getting a little crazy here. Oh, dear – Is that what my becoming is?

Oh, well.

Hey, wait a minute, maybe  I’m feeling  this way because I cleaned yesterday and today . . . and threw things out. I was not ruthless, but almost. Do I want to throw away AmeliaJake? Or is it preparing for mortality. Great, the one time in my life I prepare for anything and it might be for leaving. That’s like improving  your house to sell it.

Ack, ack, the idea of turning 60 is more than my mind can handle . . . It is really going to be a wallop. And all this darn year, I’ve been saying, “I’m going to be 60 . . . I missed being 59. Or, I could call this past year #60 and just do #59 this year . . . like making up an assignment.

While my mind ball is bouncing from wall to wall, here’s another lament: It is upsetting to watch and old movie and remember thinking when you watched it decades ago the characters you think are “normal” now were to you old codgers then.

I am going to get a grip here. Just go off and ack a lot.

I am perched on the corner of the sofa on the porch, but inside my skin I am running around in circles, overwhelmed by all the stuff I should be doing. This is the old clinging to the roof like a flattened squirrel scenario  – wanting to end my agony by just stopping the clinging and falling, but aware that the splat might be painful and lead to me being stretched out on the couch in great pain.

Or is it the purse upending on a windy day scenario – me chasing things flying around a parking lot and into the road, not knowing which piece of paper to trot after next?

I don’t think it’s the chicken with the cut-off head, because that really isn’t a chicken whirling and flapping around the yard; it a headless chicken. The head of the chicken has no sensation of the flapping . . . maybe. I think it would, if anything, sense strong panic and doom. Or as they say in the news venue – closure.

I steadied my nerves with a cold Diet Coke and a crunchy foldover.

This is (I think) Tiffany and (I know) Sydney. It was taken when poor Tippy was still alive but he was always so shy I don’t think it can be him. Tiffany is the cat at Mother’s who came into the house shortly after Tippy’s sudden and totally unexpected death. I am hesitant to post this because Sydney and I suspect she may have evil powers. We once made an unkind comment about her and found ourselves ill for a couple of days.

Look at your own risk . . . Oh, I should have said that first. Sorry.