Today is a day for transcribing and I absolutely hate going through the stages of it. I think that has something to do with my lifelong erroneous idea that something started must be finished in one fell swoop. I have been trying to address this transcribing thing by actually trying to change my ways – to do a little at a time instead of going in for the marathon.

Today is not starting out too successfully. I feel the dread of making a document entitled “something notes” and then having to take the time to open one called “something article”. I dread this because that means I will have to actually start and it will be hanging over my head until it is done. Now, I know through recent experience that I can transcribe for 10 or 15 minutes at a time and get it done and think, “Wow, it just happened somehow.” And I will appreciate the importance of having heard the words once again and listening to them slowly enough to allow typing. It will help me in my end result.

As I type now, I am thinking I do not want to go trudging over with my fingers to the Word program and actually get this big old rock that I have to figuratively push up a hill positioned at the bottom of that hill. I think even though I do not actually bang my head against a wall, I bang parts of my mind against each other in frustration.

I am truly continuing on this theme because I just don’t want to start this transcribing chore. It does not necessarily make sense, oh, it is a feeling that is so real and yucky.

This morning I thought, “Oh, shoot, let’s get this lawn mowed and some branches towed out to the curb and some weeds pulled.” And, woo-hoo, I did it. Didn’t get around to raking or sweeping the driveway, but maybe I’ll hire a grandkid. When I got to the backyard part, I put white lathering cleansing cream on my face like I used to do when I would work up a sweat exercising. That stuff would get down in those pores and really do a great job.

Of course, it looks a little odd, and sometimes I forget and answer the door with it oozing around on my face.  Once someone asked if I were all right . . . took me a minute to figure out why. But, anyway, with the yard stuff sort of done, I went in and showered and shampooed and stretched out on the sitting room sofa (the chicken pox one) so my hair could dry hanging down and maybe encourage my roots to show a little oomph.

Then, then . . . I went for my daytime skin treatment and put on a little of this perfume I use that has the word elixir in the name. I don’t think I would have chosen that word, but whatever.

Now, in twenty minutes, the dastardly grandkids will be coming in  . . . for the entire weekend.  But right now, right this very minute, it is quiet and and pleasant and I am simply luxuriating in it.

Too early to tell, but I think the clock is against me. Last night I cleansed my face and put on Estee Lauder Night Repair, something I haven’t been buying but do have a stock of little sample bottles. Then, walking right off the edge of reason and into my favorite pitfall – is some is good, more is better, I put a lot of their firming moisturizer on my face. Some may have been good; more was definitely goo.

Then I lay there watching TV plucking random hairs off my lip and from my chin – a “feel for a wiry hair, blindly guide the tweezers” operation.

This morning my skin feels soft . .  . and a bit well-oiled. I will soon go remove the remains of the nighttime effort and move on to the chemicals of the day. AND I am resuming my facial exercises; I do them a lot – while sitting, while walking, while mowing, while working on the laptop. I also do them when driving, although people at stop lights in town and others passing by me on narrow rural roads often look disturbed.

I can live with that if slightly pursing my lips and reaching for my nose with them firms my jowl line.

Mrs. Feller and I came home talking about the fact that Emory’s shoes were apparently stolen. He is now wearing his slippers. A couple of months ago it was his hearing aid that was lost. Jeez.

We turned off of Indiana 9 at the cow pasture where only about five cows were standing up and then passed a field of sheep and lambs. I did not realize it but some sheep have long tails, instead of little bobbed ones. And it was overcast, although the morning had dawned sunny. Yes, you are right; I am at loose ends this evening, wanting to be upbeat and yet a little tired. Feeling like chatting, but more comfortable with sitting and rocking . . . and sipping Diet Coke and Coke. Maybe, maybe a little bag of popcorn.

Well, when I was up in the bathroom, emptying out my pockets, I found I had a camera in one and put it down by the sink. No, this is not a water plus camera story . . . thank heavens . . . but it is an AmeliaJake on camera after water story.

When I was clean and my hair turbaned, I thought “What is it about this bathroom that I look better in it than anywhere else?” So I picked up the camera and took my picture; that’s when I found out it was the mirror – the mirror is magic. Right out in the air without a reflection, I have wrinkles, blotches, and facial hairs. I tried it again with the same result. I was bummed.

Then I had a thought. I decided to download a couple and enlarge them and examine my face up real close. No one had told me only trained professionals should attempt such a thing. Old pores are about as ugly as self-pity, and that was a pool I was about ready to plunge right in to.

But I got a grip and grabbed some tweezers and some moisturizer – pluckin’ and creamin’, oh yeah.

Yes, when I call my mother tonight I will tell her that I have another afghan – from the Goodwill, of course.  There are very few times when I am on Dupont Road that I do not stop in to see what is on the shelves and racks in the Goodwill Store. My true weakness is afghans; I know someone made them and they are so comfy. Today I found a fairly good-sized one for $3.

I also saw a comforter made with satin; it is one big “feeler” if you want to describe it in AmeliaJake little girl terms. For years I feel asleep with my left thumb in my mouth and the satin of a blanket in my right hand. I still seek out “feelers” on my blankets to this day. But I was not interested in the satin comforter – I have been that route before.

When I was a teenager, we ferreted out one from the pile of things my great-great aunt had left off in the side attics at our house. It seemed like such a good idea; I could feel my arms and hands and neck being caressed by the satin. But it slid off  – both me and the bed. I spent a good deal of time just pulling it back up in the middle of the night when I awoke cold. Once I flopped down on the bed in the afternoon and slid right off the other side. As it turned out, there were more negatives than positives and we packed it back in the side attic. I don’t know where it is now.

I think we can always find a use for afghans, however. For instance, a loosely crocheted one is great for learning how to watch scary movies without having a blanket over your head – I suppose it is sort of a 12 stitch program.