So, Josh Duggar has admitted himself to a long-term rehab center as a result of revelations about his past, and I guess, his right up until “The Site” was hacked, present. After the first go round, The Discovery Channel took “19 Kids and Counting” out of production. I got to wondering today if with the huge base of viewership and supporters that the Duggars have, that The Discovery Channel might rethink its position and present the show as the same big family MINUS ONE dealing with the stress, shame, embarrassment brought about by the Rehabbing Black Sheep.

I think they could draw a big audience as they deal with family trouble, something that most everyone has . . . except up to now, the Duggars. I’m talking bottom line here, business-sense stuff. I don’t know that I am correct in my evaluation, but I wouldn’t bet against it.

Der Bingle tells me that this gift took most of the Icebats’ allowance, and I want them to know I really appreciate it.

This is my first birthday since Shane died; it’s been a heck of a year.

I took the Shark vacuum up to Lagrange and vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed. You get such a feeling of accomplishment seeing the dirt come into the compartment and being easy to dump out. Then you start feeling tired. Not because the Shark is hard to use, but because you keep thinking, “Oh, I just get that one more place.”

It’s a big house and I’ve still got a lot of Sharking to do. There is a remote possibility the novelty will wear off.

We bought paint for the fence; I’m not feeling the joy in it. Gosh, I seem to be a wet blanket tonight, but I don’t care.

I had weird and scary dreams last night, which I cannot remember. That is probably a good thing, unless a snatch comes back while I am driving and I lift my hands off the steering wheel, put them over my face and scream. Of course, I might do that if a Sugar Plum Fairy suddenly appeared right in front of my car on the highway. Could that be why children can’t get driver’s licenses – I mean what if the drove Christmas morning. I’d say this paragraph is getting pretty far out there sooooo I think I’ll back away slowly.

I read all day yesterday and then the book was finished and there was more daytime left. So I looked at a sample of a more expensive book Kindle has been pushing:  Leaving Berlin, an novel set in 1949 – early in the Cold War – and I found myself confused. I will not be coughing up the dollars for it; if I want to be confused, there are a lot of books I already have that can do that.

I feel obligated to do something today, however since I am not trained in neurosurgery or astrophysics, I don’t think I will be doing anything noteworthy. Well, as Bill Murray said in What About Bob? – BABY STEPS.

I think fence painting is on my agenda this week; maybe I should have been reading about Tom Sawyer. (No relation to Diane)

Two days ago, I announced I had decided to just not do some things; to let them go – things like laundry and weeds and washing dishes. And then I couldn’t take the pressure of “Just saying No” and finished all tasks. Yesterday, I sat around until 11:30 in the morning and then gave a big SIGH and gathered up two grandkids and power cords and drinks in a cooler and headed up to LaGrange where we mowed, used the weed eater and sprayed weed killer. It was not hot, but humid, and when it came time to leave I could not find my hat. My hair, which had been thoroughly wet with sweat, had half dried into blobs all over my head and so I refused to leave until I had found my hat. I am that crazy. Fortunately, one of the kids found it and saved me from either their frustrated response or my needing to wrap my head in a turban.

Oh, little Pacific Dorfman hat with the mesh crown, I love you.

And one more “Oh” – I want to thank my grandson who patiently untangled four long extension cords so we could range freely with the weed-eating. That was not a fun task for him. We weed-ate until we ran out of string; I imagine we would have stopped eventually but we could have become obsessed and kept on weed-eating forever and ever, Amen.

I am going to try the super lazy tactic again today and something tells me I will succeed. You know, the old try, try again mantra.

I knew I had wandered away from the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse; I just did not realize how long I’d been gone. The days are somewhat of a blur, but the screen door has slammed behind me again as I returned . . . only no one yelled “AmeliaJake” like they yelled “Norm” on Cheers. Well, that’s okay, I’ve still got a place to sit and sip.

Some things did escape my attention. One of them was a plant that was included in a basket sent to Alison’s mother’s funeral. We had taken out all the separately potted plants from the arrangement for re-potting and somehow this one plant wound up on its side and under a couple of books.

I saw the little pot sticking out, sort of like the witch’s feet from the house in The Wizard of Oz, and quietly lifted the books. It was not a pretty sight. I picked it up and carried into where Alison was sitting and said her name softly, extending my hand. She sighed, “Oh well.”

I took the squashed green being into the kitchen and watered it a lot and let it lean; I think it’s deciding if it wants to try. I guess if it turns out to be terminal, I’ll just have to pull the root.

I was walking down one of the main aisles at Glenbrook Mall in Fort Wayne when a fellow stationed at one of the kiosks reached out for my hand. He was, I don’t believe, a native English-speaker because he took my hand and said, “I can help you with that stain.”

I was confused momentarily until I realized he was talking about the white splotches on the hand he saw. (I also have them on my other hand, ankles, knees and elbow and a couple of other spots.) I first noticed them on my ankles and knees when I was a kid and I never gave it any thought. It didn’t hurt for the most part I think it was triggered by the constant scraping of those areas when I was playing.

Later,  some other patches showed up and maybe about two decades ago, I discovered the loss of pigment occurring on my knuckles and the backs of my hands. People would sometimes ask if I had been burned or if I had cream on my hands. Maybe others stared and wondered but never said a thing; I don’t know – I really never think about it.

Getting back to this young seller of cosmetic creams, he attempted to tug me over, saying that he had something to help it, fix it, whatever. I think I gave him my, “Are you crazy?” look and said I was fine with it. He looked amazed and I kept nodding my head and saying it was okay. Finally, he got a look of surprise on his face and exclaimed, “Really?!” and then gave me a high five. My hand worked fine for doing that. It works fine for most things. It’s not arthritic and I’m happy for that.

Now I’m wondering when I walk past vendors that I they must consider me hopeless because they don’t grab me and say they can fix my height, my weight, my nose, my really big mouth, my eyes which I think I set too close together (but, I really am grateful to be able to see) my clothes, my limp hair, my lack of a bustline and so forth.

I know those spots are likely to eventually show up on my face. Well, to be honest, they will probably look better than I do when I get in a “mood” and frown and scowl and forget how lucky I am to be able to walk quickly around a mall without aching joints or shortness of breath and a lot of other conditions.

I am not at the Fairborn Sweetcorn Festival. I think Der Bingle is going; he may send pictures or he may be watching demonstrations of different methods of eating corn on the cob. It must be hard for younger people who don’t know about the actual carriage return action of a typewriter.

I did not realize it but the festival has been around for over 30 years. That’s a lot of corn munching. It will be followed by the Dayton Bacon Festival. I kid you not. This one is only in its third year. Der Bingle looked at the list of bacony foods offered and decided he couldn’t bring himself to go. I don’t know, but the information about it leads off with:

Awaken Bacon Nation ~ Everything is Better with Bacon! It’s time to get your chops wet with BaconFest 2015!

I’m thinking about this Bacon Nation – maybe soon there will be a sports team called The Pigs . . . or let me think of other names. Nah, better not.