The Great Dane who was not Hamlet was at our little VanceFest this past week. First of all, she is a she and, second, she is one year old and comes to between my elbow and shoulder when she is just standing on her four feet – forget about jumping up height. She doesn’t jump up, though; she is very gentle . . . and very curious. She rode down from North Dakota (one hour from the Canadian border) to North Liberty, Iowa and stayed awake the entire time, scoping out the passing landscape. Great Danes, I am told, sleep 16+ hours a day and I guess most of the days she does do that. The passed few were anomalies. Everyone kept seeing “signs” and saying, “She’s going to fall over asleep now.” They were wrong. Actually, she was somewhat like a huge Westie fo a couple of days: I’m here; I’m here; Pay attention to me. (Sounds a bit like AmeliaJake, come to think about it.)

She has such a kind face but Great Danes have sensitive stomachs and people food is not good for them at all. It was hard not to slip her a bit of specially grilled hamburger. That was quite a difference from out cast iron stomach Cocker Spaniel, Little Ann, who looked very, very cute . . . but if you knew her, you were aware her message was, “Your hamburger or your sanity.” She didn’t threaten your life – I mean, she knew she’d need you for lots of tomorrows.

But, back to the Great Dane. Her companions are Der Bingle’s nephew Joe and his wife. Joe is with drones at Grand Forks AFB – well, out of three years there, he’s spent most of three winters in the Mideastern desert and in Guam. His wife is with a bank in Grand Forks; she’s very smart and often promoted and during the winter, she gave him her official two-cents worth: “It’s MINUS 68 degrees chill factor.”

Oh, I was supposed to talk about the second state of the trip back, Illinois. I’m easily distracted, Maybe tomorrow. On the other hand, tomorrow may be tales of good time in Camp Nature Boy, LZP’s backyard gathering spot.

We started out in North Liberty, Iowa, which is in the eastern part of Iowa, just a wee bit north of Interstate 80, and not all that far from the World’s Largest Truck Stop and the Mississippi River. However, when you are driving it, it takes a lot longer than just saying it. You do, though, eventually cross the Mississippi, which is not all that exciting on an Interstate bridge, as opposed to the older steel gridwork bridges that had mesh roadways, through which you could see the river. And some of these bridges didn’t just sit there; they pivoted to let barge traffic through.

And, in front of us, loomed Illinois. That would be the second state and I’ve grown tired remembering it.

Of course, I indicated I was going to Iowa, and I even have pictures of being there, uy of course they are fake. I was abducted and probed and returned (do not read rejected) to my present identity. The, The Alens, found me to be such an intereting specimen that I was puy into the “Yo Be Observed” category.

I only let you in on this so you can guard what you tell me regarding UFOs, for your own good. This post may or may noty self-destruct at any time.

Typing this has been a bit of a challenge because I havr an oversized bandaid on my finger. This injury did not result from Alien probinh, but from careless use of a butter knife. Yes. I may be fascinating to Aliens, but it apparently has nothing to do with dexterity, or general competence with my body. That was obvious to anyone watching me with a Great Dane year old dog whose snout was above my elbow.

This undoubtedly reads like total drivel, but i am assured it is a temporary hangover effect of the Alien Experience.

So another post, right after the “look for me when you see me” one? I’m off to Fairborn and then to Iowa. I’m taking so much stuff; now why am I doing that? I guess it is because I can and because it’s a car trip and I don’t have to worry about overhead bins or under the seat luggage. Now I just have to get where I’m going without a ticket – the speeding kind, oh, and getting back without one. Of course, I don’t think I’ll be driving much when I’m with Der Bingle – he is an in your face backseat driver. The problem with me being a passenger is that I am almost never a passenger and, second, I get car sick if I focus on anything other than the passing countryside. It occurs to me that I should document this trip with photos out the window; hey, they are digital.

I probably should stay away from selfies – me with the blurred background behind me. Guido is going; yes, he is going to roam – just a little inside joke for someone.

I haven’t been posting very much – a little here and there. I think it is a phase. I think it is a bunch of stuff going on at the same time. I think it is fugue. I think maybe I’m making excuses. Well, see if I bounce back or if I go bouncing over the fence and down a hill and fall in a river and wind up . . . someplace.

That temperature was not when I got up to take Alison to work; that temperature was around 9 O’clock and I actually turned on the space heater for a bit. June 27, global warming, go figure. Being the weekend before the 4th of July, I wondered how many people were settling into their vacation homes on the lakes around here. How many people were camping?

I remember when we bought this swing, Der Bingle and I; it was when we lived in West Chester, Ohio and I was in my mid-40’s. It hung from a tree in our backyard where we would swing our grandson. That was a long time ago. That yard was a huge hill in front, and a narrow level strip right behind the house which turned into a slope and woods. We played croquet out there in back on a modified course which included “Dead Man’s Wicket.” It was on the steepest part of the slope and was right at the woods’ edge. Getting through it could take more strokes than the whole rest of the game required.

The swing is now dirty and in a shed out back, one of my croquet buddies is all the way down in Texas and part of my heart is on that spot where Dead Man’s Wicket stood.

I have been trying to rescue part of the hedge from a grapevine – little did I know when I started that grapevines can be as much like a forest as a hedgerow. I believe I am going to set up a support a bit away from (what is left of) the hedge and let the vines I left have at it.  I’ll tell you one thing: grape vines are sneaky little critters.

I should set up a wreath-making project to recycle all this grapevine, but it reminds me too much of basket-weaving at the funny farm, which is undoubtedly politically incorrect, but never you mind.

I have a band-aid on my little finger from when the pruning saw slipped and I registered an “Ouch” and then no more pain, but did notice red spots on the ground where I was walking. There are superficial cuts on my third and second finger, so this is probably in the running with scissors category and makes me wary of using a chain saw.

Der Bingle had some excitement last night when a Cousin Vinny’s Pizza deliveryman pounded on his door at a quarter to one. It turns out the fellow in the apartment below, B as opposed to Der Bingle’s D, had ordered it and eventually he ran out to prevent it from being hijacked. To go from sleeping to trying to go back to sleep with the lingering aroma of pepperoni is traumatic.

I have downloaded a couple of Kindle Unlimited books and think I will start relaxing and take a break from my walking schedule. It is a little after five; in the winter it would be dark and I know I should be out doing something in the summer’s light, but . . . never you mind.

I have take a certain medicine for 40 years. It was on Wal-Mart’s $4 list and so I didn’t use insurance. Now, Wal-Mart cannot offer it for that price, but rather wanted to charge $183. Why, because the drug manufacturer’s have raised the price – a lot. I am going to cite an article HERE about another drug that has been affected. It is digoxin and has been around since 1785. In the article, you will read how profits soared for the manufacturer and how an 85 year old lady went from spending  $1.15 for a three-month supply to $30 dollars for one month.

Why, it’s almost like getting someone hooked on drugs at corner by the schoolyard.