We’ve had spring cleaning in the fall this week. One of the little girls got so exuberant with their new water colors, they splatted the antique satin drapes in the living room. Oh, well; they had about a century’s-worth layer of dust on them. So, down came the whole works: big front windows, fireplace windows, and music room windows. And off I went to the cleaners.
When I arrived, I hopped out, grabbed half of them (which is all I could hold), dashed in, and plopped them on the counter.
“I’ll be right back,” I said brightly, “as soon as I get the rest!”
I rushed back out, snatched the last big pile, and trotted back in. I noticed the lady who does the deliveries, who is the daughter of the people who do the cleaning, looking at her mother, shaking her head in dismay. She turned slowly to stare at me, tripping right along with the second three-foot stack of draperies.
“When do you want these?” she asked slowly.
I shrugged. “Oh, sometime before Christmas, please,” I said.
Boy, you should’ve seen father, mother, and daughter brighten up. “Whew!” sighed the daughter; “We thought you wanted them before Thanksgiving!” (It was Monday, three days before Thanksgiving, and they were swamped with clothes to clean.)
I came home and pulled the lace sheers down next, leaving the front ones up to give us a little privacy. When the first load came out of the dryer, I got the front ones down. Hannah went off to put them in the wash machine, while I began putting the clean ones up at the front window.
That’s when I discovered I had three clean ones and one dusty one--meaning Hannah had gone off with three dusty ones and one clean one. So we spent the remainder of the evening on public display, until the sheers were finally dry.
I finished Hester’s poinsettia dress, and then made her a gold-sequined, burgundy velvet-lined drawstring purse, like Lydia’s. I got them both the most adorable little gold shoes with big gold bows on the toes, and gold metallic lamé bow barrettes. They are terribly excited. (The girls; not the barrettes.)
I got Larry an ulu (ōō΄lōō) for Christmas. I ordered it from a little Inuviat village in Alaska; it’s a knife shaped like this: Ϡ (well, sorta)
The handle is made from bone, and on it is carved two husky pups which look remarkably like Aleutia did when she was a pup.
Keith has about six penpals in the Philippines, and they are all girls. It seems that about three of them are having feuds over him. They all try to outdo each other in gushiness (“Everdearest Keith:”) and in badmouthing their ‘friends’. Keith thinks it’s all a grand lark, and tries to make sure he sends the same number of pictures, pages, etc., to each girl. He wrote to Wilma: “I do not wish to be the cause of trouble between you and your friends. I hope you will all be kind to each other.”
We soon received a letter from Lorgenia: “My friend Wilma show me your letter. She say you advise ‘Be kind each to other.’ Why? Did you tell her what I write you?”
“Oh, help,” muttered Keith.
I think we'll let the penpal stuff peter out.
I like hats. But they’ve been rather hard to come by for a few years in our vicinity. So, imagine my delight when I happened upon a whole raft of ’em at Wal-Mart--in the little girls’ section! I snatched up eight of them and fled for the checkout stand, chortling with glee all the way.
Shoppers stared at me strangely and gave me a wide berth. Wheeeee! I was as happy as the mad hatter. Little girls’ hats usually fit Hannah, Dorcas, and me just fine... that’s the advantage of being a pinhead.
Hannah served tables at our Thanksgiving dinner at church today, successfully avoiding the enacting of her worst dream--tripping suddenly, and putting a big bowl of mashed potatoes upside down right smack-dab on somebody’s poor unsuspecting pate.
When we took down the curtains, we discovered our windows were terribly dirty. So Keith washed them all, one balmy afternoon. He’s a very useful person to have around these days: he reaches things I can’t; he opens jars I can’t; he moves furniture I can’t; in short, he appears to be taking right after his father.
Larry once carried a pickup box to his car trailer and set it down all by himself, after the two men on the other side tripped and fell flat, and Larry hung on because he didn’t want his new box damaged. Both men have been excessively polite ever since.
Thursday, November 24, 1994
Saturday, November 19, 1994
Saturday, November 19, 1994...Forever-and-Ever, and Sick Shoes
I’m almost done Christmas shopping! And wrapping, too. I ordered a beautiful little watch pin/pendant, which is antique silver, shaped like a cuckoo clock, about 1 ½” long, complete with little pull chains and a pendulum with a sparkling crystal at the bottom. I ordered it for my sister. But I no sooner opened the little box, when it suddenly made an agile leap straight into my jewelry box, and from there onto one of my best sweaters! No help for it, I guess; I’ll just have to keep it.
The school children, grades one through three, were given the assignment of writing letters to their pastor. My brother read a few to the congregation. One read as follows:
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want, I have a dog. He catches frisbees real good, I really like to play with him, and he bites.”
By the end of that spiel, you can be sure everybody was laughing uproariously.
Joseph got new glasses. The Helpful Hattie there at the Optimetric Center busily adjusted them with all her might and main, using everything but her feet and a crow bar. We watched, cringing. We had only just gotten home when the nose pad (yes, the very one Hattietta adjusted) fell right off, ker-plunk. Back to the Op Center we went, to be confronted by close-set beady-eyed Helpfulness Herself, who peered at Joseph over the top of her specs accusingly and announced knowledgeably, “He bumped them on something.” And in her delicate way, she pounded a new nose pad onto the hapless eyeglasses, while we obligingly cringed again. I didn’t know they used sledge hammers at the optician’s, did you?
We went out to Lake Babcock one day to see the Canada geese and the mallards. The geese, with a great deal of honking, departed quickly to a more remote area of the lake.
Lydia, watching the ducks diving for food, giggled. “Hee hee hee! Bottoms up, kids!”
The kids--children, that is--got their report cards. Hannah and Joseph got all A’s (and several A+’s) as usual; Keith got four A’s and three B’s; Dorcas, three A’s and four B’s; Teddy, five A’s and two B+’s. Hester got her kindergarten report card marked clear full of ‘Excellent’s. Then Larry and I had the quadra-yearly argument over which one of us our children inherited all those smarts from, arriving eventually at the usual impasse.
Lydia’s Favorite-Word-For-The-Week was ‘forever-and-ever’: “Are you going to wrap presents forever-and-ever?” “I really like my dolly forever-and-ever.” “Caleb likes me to play with him forever-and-ever.” And various other winsome statements made with no grammatical care: “Is it going to snow pretty soon forever-and-ever?”
Answers to questions: “Yes.” “That’s nice.” “That’s because he likes you.” and “I hope so.”
I dyed some satin and lace shoes for Hannah to match her blue satin and lace suit. Now the blue suit looks teal, and the blue shoes look purple. Bah, humbug.
I once dyed some satin shoes for myself. I wanted them to be peach, to match a beautiful peach satin suit I was going to wear. Now, most satin shoes sell in the vicinity of $35. To have them dyed is $10. So, imagine my delight when I found a lovely pair of satin shoes at Payless for only $20! I snapped them up quick and scurried home to order a dye kit--$6--from J. C. Penney.
Two days later the dye arrived, and the Great Artistic Endeavor ensued.
(Before I continue, I should tell you one additional small detail: the shoes had already been dyed mint green. Thinking this should pose no problem, I happily set to work.)
One coat of peach on. . .and the shoes turned a sick pink. Hmmm. Another coat of peach. Sicker pink. Another coat. Ghastly pink. Coat after coat, until finally I ran out of dye. Well, nothing else for it, but to head for the professional shoe dyers.
I marched in, holding those sopping shoes gingerly in separate boxes. “I need these shoes dyed peach,” I announced nonchalantly.
The bored Femme Fatale behind the counter snapped her gum and reached for her ticket book.
“We’ll have to bleach them first,” she said, eyeing my poor sick slippers with distaste, “and that’ll be an extra $6.”
“Okay,” I said unconcernedly.
She filled out the ticket and reached over to pick up those abominable clodhoppers with her manicured, blood-red talons.
“EEEYOOOO!” she shouted unsophisticatedly, having come into actual contact with the twin drowned rats. Her gum disappeared entirely. “These are all wet!” she explained loudly, looking at me like Einstein would’ve looked at Mortimer Schnerd.
“Hmmm,” I answered intelligently, staring wonderingly at the shoes.
“Well,” snapped The Fashion Plate, “these will have to dry before we begin on them. Can you pick them up in about three weeks?”
“Oh, no,” I exclaimed, “these are for Easter!” (It was Thursday, the day before Good Friday.)
She bugged her eyes out unflatteringly and batted them, looking remarkably like a frog in a hailstorm.
Well, the end of the story is, the shoes got done, and I wore them on Easter, although I did feel just a wee bit damp around the toes. One thing for sure, though: I certainly brought that Disinterested Doll at the shoe shop out of her doldrums in one quick hurry.
Today we all went for a long ride out through the Nebraska countryside. We saw several orange-clad hunters, but no deer anywhere, even at dusk. They are all well-hidden, this time of the year. We saw a flock of eleven wild turkeys. One was a big old tom in full display, his wattles all a-bobble as he proudly strutted before his harem. That was the first time I ever saw a tom do that.
Hester said in amazement, “Is that what we’re going to eat Thursday?!”
Caleb is walking a little more bravely every day. Aren’t babies adorable when they’re learning to walk?--arms held high for balance; cute little smile of delighted accomplishment on their faces.
Lydia is tickled pink over her little brother’s new feat. “Now he can really play with me!”
This morning Hannah put Hester and Lydia’s hair up in ponytails pulled to the side of their heads and fastened with a big ruffly barrette. Lydia came skipping into the kitchen to show me, ponytail swinging merrily. “Two of us little girls have our heads on crooked!” she told me gleefully.
That girl at the shoe shop ought to have eight kids; then she wouldn’t be so bored.
Life is fun; life is interesting; it’s just a happy house, when the children are all each other’s best friends.
I took some pictures with one of those panoramic cameras, a cheapie I thought I just had to have. My big expensive Minolta was so insulted over my betrayal, it ruined half of one of my rolls of film that day!
The quality is inferior to my good camera; but it’s rather novel, don’t you think?
The school children, grades one through three, were given the assignment of writing letters to their pastor. My brother read a few to the congregation. One read as follows:
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want, I have a dog. He catches frisbees real good, I really like to play with him, and he bites.”
By the end of that spiel, you can be sure everybody was laughing uproariously.
Joseph got new glasses. The Helpful Hattie there at the Optimetric Center busily adjusted them with all her might and main, using everything but her feet and a crow bar. We watched, cringing. We had only just gotten home when the nose pad (yes, the very one Hattietta adjusted) fell right off, ker-plunk. Back to the Op Center we went, to be confronted by close-set beady-eyed Helpfulness Herself, who peered at Joseph over the top of her specs accusingly and announced knowledgeably, “He bumped them on something.” And in her delicate way, she pounded a new nose pad onto the hapless eyeglasses, while we obligingly cringed again. I didn’t know they used sledge hammers at the optician’s, did you?
We went out to Lake Babcock one day to see the Canada geese and the mallards. The geese, with a great deal of honking, departed quickly to a more remote area of the lake.
Lydia, watching the ducks diving for food, giggled. “Hee hee hee! Bottoms up, kids!”
The kids--children, that is--got their report cards. Hannah and Joseph got all A’s (and several A+’s) as usual; Keith got four A’s and three B’s; Dorcas, three A’s and four B’s; Teddy, five A’s and two B+’s. Hester got her kindergarten report card marked clear full of ‘Excellent’s. Then Larry and I had the quadra-yearly argument over which one of us our children inherited all those smarts from, arriving eventually at the usual impasse.
Lydia’s Favorite-Word-For-The-Week was ‘forever-and-ever’: “Are you going to wrap presents forever-and-ever?” “I really like my dolly forever-and-ever.” “Caleb likes me to play with him forever-and-ever.” And various other winsome statements made with no grammatical care: “Is it going to snow pretty soon forever-and-ever?”
Answers to questions: “Yes.” “That’s nice.” “That’s because he likes you.” and “I hope so.”
I dyed some satin and lace shoes for Hannah to match her blue satin and lace suit. Now the blue suit looks teal, and the blue shoes look purple. Bah, humbug.
I once dyed some satin shoes for myself. I wanted them to be peach, to match a beautiful peach satin suit I was going to wear. Now, most satin shoes sell in the vicinity of $35. To have them dyed is $10. So, imagine my delight when I found a lovely pair of satin shoes at Payless for only $20! I snapped them up quick and scurried home to order a dye kit--$6--from J. C. Penney.
Two days later the dye arrived, and the Great Artistic Endeavor ensued.
(Before I continue, I should tell you one additional small detail: the shoes had already been dyed mint green. Thinking this should pose no problem, I happily set to work.)
One coat of peach on. . .and the shoes turned a sick pink. Hmmm. Another coat of peach. Sicker pink. Another coat. Ghastly pink. Coat after coat, until finally I ran out of dye. Well, nothing else for it, but to head for the professional shoe dyers.
I marched in, holding those sopping shoes gingerly in separate boxes. “I need these shoes dyed peach,” I announced nonchalantly.
The bored Femme Fatale behind the counter snapped her gum and reached for her ticket book.
“We’ll have to bleach them first,” she said, eyeing my poor sick slippers with distaste, “and that’ll be an extra $6.”
“Okay,” I said unconcernedly.
She filled out the ticket and reached over to pick up those abominable clodhoppers with her manicured, blood-red talons.
“EEEYOOOO!” she shouted unsophisticatedly, having come into actual contact with the twin drowned rats. Her gum disappeared entirely. “These are all wet!” she explained loudly, looking at me like Einstein would’ve looked at Mortimer Schnerd.
“Hmmm,” I answered intelligently, staring wonderingly at the shoes.
“Well,” snapped The Fashion Plate, “these will have to dry before we begin on them. Can you pick them up in about three weeks?”
“Oh, no,” I exclaimed, “these are for Easter!” (It was Thursday, the day before Good Friday.)
She bugged her eyes out unflatteringly and batted them, looking remarkably like a frog in a hailstorm.
Well, the end of the story is, the shoes got done, and I wore them on Easter, although I did feel just a wee bit damp around the toes. One thing for sure, though: I certainly brought that Disinterested Doll at the shoe shop out of her doldrums in one quick hurry.
Today we all went for a long ride out through the Nebraska countryside. We saw several orange-clad hunters, but no deer anywhere, even at dusk. They are all well-hidden, this time of the year. We saw a flock of eleven wild turkeys. One was a big old tom in full display, his wattles all a-bobble as he proudly strutted before his harem. That was the first time I ever saw a tom do that.
Hester said in amazement, “Is that what we’re going to eat Thursday?!”
Caleb is walking a little more bravely every day. Aren’t babies adorable when they’re learning to walk?--arms held high for balance; cute little smile of delighted accomplishment on their faces.
Lydia is tickled pink over her little brother’s new feat. “Now he can really play with me!”
This morning Hannah put Hester and Lydia’s hair up in ponytails pulled to the side of their heads and fastened with a big ruffly barrette. Lydia came skipping into the kitchen to show me, ponytail swinging merrily. “Two of us little girls have our heads on crooked!” she told me gleefully.
That girl at the shoe shop ought to have eight kids; then she wouldn’t be so bored.
Life is fun; life is interesting; it’s just a happy house, when the children are all each other’s best friends.
I took some pictures with one of those panoramic cameras, a cheapie I thought I just had to have. My big expensive Minolta was so insulted over my betrayal, it ruined half of one of my rolls of film that day!
The quality is inferior to my good camera; but it’s rather novel, don’t you think?
Monday, November 7, 1994
Monday, November 7, 1994...Bird Brains
Friday I went to the bookstore to make one last stab at identifying that beautiful bird that took peanuts from our hand with such a hard jerk at Yellowstone National Park. The library had nothing to shed light on the matter, and I really thought I just had to know what that bird was.
Without much effort at all, I found it: it was a Clark’s nutcracker. Now, perhaps a Clark’s nutcracker is common as a crow in that part of the country, but I had neither seen nor heard of one before, so I was terribly pleased to have solved the mystery.
In the meanwhile, I was wondering why in the world there was such a crush of people in that little bookstore. Finally I noticed the balloons and banner:
WELCOME! BOB DEVANEY AND JERRY TAGGE!
It turns out, our famous former football coach and famous former quarterback (that is, I think that’s who he was) were there autographing their new books. Franks sizzled in a roaster, and reporters with enormous lenses bustled about importantly, looking down their noses at lesser mortals.
That’s when I realized that everybody was looking at me a bit strangely as I knelt on the floor in the corner right beside the door behind which lurked the coach and quarterback, waiting for their cue to exit. There I sat, totally engrossed in birds--while everyone else was on pins and needles, waiting for the celebrities to appear. It wasn’t hard to tell what they were thinking: “Just get a load of that birdbrain in the corner, wouldja!”
I hastily departed. But I’d found the bird! I was just as happy as if I had good sense.
Thursday was Larry’s birthday: he has now advanced to the ripe old age of 34, same as me. I’m not quite one month older. I like to periodically remind him that one must respect one’s elders.
Now I am sewing Hannah’s Christmas suit: dark blue satin with gold dust all over it, and black lace with blue embroidery. It has great puffy sleeves to just below the elbow, then tight cuffs with many buttons to the wrists; and a very full ruffled peplum covered with lace, and lace covers the bodice from the waist up to 6” below the shoulder. The lace has a scalloped edging of blue. The skirt is circular.
Christmas program practice starts the Friday after Thanksgiving. I still have to rewrite one song, change a few words on another, and get all the notebooks in order. Then I shall finish sewing a jumper and blouse for Hannah, a dress for Hester, a purse for Hester to match Lydia’s gold sequined one, a blouse for Lydia, and a shirt for Caleb. Buy more presents; wrap them.
Help! Stop the world! Whoa! Wait for me!
Without much effort at all, I found it: it was a Clark’s nutcracker. Now, perhaps a Clark’s nutcracker is common as a crow in that part of the country, but I had neither seen nor heard of one before, so I was terribly pleased to have solved the mystery.
In the meanwhile, I was wondering why in the world there was such a crush of people in that little bookstore. Finally I noticed the balloons and banner:
WELCOME! BOB DEVANEY AND JERRY TAGGE!
It turns out, our famous former football coach and famous former quarterback (that is, I think that’s who he was) were there autographing their new books. Franks sizzled in a roaster, and reporters with enormous lenses bustled about importantly, looking down their noses at lesser mortals.
That’s when I realized that everybody was looking at me a bit strangely as I knelt on the floor in the corner right beside the door behind which lurked the coach and quarterback, waiting for their cue to exit. There I sat, totally engrossed in birds--while everyone else was on pins and needles, waiting for the celebrities to appear. It wasn’t hard to tell what they were thinking: “Just get a load of that birdbrain in the corner, wouldja!”
I hastily departed. But I’d found the bird! I was just as happy as if I had good sense.
Thursday was Larry’s birthday: he has now advanced to the ripe old age of 34, same as me. I’m not quite one month older. I like to periodically remind him that one must respect one’s elders.
Now I am sewing Hannah’s Christmas suit: dark blue satin with gold dust all over it, and black lace with blue embroidery. It has great puffy sleeves to just below the elbow, then tight cuffs with many buttons to the wrists; and a very full ruffled peplum covered with lace, and lace covers the bodice from the waist up to 6” below the shoulder. The lace has a scalloped edging of blue. The skirt is circular.
Christmas program practice starts the Friday after Thanksgiving. I still have to rewrite one song, change a few words on another, and get all the notebooks in order. Then I shall finish sewing a jumper and blouse for Hannah, a dress for Hester, a purse for Hester to match Lydia’s gold sequined one, a blouse for Lydia, and a shirt for Caleb. Buy more presents; wrap them.
Help! Stop the world! Whoa! Wait for me!
Thursday, November 3, 1994
Thursday, November 3, 1994...Trick or Treat
You know that stupid old saying, “The early bird gets the worm”? Well, it’s true. When you buy Halloween pumpkins too early, you end up getting worms. They lasted only long enough (the pumpkins; not the worms) to have their faces carved real purty and their pitchers tooken while they sat out on the porch glowing ... and then they quietly curled up and died. So there’ll be no pumpkin chiffon pies (the only kind worth making, I think) out of those! More’s the pity.
After the rush of trick-or-treaters had died down, we took our kids out to a few of their friends’ houses. Keith and Hannah decided (albeit reluctantly) that they were a bit old for such nonsense; but Dorcas had no such qualms, and gleefully donned her tall witch hat, sparkling half-mask, and joined her little brothers and sisters. The four younger ones (not counting Caleb) had rubber masks of the Tasmanian Devil (Teddy); Bugs Bunny (Hester); Donald Duck (Joseph); and Tweety Bird (Lydia). Lydia, who wasn’t nearly as timid as usual inside that mask, thought it great sport to say, “Tricker Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet...” followed by a great many giggles.
While we were gone, someone demolished one of our pumpkins. I imagine he gave it a good healthy kick ... and then, envision his dismay when, instead of a THUNK--CRAAACK!!, he heard, SSSQUISSH!!! SLURRRP! (That ‘slurp’ was when he finally got his foot back out of the mushy, gooshy thing, after a great deal of dancing about, shaking his foot like a cat after a puddle.) Oh, ha ha ha. Just what he gets. No need to wonder why they only destroyed one pumpkin; after all!--there’s only so much gore a petty criminal can stomach!
After the rush of trick-or-treaters had died down, we took our kids out to a few of their friends’ houses. Keith and Hannah decided (albeit reluctantly) that they were a bit old for such nonsense; but Dorcas had no such qualms, and gleefully donned her tall witch hat, sparkling half-mask, and joined her little brothers and sisters. The four younger ones (not counting Caleb) had rubber masks of the Tasmanian Devil (Teddy); Bugs Bunny (Hester); Donald Duck (Joseph); and Tweety Bird (Lydia). Lydia, who wasn’t nearly as timid as usual inside that mask, thought it great sport to say, “Tricker Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet...” followed by a great many giggles.
While we were gone, someone demolished one of our pumpkins. I imagine he gave it a good healthy kick ... and then, envision his dismay when, instead of a THUNK--CRAAACK!!, he heard, SSSQUISSH!!! SLURRRP! (That ‘slurp’ was when he finally got his foot back out of the mushy, gooshy thing, after a great deal of dancing about, shaking his foot like a cat after a puddle.) Oh, ha ha ha. Just what he gets. No need to wonder why they only destroyed one pumpkin; after all!--there’s only so much gore a petty criminal can stomach!
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