Friday, June 24, 1994...Bee-nock-lurs

The four older children have World Stamp Albums. We collect used stamps only; saves $$. Sometimes even $$$$.

I just got a new fountain pen. I’m every bit as good, if not a wee bit better, as Charlie Brown is with his fountain pen. As near as I can tell, the main reason anyone would use one of these relics is the importance one feels when saying imperviously, “Beauregard! Wouldest thou deliver to me mine fountain pen; and snap it up, wouldja?!”

Today I splurged and bought a good pair of binoculars, a 10x50 wide-angle with completely stabilized and coated optics. Bob, oh boy, are they ever nifty! After supper, we drove out to Lake Babcock to try them out watching the birds doing their before-bedtime calisthenics.

As we gazed out over the rippling water, a dazzling pink, lavender, and orange in the light of the setting sun, Lydia asked, “Where are all the bad hawks?” (Babcock = bad hawk.)

Well, we arrived at a certain vantage point between tree and lake, and the place was absolutely teeming with wildlife, so we parked and alit. The children spotted the playground toys; and, with loud war whoops of joy, were off and running. Three were on the swings: eeeeEEE! eeeeEEE! eeeeEEE! Two were on the merry-go-round: screeeee--screeeee! Two were on the slippery slide which wasn’t, so they had to use their feet to pull themselves down: Thuddity BOOM Thuddity BOOM Thuddity BOOM. One kid proceeded to run up the slide: BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM!!!

And all this was accompanied by many squeals and shrieks of delight, which is why I believe we will soon be hearing reports from Africa, Singapore, Tokyo, and such like, of sightings of bewildered American birds. So much for trying out the new binoculars.

Well, I’ve felt important long enough. I am now writing with a ‘Bic stic’ which costs $1.29/dozen. Much better.

Did I tell you about Hester and Lydia’s sidewalk chalk? Lydia was having such a scribblingly swell time, that later we discovered chalk on the Suburban and car; fortunately, not the van, which Larry had just painted.

“It didn’t need it,” she explained.

Teddy and Joseph have been bringing in many cupfuls of mulberries from our tree in the backyard. (I wonder how many more cupfuls I’d have, if there were no purple stains around their mouths?) So I made mulberry muffins; and, since a friend brought me a bunch of rhubarb, I made mulberry/rhubarb pie, and mulberry/rhubarb crisps. Dorcas used my zucchini bread recipe to make mulberry/rhubarb bread. Yum! Fatter and fatter.

I’ve been practicing writing script with machine embroidery, using my trusty Bernina 830 Record. I’m getting pretty good at it--my goodness; the last time I tried it, several people actually came purty close to guessing whose name I’d written!

We have two miniature sewing machines. They look like mine, and they sew a nice chain stitch. I give Hester my scraps, and she sits at a little table behind me sewing happily away. She took a square, folded it, sewed it, turned it right side out, looked at it quizzically. Then she went and got her butterfly sunglasses, and slid them into the pocket.

“Now how ’bout that!” she said in utter amazement. “I sewed a glasses case; and I hadn’t even planned on it!”

My sister-in-law Annette made Hester and Lydia beautiful doll cakes for their birthdays. Hester was eating cake and chocolate/marshmallow ice cream.

“I can really taste the mushrooms!” she announced.

Caleb is trying to crawl--stink-bug fashion, according to Joseph. He travels laboriously along, doing his vacuum-cleaner impression--picking up anything he can find, poking it into his mouth, smiling sweetly at me, and saying, “Icky!” which must mean “This tastes good” in Infantese.

When I was making those rhubarb pies, I filled one of the pans too full, so, of course, it ran over. And, of course, it burned. And, of course, smoke began billowing out of the oven vent. So I turned on the fan, turned off the oven, jerked out the crisps, grabbed a kitchen chair and fled madly down the hallway where I shinnied up onto the chair, teetered on my tiptoes, and ripped the smoke detector out of the ceiling before it took fright and began blasting away, awaking men and children alike.

I am trying to get a good picture for the photo contest. So I backed the van out of the garage... (it was already spotless). Dorcas pretended to be wiping a wheel; Joseph dried a window; Hannah a door. Teddy stood holding a hose with a spray nozzle, a towel on his arm, big green bucket (with a crack in the bottom) at his feet, billowing with bubbles (courtesy of Hester’s putrid Roses, Roses bubble bath). Lydia hid behind Joseph while Hester sneaked around Dorcas with a squirt gun.

I backed up to take their picture just as Jimmy, the snotty newspaper kid who always ignores us, rode by on his bike. Suddenly, he turned and stared at all these wooden Indians, frozen in action. He got his bike under control and turned and stared again. haha It was Jimmy’s face that would’ve won the contest.

Well, I am now working on Christmas and Thanksgiving clothes. Yes, yes; I know it’s only June; but I’ve got lots of clothes to make! And I have to write the Christmas program. That’s a job and a half; and I must be done by Thanksgiving, because the day after Thanksgiving, rehearsals begin. And Caleb’s every whim and wish come first, of course.

I made a skirt with big box pleats for Hannah and one to match for Lydia; and ruffled blouses with peplums will go with them. For Caleb I made a pair of gray and red plaid wool knickers with suspenders, and Hannah is making Lydia a skirt with suspenders to match. They will have pin-striped western blouse and shirt.

Hannah is new at this sewing venture. Crocheting--she can do that lickety-split with one arm tied behind her back and both eyes shut. But sewing?--that’s a beast of another species. She’s been habbin’ a real debble ub a time. Knots from not putting presser foot down. Knots from filling bobbin too full. Interfacing puckers. Seam on straps pucker. Seams crooked. But if she does this the way she does anything else, she’ll have it all down pat and be stitching with skill before the postman ever delivers this letter. (Especially if I only write half the address, like I did last time.)

There’s a mosquito in here, and Larry and I have our Dagwood and Blondie acts reversed: he snores happily, oblivious to this buzzy, aggravating dive bomber, while I leap wildly from one side of the bed to the other, swatting furiously, setting up tremendous tidal waves. (Yeah, it's a waterbed.)

Rats. I missed.

Aleutia keeps having bunny for midnight snack, the cannibal.

Hester said, “Why do they keep coming in our yard?! Don’t they know any better?! Is that why they call them dumb bunnies?”

Larry is muttering in his sleep, “Wake up! You’re making me go to sleep;” and I suspect he means that the other way around; so I’d better close here, turn out the light, climb into bed, snuggle all up and warm up my cold, cold feet and “YEEEOOOWW!!” (That was him.)

Mercy! They must’ve been even colder than I thought!

“Go back to sleep, dear.”