Are you ready for an update on Joseph’s virtual doggy? He is now 11 years old, and weighs 99 kilograms (although that changes regularly--for instance, this morning, after missing a feeding, he only weighed 65 kilograms). We were surprised to discover, after he turned nine years old, his entire appearance changed. He really does look like an old dog, and when he eats, he looks remarkably like an old man with ill-fitting dentures. He doesn’t bounce back and forth across the screen like he used to, and the screen that tells his general health has one or two empty squares at the top.
Last Monday evening when we went to Grand Island to look at Christmas lights, we found the neatest acreage all fixed up, just a little way out of town. They had a circle drive, and as we drove around, we saw an enormous Jack-in-the-Box going up and down.
As he began coming back up again, I told Victoria, “Look! He’s coming out!”
She looked. Then she breathed faster and faster, and finally she just squealed.
We saw a giant Winnie-the-Pooh, holding his blue balloon, rising up higher and higher, until he reached out an arm and grabbed some honey (a trailing cluster of yellow lights) out of the top of a tall pine tree. We saw Santa in an airplane taking off and landing on a lighted runway; the airplane was created from parts of an irrigation sprinkler, and the pivot swung the plane around, raising and lowering it.
But the most interesting part by far were the animals in the manger scene--real, live llamas! There was a big white one, and next to her, a little snow-white baby. Oh, wasn’t he cute!!! I want a baby llama.
He chewed his cud just like the big ones (there were several others); and, after our driving by wakened him, he got up and had a little midnight snack from his mother, then lay back down in his funny gangly way--down onto the front knees with a lurch, bottom up, then down in the rear with a plop and a grunt, then, finally, extending his neck even farther forward than it already was, he collapsed down onto his stomach in a llama’s inimitably awkward technique.
Victoria laughed and laughed. “Dog-dog!” she exclaimed, “Dog-dog!”
The baby llama (are they called calves? fawns? colts? cubs? pups? kits? llamettes?), having had his sleep disturbed, yawned and yawned and yawned, his little white chin going off all cock-eyed, and his fat little pink tongue arching up and out in the most comical fashion.
Tuesday, although the skies were blue and sunny, they say a storm front came through, and the winds gusted up to 55 mph. The wind even had a name: “The Alberta Clipper”.
On New Year’s Day we had our usual get-together with some close friends and their family. We’d been bequeathed with a couple of large bins of carrots, so the meal we fixed was heavy on the carrots--scalloped carrot/ham casserole, pineapple/carrot bread, and carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. We also had turkey, done with the convection-roast setting on my new oven, which seals the juices into the meat; jello/fruit salad with graham cracker crumbs and sour cream/cream cheese/whipped cream; and ice cream to go with the cake.
Afterwards, we used up some of the excess calories by playing ping pong.
One day I discovered my mother hadn’t mailed her Christmas cards yet, because she’d wanted to write a note in each of the them, but hadn’t managed to get it accomplished. Sometimes her handwriting is shakier than at other times, especially if she’s trying to hurry; and she doesn’t like to write then. Anyway, she was feeling rather badly that her cards were late, but, as usual, she didn’t want to put anybody to the bother of doing them for her.
But I sent Dorcas over posthaste to retrieve those cards, saying we wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and I quickly typed up a suitable note, read it to her over the phone; then, after getting her approval, I played it out into each of her cards and took them straight off to the post office. She was so pleased with the little note, and the ease of doing it on the word processor, that she lost her reluctance to ask for anything, and thought of one more person to whom she wanted to send a card, the next day! I’m always glad when my mother feels free to ask us for something; all her life, she’s been the sort who was always doing for others; it’s about time a person like that had the favor returned, don’t you think?
On New Year’s Eve, we forgot to listen to the countdown in Time’s Square, New York City, at 11:00 P.M., as we customarily do; and we forgot to listen to the countdown in Omaha at midnight, as we commonly do; so we wound up listening to the countdown in Denver at 1:00 a.m. And I forgot to play Auld Lang Syne until it was too late--Victoria was already in bed. Oh, well; the New Year will progress on, regardless.
Larry spent most of January 1st working on the six-door crewcab. I haven’t seen it lately, so I don’t know just what’s done and what isn’t.
One day my brother-in-law noticed some coats on sale at Country General. Knowing Teddy needed one, he called for Teddy to come over, whereupon he took him off to Country General and got him a warm, down-filled Canyon Guide Outfitters coat. Now we need to get Joseph one; I was hoping we could find a nice one at the Goodwill.
My mother gave the children a levitron for Christmas. It’s a magnetic spinning top, on which you put different little weights, and which spins on top of a strong magnet which is under a glass plate. When the top is spinning well, you lift the glass plate carefully, until the top gently lifts off and commences to spinning in midair. It’ll spin indefinitely, if the weights are just right, and the spin isn’t wobbly. Teddy can get it going just about perfectly.
Teddy and Joseph have been working diligently on the velvet posters we gave them for Christmas. Teddy’s picture has wolves and deer and salmon and a bald eagle in front of mountains and a stream; Joseph’s is of Sharpei puppies tussling with shoes, a ball, and a colorful blanket. They ‘paint’ them with markers. Only four came with the posters, so we bought them each a 24-piece set of Kodak markers, too. Teddy was the one who liked it the most; but, as soon as he finished his and Joseph saw how beautifully it turned out, Joseph got in gear and really went to ‘markering’ (Caleb’s word).
We were afraid that, because Michigan, who was #1 in all the polls, won their Thursday game with Washington State, we, voted only #2, wouldn’t stand a chance of being National Champions, regardless of whether or not we won our game with Tennessee, ranked #3. Friday evening we played in the Orange Bowl. And we won!--42-17, a fitting ending to Coach Tom Osborn’s career. But we still thought we were only rated #2. So it’s no small wonder that men are driven so to distraction that they rob banks and hold women and small children hostage. What else would you expect?
But we learned on Saturday that the National Championship award had been split -- and we’re #1, too, the same as Michigan! That’s because the coaches voted us #1, but the Associated Press, prejudiced liberals that they are, voted Michigan #1. But, really, the stupid rules need to be changed (they will be, after next year) so we can play Michigan, which would determine who the #1 team really is.
The day before we opened our presents, Caleb discovered a newly-wrapped present, a big one, addressed to him, under the tree. He studied the tag.
“Hey!” he said in excitement, “It’s to me!” He frowned. “What else does it say?” he asked. “I can’t read it if there are too many words,” he explained.
Teddy read it to him. “It says, ‘To Caleb, from Daddy, Mama, and kids.”
“Oh,” responded Caleb.
He wandered away, and was heard commenting quietly to himself, “I have a present from Daddy, Mama, and some little baby goats.”
Guess what Caleb’s favorite present is. It’s the fire truck he got for his third birthday, which was unearthed recently by our cleaning spree, and which I lately put new batteries in, after which I recalled the horrendous racket the dumb thing makes.
Friday evening the young people took down the decorations at church. Earlier in the afternoon, we took down our tree and lights and moved the furniture back where it belonged, including the bump-your-shins chair in its strange bearing in the hallway. Once more, the hallway was clear. Caleb gladly roared its length with his prize fire truck.
“I’m always really glad when we take the Christmas tree down!” he announced.
(Of course, he said the same thing about putting the Christmas tree up.)
Victoria is starting to pull herself up, usually with something too unstable to support her. Several of us run like madmen to either catch her or grab hold of the wobbly whatever-it-is before baby and object both tumble to the turf. The wonder is that we don’t have terrible collisions with each other, en route. What I’ve always wondered, is this: how do mothers of crawlers and toddlers gain weight?
Yesterday, Larry was making his famous French toast, which is one of our Sunday delicacies.
Caleb declared, “I want some French. . .French. . .French toast!”
Quicker’n a wink, Hester retorted, “We don’t have any.”
Caleb’s eyebrows flew up.
Teddy, then, by way of explanation, deadpanned, “They’re not that French.”
I’ve just finished the month-end bookwork, which took hours and hours. Next month it will be time to do not only the monthly bookwork, but also the yearend bookwork.
Today we went to see Dr. Luckey because Joseph had a strange mole under and behind his ear. During the last week, it had grown; and Saturday night he bumped it, and it would hardly stop bleeding. It was the kind of mole one needs to do something about, in my opinion; and the doctor agreed with me.
He removed it.
Also, we got some medicine for Joseph’s cold, which has hung on for altogetherly too long; and something else for Joseph’s headaches, which are probably migraine. If the medicine works, they are. If the medicine doesn’t work, they aren’t.
Victoria had her ears checked, too; she’d been acting like they hurt. Sure enough, they were slightly inflamed; so Dr. Luckey gave us medicine for her, too. He gives us medicine from his store there at the clinic, and he doesn’t charge us a thing! He said there is a fund for medications for families without insurance, and he’d just as soon we got the benefit from it, as anyone. Isn’t that nice of him?
Our friends with the little two-year-old, Mary Clarice, who has scoliosis, must have surgery again. They are taking her to a big hospital in Minneapolis, where doctors, in a five- to six-hour procedure, will remove a rib, then fuse it to a part of her back. They say, in a child so small, the rib will grow back. The doctors told the family that if they didn’t do something about the child’s back, she wouldn’t live beyond the age of thirteen or so.
This little girl, who is a dear little sweetheart, will be in a body cast for four to six months, and then in what’s called a ‘Milwaukee brace’ for the rest of her growing years. That sounds like an awfully long time, to all of us.
Mary Clarice is named Mary after her late grandmother, and Clarice after her late great-grandmother. Hannah is crocheting a ruffly little dress for a doll for Mary Clarice, and a small blanket to go with it. Poor little thing; we feel so sorry for her, and for her parents, too.
Saturday night, I went off to the church to practice a song I was going to sing Sunday evening. Arriving back home again, I walked into the music room, where Hannah was seated at the piano, holding Victoria. The baby looked up and saw me.
“Hi, there, baby!” I said.
She looked at me, straight-faced, gazed around the room. Brightening, she turned back to me, grinned widely, and answered exuberantly, “Hi, there, Mama!”
* * *
Well, it is now 2:00 a.m., and Joseph is sitting in the recliner chair, pressing a piece of gauze on that spot where the mole was removed. It started bleeding again, and I was afraid we would have to make a trip to the hospital to get it stopped. But I think maybe he’ll be all right after all.
You know, having nine children has this problem: there are more things to worry about. But the truth is, the joys outweigh the problems. So I’m not prepared to trade any of ’em in yet.
* * *
It is now 3:15 A.M., and Joseph is asleep on the couch in the living room. I didn’t want him all the way downstairs in the top bunk in his room, just in case that mole--or what’s left of it--started bleeding again. It’s okay now, but I told him to plan to stay home from school tomorrow; I think that would be the wisest course of action.
Joseph has this distinction: he’s always been my oldest baby. . .you see, he made it all the way to the grand old age of four years, one and a half months, before having a younger sibling.
And, well, that makes him special, don’t you know? (’Course, they’re all special--for one reason or a-tuther.)
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