We have just had an enjoyable Sunday dinner with Lawrence and Norma, Linda, and Bobby. The day was expected to arrive with near-blizzard conditions, but the snow stopped, and all we had to cope with was the very cold temperatures and the very high winds, which were compatible with neither Sunday hats nor Sunday hairdos. Since we spend a lot of the morning at church, dinner must be mostly made on Saturday. I spent quite some time preparing the ingredients for a chef salad, putting such things as tomatoes, meat, eggs, croutons, cheese, and peas (those were raw, by the way) in separate containers. I erroneously asked somebody to get me the word processor, meaning food processor.
“Hee hee hee!” giggled Hester, “Mama’s gonna eat her words!”
Bratty kid.
Once, long, long ago, when the world was young and blithe, I combined everything in the salad the night before. I assure you, it was inedible the next day.
Norma supplied a couple of roasts, and we threw one more into the roaster just to be sure there was enough; we also had baked potatoes, green beans with bacon and onions, fruit salad with that cream cheese/sour cream/butter/whipped cream concoction for dressing, buttermilk biscuits, and pumpkin chiffon pie.
The pie looked funny, kind of like somebody had thrown in a cup of baker’s cocoa just to be funny. But it tasted delicious, and nobody is in the throes of severe food poisoning, so I’ve come to the conclusion that it looked that way because of the nutmeg I used. My mother gave me a cute little basket of spices, which she ordered from a health food magazine. She doesn’t go shopping anymore, so she orders most of the gifts she gives. Anyway, this nutmeg was extra dark, but particularly flavorful; perhaps it colored the pumpkin such a chocolatey color.
We gave Norma her gifts--a day too soon, but we all thought we’d waited long enough to give her these homemade things with which we are so pleased. Linda had the same notion; she brought a few presents, too.
Dorcas received a letter from a Filipino penpal which read as follows: “Greatings! Hi! Hello! I hope you are feel fine and good mood upon receive my letter and hope you can cope up all the obstacles of life!”
Sometimes the news the Filipinos write is sad: one of Hannah’s penpals told her that she’d just attended a funeral for her 27-year-old cousin who’d died in childbirth, leaving her two-year-old motherless. Some of them are too poor to go to a hospital.
Did I ever tell you about Esther cutting her arm on a metal wire where she works? It happened almost a year ago, I think. One of her fellow employees took her to the emergency room, where an intern did an extremely lousy job of sewing it up. It was about 3 ½ inches long, and deep.
Over the next few days, it wouldn’t quit bleeding, so Esther’s mother took her to our family doctor. When the doctor saw the cut, and especially the stitching job, he was horrified.
“Oh! This is awful!” he said. “You’re going to have trouble with this!”
He put a couple more stitches in it to stop the bleeding, put a topical antibiotic on it, and also gave her an oral antibiotic, since it was getting rather badly infected.
The doctor was right. Esther has had trouble with that cut. It turned into a horrible scar, gradually widening until it was nearly three-quarters of an inch wide and paper-thin.
The doctor decided he must take action. So, just a couple of days ago, he spent over an hour carefully pulling the several layers of skin back together again, sewing the bottom layer with the kind of stitches that dissolve, and finally pulling the top layer together with neat, precise sutures. It didn’t bleed at all, and now there is a fine line which should heal nicely and be scarcely noticeable. The doctor’s long, slim fingers are skillful.
Monday evening Keith made a nifty breadboard, with a drain-groove all around and four little rounded legs, for one of the men he works with. The man paid him $10 for it.
“Now me have lots tomatoes, lots tomatoes!” Emilio told Keith, making cutting motions with his hand across the breadboard.
Keith bought two sawhorses and a bench for his router. The router (or table saw--they’re interchangeable) fits right into the bench, and it has all the outlets and switches needed for any machine it holds. While Keith was putting the sawhorses and bench together, Victoria, who was greatly intrigued with all these unique toys, kept climbing up beside him and hugging him, no doubt hoping all that lovin’ would get her permission to play with his ‘toys’.
Tuesday evening, a girl who was in Dorcas’ class at the public school had an accident and was severely injured. She was flown to a hospital in Omaha, and is not expected to live.
Although Dorcas hasn’t seen the girl for several years now, it is nonetheless somewhat unsettling to learn such a thing about somebody who used to be a friend.
Said Dorcas, “It certainly makes me want to drive carefully!”
I know the feeling. Two of my friends were killed in separate accidents when I was in high school. I saw some of their best friends go to bits and pieces over the news.
I broke another string on my piano; now there are two missing, and the latest one is a double on one note. The strings of the upper keyboard, you see, are fastened to pegs at the front of the sounding board, stretch across the board to wrap around a peg at the far side, then come back again and hook into another peg. Each part of the string is individually tuned, and each note has three parts of a string. From a low C# down to the lowest F#, there is only one string per note, wrapped with a brass coil; a string which starts at sounding board front, wraps around a far peg, and ends in a front peg, giving it two parts of a string per note. From F# on down to the bottom, there is only one string, but these big strings, also wrapped in coils of brass, hook into pegs at sounding board front, and end in pegs at sounding board back. (That description is about as clear as mud, I see.)
I once broke a low bass string--one of those that doesn’t turn around and come back--and it flew straight up like a missile, putting a deep gouge into the underside of the piano lid.
The song leader nearly cleared the pulpit in one mighty leap. And the congregation all jumped in unison, nicely masking the fact that I myself jumped so violently (I!--who never jump!) I nearly upended myself, piano bench, and all. Somehow, however, I managed to keep right on a-playin’, not missing a beat.
Anyway, the previous broken string on my piano is one that is shared by two notes, so it’s not so vital to tonal quality and keyboard action. But this newest broken string is a ‘two-on-one’ string; so every time I hit the note that only has one little string left with which to make its lovely sound, it makes a strange little ‘plink’ noise which throws me off my feed. So Larry will have to put new strings in for me, and then I will have to tune them, and after I hit those notes no more than two or three times, I’ll have to tune them again, on and on ad infinitum, until the excess elasticity of new strings has gotten itself worked out and it will hold its tune. Oh, help and bother.
I look forward to heaven, where musical instruments will never need to be tuned, for they will never be out of tune! Did you know that, according to the Bible, we will have all the same talents in heaven that we had on earth--perfected, of course; plus a whole volley of other talents, besides? Imagine!--I’ll be able to play incredible renditions of riveting harmonies with nary a fluff! I’ll be able to sing high without my voice cracking; I’ll sing low and not get hoarse. What fun!
Baby Todd’s outfit is now all done, and I cut out Hannah’s dress and got about half of it done. It would be done by now, but it got interrupted by a pile of wampum we collected from some customers, which I managed to discard of quickly by writing out no less than 56--that’s right, fifty-six--checks. When one buys parts and pieces and components and parcels from one hundred and one body shops and auto parts houses and salvage yards, one winds up with a plenitude of people to pay.
Thursday morning, Mama’s window feeder was full of English sparrows pecking up seed, chirping and hopping about. Suddenly, with one simultaneous CHEEEP!!!, they flapped off in a frenzied flurry, not to be seen again for over two hours. And then Mama’s little parakeet, whose cage is right beside the window feeder, craned his neck to peer out the window, then flew wildly against the sides of the cage, beating his wings frantically. He finally landed on a lower level of his tubular cage, and, not being able to see out the window any more, he calmed down and sat still on a perch. Mama quickly went to the window to see what in the world was causing the upheaval; there, soaring just over the trees, was a red-tailed hawk! Her little bird didn’t move for two hours--not until a couple of sparrows came back into the window feeder, and he heard their chirps and scratchings.
Dorcas has been enjoying coming to Jr. Choir to lead the singing. Someday soon, Penny will no doubt feel well enough to come back, and then Dorcas will be sad. Not that Penny is well, you understand.
Thursday evening after Jr. Choir, we went to Wal-Mart for a major shoe excursion: Hester and Lydia got saddle oxfords for school and Easter shoes, too--Hester’s, white; Lydia’s, ivory, to match the lace on their dresses; Caleb got shiny black slip-ons for Easter which have little kiltie fringes and tassels, and which he tries on regularly throughout the day; I got a pair of suede moccasins with sheepskin lining and fur around the ankle (only $2!); and Victoria got a pair of Winnie-the-Pooh slippers (they have a stuffed Pooh’s head on them, and she keeps hugging them), white McKids walkers, and white patent leathers with bows on the toes for Easter.
Lawrence's granddaughter asked me to write in her autograph book, so here is what I wrote:
Oh, Lord of the heavens, Thou art excellent in power;
Thy terrible majesty reigneth hour by hour.
Thy children, so feeble, have oft stood in wonder
At mighty displays of Thy lightning and thunder.
There once was a time when the morning stars sang;
Foundations were laid, and shouts of joy rang;
For Thou commanded the morning and created the light;
Thou positioned the sun and set it in flight.
The sea’s many fishes, all the birds of the air,
And the creatures Thou madest are exceedingly fair.
The dewdrops so precious, or treasures of the snow,
Thou sendest wherever Thy desire bids them go.
On a crag of the rock makes the eagle her nest;
Under willows of the brook takes behemoth his rest.
All this is done by the might of Thy hand;
For Creation obeys Thy slightest command.
May humility and reverence keep our hearts ever true;
For Thou, Lord of All, granteth blessing anew:
Our captivity Thou turneth, and for sorrow, giveth joy;
Praise of Thy mercy shall our tongues ever employ!
This poem was taken from Job, chapters 37 to 42.
Friday evening it started snowing and blowing hard, and it kept at it until early Sunday morning. In the middle of this blizzard, we decided that Dorcas absolutely had to have some boots that actually fit her, and in which she did not have to lop her toes under three times just to get them on; so off we went to Payless, where, lo and behold, the only decent boots they had left were not only in Dorcas’ size, and comfortable and warm, but were also half-price--only $9.
While we were gone, Hannah made Nestle’s Crunch/Butterscotch Chip/Heath Brickle cookies, which, along with a hot mug of either cocoa or coffee, made a marvelous welcome when we walked in the door.
Keith did lots of scooping with his pickup’s snowplow; he cleared a couple of gas station lots, then went around scraping off several friends’ driveways, including Lawrence and Norma’s and Lawrence's daughter's. He also did part of the school and church parking lot. Teddy is on lawn/snow duty (the young people all rotate these jobs every two months), so he helped several other boys and young men scoop and snowblow the walks and porches. Joseph, meanwhile, took care of ours. I think we got about eight inches of snow.
Saturday morning when I peeked in Victoria’s room to see if she was awake yet, there she was, sitting in her crib, industriously unzipping her sleeper. Just as I scooped her up, the phone rang.
“HO!!” she shouted right in my ear. (Hello)
She’s such a funny little dear.
Tonight Hannah was at Bobby’s house; Hester went along, since she and Esther, Bobby’s sister, are good friends. They were sitting at the kitchen table having hot chocolate. Bobby got up to go get something; quicker’n a wink, Hannah turned his chair around backwards. Coming back to the table, Bobby, acting as though nothing were out of the ordinary, left the chair as it was and simply straddled it. Hannah valiantly kept a straight face.
Just then, John, Bobby’s father walked through.
“Bobby!” said he, “Can’t you sit like a gentleman?! Turn your chair around!”
So Bobby did--while staying astraddle of it, of course winding up with his back to the table, and cracking everybody up in the process.
Larry has been working night and day on that big crewcab. He hopes to have it done this week, because, you see, a Mexican man in Albuquerque who owns a car dealership wants a pickup (maybe two) we have, and just Thursday sent us a down payment for it, plus the money Larry told him he’d charge to deliver it. The man calls Larry ‘Meester Lawry.’
We also need to get a vehicle in Denver. So I wrote to Larry's aunt, who lives in Raton, NM: "What would you say to a visit from a whole gaggle of Jacksons? Or maybe I should say, a ‘jumble’ of Jacksons; that probably being more accurate after such a long ride in a pickup, never mind how big it looks."
As they say, “We’ll be in touch!”
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