Thursday, September 8, 1994...Science Projects, New Bikes, and Nole Crows

Hester is now an official kindergarten girl, and isn’t she delighted! She went off cute as a button in her royal blue flowered seersucker low-waist, a huge white sash tied in a jaunty bow at the side, a big white seersucker platter collar with tiny colored hearts on it and three big blue hearts appliqued on, and a giant blue double bow on top of her head, holding back long streamers of curls which bounced as she walked. She had bright blue socks with white lace and white shoes with little purple hearts and flowers on them--and they lit up with bright red flashes when she walked. So you see why she thought she was absolutely the cat’s meow.

I've just printed a gazillion pictures. I can’t ever seem to do anything in a moderate fashion: if I have a lug of cherries, I make a dozen pies. All at once. If someone gives me a bag of zucchini, I spend the afternoon making twelve loaves of ‘bikini’ bread (Larry's brother Kenny accidentally called it that once), six zucchini/chocolate sheet cakes, and six zucchini ‘apple’ crisps.

Last summer when my Junior Choir kids were having a jolly good time being Secret Pals, I made 47 loaves of bread for each child to give their pal. (That is, one loaf apiece.) (And that was before Larry gave me the bread machine, too!) One time several of our friends gave us many sacks full of apples. So I made 28 deep-dish apple crumb pies, four pans of apple crisps, and four pans of apple/cheddar/raisin bars. Then we loaded everybody into the car, put a pie on each lap, and headed off to dole out pies to all the friends and relations. Cookies? Take the recipe times six. At least.

Anyway, that’s my explanation for the big stack of pictures. Larry laughs at me because if I’m cold, I turn the furnace on 85 or 90°. Hot? Flip it over to ‘cool’, turn it down to 55 or 60°. (He exaggerates.) One thing about it: extremists never find life dull! (Neither do those who must live with them.)

Dorcas is collecting bugs for a science project. We have baby food jars all over the counter with bugs in them. Furthermore, they’re still alive! Oh, s h u d d e r. The kids feed those stupid creepy crawlies more faithfully than they feed the dog, I think. The worst thing is, the katydids (“Why did she?” asked Lydia) and the crickets chirp loudly throughout the night. Disgusting. And you know what? This is the third time I’ve helped collect bugs...and there’s no end in sight. Teddy will do it next year, Joseph in two years, Hester four years after that, ... you get the picture.

Lydia usually stays busy during school hours entertaining Caleb; but one day, after getting up early, he took an early nap and left Lydia in a position she had never found herself in before: all by herself. She looked out the front door: no sign of any kids yet.

Wandering back to the living room, she queried, “Mama? How loooonnng will it be before I can go to school?!”

“Two years,” I replied, “but in just about half a year, you’ll be four: and then you can go to Sunday School!”

That certainly brightened her face. She happily busied herself with her Li’l Tykes’ playhouse, having more fun with it than ever.

In the afternoons, I take Lydia and Caleb for long walks in our new twin stroller. Even Caleb begins to expect it as soon as the kids go back to school after lunch, and he looks anxiously at the door, then back at me, and says, “‘Side?” (outside)

Lydia sings away, the whole stroll; and Caleb has begun to do it, too. Yesterday he sang an entire stanza of “Jesus is the Shepherd,” right on tune! No words, just humming, very high-pitched.

Keith is in Seventh Heaven: he just got a new bike--a brilliant blue Schwinn Sidewinder. He got a little black book rack, a speedometer/odometer/stopwatch, and a black water bottle--the right color, Larry informs us, to heat up his water nicely. (Ah, well. Keep ’im from getting the cold-water cramps.) We looked at those daffy-looking biking helmets, but when the man told us they were $25, we decided that was just too much. Wal-Mart sells them for $10.

So I said, “Never mind. We’ll just let him bump his head.”

You should’ve seen the look that guy gave me. Then Keith snickered and thus disarmed the situation.

Just then, Keith’s good friend Bobby came strolling in with his new bike, to get his 30-day free checkup. And, lo and behold, we’d just purchased a bike identical to his!

“Good grief,” said I, “you’ll be fighting over them like anything!”

“Oh, not to worry,” said Bobby politely, “I’ll put a long scratch on Keith’s so as to tell them apart.”

By that time, Mr. Schwinn Man the Nervous had decided we were all fairly harmless lunatics, and he actually dared to laugh.

Hester and Lydia were recent happeners upon a gruesome crime scene: our cannibalistic dog, who as of this date remains unrepentant, had recently sampled another bunny. There they stood, hand in hand, mouths slightly agape in horror, gazing upon the small bit of soft brown and white fluff.

Then Hester stole a sideways glance at her younger sister, noted the appalled little face, and abruptly clicked her own mouth shut.

“Oh, well,” she said, marching determinedly away from the sight, “it was just an old crow.”

Lydia looked quickly into Hester’s face, but Hester’s small jaw was set firmly; and, after mulling it over for a second or two, she accepted it with obvious relief. “Yes,” she agreed, nodding; “just a nole crow.”

Today the public schools quit early because it was 97°. (It’s midnight, and it’s still 87°!) But our school children learnt steadily on, cool as a breeze in the efficient air conditioning. Our children, who all think school is just fine and dandy, feel smug. The public school children, most of whom dislike school intensely, feel just as smug.

Smug, muggy weather!

Some of the pictures I had printed was from the mountains of British Columbia, one of the most beautiful places we went. The air smelled richly of pine, cedar, and fresh mountain air. Abundant wildlife could be seen everywhere. Small villages, generally many, many miles apart, were made up of snug log cabins with a four-wheel-drive and a snowmobile by the door. At the side of each house was an enormous stack of wood. Many times, no electrical lines could be seen anywhere, and some cabins had small, well-kept outhouses behind them.

It seemed like the days of the pioneers in their horse-drawn wagons, with their stalwart spirits, were not so long past; and we felt a bit like intruders in the quiet solitude as we came rumbling through with our Cummins turbo diesel.

I have a terrible problem: I’m out of coffee, and I’m ZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....