-->
Today the children have no school, so we all slept late (all but Larry and Keith, that is, who went off early to work), on account of staying up late last night.
Sunrise Service started yesterday at 7:00 a.m.; breakfast was at 8:00. Home again to change into our fanciest duds, then back to Sunday School and church. After the evening service, we had a lunch. We were having such an enjoyable time talking with our friends (and I, as usual, was taking pictures), that we didn’t go home until 11:45 p.m.
Victoria was glad to get home. She couldn’t decide which she wanted more: to go to bed, or to eat. (She didn’t eat much of our lunch; she still eats mostly baby food.) While I was putting her pajamas on her, she pointed at her crib.
“Ni-ni!” she said, squinting her eyes shut tight and sticking her thumb in her mouth. But when I picked her up and headed for the kitchen, she grinned happily. “Num-num!” she announced, nodding her head vigorously. “Ya!”
Last week I expected to finish the fleece robes for Joseph and Caleb and start on the Fourth of July clothes. Well, I did finish Caleb’s robe and make a small start on Joseph’s, but that’s all. Making insets for prom gowns, sewing on appliques and thousands of pearls and sequins, hemming pants, decorating hats with flowers (which had to be spray-painted first), netting, and pearls, and making barrettes of flowers, pearls, and ribbon takes more time than you’d think.
We had a hat that exactly perfectly matched Dorcas’ silk suit. It was made of heavy mesh, and covered with a heavy, shiny, raw silk. Unfortunately, the UPS man had run over it with his biggest truck. Well, that’s what it looked like, anyway. But the color of Dorcas’ suit is salmon pink, a particularly difficult color to match, so we really needed to repair this fair headwear.
Now, it so happens that my sister, Lura Kay, used to make hats. She would order the round, flat pieces of wool felt or woven straw; then, using some type of compound called ‘hat sizing’, she curved them around her hat shaper this way and that, each hat unique, stuffing batting inside curled brimmers, tacking creases in fedoras, bending the dip in the brim just so. After letting them dry for a day or two, she decorated them with netting or ribbon or flowers, whatever struck her fancy. She made pill boxes, portrait-brimmed hats, sailor hats, berets, derbies, milans, cloches, panamas, chapeaux--you name it, she made it.
So I called for help. Now, I didn’t intend to just give the job to my busy sister; no, I intended to merely ask for advice, then take the billet myself. But, since I was doing hems for my niece, her daughter, she decided she should take on this hat.
She soon returned it to us in nearly perfect shape. I then spray-painted silk flowers to match it, tied them with a white satin bow, twisted pink netting into the brim, and glued sprays of pearls against the crown. Dorcas was delighted, and I must say it is one of our prettiest hats.
Learning that I was sewing sequins and pearls on Dorcas’ dress, a friend gave me some glue especially for affixing jewels to fabric. With the glue, I finished the dress: pearls stuck to fingers, tweezers, pins, sewing cabinet, my sweater, my skirt, my hair--and, more rarely, the applique. Aaarrr-ggghhh. Next time, I shall use needle and thread, that I shall.
Anyway, I got everything done, and we made it successfully through Easter Sunday. (Dat id, udder dan da fact dat I aguired a nasty code and goodn’t sigg by solo. But I wud able do sigg wid da guire. Wid dat binny beepo, da fact dat one’s node id dopped up id nod so eedily nodiced.)
Hannah crocheted herself the neatest little sparkly white envelope purse, with an old-fashioned button holding it shut, a tassel hanging from the button, and a shiny white cord for the strap. She made it to go with her white eyelet, but it looks more like one a bride would carry, it does.
Larry now has the side windows and the windshield in the crewcab. One night I even helped him put the headliner in it. Friday night Larry put the new, elongated driveshaft underneath. Putting the side windows into a Ford proved to be a challenging puzzle. Larry has put many Chevy windows in, but no Fords. The Chevys have little side windows beside the bigger window, giving better access; but the Ford--! How, Larry wondered, do you put a large window into a smaller frame?! He struggled and struggled and struggled. . .and suddenly, without warning, in it went.
And then the power window didn’t work. Larry was afraid the motor was bad, and they are rather expensive. Also, it was the middle of the night, and no parts stores are open at that hour. He carefully pulled the wires out of the door frame--and one came loose right in his hand. He was relieved. He got out his soldering gun, soldered it back together again--and it worked. Larry has spent many nights working on that pickup; the days are spent on customers’ things, since that’s what pays the bills.
Tonight Larry drove the pickup home from work. It doesn’t have the grill in yet, nor yet the headlights, so it had to go back to the shop, posthaste, before it got too dark. But before Larry took it back, he drove it up my mother’s driveway so she could step out on the porch and look at it. She was quite amazed at its length.
“The front bumper is against the garage door, and the back bumper is still out in the street!” she laughed.
Mama has lost weight; she only weighs 93 pounds. But now she can chew most of her food, and my brother Loren brings her milkshakes and such like every day, so she should be putting a few pounds back on.
Tuesday afternoon, Bobby came and asked me if an Easter lily would bother Hannah’s asthma.
“Probably,” I replied. Then, seeing his downcast demeanor, I inquired, “Are you trying to think of an Easter present for her?”
“Wellllll.... I’ve already bought it,” he admitted.
“Oh!” said I. “Then you’d better ask Hannah.”
He did.
No, it wouldn’t bother her at all.
“Kids always make liars out of you,” I informed Bobby.
He laughed.
The lily had two blooms and four buds, which have since opened, making our whole house fragrant with Essence of Lily.
Teddy walked in. His nose twitched. He looked around to discern the source of the aroma.
“That lily bothers my asthma,” he announced.
Brother! He who had jubilantly announced just last Thursday, after mowing and fertilizing the church yards, “I’ve grown completely out of asthma; that didn’t bother me a bit!”
For once, the Goodwill had a whole rack of nice jeans in the boys’ sizes. And we got several pairs of brand-new shoes for the little girls and Victoria. I wonder what happens?--do people buy shoes on sale, discover they don’t fit, and are unable to return them? We made enough purchases that we were able to get six shirts for Keith free. Joseph got a brand-new pair of work boots for $3.50.
Teddy has completed a couple of the overhead doors for his miniature shop; he used several small wooden slats hinged together with tiny brass hinges. He’s going to use a little electric motor to make the door go up and down, and he’s trying to figure out how to make a metal rod slide smoothly in the rails. And how do you make rails, anyway? Teddy has always been the sort who likes to do his own work. When he was about 1 ½, one of his favorite things to say was, “Me do byself!”
We used to know a State Patrolman, a tall, slender man with brown wavy hair in military cut who always dressed impeccably and walked with a long, purposeful stride. He moved away, and we hadn’t seen him for a long time.
Well, one day a nondescript car pulled into Larry’s shop, and a tall, skinny hippie climbed out, wanting something repaired on his car. He had long, unkempt hair, a beard, ragged jeans, and a black leather jacket; and he walked with a surly slouch.
Larry walked out to meet him. He extended a hand. “Bruce!” he exclaimed, grinning.
The hippie came to an abrupt standstill, and the blank look on his face was replaced with amazement. “How did you know me?!” he asked in his usual well-modulated voice.
Larry laughed. “The eyes stay the same,” he responded.
Bruce shook his head. “All this work for nothin’,” he lamented. And then he told Larry his story: he is now an undercover agent, specializing in finding and breaking up drug rings. And he’s successful at his job, too.
The third quarter has come and gone; time absolutely flies. Lydia’s lowest grade, once again, was 97%. All the other children’s report cards were good, too. The last day of school before spring break was last Wednesday; school will start again tomorrow.
Tuesday morning, Bobby’s 12-year-old brother, Stephen, the one who won all those spelling contests and geography contests, had his appendix removed. He was dismayed: “Wouldn’t you know it! This would happen, right before spring break and Easter!”
Friday evening Bobby and Hannah, along with Hester and Bobby’s sister Esther, entertained Stephen with Hannah’s new games from Lawrence and Norma.
One afternoon, I found a cute little photo of a Sharpei. I cut it out and glued it to a small birthday card somebody had given Lydia, and gave it to her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Somebody took a picture of Rumply!” She looked closer. “Well, this was when he was really alive.” She paused. “I mean, this is a picture of a dog that really is alive.” She put it up on my desk with the family pictures. “But it looks just like him!” said she.
When I finished cutting out the Dalmatian fleece for Joseph and Caleb’s robes, I found exactly two Dalmatians still intact on the fabric--no more. I cut them out, sewed them together, Lydia stuffed them, I stitched the opening shut, and then we added a little black bow above its ear. Lydia was enchanted.
“Now Rumply has a playmate!” she said happily.
It rained quite a bit last week, which made the weeds in my flower beds grow like anything. But it also made the ground soft, so I transplanted several flowers and put in a few new ones. One was a lilac-colored azalea which I bought for the sole purpose of putting into one of my big flower pots for the front porch, not knowing that azaleas require indirect lighting. That would never do for our front porch, which gets piping hot every summer afternoon. So I wound up planting it in the north flower bed, which then inspired me to pull all the weeds and fix the little post and rail fence that curves around it.
I planted two lavender mums under the red maple; the three purple and lavender asters I planted a couple of years ago are already coming up. The honeysuckle vines are coming to life, and the daffodils and grape hyacinths and miniature tulips are blooming like everything. The peonies are up and growing fast, and the lilac bush has buds all over it. Gaillardias, hollyhocks, butterfly flowers, purple bugle, and blue-fringed daisies are developing nicely. (Can you tell I’m partial to shades of purple?)
My favorite little hand spade, which was molded all in one piece, with a big rubber-coated, finger-impressioned handle, disappeared off the face of the earth, so I rushed off to Ace Hardware, the nearest store of that type, and bought a rather cheap one. Out to the flower garden I went, put on my gardening gloves, stuck the spade into the soft dirt--and the shovel came right away from the handle, staying neatly buried in the ground.
I jerked it out, cleaned off the mud, took it back, and got a better one.
By the time I’d planted two more flowers, the shovel was loose.
Stupid things! Stupid people that make them! Stupid people that sell them! Stupid kids that lost my good one! Stupid stores that don’t sell the good ones!
One evening after coming into the house from the Suburban, I helped Victoria remove her coat and hat.
Dorcas laughed. “Is your hair all messed up?”
Victoria patted her head, and nodded gravely. “Rain!” she informed Dorcas, pointing skyward. (I’d complained that the rain was ruining my hair.)
We got our tax papers back from the tax man Wednesday. Guess what?! We have nothing to pay. Nothing. Fact is, we hav a refund coming!! Boy, oh boy; what a relief.
Joseph made some cute little wooden recipe holders for his teachers. With the router, he engraved “TEACHER” on the first; then, accidentally, “TECHER” on the next one. He was quite disappointed, but I told him to leave it just that way, and I would make a recipe card to go with it. And here it is:
SKOOL COOKYS
Too kups grammer
Thre kups histry books
For tablspoons math kards
Won pintch litterchur
Five teespoons handriting
Wun-haff kup aljabra
Putt engredience into larj bole; stur hard four ate minnets. Pore into cassaroll dish; bake in 350° uvven fore tin minnets. Sprinkel with crusht soshel studdies. Injoy!
Today while I was working in the garden, Hester, Lydia, and Caleb played with their cousins: Caleb took his Tonka machinery to play with Jason in the sandpile; Hester put on her roller blades and had a fierce fast race with Jodie; and Lydia and Sharon threw a tea party for their dolls. After that, the girls all played “Horsie”--a game in which one wraps a jump rope around her waist and the other holds the ends, yells “Giddyup!” and then they both gallop madly across the lawn. Why this is so outrageously funny, I do not know; but I do know that all four girls invariably wind up on their backs in the grass, laughing their heads off. Cousins are wonderful inventions; they’re so compatible, don’t you know!
Saturday evening, Lawrence and Norma brought us a singing bird clock, just like the one we gave Lawrence for his birthday. It's the neatest thing; I’ve wanted one ever since I first saw one. I just discovered that not only does it not play when it’s dark, but it also plays quieter when it isn’t very bright in the room. Caleb, having forgotten all about the clock, was sitting at the kitchen table directly underneath it when it went off Sunday afternoon. It so happened that it was the blue jay, which is particularly loud and strident.
Caleb, in the process of taking a bite, suddenly plopped his fork right back down and stood straight up on his chair, irregular for him, the better to stare out the kitchen window at the bird feeder hanging in front of it.
“Where is that bird?!” he breathed, eyes wide as saucers.
“Right behind your head,” I told him, while the other children tried in vain to keep from laughing.
Caleb turned slowly around, and wound up staring the clock straight in the face. Looking sheepish, he reseated himself and picked up his fork before it struck him funny, too, and he went off in a giddy gale of mirth.
I got a new bird feeder that holds suet cakes.
When Joseph unwrapped the cakes that came with it, Caleb asked, “Is that bird cheese??”
Tonight Caleb and Teddy were playing with a raft of matchbox cars and trucks, each sitting at one end of the front hall, rolling vehicles to each other. Directly came the inevitable crash.
“Oh, mercy!” cried Caleb. “They had a collusion!!”
(Now, I thought ‘collusion’ was a nifty, made-up word combining ‘collision’ and ‘conclusion’, which is quite logical, if you see what I mean. But when, upon typing that word on my word processor and noting that it didn’t beep and stop me short, I got out my trusty Webster’s Dictionary and looked it up. And now I have a vague recollection of having known this word somewhere, sometime, a long time ago: it means, ‘a secret agreement for fraudulent or illegal purpose; conspiracy’.)
Caleb is a ‘smiley’ little boy, as various people call him. He’s just about always jolly; things hardly ever upset him. A little while ago, he said ever so quietly, “Mama! Look around the corner, quick!”
So I peered around the side of my desk, and there was Caleb, sitting on the floor in a rather awkward position, having been in the process of scooping up blocks with his big Tonka loader, and Victoria was standing behind him with her little Minnie Mouse brush, carefully and intently brushing his hair.
She saw me looking, and grinned at me, wrinkling her nose. “Ca-wub!” she told me. “Hair!” And she leaned over and gave him a big hug and a sloppy kiss.
Caleb hugged her back. “She really likes me,” Caleb said, “because I really like her!”
He’s exactly right, the dear little boy. Don’t you think?
Victoria is walking! She was so busy practicing her new feat today, she hardly had time to play with her toys. She says, “Walk walk walk!” as she trots along, and she laughs gaily when she arrives triumphantly at her destination.
Somebody suggested that we should have taken home the pig I saw north of Albuquerque. But even if it was a porker of the tame variety, we would’ve done it no favors by taking it home with us; rather, the favor would’ve been to our pet wolf, Aleutia, who would’ve been overjoyed to have bacon and sausage for supper. Anyway, I hope it was wild, and well able to care for itself. It was eating something, when I saw it.
The price of insurance is not cheap! We spend $350 a month on insurance--and that’s just for the shop and the vehicles, and for protection in case something goes wrong with somebody’s vehicle and they sue us; and it will pay some (not all) of the doctor’s bills and the lost time, should Larry get hurt on the job. It also has a clause about injuries to the children, but neither of us know exactly what that’s all about; I do know it’s not very inclusive. In other words, most things are not covered. I’m not covered at all. But that’s okay; mothers never get sick or hurt.
Do they?
Anyway, we can barely afford that, let alone a better policy.
I got back some pictures I took, and am particularly pleased with a photo of little Melody Joy, the baby who was only 2 pounds, 2 ounces when she was born June 28, 1997. Her mother, Malinda, is holding her. She’s wearing the dress I made her when she came home from the hospital. She seems just as bright as can be, and just last week the specialist in Omaha pronounced her hale and hearty!
We are all so very happy about that.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.