Sunday, April 18, 1999 - What's for Dinner?

             Recently I was reminded of a time when I was with my parents in Wyoming, where there are dust devils by the hundreds.  I’d watched those things swirling madly across the fields many times, their tall, thin columns of dust reaching up into the sky higher than the eye could see, and I’d often wondered just what it would feel like to be in the middle of one.  I imagined it would be something like a merry-go-round, only twice as much fun.

            I was wrong.

            For, you see, I suddenly spotted one not far over the fence at the rest area where we hap­pened to be parked.  Without another thought, I was over the fence and running, till I flung my­self headlong right into the center of that whirlwind.

            Merciful days!  I was all at once being pelted with sand and dirt from all sides, so that I could neither see nor breathe.  It hurt my eyes and stung my skin; in fact, it quite frightened me!  I turned and ran blindly back the way I’d come, and abruptly found myself back in the still, clear air of the high dessert country.  And didn’t my mother have a job, trying to get all that fine silt and topsoil out of my hair, ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and clothes!  You can be sure, I didn’t try that again.

             Once, when Larry's brother Kenny was about seven­teen, someone invited him for supper.  He accepted.  Later that day, he received another invita­tion.  (I think Norma had gone with Lyle in his truck for a couple of days.)  Kenny rubbed at his chin consideringly.  “Well, what are you having?” he queried.

            They gave him a rundown of their menu.  He picked up the phone, called the first friend, whom we’ll call ‘Mr. Z’, and asked, “Uh, I was wondering, what were you planning to have for supper?”  They told him.  “Well, never mind, then; I think I’ll go to Mr. and Mrs. X’s house; but thanks anyway!” he finished breezily.

            Mr. Z, of course, was somewhat amazed, having learnt some time hitherto that this was not acceptable etiquette.  On the other hand, it was funny.  Mr. Z set out to tell the story to as many of Kenny’s friends as he could, and, be assured, nobody has ever let him forget it.  That was twenty years ago, mind you; but, to this day, if Kenny invites anybody for dinner, they will be certain to frown thoughtfully, rub their chin, and inquire, “Well, what are you having?” 

            (Yes, oh yes; Kenny’s manners have improved.)

            We have just returned home from attending Kevin and Ann’s wed­ding.  Everything was beautiful.  The ringbearer was my great nephew Jason, one of Caleb’s best friends; and one of the candlelighters was my great niece Jodie.  Keith was the Best Man, and Esther was the Matron of Honor.  I sang Held In His Mighty Arms.

            Victoria has been all excited about this wedding.  “Gonna go get married!” she sing-songed this afternoon while I was dressing her.  “’Cause Victoria’s not sick, this time!” she ended jubilantly.

            I did get those linen napkins done--I completed them Wednesday.  By the way, the reason I didn’t machine-embroider them is because, well ..... I tried.  I put the hoop on, affixed the em­broidery foot to the shank, threaded the machine, ..... and sewed.  The first thing I did was the stem of a columbine.  Up one side with moss green, down the other with dark olive.

            I tell you, it looked exactly as if the Santa Fe had had a fearful derailing on the Burling­ton Northern Rail Line.  Yi.

            So the unscathed part of that linen napkin got itself used for a collar, later in the week, and Wal-Mart sold a certain customer another length of linen, which she turned into a lovely embroidered napkin, along with three others, doing the needlework entirely by hand.  That done, I found a nice big box that could hold all the presents, and carefully arranged them:

            On the right went the big Rubbermaid bowl, and inside it was the double juicer, along with a small box containing three of the ceramic napkin rings.  On the left, I first laid the big Schwan’s Cookbook, on top of which I put tissue paper, and on top of that I arranged three linen napkins just so-so, the better to show off the embroidery.  I tucked the tissue paper all around it, taped it to the box in a few strategic points, and then laid the last napkin and ring on top of the tissue, spreading the napkin into a fan shape, and using tape underneath to hold it perfectly in place.  Now, I worried, what would happen if the box got upended?  Sure as anything, that heavy cookbook would rip right through the tissue paper, and everything would get totally disarranged and disordered and disorganized.  So I stuffed the box full of 3,540,952 wadded-up plastic gro­cery bags.

            There.  It was ready to wrap.  I got out some shiny silver paper, and carefully taped it to the box.  On top, I attached three big bows--purple, silver, and white.  I fastened down the card and stood back to survey the fine job I had done.

            Then I hurriedly stepped forward and felt of the edges of the box.

            Sure enough.  I’d wrapped that box upside down.  Bother!  Anyway, let’s hope all those plastic bags held things in place.

            One night last week, Keith and Esther came visiting.  Larry and Teddy rushed off to the grocery store for ice cream, coming back home practically drooling all the way; you see, they had found a new flavor:  blueberry waffle.  MMmmmmm!, was that ever good.  I like fruit and crunchy things in ice cream.

            Did you get your tax returns mailed in on time?  I’ll tell you what’s disgusting:  it’s when you work hard to get your tax work done early--I finished all mine in early February--only to have the CPA drag his heels until the day before the deadline.  I took to calling him once or twice a day, and he hurriedly completed the papers, as much to get me out of his hair than for any other reason, I expect.  Remember the unjust judge of Luke 18?  A widow asked him, “Avenge me of mine adversary.”  He would not for a while:  but afterward he said within him­self, “Though I fear not God, nor regard man; Yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me.”  So that’s what I did.  We have a small refund coming, more than half of which went to pay the accountant.  But that’s better than hav­ing to pay, at least!

            Wednesday it sleeted and rained and hailed, and the wind blew like everything.  Victoria and Caleb stuck their arms out the door to feel the large pieces of sleet pelting down, and squealed and laughed because it tickled the palms of their hands.  Later that night, it snowed, but not enough to stick for long.

            Wednesday afternoon, I cut out two dresses of pink- and rose-flowered linen, one for Hannah, and one for her cousin and classmate, Colleen, daughter of Arthur, Larry’s cousin who has cancer.  The dresses are for the Spring Program, when the Seniors will receive their diplomas.  All of them graduated mid-term, but the real ceremony comes at the Spring Program.  Colleen’s dress is done now, and Hannah’s is about half done.  Their classmate, Joy Osterhoudt, gave them the material for their graduation gift, and she kept some for herself, too.

            One evening Larry bought a pretty oak nightstand for Teddy, who has been a wee bit short of furniture since Keith moved out.  It was unassembled, so Teddy had to put it together.  He proceeded to do this in the middle of the living room floor, which intrigued Victoria no end.  “Pound here,” she periodically instructed her brother, pointing a little finger at some certain spot, invariably a spot where pounding would definitely not be recommended.  But she did prove positively helpful when Teddy lost a small screw, and couldn’t find it anywhere.  It took him a minute or two before he realized she was patiently tapping on it with that same little finger, camouflaged as it was on the oriental rug, and telling him in her low-pitched voice, “Heeee it is, Teddy, heeee it is.”

            Caleb made good use of the box the nightstand had come in by converting it into a car garage.

            Report cards came out last week, and all the children’s were good.  Lydia’s and Caleb’s, per predictionere, were perfect.

            Thursday Teddy brought home from school a CD-ROM on Normandy, and other battles fought during World War II.  Between watching that documentary and film, and reading Corrie ten Boom’s books, and no doubt hearing and reading about the war in Yugoslavia, my interest in World War II was reawakened.  I pulled a thick, hard-cover book out of my bookcase, a book that I’d gotten at a garage sale last summer for about ten cents, and which I hadn’t read yet:  World War II, compiled by The Reader’s Digest.  I opened it, stuck my nose in, ..... and could hardly remove it to fix supper and Keep Kare O’ Kids.  As soon as the last child headed off to bed, I inserted my nose right back into that book.  And I didn’t pull it back out until I’d read the entire book, some time after the sun came up.  Mind you, I didn’t mean to read all night long; I just accidentally did.  Couldn’t help it; nope, couldn’t help it at all.

            War is an awful thing.  But if we are going to fight, we should pull out all the stops and really fight, no holds barred, for the cause of right.

            We drove to Norfolk Friday night.  I turn around every now and then to see what’s going on in the back of the Suburban, most of the time trying to see what’s so uproariously funny.  Silly kids.

            We went to Norfolk’s Wal-Mart Supercenter to get a few sewing supplies not to be found in Columbus.  Also, Joseph needed shoes for church.  We wound up getting him some black dress boots, and then we discovered a sale on girls’ winter dress shoes, so we got burgundy shoes for Hester and Lydia for next Christmas, and bright red for Victoria, a pair for Christmas, and a pair that fits right now, since all little girls need a pair of red shoes.  (Don’t they?)  I hope I guessed right; how do you foretell what size a child’s foot will be eight months from now?  Hmmm.

            Today we went for a drive through Loup Park, alongside Lakes Babcock and North.  We drove slowly, watching Canada geese and American coots.  It was a lovely day, and our windows were down.  “Listen, Mama!” exclaimed Caleb.  “The chickadees are dee-deeing like anything!”

            And they were.  I took several pictures of them as they flitted from cattail to cattail, jerking seeds from the burst tops, and discarding of the feathery cotton.

            We went to see the Sandhill cranes earlier this month.  Beside a large field with a big flock of cranes, we parked, and Larry went sneaking off through a drainage ditch to get a closer shot.  He had my new camera; I took his picture with my old one with the 100-300mm zoom lens.  I made the children promise not to tell their father that I’d taken his picture, and they did manage to keep the secret; but they nearly popped with impatience, waiting until we got the pictures back.

            He got several excellent pictures as he crouched, facing south toward the Platte River.  Then, thinking he was hearing some of the big birds making their trilling call in the field directly behind him, he stood and turned around, camera at the ready.  The rest of us, sitting in the Sub­urban, had been unable to see him until then.....and the same went for the Sandhill cranes in the southern field.

            Their heads shot up, they trilled in alarm, and took flight in unison.  Larry stood still, facing north, craning his neck, looking this way and that, searching for the source of all the commotion, while directly behind him the field seeming to be exploding with birds.  The littles went into peals of laughter, their merriment escalating when Larry suddenly realized where those noisy cranes were, whirled around, and started snapping off shots.

            Now I’d better hit the feathers, myself, so I can finish Hannah’s dress tomorrow.  Then, before I start the mending or the Fourth-of-July clothes, I need to proof-read all of Daddy’s Old Testament sermon notes, which my nieces have just finished typing.  They are now working on the New Testament.  There will be over 500 pages when they are done, and they are storing it all on computer.  What a wonderful keepsake!  What a heritage we have, in all the things we were taught by my father.  I regret that we don’t have more recordings of his sermons.

            Goodnight!