People tell me I should write a book. I have, I have! And I sure wish somebody somewhere would hand over some money for my pictures and poetry and prose! I am going to start putting all my writing into story form, and see if it sells, that way. I should be done by the year 2040, I’ll bethcha I should.
One person suggested I write a “How To” book: I think, if I did that, I should write about that with which I am most familiar: therefore, I shall entitle my book, “How To Collect Rejection Slips Without Losing Your Joyful Attitude.” Or maybe, “The Best Way to Clean Up Spilt Honey.”
Someone asked about the honey from Tim Tucker: It's $14 a gallon, which isn’t bad at all; but it cost over $5 to ship a honey bear to Raton!--and that isn’t good at all. If I could just email it to people--!--let it pop right out of your disk drive.
We have had unseasonably low temperatures here; Thursday morning it was only 45 degrees, which is two degrees cooler than the lowest temperature on record, set in 1976. By the afternoons, it is usually in the middle 70s, which suits us just fine.
Monday afternoon the kids were outside pulling weeds. Their cousins Jodie and Sharon Walker came and helped. Said Sharon, “You guys are lucky! Our mom won’t let us pull weeds!”
Hester and Lydia both abruptly stood up straight and stared at her, then looked at each other. Lydia shrugged one shoulder and tipped her head, grinning.
“Well, there are plenty to go around, over here at our house!” And she leaned over and went back to pulling weeds.
After supper, we went to Pawnee Park. Larry, Dorcas, Teddy, Joseph, and Hester had a basketball game; and Hannah, Victoria, and Lydia played on the toy set while I pitched balls to Caleb until he was hitting nearly every ball I threw. The more he hit them, the more he giggled. He’s such a dear, pleasant child. (But stay out of his way when he’s throwing a softball; his errant flings get pretty wild.) He hit the ball the wrong way and exclaimed, “Oops! It’s going out of bounce!”
Leaving the Park, we stopped at the grocery store to get everybody a rare treat--a Snicker’s Ice Cream Bar--and then we drove out northwest of town to a little country church at the crossroads of two country roads. At the corner, there is a culvert, and there Hannah and Bobby and Lydia had seen three fox kits. We pulled up slowly, so as not to scare them, should they happen to still be there.
They were! Three adorable kits, two quite shy, the third a little bolder. We sat and watched for a while, and I took several pictures. The mother came trotting to the den from a field across the road, carrying something in her mouth, possibly a mouse. The brave little kit, who’d been sitting up on the bank, ran down into the hollow; then, when his mother came back out, he came out, too. They touched noses, and then the mother fox trotted off over the road and into another pasture. The little fox sat there on the embankment for a moment, nose twitching, ears pricked up, then hurried off after his mother. I hope my pictures turn out; my flash was misbehaving, on account of low batteries.
There was a gentle rain all day Tuesday and Gehrings didn’t work, so Teddy went to Larry’s shop. Larry went back to his shop to paint a vehicle about midnight that night, and didn’t get home until 6:00 a.m., when he slept about three hours and then went back to work again. I spent the day yawning for him, in order to help perk him up, for scientists have determined that factories that promote a 30-second yawning period once each hour have higher production levels, because yawning gives the brain an immediate burst of oxygen, which increases the ability to think. {Well... to be honest, I was yawning not for my husband’s benefit, but because I couldn’t seem to keep from it, on account of the fact that I hadn’t been able to get to sleep very well with my best husband gone.}
I finished Caleb’s shirt and Lydia’s dress, and am half done with a dress for Dorcas. This dress is one that Esther cut out, intending to sew it for Dorcas for Christmas. But then she suddenly found herself smack-dab in the middle of wedding preparations, with bridesmaids’ and flowergirl’s dresses to sew, along with a jillion other things to do. So I said I would sew Dorcas’ dress in time for her birthday. I hadn’t planned to sew Joseph a shirt, but when he saw Caleb’s, he admired it so longingly that I promised him he could have one to match, after which he looked so pleased that I can’t possibly regret it.
Lydia’s collars had a dreadful time getting themselves to look right. First, one side got itself severely over-ironed until the shine of the brushed cotton wasn’t at all shiny any more, so I had to put the piping and ruffle on the side that didn’t have interfacing on it {well, I didn’t have to, but I did it, because I was too lazy to remove the interfacing from the deshined side and put it onto the as-yet-shiny side}.....and that never lays as nice. Next, the stupid collar went and connected itself together at the back before it learned that the dress was supposed to zip up the back, and so, therefore, the collar ought to be separated at the back. So I had to cut it apart and resew it. Finally, when they were all set to be attached to the dress, those collars discovered that each of them, both left and right, was a good two inches too big for the dress. Once again, I cut it down and resewed it. Aarrgghh!! Anyway, it’s done now.
Thursday, keeping my promise to the Jr. Choir, I made peanut butter cookies. I used a new recipe, one that calls for the cookie to be rolled in crushed cornflakes before it is put on the cookie sheet. Mmmmmm!!!!! Were those ever scrumptious. Furthermore, it was a jolly good thing I’d made cookies that day, because I was soon up to my old tricks of telling the neighbor kids a thing or two, and then giving them a cookie. {Mind you, it works. They do what I say, and they like me, too.}
We were all outside after Jr. Choir, visiting with friends who’d come to collect their children, when Caleb, who was playing ball with his little cousin, Jason, and a new neighbor boy, Tatum {do you think his mother craved taters ’fore he was born, hmm?}, picked up a bat, saying, “Now it’s my turn!”
Tatum, age 5, who invariably talks at the top of his lungs, promptly marched right up to Caleb, holding out his hand and saying, “HERE, I’LL TAKE THAT!” And with that, he took it.
“HEY!” I said, not so quietly myself. “Don’t you grab things!”
“I SAID PLEASE!” yelled Tatum.
“GIVE IT BACK!” I ordered him, striding toward him.
He hastily gave it back.
“You can’t play here, if you’re going to take things from people,” I informed him, staring at him.
He stepped nervously from one foot to the other, proceeding to behave nicely enough thereafter that, as usual, I felt sorry for him, and soon offered him a peanut butter cookie. He accepted, looking at me warily. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. Not too long later, as dusk approached, the mosquitoes were arriving full force, preceded by front men, accompanied by attendants, and tailed by a rear guard. This convoy lit upon Tatum in task intensity. I took pity upon him and drowned him in OFF insect repellent, Extra Fresh Scent. {Well, of course I did first ask him if he so desired.}
Directly, his mother and father strolled down the sidewalk to collect their son. Knowing that they would soon notice that the child reeked of Fresh Scent, I thought it best to tell them sooner, rather than later, just why he was so fresh, hoping they wouldn’t take offense at the liberties I’d taken with Sonny.
They didn’t. In fact, they thanked me profusely, and stayed to visit for a few minutes.
So, with one reprimand, one cookie, and one application of OFF, Extra Fresh Scent, I taught the neighbor boy a lesson and made friends with the whole family, into the bargain. So life is still coming up cherries, here on Forty-Second Avenue.
Well, actually, it’s mulberries. Our mulberry tree is once again producing mulberries by the buckets full. So far, I haven’t done any baking with them, because the children and the cousins have been having themselves lavish mid-afternoon snacks just about every day. The robins love them {the mulberries; not the children and the cousins}, and, morning and evening, they perch on the high branches and warble blissfully, periodically halting their singing long enough to gulp down a few berries. A baby robin, nearly all growed up, was just learning to warble nicely, but his tweeter (?) periodically cracked, and he wound up saying “peep peep” accidentally, rather like a teenage boy whose voice is changing. This made the young robin tip his head in surprise, as if he wondered what in the world was wrong with him.
Sometimes I find the picnic table slid under the tree, after having been used as a makeshift ladder, several kids up on higher limbs, while Aleutia stands on top of the table, happily eating mulberries right off the tree. She curls her lips back and uses her teeth to pluck them off. Every now and then she gazes up into the tree at her kids, tail flagging slowly in wide arcs. What a funny doggy.
Thursday, Lawrence and Norma went to Lincoln to see their doctor, who specializes in removing moles, skin cancer, and other dermatological matters, including plastic surgery, if needed. Friday morning, Lawrence had a pre-cancerous mole removed from his nose. He had one removed from his temple a few years ago, and he’s had several others removed. Everything went well, and he’ll have the stitches removed Wednesday. We are very relieved; we were worried about him.
One afternoon Larry and Joseph went to Omaha for hoods (the sorts you put on cars...not the human variety that sits on cars) to replace some on customer’s cars that were damaged by hail. Dent removal is a good business. Trouble is, a person doesn’t know if he should pray for hail, in order to have good business, or if he should pray for no hail, in order to keep bad things from happening to others. (Or to one’s self, for that matter.)
Friday evening, Hannah and Bobby went looking at houses again. They have found one they like, and tonight Larry and I are supposed to go look at it. It’s on fifteenth street and forty-third avenue, or thereabouts, only a couple of blocks from our house. Hannah and I were taking Caleb and Victoria for a walk one afternoon when I spotted the “For Sale” sign out in front of that house, a house I’d always thought was quite nice. “Oh, look, Hannah!” I exclaimed. “You and Bobby must take a look at that one!”
Just as we’d expected, the inside was as well kept as the outside. The people that own it have lived in it ever since I was a little girl. I’ve seen the elderly lady planting flowers in her yard, every spring.
And now, a flashback: The Saturday before Memorial Day, when we went to put flowers on the graves, the first thing that happened, true to form, was that the youngest child suddenly realized she needed to use the restroom. Now, Roselawn Cemetery is on the opposite side of town, and when two-year-olds decide they need to use the restroom, a journey of five miles might prove to be entirely too long. Leaving the older children behind to arrange flowers, I took her quickly to a nearby convenience store.
Soon returning, the older children showed me a large, heavy glass vase on my father’s gravestone, chock-full of big peonies and irises. It was windy, and the flowers were top-heavy, and it had tipped over. I, being a Helpful Hattie sort, donned my Girl Scouts’ beret. Gathering up the vase and flowers, I hiked down the hill to a water pump, filled the vase to the brim, and hiked back up again. After setting the vase back on the tombstone, I sat and watched it for a few moments until I determined, by a series of QBSD {Quick-Brain Scientific Deductions}, that the strongest gust of wind that would occur over the next 72 hours had just blown through. And the vase had stayed standing.
I rose to my feet, well satisfied with my efforts. I had walked only ten paces when the wind blew the vase over. And, since it was heavier than ever with all that water, it immediately shattered to bits and pieces. Victoria stared at it in dismay, hands clasped together under her chin.
Then, “Put it back together?” she requested. “Put flowers back in water? They’ll die?”
Good grief. Now what?! I swore the children to secrecy. “We didn’t see it, we weren’t here, we don’t know a thing.” They grinned ruefully.
Then I spotted the even larger, heavier glass vase on Doyle Tucker’s gravestone, chock-full of big peonies and irises. And suddenly I knew just exactly where they had come from: Helen Tucker. Her flower garden was full of just those sorts of flowers. And she would, of course, put flowers on Daddy’s grave, and also her late father-in-law’s grave.
I had just turned around to go collect flowers and glass shards and see what I could do about replacing them, when Victoria remarked urgently, “I need to go to the restroom!” This, no doubt, was caused by the fact that somebody had given her a nifty little blue cup with a curly straw up one side, and she’d been making good use of it all morning. Knowing this, I left the mess on the tombstone behind, and we all jumped into the Suburban and dashed home, hoping five miles was not too far.
Picking up the phone, I dialed Helen’s number, saying as I did so, “I need to find out if that vase really is Helen’s.”
“But Mama!” whispered one of the littles, “You told us not to tell!”
I made faces and turned my back to them. Sure enough, it was hers. She, as you might expect, assured me that it didn’t matter at all, seeing as how she had 53 {or some such number} of vases just exactly like that one, and was needing to get rid of some, anyway; and, furthermore, she was just now on her way to her son Tim’s house, which is only a couple of blocks from the cemetery, and she would take along a gallon jug for the flowers, pick up the glass, and everything would be just fine, don’t worry about it another minute.
Now, I’ve been intending to replace that vase ever since. Finally, Friday evening while we were at Wal-Mart, I spotted a very similar vase--and it was even on sale! I snatched it right up. But I know Helen Tucker. I knew perfectly well that I’d never get her to take that vase if I handed it to her just like that--a vase. So, I bought two large clusters of silk ivory roses, covered with ‘dewdrops’ (tiny drops of hot glue). The middles of the roses were a soft, pale peach. We poured a package of iridescent marbles into the vase, and Voila! A beautiful bouquet! There. She couldn’t refuse that.
Saturday afternoon we took it to her house. She was gone. We left it with her husband, Delmar. Guess what she was doing? Grocery shopping. Guess where she went when she was done shopping? My house. With lots of groceries for us. “These were all on sale,” she informed Dorcas, thrusting several sacks onto the table before rushing off again, in her inimitable mien.
Dear me! There is no hope, no hope whatsoever, of even catching up with Helen’s generosity, let alone repaying her.
The other night, we managed to go to the grocery store before the children were in bed, so we took them along. They enjoy going to the store with us.....and we are a couple of strange parents who like to take their children with them. Shopping is lots more fun with sweet, well-behaved, funny little kids in tow. On the way back out to our Suburban, Victoria was holding my hand, hip-hopping along. “She has springs on her feet!” I remarked, and she jumped all the harder.
“Hippety-hoppin’!” she told me. “I’m a kangaroo!” She hopped a few more paces, then announced, “I’m a bunny rabbit!” Several more hops and then, “I’m Tigger!”
Saturday, we went to Wal-Mart for a present for Lawrence for Father’s Day. We decided on an insulated, zippered cooler, and a matching insulated one-gallon jug, both in bright blue. Then I picked up a bottle of bubbles with all the appropriate pipes, just for good measure. The jug and the bubbles fit nicely inside the cooler.
Last night after church, we took the gift out to Lawrence and Norma’s. Kenny and Annette and their family were already there. We hadn’t been there long before I was wishing mightily for my camera--and Norma was all out of film for her camera, too: I looked into the living room to see what everyone was doing, and there were Olivia and Victoria side by side in the rocking chair, with Olivia exuberantly ‘reading’ the book to Victoria. Victoria, who was ever so tired, was sucking her thumb and staring at the book. Each time Olivia reached the last page, Victoria moved her thumb to the side of her mouth just long enough to say, “Read the book again.”
Now, these sorts of repeats certainly can’t get boring, for Olivia never tells the same story twice. On one page Olivia must’ve said something funny, for Victoria suddenly lost suction on her thumb and giggled. Olivia abruptly stopped reading, and tilted her head clear to one side to look into Victoria’s face; then both of them went into peals of laughter.
On second thought, I didn’t need my camera; I needed a video camera!
Sunday afternoon, Bobby and Keith and Esther came for dinner. We had rump roast (given us by Helen), potatoes, carrots, and celery; jello salad with fruit, graham cracker crumbs, and sour cream/whipped cream/powdered sugar filling; lettuce salad; banana muffins with pecans on top, made by Hannah; buttermilk biscuits; and dill pickles and bread and butter pickles. {And, after all that, we totally forgot about the ice cream in the freezer!}
One of the gifts we gave Larry for Father’s Day was the most gigantic mug we’d ever seen. It holds 44 ounces and says ‘Mountain Dew’ on the side, and we filled it with a whole tray of ice cubes and almost an entire liter of diet Mountain Dew. It has a flip-down tab on the bottom of the mug which is to be tucked between the back rest and the seat of a car seat. That is.....if one should happen to have an empty seat in one’s car, which we most often don’t. When we got into the Suburban later, Larry handed his huge mug to Hester, who happened to be sitting in the middle seat between Larry and I. “See?” he said, “I do have a mug holder that can hold this mug.”
Another gift was an alarm clock, which I myself bought for Larry, since I myself needed one. Clever of me, eh?
The children gave Larry a couple of store-bought cards (in addition to several handmade ones); one had a picture of Garfield on it, and on the front it said, “Happy Father’s Day to a dad who’s in great shape!” Open it up, and it finished, “...a pear shape, but a shape, nonetheless.” The other card was of Snoopy and Woodstock, and the front had the question, “How did Father’s Day begin?” Inside was the answer: “He woke up and got out of bed.” and Snoopy is guffawing “hahahahaha”, while Woodstock is cackling “heeheehee”.
I gave him a perfectly sane, decent card, in order to make up for it.
The kids also gave Larry three digital cards on the Internet. These computers really are nifty items, they really are. Sometimes.
I am still playing the piano for church. My niece, Susan, is expecting, and having a difficult time. It is very early, and nip and tuck whether or not things will turn out okay.
My brother and his wife were unable to come to church yesterday, because farmers have been spraying the fields that surround Loren’s house with insecticides and weed killers, which made both Loren and Janice, and even their dog Bullet, sick. So they have gone somewhere in their motor home to recuperate and let the air around their home clear.
* * * * *
Monday evening, 10:30
We have just returned from Pawnee Park, where we ate supper--roast beef/vegetable stew, with peaches and apricots for dessert. Then Larry, Teddy, Joseph, and Hester played basketball, while Hannah, Dorcas, Lydia, and Victoria played on the brand-new toys on the opposite side of the park from the place we went last week.
We were entertained, while we ate, by a man giving his hunting dog--a black Labrador--some exercise by tossing a ‘dummy’--some sort of small white bag with sand (and a flotation device)--into Pawnee Pond. The dog sat, ears cocked, staring at the bag that the man had thrown into the water, until the man said, “Fetch!”--at which point the dog leaped to his feet, ran forward, then dived into the water with a giant splash, and swam out to the ‘dummy’. When he was nearly there, he lunged forward, snatched the bag, whirled, and swam back to shore. He carried the bag to his master, placed it in his hand, and then--in the manner of all dogs everywhere--shook furiously before the man could get away, even though he tried valiantly to escape the deluge. haha
There were tadpoles in the pond. Pollywogs. Baby frogs. A friend of mine once got her merds wixed and called them ‘toepads’.
Lydia, using a cheap little 35mm, took many excellent pictures, centering and framing just right, and snapping at exactly the right time. What that child needs is a better camera! She’s got the gift for it, and that’s the truth of it. She took an absolutely adorable picture of Victoria dumping sand out of a little film canister--right when the sand was flowing all the way from the canister to the ground.
This evening, we went with Bobby and Hannah, and Bobby’s parents, John and Bethany Wright, to look at the house they like. We are all in agreement that this is probably the right house {or perhaps I should say the ‘Wright’ house}, but first we want a few friends of ours to look at it and give us their opinion.
At the moment, Hannah is decorating hats, Larry is putting Victoria’s nightgown on her, Teddy is long abed (he got up at 4:30 a.m. this morning to go to work at 5:00), Dorcas is on the Oregon Trail, Lydia is reading Baby Animal Stories, Hester and Caleb are playing chess, and Joseph is taking a shower, seeing if he can change the general attitude of La Nina.
Victoria is loudly singing Jesus Loves Me, combining it into a medley with Holy Bible, Precious Bible. And now she is calling, “Mama! Come kiss me G’night!”
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