Monday when I took Victoria for a walk, we saw a mother squirrel with three kits. The babies were nearly as big as she was, and could they ever climb! They raced up and down and around a big oak tree, leaping from branch to branch with the practiced ease of a trapeze artist. We stood very still and watched them for a little while. The kits were curious. They came closer … and closer … but the mother squirrel didn’t want her babies so close to us treacherous humans, so she positioned herself between us and the kits, and made chirruping noises if they set foot beyond her.
Tuesday morning, I was sitting at my sewing machine, sewing away, when all of a sudden there was a fierce fast scramble in the kitchen. I had the doors from bedroom and little bathroom open into the kitchen, so I could see straight into the kitchen. I whirled around and looked, and there was Tad, racing madly after a mouse, leaping and pouncing and scuttling all over the place. In a minute, he sat up, turning his head this way and that--and I thought he’d lost the mouse, that it had escaped under the cupboard somewhere and was gone. He then went trotting out of the kitchen, into the living room, and I resumed sewing.
But it wasn’t fifteen seconds before I heard another furious, ferocious stampede in the living room. I rushed out there to see what was happening--and there was Tad, pouncing on his mouse, letting his mouse go, then pouncing on it, then freeing it, then capturing it again. He’d had it in his mouth all along, and I hadn’t noticed!
After a bit I thought perhaps I should take the mouse, since I don’t like to see things--even a mouse--suffer, so I reached for its tail. And then didn’t that kitten growl at me! He hissed horribly, and growled, way down deep in his throat. He covered that mouse up with his paws, put his head down on it, covering it entirely from view, and rumbled a wild baby growl at me. I reached for it anyway, and he batted my hand away--keeping his claws sheathed, since he does like me, after all.
I decided to let him have his mouse a little bit longer. So he let his mouse loose again, pounced on it, turned it loose--and then he lost it. He sat turning his head every which way, pouncing on every stray piece of lint, hoping it would turn into his lost mouse.
AAAAAAAuuuugggghhh. Just what we needed--a hurt mouse crawling into the woodwork somewhere, curling up its toes, and concluding his misery. I helped Tad hunt for it for a while, then gave up and returned to my sewing.
A few minutes later, here he came, back to my bedroom, making a funny little prrmrrrowing noise. And was he ever stepping high. He was mighty proud of himself, he sho’ ‘nuff was. He strutted along, tail held aloft, lifting his feet high. He was trying to get me to follow him back out to the living room, so I did. I leaned down to straighten the hearth rug that he had slid out of place--and there was the mouse, trying to hide under the tassels! Tad sprang in nothing flat. He played with it for a few more minutes, and then I decided to get the mouse out of his distress by confiscating him (amid much dangerous growling and indignant hissing) and throwing him out the front door. Tad trotted along behind me, looking up and saying, “Mmrrrrrrooowrrrrrr!” in anxious tones.
The entire rest of the day, Tad’s feet lifted just a little bit higher as he stepped along; his tail was held just a little more stiffly straight, with a saucy little curl on the end; and his neck was arched just a little more arrogantly than before. Tad will doubtless mark time henceforth as either B.M. or A.M.: Before Mouse, or After Mouse--when life became infinitely more purposeful. Mouse!--the raison d'être for life!
Larry is smug as a bug in a rug, because Tad is so fond of him. Why, when Larry comes home, the rest of us are hard put to coax Tad onto any of our laps. But up Larry's leg he shinnies, purring at the top of his small lungs, in blissful expectation of cuddling up and snoozing on his lap.
Bah. What's wrong with my lap???
Well, a couple of days ago, her engagement ring went missing. Now, this is indeed a distressing event.
But thank goodness, she found it: Of all things, it was in the little bathroom, on the floor, behind the commode. Good grief. I tell you, the backs of toilets are not the proper place to store engagement rings. Will that girl ever learn??
We will soon be going to Wal-Mart for a few last minute things... I totally forgot I needed to make cancans for the three little girls!
Kitty helped us awaken Larry by leaping up on the back of his recliner as he lay sleeping in it. The chair, being delicately balanced at the moment, tilted alarmingly, and Larry’s eyes and mouth popped open simultaneously, while his arms flew straight out and his legs flew straight up in synchronized alarm, which is a normal thing to do when one’s equilibrium is so horrifically alarmed.)
* * *
A cousin wrote and asked, "What is a cancan?"
I replied:
What is a cancan? You don't know what a cancan is??? Dear me, dear me. We shall now endeavor to enlighten you:
A cancan is one of the original inhabitants of Canaan.
Oh, sorry, wrong definition.
A cancan is a container, usually made of metal with a separate cover (i.e. a milk can, a garbage can, a can of shoe polish). It is sometimes made of tinned iron or other metal, in which foods or other perishable products are sealed for preservation.
It is also a destroyer... oh, sorry; that was in that book somebody sent me.
Actually, a cancan is a petticoat with oodles and gobs of netting that makes dresses look "all poofy", according to Victoria.
* * *
Last week, I finished the last of the purple taffeta dresses--all six of them are done --but I’ll betcha anything I wind up doing the fabric rosettes--five for each dress--and sewing on all the pearls and sequins and appliqués. Hannah is not getting them done; she has too many other things to do. I cut a heart-shaped piece of ivory satin for the ringbearer’s pillow. Hannah is planning to make it. Friday I cut out Victoria’s flowergirl dress. It’s ivory satin and lace, completely lined. I started sewing it yesterday. Less than two months to go! Friday, Hannah’s invitations, thank-you cards, and napkins arrived. She spent Friday evening and part of Saturday addressing her invitations, and Dorcas helped fold them and insert them into the envelopes.
One day, I bought some air fresheners at the store, the kind in cone-shaped containers, the top part of which lifts up, allowing the gel-like substance inside to scent the air. Caleb thought they were just the neatest things.
“Oh, look!” he exclaimed, “I like these, because you can see the shiny sniffy stuff inside!”
One evening, a little after 10:00 p.m., I told the school children -- that's Teddy, Joseph, Hester, Lydia, and Caleb -- that it was time for them to go to bed.
Victoria grinned happily at her elder siblings, superior and smug. “It’s time for me to stay up!” she told them gaily.
Here is a little tidbit from last Sunday that I forgot to tell you: This year on Easter Sunday, Victoria was up at the same time as the rest of us--an hour later than intended, because, for some reason, my alarm did not go off. Larry’s went off, but it does not wake me up; and he hit the snooze half a dozen times. We were really running late.
Victoria was just as bright-eyed and full of life as ever. She said, when it was time to go and we were stilling dashing about in frantic, boggled bamboozlement, "Aren't we almost ready to walk across the street to church in the dark and hear the birds singing and eating doughnuts?" (several things muddled together there)
I said, "Yes, and I'm going to make sure they're eating your doughnut, instead of mine!"
Victoria went into peals of laughter and said, "Well, that's not what I really meant."
We had much fun at Jr. Choir Thursday, singing and playing a quiz game.
Here are two stories, sent us by Larry’s Aunt Lorraine, that we especially liked:
Story #1 ...
World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific.
One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.
As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold. A squadron of Japanese Zeroes was speeding their way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet, nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger.
There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet. Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes.
Wing-mounted 50 caliber guns blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until finally all his ammunition was spent.
Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the Zeroes, trying to at least clip off a wing or tail, in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly. He was desperate to do anything he could to keep them from reaching the American ships.
Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet.
He was recognized as a hero and given one of the nation's highest military honors. And today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.
Story #2:
Some years earlier there was a man in Chicago called Easy Eddie. At that time, Al Capone virtually owned the city. Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. His exploits were anything but praiseworthy. He was, however, notorious for enmeshing the city of Chicago in everything from bootlegged booze to murder.
Easy Eddie was Capone's lawyer and for a good reason: He was very good. In fact, his skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big; Eddie got special dividends. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago city block. Yes, Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.
Eddy did have one soft spot, however. He had a son whom he loved dearly. Eddy saw to it that his young son had the best of everything: clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong.
Yes, Eddie tried to teach his son to rise above his own sordid life. He wanted him to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things that Eddie couldn't give his son. Two things that Eddie sacrificed to the Capone mob that he could not pass on to his beloved son: a good name and a good example.
One day, Easy Eddie made a difficult decision. Offering his son a good name was far more important than all the riches he could lavish on him. He had to rectify all the wrong that he had done. He would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Scar-face Al Capone. He would try to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity.
To do this he must testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But more than anything, he wanted to be an example to his son. He wanted to do his best to make restoration and hopefully have a good name to leave his son. So, he testified.
Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he could ever pay.
What do these two stories have to do with one another?
Well you see, Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.
* * *
Friday, Victoria had a busy day going on errands with first Hannah and then Dorcas. But later in the afternoon, she wasn’t feeling very well. I think, on top of having a cold, she was just plum tuckered out. After school that afternoon, Hester went to her cousin Emily’s house. They rode horses and went out into the pasture, which is always pretty in the springtime, with all the wildflowers in bloom. Lydia went to her friend Deborah’s house. Deborah is Sandy Wright's daughter--and Sandy is our organist.
That evening, I went to Wal-Mart for the broadcloth to line Victoria’s dress; it is all cut out now. I asked Victoria, who seemed to be feeling better, if she wanted to go with us to Walgreens and Wal-Mart and she said, “Yes, and I like to feel like it!”
“We will get you some jello and Gatorade,” I told her.
“Yes!” she responded, “I need some jello and Gatorade to help me!”
That afternoon, Larry saw Quail Run’s resident Canada geese’s goslings for the first time. They were on other side of the lake, and were perfectly reflected in it. He got quite a few very pretty pictures; I will have to go there, with a bigger lens, and see if I can get some close-ups.
* * * Saturday evening, Larry had to go back to Quail Run, because the machine that picks up balls wasn’t working.
Yes, he fixed it.
If Victoria happens to be around when I pull out a stick of gum for myself, I always break off about an inch of it and give it to her. One time I wasn't thinking about what I was doing, and I folded a whole stick and stuck it into her mouth. She opened her eyes wide and asked, "Am I getting really all growed up??!"
I laughed and said, "Well, I guess so... see that you don't swaller it!"
She replied, "Hee hee hee... big girls don't ever swallow their gum!"
I wonder what she thought the next time, when, once again, I only gave her an inch? Poor child; it's things like that that probably wind up sending people to the psychologist. I liked to tell the littles, when they were really little, that, after a certain birthday, their ages start to decline. I informed them, perhaps on their 6th birthday, that after age 7, say, they would have to start going in reverse for a while, and so in a couple of years they would find themselves 5 years old. Then, if they behaved properly, they could start aging properly again.
Nary a one of them believed me.. and I said it so sincerely, too. The normal response was, "Ohhhhh, Mama."
Friday night I took a few video clips and snapshots with our Intel computer camera. Larry, upon awaking and seeing the pictures I’d taken, said that he doesn't know if he likes his recliner being so close to the computer, or not... because, every time I use that little camera, it seems, he's sleeping in that chair, and of course, I just have to take his picture--and everyone will think that all he ever does is sleep!
I said, "You mean it isn't?" --and then I had to duck, because he threw a stuffed teddy bear at me.
Saturday morning most of us slept late. After we got up, I cut my hair. Victoria was putting on her socks.
“Looks like I need to cut my footnails!” said she.
One day she was listening to us discuss what Keith and Esther were going to do with their dog--make a big kennel for him, so he will be an ‘outside’ dog--and how their kitten, Tippy, was doing.
And Victoria said, said she, “Are they going to use her for an ‘In’ cat?”
All the kids have bright red faces, ears, necks, arms, and noses. Sunburn City! It never even entered my head to put suntan lotion on them, because it wasn't all that hot out. Hester now has about 300,000 freckles, shining in bright relief on her cheeks and nose.
Our school has 37 'new' desks--we got them from the college for $1.00 a piece. We cannot yet use them all; there isn’t enough room. The desks are larger than the ones we are now using. But someday we shall no doubt need them, and how could we ever beat that price?!
Sunday morning, Larry started to put Victoria’s tights on her. His fingers, being rather chapped, snagged the fine nylon, and I quickly snatched them from him and did it myself, before he totally demolished them.
He grinned at Victoria. “Looks like I need to buff the burrs off my hands!” he remarked; and for some unknown reason, she went into peals of laughter.
“Buff the burrs,” she repeated now and then afterwards, and giggled over it all over again.
And now, one last note: Hannah, checking papers for her reading class, read us another excerpt: “He smiled from face to face.”
So, smiling from face to face, I end this post.
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