Last Monday, Dorcas had an appointment with the doctor. I was expecting to take her, but she’s gotten so much better so quickly, she said I didn’t need to. So she called Larry, who with Joseph and Teddy had gone off in her car, telling them she needed it in about half an hour. That’s when Larry decided to recharge the air conditioner, check the oil, check the air in the tires, check the brakes, repair the muffler, rotate the tires, repaint it, and build a high-rise onto it. Well…maybe not those last two things.
Dorcas and I were doing all sorts of things, when suddenly we realized it was seven minutes till three--and no car. I snatched the phone, called the shop, told Teddy that Dorcas needed her car and only had seven minutes to get to the doctor’s office, hung up, stuck my feet into my sandals, snatched my purse, and told Dorcas I had better take her.
We flew off down the street just minutes before Teddy arrived with Dorcas’ car. Anyway, perhaps it was best that way, because I’m not sure Dorcas would have known exactly where to go. But, having walked through part of that clinic the day Joseph cut his finger, I knew which door to go in, and the general whereabouts of the doctor’s office.
I dropped Dorcas off and returned home, then had Teddy follow me back to the clinic, where he parked the car directly across the street from the door where Dorcas would make her exit, and would hopefully spot her car. She did. When she came home, she told us that the doctor was quite surprised over how quickly she has progressed during the last week; indeed, she’s been off crutches for four days already, and didn’t limp very badly at all. She also went to a physical therapy session, and enjoyed it. They have machines of all sorts to exercise any part of the body one could ever dream of…legs, arms, stomach, ears, nose, … Dorcas will have therapy about three times a week for approximately a month, less seldom after that.
I ordered some reprints of a picture I took of Bobby and Hannah--and they all came back greenish-blue, as if they were extraordinarily seasick that day. The original is extraordinarily yellow, as if they hailed from a more Oriental place of abode. Bother.
Monday evening after supper, everyone but Dorcas, who went visiting her sister, and Teddy, who decided to take a nap instead, went to Pawnee Park to play tennis. Pawnee Park was full, so instead we went to Gerard Park, where there was a baseball game going full tilt. We went onto the tennis courts--and discovered the lights were not working. But the lights from the baseball diamond were bright enough, and the sun hadn’t been so awfully long down, so we could see a little bit…but it wasn’t long before the game was over, and the lights went off.
We headed for Pawnee Park…and the tennis courts were empty. We gleefully grabbed racquets and balls and raced onto the courts. I tell you, we’re getting better at this game so very quickly, we shall doubtless be playing at Wimbledon before the next century is ushered in. And anyway, it’s fun.
Teddy got a video about grizzlies at the public library. The pictures and scenery are wonderful, and the narrative is ever so interesting--but it is rather gory. Joseph made fast use of the fast forward button several times, including a couple of panic-struck times when he didn’t really need to.
Teddy also got another video in the series, “Why We Fight”--documentaries on WWII. These war videos are always interesting. I especially am intrigued with World War II, for that is the war in which my father fought--and that was when he found the Lord. But war is surely an awful thing, isn’t it?
Caleb was playing with Dorcas’ crutches, which we have since returned to the Wrights, and he was having all manner of troubles because he had to put his arms through them just above the hand grips, and hold onto them where they fasten to the leg (is that what it is?) at the bottom. They kept swiveling from side to side rather alarmingly, with the tops of them whizzing back and forth right at the sides of the child’s head each time he advanced another step.
Larry said, “You need to fasten those to your ears better.”
Caleb giggled and took another few precarious steps. Even employing them in that funny mode of operation, those crutches were still too tall for him.
“I could make you a pair of stilts,” Larry suggested.
Just what a person needs: stilts, if his crutches are too tall for him.
Bing cherries are in season, and are they ever good. Last year about this time, we bought a big box of them. The children were scarfing them down as if they had been in the throes of starvation, and Caleb, with maroon juice dripping down his chin and onto his shirt, said, said he, “I cannot get very dirty when I eat these ping cherries---sometimes.”
Caleb studied his dark red fingertips. “I said the wrong thing,” he acknowledged seriously. “I meant, ‘ping-pong’ cherries.”
Dorcas went back to work Tuesday. When she called in the morning to tell them she could come in, her boss asked, “Was this your own idea, or did the doctor say it was okay?”
Dorcas told her the doctor said it would be fine. Becky then advised her she would have to have an ‘excuse’ (an excuse?) from her doctor before she could come back. This, I think, must be standard procedure for injuries reported to Workmen’s Compensation.
“Just call it a ‘note’, why don’t you,” I said to Dorcas. An ‘excuse’? hee hee
Dorcas went to get an ‘excuse’.
Dr. Connolly was gone, so his nurse typed the note, then stamped it with Dr. Connolly’s signature. And then Dorcas went to work. She was so pleased to be able to go back--and you can be sure, the children were ever so pleased to see her.
One little boy in particular loves her dearly. His name is Jamie, and he is two years old. He tags along behind her everywhere she goes, and when she turns and looks at him, he offers her a big, beaming smile. Sometimes he holds up his arms for her to pick him up, and she scoops him up and gives him a hug. One of the older women who works there said to Dorcas once, “You’re going to spoil them, always picking them up every time they want you to.”
Dorcas staunchly replied, “Oh, no, I’m not; loving a child when he needs it is not at all what makes them spoiled. What spoils them is letting them act like a brat without correcting them!”
And guess what: those children obey Dorcas a far cry better than they obey some of the women whose primary role, it would seem, is to fuss at them. Why can’t people figure it out?!--a child who feels secure and well loved will obey much better than an unhappy child with whom nobody takes the time to play and love!
Several of the babies wanted to be held all at the same time that day; Dorcas has oodles of compassion for them. She cuddles them and plays with them, and wishes she could hold more all at once.
She came home tired, her knee rather sore, but happy she’d been able to work. And then guess what she did? She bought us tacos for supper! While we ate, she told us the news from All About Kids.
One lady, the one who’s always late and never writes down the things she is supposed to, such as when she changes or feeds a child, is in dire danger of being fired. Another lady who works there is quitting because she doesn’t care for the way the boss gets all upset and bent out of shape sometimes. Reckon she’ll soon find a job with a perfect boss, eh?
If a person does his very best, in spite of obstacles and hindrances, he finds himself enjoying his work more. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Ecclesiastes 9:10. …and “Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men, knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward…” Even if we do not find ourselves well rewarded for our efforts by an earthly supervisor, the Lord is keeping track, and our endeavors shall not go without recompense. And God’s blessings are better any others.
But there is something else that happens when a person has this attitude: first, he actually winds up liking the boss, of all things, and maybe can even sympathize with his feelings…and second, the boss just very well might wind up liking him, imagine that!
(Just another little sermonette, free of charge, on the house.)
Tuesday afternoon, a sheriff came to give me a subpoena to testify as a witness in the case of State of Nebraska vs. James R. Delp. Who in the world is that, I wonder? The sheriff also had a subpoena for Larry, but Larry wasn’t home. It must be something to do with Mick Pick and his pickles. Perhaps James Delp is the man to whom Mick sold a vehicle, in our name…the vehicle that has been impounded by the Omaha Sheriff’s Department, and which they have since torn down, evidently hunting for stolen parts. I am to testify on behalf of the State.
I can tell you right now what my answers will be: “I dunno.” “I haven’t the foggiest notion.” “I haven’t the faintest idea.” “x divided by y to the fifth power of pi.” (That ought to cornfuse them.) Oh, and, last but not least, “Bangladesh.”
Another thing: What happens if I decide I’m on James R. Delp’s side, rather than the State’s, just because he looks like a poor homeless pup, or perhaps because of some other, more obscure, reason? Will they still pay me for my testimony, hmmm?
At the beginning of this week, I finished putting pictures--most of them, pictures of my friends’ children--into Christmas cards. Goodness, I had lots more pictures than I thought. Some are so cute, I can hardly bear waiting until Christmas to give them to the parents.
We were going to go play tennis again Tuesday--and we were all ready to go, at 8:30 p.m.--but the designated driver got into his ol’ trusty recliner and never quit reclining, the entire rest of the evening. So I went to the grocery store instead. If one runs up and down the aisles at a fast enough clip, it is possible one can get the same amount of exercise one would get while playing tennis, I think…
That little old woman who is still lying flat on her back near the Fruits and Vegetables Stand sure was grumpy about my Work-Out Technique, however. Some people refuse to adapt! She must learn to cede the lane to the swift.
With the ‘More’ card--UnSmart’s {alias ‘SunMart’} coupon card--Honey Bunches with Almonds--my favorite cereal--was only $1.79. I bought six boxes. Does that sound like a lot? I’ll have you know, I should’ve bought a couple dozen boxes; those six boxes of cereal were gone in less than four days.
One evening we drove out on Shady Lake Road. We saw a deer and several cats, one of whom seemed intent on committing suicide. We did not oblige him, however.
Wednesday afternoon, Caleb and Victoria were having a rousing game with their big blue ball: they were in Victoria’s bedroom, at the end of the hall, and were trying to roll the ball out the door, around the funny little jog in the corner, past the bookcase, and down the hallway without bumping it on anything, a near-impossible feat.
“I did it,” cried Caleb, just before the ball hit the wall and Victoria shouted gleefully, “It bumped it’s my turn it bumped!”
Caleb retrieved the ball; Victoria rolled it--and bumped the wall. “It bumped!” cried Caleb.
“I did it on purpose,” Victoria informed him loftily.
Suddenly, at 2:30 p.m., Lydia looked at the clock and exclaimed, “Oh! Mama! Look what time it is, and our hair isn’t curled, and there’s church tonight!”
The girls made tracks for comb and curlers and a cup of water. I generally start on Hester’s hair first, because it is so long and thick it takes longer to curl. As happens sometimes, however, I discovered that she had not gotten the shampoo rinsed out well enough. I decided to make things easier for her---I cut her hair. I cut about four inches off the bottom, and sent her off to rewash it while I did Lydia’s. Soon Hester was back with cleaner hair than before, and I curled hers, too.
Then it was time for a bath for Victoria… It’s lots of fun to give Victoria a bath; she enjoys anything and everything (except water in her nose or eyes)---and when her soap finally came apart, revealing the goofy-looking little animal inside, she couldn’t quit giggling.
After mending several items, I cut the lace off the bottom of Victoria’s flowergirl dress, shortened it, and pinned other lace back on--this time, the matching lace that was removed from Hannah’s train. I took the appliqués off, repositioned them, and put them back on.
The dress had to be taken to the cleaners, for Victoria had spilt a drop of bright red punch on the front of it, right into the midst of an intricate array of pearls and beads; and she somehow inserted a piece of chocolate from one of those Hershey’s kisses under several close loops of pearls. That’s the trouble with satin and lace and pearls on children at weddings: they invariably put remnants from the reception on themselves.
Victoria, watching me work on that lace, asked, “Does it have flowers on it?”
“Yes, a few,” I answered, showing her a couple. “But most of it is just curlicues and leaves.”
“Oh!” she said, looking at it hard. “Where are the leaves?”
I pointed at a shape that vaguely resembled a leaf. “Don’t you think this looks like a leaf?” I asked.
“Yes,” she responded doubtfully, “but it looks more like an airplane!”
When I walked home with Victoria after church, the sky was all blue and pink and lavender striped. I wished I could be out on the bluffs right then, making good use of my camera…
As I entered the house, the phone rang. It was a friend of ours, asking if I would like one hundred pounds of potatoes.
“Well, sure!” I said. “What do you do with them?”
Now, what I meant, was, where would I put them. I do know what to do with potatoes; you put them in potato guns and shoot them, right? Or you put them in people’s tailpipes, right?
Our friend laughed. He could’ve launched into a dialogue about the various ways of cooking potatoes; but he was kind enough to simply tell me that I could give some away, and store the rest in a cool, dry place… So, I gave bags of potatoes to nieces and nephews, brothers-in-law and sisters, friends and neighbors.
The relatives will, of course, remain relatives; and the neighbors, I think, will remain neighbors. I am not sure, however, about the friends.
Did you know that a hundred pounds of potatoes in the corner of a small kitchen --especially a hundred pounds of potatoes with a few rotten ones here and there, give said kitchen an unpleasant aroma? Arrgghh! Want some potatoes?
Several of Dorcas’ classmates, along with our organist, Sandy, have been burning the midnight oil, working on the school annual. It’s due in just a week or two. This year, we will have an annual in color--Sandy organized a big garage sale for just that purpose. We did not donate inventory to the sale, but we certainly helped with the proceeds; the littles came home with all sorts of ‘treasures’ that day.
Speaking of treasures, my nephew and his wife, David and Christine Walker, have a new baby boy (as opposed to an old baby boy), Joshua David, born at 10:20 a.m. Thursday morning, weighing in at eight pounds, and he was 21 inches long. Everyone is hale and hearty.
When Larry, Teddy, and Joseph came home for dinner Thursday, Larry told me that he now has a new pickup--a red diesel. It is really Mick Pick’s, but it was one of those vehicles he’d put in our name, the better not to pay sales tax on it, so Larry simply went to the courthouse and requested a duplicate title. And now we have the pickup. It had been at a local car lot, and Larry, since he knows the owner, told him the story. Mick will have to come up with some money before we return his pickup…or perhaps we’ll just sell it and give him what’s left after we pay all the sales tax he owes, get our dealer’s license, and pay our insurance for the next year. In any case, if he comes and gets that pickup, he could be justifiably arrested for theft. I don’t think he’ll risk it.
That afternoon, Hannah came to see if I could help her get her honeymoon pictures into her album in the right order, and perhaps name a few of the places. Well… …I’ve been to Colorado a gazillion times, and I’ve seen all that scenery gazillions of times… … …but I really could not tell the difference between a curve on Berthoud Pass and a bend on Tennessee Gap; I was not much help at all. Every now and then I spotted a landmark I knew…but not very often. Hannah brought us some just-out-of-the-pan funnel cake with cherry pie filling on top.
After gobbling down their funnel cake, the littles went outside to play in the water. It was 93°. I happened to look out my bedroom window, and there was Victoria, standing in the middle of the wading pool, scooping up handfuls of water, putting them on her head, and scrubbing round and round, pretending she was washing her hair. It was soaked, and standing straight up on end. She scooped up another handful--and drank out of her hands. The rest went on her head.
Just then, Mandy, the neighbor’s dog, came dashing through the yard beside Hester. The dog loped lickety-sploosh right through the water, Hester in hot pursuit. The dog came to a stop…Hester skidded to a stop…Hester turned to run…too late. Mandy had already shaken every loose drop of water on herself all over every homo sapien in the territory, and all their ducking and yelping deterred her not in the slightest; in fact, it seemed to encourage her. She gazed around at all the little Jackson offspring, mouth open in a wide, canine grin, before galloping back the way she’d come, spraying water high and low.
Some time later, I called Victoria to come in for her nap. As I dried her off and put a clean dress on her, she informed me, “The water in the swimming pool was so cold, it really freezed me up!”
About that time, a friend of mine, Helen, arrived with a big bag of Daniel’s sweet corn--and oodles of pictures from Hannah’s wedding. “Take all the pictures you want,” she said, so I greedily took oodles of them. I particularly like one photo where the entire wedding party is smiling politely at the photographer--except for Victoria, who is yawning most hugely.
Joseph had lawn duty at the church that evening. A little past 8:30 he came in, telling me his cousin Benjamin had offered to take him out to eat. “Can I go?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” I replied, “because your supper is already on the table!”
He rather forlornly went out to tell Benjamin--and then I thought, What’s wrong with me?! and I sent Caleb dashing out on the double to tell Ben to come in, too, and eat supper with us, if he wanted.
Ben wanted. In addition to the sweet corn, we fed him applesauce, some of Hannah’s yummy funnel cake (luckily, I had accidentally cut it into too many pieces), and a tri-colored frozen popsickle from the Schwan man. They are called ‘bomb’ pops, but Larry mistakenly called them ‘rockets’, which quite tickled Victoria’s funnybone.
She pulled hers out of her mouth and looked at it intently. “It looks more like a tricycle, to me,” she informed her father.
Larry pouted. “Victoria’s making fun of me!” he protested.
“Hahahahaha!” laughed Victoria.
Friday was another sizzling day, and the littles again took the opportunity to play in sprinkler and wading pool. A couple of hours later, Victoria came dripping in to take her nap…no, I didn’t put her to bed dripping wet; I dried her off and put clean clothes on her. And she said as I swiped a big soft towel over her, “Didn’t you want me to get very wet?”
“Well,” I replied, “I told you you could play in your swimming pool, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she answered, “but I didn’t know if you wanted me to get my sleeves wet.”
I asked, “How would you ever play in the swimming pool, and not get your sleeves wet?”
“Oh,” she said, tipping her head in a pondering sort of way, “I think it happened when I kept bouncing so hard; so maybe if I’d have only bounced when my arms were up…”
Victoria has this funny thing about sleeves…we’ll be walking along, spot someone who is dressed in not much more than their birth attire sunning themselves, or washing their car, or mowing their lawn, and Victoria announces in an entirely appalled voice, “Oh, Mama! She (or he) doesn’t have any sleeves on!!” And really, sleeves were the very last thing one needed to worry about.
Somewhere in our back yard there lurks a noxious weed of some sort, and it has caused some of the littles--including their cousin Sharon--to break out with something that looks like a poison ivy--or poison sumac--or poison oak--or poison something-or-other rash. At the moment, it is Caleb who has it on his arm, and it seems to get worse every day.
“I don’t even scratch,” he announced forlornly, “and my arm is still getting horribler and horribler!”
After a supper of pizza Friday night, we went to Pawnee Park, where--wonder of wonders--the courts were empty. Hester found a tube with three tennis balls in it. We played for a couple of hours, and guess what? I managed to win several games!
Of course, I was only playing with Victoria.
Hahahaha!
No, really, I actually managed to beat both Larry and Teddy a few times.
I refuse to tell you how many times they beat me.
Afterwards, we went to Sapp Bros. In the Gift Shop, we bought a present for Bobby, who just had his twentieth birthday. We got him a big calculator and a long-handled squeegie.
We also got slushies for the kids, coffee for me, and Mt. Dew for Larry. Joseph showed the littles how to fill their cups first with cherry, then with blueberry (he invariably fills them too full, and when he claps the lid on, artesian wells of colored slush shoots out any hole the stuff can find). When they put the transparent lid on, they can see blueberry through it--but when they slurp it up the straw, up comes cherry! Oooo, this is sooo intriguing. Victoria got mixed up and called hers a mushy, which made Caleb guffaw.
Earlier, when we were eating our pizza, Victoria ate the toppings (we had Canadian bacon and Supreme) off her pieces and left the crust on her plate.
I took a look and said, “Ooooh! Victoria! You scalped them!”
She giggled and wrinkled her nose. “Pizzas don’t have hair, Mama,” she enlightened me in her low-pitched voice.
Well, the mending is done, and work on The Novel has resumed. I patched a pile of jeans the size of Mt. Everest (that is, the pile was the size of Mt. Everest; not the jeans themselves) (somebody around this neck of the woods might get offended, if I don’t clarify that), and put the hems back into several of the little girls’ dresses.
Larry, Teddy, and Joseph have been adding metal to the sides of the big slant trailer’s ramps, so that a customer of ours can haul enclosed trailers on it--the same kind we hauled back from Indiana a year and a half ago. We had to let the wheels of the trailers hang off the sides, because the slant trailer wasn’t wide enough. This man is going to lease the trailer for a couple of months--and he may then buy it.
Some friends of ours are trying to raise a baby bunny; they found it last Monday, and its eyes were not open yet. It was in a nest with four other smaller bunnies--and the other four had died; they had probably lost their mother.
The first night, it nearly died, because they didn’t realize it needed to eat every two hours, rather than every four; and perhaps it also got too cold. A veterinarian told them there was only a one-percent chance that it would survive…but we have known several instances where friends of ours successfully raised and released wild bunnies.
Wednesday, they thought there was no chance for the little creature at all, but Anthony fed it anyway--and it began to recuperate. Saturday it was scrambling into Kyle’s shirt pocket, as he sprawled in a chair, and when Amy tried to get it out to show me, it scuttled back into the pocket as quickly as ever it could.
Its eyes are open now, and it sits up and licks itself, just like a big bunny. Their dog, Taffy, is interested, and a little bit jealous; but Taffy would never hurt a flea.
Saturday was our 21st wedding anniversary. Sometimes, it hardly seems possible that it has actually been that long; but then again, sometimes it seems like it was an awfully long time ago that we were married. Time is relative…
Bobby and Hannah gave us a big set of Coca-Cola glasses. Hester gave us a set of washcloths. From Dorcas we received a couple of pretty doormats.
Today Keith and Esther came for dinner, which was stuffed potatoes. (I wonder how many different variations of potatoes I can come up with?) I like them best, Mexican style: on a bed of chopped lettuce, cut open the potato, and smother it with a lot of butter…then spoon on a big helping of hamburger. Not just plain hamburger either, nosirree; it must be seasoned with chili pepper, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, Italian seasoning, and Vidalia onions. Next, a large dollop of sour cream with chives, then slices of Romano tomatoes, followed by a generous amount of taco cheese. On top of that, we pour chunky picanté sauce--Old El Paso, please--and then sprinkle on an ample helping of bacon bits. Voilá! Pôífèçt!
Okay. Now do you want some potatoes?
P.S.: Yes, of course you have to make them yourself.
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