Sunday, July 23, 2000 - Picanté Sauce, Weans and Beiners, and Fish

Supper last Monday night consisted of leftover stuffed potatoes, with oodles of added toppings…bacon bits, cheese, butter, sour cream, picante sauce…  Mmmmmm!  We like picanté sauce; even the very young like picanté sauce.

          When supper was over, the littles were doing the dishes, and Victoria was scrubbing some spilt juice off the floor.  They were suddenly all convulsed by Tad, who, upon walking straight through that nearly dried, sticky juice, shook one rear paw vigorously, the better to remove that dreadful sticky feeling from his little black pads.  However, problems of a sticky nature are not usually resolved by merely shaking one’s paws … (or hands, as the case may be)  

           Victoria, finished with the floor scrubbing, then trotted into the living room to look at books and practice her whistling.  She stopped whistling periodically to create a bit of dialogue to go along with the pictures in the books.  Her stories are hilarious; I should really record her someday.  Or type as she speaks…  She’s such a funny little sweetie.  

Dorcas has been having sessions at the physical therapist’s office three times each week.  Her knee is much improved; she hardly limps any more.

           It was so nice outside Monday evening, only 77°{!}, that all of us but Dorcas played tennis after supper.  At one point, Larry and I were having a real, honest-to-goodness game against Teddy and Joseph…and then Caleb came and joined our side.  He positioned himself somewhere near the middle of the court, and proceeded to stymie us at nearly every turn.  He is definitely improving, for several times he managed to hit the ball, although his shots are habitually wayward.  

          After a hit that sent the ball flying into another court, he turned and grinned at me happily.  “Aren’t you glad I’m helping you?” he asked.  “I’ve already hit the ball quite a lot of times!”  

           I assured him that I was, indeed, glad. 
           The game was intermittently interrupted by Victoria dashing through the court, dolly in arms, hot-footing her way to the other end of the quad.  Once a ball went sizzling past her head a little too closely for comfort.  She looked around quickly, then protectively wrapped her hands over her dolly’s head.  

           “It’s really dangerous around here,” she told the unperturbed doll; “sometimes you have to duck!”  

           After a rapid series of exchanges, Larry returned a fast shot of Teddy’s with a wild one of his own, lobbing it far into the sky--and into the adjacent court.  Teddy put on a first-rate performance, running exactly like a turkey gobbler, bolt upright with legs pumping high, waving his tennis racquet furiously and bawling, “I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!”  

           He got himself into the perfect position, and, when the ball came down, he took a mighty swing and slammed that ball over the net and hard onto the other side.  The other empty side.  The ball flew into the fence and rolled to a stop, three courts down.  Teddy leaped high into the air, drawing his knees up and throwing his arms straight out in exhilaration. 

          “I got it!!” he cried jubilantly.  

           What a goof.  

           [How in the world could I ever be so lucky:  I bought Colby longhorn cheese a way long time ago--at least two days ago…and I just now found a little bit of it in the refrigerator!  Ooooo, that’s almost eerie.]  (munch munch)

          We have recently acquired some new neighbor boys who like to use the church sidewalk and school ramp on which to skateboard.  We don’t mind that, but we do mind when they curse and swear.  One day they told the littles, Jodie, Sharon, and Jason that they had sold their souls to the devil.  I told the children to go away from those boys, play somewhere else, and ignore them.  One boy has his hair shaved close up his head to the top of his ears; above that is a thatch so yellow its brightness is on a par with the midday sun.  Below that, it is pitch black. 

We determined that they could’ve saved themselves quite a bit of money if they would have just purchased one pair of britches between two of them, for it is obvious that each boy could easily fit into just one pantleg of the pants they wear.  I tell you, when they come to a stop at the end of the sidewalk, it takes a good three minutes for the backs of their pants to catch up to them.  

            Wednesday I decided to have beans and wieners for supper, using some dried beans I happened to have in the cupboard.  Trouble was, when I tried to pull the bag of pinto beans from the furthest shelf in the cupboard, I discovered that somebody had spilt syrup, and the bag of beans had firmly adhered to the shelf.  I tugged on it.  It stayed put.

To add to the dilemma, I happened to be talking on the phone at the time.  I wondered what the person to whom I was speaking would think if I suddenly said, “OOOOF!” and then was drowned out by the acoustics of a hailstorm as the bag lost its grip on the shelf, split, and let pinto beans fly hither and yon to the far corners of the kitchen.  

I gave up on the pinto beans and pulled out a bag of white beans instead.  I thought they were Navy beans, but I was wrong…they were lima beans.  Ah, well; I had used lima beans another time to make beans and wieners, so everything ought to be just fine.  After cooking them for a couple of hours, I added the hot dogs, the milk, the butter, and the flour.

But everything was not just fine.  Something wasn’t quite right; the beans were bitter, the flour that is not supposed to be detected could be…and just as I was tasting it, the children came into the kitchen.  

             “Oh, yummy!” exclaimed Hester, looking into the pan.  

             “Oh!  Good!  Beans and wieners!” said Lydia, taking a look for herself.

             Teddy, just entering the room, came to an abrupt stop.  His eyebrows rose, and he curled his lips.  “We’re having weans and bieners?!”  
                   {Teddy doesn’t like beans and wieners.}

                   Everyone seated themselves, and I handed them their bowls.  Teddy took a bite.  He squirreled the whole works into one cheek, rumpled his nose, and asked me, “What is it?!”

              “Oh, quit it,” I retorted.  “You look just like you did when you were two years old and didn’t want your peas.”

              He nodded his head.  “I feel just like I did when I was two years old and didn’t want my peas.”

               As it turned out, Teddy and I were the only ones who didn’t like the fare that evening, and Teddy never likes it, even when it is good.  So perhaps it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it was.  (Yes, it was.)

               The kids played outside all afternoon Thursday, and then wanted to go play tennis with the new racquets we’d bought the night before, but along about 9:00, when Larry finally got home from work, it started raining.  So the excursion had to wait until the next night.

               Instead, we watched a couple of funny “There Goes a Truck or a Bulldozer or a Something-or-Other” videos, and then we watched a video of Bobby and Hannah’s wedding.

               Friday morning, the cats woke me up charging pell-mell down the hall, smacking into my door, and sending it crashing into the wall.  I was surprised they didn’t wake up Victoria, against whose wall the door crashed.  All the windows were open, because for once the temperature was exactly right outside.  A few minutes after the Cat Crash, a vehicle went roaring down Howard Boulevard, tires squealing, pipes rattling, making an unearthly lot of noise.  Everything had conspired together, it seemed, to awaken the children, whether they were prepared to wake up or not.  But still they slept on…

             The kids have never been allowed to boss each other around--“Go get me my--”  …  “Pick up that--”  …  So, if one of them is stranded behind the table in the kitchen, can’t get out, and they need a spoon, and their sibling happens to be near the silverware drawer, they ask ever so politely, “Would you be able to hand me a spoon, please?”  (or at least that's what they do when they think I'm listening.)

             And then Larry invariably foils all that politeness by saying quickly to the person of whom the request has been made, “Don’t get it for him!  Don’t get it for him!” 

            Friday night Larry and I and the boys went to Pawnee Park to play tennis with our new racquets.  We had only been playing for half an hour when it started raining, but it was a slow, gentle rain, so we played on…  We finally quit when we were beginning to resemble drownded (ala Victoria) rats.  

           On the way home, we got ice cream and honey roasted peanuts.  Dorcas, who’d had the little girls with her at Hannah’s house, stopped at the grocery store before she came home, too, and brought us a couple of packages of Snickers bars.  So we probably replenished (and then some) all the calories we burned on the tennis courts.

           Columbus had their annual sidewalk sale Saturday.  Dorcas went shopping with Hannah and bought several baby outfits for all our friends’ and relatives’ new babies for $.50 each; she also bought herself a dress for $.25. 

           Keith and Esther, Bobby and Hannah came for dinner today.  Esther brought meatballs with gravy and green beans.  Mmmm, they were yummy.  We also had breaded Pollock, lettuce salad, cottage cheese, peaches, vegetable stew, buttermilk biscuits, and tomatoes.  

            Teddy came around the corner just in time to see me trying to get the fish out of the freezer, and having all sorts of difficulties, because an ice cream bucket was daringly attempting its escape, and every time I captured the ice cream bucket, a box of fish tried to jump free of my clutches.

            “Here, let me help you,” he said pleasantly; and, taking the boxes of fish from my hands, he put them back in the freezer and shut the door.  “There,” he said, dusting his hands well. 

            “Teddy!” I reprimanded, laughing.  

            “You know,” he told me, “I saw those things in there yesterday, loitering with intent to jaywalk.”

            That’s right; he doesn’t like fish, either.  

            I got the fish back out.  He watched as I opened the boxes and dumped the fish out onto a baking sheet.  He clutched at his stomach.  

“I’m full,” said he.  

           “Well, then, just be glad Esther brought you some meatballs!” I retorted.

           When dinner was over, all the meatballs and all the fish were…gone.

           Some people like fish.