This week, my brother Loren’s boys from Texas, Richard, Paul, and John Mark, were in town to visit him, both of their grandmothers, and a few other relatives. We were told they were coming to visit us, too, so we hastily shoveled out the living room and kitchen (sometimes shoveling is the only way to clean, in this house). My brother-in-law, John Walker, who lives next door, called, wondering if we knew when the nephews would be arriving. He told me that my sister, Lura Kay, upon being told they were coming, cried, “Oh, no! This house is a mess!” -- and then she sat down and played the organ. The children laughed over that, because I, upon hearing we should expect company, immediately cried, “Oh, no! This house is a mess!” -- and then I sat down and played the piano.
We cleaned and cleaned; but they didn’t come Monday.
Tuesday, since the house was messy again, we cleaned and cleaned…but they didn’t come Tuesday. However, I did get a phone call from John Mark, who told me they would be coming to see us Wednesday at 2:00 p.m. And then Paul took the phone and told me they would be visiting my mother, their grandmother, in the morning, so they would stop at my house in the morning, too.
Wednesday, since the house was messy again, we cleaned and cleaned. I spent the morning making Nestles Chunk/Heath Brickle cookies and cleaning the kitchen…but they didn’t come. We ate some of the cookies. We saw their car on Mama’s driveway, but then they left. We ate more of the cookies. Mama called to tell me they’d just gone off for dinner, and they’d be coming soon--but they didn’t come. We ate more cookies. The afternoon came and went--but no nephews. We ate more cookies.
Finally it was church time…and, when church was over, we finished the last few cookies. Mama told me the nephews would be leaving early in the morning. So, since no visit seemed to be forthcoming, we messed the house all back up again.
My brother-in-law, John, cut this poem from Ann Landers’ column for me:
I never could admit defeat,
But now it’s clear--I’m obsolete.
When I hear someone say “dot-com,”
I don’t know where they’re coming from.
A mystery that I still don’t get,
Is what and where is the Internet?
When Henry said he had a mouse,
I said, “Well, fumigate the house!”
Am I the only living female
Who doesn’t understand e-mail?
I always vote and pay my taxes,
But I’m not sure just what a fax is.
Nor do I quite know what it means
When people go to church in jeans:
“It doesn’t matter what we wear,
The main thing is that we are there.”
Sometimes, I must tell myself,
“You’re old. You belong on the shelf!”
But really, that’s not hard to bear--
I’m obsolete, and I don’t care!
Tuesday evening, Hester went to her teacher’s house to work on the little wooden house they will use in the Jr. Fire Patrol Parade. Helen Tucker is her teacher this year. Larry went to help, taking his big pickup, and Lydia and Caleb went, too, to help enjoy all the fun. Larry is going to drive his pickup in the parade, pulling a friend’s wooden flatbed trailer, onto which they will fasten the wooden house, screwing it down securely. The theme this year is “The Great Escape”, as is the theme in fire departments throughout the states.
Teddy and Larry have been working on a plaque a friend requested. The plaque features a remark made by Caleb when we were fishing at Lake Muskatine, and Larry drew a picture of a little stone bridge with a man and boy on it fishing. The man has caught a fish, and the boy is reaching over the edge with a big net. I put the lettering on it; Teddy did most of the woodburning, with a little help from his father (and even some from his mother); Larry curved and routered the edges, and then he varnished it.
Hannah made a small hooded sweater and a pair of booties for the same friend's niece, which will be born in November. Our friend will pay the children for these projects she requested, and I haven’t the faintest notion what to charge her.
“I’m sure,” she told me, they will be worth more than whatever ridiculously low price you come up with.”
One night Larry and I saw a female white-crowned sparrow, evidently migrating through, all in a panic, trying and trying to get in the big front window at Hy-Vee. She was still there when we came out, so I caught it, carried it out away from the lights, and let it loose in the parking lot, where it could find its bearings again. It was soft and warm and silky, and its poor little heart was pounding. Did you know that most all the song-birds migrate only at night?
Thursday we began practicing Christmas songs at Jr. Choir…and we also practiced the song we will sing for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow I’m going to start getting every sorted and arranged for the program. It seems mighty early to begin such undertakings, but there is only a little more than two and a half months until our program, can you imagine that? I think the theme will be something about the Wonderful Story of Love.
My friend Lorelie has finished the illustrations for my children’s stories Creation and Adam and Eve, and they’re absolutely beautiful, perfectly what I wanted. I spent an evening printing poems in large fonts, one verse per page, to go under the illustrations. They are now paper-clipped onto the illustrations.
One afternoon a friend brought me several boxes of fabric that one of her sewing customers gave her. For a couple of days thereafter, we shuffled boxes around: from our bedroom to the hallway; from the hallway to the living room; from the living room to our bedroom. Whatever were we to do with all that stuff? I tell you, this house is very nearly filled to the saturation point. So we spent a good deal of time tripping over boxes, squeezing past boxes, knocking over stacks of boxes, and complaining loudly about same said boxes.
In the meanwhile, I completed my Chapter 6, and printed it. That done, I was ready to work on the Christmas Program and the Thanksgiving and Christmas sewing.
And then my friend brought more material.
So…first things first. Something must be done about all this material. So, before I did anything else, I drug out all the material in my fabric closet, and refolded and re-sorted it. Hester and Lydia hovered nearby, waiting for small pieces of textile I no longer wanted, and flying rapidly upon the spoils every time they saw me throw a scrap into a big garbage bag. Hester has already made a little pink blanket for Victoria’s doll, using a soft flannel with kittens printed on it, hemming the edges by hand.
Hannah was sick Thursday; she went to school for only a few minutes, gave the children in her little reading class the assignment, and then came home again.
Friday Lydia had the flu from the time she came home from school until the middle of the night. Every time she felt well enough to play, she got sick again.
One day I was valiantly attempting to type while a large fly was buzzing just as valiantly around my desk.
I said, “Somebody get me a fly swatter.”
But there was nobody named Somebody in the living room, so Nobody did it. I, typing away, forgot and didn’t notice until the fly returned, buzzing madly around my head.
Suddenly remembering what I had requested just minutes before, I turned and gazed around the room at my offspring. Hannah was sprawled on the loveseat crocheting; she thought she had seen Somebody heading off to get it. Hester was on the couch with her nose buried in a book, and hadn’t even realized that I’d asked for something. Lydia and Caleb were playing with cars and trucks, and never thought for a moment that either one of their names was Somebody. Victoria, of course, was not at all concerned; she was never expected to fill those sorts of requests.
So I bawled in my best Mrs. Foreman voice, “I said for somebody to get me a fly swatter, and when I ask for somebody to do something, SOMEbody had better do it, or …yap yap yap blab blab blab, etc.”
[Mrs. Foreman is our next-door neighbor who, when she pokes her head out the door and roars, “BENJAMIN!”, she gets every Benjamin in Platte and the surrounding counties dashing in a panicked lickety-split straight for her foyer.]
Now, when I came unglued in this fashion, five kids promptly sprang up and headed at a fast clip for the kitchen…including Victoria. She wound up in the forefront, because she had already been on her feet. She tossed a breathless, worried, “Okay, Mama, I’ll get it,” over her shoulder, retrieved the fly swatter, and came rushing back in, swatter held at the ready, looking high and low for the fly.
“Where is it?” she asked in an anxious tone.
“It’s on Mama’s back,” replied Hannah.
“Oh!” responded Victoria, relieved.
Ker-SMACK!--she walloped it with all her might and main. And there it was on the floor then, deader’n a mackerel. The littles hurried to take a look…sure enough, the fly was dead. Hester emitted a small choking noise, then abruptly retired behind her book. Soon, couch, book, and girl were shaking in silent mirth. Lydia did not manage to muffle her guffaw in the slightest, and Hannah laughed till she cried.
But Victoria…there stood Victoria, staring at me in amazement and disbelief that she had actually whacked her mother, the fly swatter dangling limply from her hand.
Later, she was heard very quietly telling Caleb, “I slapped my poor Mama’s back, and I did it really, really, really hard, too!”
{It wasn’t really hard.} {haha}
Friday night we went for a drive. The farmers are now harvesting corn; it looks to be another bumper crop. Prices will doubtless be accordingly low. The deer, however, have no complaints; we must’ve seen a couple dozen in the fields. There were several sets of twins with their mothers. Deer are such beautiful creatures; I love to watch them. I wish as many were out in the daytime; I would like to take pictures of them.
Saturday I worked most of the afternoon putting on paper some words and music for the Wright’s quartet. They are just about my favorite singing group, I think. That evening we practiced the song, and everyone took home copies. Maybe they’ll be able to sing it soon. For our service today they sang Not By Might, Not By Power; By My Spirit Saith the Lord. It’s a toe-tapper!--right down my alley. Kay and Evelyn Tucker sang O Tell Me More of Jesus and His Love. It truly was beautiful. Mama and Daddy had an old record with Helen Barth and Ray Felton singing that song; I can still hear Daddy singing along with them.
After a couple of ninety degree days last week, our weather has suddenly decided it really is autumn, after all. We have turned our furnace on, two mornings in a row. Tonight when we walked home from church in the crisp fall air, we caught the scent of wood burning in someone’s fireplace. The trees are changing color, and the red sumac is proving itself worthy of the name. Our little pink dogwood’s leaves have all turned maroon. The recalcitrant tree still refuses to bloom in the springtime, but at least it puts on a spectacular show in the autumn!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.