Larry didn’t feel very well Monday, a rare enough occurrence. He went to the shop, but couldn’t get much done. At 4:30 or so, we took the little green car we hauled back from Denver to Madison Body Shop, then went on to Tahazooka Park at Norfolk. We rode our bikes through the park a couple of times, and then had supper, beef/potato stew and applesauce, fighting with swarms of bees the entire time. Lacking a flyswatter, I snatched off my sandal and went to swinging and slapping bees, prompting Joseph to yank his cap off his head and shield his bowl of soup with it.
Larry left Tuesday morning for Columbus, Ohio, taking a load of recyclable trailers. Roger, the man who has periodically been renting our trailer, was taking some, too, so they drove together part of the way. Larry was smug, because his pickup could outdo Roger’s on the hills.
Because Larry had been sick, and had acquired a cold, too, he was more tired than usual, and stopped to sleep more often. So the trip took longer than it normally did. Ah, well; better a slower pace, than to have him smack into a tree or an oncoming semi somewhere.
Tuesday Hester, Lydia, and Caleb had their first half day of school. That afternoon, I took Teddy’s senior pictures at Pawnee Park while the littles played on the toys and ran hither and thither amongst the paths and trails through the trees. Teddy spotted a turtle on a hay bale in the murky, mossy pond, so I attached my big lens and took its picture. I finished two rolls, and took them to the one-hour photo lab at Wal-Mart. The one-hour lab is more expensive than sending the film off for a couple of days to have it developed, but we wanted those pictures now or sooner. I ordered quadruples, and got 200 pictures for $27.00. Compare that to the price of studio pictures.
An hour later, I retrieved the pictures. I trotted across the street to show them to my mother, just as Teddy came home from the shop. He picked up a set, started looking through them—and promptly began the most dreadful fretting. I returned home to find him still stewing.
“I didn’t know I was so ugly; I smiled stupid in every picture; we need to retake them; no, never mind; I’d probably just smile the same stupid way all over again; my shirt is wrinkled; my foot looks too big, like a giant clodhopper; my hand is in the wrong position; my hair is mussed;--” and on and on, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
But eventually, enough people oohed and ahhed over those pictures that he came to the conclusion they weren’t so bad, after all. He decided he had to have a dozen wallet-sized photos of that turtle, too, silly kid.
The next day I ordered Teddy’s wallet-sized pictures—144 of them—and eleven 5x7s. When I went to get them; they’d not darkened the 5x7s as I’d requested, and they’d done all the cropping at the top (thinking, no doubt, that blurry background is much less important than suit and tie), not centering him at all, so that his head was smack at the top of the picture. If the picture was put into a frame, part of his head would be covered up. Brother. That’s the sign of workers in the photo lab who know nothing at all about the logistics of good photography, I guess. I had them redone (speaking of the pictures, not the lab workers, although heaven knows they needed it), and that time they were just right. Because I cut apart the wallet-sized photos myself, I saved half the cost, paying only 19¢ per picture. 144 wallets (including the turtle) and the eleven 5x7s cost $39.00. Sure can’t beat that!
When Hannah went out to her garage to climb into her car Tuesday afternoon, she smelt a bad odor… She opened the car door, and discovered that somebody had dumped the full bottle of oil they’d had sitting in the car all over the seats, dash, steering wheel, gear shift, carpets, vents, and down the emergency brake hole. Everything was pulled from the pockets on the sides of the doors. Oil was poured on the atlas and binoculars. Nothing appears to have been stolen, although there is some concern about the fact that their bankcard was pulled out of a pocket.
Hannah called the police. They came promptly, along with an investigator who dusted for fingerprints. He found one good print, which of course will do no good unless they find the person to whom the print belongs. Teddy took Hannah’s car to our friend Jerry Anderson (after covering the seats with plastic [but he still got oil all over his shirt]) for an estimate; Jerry wrote it out at nearly $4,200—that’s what it would cost if all the damaged and ruined parts were replaced with new ones. Bobby decided to take Hannah’s car to David Walker’s (my nephew) shop and use the power washer and degreaser on it.
Fortunately, Larry called and I told him the news before any of that was done.
“NO, DON’T use degreaser on it,” exclaimed Larry, “it will destroy the fabric and the foam both. Only use hot water on the seats and carpet. And use 409 Cleaner on the dash, steering wheel, and shifter.”
So Teddy drove the car to Larry's shop, took the interior out, and washed the carpet. Neither Bobby and Hannah’s homeowners’ insurance nor their car insurance will pay a thing.
I got my pictures from Colorado back, and am well pleased with several of them, but one roll with several of my favorite shots have the date printed on the picture. Bah, humbug. Who is the gremlin who keeps turning the dater on, when I’m not looking??
Larry called at 3:00 a.m. Thursday morning to tell me he was at Rockport, Illinois. He expected me to still be up—and I was—because he knew I was wrapping Christmas presents. He was planning to drive on home, and thought he’d be home by 9:30 or 10:00 a.m.
I finally heard from him at 5:00 p.m. Thursday evening. He was at the shop. He'd gotten too tired, somewhere in Illinois, and stopped to sleep. Then he was further delayed when a policeman this side of Fremont stopped him in order to measure his entire rig--pickup, flatbed trailer, and enclosed trailer--and nearly made him unhitch the last trailer and leave it behind, since the outfit measured 76 feet, and the legal length (he thought) was 65 feet.
Then the policeman, for some unknown reason taking pity on Larry (they always do), asked a few more questions, and decided to call his pickup a "truck-tractor", which for some unknown reason changes the rules, and allows a rig to be 75 feet long.
"Just tell anyone who might stop you between here and Columbus that your vehicle is a 'truck-tractor', and you'll be all right," the policeman told Larry.
Also, for some unknown reason, he must not use the pickup for limousine purposes--hauling people around at a fee. (Well, goody!! Now I won't have to pay him anymore, when he gives me a ride in it.) (But bother. I won't be able to charge him, when I am the driver.)
Anyway, he finally arrived home about 8:30 p.m.
That particular load of trailers had to go out to Fort Lupton, Colorado. Fort Lupton is the place where they first made Lupton Tea, and they of necessity had to build a fort, in order to keep the British from sneaking in via the Platte River and dumping all the tea into Grand Lake just to protest the cost of tickets into Rocky Mountain National Park, and the lack of bears therein.
Joseph saw one of the Mexican children from down the block holding Tad, and then he suddenly threw him, flinging him onto the ground. Tad is so trusting, and we have treated him so well, he has no idea he should flee from some people.
Joseph rushed over and gave the kid a piece of his mind, picked up Tad, and brought him home, where we all commiserated with him until he was purring like a John Deere tractor, circa 1932.
Victoria, carefully petting Tad, said, referring to the neighbor boy, “He’s a horrid, awful, little brat!”—and I wholeheartedly agreed.
Amy came along one afternoon... There she was at the door… There on the counter behind me sat Teddy’s pictures, one set of which I had had printed especially for her. Now, granted, they were supposed to be for her birthday, which will be October 7th. And we were going to put them into a pretty album…but there she stood. And there sat the pictures. She walked out the door…and I suddenly dashed forward and said, “Just a minute! I have something for you!”—and I gave her the entire set of 47 pictures of Teddy.
By the next morning, Teddy had discovered I’d given Amy the pictures.
“Those were supposed to be for her birthday!” he exclaimed, grinning as he rebuked me.
“Well, I couldn’t help it,” I defended myself. “They jumped at her, as she was going out the door, and there was nothing I could do to stop them,” I told him.
I promised him… ---but I can’t tell you what I promised, because Amy reads my letters! So you’ll just have to wait.
A friend of ours who owns at auto shop told us recently that Dorcas’ boss, Becky, went to his shop to have him work on her car. Dorcas has told Becky that the shop owners are cousins of hers. Becky asked our friend if he knew Dorcas.
“Yes,” he replied, and she proceeded to tell him what a wonderful employ Dorcas was, and how well she worked with the children, with the other employees, and with Becky herself! And Becky has sometimes seemed like such a grump…
We are pleased, because I have continuously advised Dorcas that the best way to handle such things is to be as cheery and friendly and sympathetic as possible, realizing that perhaps things are not nice at Becky’s house, and that could be causing her grouchiness…maybe her husband yelled at her…or perhaps her feet hurt… Who knows?
“Just do your very best to follow her directions, and remember that you are in a position where you might do a child a world of good,” I told her.
“Anyway, now I know where the place is,” said Teddy, making a face.
“Yes, just regard it as a trial run,” I agreed. But what a waste of gas! And time. Too bad.
“But I had a really nice time,” said Caleb cheerfully, “and Teddy bought me an Arby’s sandwich!”
That would do it.
I spent a couple of days last week wrapping presents. Victoria likes to wrap presents, too. I give her all the small bits of discarded wrapping paper and pieces of the old Christmas cards I am using for nametags, and she carefully wraps paper around anything and everything, then asks me to tape it and write this or that name on the card. So I get done with only about half of what I normally would, but it’s lots more fun, it sho’ ’nuff is. Sometimes she puts her ‘present’ into one of the big Rubbermaid bins I am filling with presents. What if I should neglect to remove Victoria’s ‘presents’ before depositing all those gifts under the Christmas tree at church? People will raise their eyebrows, will they not, when they open a rather messily wrapped gift containing such items as a rumpled picture of Lydia with her eyes half shut, along with a used popsickle stick! I have finished wrapping all the presents I have; but I need to buy a good many more.
Keith and Esther came visiting Friday night. The boys—and Hester, of course—were soon outside playing football.
Larry called at 2:00 a.m.; he was in Ft. Morgan, and had gotten a room at the same inn where we stayed last week. When we were there last week, we were first assigned a room with a non-working compressor on the air conditioner. It was a stifling hot night, and the windows did not open (how does one get out, in case of fire?), so we asked for another room. There was one left…and it was on the third floor and adjacent to a room wherein was a baby who cried relentlessly throughout the night. He was still wailing lustily the next morning when we gathered up our last suitcase and pulled the door shut behind us. Fortunately, the air conditioner fan had been rather asthmatic and raspy, and when we turned it on ‘high’ we could not hear the babe howling.
Along about 2:00 a.m. I had given momentary consideration to tripping down the hall and asking those people if they would like me to hold that baby for a while… But that would’ve required that I remove myself from the bed and actually put feet in gear… And what if they had’ve taken me up on the offer?!
I leaned over and turned up the fan.
At one motel where we stayed when we went to Indiana, we wound up on the third floor, where it looked a whole lot more like a garret than a motel. At the top of the stairs stood an old refrigerator. Half of the doors in the hallway were only about four and a half feet tall. And there was hay all over the floors of both our rooms. (Well, I suppose it could have been straw; how does one tell the difference?)
“Looks like the last guy in this here attic was beddin’ down his hosses,” remarked Teddy, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and tilting back on his heels, looking remarkably like a cowpoke, himself.
Furthermore, one room smelt like a stable. Ugh. The other room was supposed to be a non-smoking room; there was even a brass sign on the door denoting it as such. However, in the room were a couple of ashtrays, and our noses told us that someone had been making good use of them fairly recently. But beggars can’t be choosy, and we were indeed lucky to get one of the very last rooms in that part of the state, although I would’ve preferred a nice clean tent at a nearby wooded campsite…
Saturday morning Teddy and Joseph went to Omaha to get the seats for Hannah’s car. It turned out they didn’t have a whole set, after all, and the front seats that they did have don’t quite match. But they’re better than having oil-scented seats, in any case. And Larry still has the seat that was in the rear clip he got when he rebuilt Hannah’s car; perhaps it will do. Tomorrow he will put it back together.
Larry got home a little after four that afternoon, having driven 3,000 miles that week. The four littles and I went with him to Madison to deliver the car he had picked up in Denver. We listened to the radio as we drove…
Ooooo… What a nail-biting football game we had between the Huskers and Notre Dame! Nebraska scored first…then Notre Dame…then Nebraska scored twice… then Notre Dame got touchdowns two times in a row, running the football yards and yards and yards after a kickoff… and finally we wound up tied at the end, and the game went into overtime. Notre Dame made a field goal, and the score was 24 to 21. Our turn with the ball… … …and we made a touchdown and won the game! Whew! White knuckles and curled toes, relax now.
When we went out to climb into the pickup for the trip to Madison, I discovered it was all covered with mud. There was even mud spattered on the inside.
“What happened?” I queried, somewhat alarmed, imagining that Larry had fallen asleep, drifted off the Interstate, and landed himself in a ditch someplace.
It seems Larry had tried turning around somewhere near Berthoud; but he wound up on a road with no outlet, which led him straight into a muddy field. Luckily, the enclosed trailers had already been delivered, and his trailer was empty. He had to put the pickup into four-wheel-drive to get out, and his spinning slung mud everywhere. He didn’t notice that mud was flying in the window until there was a liberal coating all over the handle and inside of the door. Anyway, he managed to escape on his own steam. I’ll betcha that farmer will be puzzling over all those strange tracks, I’ll betcha he will! (Don’t worry; the corn itself is still intact.)
Some distance east of Berthoud, driving past a small ranch, Larry spotted something familiar: his old Studebaker pickup he used to have, all painted and fixed up. It was still four-wheel-drive, three-quarter ton, and the hood still opened as Larry had designed it to do, just like a Kenworth, or a Mac or Peterbilt. It’s unlikely that anyone else would put an old Studebaker together exactly like that, so Larry is nearly certain it’s the one and the same. Perhaps next time he is in the area, he’ll stop and ask about it.
I got a letter from poetry.com, The International Library of Poetry, inviting me to send another poem, which they will publish in their next book. I no longer have to compete, to have a poem published; they simply will publish a poem, if I send it. Now, if they would just pay me for it!
Saturday morning Hannah and Dorcas went garage sailing, and then they went to Stanton, sixty miles north of Columbus, where there was a ‘city-wide’ garage sale. (City? That little burg?) Dorcas’ car is not working right; she says it sometimes roars, but doesn’t go. When the girls returned, they took it to the shop for Teddy to look at. He checked the transmission oil. Low. He checked the motor oil. Low. Good grief… What would that girl do without a father and a few helpful brothers? Tomorrow Larry plans to look at Dorcas’ car, and hopefully it is not so far gone but what he can improve upon it.
Hannah is teaching sixth-grade reading this year. Hester is in the class, and there is a total of nine children in the group.
Joseph went to Sunday School this morning, but came home before it was over because of a nasty earache. After church, we were getting ready to eat, and I, not knowing this, asked where Joseph was.
Victoria told me, “He’s sick.”
Somebody else had begun talking to me, so I merely nodded at her, which, to her way of thinking, did not suffice well at all as an acknowledgment of her information.
“He’s sick,” she told me again, a little more emphatically.
“Oh,” I answered, and walked into another room.
She must not have heard me, for Teddy told me that, after I disappeared around the corner, she repeated louder, “He’s sick!” By then, I was long gone, and didn’t hear her at all, so she shook her head sadly and said, “Poor little Joseph.”
Tonight we attended Brian and Susie's wedding. Susie is a second cousin of Bobby’s. Everything was lovely and nice, not least of all because two of my friends gave me their wedding mints. Mmmmmmm! I am fond of those things…
Time for bed, and I’d better get the last load of clothes out of the dryer before those shirts are hopelessly rumpled.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.