As I type, Kitty is on my lap having a bath, making things a wee bit difficult. But she’s all soft and cuddly and nice, and I wouldn’t dream of making her move.
As I mentioned in my last letter, Monday Larry went to the doctor, and Hester, Lydia, Caleb, Victoria, and I went, too. Annette, Larry’s brother Kenny’s wife, and her girls (they have seven children, and all but five are boys) were ahead of us, all the way there, in their blue and white Suburban. We learned later why they had a doctor’s appointment…
Larry was six minutes late; his appointment was for 3:45…we were debating whether the “Other Jacksons’” appointment was for 3:30, and they were later than us; but it turned out their appointment was for 4:00, and they were early! That’s the trouble with judging people: you are so often guilty of what you accuse them of.
I walked with the children down the hill to the park, where Caleb and Victoria had a grand time on the teeter-totter--until Caleb decided to get off suddenly, and Victoria came crashing down and hurt her stomach on the handle. Hester, who was standing beside her, had no chance to catch her, having been taken quite off guard; indeed, she barely managed to save herself from getting creamed.
Caleb, for his carelessness, had to stop playing on the toys and stay beside me as I took pictures of baby robins and baby blackbirds for the next little while.
Dorcas had her car repaired this week; an idler bearing in the air conditioner compressor needed to be replaced. In the meantime, she drove an old car that used to be a police cruiser. She was unimpressed. She got her car back Thursday, all fixed. It sounds like a normal car now. Without that bearing howling, I will no longer be able to tell when she has arrived home!
A couple of weeks ago, Mama, John, and Lura Kay gave Caleb a scooter--Harley Davidson brand. That evening, Joseph gave his nearly-new scooter to Victoria. She was delighted, and she and Caleb spent the evening whizzing up and down the hallway, around the living room, and back down the hall to my room. Last week, Joseph bought both Hester and Lydia scooters for their birthdays. These scooters are pretty fancy--in addition to the standard chromium silver, they are pink, purple, and yellow, and have handbrakes.
You ought to see 42nd Avenue now, when the cousins, the neighbor children, and the Jacksons are all out with their scooters!
Tuesday afternoon, Hannah came visiting, and then when Dorcas got home from work, she went with Hannah to Norfolk to shop for material for a shirt for Bobby for the Fourth of July. {Yes, I said material. Hannah actually sews now.}
We went to the park after supper, and Larry took his horseshoes. Lydia was pleased because she kept getting ringers (is that what they’re are called?).
I took along a little box full of checkbook and bills, sat at a picnic table, and wrote out checks. Victoria picked wild morning glories and clover and filled my box with flowers. She and Caleb clambered around on the bleachers near the horseshoe field, and she could often be heard calling to me, “Mama! Look what bench I jumped off of, and I didn’t even hurt myself!” or “Mama! Look how high I am, and I didn’teven fall off yet!”
After some people who were playing baseball left, Larry and the three older children played soccer baseball, while Victoria sat and pulled stickers from her socks, and I helped her.
Upon leaving the park, we went home and ate the three cherry pies Esther had
brought us earlier. Yes, all three of ’em. Mmmm, good!
Teddy was complaining that he didn’t have any jeans to wear--as if I wasn’t washing the clothes, or wasn’t putting them by his door where I usually do--but then it was determined that the real reason he was out of jeans was because he had piles of dirty jeans here, there, and everywhere, e-i-e-i-o, and had neglected to put them by the wash machine. He woefully said that if he didn’t have clean jeans to wear in the morning, he’d have to wear two shirts, instead. But... how would one keep the hem of the lower shirt around one’s waist, after putting the sleeves onto one’s legs? hee hee
Wednesday morning bright and early, 6:30 a.m., Larry went to the Health Care Center for a treadmill test. His heart checked out okay. His cholesterol and blood pressure are a little high, but not much. The doctor thought he had some inflammation around the heart or lungs, in the chest cavity, perhaps caused by an injury--and then Larry remembered that on the job some time ago he was helping somebody put long boards up into a rack. They didn’t get one board into the hook on their end, and it slid down and hit Larry in the chest--and it wasn’t an easy blow, either. His chest was sore for a couple of days after that.
The doctor agreed that that was probably what brought it on. He gave him some medicine for inflammation and high blood pressure, and wants to give him a checkup in a month to see what the medicine has done. He is to watch his diet and exercise, and everything should soon be fine and dandy.
I already know what the medicine has done: it has made him more tired than ever.
Wednesday evening near the end of the service, I walked home with Victoria for a short restroom break. Three minutes later, we started to head back to church--but it was pouring rain. On the scanner, I heard that there was high rotation in the clouds in Colfax County (that’s where Schuyler is located), and on the radio I heard that there were tornadoes in Red Willow and Seward Counties. The next day I learned that the twister in Seward County was a Class 4, and had totally flattened a farmplace.
Since church was almost over, I decided to let Victoria eat her supper, which she had not had time to eat earlier.
I warmed it up again…she sat down at the table--and the rain stopped. She was starved, so it didn’t take long before she’d gobbled the food down. We headed back to church. I opened the door--and it was pouring again. I gave up and we stayed home. In five minutes, it had once again quit raining. But by then we’d changed into our everyday clothes (Lydia used to call them ‘home clothes’), and I’d headed for the basement to wash a load of clothes. Victoria came too, just to see if any new toys had floated to the surface during my Mining and Excavation Operations.
About that time, Larry came home--and he thought the house was empty, and assumed we had vanished off the face of the earth.
But it wasn’t long before he was disabused of that notion, because the toy Victoria found was a train that made a loud clack-clack-clack when she pushed it.
Thursday was a balmy, sunshiny day, with the temperature exactly right for the species Homo sapiens, tropical genre that we are--but I spent it in the basement, cleaning. Finally, at 9:00 p.m., I took Victoria for a bike ride. Larry came, too, and he seemed to be back in form, teasing me and asking if I needed him to hitch my bike onto his, so that we could really get somewhere.
At long last I am done washing all the sweaters that were in the big cabinet downstairs, and now I am starting to wash all the clothes hanging on the rods that span the room. Everything that needs to be mended is sent packing upstairs to my sewing machine, and when I have turned into a wet noodle after hours of scaling the shelves and climbing up and down the stairs with armloads of Stuff and Things, I migrate to my room and sew patches on jeans, put hems back into skirts, sleeves back into blouses, and buttons back onto shirts.
One evening we all watched a video, A Little Duck Tale, about a duck family that nested and grew up in the middle of Tokyo. It’s a charming story, with competent filming. Have you ever seen it?
Larry has been telling us of some of the hazards of his job… Last week, he was backing the boom truck toward a basement, and a young cousin, or perhaps a nephew, depending on which way you look at things, got out to tell him how far to back. When Larry got out to put out the outriggers, he discovered--the ground was cracking. His hair stood straight up on end.
“Don’t ever have someone back that close to the hole when the ground is cracking,” he told the boy, “or we’re liable to wind up in the basement, truck and all!”
The boy is only fifteen…and that’s the sort of things fifteen-year-olds do--and hopefully learn not to do, before something dreadful happens.
A couple of weeks ago, one young man got a truck too close to the hole. The ground gave way, and the truck started tipping--and the man was sitting in the high seat at the back, from whence the outriggers and the boom are run! If the truck had’ve gone over, he’d have been done for, and I don’t mean maybe. The outrigger caught it--but only barely. It bent that heavy outrigger all up, and David had to have it straightened.
Another time, Larry and a young man were loading forms on a cradle between two basements, and there was only a three-foot-wide breadth of earth between the basements.
The man was down below, and all of a sudden Larry heard him say, “I’m out of here!”
Larry, assuming he meant, “I’m done now, so I’m climbing out,” was calm, cool, and collected--but what was really happening was that the cradle was about to tip into the basement, taking the man down with it. It would have doubtless landed on him, and should that ever happen to anyone, they would be goners for sure. But just about the time it started going over, Larry stepped up on it to load another panel, and his weight kept it from falling.
The man came scrambling topside, wide-eyed, puffing and panting. “Start up the truck; that thing’s going over!”
It took a minute for Larry to realize what he meant. People in such circumstances would do better to use plain English rather than modern-day slang, and simply say, ‘Look out, it’s falling!’ or something on that order.
Imagine how deep Peter would have sunk, had he said to the Lord, “It appears to me that I’m about to be submerged, as I am in the process of going under the surface of the water, and should that happen, I would surely drown, because swimming in these boisterous waves would be inadvisable at best. Therefore, I respectfully request that you aid me some assistance (ala Dorcas Anne), Lord.”
Methinks “Lord, save me!” was much better.
Larry told him to stand on the cradle, balancing it, while Larry started the truck. He then picked up the cradle with the boom, and set everything to rights again.
Yesterday, Larry was leaning a heavy aluminum form against a bank. He couldn’t quite reach far enough to lean it gently, so he merely positioned it, and then let it fall--harmlessly, he thought--against the side of the bank. He didn’t see the shovel handle at the top of the sandy wall; it was the same color as the sand, and it blended right in. The frame hit the handle, flipped the shovel around, and launched it off like a torpedo. It flew at Mach speed smack-dab in front of a boy’s face as he was walking along carrying a heavy panel, nearly giving Larry a heart attack.
The boy continued nonchalantly on his way, as if nothing had happened, although he did glance quickly back at Larry as though to ascertain that he was not throwing things with purpose. Good grief!
Friday afternoon, Hester, Lydia, Caleb, and Victoria went to play at David and Christine’s house for an hour and a half. Caleb is a little younger than Michael, the oldest; and Victoria is four months older than Sarah Kay, the third child. Larry had repaired their go-cart the previous day, so the children had a grand time driving it around the empty lot they own near their house. They have a big play station, such as the sort you find at city parks, in their large backyard; and, you can be sure, the tornado slide got plenty of use.
About 3:00 p.m. that day, all the neighborhood birds were suddenly in an uproar.
“One of the cats got a bird!” I exclaimed, and ran for the door.
Sure enough, there came Kitty proudly up the walk with a baby robin in her mouth. Aaauuuggghhh!
I swooped her up by the nap of the neck.
“Let go!” I ordered, and of course she did, having no alternative.
I boosted her into the house, and then, while the parents screeched at me, and several blackbirds and sparrows added their voices to the cacophony, I took the baby to my flower garden. I didn’t know which nest he’d fallen from, and didn’t want to put him into the wrong nest. He squawked and clacked his bill at me, poor little thing--that’s his only protection, you know.
I don’t know if he’ll live; Kitty probably hurt him. Stupid cat.
Well, of course a bird is no different from a mouse, to her…
Still, stupid cat.
Having worked my way through the jetsam and flotsam on the east, south, and most of the west wall in the ‘shelf room’, I at length wound up at the shelf where my wedding dress was stored--and that just happened to be directly under the dishwasher and sink, from whence had come a large flood last year. I’d already found a few boxes of baby clothes that had gotten wet, and several things were ruined. So I took the box down from the top shelf, expecting the worst …pulled off the heavy plastic around the box…lifted the lid--and there, inside, was my dress, spotlessly white, and still in perfect form, just the way the cleaners had packed it. I’d get it out and try it on, if I didn’t want to spoil the seal and rumple it all up.
Esther gave us a bunch of lettuce from her garden, along with a couple boxes of grape tomatoes; so we fixed tacizzas for supper and put lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and picante sauce on them. Yummy!
Teddy and Amy came visiting, along with Amy’s brother Charles. Amy played the piano, Teddy played his trombone, and Dorcas played her Roland. A lot of pretty music! --and Larry, not six feet away in his recliner, didn’t even know they’d come. He’d barely managed to finish eating before he fell asleep, and he slept blithely through it all. How does he DO that???!!! It’s got to be an art, it sho’ ’nuff does. I, by contrast, am not artistic in the slightest.
At 9:00 p.m., Victoria and I went for a bike ride. I like summertime, when the days stay bright so late. When we got home, I cut all the faded blossoms off my peony bushes, while Kitty and Socks frolicked along underfoot and betweenfoot, making sure I wasn’t destroying their catnip. Dorcas’ flowers are doing well, almost as well as my weeds.
Larry finally awoke at 2:00 a.m., and then decided to come with me to the store. Un-Smart Foods sent me four coupons worth $10 each this week, so I made use of one of them. Afterwards, we drove out on Shady Lake Road. There was no wildlife to be seen except a possum. Well, we did see a cat, too. But tame beasts don’t count.
We went home and got on with our respective activities: I patched jeans; Larry sawed logs. It seems to me that every time a load of jeans comes out of the dryer, there are another raft of holes that need to be repaired. Do the menfolk make holes in their britches faster than I can patch them? Yes; they do.
A looong time ago, we used to get cornmeal, along with other food products, from ‘Commodities’, a division of Health and Human Services. They’d give us up to twenty pounds per month, and I didn’t use it up that fast. I stored it in the basement. Finally came the day when I sent someone down to get another five-pound bag of cornmeal, and they came back and told me, “It’s all gone.”
I didn’t believe them. “It can’t be. There’s lots more; I’m sure of it.”
But another child went down to look, and returned with the same report. I made a cursory search of my own, and confirmed the account: we must’ve been using more cornmeal than I had thought; it was gone.
What I didn’t know was that Somebody had put the stuff back under a shelf, and then hidden it nicely by putting several large boxes in front of it. I found it, Friday.
There were more bags of cornmeal--lots more. We didn’t know it, but the mice knew it--and they’d torn open every last bag. No wonder they were so hale and hearty around this joint.
We not only have corn-fed beef here in the Land of Corn; we also have corn-fed mice.
Aaaaaaaaaaaauuuuggghhh.
Anyway, I’m weedin’ ’em out; their population is decreasing.
Friday there were more toddlers at the daycare than babies, so Dorcas helped take care of the toddlers. She came upon a small group having an argument over just whose Dorcas she really was:
“She’s my Dorcas!” said one.
“No, she’s mine!!!” exclaimed another.
Dorcas laughed at them. “No, you’re MINE!” she told the children, and gave them a big hug all at the same time--and the argument ended with them all laughing.
While Dorcas has been taking care of the babies, a couple of the toddlers discovered they can tell the girl who is now taking care of them “no”, and she does nothing about it. Dorcas was surprised to hear one normally sweet child, Samantha, saying ‘huh-uh!’ to almost every directive she was given.
“Don’t you say ‘huh-uh’ to me!” exclaimed Dorcas, frowning at the child. “You do what you’re told, and you do it nicely.”
“Oh!” said Samantha, eyes opening wide.
The children don’t like Dorcas frowning at them; they are accustomed to her playing exuberantly with them, and because of that, she is a favorite, and they are much more willing to do her bidding. Now and then I have driven past the daycare when the children were outside playing. There are the children, rushing about from toy to toy, throwing balls, and playing in the sandbox. And there are the ladies-in-charge, sprawled in chairs in the shade, looking as if they couldn’t move a muscle if they tried. (Remember the bumblebee.) (Remember the Alamo.) (Remember the…uh, what was I saying?)
Not so, with Dorcas. When Dorcas is out with them, she can be seen dashing around with the children, playing ball with them, helping them make sand castles, or catching them and tossing them when they reach the bottom of the slide.
“Pick up your toys,” instructed the girl who’d been caring for the toddlers.
“Huh--“ started Samantha, and then her eyes grew as big as saucers, and she turned her head and stared at Dorcas. She offered a nervous smile, eyebrows and shoulders rising. “Hi,” she said, and Dorcas burst out laughing.
Samantha laughed, too, and picked up her toys.
That evening, Dorcas took several of the littles to Wal-Mart. Hester’s birthday money was burning a hole in her wallet, and Joseph, as usual, needed batteries for this and that and another thing. That’s kid’s a consumer, let me tell you. Hester got herself a helicopter and launcher, and a large set of squirtguns, funny girl. Yep, that’s Hester for you.
Saturday, Caleb and Victoria were playing with the Fisher Price houses, barns, and little people downstairs while I was cleaning.
Victoria, playing with a couple of dolls, one of which I’d just found buried in a box, remarked to Caleb, “I sure like this girl. She’s really nice. She’s so nice, she smiles when she’s playing. She smiles when she’s laughing, and she even smiles when she’s sleeping!”
That afternoon, we went out to the Loup River. Larry and Joseph brought the BB guns. I tried out Joseph’s gun, and shot two bull’s eyes in a row. Just call me ‘Ol’ Deadeye’.
Quitting while I was still at 100% accuracy, I headed on down the river, camera in tow.
I crossed the sandbars and went downriver, taking pictures as I went. Dorcas followed shortly, and behind her came Hester and Caleb, and then Victoria, rushing along with sand splaying out from under her small bare feet, calling, “Where are you going, and I’m coming too!”
We traversed the wide expanse of sand and approached the water’s edge. Caleb sat down to remove his shoes, and the girls went splashing into the water.
Leaving the littles with Dorcas at a place where the water was shallow, I trotted off, and was soon about a mile or so downriver. There I was, wading along, camera and little mesh bag full of film and filters in one hand, when my camera batteries gave up the ghost. Fortunately, I’d brought along new batteries, so I stopped midstream and, balancing camera and bag on my arm, I carefully unzipped the bag and pulled out the package of new batteries.
You’re expecting me to drop my camera in the water, aren’t you?
Keep reading…
I opened the package…stuck batteries and empty package into my right skirt pocket… opened the battery cover on my camera…removed the old batteries…and put them into my left pocket, which was rather in a twist from me holding it knotted in my hand.
You think I’m leading up to a dramatic dropping of my camera into the river, don’t you?
Keep reading…
I gingerly removed the new batteries from my right pocket, and inserted them into the camera. I shut the cover. Whew! I did it!
You still think I’m going to land my camera in the water, don’t you?
Keep reading…
And I didn’t drop a battery, or my camera, or a filter, or even the empty package.
Yet.
I reached into my left pocket for the old batteries, not wanting to drop them into the river (no, I’m not an environmentalist) (yes, I love nature) (no, I don’t think the loggers should quit logging so as not to disturb the spotted owl, who was said to build his nest only in that very forest, in those very trees, but who was later caught red-handed {red-taloned?} building a nest in--get this--a K-Mart sign). My hand went into the pocket--and out the other side.
I’d forgotten: the skirt buttoned at the side, and part of the left pocket was open, the better for donning and removing the garment.
There was a small sploop! as a battery hit the water. The other one was nowhere to be found. I wiggled my toes around in the sand for a while, but there was no battery anywhere. Wonder how many fish that battery acid will kill?
I went another half-mile down the river, and then, not wanting to leave Dorcas and the littles so far behind, I reversed my tracks. What I’d really like to do is to go hiking down the river all day long, and then camp on a sandbar overnight and continue the hike the next day. ’Course, I’d have to bring along a mule to haul the tent, sleeping bags, pillows, sourdough muffins, butter, peanut butter, honey, toaster, milk, and a cooler for the milk and butter. Oh, and a generator for my blowdryer and curling iron.
Larry and Joseph were still far upstream on the sandbar, using up BBs. I was too far away to hear them or see them, but on either bank of the river, I could hear myriad birds singing: thrushes, robins, brown thrashers, blue jays, cardinals, wrens, finches, and yellow-rumped warblers. Now and then a teal flew overhead, uttering nasal quacks and quavers.
I stayed in the middle of the river as I walked back, and then, as I was nearing the children, I headed for the bank. Trouble was, there was a deeper channel between me and the embankment, and the water was flowing faster there. Furthermore, the Loup is known for its unpredictable quicksand. People have drowned in this river after getting caught in quagmire and quicksand.
Now you think I’m not only going to drop my camera, I’m also going to drown, don’t you?
Keep reading…
I stepped from the shallows into the deeper water--and quite suddenly I was up to the ankles in quicksand, sinking deeper every second.
Now you’re sure my camera--with me in tow--went down, aren’t you? [Wonder who’s writing this letter, then, eh?]
Keep reading…
I backpedaled, fast. Back in the shallower water, I retraced my route to a wider place in the river, where I could get to land without crossing such a deep channel. I would not have minded accidentally sitting in the water myself, but my camera is another matter. Cameras do not take kindly to baptisms, nor yet sand baths.
Safely back on the north side of the river, I splashed along in the shallows till I reached the children. In the distance, we could see Larry and Joseph coming to meet us, Lydia running ahead of them.
And that’s the anticlimax to that story. Hahaha! You thought I was going to drop my camera, or fall in, didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint you… tee hee
That night, Larry and I went to Wal-Mart to make one of my favorite pictures into an 8x10 (Red Sails in the Sunset, taken at Branched Oak Reservoir the day I got my glasses) for Lawrence for Father’s Day. I also sent off the negative for an 8x10 to see which is better: the copy made on Wal-Mart’s machine, or the print made from the negative. The print from the negative is $1.94; the copy off the machine is $5.96. I am hoping the print from the negative is good enough that I will be able to make enlargements that way, because I want to give people some of my favorite pictures for Christmas. I got a dark cherry wood 11x14” frame with a gold edge next to the mat. I wish the copy machines made bigger pictures, but 8x10 is the largest they make.
We then looked for those clothes-tent thingamajiggers to put over hanging clothes and zip shut, so that all the clothes I’ve been washing and hanging in the shelf room will stay clean. We couldn’t find any big ones; only some that expand all the way to--hold onto your seats--three inches. And they cost $1.98 each. So, to enclose all the clothes on two twelve-foot rods and one six-foot rod would take 120 zippered bags. That would cost $237.60. Hmmm… I don’t think that will do. We left the bags at Wal-Mart.
Back home again, Larry read a note on the refrigerator, then asked Teddy, “Do you know you have Young Pimple’s Practice tonight?”
Everyone looked at the refrigerator. The note was fine; that was just Larry’s rendition.
The phone rang. Caleb, fresh out of the bathtub, answered it.
“Hello?” Pause. “Yes, here he is,” and he handed the phone to Teddy.
Teddy spoke a few words and hung up, making faces and wiping at his ear.
“Ewww!” he said, once he was sure the phone was disconnected. “What did you do, slobber all over the phone?”
Caleb giggled. “No, my ear was still wet from my bath.”
“Wet!” said Teddy with incredulity. “Drenched, more like.”
The police just caught four or five men robbing a business nearby. One thug tried to get away, and wound up face down on the parking lot. There are still three or more inside the business, but the place is surrounded by patrolmen, and more officers are on the way. Yaaay! The good guys win one!
I tried printing ‘Nature’s Splendor, SLJackson’ on the 8x10 for Lawrence. First I accidentally printed in black, which of course didn’t show up on the dark background. Since the ink was still in little wet balls on the picture, I decided to wipe it off with a Kleenex.
smuuuuuuuuuuuuuudge
I smeared that poor thing every bit as good as Charlie Brown ever smudged a thank-you note to his grandmother.
I tried printing over it in yellow, but my printer wouldn’t put yellow ink over the top of the black ink on that glossy paper. I decided to write on it with my new gold sharp-tipped pen.
But it was nowhere to be found. I distinctly remember getting that pen out of my purse, handing it to some urchin, and telling him exactly which desk drawer to put it in. The only gold pen I could find was the wide-tipped one.
Perhaps it will be okay, I thought, since I am simply writing my initials in the corner.
It was not okay. The initials are an inch tall, and are more noticeable than anything else in the entire picture. I mean, they stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. Furthermore, if you look closely, you can see the smudged mess that I made underneath the initials. Bah, humbug.
Ah, well…Lawrence and Norma came over last night after church, and we gave him his cards and the picture, and he seemed to like it well enough, and he didn’t act like he noticed anything wrong with it at all. I refrained from mentioning the blunder. Let him assume I did it on purpose, and it’s supposed to look like that.
I need a CD-ROM about birds. And about animals. And about flowers. And about a million other subjects of interest. I wish I could get a magazine listing all sorts of CD-ROMs. Where do you get such things, I wonder? {Remember, we live in the sticks.} {Er, stalks.}
I just finished reading The Three Little Pigs to Victoria, but I read it ‘all wrong’, according to her. I read:
Tunce upon a wime, there were three piddle ligs who mivved with their luther. Dun way, mare duther said that they had better hild their own bouses, because they were old enough.
Their puther mig said, “Look out for the big wadd boof! And be sure to strild a hong bouse.”
The first piddle lig said to himself, “I’m not afraid of a big wadd boof! I’ll nunch him in the pose.”
So the dext nay, off thipped the skree piddle ligs to hild their own bouses. Moon they set mee thren carrying a strundle of baw, a stundle of bicks, and a brode of licks.
And on it went, in the same fashion, as fast as I could read, to the end of the book, where I read:
Then the choof came down the wimney to get the three piddle ligs! But the piddle ligs quickly put a fot pull of woiling botter chite under the wimney, and the foof well into the walding scotter. He dashed out of the rimney like a chocket! He never bame chack again, and the three piddle ligs hivved lappily efter aver.
Caleb came to hear what kind of a strange story I was reading his little sister. Victoria sat on my lap with a small smile on her face, looking a tad reproachful; but Caleb giggled through the entire book, and the faster I read, the more he giggled.
Norma called to tell me that the ‘cyst’ on Rachel’s (Larry’s brother Kenny’s daughter who is the same age as Lydia) finger that the doctor removed early this morning was not a cyst. It was a tumor. They will not learn until Thursday whether or not it was malignant. We are praying that the tumor was not cancerous.
Tonight I read to the family from Exodus 10:21 to 12:36. The second to the last sign Pharaoh and the Egyptians were given was the darkness over the land. This was a darkness the likes of which has never been seen, before or after. The Bible says it was ‘darkness which may be felt’. And it says it was a ‘thick darkness’, and the people ‘saw not one another, neither rose any from his place for three days’. I’m sure they would have tried lighting their lamps or torches, but artificial light did no good against that dreadful darkness. I have always wondered, what in the world did it feel like? It was thick; lamps were totally worthless…they could see absolutely nothing.
When we were done reading, we all prayed for dear little Rachel, in addition to our regular prayer requests…the littles invariably do the ‘bewiths’. That’s “be with Grandma, be with Grandpa and Grandma Fricke, be with Uncle John and Aunt Lura Kay, be with Robert while he’s studying, be with Daddy and Teddy and Joseph and Dorcas while they’re working, be with Arthur Jenkinson” (he has cancer, you’ll recall), and ‘bewith’ anybody else they happen to think of.
Now Dorcas is playing Meet Me There on her Roland; Lydia is playing a racing game on the other computer; Joseph is bringing El Niño back to life with the heat and steam from the water in his shower; Teddy is trying to down the entire contents of a quart jug of V8 Cocktail juice in one long gulp; Hester is trying out the new JoJoBa raspberry shampoo I got her (especially for oily hair, with which she is blessed…if she neglects to wash her hair for only one day, you can be sure I will ask, “When are you going to change the oil in your hair?”--and she grins and goes to wash it); Caleb is loading boxes into a Tonka dumptruck with a Tonka loader; and Victoria is drawing pictures on small pieces of paper (with help from her mother) (and no, you cannot tell the difference between the pictures she drew and the pictures I drew), inserting them into an empty pin box, then wrapping the box with Christmas paper. And whoever can’t guess what Larry is doing wins the Booby prize. At least now it’s entirely the fault of his medicine, of course.
We are in a ‘severe thunderstorm watch’ until 11:00 p.m., at which time a typhoon will hit without warning. It is 95° outside, and the temperature has been climbing since noon. Nebraska: Land of Strange Weather. And you ought to see the people.
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