Remember the game of ‘Trot-Trot Gazallzin’? We have now learnt the origin of it—and we had not even known it had an origin.
It turns out, Bobby had been playing Trot-Trot to Boston with Caleb and Victoria, holding their hands and bouncing them on his knee. It was a game Bobby’s grandfather used to play with his grandch—“What??!” I exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me, my children are playing a Bugga game??!”
Bobby laughed. When he was little, you see, he called his grandparents “Munga and Bugga.” [for ‘Grandma and Grandpa’].
One day last week, Dorcas went to UnSmart Foods. She parked her car, climbed out, and started into the store. A short little fuddy-duddy of a man met her as he exited the store and stumped along into the parking lot.
“Where’d you learn to drive?!” he hissed in her face.
“Huh?” asked Dorcas blankly.
“Why did you park so close to my car??” he snarled. His droopy little French beret drooped indignantly.
Dorcas walked away from him and went into the store, then turned and looked through the window as he got into his car. He opened his door all the way--as wide as it would open--and it still lacked a good foot of touching Dorcas’ car.
Isn’t that horrid, for an old man to treat a young girl like that? I want to find him and run over him with my grocery cart. No, better with a steamroller. No, on second thought, he wouldn’t suffer long enough then. Ah, well…Dorcas’ way was best, after all…just walking away, with not another word.
But GRRRRR!!!
By Tuesday afternoon, Kitty was tolerating Socks a bit better. You remember the fleeting debate we had last week over the kitten’s name? Well, what I didn’t mention was that Joseph first wanted to name him “Boots”.
“No!” I said, “Don’t call him that! That’s the name of Ex-President Clinton’s cat! We don't want a Democrat for a cat!”
“Okay, then; ‘Socks’,” amended Joseph.
Guess what I learned this week.
Ex-President Clinton’s cat is not named ‘Boots’.
Ex-President Clinton’s cat is named ‘Socks’.
Aarrgghh! We have a cat named after Ex-President Clinton’s cat! Well, the Clinton’s don’t have the cat anymore; they gave it away because it didn’t get along with the new presidential dog, Buddy.
If you ask me, that’s just another sign of his callousness. (Clinton’s; not Buddy’s.) After all!--that cat had seniority!
I loaded my LexMark printer, Intel camera, and PaperPort scanner back onto my computer, along with several boxes of 3.5” disks full of data. There are still quite a few disks full of things I want to reload, but that will have to wait until after Easter.
Tuesday evening, Larry came home tired and sore from slogging through the mud all day with five-buckle boots, carrying heavy forms. “I’m too old for this job,” he said; and with that, he collapsed into the recliner, and didn’t open his eyes again for hours.
Larry thought he was seriously out of shape, and possibly the only one on the crew who got so exhausted and aching, but Wednesday he learned that all the young men—including even the teenagers—were all-in and miserable. Furthermore, while he is hale and hearty by the next morning, they are all still sore! So, having learnt that, he is feeling particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. (When he’s awake, that is.)
We like our little cat, Socks, more and more every day. He purrs soooo loudly! Keith and Esther came to see the new addition to the family Wednesday evening after church, and Bobby and Hannah came for a little while, too.
I stayed home from church with Victoria; she had a fever, stomachache, and headache. I was hoping she wasn’t just saying that, in order to get three more children’s grape-flavored Tylenol, which she likes too much for comfort; but then I took her temperature…and she did have a fever.
We received a newsletter from our missionaries to the Philippines, the Baileys. Linda wrote, “I want to thank the Lord for His protection. While traveling to a church, I hit a patch of ice, did some figure eights and ended up in the medium between the north and southbound lanes of Interstate 35. Norris was reviewing his message in the second seat and became very quiet and meditative during our bumpy ride.”
A picture of their van in the medium accompanied the note.
I have done something new and different: I actually took part in an auction on eBay, and I wound up with a CD writer, a Hewlett Packard! That is, I will wind up with it, when it arrives in the mail. I got it for $122.50 plus $10 shipping. Connecting Point sells them for $175; Wal-Mart for $215. Seems like I could’ve done better than that… Oh, well. It’s brand new, and it’s a good one.
I finished sewing Lydia’s dress, and then cut out Victoria’s dress and my skirt. I’m half done with Victoria’s dress now, after running out of eyelet lace right in the middle of the longest ruffle. I thought I had more than enough—but I was about 16 yards short. That, because I am gathering it onto the hem—and the hem is about 13 yards around. So I needed at least 26 yards for the hem, and more for the sleeves and shoulder ruffles.
While I was reading to the family Thursday night, Socks suddenly jumped up and rushed toward the front window, calling “PrrrrrMrroww” as he went. We thought he was chasing down a fly again—he’d caught (and eaten) two so far that day (protein, Mmmmm!)—but there were no bugs to be seen. Finally Hester went and looked out the window, and lo and behold, there was Kitty sitting on the brick ledge, staring in, looking a whole lot like a Great Horned owl. She wanted someone to let her in the door.
Later, she was sleeping in the rocking chair, and Socks was sleeping on the back of it, above her. Directly he climbed down and commenced cuddling up behind her. He got a little too close, and she hissed. I jumped up to see what was happening, and she squinted and ducked. Socks purred loudly and stayed put. And there they stayed for over an hour, in restful harmony.
I finally managed to find all the documents our tax man wanted…or at least I thought I had. But it turned out, the lost W2 form from Quail Run that I was so glad to find was from 1999. Bother! Nevertheless, we may get some money back; they will turn it in for us a couple of weeks after the 15th. I can’t get a copy of 2000’s W2 till Monday. There ought to be a law against Easter and tax time arriving in the same month!
There ought to be a law against Easter and tax time arriving in the same year.
There ought to be a law against tax time arriving any time during my lifetime.
I wonder…do you ever have it happen, as I do…that the phone rings at the same time peanut butter and honey is inserted into one's maw?
"Glrrrmph?"
"Excuse me, may I speak to one Sarah Jackson?"
"Mmmgggllb."
"I'm sorry, we must have a bad phone connection. I am calling to inform you that you have won the Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, in the amount of $550,000,000. Just answer these few questions for me, and Sheik Abdul Chultain will be at your door by tomorrow morning at the latest."
"Glllympngngngng."
"Sir, we really must have these questions answered, or you will not be eligible."
"Bllllmmmp."
"Well... (mumbled conversation off-receiver) I guess we will have to go to the next person on the list, sorry. Have a good day." (Click.)
(gulp gulp gulp) "Okay, now I can talk! I just got a drink!"
Silence.
"Hello, hello, hello??!!!"
Silence.
"AAAARRRGGGGHHHH!!!"
A few days ago, a friend of mine, wanting to call me, emailed and asked if Larry minded phone calls. That, because her husband will hardly let her use the phone at all, and when once he discovered that his teenage son had called a friend long distance, although he had talked on the phone for only a few minutes, and although they have more than enough money to pay for the six phone lines in their house, he had all long-distance service to the house cut off, so that they could not even call their adult daughter who lived across the lake from them. Fortunately, my friend has her own cell phone.
Anyway, I replied to her post:
When I got to the part where you asked me if Larry minds phone calls, I turned to him (in his perch in the recliner, about 6 feet behind me), and asked, "Larry!"
"WHAT!!!" he answered politely, but rather loudly, in order to be heard over the various noises of the synthesizer, the digital piano, and the race game on the other computer.
"Hee hee hee," said Caleb, after he'd safely returned to earth from his short flight into the upper stratosphere, having been skating right past his father just as he answered me.
"Kendra wants to know if you mind phone calls," I told Larry.
"What!" he exclaimed, and laughed. "NO, of COURSE not!" he said adamantly. "I talk on the phone to ANYone, and if they get too longwinded, I just do this--" and with that, he flung the recliner backwards, closed his eyes, and went to snoring away happily. And loudly.
And then he neglected to sit back up, and went to sleeping in earnest.
(I hadn't really meant phone calls for him, but he knew that.) (And I hadn't really needed to ask him at all; I already knew the answer to the question; but it's always funny to see what he will say next.)
Call anytime you would like to!
* * *And I reflected on the fact that I should be more thankful for my husband.
Friday, my niece Susan called, asking me to transpose the song Golden Harps are Sounding for Sr. Choir. Fortunately, I knew right where my Mozart32 program was; so I loaded it and proceeded wrote music. I printed it, Dorcas took copies and punched holes, and then she put them in the choir loft.
Day after day, relations between Kitty and Socks are improving. Hester actually spotted Kitty licking Socks on the head; and once I saw her rush past him, bumping into him like a fat lady in a grocery store aisle, making a small purr noise in his ear as she went by.
Joseph and I went to Wal-Mart Friday night. We got batteries for a couple of watches (costs as much as a new watch) and the rest of the lace I needed for Victoria’s dress. I thought there wasn’t enough; but there was, thank goodness. After another time-out to help Hannah with a collar she's making--and I made a royal mess of it--I'm back at Victoria's again.
Hannah told us Bobby transplanted a couple of rose bushes, then came in the house and remarked, “I like playing house!”
Oh, help, help, help! I'm running out of time! At least I just put the last load of clothes into the dryer. The last load for a day or two, that is. One more skirt, alterations on three suits for the boys, netting on cancans, alterations on every last one of my dresses, and then decorations on several hats--and I'll be done. (Did I say that already?)
And in the meanwhile, I have to go to the Social Service Department tomorrow to see if Medicaid will pay for Teddy's finger repair job, and I have to go to City Hall to get Larry's W2 form (the Gremlins ate it, evidently; the 1999 W2 form I wound up accidentally taking our accountant, he had never seen before), and then I have to take the W2 form to the accountant. AAAAuuuuggghhh! Stop the clocks!
My weatherball overflowed Friday night. That’s only the second time it’s done that. And it was right; there was a bad storm coming. The wind blew down trees and steeples and all sorts of things, all over the state. One town recorded wind gusts up to 69 mph.
Saturday Loren and Janice stopped in for a few minutes. We were pleased; we don’t get to see them very often. Loren sold 15 memberships to NFIB last week--he broke his own sales record. As always, he’s at the top of sales, nation-wide.
After Larry got home from work—later than usual that afternoon, almost 3:00--we went to Grand Island to see the sandhill cranes. They were just as craney as ever.
There are upwards of 500,000 in the Great Platte Valley right now...but they will be migrating north soon, because the weather is so nice. That means this was possibly the last week they will be here in force before heading for their nesting grounds further north. They will be leaving any day now. Somewhere, there is a whooping crane among the sandhill cranes... he thinks he's a sandhill crane, I guess; he migrates with them, twice a year, just like clockwork.
One time, a couple of years ago, we were looking for him…we rounded a corner on a county road--and there before us stretched a field full of gray birds, and one white one.
“It’s the whooping crane!” several of us shouted in jubilant unison.
But it wasn’t.
It was only a field full of Canada geese--with one Snow Goose amongst the Canadas.
That’s why, even though I was afraid I would be late for Sr. Choir practice, I went anyway. Sandhill cranes are big birds, not quite as tall as the whooping crane... about four feet tall, gray, with red heads. And it's quite a phenomenon, to see thousands of birds in the cornfields beside the roads, some doing the St. Vitas dance (that’s what it looks like, anyway), while overhead are thousands and thousands of them--and they are all making their loud, rattling calls. I shot several rolls of film. I like birds... and I like to photograph them. My sons call me a birdbrain...but then they gave me a big National Geographic bird book for Christmas one year! And Larry gave me a scope, too.
They are skittish things…(speaking of the birds, not the sons or the husband) and I am always hoping to get a close-up, but I never can get quite close enough for that. I keep hoping, every year, that this will be the time... This was NOT the time. But I DID get some good pictures, I think, I hope. I suppose the photographers who get the really good shots go slithering along through the stubble on their stomachs...and I have never wanted a picture bad enough to do that.
Yet.
There have been times…when I was all hunkered down, in just the right position to properly shoot a big bumblebee...or even a low-to-the-earth flower... And I didn't know a neighbor was standing just the other side of the fence, staring at me with interest, wondering what in the world I was doing NOW. Furthermore, I use a close-up filter, and sometimes a 2x magnifier, rather than a gazillion-dollar macro lens--works great--but--! Trouble is, you have to get CLOSER. Sooo… there I am, zeroing in on a big ol' mean wasp... I get the shot, pull my camera away from my face--And AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaa!!!! I'm only 3 millimeters away from the ferocious fiend!
All alongside Route 30 runs several sets of train tracks, which are in much use, twenty-four hours a day. I noticed that on the ends of all the newer coal cars were the instructions, “Do not hump.” I read it aloud.
“What does it mean?” asked Caleb.
“Well, of course it means that you shouldn’t go around saying ‘hmmph!’ all the time,” I told him.
He giggled. “What does it really mean?”
“It means you must refrain from running over the camels,” I responded seriously.
He giggled the more. “No, really!!” he said again.
“What does it mean?” I inquired of Larry.
He explained. “You know those humps of dirt at the stations, where they take cars over to unhook them from one train, and let them roll down the other side and bump into another car to hook them up again? Well, these are aluminum, and they are not supposed to do that with aluminum cars, because it would mess them all up.”
“Oh,” said I. Then, “How did you know that?”
He shrugged. “I’m really smart.” He gave a cocky little toss of his head. “I just figure out those sorts of things.”
I sneered.
He grinned and told the truth. “Don’t you remember, my father used to work for the railroad?”
“You know,” I informed him, “between the two of us, we know most everything there is to know.”--and I sang the song my father used to sing to me: “I saw Aaron and Moses playing Ring Around the Roses, for I was born ten thousand years ago, and there ain’t nothin’ in the world that I don’t know!”
As we traveled, the children--Hester, Lydia, Caleb, and Victoria came with us--had a regular brouhaha over a pile of Kleenexes Lydia was holding when they suddenly started sailing away to the back reaches of the Suburban from the breeze that was coming in the window. It was very windy that day; later I would find my big trellis blown over and broken to bits.
A new game was launched: Hester held a Kleenex up in front of her open window, while Lydia held one up in front of hers. Caleb counted down, “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, zero!!!”--both girls let loose of their Kleenexes, and the person whose tissue first made it into the third seat ‘won’. Then Caleb discovered a couple of empty paper cups, and the cups took the place of the Kleenexes. Victoria laughed so hard she nearly fell off the seat.
When that game was over (how do they know when it’s over, I wonder?), a game of I Spy got itself underway. After the usual “I spy something red (or yellow) (or green) (or blue),” they got more inventive.
“I spy Hester’s cousins!” announced Caleb, staring into a field full of cows and frolicking calves.
“Hey!” said Hester, and Caleb dissolved in mirth.
“I spy something red on Daddy’s head!” said Victoria.
Of course, the only thing on his head was a red cap.
“Hat,” said Caleb shortly.
Victoria looked disappointed. “I told too much,” she correctly deduced, and, clearly determined not to give it away the next time, said when her turn popped around, “I see a color!”--looking steadfastly straight ahead.
Her siblings shrieked with laughter, making her jump and stare at them, wondering what in the world was so funny about that.
South of the Alda exit on Interstate 80, we stopped at the Crane Meadows museum. We first browsed around the gift store, and the children picked out a few souvenirs. We’d been there once before, and enjoyed the back part of the building, where there are all sorts of stuffed animals. I mean, real stuffed animals, such as sandhill cranes, whooping cranes, wild turkeys, badgers, wood ducks, all sorts of geese, and more. There is a large fish tank full of myriad big fish, too.
The children and I walked through the doorway into the room…and were swiftly chased down by Larry, who informed us, “You can’t come in here without paying, and it costs $3.00 per person!”
I turned back toward exit, and there was the museum director, coming after us, too, looking as peeved as a trod-upon rattler.
“Sorry; I didn’t know,” I told him, as we traipsed back into the gift store like humble ducklings all in a row.
“There are signs all around,” he enlightened me irritably, pointed around the door frame and counting them out for me, quite as if I was seriously lacking in wits. “Here’s one… two… three… four…”
I laughed. “Well, but they’re all in writing!” I told him. “I only look at pictures, just like my littles.” And I patted Victoria on the head.
He stopped ranting and actually grinned at me.
Caleb and Victoria started up a new game on the way home:
Caleb: "Okay, now try not to blink." (directly somebody blinks) ("Oops!") (said by the blinker) ('blinkee'?) ("I won!") (jubilantly said by the one who didn't blink)
Victoria: "Okay, now try not to smile." (snicker snicker) ("You smiled! So I won.")
Caleb: "Now try not to breathe." (directly two kids are gasping for breath between giggles)
At that point, Hester interrupted by saying, "Now try not to let your heart beat." (a bit of silence while both littles studiously gave it a try, disrupted when Victoria suddenly howled, "Well but I CAN'T!" and her siblings burst out laughing)
Victoria: "Now try not to (tee hee hee) laugh, hahaha."
Caleb: "hee hee hee hee I think you already hahahaha lost."
Sure enough, I was late for practice--about twenty minutes late. The altos were just finishing practicing their part as I walked in. Susan asked me if I needed her to go through it again, so I would know my part…but I said no, that was okay. (I don’t need to sing through the thing to sing alto. I know the song…I know alto…easy as falling off a log.) (Just don’t ask me to sing bass.)
Robert’s sermon today was the Palm Sunday story. I have always loved the verse where the Lord told his disciples that if they stopped the children from singing Hosanna, the rocks would cry out. It reminds me of one of my favorite songs: Glory to Jesus, I’ll sing it, I will! Glory to Jesus, I Cannot Keep Still! Oh, I love that song.
Merlin Dean’s Sunday School lesson was about the Kinsman Redeemer, and how if the kinsman refused to ‘redeem’ a woman when her husband died, thus carrying on the family name and ensuring an inheritance could be passed on, she was to spit in his face. That was according to the old Mosaic Laws, and is wonderfully illustrated in the story of Ruth, where Boaz and Ruth’s firstborn was counted as Naomi’s seed or offspring. Boaz was richly rewarded for his love and generosity, for this little child was in the line of King David and the Lord Jesus.
Thus, when people spit in Jesus’ face before He was crucified, they were in effect saying, “You will not be my Redeemer!”--in spite of the fact that He had told them He was their Redeemer.
Have you read about the man who used to live in Columbus who was arrested and hauled off to the calaboose for attacking the Liberty Bell with a hammer while shouting, “God lives!”? There was a picture of him on the front page of the Omaha World Herald. His hair hung in long matted stringiness to his elbows, and a bedraggled beard like unraveled yarn squiggled its way to his belt, if indeed he had a belt.
His senior picture (of ’93) was also printed on the front page, and one would never have believed this ugly mutt could be the same handsome young man in the earlier picture. They say he’d moved out to Oregon and ‘gotten religious’. Funny what ‘religion’ does to some people, isn’t it?
Well… I'd better rush off and see what my sewing machine has to say about things. Only one more week till Easter! Yikes! I must sew at the most toppest velocity!
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