Tuesday I took Teddy to Lincoln for an appointment with the surgeon who repaired Teddy’s finger. Afterward, we visited the therapist. All the younger children came with us that day, because I really don’t like going so far away and leaving them home. The doctor and the therapist are much more gentle with Teddy’s finger than the therapist--a lady--here in town. This worries me, for both doctor and therapist in Lincoln--two of the very best--said Teddy must not do any more with the finger than what they were showing him, or the tendon would begin thinning and weakening at the site of the injury, and he would be in danger of it rupturing just as soon as he applied any real pressure to it. Teddy wasn’t wearing his splint--it was in the Suburban--and that concerned them, too.
We sat in Dr. Garvin’s waiting room for two hours--in order that the doctor could look at Teddy’s finger for the space of about two minutes. The therapist, however, spent a good deal of time showing Teddy just exactly how to exercise that finger; as I said before, I wish we could continue going to him. While Teddy and I were seeing the therapist, the five other children--Joseph, Hester, Lydia, Caleb, and Victoria, waited in the lobby. After the session had lasted about fifteen minutes, one of the receptionists came looking for me.
“Are all those children in the lobby yours?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, wondering if Joseph had accidentally fallen through the wall, or if Victoria was permanently stuck under the armrest of one of the lobby chairs, and perhaps the Fire and Rescue Squad was even now on their way, although the lady did not seem particularly alarmed.
She smiled at me. “They are angels!” she gushed, and asked, “Would you care if I gave them a cookie?”
“No, that’s fine,” I answered, smiling at her, “they’re probably quite hungry by now! And thank you,” I added.
She went into a back room and emerged bearing a tray piled with enormous cookies. My mouth watered… Teddy stared longingly after the woman…but evidently neither Teddy nor I looked nearly angelic enough. We got no cookies.
Upon leaving the therapist’s office, we stopped for some food at Burger King, and then headed for home. We stopped at a gas station, and I took Victoria to the restroom. For the past hour, a UFO (Unidentified Floating Obstruction) in my eye had been bothering me, and it was causing progressively more trouble. I leaned over the sink and looked closely into the mirror.
Victoria, watching me, asked, “Can you see your face really good?”
We stopped at the Wal-Mart in Seward, and I got calendars for my mother and for Lawrence and Norma. A couple of months ago, I wrote the birth dates and anniversaries of every member of our church on calendars for them, planning to give it to them for Christmas. But later, when I was wrapping presents, they were nowhere to be found--and they have not shown up yet. I promised to fill out other calendars for them…and now I have finally done so.
I also bought a battery for Hannah’s paua-shell watch, which had been lost for so long in the nether regions of a dark, deep drawer in my room, it had expired long ago. This watch was one I bought four years ago for Hannah’s birthday, and I’d hidden it in my room--and forgotten where I’d put it. I turned the room upside down time and time again to no avail, hunting for that watch. But it wasn’t until a couple of months ago when I was searching for a lost pair of Larry’s pjs that I came upon it. It was in a watch box that had held a watch I’d given to Larry for Christmas about five years ago.
Spotting the small grey velvet box, I pulled it from the drawer to see what was in it. It was empty--or so I thought. I shut the hinged lid and set it down--and something inside that box said, “ker-THUNK”. My Analytical Antennae shot straight up, and I snatched it up again and swiftly pried up the lid.
It was still empty. I looked under the velvet bottom…nothing. And then I noticed: wedged under the circular piece on which the watch is displayed was what appeared to be nothing more than a wadded piece of plastic. I pulled it out--and there was the long-lost watch, in a piece of bubble-wrap. And wasn’t I pleased! I’d needed another gift for Hannah--and here it was. All it needed was a battery--and it was as good as new. (I’d forgotten about the battery till now…)
The little girls picked out several new barrettes. Victoria was delighted with her two cards of butterfly and sparkly flower clips; she’s been wearing them in her hair every day since--and she’s also been wearing the accompanying glitter on her nose. I looked for a new curling brush…but all I could find were curling irons. Curling brushes are out of vogue? I looked as hard as I could, but it refused to materialize. There are no tortoiseshell combs to be had, either; and what good is a comb if it’s not tortoiseshell? After getting home, I went to the Wal-Mart in Columbus, where I found one poor excuse for a curling brush. It has very short teeth (do brushes have teeth?) (bristles?) and is much more difficult to use than those with longer teeth/bristles/ fangs/quills/hackles (what are those things?). I pick up a strand of hair and try to wrap it around the iron, burning my fingers (“ow, oo, ow, ooo, ow”) because the hair won’t stay in those short bristles/spines/barbs (what are those things?). There were no tortoiseshell combs at this Wal-Mart, either. Bother. How am I to stay purty??!
One afternoon, Victoria was crawling around on my bed while I was folding clothes. Next time I looked, she was sprawled on her back on the bed, head draped over the edge.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, “You’re going to fall and break your neck!”
She scrambled back up on the bed.
“And then,” I continued, “we’d have to take you to the hospital to have your head sewn back on.”
She looked concerned until those last three words, and then she wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Not sewed,” she countered, “taped!”
One evening as we were eating supper, someone knocked at the garage door. Hester got up and opened it.
A deer walked in.
That is, the head and antlers of a deer walked in.
Hester uttered a small shriek and skedaddled backwards.
It was Joseph, carrying in the deer head Larry had had mounted, many years ago. Larry had brought it home from the shop and put it in the garage, and Joseph evidently decided that it deserved a better resting place. He carried it into the living room and placed it in the wooden rocker.
Before long, Keith and Esther came, bringing a ‘tortilla bake’ Esther had made that was too spicy to suit Keith. No diet food, that…but it sure was good. Mmmmmm…
Keith sauntered into the living room, spotted the deer head lounging in the rocker, and remarked, “Wow! Look what Tad brought in now!!!”
Later, when Larry headed off for bed, he found said deer cuddled up snugly on his pillow, covers pulled up to its chin, cozy as a lynx in its lair. We thought it was Teddy’s handiwork, sure as shootin’…and we were right. I tell you, that is a startling sight to run into, when one is half asleep, stumbling blearily toward the bed…ready to collapse straight into it--but it is already occupied. Larry’s face was too funny for words. Now why didn’t I have my camera ready?!
When the school children are playing outside at recess, Tad (if he happens to be outside) is sure to materialize from who-knows-where, strolling along, looking at the children--until he spots one of ‘his own’…in which case his tail shoots straight up, and he makes a beeline right to them. He likes to rumble around on the basketball court in the middle of a game, seeming to have no more idea than the man in the moon that he is putting himself in harm’s way. Last week he got himself stepped on, the little dumbie. He cries, and then stands and waits patiently until the perpetrator picks him up and pets him, apologizing profusely. Tad purrs.
Last week Joseph did a nutrition report for his science class. He used my computer to look up some information, and then he used my brand new catalogue from the Schwan man for illustrations for his posterboard. So much for the brand new catalogue; it’s a massacred mess. Mind you, the posterboard is pretty fetching, with its colorful array of enticing foods scattered upon it.
Early Thursday morning, I went to the store and the post office, driving Dorcas’ car, since it was parked behind the Suburban. I intended to go to the bank, too, but I forgot the deposits--one of my own, and one of Joseph’s--in Dorcas’ car, tucked under the front seat. Later, when Dorcas was on her way to work, she noticed them, picked them up, and helpfully put them on the front passenger’s seat. And that’s where she left them. Right there in plain sight! Fortunately, she did lock her car. And fortunately, it wasn’t parked right on the street.
Meanwhile, Victoria awoke. As I was putting her dress on her, I remarked that it was almost too small.
“Yes!” she nodded happily. “I’m going to grow as big as Hannah and Dorcas…and then we’ll have a whole bunch of big kids!”
It wasn’t long before it occurred to me that two deposits were lurking in my daughter’s car…so I hastily went off to All About Kids to retrieve them. When I walked in with Victoria, everyone greeted us with much friendliness. I went to the bank…made the deposit…did one more errand…and returned home. The phone rang. It was my nephew David, saying he’d just been to the bank (that same bank), and they’d asked him if he knew a ‘Joe Jackson’. He said he knew a ‘Joseph’…and they proceeded to give him the deposit I’d just made, so he could bring it back to us, so … I could deposit it into the right bank, this time. Aarrgghh. I told you, I’m coming down with Alzheimer’s!
That afternoon, my mother called to tell me that my Uncle Albert, one of her younger brothers, had died. He’d had open-heart surgery over the Christmas weekend, and had never recovered. His funeral is tomorrow, in Minnesota.
Thursday afternoon, Victoria went with Hannah to the grocery store. She is always so delighted when Hannah stops by to see if she wants to go.
One day I gave Victoria a calendar for her room. I had a handful for her to choose from. After a great deal of deliberation, she picked one with photos of puppies. She turned to a page with a Dalmation sitting in a little red wagon.
“This cute little puppy matches his wagon,” she said, tipping her head and smiling down at the page.
“He does?” I queried, wondering how she figured.
“Yes,” she affirmed, nodding her head. “He matches the wheels!!”
Sure enough. The wheels were black and white.
Friday was a Most Terribly Important Day: It was Teddy’s (and Amy’s, too) last day of school. Yes, they have now graduated! They had their Senior Dinner, and Joseph’s class--Grade 10--served the food. They ordered pizza from Papa Murphy’s (motto: “Sale on 13½” Moms”) (what good is a thirteen-and-a-half-inch mom?) (no wonder they’re on sale) (I tell you, that is what their sign says).
There are signs all over town with misspelt words on them. Econolux Motel: “Welcome, Corporaterates!” Country General: “Golves on sale!” World Inn: “Chidlren Welcome!” Super Saver Grocery: “Cantalupe, $.79 lb.” Old Home Bread Store: “Big Bargins Today!” Good grief. Proofreaders of Columbus, UNTIE!
Teddy came home from school bearing an enormous bouquet of Mylar balloons…and yes, they were from Amy. They were attached to a large, heavy crystal goblet in which was a huge bunch of Baby Ruth candy bars. The cluster came out of the goblet some ten inches or more in a starburst effect, and was topped with a handful of cotton. On top of the cotton was affixed a glass raspberry, and a flexible straw extended from the middle. This was to resemble a giant Sundae. Amy and her sister, Suzanne, had put it all together, and indeed it was a work of art.
Each year, Suzanne sews the blue satin graduation caps for the seniors, and Sandy, our organist and the lady who does the lion’s share of the photography for--and the putting together of--our Annual, takes their pictures.
The senior class was instructed to don their caps and collect their diplomas.
Teddy’s cap was too big.
Now, he could’ve positioned it nicely on his head, and stood quite still, and no one would have been the wiser.
But did he?
No, of course not; not Teddy.
He tugged his cap down hard on his head until his ears were folded over and the cap threatened to obscure his vision entirely. And then he stood, arms and knees akimbo, toes pointed in, and smiled a wide, goofy smile.
Sandy laughed till she could not focus her camera.
When Dorcas got off work that afternoon, she headed straight for Craft Village, where Suzanne works, to buy a bouquet of Mylar balloons for Teddy.
She was too late. Suzanne and Amy had already used up all the Mylar balloons. Dorcas had to settle for latex balloons. Soon, she was struggling through our front door with her balloon bouquet, balloons ricocheting off the walls and ceiling, bouncing around on her head, chasing her down the hall, rushing in front of her, and threatening to trip her at every step.
Teddy laughed. “Oh, no; more balloons!” He laughed the more. “We will have no room left to live in the living room!”
Saturday morning Victoria informed me, “I woke up, and I knew it was time to get up, because I could hear somebody out in the kitchen clunking through their food!”
That was Lydia, stirring the milk into her cereal.
That evening, supper was over, and I was curling Lydia’s hair. Hester and Caleb were playing a car race game on the other computer, and Dorcas was working on a knitting project. Larry was sitting in the rocking chair holding Victoria, preparing to read a story to her. Joseph could be heard in the kitchen, getting himself a glass of ice. Teddy walked in, munching on yet another candy bar he’d gotten as a gift from one of his friends.
He paused before the little table in the middle of the room and looked at his balloon bouquets. Some of the latex balloons were already wilting. He detached a few from the cluster and handed the ribbons to his smaller siblings.
And then…
I saw him lean down and set something on the floor…
I saw him lift his leg high…
Ka-blooey!!!
He stomped one of his deflating balloons.
And that was when we learned via Larry that people can indeed run in place while seated.
Tonight after church, Larry and Joseph went off to the store for some ice cream, frozen yogurt, and a variety of granola bars. “Brrrrrrrrrrr,” shivered Lydia, after taking a bite, “this ice cream freezes my head!”
Caleb once had a bowl of ice cream that he said was too cold for his teeth--so he warmed it up in the microwave…too much.
It was a melted mess when he finally retrieved it.
But no problem: he simply got out an ice cube tray and put a handful of ice cubes into the goo, in order to refreeze it. He was quite surprised when his remedy didn’t pan out too so very awfully good.
“But the ice cubes are not supposed to melt; they are supposed to freeze the ice cream all up again!” he protested.
Several of the children have been a bit under the weather the last few days. Hester came home from school early Thursday afternoon because she didn’t feel well; and Dorcas had a fever of 101° Saturday. By Saturday evening, Lydia didn’t feel well, and all three girls stayed home from church Sunday morning. Dorcas and Hester felt well tonight to go to church, so I stayed home with Lydia.
Larry was home by 12:30 p.m. Saturday; he had put in 58½ hours for the week. They’ve been putting in basements at the rate of about one a day, which is quite a feat, considering the weather around these parts. He and Teddy--indeed, all the children--spent the afternoon trying to convince me that we needed one of the Husky/English Shepherd puppies they’d seen trotting around at Country General.
Yes! I love puppies! But NO NO NO -- we can’t get a puppy, because we already have two cats, and both Caleb and Teddy sound more congested, the more animals we have. Furthermore, Kitty would disapprove. And puppies take a lot more time than kittens, and I don’t want to go to all that work right now. Teddy tried to tell me that he would do all the training of it…I wouldn’t have any work to do at all… Ha! What happens in a month, when he starts going back to work, eh?
I know what would happen. You see, if there’s one thing I cannot abide, it’s an untrained pooch. So…I would wind up spending all sorts of time teaching the puppy all the things I think a dog needs to learn in order to be a good pet…and…well…I don’t want to have to do that.
Maybe when I’m 80.
P.S.: Wellll…maybe 85.
P.S.S.: No, 90.
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