Our friends’ little boy Timothy, who had the massive stroke January 28th, went back to school last week! And he seems almost exactly like his old self; you would not know anything had ever happened to him. Isn’t that wonderful? We are so happy about it. The doctors said, shortly after he had the stroke, he might never walk again. How quickly they were proved wrong! It seems like a miracle.
Have you been reading the news? Hill and Billy are finding themselves in more troubles than they expected over all those pardons. Mr. Clinton, sir! How do you ever expect us to start missing you if you won’t go away???
As I mentioned last week, by Monday Hester and Lydia had acquired the strep throat the rest of us had. Their throats were red and sore, and their heads and eyes hurt. We are like Leah -- 'tender-eyed'. So they are now on Amoxicillin, too. Or something similar. We have another kind of penicillin for Lydia, because she is allergic to Amoxicillin. Dorcas wasn’t feeling so well, herself; I do hope she doesn’t get it. And Larry has been threatening to get it for the last four days.
I didn’t make green eggs and ham for supper last Monday, after all. Rather, I cooked some vegetables and made cheese sandwiches, using some of the piles of buns my friend Linda gave us, and some of the too-many packages of shredded Mozzarella cheese we had.
Tuesday it snowed about four inches, and Larry got off work at 3:00 p.m. He and Joseph, using the snowblower and the tractor with the blade, cleared away all the snow around our house. I’d invited Keith and Esther, and Bobby and Hannah, that evening for a belated birthday celebration for Keith, and a one-day-early celebration for Hannah. We hadn’t given Keith his present yet, on account of everyone being sick, so Larry and I went to Wal-Mart to do some birthday shopping.
We got Keith an L.E.D. flashlight--it’s very bright, with an almost blue light like the headlights on the newest cars. We also got him some socks, a black braided leather belt, some Armor-All car-cleaning supplies, a big sponge, and a bag of nuts, which I was sorely tempted to eat on the way home.
We got Hannah a cut crystal lamp on a long curved antique gold neck and base, and a suet feeder. And then we headed over to a Very Important Place (VIP): the Infant Department. We bought two packages of Huggies, newborn and size one, undershirts, onesies, sleepers, a cute bib, wet wipes, and a big package of refills. In a month, or perhaps a month and a half, we will know who the little person is who is going to wear those things. And aren’t we looking forward to it!
We also got Victoria two coloring/sticker books of Winnie-the-Pooh and a big, thick hardback of Winnie-the-Pooh that has shiny silver edges on the pages, just to prolong her birthday a little bit.
That evening, Keith and Esther, Bobby and Hannah, and Lawrence and Norma came. Lawrence and Norma brought ice cream, and I’d gotten fudge chunk brownie frozen yogurt and granola bars.
Dorcas found a handful of antique calendar pages at Bargains-Galore-That-Isn’t with pictures of old dolls all dressed up in ruffles and lace or sailor suits or fuzzy pajamas. We scanned one and then printed it as a birthday card for Hannah--on photo paper at 1200 dpi. Wow!!! What a picture it made! What a printer! I no longer drool over Canon’s million-dollar printer; I’ve got one that suits me just fine, thank you. More than just fine. It printed that picture every bit as nicely as those big photocopiers at Wal-Mart and Walgreens can do.
Now, if I could only find a place where I could buy the ink cartridges for a dime a dozen. Ha!
Brrrrr… my feet are freezing. They have a habit of getting cold when I am typing, possibly because all the blood travels to my brain to help it think better. (Whether the process is successful or not, I cannot say.) I went into my meat locker, which sometimes masquerades as a clothes closet, to get my fuzzy slippers. I found all of six slippers, not a one of which matched another. Bother! I am now wearing bright red fuzzy socks, instead.
I have finished Lydia’s suit, and am halfway done with a ruffly pink dress for Victoria. I would have been done with that, but Hannah was sewing herself a dress, and was running into difficulties, so I finished it for her. It had a few quolly fobbles when it was done, but nothing a pretty scarf around the neck couldn’t cover. (Whether Hannah or her mother caused the quolly fobbles, I refuse to say.) (So much for all my warnings that I would not sew for grown-up, married descendants of mine.)
Victoria was playing with a little red matchbox pickup. She put a couple of pawns from Hester’s wooden chess set into the back, and drove it along… “Look,” she said to me, “This is Daddy driving this pickup! And he’s hauling terlerps.”
Terlerps! (?)
She told me, "This is Little Wolf!" (Little Wolf was one of Lad's offspring.) (Imagine a Shar-Pei puppy looking like a collie pup.) Then she lifted his nose to my cheek and made a loud kissing sound before trotting off, high-pitched yipping noises interspersed with her own commentary: "Oooo, it's okay, (yip yip) pooooor puppy (yip yip); are you hungry? (yip yip) Welllll… it'll be okay… (yip yip) let's go get you some puppy chow! (YIP YIP!!!)"
And then she was gone.
We still have a few remnants of sore eyes, head, and throat left over, but nothing we can't ignore and go blithely on ignoring. Why, Saturday the children even went outside and played, it was so warm!--it was in the low 40°s!
Victoria came back into the house, soggy up to the ankles, and frozen as solid as a little icicle.
"What happened to you!!!" I exclaimed, removing her shoes, socks, and tights with haste.
"Oh," she said, pulling one shoulder all the way up to her earlobe, "well, you see, the ice was melted over the top of the puddles, so--" She came to a stop and simply looked at me, eyebrows up, palms up, lips pursed.
Evidently, there is no choice but to wade through.
That afternoon, I cut my mother’s fingernails. It had been a long time--too long--since I did that. I knew she probably needed it done, but the last thing I wanted was to give her strep throat…and it was so contagious. The swelling in her hand that I mentioned last week is from arthritis, which is better than if it was from blockage in the arteries. Several of her joints appear swollen and inflamed. I asked her if it was painful; it certainly looks painful.
She shrugged. “Oh, not really,” she said, and I assure you, if that were you or me, we would have replied indignantly, “Well, of course it is!”
That evening, my friend Martha brought us a big package of whole-wheat buns, still warm from the oven. Mmmmm. She’s a good cook…and so are her daughters. I’ve brought up my sons right, I tell you--they choose girls who know how to cook!
Victoria got up this morning, tumbled out of bed, and came stumbling down the hallway. She listed hard to port, and ran into me as I stood ironing a dress.
“Ooops!” she said, righting herself, --and then she staggered to starboard. “I’m really dizzy!” she told me in a low-pitched having-just-awoken voice. “It’s from laying down so much,” she explained.
Late Saturday night (late for the littles, that is) it occurred to me: Victoria did not know how to find her way to Sunday School!
And the next day would be her first time, since she had been sick last week, poor thing.
So I put socks and shoes on her, a coat atop the nightgown, a hood atop the curlers, and off we went to church to practice the course.
Soon we were back home again, and I hoped she would remember where to go. Since Larry and I stay upstairs for our Sunday School class, I would not be going with her. I assured Victoria that someone would be around to help her find her way, if she couldn’t figure out where to go.
Now, I thought, if she can just make it through Sunday School without having to go to the restroom.
The next morning, all plans changed, because Caleb said he could take his small sister to her classroom, since he was going downstairs anyway (albeit down a different stairway), and I decided to let him.
I later learned from Hannah what had transpired.
Victoria made it to Sunday School okay--no thanks to her brothers, whether big or little.
To get to the right locale, Caleb had to escort his sister past his own Sunday School room, through another part of the church basement, into the large room where Bobby and Hannah, and Keith and Esther, have their Sunday School class. When he got Victoria safely into that room, not too far from her own room, he let loose of her hand, figuring he had gone far enough, she was nearly home free, and his job had been executed efficiently.
He thought wrong.
You see, we had told Victoria that Hannah and Bobby would be nearby, and would help her if she didn't know exactly where to go. Sooo… when she found herself set adrift in that large room, and having come from the opposite direction I had taken her the previous evening, she took what she deemed the proper and best course of action: she sat down as near to Hannah and Bobby as she could---which happened to be on the empty chair next to Keith.
Caleb, starting to turn around to head back to his own room, saw this, and came to a stop. Not knowing for sure what to do, since multitudes of people were thronging toward him and around him, he stepped forward, backward, to one side, and then to the other, sort of like a jewel-bedecked Spaniard doing the macarena. Keith, in the meanwhile, sat serenely, quite as if his little sister actually belonged there, having evidently just had her 20th birthday rather than merely her fourth.
Luckily, her Sunday School teacher, Karen (she is also Caleb's schoolteacher), was a bit more on the ball than the Jackson brothers (no relation to Andrew and Stonewall) (or perhaps they are, depending upon which family archives one dredges up).
She called softly, "Victoria!" and Victoria gladly hopped to her feet and rushed into the right Sunday School room.
When the Bible story was over, and the children got up from their chairs to go sit at the tables where they color their papers, Victoria, supposing Sunday School was over, headed for the door--and Victoria doesn't move slowly.
Karen called her name barely in the nick of time to keep her from popping out the door into David's Sunday School class.
After dinner this afternoon, I asked Victoria what her Sunday School story was about. "I don't remember," said she.
This, I have discovered with four-year-olds, usually translates into, "I can't remember the names of the people in the story."
So I said, "What sorts of things happened in the story?"
Now that, she did remember. She brightened. "Well, some people put on some old ripped up shoes!"
"Oh!" I said, "The Gibeonites?"
"YES!" she exclaimed happily.
So you see why she had trouble remembering the name. hee hee
Oh, tee hee... you should see Larry.
We have a wooden chair...a very little chair... it was Teddy's when he was one year old. It has a teddy bear painted on it, and at the top of its tall back is a heart cut-out, and above it is printed, Teddy.
Tad loves it; he thinks it's his. (Perhaps he knows 'Teddy' and 'Tad' are nicknames for the same name?) (Cats are pretty smart, you know.) He has thought that chair belonged to him, ever since he was tiny--but now he hardly fits in it.
Half an hour ago, he was sleeping in it, all squished in, as usual, legs dangling off, head resting on the arm...and he accidentally slid out and landed with a plop on the floor. We were all in the living room, and most of us saw it happen... and everyone burst out laughing. I think it's so funny the way cats act embarrassed if you laugh at them...
He sheepishly climbed back into his chair and curled up again, eyes all scrunched up...switching his tail once or twice as somebody guffawed again...
Well, I just turned around and discovered Tad sprawled out on the floor, sound asleep---and Larry sitting on (as opposed to in) (he can’t fit, in) said chair. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Looks funny. tee hee hee Victoria is laughing and trying to pull him off…
This morning Robert preached from Numbers 18 about the priests whose responsibility it was to offer sacrifices for the people, morning and evening. These sacrifices were for sins they had committed unknowingly... not on purpose. Aaron and his sons were to minister before the tabernacle.
4 And they shall be joined unto thee, and keep the charge of the tabernacle of the congregation, for all the service of the tabernacle: and a stranger shall not come nigh unto you.
5 And ye shall keep the charge of the sanctuary, and the charge of the altar: that there be no wrath any more upon the children of Israel.
6 And I, behold, I have taken your brethren the Levites from among the children of Israel: to you they are given as a gift for the Lord, to do the service of the tabernacle of the congregation.
Well... that is how we feel about Robert--that he was given as a gift--for the Lord. Robert will hold to the old foundations, we can be sure of that. And we are so thankful.
In the next verses, it says that a stranger who cometh nigh would be put to death. You know, I don't think there are many people who realize how awful it is for someone whom the Lord has not called to preach, to try to be a minister. He is not only in danger of destroying himself, but also a good number of his people. And the Bible says false ministers will be held very liable before God. Most of them have no idea what a terrible offense they are to the Lord... the fact is, I think a good many of them don't even know the Lord.
Our Sunday School teacher's lesson this morning was very good, too. It was from Lamentations 3, which contains some of my favorite verses:
18 And I said, My strength and my hope is perished from the LORD:
19 Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall.
20 My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me.
21 This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope.
22 It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
23 They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
24 The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
25 The LORD is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him.
26 It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD.
I can just hear Daddy singing that song, Great Is Thy Faithfulness... it was one of his favorites. I didn't used to care much for that song when I was young; it was too slow and staid to suit me... But then we got a record of the Old Fashioned Revival Hour Quartet singing it, with Rudy Atwood playing the piano at full velocity, with hammer and tongs... and Daddy always sang along with it... Daddy sang with such feeling, one just had to love that song.
When I started playing the piano for church, I did my very best to play that song just like Rudy Atwood did.
Those verses tell us that we don't have to worry about tomorrow; God will help us then. He will give us the strength and courage we need...one day at a time. "They are new every morning." --just like the widow's meal and oil. She had to trust God every day… He didn't give her a full pot of oil and a full barrel of meal, so that she would be all set for the duration… rather, He gave her only as much as she needed for that day. Just so, we must pray for sustenance each day. That is one way God keeps us close to Him. {That was my own two-bits-worth.}
Our teacher said, "Men are sometimes prone to judge us if we begin to feel in despair over circumstances, troubles and trials; but these verses tell me that the Lord will have compassion on me, and will help me. He will be faithful; He will not let me down when I most need him."
Christians may have troubles and trials; but we have God on our side, if we continue faithfully to do what is right. God uses our troubles to correct us... to cause us to walk closer to Him... and to teach us lessons we haven't been willing to learn by easier ways. Sometimes there is no avoiding a penalty for sin, even when it has been forgiven. (People would do well to remember that, before they commit the transgression.) For dinner that day, we had breaded cod, broccoli and cheese soup, cheese and herb biscuits, and grapefruit. Afterward, Larry, Bobby, and I sang while Hannah played the piano and Dorcas played the synthesizer. I really enjoy that. Bobby sings tenor, Larry sings soprano, and I sing alto. The others join in, periodically.
Caleb and I had to leave the service early that evening; we were coughing uproariously, disturbing members of the BBC and St. Isadore's, down 19th Street a good three blocks, alike.
Or at least we were disturbing Larry, who was sitting between us. He went to fishing about in his pockets, and then to doling out cough drops--which did precisely what the name makes you think they would do: they make a person cough. So mother and son rose to their feet with great dignity and exited. With great dignity.
Or at least they would've, had not the mother's skirt been a-kilter by a good 45°. A 45° a-kilter skirt takes away your dignity, does.
Said whoppyjaw skirt had not been noticed until said mother was seated upon it immediately after entering the sanctuary at the beginning of the service, at which point it was somewhat difficult, nigh unto impossible, to turn said skirt around front-side fore. This feat was attempted during the first prayer after the first song, but the effort was not entirely successful, on account of: 1) the prayer ending too soon, and, 2) there was the added difficulty of the blouse and sweater, two vital parts of the enchanting ensemble, wanting to make said circuit along with said skirt, to which said mother took exception. Aarrgghh!! What a fight.
Anyway, said mother and said son trekked home, after which said mother removed said skirt, replacing it with a skirt whose frontside and backside could not so easily be mistooken. That was not the first time that skirt done went to church askew.
Moral of the story: Do check to see where the pockets are on your skirt before you venture out in public. Should they happen to be directly in the middle front and directly in the middle back, --pay attention, now-- : Said skirt is on SIDEWAYS. TURN IT!!
There's one advantage to britches, anyway: britches are hard to wear, skittered.
Teddy gave me a huge handful of corn nuts. A couple landed on the cuff of my sweater. Victoria carefully removed them and put them into her mouth.
“Hey!” I yelped. “What made you think those were yours??? I didn’t see your name written on them!”
She giggled and stood by, waiting for more. I put a few into her hand. She looked at them momentarily, put them into her mouth one by one, and then said in her low-pitched voice, “Don’t I get more, because I’m four?”
And each time she wanted more, she said, “Those sure look good!” or “Do you like those?” or “Are those good?” or “What do those taste like?”--although surely she knew the answer to those latter two questions, since she was still fishing pieces from her teeth with her little pink tongue.
And each time she asked, I put three or four more into her hand. “Are we sharing?” she asked, peering at the three kernels in her hand, then at the pile I still had in my lap, and doubtless thinking that I wasn’t sharing enough.
“Yep,” I affirmed, and dropped three kernels into her other hand.
Today Victoria’s dolls are named Chirla and Clorma. Mercy days, the monikers those dolls suffer with! They will be paying psychiatrists, the rest of their lives.
Now… I must get back to the sewing, and start the clothes to washing again. I never saw the like: I miss two days doing wash, and there is a pile of clothes to rival Denali in height.
Yours till the Tide stops flowing,
Sarah Lynn
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