Tuesday, May 29, 2001 - Destination: Henry Doorly Zoo

Last Monday, I went to Mama’s house to cut her fingernails.  She has to use a magnifying glass to read things; she thinks it is not only a cataract bothering her, but also when she was unable to hear out of one ear back in March, she believes she must’ve had a small stroke, because since then she cannot see well, either.  I showed her some pictures I’d just gotten (she still loves to see the pictures, so long as they are big enough); then I went home and discovered six more packages had just arrived. 

Since Tuesday was to be Joseph’s last day of school, a picnic at Pawnee Park was scheduled, and the seniors (who all graduated midterm) were invited, too.  It was ‘potluck’, and Joseph was wondering what to take, so I told him I’d get something at the store later that night.  After the children went to bed, Larry and I went to UnSmart Foods, where we purchased tuna salad, small cocktail rolls, carrots, broccoli, vegetable dip, Doritos, and pop.  We went home, and I made cute little tuna salad sandwiches by the dozen. 

Tuesday dawned cold and blustery, but the picnic went on, nonetheless.  And neither Teddy nor Joseph took any of the food I got for them.  None.  Joseph took some pop and chips he had bought; that was all.  The knotheads; that food was right there in plain sight, on trays in bags ready for them to take!  

Boys are not impressed with cute little cocktail rolls and rabbit food, is that it?

After the picnic, Joseph went to work for David.  He will be working for Walker Construction full time throughout the summer.  When he came home, he told how that day, when it was so windy, he and Stephen, one of Bobby’s younger brothers, were trying to move some large panels, and the wind nearly blew them off their feet.  And then it did blow Stephen off his feet, and Joseph stumbled around like a drunken sailor, trying to hang onto his end.  David, up on a wall watching the scene, after ascertaining that Stephen was okay, laughed and told them they were as good as a Laurel and Hardy show.  And he proceeded to call the boys “Stan” and “Oliver” the rest of the day.  Most of the time he calls Joseph, who is the smallest person on his crew, “Big Joe”.  Or sometimes, “Big Joe & his Polka Show”.  

That evening, we trotted a bit of the picnic food down the block to Penny, and took a look at her ‘new’ house while we were at it.  I did tell you, didn’t I, that the church bought the little house that sits on the north side of the parking lot just north of my mother’s house--and that it was given to Penny to live in?  For 27 years, she has lived in a basement apartment at the home of our head deacon.  His wife died last year, and he is elderly and unwell.  Sooner or later, new arrangements for Penny were going to be necessary.  

Penny is pleased as can be with her little house; it feels so roomy and nice, with quite a bit more space than she had at her apartment, and it’s much better than living in a basement, I am sure.  She showed us all through her house, including the basement.  Everything has been newly painted, and is all fixed up neat as a pin.

The first night she stayed there, she went into the basement, and then couldn’t find the staircase again.  It’s such a small basement, a sighted person would never think someone could lose their way like that…but I’ll betcha anything a firefighter who has been in a house rendered pitch-black by smoke would understand perfectly.  Now Penny has a row of throw rugs going straight out from the steps, so that if she gets turned around while down there, all she needs to do is take one walk across the middle of the room, and she will step on the rugs, and they will lead her right back to the steps. 

She uses her cane to find her way to school, and has had no troubles getting there.  She knows just how many footsteps it should take to get to the front school porch, just as she knows the number of footsteps between hither and yon in sundry places all around town, inside and out.

We finally decided what to give Teddy and Amy for graduation:  money.  After all!--that’s what they need the most, isn’t it?

Early one morning I heard a funny noise outside…I looked out the window by my desk, and saw the cord for the bird feeder swinging wildly.  But the wind was not blowing!  I went to the window and looked down--and sure enough, it was Socks, hanging on the end of the cord, swinging back and forth.  Wheeeee!!!  Silly cat. 

Kitty has finally taught him that he can come in the boys’ windows.  They leave the windows unlocked so the cats can simply push them open and jump through, and the window swings shut behind them.

Hannah and baby Aaron came visiting that afternoon; everyone is always delighted when she comes.  Aaron has grown out of his first sets of clothes and is in the next size now, and he is smiling more and more every day.  Soon he’ll be doing calculus, you mark my word.

My niece, Rachel, who is Lydia’s age, often goes visiting a friend of hers by the name of Abby.  Abby has a three-year-old niece named Carly who is often at her house when Rachel visits.  Now, Carly has heard all about “Grandma Fricke” (Larry’s mother, Norma), because Rachel frequently talks about her.  Carly, being a bit confused about just who this individual was, for some unknown reason decided it was Suzanne, Amy’s sister, who is nineteen.  So, when shortly thereafter Carly spotted Suzanne at church, she greeted her exuberantly, “Hi, Grandma Turkey!” 

Suzanne was rather amazed--and of course thought it all quite funny when she learned the whole story.  And so did Norma, of course.

After church Wednesday evening, Keith and Esther, and Teddy and Amy, and Amy’s brother Charles came visiting.  We baked apple dumplings for everyone.  Victoria, having never heard of such a thing, told everyone we were about to have “Apple Dumplin-ings, and they’re really yummy, because I can smell them!” 

             Thursday I chopped off my hair (not all of it, mind you; just the lower inch or so) (I’m a moderate person) (ha!), and then I headed back to the basement.  The washing machine is ominously chugging louder and louder with each load, and the top spinner/paddle/wing/agitator/ whateveritis hasn’t worked for a good while.  I hope it lasts at least till I’m done cleaning!  What I need is a wall of washers, and another wall of dryers.  I wish I could pack everything up, take it to a laundromat, and get it all done at once…but that would be a big waste of money.  I painted the last shelf on the south wall, which means I am about halfway done.

One afternoon I took pictures of the baby finches in the nest in our little pine tree in our front yard.  I would’ve taken pictures of the eggs, but I never could find the nest, because the tree is so thick and the needles are so poky.  I don’t think I could have found it at all, had not Hester shown me where it was.  Socks and Kitty know something is happening in that tree, but they can’t make their way into it…so they loll about underneath, trying to look innocent, the bloodthirsty things.  I think Mama and Papa House Finch are probably just growing cat food, that’s what.  Ugh.  

Caleb and Victoria are playing “Taking Fido for a Walk.”  Caleb is Fido, and Victoria has a belt tied to his belt loop, the other end tied around her wrist, and she is ‘walking the dog’.  She goes rushing down the hallway, with Caleb loping along behind on all fours, and you’d better believe they create a Grand Commotion.  ‘Walking’, eh?  They tried going down the stairs like this, and then Victoria, not understanding the ways of leashes and such, leaped off the stairs two steps from the bottom.  This caused Caleb to lose his grip and slide the remaining distance on his stomach, which utterly convulsed them both.  

Guess I’d better go hush them up; there are people trying to sleep in this house!

Friday was a pretty, sunny day, so Dorcas planted flower seeds at the bottom of the porch:  moss rose, baby’s breath, zinnias, marigolds, etc., and then we went to the park after supper.  It was a nice day, but a bit chilly, as it was all week.

Stretched Socks

Dorcas has a habit of tossing the rolled newspaper into the front hallway in the morning as she’s on her way to work, forgetting that she has been advised not to--and you can be sure Socks always finds it.  He evidently regards it as a big, bad predator, for he cautiously sneaks up on it, and then quite suddenly flies high into the air before coming down on it with talons outstretched.  He rolls over and over with it, and commences to beating it furiously with his back feet, and the top few pages wind up ripped to shreds, and we are relegated to reading a censored version.  That crazy cat!

We got our State refund, we got our State refund!  I promptly made an appointment at Lens Crafters in Lincoln.  I got one for Saturday, at 4:00…and now *I* have *glasses*!  Wheeeee!  I can see again!!!  I can see again!!!

Well, the truth is, I can see without glasses; I can see excellently.  Especially if I am looking at something on top of Pike’s Peak or Mt. Evans.  From here, I mean, right here in Cornstalk.  Why, I can tell you what color of shoestrings the marmots are wearing on their sneakers.  But just put a book at reading level, and---aaaaaa.  Everything’s all blurry, unless I purposely force my eyes to look at it, after which my head abruptly feels like it got kicked by a horse.

Now, which do you suppose is more worthwhile: a) reading; or b) determining marmot shoestring color?

Marmot shoestring color, of course.  Anybody can read.  But... well... *I* want to read, *too*.

Well, now I’ve got the glasses.  WheeeeeeeeEEEEEeeeeEEEEEEeeee!!!  I’m a-gonna read...and read...and read...and read...and read...and read...I’ve got glasses!!!

The eye doctor (I think he was about 17) (or maybe 18, at the very oldest) was surprised at what small print I could read such a long distance away (people that age are always surprised that people my age can do anything)--but I definitely needed glasses for reading.  I got Featherwate ByeLines lenses--bifocals--no, really, trifocals--actually, infinitefocals--without the lines.  The prescription is graduated, from top to bottom.

I like them!  (Even if I do look like a defunct movie star, circa 1933.)  They work!  I have them on right now, as I type, and I can see marvelously; I wore them as we were driving, and I could see just fine--possibly even better than before, which quite surprised me; I thought I could already see fine and dandy at a distance; and I am delighted that reading is easy once again.

Once we stopped at a fancy brick convenience store, and I took Victoria into the restroom.  It was windy, and on the way inside, dust blew into my eyes…so, as soon as we entered the restroom, I walked to the mirror and, squinting like anything, tried to remove the BIE (Beam In Eye).

“Aren’t you really glad they have a mirror in here?” asked Victoria, watching me with interest as I leaned over and peered into it. 

“Yep,” I affirmed.

“So you can see yourself?” she asked further.  (Did she think I was nearsighted?)

I laughed.  “Well, actually, so I can get the foreign items out of my eyes,” I told her.

“Oh!” said Victoria.  She nodded vigorously.  “Those things hurt!”

A little later, we went past Dr. Garvin’s office and Daniel Creel’s physical therapy office, where we had gone several times with Teddy after he cut his finger.

“Look, Victoria,” I said, pointing, “do you recognize that place?”

She looked out the opposite window.  “Nope.”

Hester laughed.  “Over there,” she told her small sister, pointing the other way.

It’s a brick building, about the same size as the aforementioned convenience store, and in a similar location, with comparable houses behind it.  Victoria looked.

“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed.  “It’s where Mama got the dust out of her eyes!”

 

We drove through Mahoney Park while we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  After going past Dr. Garvin’s office, we drove to a big lake--a sign there says it’s a Salt Water project…is it really, I wonder? and can we fish for halibut there??--and the kids and Larry played soccer and got the soccer ball down out of trees it got stuck in while Dorcas and I rushed around taking pictures.  Then we drove to the State Capital, where extensive restoration work has been going on for a couple of years.  The whole structure is swathed in scaffolding, giving it an other-world look.  The kids and I ran up the steps; I took more pictures… we ran back down; and then we went back to Lens Crafters to get my glasses. 

On the way home from Omaha, we discussed our plans to go to Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha on Monday, Memorial Day.  Victoria was all excited about the Children’s Barnyard, where, I told her, people can pet tame animals of all sorts.

“Do you think the sheep and the goats will bite me?” she asked.

I assured her that they wouldn’t.

“Because they don’t like how I taste?” she queried.

I told her, “They’re quite tame, and they’re used to people, and the zookeepers don’t keep any animals in the Children’s Barnyard that are nasty.”

“Oh,” she said, satisfied.  Then, “Well, I won’t wear any lacy socks, so everything should be okay,” she decided.  That, because she’s been told about the goat that tried to eat the lace off Hester’s sock when she was about one year old.

Saturday night, I went to the grocery store for ingredients for a Fish Casserole, which I planned to make for dinner the next day.  The whole family would be coming…but, as it turned out, that particular dinner was postponed until tomorrow--Wednesday--because Victoria and I were sick. 

The clerk during the night at UnSmart Foods is most often an old lady who has all sorts of troubles just trying to find the bar code.  She invariably picks up an item, putting her thumb squarely over the bar code, and then turns the thing this way and that, that way and this, hunting and searching, searching and hunting, for that elusive bar code.  Now, there are two parts to the scanner--one flat on the counter, and the other at a 90° angle from the flat one, and usually all the clerk needs to do is pick up an item so that the front of it is facing her, then, with it at a slight angle, pull it quickly over the scanner.  The scanner picks up the code, almost every time.  If it doesn’t on the first try, simply running the item back over the scanner at a different angle almost always does the trick.  

But this old lady, while not seeming to be extraordinarily witless, although she doesn’t appear to have a great excess of smarts, either, and although she is friendly and nice, is one of those stubborn types who is absolutely, positively sure that her way is best--and that is, to relentlessly pursue that bar code prior to passing it over the scanner.  She is a small person, with the wrinkled yellow skin and the bass voice of a chronic smoker, and she dyes her hair, which doubtless grayed a quarter of a century ago, auburn blonde.  But despite her diminutive façade, she flings the food--particularly the fresh produce--down the incline into the sacking area, where it arrives with a bounce and a bump--if it’s lucky enough not to arrive with a crash and a tinkle-tinkle-tinkle, a glop, or a splat.  

Anyway, I said all that to say that when she rang up my bill Saturday night, it seemed to me that it was a lot more than it should have been.  So, on the way out the door, I gave the receipt a careful scrutiny. 

There it was:  “Produce:  $40.59.”

$40.59 is a little steep for only one green pepper, don’t you think?  So I trotted in to collect my money back again. 

The other lady who works nights, Margie, is about 45, and she is as fast and efficient as the other lady is slow and inept.  She seems to be a nice, pleasant person…but she can’t understand teasing to save her life.  One time while sacking up my groceries she came upon a package of sourdough muffins.

“Aren’t these good?” she asked me, smiling.

“Yes,” I replied, “and I like them best with about three inches of peanut butter and honey on them.”

She stopped sacking groceries, stared at me in amazement, and said, “That much?”, quite as if I’d meant it literally. 

I shrugged.  “Well,” I said consideringly, “or four.”

She still didn’t get it.

I gave up.  “No, not really,” I offered informatively.

She let out a breath of relief.  “Oh, good,” she said.  “I wondered,” she added.

Saturday night she was trying to help the older lady get the $40.59 credited to us, and a couple came to the checkout stand and stood waiting in line. 

The man said jokingly to her, “You haven’t gotten that machine figured out yet?!” 

Margie explained seriously to him that yes, she did have that machine figured out, in fact she’d figured it out some time back, not long after she was hired, but she was trying to subtract a certain amount from it…

No, no, Margie!  The answer to that man’s question was, “No!  I still can’t find the any key!”

Some people have worse troubles than *I* do, playing piano.  *I* only break strings.  But look at this:

Piano Breaks in Yo-Yo Ma Concert
The Associated Press
May 26, 2001

LOS ANGELES (AP) - Luckily for Yo-Yo Ma, there was a doctor in the house.

A concert featuring the cellist had an unexpected delay when a nine-foot Steinway piano broke in the middle of Beethoven’s Triple Concerto. 

Although Ma waved his handkerchief inside the piano in an attempt to rouse the ailing instrument, it took a piano doctor waiting in the wings to set things straight. 

As the repair expert hustled on stage Thursday to fix the concert grand piano, Ma and other musicians entertained the giggling crowd of 1,800 at the University of California, Los Angeles.

In less than ten minutes, a tiny platform that holds the keystroking levers was fixed, and the show went on to the applause of the audience, some of whom had paid $500 for their seats.

We took flowers to the cemetery Sunday afternoon.  There is now a small section where tall headstones (as opposed to flat) are allowed.  I like that kind much better.  I like driving through old cemeteries with the tall headstones, reading the names and dates and verses on them.  That’s a bit hard to do without getting out and walking amongst them, when only the flat headstones are allowed.  And it doesn’t have the same ambiance at all.  A new statue of dark metal sits there, too--a man sitting cross-legged with a woman on his lap, also cross-legged, with a small bare baby on her lap.  I tell you, it’s ugly as sin.  There is a brick walk around it, and glass-covered plaques on both sides listing the donors who made the unsightly thing possible (they would want themselves known?), the wretched people.  No mention is made of what or whom it is, nor of what or whom it is supposed to represent. 

Caleb and Victoria went about collecting flowers and petals that had blown loose from arrangements; then, when we got back into the Suburban, they offered them to me as a ‘Mother’s  Day’ present.  (A bit late; but it’s the thought that counts, you know!)

Monday morning we got up early and went to the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha. 

On the way, we met a lot of old vehicles, all spruced up and rigged with big powerful engines (and big, ugly, hairy drivers), on their way to Memorial Day car shows here and there.  (What in the world do old cars have to do with Memorial Day, anyway?)  After one of our pit stops this side of Omaha, we had just climbed back into the Suburban and were preparing to drive off when an old Ford paddy wagon pulled in.  It was painted that particular shade of bright orange that would make poor ol’ Henry, bless his departed soul, roll over in his grave.  Not just once, neither.  That orange was at least a three-roll hue.

The door opened, and out clambered the big, ugly, hairy de rigueur driver, complete with a mane of hair that could do double duty as a chamois any day.  Fact was, it looked like it had done double duty as a chamois, quite possibly within the recent hour.  He turned toward us. 

“Ooooooo, what happened to his face???” I cried, and all eyes turned to behold the sight.

The man’s(?) face was beet red.  No, it was redder than that.  It was tomato red.

“Hey!” yelled Larry in his best far-south drawl, “My wife wanna know whu’ happen to yo’ face, Bro!!”

I slugged him on the shoulder before I realized with relief that all our windows were up.

He turned to me.  “Dunno; he no ansuh.”  He gave a shrug.  “But ah think he was a-eatin’ hambuggers right offen duh grill, and it done flared up on ’im.”

He put the Suburban in gear and began driving away, then turned and looked back at the man(?). 

“Hey!  Bro!” he bawled, “Don’t yo’ know bettuh than to bob for hotdogs when they’s still on duh grill?”

“Quit it, quit it, you crazy idiot!” I yelped, poking him.   

How much sound does glass hold in, anyway??

He grinned at me.  By that time, the children were in great throes of merriment, laughing till the tears ran down their faces.  And the day had hardly yet begun…

Teddy and Amy went to the zoo, too, and Hester went with them.  Dorcas loaned Teddy her car for the occasion.  Teddy left a little while before us, taking about 30% of the food, just in case he wasn’t fortunate enough to bump into us when they were hungry, so they could share our food.  When we arrived a couple of hours later, we saw Dorcas’ car in the parking lot, but we saw nothing of Teddy, Amy, or Hester until we were eating, about 3:00 p.m.

“Look!” exclaimed Caleb, “There goes Teddy--and he doesn’t even see us!”

Sure enough, Dorcas’ car was just pulling out of one of the exits.

We finished our lunch--homemade sub sandwiches, strawberries, sun chips, string cheese, raspberry/strawberry/apple juice, granola bars, nectarines, and apples with caramel dip--and went back into the zoo.  There are delis and cafes inside the zoo, but a sub sandwich as big as the ones I made costs $5.00 apiece, a small can of juice costs $1.50, and there is no fresh fruit or cheese to be found. 

 

It was a lovely day for going to the zoo--not too hot, not too windy, but sunshiny and just right.  We took along Victoria’s carriage, and Victoria, Caleb, and Lydia took turns riding in it.  It had plenty of room for my large camera case, a small cooler, a big thermos, and an extra pair of shoes or two.  A few times Caleb and Victoria both rode in it, although in order to do so, Victoria had to sit atop the cooler, which she thought quite funny, especially since it made her a foot taller than Caleb. 

“Look, Caleb, I’m older than you now!” she crowed exuberantly.

For the first half of the excursion, we pulled our red wagon, too, all loaded down with chips, water, juice, apples, nectarines, and strawberries, along with Dorcas and Larry’s camera cases.

Inside the enormous aviary, a woman was having troubles with her house apes.  “Okay, I’m going to count to ten!” she screeched at her small daughter.  “One…two…three… four…”

The little girl continued sweetly, “…five…six…seven…eight…” and my littles all began snickering in glee. 

The mother sighed deeply and gave up.  She turned and discovered her son shinnying up the fence where shinnyers are not supposed to shinny. 

“Trevor!!!” she screeched.  “You get down from there and sit yourself right down here and rest a while!!!”

“NO!!!” Trevor screeched back.  “YOU sit yourself right down there and rest a while!!!”

The mother sighed deeply and sat down to rest a while.

The littles rushed around the corner and went into peels of laughter.

I have come to the following conclusion:  newborn baby birds, as it has been commonly reported, are not the most helpless creatures in the world.  Parents are.

As we walked past one of the garages where the zookeepers put their carts and electric garbage trucks, we saw a tall, thin man bending over the motor in one of the carts.

“Is that the mechanic?” asked Caleb.

“No,” answered Larry, “That’s the dipstick.” 

Lydia giggled.  “I think you’re a dip,” she told her father.

He took it as a compliment.

We stayed until 7:45 p.m.  As usual, we were one of the last ones out.  At the exit is a revolving gate--and it was made before the invention of strollers/carts such as ours.  I tell you, if that cart would have been half a millimeter wider or longer, or if that revolving gate would have been half a millimeter smaller, Larry would have had to stay overnight at the zoo with it.  At least, that’s what we told him; he didn’t think we’d leave that nice carriage behind all by itself, did he?!

After leaving the zoo, we drove through the new housing districts of West Omaha, where David and his crew--including Larry--have been pouring quite a number of basements.  Many houses in those neighborhoods sell for upwards of a million dollars.  We looked at one that is listed for $3,000,000; it’s been vacant for a year or more, ever since it was completed.  Every room is furnished by a different interior decorator, and the grounds are lavishly landscaped.  Imagine what the upkeep is!  I didn’t like it; I think it’s an unattractive monstrosity with its grayish stucco walls and its imposing peaked roof over the drive.  The little building to which the arch is connected looks quite like a tollbooth, if you ask me.  I preferred a Swiss chalet-type home on the banks of the river, with the bluffs rising up sharply at the back.  Curved French windows were accented with wooden shutters carved with a delicate scrolling design, and a porch with a beautiful wooden railing wrapped around all sides of the house.

“Now,” I said, after looking at these houses whose grandeur we could hardly fathom, “we’d better drive through the slum district, so that when we get home we’ll still appreciate our own house.”

Larry laughed.  “If we get home, you mean.”

(No, we didn’t drive through the slum district.)

Bobby and Hannah haven’t been feeling well for the last few days, and baby Aaron has a bad cold.  Bobby is better now, but Hannah’s cold is causing her asthma to worsen, and she is worried about the baby.  She called the doctor and got a couple of prescriptions, and today she bought a vaporizer.  Hopefully, they’ll be feeling better soon.

Yesterday they were well enough to go see the Fort Kearney Arch museum.  A reporter took a picture of it once, a picture that wound up in the Omaha World Herald--and Larry’s pickup and trailer were in the picture.  He’d noticed the photographer on an overpass as he went underneath.  The was a road sign visible in the picture:  Caution:  Watch the road.

One person I sent it to replied, “So... they have to spell it out for you folks in Nebraska, huh?  Why, if that sign did not remind all of you folks to 'watch the road', there's no telling what might happen!” 

And now--Hannah and baby Aaron themselves are coming in my front door! 

Goodbye...I’m off to be a grandma!