Geese and ducks are flying constantly now. One day Victoria came running to tell me, “There is a huge flock of birds flying over, and they’re all in a straight string!”
Last Monday, one of my pictures, Cattails in Bloom, was chosen ‘Pic of the Day’ and printed (in black and white, which doesn’t do it justice) in the Columbus Telegram. So, as usual, I’m famous, but not rich. This month’s photo contest theme is supposed to be something about the holidays. Hmmm...maybe I could get a shot of one of the cats knocking over the Christmas tree?
That afternoon, I made cheesecake pudding and put it into a crust that had been floating around the kitchen for a couple of days, hoping to turn into a pumpkin pie, but having no luck at the job. Mmmm... yummy.
We then went to Wal-Mart for my mother, purchasing all the rest of the presents she needed for the men and boys of the family. So now she is all ready for Christmas, earlier than she has ever been, and pleased as punch about it, too.
By evening, I had every last stitch of clothes in the whole house washed. Well, er, the dirty ones, that is; I left the clean ones hanging around in the closets and lounging in the drawers. We ate supper, and then I took the littles to the library. Meanwhile, Teddy, Dorcas, and Joseph helped decorate the church for Christmas. When they came home, they found the pudding pie on the table, and Dorcas and Teddy promptly dived in. Joseph, evidently not suffering any raging hunger pangs as yet, went to his room to do a bit of homework first. (Stranger things have happened...)
We came home. “I guess I’ll eat my pudding now,” said Lydia--and then Joseph came back upstairs to eat his. It was gone. That, because I’d only divided the pie eight ways, since I knew Dorcas had already had pistachio pudding at Mama’s, and I am finally getting it through my brain not to make a plate for her at suppertime, since she eats supper at Mama’s every night. But, while she won’t eat another helping of vegetables, thank you, she will eat another helping of pudding, thank you very much.
So, with Joseph bawling and blubbering in the background, Dorcas forked over some money, and I rushed off to the store for another box of cheesecake pudding and some milk. I came back home, mixed it up--and Joseph ate the whole thing. Good grief. He did allow as how he was rather full, when he was done.
As everyone was bustling about taking showers, doing homework, eating pudding, playing with Matchbox cars and dolls, and executing myriad other Meaningful and Momentous Employments, somebody suddenly asked, “Where’s Socks?” and another person replied, “I don’t know; I haven’t seen him all day.”
“He didn’t come to greet me this morning like he usually does,” Dorcas recalled, and it occurred to me that I had not seen him during the night while I was typing, although he normally drops by several times just to be friendly and sociable, don’t you know, and he had not warmed my feet for me that morning as he generally does, either.
Caleb looked somber. “Do you suppose somebody ought to check the end of the alley where we found Tad?”
Victoria’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, I hope he’s not runned over!” she exclaimed in distress.
But he had never been gone for so long before, and I figured that was probably exactly what had happened to him. I fervently hoped he was not lying somewhere, injured...
It was foggy all day Tuesday. When I took Lydia to Jr. Fire Patrol that night, it seemed like there was a thick, misty blanket over the town. Christmas lights, glowing through the cloudiness, looked mystical and enchanting. And ours were still not up.
And Socks was still not home.
Wednesday, it occurred to me that I really ought to check the Animal Shelter, just in case someone had taken him there. Also, they would probably know if a private citizen had taken a cat to the vet, since the veterinarians routinely report it to them.
There was no Socks, but there sure were lots of cute kittens and cats. One black furball of a kitten squalled so loudly, he sounded more like a young African cub, rather than a wee kitten. He set all the dogs to barking, and what a racket that was. The feisty little thing kept trying to drag our fingers into his cage where he could bite on them, and he yelled his head off when we left. There was a charcoal striped cat, definitely the nicest one there, who leaned against our fingers through his cage door, and purred his heart out. I would have taken him, had we not had any other cats.
One night, we watched a video about Alaska. In addition to viewing reams of beautiful scenery, we learnt several Significant Facts of Curiosity and Peculiarity. Among them, we were told that a certain infamous Soapy Smith opened a telegraph office in Skagway and charged $5 to send a telegram to the Lower 48 ... but there were no telegraph lines. Somebody, doubtless with their wallet five bucks lighter, caught onto his scheme and shot him.
Thursday afternoon, it didn’t at all feel as though Christmas is just around the corner, for it was a bright, sunny, warm day, 55°, and Victoria was playing outside with Kitty and Tabby, who could often be seen romping around her, attacking the wheels of her stroller, rushing underfoot without warning, and in general creating a Frolicking Feline Hazard.
Socks would be there, too, I thought, watching the scene out my window, But we’ll probably never see him again.
Friday afternoon, I decided to make pumpkin pies. I trotted out to the kitchen--and my socks stuck to the floor. Spilled jelly here...spilled juice there…
Aaarrrggghhh!!! I will not work in a kitchen with a dirty floor; I refuse.
So I mopped the floor good and proper. By the time I was done, it was time to take Victoria to Christmas program practice. I took along my video camera and taped it all, zeroing in on the children’s faces as they were singing, one after the other... Oh, they are sooo cute.
Home again, I launched into the pie-making venture with a vengeance. “I’m going to make a dozen pies,” I decided. “No, eighteen,” I amended. I pulled out several bags of frozen pumpkin, then looked to see how many were left. “Twenty-four, I guess, since that will use it all up,” I concluded.
So twenty-four it was.
I made half of the crusts, and baked them. Then, taking time out to fix some soup for supper, I was reaching for some bowls when we suddenly heard a cat meowing loudly somewhere outside, a ways away. The meowing continued, getting closer fast, and Hester exclaimed, “It’s Socks!!!” just as he jumped onto the brick ledge and came dashing in the window, which we’d opened on account of the heat in the kitchen.
“Socks!!!” we all cried in unison, and rushed to pet him. He’d been gone five days. He purred at the top of his lungs and made a beeline to his bowl of cat food. He was all nervous and upset, snatching a bite or two and then running rapidly from one end of the house to the other, wanting out the window and doors.
The children ran to close the window and keep him from going out the door until I told them, “He’s been closed in somewhere, probably a shed or something, most likely by accident. Don’t worry; you can let him out; he’ll be right back in.”
And he was. He went in and out about fifty times that first hour, I think, just to make sure he really could go in and out. And he did not like closed doors, at all. Any time someone went into a room and shut the door behind them, whether Socks was on the inside or the outside of that door, he immediately scurried to the door and sat there crying and howling until we opened it again. I’m so glad he’s back, and so glad he wasn’t hurt! He’s awfully thin, but we’ll fix that up in no time. He’s purring more than ever, as happy to be home as we are to have him.
We ate supper, and then I started cooking pumpkin pie filling. I discovered that my statement about thirty-two pumpkin pie recipes fitting in my biggest pan was wrong: I put twenty-four pie recipes, minus the sugar/egg-white mixture, into it, which nearly brought it to the brim. How in the world, then, was I supposed to ‘fold’ a big bowl full of sugar and egg whites into a pan that was already clear full? While I pondered this dilemma, I stirred the pumpkin mixture. The recipe says to cook it for ten minutes, until it thickens. But that’s for only one recipe, and getting twenty-four recipes heated till it’s thick is another matter entirely. Fifty minutes later, it was finally thick. It must be cooled before the egg whites are added, so I enlisted Larry’s help to put that big pan into the refrigerator, for I couldn’t even lift it. An hour later it was still piping hot, and had in fact heated up the refrigerator. And I was long since ready to hit the hay. So, once again, I mustered Larry for the chore of returning the pot full of pumpkin to the stovetop, where I hoped it would not cool fast enough to congeal before I added the egg whites the next day.
Saturday morning, I found the pumpkin still slightly warm. I got out a big bowl, then used a one-quart measuring cup to dip several quarts from the pan to the bowl, after which I poured some of the egg whites into the pan and some into the bowl. I mixed it thoroughly, then poured both mixtures from bowl to pan to bowl until they tasted the same.
Whew! Next time, I think, I will not make so much all at once.
I began pouring filling into crusts. I put them into refrigerator...made more crusts, poured in the filling, put them into the refrigerator, made more crusts... It was finally done, about 2:30 p.m. That evening, we took slightly unset pies to a few people. Teddy, Caleb, Victoria, and I took an extremely unset pie to Tim, husband of Malinda, the young woman who died three-and-a-half weeks ago. I thought I had waited long enough that the onslaught of food would be mostly over, but I noticed on the counter a coconut cream pie, a cherry tea ring, homemade rolls, and more.
I admired a tall amaryllis on the window seat amidst scores of other plants, and Tim told us that our friends Linda and Penny, who is blind, had brought it to them the night before. Linda had gotten it at Wal-Mart as they were shopping together, and handed it to Penny to carry. As they were approaching the checkout stands, Penny asked, “Are you really sure you want to give them this fake plant?”
“Fake?!” Linda was indignant. “It’s not fake!”
“Yes, it is,” said Penny without the slightest doubt.
“No, it’s real!” insisted Linda. “I’m sure it’s real!”
“Feel it,” said Penny, holding it out. “It’s silk.”
Upon closer inspection, Linda was amazed to discover that the plant was, indeed, fake. The clear, fluted jar should have given a clue, for it contained decorative rocks and shells and gold-edged ribbon. But that amaryllis looked so real, from its two big crimson blooms right down to its large, brownish bulb, I can understand how anyone would be fooled. Even Tim’s father, horticultural expert that he is, asked if they shouldn’t be getting some water into that jar.
But the funniest thing was when Malinda’s mother Ann came the next morning to help with household chores and such--and she gave the hapless thing a thorough watering.
Saturday afternoon, Keith brought a ladder from David’s shop, and Larry put up the Christmas lights. Yes! He really did! Victoria offered to help.
“Will you catch me if I fall?” asked Larry.
She tipped her head dubiously. “Well,” she explained apologetically, “You might be too heavy for me, you know, so maybe...” she paused thoughtfully. Brightening, she resolved, “I’ll catch your feet!”
“That’s good,” nodded Larry gravely, “Because they might come crashing down behind me, wham into me, and really hurt me.” He frowned contemplatively. “But what if I come down feet first?”
“Oh,” responded Victoria quickly, having no trouble with that scenario, “Then I’ll catch your head.”
She trotted off to get her shoes and coat. Back she came with a pair of shoes that were a couple of sizes too big. “I couldn’t find my tennis shoes with the flowers,” she explained, “So aren’t you glad (that’s her favorite line: ‘aren’t you glad’) I have these grow-up shoes?”
‘Grow-up’ shoes. That’s what she calls shoes that are still too big for her.
After Dorcas came home from Mama’s house, she went to Hannah’s to help her make the pizzas they planned to bring for dinner Sunday afternoon. We added sliced peaches and pumpkin pie to the menu, and yes, we all got full. Stuffed, to be exact.
I took videos of Joseph blowing bubbles and baby Aaron trying to catch them. He’s so cute! (No, I’m not prejudiced; it’s just a fact. One cannot dispute facts.)
And now, Joseph needs me to type a report for him. It’s from the autobiography, ‘Standing On The Promises’, by W. A. Criswell, pastor of the largest Baptist Church in America, and located in Dallas, Texas. He is mostly retired now, and is in his 80s.
Till next week, then!
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