Sunday, January 27, 2002 - Rousing the Dead, Hundred-Pound Cakes, and Raked Quiffs

Last Monday morning, I was suddenly and quite rudely awoken by the most horrendous racket.  In my sleeping-and-abruptly-awakened state, I thought I was hearing the wailing of a hundred banshees strong.  This tumult was followed by a few seconds of thunderous pounding, rather as if the resident Barbary apes had taken exception to the howling of the banshees and were voicing their protests by stomping on the roof directly over my head.

 I sat bolt upright and exclaimed, “What IS that??!”

But the only answer I got was more of the same.

However, once I was awake, my head out of the blankets, and sitting up, I could tell the cacophony was coming from the vicinity of the garage.  I suspected that Larry, not having had a whole lot of work lately, was getting on with his cleaning and reorganizing, perhaps adding shelves or hooks, or maybe even putting more insulation in the walls between our closet and the garage.

Being in no mood to get up yet, I laid back down and covered up my ears.

It didn't do any good.

Fifteen minutes later, with no signs yet of any abating of the hullabaloo, I flung back the blankets, leapt out of bed, and marched indignantly to the kitchen door.  I peered out the window.

Sure enough, there was Larry in the garage, toiling away with his power screwdriver and drill, making the big overhanging shelf sturdier.  I jerked open the door.

“What in the world do you think you're doing, rousing the dead like that at this unearthly hour of the morning?!” I huffed huffily.

He jumped and turned around to look at me.

That's when it occurred to me that I had just gotten out of bed after a few hours of sleeping soundly, and I had neither dragged a comb through my mop, nor had I looked in the mirror to make sure I wouldn't scare the locals.

“'Rouse the dead', huh?” repeated Larry, grinning at me.

I scowled and backed away from the door.

“Don't worry,” he called after me as I started shutting it, “I'll use my other screwdriver from now on.”  He looked entirely too roguish for that hour of the morning.  “I sure wouldn't want to rouse another of those 'dead'!”

I made a face, closed the door, and stalked off in high dudgeon.  His laughter followed me down the hallway.

David hasn't much work yet, and Jerry, for whom Larry was doing auto body work recently, is also low on work.  So Larry went to see if his Uncle Clyde knew of anything Larry might be able to haul with one of his trucks.  Uncle Clyde told him there was grain to haul to Kansas, but it didn't pay unless a person was able to haul a load back.  He usually hauls salt back from Kansas to South Dakota; but there has been practically no need for salt in South Dakota because of the unusually mild winter the Midlands has been experiencing this year.

           In the meanwhile, Uncle Clyde was heading to his son Arthur's to take care of his horses and to do some further training of his colts, one of which he was planning to ride for the first time.  So Larry went with him and helped him with his horses.  Arthur, who has had cancer for several years now and is not very well, was able to come out to the corral for a little while, even holding the reins of one of the horses and helping a bit.

The horse Larry rode was particularly friendly, and any time Larry climbed off, the horse followed him around, rubbing her head against his back, resting her chin on his shoulder, or nibbling on his insulated overalls.  Larry was a little leery about her intentions when she started tasting his clothes, for fear she might suddenly taste him, but he soon realized he had nothing to worry about.

That afternoon, Hannah called to tell me they were going to Sam's Warehouse in Omaha, and she wondered if I needed anything.  Yes, I needed plenty, but one must buy things in quantity at the Warehouse, and we weren't quite flush enough to buy a gross of this or a stockpile of that or a ream of something else.  Nope; this time of year, we buy things one Chiclet at a time.

Then it occurred to me that there was something I wanted:  I wanted a new dictionary.  “I want a big hardcover Webster's, but only if it's $10 or less,” I told Hannah, “because I can order it from a book club for $10.95--but then I have to pay shipping and handling.”

And they found one--for $9.95.  I love dictionaries.  When I was six, I discovered I could reach the big dictionary that my parents kept on the mantel, and I used to spend hours sitting in the big living room chair reading that dictionary, one definition after another.

But the dictionary is not all Bobby and Hannah brought us...those generous kids gave us all sorts of food:  a big box with 45 packets of all varieties of oatmeal, a double box of Honey Bunches, a case with three kinds of Campbell's soup, a case of green beans, a case of peaches, and a large bag of boneless, skinless chicken frozen in broth.

One night, Larry and I watched a film about a plane crash in the Chilean Andes that killed 29 people, all of them members of the rugby team or their relatives.  Sixteen people survived, only because a couple of them were able to hike out.  The search had been called off shortly after the crash, on account of bad weather and the belief that no one had survived, anyway.  They were saved after more than 70 days on top of the mountain, during which some of the original survivors died.  The fuselage in which they were taking shelter was once hit by an avalanche, which killed a couple of people.

What I would like to know is, how in the world did the producers stage that plane wreck for the film, I wonder?  Yike.  I could hardly bear to watch, and I decided not to show it to the kids; it's entirely too bloodcurdling.

Larry working for David Tuesday, building cradles for the new forms David got last year.  He also repaired an oil leak on the boom truck.

One afternoon, Lydia asked, “Can I make one of those hundred-pound cakes?”

She was talking about my recipe for 'Million-Dollar Pound Cake'.  The funny thing is, every time one of the children make that recipe, something seems to go slightly awry, and it does turn out to be a 'Hundred-Pound Cake'.

Wednesday night, I brought Caleb home early from church, because he started coughing, and I could tell he was steadily having a harder time breathing.  I wonder, is it all the people's perfume causing the trouble?  I'll bet anything it is.  I gave him his medicine and he used an inhaler; but he was still having troubles, so I had him use his nebulizer, after which his breathing improved considerably.  That was the first time he'd had to use it for several weeks.

It was very nice out all week long.  Saturday, it was 70º!  The children played outside all day long.

One evening I couldn't stand it any longer; I just had to play a game of darts with Teddy's new electronic dartboard.  Joseph offered to play me--and I won!  So the next evening, I played with Larry and Dorcas--and I won again!

Reckon I ought to quit while I'm ahead?

I then played four games of ping-pong with Larry--and he won every time, although I did give him a good run for his money a few times, I did I did.  Really, they ought to allow a person half a point when he makes a spectacularly gallant attempt to return a hair-raising shot--and nearly gets the job done, just missing the table by millimeters.  (Well, they ought to, that is, unless it's the other guy doing the missing.  After all!--a miss is as good as a mile, you know.)

Friday night we had green bean casserole with cream of mushroom and cream of celery soup (all that from Hannah and Bobby), and French-fried onions on top.  Mmmm!  We also had some of those new pizza pockets from Pizza Hut.  Too much dough to suit me; otherwise, they were pretty good.

Larry worked in the garage all afternoon Saturday.  He started cutting out covers for our old brown kitchen chairs, using some nice vinyl David gave us years ago, when he was cleaning his stuff out of Lura Kay and John's garage, getting out all the things he'd used for making pads for the sides of waterbeds.  Larry had some padding from his shop, and he'll use that for the chair padding.  Trouble is, he needed a stapler, and that got sold last year along with all the tools at his shop.

Teddy was cleaning out a car for Tom (his boss) the other day, and found a large brass bell in the trunk, wooden-and-brass mallet and all.  The top is one of those round things that looks sort of like a gear...what are they called, anyway?  He also found a couple of pieces of Spanish money, coins made with two different kinds of metal, an outer ring surrounding a smaller middle circle.

Teddy told us about filling a vehicle with oil, while one of the other workers was underneath the engine, waiting for Teddy to finish so he could get on with whatever it was he was doing under there.  Everything was going swimmingly--until the full funnel suddenly tipped over.  And then things were really swimming, for the worker on the floor got an oil bath.

Tabby just started to jump into his old favorite place to sleep--the corner of the loveseat--but, lo and behold, Kitty was already there.  So his back feet made a little hop-in-place, and there he stood, then, against the side of the seat, stymied.  Kitty suddenly awoke to find Tabby right in her face.  She promptly lost her composure, hissed, and scalped him alive.

I mean, she really did!  Well, almost.

Quick as greased lightning, she reached out a paw, talons fully extended, and raked off a quiff of fur from the top of poor Tabby's head.  I yelled and popped Kitty on the head; she curled into a small ball of black fluff with no ears; and Tabby fled for dear life.

Dorcas' car recently developed a strange squeal; then, said she, it made a funny noise like something came apart, and after that it didn't squeal anymore.  So that means everything must be okay, right?  And she went on driving it without quiver or qualm.  Good grief, that girl!

          Her father and I informed her that someday, if she keeps up that habit, she will live to regret it; for her car will suddenly give up the ghost on a lonesome piece of wilderness, leaving her high and dry.

I suppose a belt of some sort fell off; let's hope it isn't permanently damaged.

I am typing tonight from Mama's house, where I am staying with her during the evening church service.  When I was getting ready to come, I was running out of time to eat supper, and it was yummy scrumptious Bear Creek potato soup, so I put a couple dippers full in a soup mug to bring with me.  Then it occurred to me that Mama might like some, too, so I filled the mug to the brim, so there would be enough for her, too.

And I'm glad I did--I just filled a teacup with soup for her, and she ate it all.

This afternoon, my cousin Gary Winings called her to tell her that my Uncle Charles, Mama's brother, had passed away shortly before.  He was 90, and had been in a nursing home for the last couple of years.  He and his wife, my Aunt Ruby, would have celebrated their 69^th wedding anniversary next month.

Mama has now lost four of her brothers; there is only one, Uncle Howard, still living.  Her sisters, my Aunts Ruth and Pauline, are both still living.

And now I hear the garage door opening, which means Jane, the girl who will stay with Mama tonight, is here.  So I will sign off, and continue with the dramatic story of our lives next week.