My sewing machine has been busy this week. Lydia’s suit is all done now; the three-tiered skirt is of dusty blue, pink, and ivory check, and the short, dusty blue jacket is pointed in the front, with a double-lapeled collar of the check. The blouse is pink.
Victoria’s jacket is done, and the skirt will be done as soon as I put the elastic around the waist and sew on the buttons for the shoulder straps. It’s a woolen plaid of white, black, lime green, rusty orange, and turquoise, and I sewed a black band of trim around the shawl collar and the cuffs. Not having enough material to make all the gores of the skirt run the same direction, I put the two narrower plackets at front and back, and made tucks along either edges of the front. There are two rows of three big black buttons down the front of the skirt, and two big black buttons on each side of the jacket, a couple of smaller ones at the cuff.
And you know what? It’s cute. Really cute, in spite of that garish plaid. In fact, the material has taken on a bright, festive air, and doesn’t seem gaudy or tawdry at all now. Victoria is delighted with it.
I like doing that: taking a piece of fabric nobody would touch with a ten-foot pole, and creating a fetching little number with which one of the girls is entirely pleased. Anyway, we can be sure, no one else will have an outfit like that. It’s unique. Without equal or rival. Nonpareil.
(Let us only hope we don’t shock the fashion police.)
I decided to have Victoria and Hester wear black blouses with the suits; that will match better. I’ll let Hester wear my shiny black blouse with the metallic threads running through it, and the tiny ruffles at the neck and wrists. And I think I have enough black kiana knit for Victoria’s blouse.
Bobby and Hannah, along with the other Wright brothers (they invented and built the first successful airplane, you’ll recall, making the world’s first flight on December 17, 1903, in a power-driven, heavier-than-air machine at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, flying 120 feet and remaining in the air for twelve seconds), are buying their parents, John and Bethany, new carpeting for their house.
[Uh, perhaps those Wright brothers of the flying machine fame ( ♪ ♫...Those magnificent men with their flying machines ♪♯ ...they go up, tiddly-up up; they go down, tiddly-um down... ♫ They are looping the loop and defying the ground ♪♭ ...they go up, tiddly-up up; they go down, tiddly-um down... ♪ ♫♮ ) are not the Wright brothers of the carpeting venture; the dates don’t seem compatible.]
[However, I have no doubt whatsoever that, had the aeroplane not yet been invented, these Wright brothers could have, and would have, created one.]
Anyway, Monday afternoon Bethany was waiting for Hannah at one of the carpet shops up town, but Hannah couldn’t find her car keys. (Yes, again.) So I took her there. Hannah’s keys are still missing. I didn’t mail them to you by mistake last week, did I?
One afternoon, Dorcas called from Mama’s house (she’s there from noon to 5:00 p.m., then from 8:00 p.m. till 8:00 a.m. most days) to ask the littles to come over; she had something for them. They all hot-footed it over there, and found that Dorcas had bought them each all the school supplies they will need.
“Goodness!” I exclaimed when she came home that evening; “That must have cost you a bundle!”
But Dorcas just laughed. “I had lots of fun,” she replied, “I’ve always liked shopping for school supplies!”
She got Victoria a couple of rulers, a 12” and a 6”, that are sparkly metallic and has her name on them. For each of the children are scented erasers--watermelon, strawberry, blueberry, and grape. Along with all the other mundane necessities, she also got pretty folders with pictures of dogs, cats, or horses on them. That’s Dorcas for you, always giving things to people.
That evening, Teddy came home, ate supper, then went back to Tom’s shop to finish painting a vehicle. He didn’t get home until 12:30 a.m. He’s been putting in as many hours as possible because of all the things he’s been needing to buy: wedding suit...furniture...wedding shirt...furniture...wedding tie...furniture...wedding socks... furniture...wedding shoes...furniture...
Last Saturday when Teddy and Amy were in Omaha shopping, they went to Burlington Coat Factory for Teddy’s suit and coordinates. An exuberant elderly black man helped Teddy find a black suit that fit, and assisted him with shirt, tie, and such.
That is, he tried to.
Teddy, however, did not have precisely the same taste in clothing as the exuberant elderly black man did.
The man was bound and determined that what Teddy needed to jazz up that plain black suit was a colorful shirt. Maybe striped. Maybe blue. Maybe purple! And he would, of course, want the brightest, flashiest tie in the store. Plain black suits require a little souping up, you know.
I can just imagine Teddy’s response. Quiet, not saying much, polite, a small half-smile on his face,--but completely and obviously disapproving, hardly deigning to glance at those items he didn’t like.
The black man soon conceded defeat. “You’re a funny guy,” he said regretfully, shaking his head and handing Teddy the plain white shirt he requested. He sadly began stacking up the colorful shirts.
Teddy chose an elegant, understated tie, black dress socks, and black patent leather wingtip shoes.
The black man shook his head mournfully. “And to think he’s only nineteen years old,” he lamented to himself, as if Teddy were irreparably impaired.
Teddy grinned.
I found Tabby in my closet about 3:30 a.m. Tuesday morning, and his left front leg or shoulder seemed to be hurt. He could hardly put any weight on it. I bumped the closet door into him when I opened it, but I don’t think I bumped it hard enough to hurt him; he hardly made a peep until he tried to walk, and then he cried and cried in his little high-pitched voice.
“Meeeeeee!” he explained, looking up at me beseechingly.
“Something’s wrong with Tabby!” I exclaimed, waking Larry up quite suddenly from a sound sleep. “I think he has a broken leg!”
Larry popped straight up, eyes wide. “What!!!”
I looked at him wonderingly. “Something’s wrong with Tabby’s leg,” I repeated.
Larry took a deep breath and collapsed back onto his pillow. “I sure wish Dorcas would have named that cat something else,” he muttered.
I frowned. “Why?”
“I thought you said ‘Teddy’!” he replied.
As soon as I could, I took him to the Columbus Animal Hospital. Uh, that is, I took Tabby, not Larry. The veterinarian found a bad bite on his chest, just above his shoulder.
Aarrgghh! It’s that awful orange cat again! I saw Tabby and that cat having a free-for-all earlier.
The vet took an X-ray; nothing was broken or out of place. She gave us antibiotics--liquid--for Tabby, which I will give him once a day for ten days. Poor little thing; he’s so sweet about it all, and he was in a lot of pain. Would you believe, that trip to the vet set us back $95.45?!
I still have sinus infection, and my ears are all funny. It sounds like I am way down in the bottom of a deep barrel, with sounds coming at me from overhead, echoing and reverberating. My head feels like an overblown balloon...and this is when Caleb found his train that toots and smokes and chugs. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...... Further, he has a bad cold, too, which caused him to have troubles with asthma, so I can’t shoo him outside with all his racket. And he ought to be allowed to play with something, don’t you think?
Tuesday was Teddy’s 19th birthday--and we forgot to tell him Happy Birthday when he came home at noon, because we were so busy stewing and fretting over Tabby.
We gave Teddy that heavy walnut clock with the mountain scene painted on it; I am also going to give him a suitcase full of some stuff he will need for his honeymoon. Dorcas took the kids to Wal-Mart to buy presents for him.
Teddy had supper at Amy’s house that night, and Lawrence and Norma were there for a bit to give him a present.
Caleb and Lydia made brownies, and we had fudge brownie frozen yogurt with them, which is a marvelous combination. Teddy had bought the ingredients for the brownies, but he was having a birthday party at Amy’s, with accompanying cake and ice cream, so we partied with his brownies at our house. Without him. (Yes, we did save him a brownie.)
Hannah gave Victoria a big book and a matching box called My School Days, to hold pictures, mementos, and notes about school, and there are designated places to write such things as the child’s own signature, height, friends, likes, etc. She got it at a garage sale; it’s brand new. Victoria is tickled pink; she’s carried it with her everywhere she goes the last few days.
Monday, Bobby fell off a wall Walkers were putting up. He hurt his hip and shoulder, I think, but, according to Bobby, the worst thing was that he broke his cell phone. And they are not cheap to replace. So Larry gave Bobby his old one; they will have to activate it with Bobby’s own number, which is expensive enough, but nothing like buying a whole new phone.
It has been nice almost every day this week, and several days we actually had rain. Unfortunately, some towns nearby received the usual accompanying hail--softball size.
Larry got home earlier than usual Thursday, so we went on a little excursion to the lake by Brainard--just Larry, Victoria, and I. I took my word processor--and this time I was smart enough to bring my little lamp that I can position right over the screen. As we drove down the lane, a deer bounded across it and disappeared into the woods.
Larry and Victoria went out in one of the boats, choosing a smaller one so that Larry’s electric motor could propel it faster. Victoria caught a fish, Larry let her reel it in...then, just as it got to the boat and Larry was making ready to net it, she lowered her pole, the fish swam around the back of the boat--and got loose.
“And it was huuuuge!” said Victoria ruefully, sounding just like good fishermen everywhere.
After trolling a bit, Victoria decided to come back to shore and keep me company.
Birds were singing, frogs were croaking, and a great blue heron sailed away across the water. The sun was going down, and the water was light blue, pink, and coral, the hills golden and pale green.
Hot coffee would have done my throat no end of good, but all I had was cold tea--and it was a wee bit chilly already. I put on a sweater and long socks.
Across the water, on the other side of the lake, I spotted a doe and her fawn coming down to the shore to drink. I crept to the edge of the lake and videotaped them.
Just after the sun went down, we heard coyotes. They yipped, they howled, they growled and snarled. I could hear their puppies playing, too, and it sounded like they were having a rip-snorting good time.
I drove most of the way home, taking country roads east of Bellwood. As I crossed a narrow wooden bridge over a small creek, a big owl took flight from a post directly beside us, wings whirring as they beat the air.
Friday afternoon, Hester decided to make more Snickerdoodles, since last week’s batch was such a rousing success. But...she ran out of flour.
“What shall I do?” she asked.
Not feeling like going to the grocery store, I recommended using rye flour for the remainder of what was required.
When she got it all mixed together, I tasted a bite of the dough.
Ugh, bleah, blech, yuck, ick, aarrgghh, aauugghh, UGH!!!
I am here to tell you, to recommend very strongly, to advise with all vigor, that if you run out of white flour while making Snickerdoodles, that you do NOT add rye flour to the recipe. Do NOT, I tell you, do NOT. Oh, it’s horrible, it’s awful, it’s worse than you can ever imagine.
We went ahead and baked them, just to see if they would undergo a miraculous metamorphosis while in the oven. After all, they looked okay.
Well...they were better, but still not very good; Hester finally convinced me to try one bite--but that’s all I tried, and I will try no more, thank you very much.
Bobby and Hannah ate supper with us, because Hannah made a big supper and wanted to share it. She brought grilled chicken and carrot casserole, and we fixed peas.
Saturday afternoon, Lydia made apple streusel muffins. She took a couple to Dorcas and Mama, since she wouldn’t have been able to make them, had she not borrowed an egg from Mama’s refrigerator.
Meanwhile, I fixed Bear Creek potato soup for supper. I really like it, and so do Larry and the littles. But Teddy and Joseph don’t.
“Have some more swill,” one is sure to say, generously handing his bowl to one of his siblings.
Hannah rode over on her bike to copy Larry’s Grandma Ruby’s strawberry pie recipe (the world’s best strawberry pie), and a strawberry/rhubarb pie recipe of mine. A few minutes after she got home, she called back to say that she didn’t have any strawberry jello, and would it matter if she used orange. Well, it just so happened that I had a big box of strawberry jello. So I rode to her house on my bike, box of jello in hand.
Whew! Sinus infection takes a toll. I felt like a wet noodle by the time I got there. And then I had to ride home again!
One morning Hester found a humongous praying mantis in our back yard. Of course, she promptly nabbed it for her cousin Sharon’s insect collection. Wanting to watch it for a while before they stuck it into the freezer, the children put it in a jar with sticks, grass, leaves--and numerous bugs for food. (Yuck.)
Caleb and Victoria immediately decided to become bug collectors themselves. Out they went, equipped with jars and lids. So now, as I sit here typing, I keep hearing metallic clangs, twips, and plinks. It’s a whole raft of captured grasshoppers, residing in jars that are sitting on the little wooden table behind me, bumping their heads on Mason jar lids when they try to jump and hop. (Ugh!)
Oh, well. At least those Locustidae or Acrididae or Tettigoniidae, or whatever their family name is, are not out in my flower garden gobbling down my hollyhocks. One must always look on the bright side of things! (Especially of bug collections.)
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