I have a Standard Operation, the week after Christmas, of buying the wrapping paper and Christmas cards I will need for the following year. If one buys the stuff the very day after Christmas, one gets about 20% off…two days later, 40% off…then 50%… Until, finally, on December 30th or 31st, it is a glorious 75% off. There is a risk in waiting till then, however: there may be none left.
About three years ago, I found such a smashing bargain at Walgreens--wrapping paper 80% off--that I bought every last roll of paper they had. As I exited the Christmas-leftover aisle, shopping cart bristling with wrapping paper rolls like the armored soldiers’ spears at the 1415 A.D. Battle of Agincourt, I encountered an elderly lady who gave me the most dyspeptic glare you could ever imagine. One of those ‘Looks That Could Kill’. Would have done Charles d'Albret, Constable of France, quite proud, ’twould.
Feeling a wee shimmer of compunction, I stopped beside her and asked, “Were you wanting to buy some of this wrapping paper?”
Looking a bit taken aback, she nervously tapped a gnarled hand against the grip of her cart, possibly wondering if I would pummel her with a roll of wrapping paper if she ruffled my feathers.
Then, evidently remembering that the French had lost despite their armor and spears, she gathered her courage and retorted in her best Oxford English, “No! But what if someone else does?!”
I turned and looked back down the aisle, which was as empty of customers as it had been when I entered it. I grinned at the woman.
“Didn’t look like too many people were fighting over it,” I remarked.
The woman snorted with prim English inflection and averted her face.
“On to the Christmas cards!” I whooped (very politely, of course, and with just the smallest amount of devilry in my tone). “Goodbyeee!”
The children laughed.
Lady Windèrméŗe ignored me.
I haven’t needed to buy any wrapping paper since, and it’s conceivable I would still have enough for next Christmas, too. But I spotted a huge box full of large rolls of wrapping paper for 45¢ a roll, regularly $2.49 a roll. I bought five. I looked for the Christmas cards, and found them nearly gone. There were three boxes of ugly cards, four boxes of Spanish cards, and four boxes of pretty English ones. I took the latter four--50¢/box. We saw Amy there, too, looking for bargains just like we were.
That evening, Hester and Dorcas helped take down all the Christmas decorations at the church, while Lydia, again wishing she was old enough to go with them, contented herself with taking down ours. When Hester came home, she helped take the tree apart and store it in its box. So now I have another corner of the living room in which to pile boxes. In the meanwhile, Caleb and I put macadamia nut cookies into the oven, and soon their fragrant scent was wafting through the house. Macadamia nut cookies are one of my favorites.
After he got home from work, Larry named off all sorts of things he needed to do: go get Teddy’s Festiva that he’d been borrowing (it was at his friend’s shop where he’d been working on his pickup) and take it back to Teddy. Clean up his friend’s shop. Do SomethingOrOther at The Lot. Clean the garage. But the only thing he got done was to fix the fuel line to the front tank on his pickup. He had shoveled piles and piles of sand that day, and his back was hurting. So he climbed into his recliner and that was the last we saw of him. There is only one person who works for Walkers who is older than Larry, and even the younger men find themselves with sore muscles after a hard day of shoveling or carrying heavy forms.
While Larry was sleeping, I filched his wallet, took his paycheck, and went off to dispose of it. I paid bills…got groceries…and returned to Wal-Mart for ink for my printer. For three weeks now, Wal-Mart has had no black LexMark cartridges, and no black LexMark refills; only the cheaper Pelikan brand, and Pelikan hasn’t been working worth a hoot. Either that, or my printer is going on the blink.
I turned down one of the grocery aisles and spotted a couple of friendly faces: Teddy and Amy.
“Good grief, have you been here all day?!” I said to Amy.
She laughed. “Same as you,” she responded.
And then, “What in the world are you kids doing running around without your coats??! It’s only 25° out there!”
“Well, it was warm in our garage,” Teddy justified himself.
He never wants to admit to ever being cold. It’s a matter of pride. Or something.
“But when we climbed out of our car Teddy did say, ‘Whoa, it’s cold out here’,” added Amy.
“Ooooo, he didn’t want you to tell me that!” I exclaimed.
By the time I got home, Hester and Lydia were nearly done peeling and coring ten pounds of apples from Jim C., the man from whom we bought The Lot. They added a few Red Delicious that weren’t quite crunchy enough to suit us, and then Hester and I put them through the blender. I cooked the puree with sugar, brown sugar, and a few healthy squirts of lemon juice. I sprinkled a dash of cinnamon into the mix…and Voilá!--I’d made The Best Applesauce Ever. Or apple butter. Whatever it was.Bobby, Hannah, and Aaron stopped by for a few minutes. I wonder if our grownup children are apprehensive about visiting these days?--every time they come, I send them away with handfuls of A‑One Stuff and Things I have discovered that may or may not belong to them. I gave Hannah an embroidered, framed picture of a mother rocking her baby. Bobby’s late grandmother embroidered it for Bobby’s mother when Bobby was born, and she gave it to me when Hester was born. Under the picture is the following poem:
Cleaning and scrubbing Can wait till tomorrow,
For babies grow up, We've learned to our sorrow;
So quiet down, cobwebs; Dust, go to sleep;
I'm rocking my baby, And babies don't keep!
And then all of a sudden and entirely without my permission, it was 2:45 a.m. My poor ol’ printer was still struggling away with the last pages of colored print. It does color slower than it does black. I was hoping it didn’t run out of colored ink; colored ink costs more than black. But the black was not working at all; I printed quite the colorful letter last week!
Aauugghh! I hadn’t meant to stay up so late! Our house was right then some few miles north of Richland, and I wanted to take pictures of it moving in the morning. Cornhusker Public Power had said they would only work till 2:30 p.m. Tuesday on account of it being New Year’s Eve. I told you, they’ve got a bunch of lazybones hired there. Or sots.
Larry was a little worried about the route the mover would take to get that house to our basement: North of The Junkyard next door, making sure to stay west of Jim C.’s cattle guard…up through the hayfield… Larry was afraid he might need to change the hitch because of the dips and rises in the field.
And if Larry is worried about something, then I think I should be quite hysterical about it, because he doesn’t even worry about things he ought to.
Tuesday, I struggled out of bed rather late in the morning--and I was the first one up, except for Larry, who was long gone to work. I rushed around waking up the children.
“Wake up! Hurry! Get dressed! Dress warm! Hurry! Eat breakfast! Hurry! Comb your hair! Brush your teeth! Wash your faces! Hurry! Put on your coats! Gloves! Hats! Hurry!!!”
So, having agitated everyone into a frantic frenzy, I swiftly showered, washed my hair, curled it, dressed in something warm (as per my instructions to the kiddos), slung on my coat, grabbed my cameras, picked up my purse, pulled out my gloves, set cameras and purse and gloves back down, tied Victoria’s sash, grabbed my cameras, picked up my purse and gloves, set cameras and purse and gloves back down, tied Victoria’s shoes, grabbed my cameras, picked up my purse and gloves, dashed out the door, jumped into the Suburban, made sure everyone was in and the doors were shut--and then off we went to find The House.
There it was, northeast of Lake Babcock, and we didn’t find it any too soon, as it only had another couple of miles to go before stopping for the day. We watched the linesmen moving lines--either taking them down, or holding them up if there was enough slack in the lines and if the lines were high enough. When they got to Shell Creek School Charlie Lange pulled in, turned truck and house around, and parked.
And that was it for the day--they were done at 1:30 p.m. After all!!--it was New Year’s Eve!! People must party. Grrr.
We went back home, and I ate my earlier-omitted breakfast: half of a muffin with peanut butter and--instead of the customary honey--homemade applesauce, or apple butter, as the case may be… and it was so good, I did something I never do: I had the other half of the muffin. At least I had sense enough not to put peanut butter on that slice, too; so that saved me a few calories.
{I’m having a bit of difficulty typing, as Socks has ensconced himself on my lap, and has asked me very kindly to refrain from disturbing him by reaching over the top of him. Nevertheless, we shall carry valiantly on, arms akimbo…}
It was ‘Taco Tuesday’ at Taco John’s, just down the Boulevard, when hard-shelled tacos cost only 49¢. It sounded like a good--and easy--and cheap--supper. I pulled into the drive-through--and made the error of parking in front of the sign with all the scrumptious-looking pictures. So when the girl asked me for my order, I totally forgot myself.
“Six super burritos,” I requested hungrily, feverishly, entirely without intending to.
And everyone was so appreciative, I was glad I had.
After supper, we took eight bags of clothes to a used-clothes dropbox and another big bag of shirts to a friend of ours who was a lot more in need of them than we are. No single family needs 3,543,806 shirts. {3,543,806 dresses are another matter.}
As we drove away, we went past Lawrence and Norma’s house--and there they were in their drive, whether coming or going, we could not tell. Larry backed up and pulled in behind them. [Now they weren’t going.]
They had been on their way to Kenny and Annette’s to see if Kenny had gotten the tile laid in his bathroom, they told us. But they cheerfully changed plans, invited us in, and gave us cookies and ice cream, hot chocolate and coffee. And we cheerfully ate and drank.
The cookies were butter cookies from one of those pretty Christmas tins…but Larry suddenly spotted three cookies on a saucer on an end table in the living room, right next to a pink-flowered coffee mug printed with the words “Best Grandma In The World”. They were chocolate, rolled in nuts, and topped with a glob of vanilla frosting and a big Hershey’s kiss.
“Hey!” he protested, “Look over there!” He pointed. “Mom’s saving the best for herself!”
I poked him. “For shame!” I exclaimed.
Everyone burst out laughing, and Lawrence reached for the phone. He called his daughter Barbara, who lives next door to them.
“Is this the house where those really, really good chocolate cookies came from?” he asked.
We heard Barbara laugh.
“Well,” continued Lawrence, “Larry and Sarah Lynn and some of their children are here, and I was wondering if you could spare…” he counted--
--“a couple dozen,” Larry finished for him, “OW!” he added when I elbowed him.
--“about half a dozen?” concluded Lawrence.
Minutes later, Barbara was at the back door with a plate stacked high with more than a dozen cookies--and not just the Chocolate Thumbprint Cookies, either; there were also Chocolate Coconut Mint Cookies, too.
Before we knew it, it was midnight. We heard firecrackers and lots of big booms around town as people celebrated the start of the New Year.
Norma let me take home her “HERSHEY’S: Make It Chocolate” cookbook; I scanned the entire book. Here is the recipe for the cookies we so liked:
Chocolate Thumbprint Cookies
1/2 cup butter or margarine 2/3 cup sugar
1 egg, separated 2 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup HERSHEY'S Cocoa 1/4 teaspoon salt
I cup chopped nuts
Vanilla Filling (recipe follows)
26 HERSHEY'S KISSES,
unwrapped, or pecan halves or candied cherry halves
In small mixer bowl cream butter, sugar, egg yolk, milk, and vanilla. Combine flour, cocoa and salt; blend into creamed mixture. Chill dough at least 1 hour or until firm enough to handle. Heat oven to 350°. Shape dough into 1-inch balls. Beat egg white slightly. Dip each ball into egg white; roll in nuts. Place on lightly greased cookie sheet. Press thumb gently in center of each cookie. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until set. As soon as cookies are removed from oven, spoon about ¼ teaspoon filling in thumbprint. Gently press unwrapped KISS or pecan or cherry into center of each cookie. Carefully remove from cookie sheet; cool on wire rack. Makes about 2 dozen cookies.
Vanilla Filling: In small mixing bowl combine ½ cup confectioners' sugar, 1 tablespoon butter or margarine, softened, 2 teaspoons milk and ¼ teaspoon vanilla extract; beat until smooth.
Wednesday, I was packing again, and washing the never-ending needing-to-be-washed clothes. Ohhh, for a few more empty rooms in which to pile things around here! And why do I buy ‘EXtra’ detergent??!? It’s cheap--but it stinks. Ugh.
Larry spent the day--a paid holiday--cleaning his friend’s shop, getting his tools put away, and helping his friend put a wood-burning stove in the shop as partial payment for the use of the shop.
That afternoon, I cleaned out the fish tank. Immediately after I put the fish into the big pan I normally put them in, a big orange goldfish kicked the bucket, and then the Black Moor bit the dust. Rats! I almost sorta kinda liked them there big’ns. I wonder what happened to them?
I hurriedly finished cleaning, and then situated the tank on the bathroom counter where it will be easier to clean. Victoria’s room is all full of boxes, and I didn’t want to be traipsing back and forth with jugs of water, dripping yucky fish water all over everything. The only trouble is that, for some reason, the tank stays about 4° too hot in the bathroom; I have to dip out water and pour cold water back in now and then to cool it down. Ah, well; that probably keeps it cleaner.
The fish are all back in their sparkling abode, but they look decidedly the worse for wear, and can’t seem to tell they are listing. Or perhaps they want to list. When I walk in and flip on the light, they dart furiously about, bashing madly into the ends of the tank. Dumbies! Fish can’t learn, did you know that? Wellll…all right. I know all the fishermen out there are rising up in indignation, because they don’t want it said that they’ve caught fish simply because the cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates have no brains. And people who hand-feed fish know they learn.
Wednesday night, Lydia wore to church the bright plaid wool suit I’d sewed for Hester for Thanksgiving--the one Hester grew out of before Thanksgiving ever came--and it fit her perfectly, which possibly explains why her own suit is a wee bit small. Victoria wore hers, so they matched.
Later that night, since neither of us were feeling quite ‘up to power’, as a friend of mine used to say, Victoria and I sat down at my computer and played with a CD-ROM about Yellowstone National Park that Lawrence and Norma had given us. I didn’t get much done the rest of the evening, but I did win a lot of badges. Mind you, I am now the Head Ranger of the Norris Geyser Basin!
Thursday was the first day back to school after the Christmas vacation. My wind-up alarm wasn’t working right, so I used one of the children’s--and it didn’t wake me up, because it sounds just like Larry’s, and I’m used to sleeping straight through that one. Luckily, the children’s alarms worked. I took apart my alarm, fiddled with it, put it back together, and now it works like clockwork. {Pun! I must be ill.} {Be sure, it was an accident.} I should have been a clocker. A clockist. Whatever those people are called.
I wanted to rush out that morning and take pictures of our house moving, but Victoria didn’t wake up till eleven o’clock, and since she wasn’t well, I thought that was the best thing for her: sleep. But once she finally awoke, I raced her about so violently that it’s a wonder she didn’t get ill all over again. I helped her dress, fixed her hair, gave her some breakfast, helped her on with her coat, grabbed cameras and purse, dashed out the door (this time, I had tied Victoria’s sash and shoes, so they had stayed tied)--and discovered there was no Suburban in the driveway.
No Suburban!!!
Déjà vu.
Same song, second verse.
I grabbed the phone and called Larry.
He’d taken it because his pickup wouldn’t start; bad starter, evidently. He was in Omaha, and suggested I call Hannah or Dorcas to take me to Walker’s Shop and get the Suburban. I tried calling Dorcas…no answer. Heaven only knows what that girl does in the mornings; gallivant, mostly, I think.
I didn’t really want to call Hannah, because it isn’t the best time of her life for dashing hither and yon, if you know what I mean, Watson. And if you don’t, I shall ‘let the ignorant be ignorant’--I Corinthians 14:38. hee hee
Hannah didn’t answer, either. I would later learn that Dorcas had gone with Hannah to see Dr. Luckey. They had to wait quite a while because Dr. Luckey had to do an emergency surgery (Dorcas once wrote ‘sugary’ in a school report) on someone.
Well, I thought I wouldn’t bother about taking pictures…and then I thought that this would probably be the one and only time in my life that I would have a chance to photograph my very own house trekking down Highway 81, along with numerous other lesser routes and avenues. I grabbed the phone and called Teddy. How often it’s faithful Teddy to the rescue, isn’t it?! Yes, he was going home at noon. Yes, he’d be glad to pick me up and drop me off at Walker’s Shop.
As soon he pulled into the drive, Victoria and I trotted out the door to his pickup--with Robert, who was across the street collecting his children and various nieces and nephews from school, telling me that he didn’t think we were going to fit in there with all those cameras. The older children were just coming home from school; I told them I would be right back, and off we went.
With Teddy at the wheel, one doesn’t waste time. A boy after my own heart. Slow down, Teddy!!!
At the shop, Victoria and I bid Teddy adieu with much thanks, and then, instead of going home like I’d said we would, I glanced at the clock, changed my mind, and away we went up 48th Avenue to See What We Could See. I really was afraid I might miss The Action.
We met two Cornhusker Public Power trucks, so we knew we were on the right track, and I figured we were behind the house, rather than in front, since the linesmen had probably done their jobs on 48th and were heading, roundabout, to the country road west of the canal, where I knew the mover had plotted his route.
Halfway down Lakeview Road, we saw it: The House. There it was, steadily making its way past farmhouses and cornfields. I sho’ ’nuff couldn’t get in front of them from the road I was on. So I stepped on the accelerator, and we went tearing over to Rt. 81 and then on around to the location of the mobile home court we’d lived in when we first were married. (What did I just say about Teddy’s driving?) I had to go a good six miles to The House’s two, I suppose, and Lange Movers don’t dawdle. But we got ourselves parked in a good location to film The House coming down a hill, around a couple of corners, and right smack-dab past us.
Charlie Lange was in a pickup in front of The House, and one of his sons was driving the big truck. Charlie stopped to speak to me.
“I see you made it safely over the ‘Weight Limit 14 Tons’ bridge,” I greeted him.
He laughed. “Yes, that bridge was no problem.” He gazed off into the distance. “But there once was a time when I was moving a big three-story house, and we came to a bridge that led to the property where we planned to set ’er down… There was no other route, so I checked ’er out, and then we started across. The truck made it okay…and then the house was on the bridge. The boards groaned and creaked…they started making ominous cracking noises…” He shook his head in remembrance and laughed. “My son was yelling, ‘Step on the gas, Dad! Step on the gas!’”
And Charles stepped on the gas.
They made it across, and you’d better be sure, everyone breathed a great sigh of relief.
“Have you ever had a bridge give way?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope!” he responded cheerfully. Then, with a grin, “Not yet.”
After the house went past, I rushed home with Victoria, recombed her hair, and sent her to school, along with her siblings. Then I jumped back into the Suburban, and went back out to find The House. It was just making its way out onto Highway 81. It continued on to Rt. 22, a couple of miles down the road. By then, there was quite a line of traffic behind it, and I kept hoping those cattle trucks would get slowed down in time…
They did.
When The House went around a corner and nearly disappeared from view, I headed south for Shady Lake Road. I had to drive like crazy to get to the 22/81 Junction before The House did. (What did I just say about Teddy’s driving?)
There, a State Patrol had cars from Monroe stopped. He got out of his car to tell me no, I must not run headlong into that on-coming house. Women are soooo stupid, don’t you know. I smiled and pointed to the road up the hill; he relaxed, nodded, and got back into his cruiser. I crossed the road, pulled onto the shoulder and took pictures, then drove on up the hill to our lane before I got myself run over by my own house.
The neighbor dog came galloping out to meet me, totally delighted that I’d come to see him again.
The mover pulled in, talking to Larry on his cell phone. Larry was in North Bend, coming this way. He would be home in about 40 minutes.
“How do we come in?” asked Charles.
“From the north,” Larry told him, “and avoid the cattle guard; just take down the fence and go right through that field.”
“Take down the fence!” Charlie yelled to his crew, gesturing, before even hanging up the phone, and by the time he pushed ‘End’, I think the fence was down and The House was trundling in.
Through the hay field and up behind the bales went the truck then, and I was amazed at how level that house stayed no matter what inclines the truck took it through. My hair stood straight up on end when it came down from the field, crossed the lane, and entered our property. The driveway looked altogether too, too narrow and steep--and indeed the tires did cut a swath mighty close to the ditch, down a ways off the beaten track. The house tilted only slightly, but I hurriedly skedaddled myself and my camcorder out of harm's way, wondering if they’d gotten all this way only to have The House tumble off the truck and reduce itself to nothing more than a pile of lumber with dust whorls rising lazily from it.
It was even worse when they went down and around the steep area beside the retaining wall. Men walked around and under the house the whole time, adjusting hydraulics and this and that, turning dollies and wheels the right direction, worrying only about whether or not The House was going to clear the wall, and not at all about whether or not they would still be alive after it fell on their unconcerned pates.
And then they were there, and Charlie’s son brought the truck to a stop.
Thinking they would set the house onto the basement, and having a bad case of Frozen Foot Affliction, I sped home for another pair of socks and my warm Sorel boots. Hannah and Aaron came while I was there, and they returned to The House with me.
“Do you want to see our new house?” I asked Aaron as he started to get into the Suburban.
“Yesss,” he responded, and, with that, he trotted around the back of the Suburban, pointed at our 42nd Avenue house, and said, “Housh.”
Larry had reached Walker’s Shop by then.
“I’ll be there in about two minutes,” I told him--and then proceeded to drive right past the corner and straight on west.
“Weren’t you going to pick Daddy up?” inquired Hannah a couple of miles farther down the road.
“Aauugghh!” I replied, slowing abruptly and turning around. “If I ever get Alzheimer’s,” I remarked as we backtracked, “nobody will worry about me for the longest time, because I’ll seem ever so normal!!”
By the time we got back to The House not long later, not a soul was around. They’d quit for the day because all the equipment they needed for the next part of the operation was at another location.
So we went back home, and Larry put a new starter on his pickup while the kids and I roared off to the Credit Union, where we arrived with only minutes to spare before closing time. The loan officer heard me asking for him, and came wandering out of an office somewhere.
“I came to see if there was any money floating around here for me,” I explained.
He laughed, and soon I had a check for Walker Construction for the basement they’d poured for us. The children thought it the most unique thing--us paying them for a change.
Larry returned to The House, and Dorcas went to see it, too; it was the first time she’d been inside it. There, he discovered the bathroom door shut, and it wouldn’t open, either. He thought it was because some dumbbell had locked it and then come out and shut the door. So he spent a good deal of time trying to unlock it. There was no little hole on the outside knob; it’s an old-fashioned glass one. He tried his credit card to no avail. He took the knob off--and still couldn’t get the door open. He jiggled and jolted and jarred it, but it remained shut, tight as a clam. After struggling with it for a looong time, he came to the belated conclusion that it was not locked; it was simply wedged shut because the house was tilted, and the door was in a bind. And even Larry, strong as he is, could not single-handedly untilt The House.
He gave up, came home, ate supper, and fell asleep while watching my video of the House Moving.
Friday morning, a friend of mine who has just moved into a new house brought over bunches of boxes. There are funny things written on them, courtesy of one sibling to another: ‘Kristin’s Hats Trash’, ‘Josie’s Carrots’ Dolls’. (Josie has hair the color of a newly-minted penny.)
I finished my muffin, picked up an empty box, and headed off to find something to put in it.
The phone rang.
It was Larry. “Could you get a check from the Credit Union, and take it to North Bend, where Mrs. Lange will meet you and pick it up?”
“Aarrgghh!” I said politely. “I was planning to pack! And besides! Charlie was here yesterday, I could have given it to him then!”
“Yes, well, but,” explained Larry, “yesterday, he thought he’d be back today. But he had to move another house today… So our house will be set onto the basement Monday. And he needs the money to pay his employees and some of his own bills.”
Well…I could certainly understand that. So I went to North Bend. I don’t like to drive the Suburban when I know there is something wrong with it. I think sooner or later the entire wheel is going to pop off and leave me high and dry, probably whilst I’m careening around a 35-mph curve at 80 mph.
But I got back home safely and soundly an hour and forty-five minutes later, and then I went back to packing. I cleaned out more cupboards in the kitchen, and got decorative plates off the walls above the cupboards (is that called a ‘soffet’? And how in the world do you spell ‘soffet’?). Packing is taking longer than it might, because I am thoroughly dusting and cleaning and sorting and labeling things as I go. Everything might be a frightful mess, but it’s an orderly mess, mind you!
Teddy came that evening, bringing us a plate of Pigs-In-A-Blanket that Amy had made; they were still piping hot. Too bad we’d just gorged on pizza! (But we ate ’em anyway.) Mmmm…
Larry cleaned out his trailer so that I could put boxes in it; then he went out to The House to pull up carpeting.
One day, my brother Loren told me that, according to an article he’d read, moving to a new house is one of the most traumatic events in people’s lives.
“Well!” I retorted, “I think it’s exciting, and fun, and almost like going camping only better, and I refuse to consider it traumatic, so there!!!”
He laughed and said to Janice, “She hasn’t changed since she was twelve years old, has she?”
As I was pulling books from my big hope chest that Larry made for me when we were dating, and putting them into a box, I lit upon buried treasure: my brand-new spiral-bound Tabernacle Hymns, given me from the church many years ago! I also found many of my beloved old hymnals, with copyrights from around the turn of the century. Wheee! Quick, lift the piano lid! The packing can wait.
(Reckon I’ll ever find those books again, after we get out to our new house?)
Late Saturday afternoon, Larry, Caleb, Victoria, and I went to the Menard’s in Norfolk, driving the pickup and pulling the trailer, to get wood for the basement walls, and the patio door. So it was a jolly good thing I didn’t already fill the trailer with boxes, as I was planning to do.
After church tonight, Larry got groceries--including a box of ice cream called NASCAR Speedway Sundae. The pieces of chocolate are shaped like little race cars. Those cars made that ice cream taste better than any Caleb had ever tasted. (At least, I think it was the cars that did it.) (Anyway, he said it was better than any he had ever tasted.)
Speaking of little cars … Once upon a time, I was in my beloved little red Le Car--remember that cute little buggy? I loved it. I was going through the drive-through at the bank, with a whole bunch of the engineers and draftsmen with whom I worked at Nebraska Public Power District in line behind me (I always seemed to be ahead of the pack). Well, my car’s timing wasn’t quite set right for the weather, and it died. Then when I tried to start it, I flooded it. Not knowing what to do next, I simply hopped out, grabbed a‑hold of the door frame with one hand and the steering wheel with the other, and pushed and steered it out of the lane.
And then those goofy draftsmen all started honking and cheering, doing the rah-rah with punching fists out their car windows, and yelling, “Atta girl, go get ’em, Sarah Swiney! “
Aarrgghh, talk about being embarrassed.
Then, once I got it started again, it proceeded to backfire!!! Sounded like a wad of M‑80s going off, it did.
Another once upon a time, I was with Mama and Daddy, traveling in Wyoming. We were stopped at a rest area, and I decided to pick some flowers for Mama. Along a nearby ridge were several big, brightly colored blooms with the most unique shape…
Mama would like those, I thought, and proceeded to pick one.
Yeeoooowwwchch! said I to myself I said. Them there things’re sharp!
But being the resolute, purposeful person I was, I was bound and determined to get those flowers for my Mama.
So pick them I did. I took them back to the trailer, where Mama found a vase for them, all the while stewing and fretting over the shape of my hands. Once the flowers were in water, she sat down at one corner of the table with me at the other, and, while I held one of my Sugar Creek Gang books in one hand and read away, Mama plucked thorns and quills from the other. When she was done, we traded places and I put the book in my other hand.
But Mama got her flowers!
P.S.: Here’s something funny: I just clicked on ‘Temp.exe’ in Temp file in Windows--and got an Error window saying, “I am lost…please delete me!” The only thing to click is ‘Okay’. Have you ever seen that before?
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