Storms, Cats, and Coleslaw

Remember last week’s story about the neighbor lady?  (If you read it, you remember.)  ;-)  I never see her very often anyway, but when I do, if she happens to be out when I drive by, she studiously avoids looking at me.  When people act like she did last Monday night, it actually makes you wonder if they might just come after you with the weedeater!

All she’d have to do is come and say very politely, “Could you turn that off now?” and Larry would do it without protest.  He’s like that.  (He might protest after he comes in the house, but that’s beside the point.)  As I mentioned, it wasn’t completely dark yet, and the tiller wasn’t all that loud.  Do some types of drugs amplify sound?

I looked up noise ordinances in our town and county.  There are no ordinances out of the city limits, and in the city, a noise ordinance is in effect from 10:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.  So Larry would’ve been within the law, even if we were in town.

Here’s Larry petting Tabby, who had gone to meet him when he drove in after getting off work.  He looks like quite the criminal, doesn’t he?  (Larry, not Tabby.)  Tabby will happily go round and round and round under our petting hands, and keep it up without letup.  The cats all like Larry; he’s a milquetoast.  If they beg from him when he’s eating, he always gives them tidbits.  Me, not so much... so guess which chair has all the cats sitting around it?

I took the picture shortly before the neighbor lady(?) erupted.  Lava and all.

Some friends of mine were discussing a bike ride they were planning – on a tandem bike.  I used to go for bike rides with Rita Cunningham, one of my blind friends, on her tandem.  We took turns at the helm.  No, not really...  snicker...  She did not pedal smoothly... but she did pedal hard.  (Not always a good combination.)  She was the only person I ever rode with – on a tandem or on a regular bike – who could make it up the hills north of town without grinding to a stop and walking the bike the rest of the way.  She often brought along raw asparagus fresh from her garden for us to munch on—marvelous for keeping a person from getting so thirsty.  Mention asparagus, and I think of Rita! 

It was on one of those enjoyable excursions with Rita that she gave me one of my all-time favorite compliments, after I’d described to her the scarlet and purple sunset, and then a doe and fawn as they crossed the road some short distance in front of us, the sun shining behind them, creating an aura of light all the way around them as it shone through their fur. 

She said, “When I’m with you, I can see!!! -- because you describe everything so wonderfully.”

I was delighted with that accolade.  I remember exactly what day it was:  it was the very day I graduated from high school.  I take the remark out every now and then, dust it off, and enjoy it again.

Rita has always been an independent, determined soul.  I remember when she first came, when I was about nine years old… I went to visit her, and there she was, in her garden, crawling along lickety-split on all fours between the rows of carrots, beans, asparagus, broccoli, etc., that she’d planted, feeling the leaves with her fingers, quick as a wink, and plucking out weeds without a moment’s hesitation, while leaving behind the vegetables.  I was so amazed. 

She once tried sewing with a sewing machine, although she complained, “There just isn’t any way to tell if I’m making a straight line!”  (That, and she nearly sewed a finger.)

Here’s another story, this time concerning green tomatoes:

Many years ago, I went to visit Rita.  She gladly welcomed me in, as always.  We sat down at the table, and then she informed me that she’d just made some ‘apple crisps’ – only really it was mincemeat, made mostly from green tomatoes from her garden.  Thus saying, she dished out a big helping onto a saucer and slid it over to me.

It looked good.

Looks can be deceiving.

I took a bite... tried valiantly not to gag, glad my friend was blind, and worked it over into one cheek so that I could ask, “Bay I get a drink, bleeze?”

“Sure,” she said, and rushed to the refrigerator for a jug of cold water while I grabbed a glass and a napkin – the latter for spitting the cheekful into.  I discarded it into the garbage and sat back down.  I poured myself a glass of water – and drank the whole works.

Then I klink-klinked my spoon on the plate for a little while... carefully cut off the corner from whence I’d taken the bite... and then, ever so stealthily, slid that piece of mincemeat pie back into the serving dish.

Things go wrong with Rita’s cooking now and again; no one is ever sure exactly what.

I’d barely reseated myself before she came to life.  “Oh, you’re done!” she exclaimed.  “Do you want another piece??” and just as I was gulping and protesting, “No, no!” she scooped up the very helping she’d once given me, the very helping I’d returned to the dish, and deposited it right back on my saucer.

I’ve suspected ever since that Rita can see.

And now, if you’d like to try a version of mincemeat crisps that actually sounds good, in addition to looking good, here’s one:

http://www.reneesgarden.com/recipes/green_tomato_mincemeat.html 

We leave out the brandy and instead add apple juice.

But I’ll just have a cup of coffee, pôr favôr.

Once upon a time, we were traveling along, Larry and I, and we got the kids a rare snack of Reese’s Pieces.  Everything was quiet while kiddos carefully munched on their prize snack. 

And then Lydia, who was about three years old, remarked in a piping voice, “It sure doesn’t taste like it!”

“Taste like what?” I queried.

And Lydia replied, replied she, “Like Rita’s Pizza!”

Here is a Mourning Cloak butterfly on the lilacs.  Below is a yellow Eastern tiger swallowtail.

It was evening Tuesday before I went to my sewing room to work on cording and tabs for the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt.  But since I didn’t quit until 1:00 a.m., I managed to get in 5 ½ hours of sewing.

Victoria and her friend Robin bought the fabric for the Fourth-of-July dresses Monday – a turquoise and white cotton print.  But before I cut it out, I needed some measurements.  The smallest size on the pattern is an 8; I would have to make it smaller for Robin. 

“What size do you wear, a negative 2?” I asked her, which made her laugh.

As I sewed, I had a series of video clips playing on youtube, showing luxury homes.  I like the ones that are well narrated, so I don’t have to look up from my sewing so often to see what’s happening.  One was entitled, ‘$100 Million Mansion – World’s Most Expensive Four-Bedroom Home.’  Listen to this:  “A collaboration of vibrant color and decorative elegance sets the stage in this informal living room that is punctuated by a dramatic custom reclaimed Pecky Cyprus coffered, beamed ceiling.”  Good grief.  I’d have to put sticky notes around all over the place in order so I could remember what everything was called!

I’m here to tell you that when people build $100,000,000 mansions, they throw tastefulness, refinement, and elegance straight out the window.  Yuck.

The $50,000,000 mansion in the next video wasn’t any better, either.  But a few clips later, there was a $750,000 log home in the mountains that was absolutely beautiful.

Why do rich people like ugly ‘art’?  (All right, all right, some rich people.  After all, I don’t know every single one of them, do I?)

Ohhhhhhh.  Now I done figgered it out.  They all have these humongous wine cellars, with racks and racks all around the walls, filled with a multitude of bottles of high-dollar wine.  So there are two trains of thought:  a) they drink wine to dull their sensibilities, so they aren’t totally repelled as they promenade through their ornate palace; or b) they were drinking the wine, as were their teams of designers and engineers, as they drew up the blueprints and chose all the furnishings and décor.

Here’s yet another place that looks like a museum, not a home.  Or maybe a mausoleum.  And all that has to happen is for one medium-strength hurricane to plow through, and the $100,000,000 mansion is bye-bye, cruel world.  I’m glad my mansion is in heaven, ‘where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.’

Okay, here we go.  I found something infinitely nicer to look at:  beautifully fixed up old farmhouses.  Now this, I like.  (But I started listening and watching, and forgot to sew.  There’s something to be said for walleyedness.)

I got the skinny covered cording done, and then the fat piping.  Next, I would sew 584 little pieces of tabs onto interfacing.

I got a notice from the place where I ordered Hester’s birthday gift, a Sizzix Big Shot:  they had just shipped it, and it would arrive June 11th.  Bah, humbug!  I’d ordered it two days earlier, and there should have been plenty of time for it to get here by her birthday, June 8th!  I sent her a note:

Subject:  ♫ ♪ Always Late, lalala ♪ ♫

Bother!  I ordered your birthday gift Sunday – and they just shipped it out tonight, so it won’t get here until Thursday, June 11^th!

It’s your fault for not making me think of what you’d like sooner.  :-D

                  Love,

,,,>^..^<,,,     Mama     ,,,>^..^<,,,

P.S.:  When I email your gmail address, does your phone make noise and wake you up?

P.S.S.:  Oh, yikes, good grief, if your phone doesn’t wake you up, Tabby will!  He just shrieked loud enough, you should’ve heard him all the way in town.  He had a fuss with Teensy – and Teensy raked a quiff off his head and made a deep scratch right above his eye.  Cats!

Hester responded the next morning with her usual “Lololol!” and told me that no, her phone doesn’t wake her up.  I spent the next few days being disappointed that her birthday present was going to be late – but it was delivered today, shortly before noon!  Goody, goody coff drops (à la Victoria, age 3).  It is now wrapped and ready to be delivered.  (The Big Shot; not the cough drops.)

When I quit sewing for the night, I like to go upstairs, sit down in my recliner, turn on the Biomat (I have no idea if it’s really the Fountain of Youth, as advertised, but I’m still alive and kickin’, and I reckon that’s enough data for Dr. Yoshimizu, don’t you?), set my coffee on the warmer beside me, and relax whilst uploading a few more pictures to my various blogs.

Relax.  Ha.

The cats want out.  The cats want in.  One at a time.  They want food.  They want water.  Running water, from the tub.  The sink.  Both.  So I get up, sit down, get up, sit down, git up, sit down... on and on, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

Finally, they seem to get it out of their systems, and I actually get to sit for 15 minutes.

Yeah, 15 minutes was all it took that night before I heard a cat somewhere in the throes of upchucking his or her oats.  Tuna.  Shark.  Orca.  Canary?

I threw down my laptop, leaped to my feet, and dashed into the living room to find Kitty tossing her socks.  In between a pair of them, I snatched her up (carefully, mind you; she’s in her dodderage), put her outside, then cleaned up the mess.

I washed my hands, sat back down, picked up my laptop, and went back to the youtube video I’d been listening to.  I put in earbuds a) to keep from disturbing Larry, and b) because the video volume was so low it was difficult to hear.

Now, just half an hour earlier, I had closed down weather.com and WeatherBug, both, because they, along with numerous other windows I had up, were slowing down my computer and making the fan run frantically. 

I should’ve looked at the weather before I did that.

The first thing I noticed was a nice, cool breeze blowing in the open front door.

Belatedly, I realized that the sound I was hearing was not part of the video, but a sudden, raging wind.  I stopped the video, jerked the earbuds from my ears, threw down the laptop (again), and rushed to the door. 

Rain was pouring down – sideways, on account of the wind.  Kitty was nowhere to be seen.  Victoria’s pot of pansies that hangs from the stand on the front porch was tipped over, stand and all.  The expensive hanging flower in the expensive ceramic pot was swinging wildly from the expensive scrolled metal holder.  The expensive wooden wind chimes were flying madly to and fro.

And I was already dressed for bed.

I debated momentarily – then opened the door to go out and rescue Victoria’s things and see if Kitty was under the little bench on the far end of the porch.

The wind nearly jerked the door from my hand.  I hung on for dear life – and it pulled me right outside, whether I wanted to go or not.  I was soaked in five seconds flat.  But I picked up two flowerpots on the porch, and got the ceramic hanging pot.  With difficulty, I made my way back inside, set the flowers down, and headed for the garage to see if Kitty was out there. 

I found her, halfway between the open front walk-in door (it had either been forgotten or had blown open in the wind) and the door that leads into the back hallway, huddled on the cement floor, dripping wet, eyes huge.  I picked her up gently, and she dangled limply from my hands.  I didn’t want to cuddle her up; she was sopping.  Hurrying into the house, I grabbed some towels, wrapped them around her, and rubbed her down.  She barely moved.  When I had dried her as well as I could, I laid another dry towel over her and tucked it in all around.

In between throwing up and being out in the storm for however long she was out there – not long, but long enough to get thoroughly frightened, soaked, and windblown – depleted her entire energy store and made her awfully weak.  Poor little thing! 

The storm tapered off, but another bad bout would hit before morning.

Wednesday morning, a friend sent me a video of baby goats dressed in pajamas, scampering and leaping about like maniacal puppets:  Goats in pjs.  Baby goats are so funny...  So are big goats, for that matter.

Some baby goats belonging to one of Larry’s cousins got in the house by accident when one of the children went outside.  Shirley hunted through living room... kitchen... bathroom – and found them in her own bedroom, all three jumping gaily up and down on the bed! 

She remarked, “I guess that’s why they call them ‘kids’.” 

Other friends of ours had fainting goats.  Her mother came to visit... helped fix supper one evening... stuck her head out the back door and shouted for the children to come in and eat ---- and all the goats fell over, to her immense astonishment. 

By early afternoon Wednesday, the floor was swept, the front porch was swept, and all the glass from the broken porch light cover cleaned up.  That happened because of the 60-mph winds Tuesday night – the clapper from Victoria’s bamboo wind chimes hit the lamp cover and shattered it to smithereens.  All the hanging plants were put back outside, along with the hummingbird feeder... pictures were taken of a Mourning Cloak butterfly on the lilac blossoms... two loads of laundry were done, and the last load was hanging on the line.  So, of course, it looked like rain.  The dryer was (and is) still dead, so I hoped everything dried before any rain fell.  It was raining 60 miles west of us, and tracking our way.  But right here, the wind was gusting from the north at 47 mph; maybe it would blow the storm south.  The humidity was 61%... chance of thunderstorms in the later afternoon 20%... 50% that night... wanna know the dew point and barometric pressure, too?   ;-)

Here’s Tabby enjoying the sun-warmed sidewalk.

I’ll probably bore you to death with my research on travel to wherever we decide to go when and if my quilt is accepted at some big quilt show somewhere.  This would give us an excuse to take our vacation there, and is probably the only way under the sun I could get Larry to go anywhere but to the tall, tall mountains.  I, too, love the tall, tall mountains, but I like to explore, oh, just everywhere.  If we should go to some distant place, we would fly, I think.  Victoria in particular dislikes driving long distances.  I, on the other hand, like to drive, because I like to explore as I go.

Did you know you can take a small packet (under 3.5 oz.) of mayonnaise or Miracle Whip with you on a plane to put on a dry sandwich after getting past security, but if you slather it on the sandwich ahead of time, security may consider it a ‘gel’ and confiscate it?  Did you know that a sandwich that might cost me 45¢ to make at home might cost me $12 in the air??

Do you think they confiscate some sandwiches because they are hungry, and let others pass because they are not?

Are there any ‘big’ quilt shows in Alaska, I wonder?  I’ve wanted to go to Alaska ever since I started to go there with my parents when I was young, and my mother got sick somewhere in the mountains of British Columbia, and just couldn’t seem to get well again.  Altitude sickness, most likely.  We were almost to Grand Prairie when we changed tack, turned and angled for Edmonton, the better to get quickly to lower altitude, then went south toward home.  I was very worried about my mother, who never, never was sick... but I was sad, too, that we hadn’t made it to Alaska.  Maybe someday...

I got 192 little tabs sewn onto interfacing for the edging of the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt, leaving 392 to go – and then it was time for church.  I rushed out and grabbed the clothes off the line; they were nearly dry.  Good thing I did, too, as it rained later that night.  I was awakened early Thursday morning by rain and wind blowing hard. 

You know, there are drawbacks to macro photography.  I miss out on a lot of macro shots I could’ve taken, because I smoosh the bug, and then think, Oh.  Yeah.  I could’ve gotten a macro shot of him. 

That afternoon, I was taking pictures of an Eastern yellow tiger swallowtail on the lilacs when he spotted a Mourning Cloak butterfly perched on another flower cluster – so he attacked it, and chased it off!  I didn’t know they were so aggressive with other species.  I only got one halfway decent photo of the altercation, because they were flitting about so quickly.  It’s not excellent, but if you click to enlarge it, I think you can tell what’s happening.  (Especially since I’ve told you ahead of time.)

I downloaded the photos, trotted downstairs, cleared off one of my cutting tables, spread out the fabric Victoria and Robin had chosen for their dresses for our annual Fourth-of-July church picnic, and started pinning patterns to fabric.  It’s a turquoise on white print, a little bit of a Hawaiian flavor.  Not exactly patriotic, but certainly bright and summery.

I wondered, Would it have occurred to them to get zippers?  (...pawing through the bag...)

It would not have.  I sent off a text to Victoria, asking her to pick up a couple before coming home.  Another text went to Larry, asking him to bring home milk, a head of lettuce, Mexican shredded cheese, and sour cream for super tacos when he got off work.

Victoria brought home the zippers as requested – invisible zippers.  I don’t have an invisible zipper foot, so I’ll sew it in the way I do a regular zipper.  No one will even notice.  It’s invisible!  Right?

Victoria did a bit of gardening that evening.  She likes my little battery-operated Black & Decker weedeater.  I heard it buzzing around the front gardens... and then she came in looking a trifle sheepish and said, “I have a feeling I went through some lilies.”

I went out to see.

She was correct; she had taken out at least four of the Stella de Oro lilies, right down to the ground.  The only good thing is that they hadn’t yet put up any bud stalks.  So they might still do that.  I declare, if it isn’t Larry taking down my flowers, it’s the kids.  At least there are still two nice-sized Stellas.

Friday, I scrubbed the bathroom... shook the rugs... and got on with sewing Victoria’s and Robin’s dresses.  That evening, I took Loren some supper – mixed vegetables, scalloped potatoes, peach jello, apple muffins.  When I got home, I pulled enough weeds and old growth from my flower gardens to fill the wheelbarrow, using my new gardening gloves from Lura Kay for the first time.  But I couldn’t find any bug spray, and though the mosquitoes don’t usually bother me very much, they were coming in droves.  Besides, I needed to sew.  So that was enough for the moment. 

Later, Robin tried on the bodice.  I needed to take it in.  Not much, fortunately.  And I needed to move the darts.  The girls went to another friend’s birthday party that night.

Hannah sent a large baking dish full of her homemade enchiladas home with Larry after he got off work, along with big slices of orange cake with a frosting made of orange fluff and whipped cream and mandarin orange slices.  The enchiladas were unbaked, with instructions written on the foil cover.  Saturday I baked them.  Mmmm, mmm, they were good.

I called Loren to ask if he’d like a couple.  He would.  He’d just bought some coleslaw by mistake, intending to get lettuce salad.  “You can have it,” he told me.

“Do you like coleslaw?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied, “but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it!”

“It’s easy, when you have a bag that’s already chopped, with carrots and purple cabbage mixed in; you just get a jar of coleslaw dressing and mix it in!” I told him.  “That will make a perfect addition to the enchiladas.  I’ll bring the dressing, mix it, give you however much you want, and take the rest home, okay?”

So that’s what I did.  I started the enchiladas early, so I’d have plenty of time to stop at Hy-Vee and get mild picanté sauce and the coleslaw dressing before going to Loren’s house.

And then I discovered that the Jeep was gone. 

I’d told Victoria earlier she could drive it, as her Aurora needed the brakes fixed, and the air conditioner needed to have Freon added.  I thought she’d be back before I needed it.  She’d taken Hester a present (a big pot of flowers from Earl May Gardening Center), and then they’d gone to Hobby Lobby.

I called her and placed my order:  dressing, sauce, and one Jeep Commander.

I got to Loren’s house at 5:30, just as planned.

He really liked the enchiladas, and the coleslaw, too.  He kept a few helpings and sent the rest home with me.  Victoria had chosen Dreisbach’s Nebraska Steakhouse Coleslaw Dressing.  Coleslaw and enchiladas go good together – especially when you use Dreisbach’s Nebraska Steakhouse Coleslaw Dressing.  Good stuff!

By bedtime (whatever time that is), Robin’s lined bodice was done, the skirt was together, and the many seams serged.  Now I need to set the pleats, hem the skirt, attach skirt to top, and put in the zipper.  Most of Victoria’s top was done, too, except for one sleeve, at which point I abruptly ran out of steam.  The bodice is still done – except for one sleeve.

Larry got off work at 2:30, worked on his scissor lift for a while, and then fixed the brakes and added Freon to the air conditioner in Victoria’s car.

After church Sunday, Hannah gave me another crocheted dishcloth and a cute little scrubby.  I’m very fond of these things.  I like how they look – and, especially, how they feel. 

It’s always fun to play with and talk to the grandchildren for a few minutes after the services. 

There’s nothing but a gaping hole in the ground (surrounded by a safety fence) where once the old church stood.

Since evening services start at 6:30 p.m. these days, it’s still bright when we get out.  So we drove the long way home, past some of the newer homes northwest of the college.  Larry filled the Jeep with gas, got us a couple of candy bars, and headed home.

The still-standing Stella de Oros have begun to bloom.  And, wonder of wonders, there are bud stalks coming up from the poor butchered Stellas!  The plants won’t be as pretty as they would’ve been, but they will live.  And maybe... next year... who knows?  I might have nice-looking Stella de Oros!

Loren is here this afternoon, watering the front yard and trees.  I can’t find our sprinklers anywhere, including a new one that’s still in the box.  So Loren went back to his house and collected sprinklers and hose.  The new grass Larry planted is already starting to come up, and all the new blue spruce trees have new growth on them. 

A few of the very small trees we planted last year – blue spruce and ponderosa – survived the winter, as did most of the plum trees.  Now, if they’d only all grow as fast as poplar trees!

I’m washing clothes, and just hung out another load.  The last load is in the washer.  And now... back to the sewing machine! 


,,,>^..^<,,,     Sarah Lynn     ,,,>^..^<,,,