February Photos

Monday, June 1, 2015

Yard Work and Neighborly Neighbors

Some friends on the online quilting group to which I belong were talking about clearing out their parents’ homes after they passed away, and how they were touched to find such things as notes from grandchildren from years gone by. 
Among some of the many cards and letters my mother had saved, I found a letter from my paternal grandmother, written to my mother when I was 12.  We had been to the funeral of my aunt, who had died of cancer at about age 40.  She was my grandmother’s youngest daughter, and beautiful.  I heard my grandmother say to someone after the funeral, “It should have been me, not Ada.”
Anyway, in this letter, Grandma was asking my mother to please apologize to me for her, because she felt that she had not paid me enough attention, what with the trauma of losing Aunt Ada.  She was particularly sorry, because we only visited two or three times a year, as we lived some distance away.  Mama never breathed a word of this letter to me, doubtless because, first, she knew I would have understood my grandmother’s grief over her daughter’s death, and second, because she wasn’t likely to do anything that might encourage me to think selfishly in any way.  As I was growing up, I didn’t give my mother enough credit for teaching me to be compassionate.  Because she did it so quietly, one never even realized she was doing it. 
I was quite touched by that letter, written in my grandmother’s neat handwriting, just thinking how thoughtful and loving she was – and realizing why my mother would not have shown it to me.  Grandma passed away later that year, and though we knew she’d had heart trouble for some time, people said that she didn’t do well after Aunt Ada died.
Because my father was a pastor for 48 years before he passed away, he got a lot of correspondence.  I was surprised and moved by some of the letters my mother had kept. 
On the quilting front, the verdict is in:  I like my new Fasturn tool.  Tuesday, I cut several yards of 1” bias strips, and then tried out the turning tool, making wrapped cording, drawing a skinny cord into the fabric tube as I turn it – and it works, it works, it works!  (I would try it with the skinniest [and most difficult] tube... but that’s the size I wanted my covered cord to be, so...)  Things are so much easier when you have good tools for the job. 
Late that night, I sat down in my recliner, turned on the Biomat, and started adding some old posts to my clothing blog.  The front windows were open, and all was quiet outside – until I heard the telltale call of a great horned owl in a tree right out in the yard, hoo-hoo-hooing away.  I think that’s really neat.  Wish I could’ve seen it.  Now and then it (or another one?) made a few high-pitched noises ... sounded funny.  Almost like a hoarse little dog.  I didn’t know they did that!  I found the sound on www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Great_Horned_Owl/sounds, and the sound I heard is called ‘Female squawk’ (scroll down to ‘Calls’).
I hoped the bird didn’t get it into its head to try for a taste of Teensy.  The other two cats were in the house – and Tabby was craning his neck at the door.
But some time later, Teensy came strolling through, none the worse for wear. 
Wednesday afternoon, I went to Hobby Lobby to get more skinny cording to insert in the fabric tubes I was making.  I’m so glad they finally opened one in our town!  (A Hobby Lobby store, not a fabric tube.)
 Some of our parishioners who have large equipment and machinery for their businesses were taking down the Fellowship Hall that day – the part that used to be our old church before we built the new one in 2005-06.  Larry was there with the big boom truck helping on Tuesday, and Robert gave him all the gutters, which were only a year old.  There are plenty for our house – and we’ve been needing gutters!  Larry says they’re worth about $1,200.
We are building a new Fellowship Hall with a nice kitchen, along with numerous schoolrooms.  It will be two stories high, plus a basement. 
After church that night, we went to the store, and then stopped at Bobby and Hannah’s house so Victoria could care for their guinea pig, as they were vacationing in the Ozarks.  We each held him and petted him and fed him carrots and lettuce, and he made his happy little purring and ‘chirr-chirr’ noises.
By the time we got home, we were starving, so I fixed fire-roasted potatoes and vegetables with gravy, and broiled chicken breast filets.  Mmmmm... hit the [very empty] spot(s).  We don’t usually have time for supper before church, as Larry barely gets home from work in time to get ready and fly out the door.  So we have a light late-night supper.  Or a heavy late-night supper, whatever suits our fancy.
I ordered Schwan’s food online that night, as the Schwan man would be coming Thursday.  The cut-off time for ordering is 11:00 p.m. Wednesday night – and I didn’t get the order submitted until 11:07 p.m.  Would they accept it?  We’d find out the next day! 
(They did.)  It’s quicker to order online – quicker for me, and for the Schwan man, too.  Also, there are discounts and online sales and ‘reward points’ that make it well worth ordering online, as opposed to ordering at the door when the man arrives.
Thursday afternoon, Victoria picked up Ethan and Jeffrey and took them with her to watch deconstruction of the school and Fellowship Hall.  They stopped for a snack... got a cap for Ethan... an orange super ball for Jeffrey... and then they came here and helped Victoria in the flower gardens for a little while.  (Jeffrey allowed as how work at Grandma’s house seems a little more like fun than work at home.  hee hee)  Victoria fixed them scrambled eggs and bacon when they got hungry, and Ethan played some songs on the piano.
Friday morning, it was evident that Victoria’s aquarium snail wasn’t acting right.  He wasn’t hanging onto the sides of the aquarium, and twice Victoria found him upside down on the bottom of the tank.  If they are left upside down in water, they can drown, as they lose the air that is stored in their shells. 
“He’s about to kick the bucket,” lamented Victoria, “and I didn’t even get a picture of him!”
“I did; I’ll send it to you,” I said.
“That’s good,” she replied.  “We’ll need a good one for his obituary.”  :-D
By afternoon, I had a pile of about 13 yards of fabric-covered cording done, and a much higher heap of fabric tubes to turn right side out and insert cord into.  I was using the Fasturn tool, and sometimes the Dritz loop turner, if the Fasturn wire puller slid out of the fabric in the middle of a turn.  I think I need about 150 yards of covered cord.  I’m making it in three colors – medium blue, dark blue, and ivory with a pale blue print.
As mentioned last week, my dryer went kaput, and Larry hasn’t had a chance to take it apart and see what the matter is with it.  I’ve been paying close attention to the weather, so as not to waste any sunny days when I could hang clothes outside to dry.  At least the washer still works, and I don’t have to use a scrub board and wringer!
“What?!” wrote a friend, “No scrub board????  Where’s the fun??”
“Carrying water is fun, too,” I retorted, “but I don’t have an open well.  And so is using an outhouse – but I don’t have a privy.  I’m so deprived!”
I typed ‘Worst chore in the world’ into Google, and look what I came up with:  Laundry.  There are all sorts of historical interesting facts and tidbits in that article.
Last week one day I hunted down an airline ticket for my blind friend Linda.  Just for the fun of it, I typed in various destinations to find out the price.  Someday soon, I will have the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt done, and I hope to enter it in a quilt show somewhere.  If it gets accepted, this makes a good excuse to go there, don’t you think?  Well, the cutoff day for applying to enter the October Des Moines AQS show is June 5th; that’s too soon.  After that, the next AQS shows are in February – one in Phoenix, the other in Daytona Beach.
Now, I like to explore.  I like to travel.  I like to go places!  I like to do different things from what I’ve done before.  Larry, on the other hand, wants to go to the Rockies.  No, he doesn’t want to go to the Smokies.  NO!, he doesn’t want to go to New York!  No, no, no, he doesn’t want to go to California, Alabama, Pennsylvania, or Massachusetts, and heaven forbid that you mention any other country than Canada (and don’t talk about anything other than the Canadian Rockies, if you do). 
But! – if I get a quilt accepted in the Daytona Beach AQS (American Quilter’s Society) quilt show, and then say we have to go there, well, ... he sorta kinda lets me start researching the matter without too much complaint and protest.
So research I am.  It’s what I do best – research.  Victoria in particular hates to drive long and far, and now after buying airline tickets for my friend and two of her friends, I’m extremely well experienced at it (heh!), so I am looking into the matter, ... just in case.  And, oh, the things I’ve learned!  I’ve never been on a big plane before.  I’m learning about food you can take on a plane (airline fare is higher’n a kite – in price, that is) (elevation too, come to think of it), how big of bags (and how many) you can take, what to do for a footrest, and where to sit in order to get the best pictures.  Some airlines have Wi-Fi... some free, some not.  (Camera and laptop stay with me – or I don’t go.)  I’ve found cheap motels... expensive hotels... rustic cabins... and I know how much it costs to rent a variety of cars (not all at the same time).
Phoenix is the bigger attraction to Larry, because we would go by land (and Jeep), through the mountains, and see the Grand Canyon while we were there.  But... not in February, thank you kindly!  May!  The month of May.  May would be better.  I’d like to either hike or ride a donkey on some of the paths into the canyon... maybe not all the way, in deference to me po’ old bones, but at least... a little way.
I know perfectly well I would find it more relaxing to travel with our Jeep Commander than in a jetliner.  I enjoy staying in cute little cabins way out in the wilderness.  Or maybe, just for a change, a tall hotel with excellent room service.  (Can’t afford that very often, though.)  We try to travel as cheaply as possible.  But we love just being out in the mountains, or beside a lake somewhere...  and guess what?  There’s a large state forest just west of Daytona Beach, and there are smaller state forests and national shorelines and wildlife refuges all around the city.  Plus, they have wild animals, including black bear, bobcat, warthogs, and the occasional puma.  Now, there’s a draw that made Larry stop, perk up his ears, and think about it for a moment or two.  :-D
We have had good experiences and bad with cheap motels.  Some are a bargain, some are a bomb.  Most have been very nice.  The worst was one that smelled terrible – and the carpet was a filthy mess.  I think the last people who stayed in that room had bedded their camels down in it, and the rinky-dink vacuums the staff used couldn’t pick up the hay.  That was one of only about two times we requested a room change.  The other was when the supposedly smoke-free room absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke.  Not only do we hate that smell and not wish to collect it on our clothes and hair, but we had three children with asthma, and that’s nothing to piddle around with.  Both times, we wound up with a bigger, nicer room.  Once, we were apologized to and taken to a large suite, with three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen!
“I wish we’d wind up in messy rooms all the time,” remarked one of the children, looking around appreciatively.
Here’s one of the four solar garden lights Victoria brought home from Earl May and installed along the front walk.  They shine and sparkle in the sunlight... and at night, they glow like bright moons.
I took my brother some supper – ancient-grain-encrusted cod, mixed vegetables, and apple/grape/ banana salad — and he gave me a handmade oak quilt bar!  It’s so pretty... now I need to make a quilt to hang from it.
I took pictures of it and posted them on my quilting blog, entitling the post, “Quilt Bar”. 
A friend wrote, “I couldn’t imagine what a serious, church-going woman would do with a bar!  I’m glad I looked...”
Another friend answered her:  “Oh my...there are a few serious, church-going women who have been known to tipple a few.  Grandma always said you’ve got to watch the quiet ones.  LOL  Just kidding!  ; –)”
So I proceeded to tell all those nice quilting ladies about my one and only experience with alcohol:
The closest I’ve ever come to alcohol was the time when I was three years old and found a six-pack out in front of our house, sitting there on the then-graveled street in the sun on a hot summer’s day. 
What in the world, I wondered.  (That may have been the first time I ever saw a beverage in a can; dunno.)  I pulled a tab.
Spszzzzzzztttttttwhooooooshhhh!  It sprayed all over me.
My word, I thought.  Do they always do that?  I pulled another tab.
Spszzzzzzztttttttwhooooooshhhh!  That one sprayed all over me, too.
I headed for the house at a trot to tell my mother of those strangely behaving things out there.
I did not get a word out edgeways before my ladylike, gentle mother made a terrible face and exclaimed, “Oh, pewwww, oh, my goodness, what have you gotten into??!” and before I could answer, she swooped me up, rushed for the bathroom, and threw me into the tub, clothes and all.  She started the water, grabbed a small pitcher, and began dumping water over me, exclaiming over the stench all the while. 
I had never been so insulted in my whole life, and certainly never by my mother.  (And she was probably astonished that her most-fastidious small daughter would ever get herself in such a predicament.)
After a bit, she removed my sopping wet clothes and rushed off to the washing machine with them, then scurried back and gave me the scrubbing of my life, exclaiming and remonstrating the entire time.
And that’s my alcohol over-indulgence story.
A lady on a quilting group wrote, “I’m sorry, but that ‘ancient’ cod doesn’t sound very appetizing!  From which pyramid did you extract it?”
I replied, “Haha!  The cod isn’t ancient; the grain is!  It can also be called ‘heritage grain’.  Read an interesting article about it here:  What in the World Are Ancient Grains?   And here:  Ancient Grains.  And this is the scrumptious cod from Schwan's:  Ancient-Grain-EncrustedCod.”
Saturday, I received two messages from Dr. Luckey – the clinic now has a ‘Patient Portal’ website, where you can get the results of medical tests and suchlike online.  Here’s what he wrote:
“Sarah.  Your metabolic panel is excellent (they were specifically checking for blood sugar levels).  This includes electrolytes, kidney function studies, liver function studies, calcium and protein.”
Message #2:  “Sarah.  The thyroid level is normal.  We did this because we were concerned about the palpitations however I think they were related to blood pressure drop as we discussed.  Thank you for using the portal.”
I looked up metabolic panel (yeah, I like research – ’cuz... I like to know what people – including myself – are talking about):  “A comprehensive metabolic panel is a blood test that measures your sugar (glucose) level, electrolyte and fluid balance, kidney function, and liver function.  Glucose is a type of sugar your body uses for energy.  Electrolytes keep your body’s fluids in balance.”
There.  How do ya like that?  I’m normal.  The doctor said so!  Ha!  I’m normal!  So there.
I spent most of the day in my sewing room, cording and tabbing.  That is, cutting strips for fabric-covered cord and pieces for the tabs that will run along the edges of the quilt with the cording connecting them.  I cut the little pointed tabs from as many different leftover fabrics (left over from the one-inch squares) as I could.  Sewing the tabs will be a piece of cake, in comparison to this skinny covered cording!  They will all be interfaced, probably on both sides.
Since this was the only ‘sewing’ or ‘quilting’ I had to take pictures of that day, ... ... ... I took pictures of it!  I’m up to exactly 500 hours on the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt.
If you think I’ve spent a long time on the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt...  there was that Graceful Garden quilt I made a couple of years ago that took almost twice as long.  936 hours were put into it.  However, it didn’t get interrupted with other projects as many times, so I finished it in less time (calendar-wise, if you know what I mean) than I have this one.  I was wondering, Why is this thing taking so loooong?  I must be really sloughing off...  So I looked back at my list of projects, and then I felt all industrious and productive and stuff.  ;-D
When Larry got off work in the middle of the afternoon, he finished putting together the rototiller that attaches to one of his tractors, and then rototilled the front yard.  It needed another going-over, and then it would be ready for grass seed.
A quarter after nine Sunday morning found me coiffed, clad, and collected.  It was almost time to head to church.  I was sitting at the table, laptop in front of me, a piping hot rice bag behind me.  It’s a cute little bag with a hand-knit wool ‘sweater’ on it.  But...  I sure hoped I didn’t arrive at church smelling like overcooked rice. 
I’m looking out the window as I type, watching Teensy.  He’s lying on the sidewalk out front, wiggling around now and then, enjoying the feel of warm cement under him.  Now and then he scootches forward, the better to get to a newly sun-warmed spot, looking quite a lot like a big ol’ walrus lumping along over big boulders.
!  I just watched a blue jay cram at least 35 sunflower seeds (unhulled) into his gullet!  He looked like he had a goiter when he got done.
The medicine our doctor gave me for inflammation in my neck and has helped, but I don’t like a steady diet of pills.  I have three Meloxicam (anti-inflammatory) pills left.  I think I’ll go ahead and take them (it’s not like antibiotics, where you should take the entire prescription)... then lay off of them and see what happens. 
Osteoporosis doesn’t improve with age!  I don’t know what other options besides the anti-inflammatory medications there are.  Nowadays they can do things with lasers that they never used to be able to do.  Maybe someday they’ll be able to give me a little zap, and I’ll be all well, presto-ka-zing.  In the meanwhile, I’ll just go along my merry way, slathering Pain-A-Trate, IcyHot, Absorbine Jr., Old Goat, Capzacin, BenGay, and Tiger Balm on me.  (And watching people tipping over in my wake, from all the fumes.)
Well, I have now been snookered into making matching dresses for Victoria and her friend Robin for the Fourth-of-July church picnic.  I don’t mind... but will I ever get this lighthouse quilt done??!
It was 79° this afternoon, bright and sunny.  I’d just gotten the last load of clothes off the line when Victoria remembered she had to wash her clothes, as she needs work clothes for tomorrow.  They’ll have to stay on the line overnight and dry in the early morning sunlight.  Fortunately Victoria doesn’t have to go to work until noon.  Larry remarked when he was home at noon that his shirt smelled good.  Either he likes Gain better than Tide, or he likes Fresh Country Air!  J
After he got off work this evening, Larry worked on the front yard again with the rototiller.
It was getting dusk out when I clipped a clothespin to the last sock and brought the empty clothesbasket into the house.  I pulled the screen patio door shut and looked around at the houseplants, making sure I’d gotten each of them watered.  The Phalaenopsis orchid is still blooming profusely.
An odd noise drifted through the screen.  Screaming?  Yelling?  What in the world?  Were the neighbors yelling for their dogs?  Had someone gotten hurt?  I stepped closer to the screen and listened.
“TURN IT OFF!!!  YOU TURN THAT OFF!!!  RIGHT NOW!!!” screeched a woman’s shrill voice.  She was yelling so loudly, her voice was all distorted.
It was the neighbor lady, screaming at Larry, who was even then steering the mower/tiller to the other side of the house to park it.
Now, it wasn’t quite dark, and the rototiller is not too awfully loud.  We live in the country.  There are often tractors working fields next to our houses both before and after the sun is up, sometimes through the night. 
She has done this two or three times before – once when Larry was removing snow off the front lane after a big blizzard (the lane they would need to use, mind you), and another time when he was dragging the lane to fix the deep washboards farm machinery had made earlier that day.  Each time, she acted so irrational, so strange, I could hardly think it was the same lady who is now and then friendly to me as we are both working in our yards.  Finally it occurred to me, These hippy-type people – a year or two older than we are – are using something a little more mind-bending than alcohol.  Having thought of it, I now see other signs of it.  It could be my imagination, of course, but... well, something’s plenty odd about her behavior.
I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to show up when she’s screaming bloody murder at Larry.  They throw fits and tantrums because his projects take so long to get finished – but they obstruct him on those rare occasions when he does have time to work on things.  Do they work 65+ hours a week and then come home and work on their house and property?
I ran down the deck steps, across the drive, and popped around the fence – still on my own property – and there she was, not ten feet away, bellowing her head off, mouth stretched wide open, neck tendons sticking out alarmingly.  “YOU’RE A DIRTY SHAME!” she shrieked.  “YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED---------”  She saw me and jumped.  Didn’t take her long to regroup and address me instead of Larry, who was long gone anyway.
“HE SHOULD BE ASHAMED!!!” she screamed.  “I’VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOU PEOPLE’S ---- !!!”
She continued on without letup for a moment, but as soon as she paused to gasp in a big breath, I said, “You’re awful.”  That made her stop in surprise, but not for long.  She went right back to screeching, so I spoke in a low-pitched voice, but loud enough she could hear me, even through her own cacophony.  “I’ve never heard such a dreadful noise in my life, as you’re making.”
She screamed the more, a few bad words thrown in, and when she paused and gulped for air, I remarked again, “You really are awful.”
She made an incomprehensible noise and stepped forward, pointing at me and shouting, “YOU SHOULD LOOK IN THE MIRROR!!!  YOU SHOULD LOOK IN THE MIRROR!!!” 
If she kept coming, she was going to walk on her own flowers that she was so proud of. 
I put my hand on my hip and looked at her.  I ain’t skeert o’ no banshee, huh-uh, nosirree.  She stopped, changed her mind, and backed up.  Funny how that works.  Bullies bluff... but if you don’t flinch, they retreat.  She can’t faze me.  I’m normal, remember? 
She turned around and walked off, still yelling.  “YOU PEOPLE ARE FILTHY!!!  FILTHY, FILTHY!!!”  I would’ve told her no, I’d just had a bath that very day, but she went into her garage, motor-mouthing all the way, nearly ran into the back of her vehicle, dodged around it, and hit the button to put the garage door down.
And that was the end of that.  For now.
So now I know what her husband meant, when he told Larry he couldn’t mow some tall weeds growing at the corner of the ditch next to the road (Larry offered to do it for him, thinking he was afraid his smallish mower would tip on the embankment), because his wife wanted to do something with that corner, and if he mowed there, “she’ll yell at me!”
We believe him.  She’s obviously had more experience than just yelling at us; she’s well-seasoned and practiced at it.  Otherwise, she’d have made herself hoarse long before she toddled off to her house.  Good grief.
Maybe I could go over and offer her a throat lozenge tomorrow?  Will she even remember anything that happened this evening?  We’ve tried to be friendly and considerate neighbors – it wasn’t us who played the dreadful hard rock at earsplitting levels every Saturday and Sunday afternoons, so that even when we closed our house all up and turned on the air conditioner, it rattled the windows and shook the pictures on the walls.  (They did build a small ‘music studio’, on the other side of their house, so now that racket is somewhat contained.)
Tonight we had a chef salad for supper, complete with grilled chicken, hard-boiled eggs, orange, red, and yellow peppers, and extra carrots and celery.  There was also shredded mozzarella cheese, along with Orange Cranberry Almondine.  This consists of slivered, honey-toasted almonds and dried, orange-flavored cranberries.  We topped it off with bacon Ranch dressing.  Mmmmm, mmmm.
For dessert, we had sliced strawberries on shortcake, with a healthy dollop of whipped cream.
And now it’s bedtime!  Tomorrow, I must cut Fourth-of-July dresses.

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

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