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| Nasturtium |
Last week, a couple of my friends were vying to be
first to email me about a friend’s new baby... but Norma, who wrote an hour
later than either of them, sent the message to my phone, which jangled and
alerted me as I was cleaning the kitchen and washing dishes. Sometimes, we’d get messages sooner if we had
tin cans with strings tied to them, one can in my house and the other in yours,
and you could simply pick up the ol’ can and shout into it loud and long. If the can on the other end of the string was
in the kitchen where I was splashing away in the sink, I’d have the message instantly,
without having to pick up any gadget or push any buttons (possibly endangering
said gadget with wet, soapy hands).
My dryer is still incapacitated, so I have to
remember to get clothes washed and hung out on sunny days. We’ve had quite a few rainy days lately. Last Monday, I got all the clothes washed and
dried – or at least I would’ve, had I not been combining drying clothes on the
deck with watering on the deck. That is,
I put the tripod sprinkler, a nifty one with extendable legs that Loren loaned
me, on the lower deck landing to water the flowers and blueberry bush in the
tiers where the railroad ties are – and forgot to watch and see how high the
water arc went. So when I went out to
get Victoria’s quilt that was lopped over the deck railing, I discovered I’d
been rewashing one end of it. Oops.
Tuesday, I started the water going outside, watered
the flowers in pots on the porch, then came in and ate a Thomas Cinnamon
Vanilla English muffin, toasted and slathered with butter and honey. Mmm, mmmm.
Out the window, I noticed that the birds do take baths in the cute
little hanging birdbath Victoria gave me.
So funny, to watch them splish-splashing around. I headed downstairs to work on the lighthouse
quilt. I didn’t have time to work on it
much last week, but by Saturday evening, I hit 600 hours.
Wednesday morning, Victoria went out to the college
to talk with a counselor about scholarships. She dressed in a sleek black
top with dark purple trim, a black half-circle skirt, and cordovan leather high
wedge sandals. She curled her hair and pulled it back with a leather
clip. I told you all that so you’ll better appreciate the following funny:
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| Stargazer lilies |
She picked up her purse, a cute little brown leather
bag with a striped canvas piece on the flap – and the flap and the bottom of
the bag make a cute little owl. She frowned at it. Then, “I gotta
switch purses! This isn’t dignified enough.” And she grabbed her
dark cordovan leather purse and poured everything crashity-floomp from the owl
bag into the darker leather one.
Now, I ask you, are college students, as a whole,
too dignified to use a cute leather-and-canvas owl bag? hee hee
She wanted to check into horticulture classes, and
also classes that will get her a teaching certificate – not necessarily to
teach, but to provide insurance for our church school in case the state should
change their laws on the certification of schools such as ours. At the
moment, we operate under a homeschool clause that doesn’t require
certification. That could change at any given moment – and likely will
change, what with the growing hostilities toward conservative Christianity in
this country, and the increase of big government oversight. My niece
keeps up her teaching certificate/license each year, renewing online (requires
several tests), although she doesn’t yet teach, as she stays home with her
young children. I think there are a couple of others who have
certificates; but many of our teachers do not.
Victoria likes her job at Earl May. A couple
of months ago, she was getting overtime – one week, she worked 65 hours – but
now her hours are cut back again. Last week, for instance, she only got
about 25 hours. This will be all the better, if she starts taking classes
at the college. She talked with her boss about the horticulture class,
and he was all for it.
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| Daylilies |
So off she went to inquire, sans owl bag. :-D
The advisor she talked to was less than helpful –
gave her little information and shooed her off, telling her to look
online. Victoria smelled food in her office, and spotted a lunch bag
sitting on the counter.
“She had to get rid of me quick,” snickered
Victoria; “Her lunch was getting cold!”
We’ll find someone else to talk to. There is
more than one advisor at the college!
I went on working on the edging of the lighthouse
quilt, then interrupted that job with some alterations on Victoria’s and Robin’s
Fourth-of-July dresses. It didn’t take
long; what took the longest was getting Victoria to try the thing on! I merely pinned Robin’s; Victoria would take
it to her after church so she could try it on, and then I’d stitch things down
Thursday.
Once I got started altering, I kept on – I shortened
a fuchsia top by about four inches, and wore it to church that night with a
brown and ivory paisley skirt with a fuchsia band at the hem.
Larry and I made a major shopping excursion to
Wal-Mart after church. I hadn’t bought
groceries, other than the necessary milk and eggs, for about three weeks. We filled a grocery cart chockfull – which in
turn filled the back of the Jeep.
Bobby’s birthday is coming up, and I’m going to give
him the Mosaic Sailboat quilt to hang in his nautical-themed office. So I
picked up a heavy, ornate, polished silver curtain rod to hang the quilt
on. I still need to sew a sleeve on the back of the quilt.
Then I set about making a big enough supper that we
could share it with Bobby and Hannah.
I’ve wanted to do that ever since Hannah had surgery a couple of weeks
ago, but I lost the oomph when I injured that rib. I went into the kitchen to make chef salad
and apple salad – and discovered I needed to wash the dishes first. Why
must I wash dishes before I begin to dirty them?! You’d think somebody
other than me lives in this house! And the maid was definitely AWOL.
I put chicken, potatoes, carrots, and celery into
the roaster, slid it into the oven, and set it on 250°. Slow cooking lets all the spices blend
better. When the salads were done, I
made cranberry/orange muffins – one of those yummy (and easy) Krusteaz box mixes.
It rained hard on the way home from Hannah’s house
that evening. Then, right in the midst
of that raging downpour, so hard I could barely see where I was driving, it got
brighter... brighter... brighter... and suddenly there was the sun in the west,
shining very brightly, even while the rain came down. As I went up Old Highway 81, I looked back
east, and sure enough, there was a brilliant rainbow.
Victoria went to Norfolk after getting off work,
shopping for a few things. I asked her
to get me an aqua-colored scarf to go with my Fourth-of-July outfit. She found what she thought was a fabulous one
– white with dark teal-green cotton Cluny lace with miniature pompoms. Looked like a 1970s kitchen curtain, in my
opinion. But! – she had a coupon, plus
they had a sale and a points-off gimmick, and she wound up with that $16 scarf
– free. It ... didn’t quite match my outfit,
nor yet my personality, neither. But
Victoria loves it, and was pleased as punch when I told her she could have it.
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| Nasturtiums |
She stopped at the grocery store before coming home,
and returned rolling her eyes and shuddering, because a couple of drunks came
into the store while she was there, and were being totally obnoxious and
idiotic, and thought it was funny when someone tried to make them behave.
You know, you can give a drunk a scathing rebuke,
and he’ll never even remember it the next day. An exercise in futility,
lecturing a drunk. I’m happy to say I’m pretty far removed from any
drunks.
My beloved nephew was killed by a drunk driver who
rammed into his house in the middle of the night. I never did have any
tolerance for drunks; that just cemented it.
Did you ever notice, you can read stories about
tragedies, think fleetingly, Well, isn’t that too bad... but then when a
tragedy happens to you, well, the next time you read something similar in the
news, you really sympathize with the poor people who are suffering such a great
loss? Really makes a person more thoughtful and compassionate. Or
at least it should.
Friday morning, I cooked wild game hotdogs for the
picnic to go with the homemade buns (well, homemade in the Wal-Mart bakery,
anyway). I put a pan of scalloped potatoes
and bacon bits into the oven, burnt them, scraped out what was salvageable,
stuck the small bowl into the refrigerator, and decided to take a chef salad
instead. I also took bowls of cut
broccoli and cauliflower, along with Bacon Ranch dressing. There were ketchup, mustard, and dill pickles
to go with the hotdogs, and a couple of gallons of pink lemonade. And the crowning touch – a no-bake lemon
meringue pie. We wound up with a few slices
of pie to bring home again. Larry loved the
stuff. I thought it tasted somewhat like
glorified dusting spray. Not that I’ve
ever eaten dusting spray, glorified or otherwise, you understand.
Well, duh.
What, did the smart alec flunk health class? We learned in the third grade that the sense
of smell has every bit as much to do with taste as the tastebuds do. So there.
Speaking of tastebuds... I once got myself a piece of
the yummiest looking lasagna on the whole table at the picnic. I’d been
getting my chops polished up for it for a week.
I have friends who make lasagna to die for. I walked back to our table... took a
biiiiiiiig bite... Oh, shiver me timbers... it had SAUERKRAUT
inside. Now that’s cruel and unusual punishment.
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| Sarah Lynn |
It was cloudy and only 65° that morning – a far
sight different from many Fourth of July picnics we’ve had. We headed for Pawnee Park at 11:30 a.m. We stopped at the mailbox over on the highway
– and, lo and behold, there was the aqua scarf I’d ordered, perfectly matching
my new sandals. I tied it around my
waist, and there I was, then, utterly too-too.
After we ate, Joanna and her cousin Tiffany came to
find me, bringing a sprig of leaves and small berries to ask me if it was
poisonous. So I made a big show of
plucking one, chewing it up, making faces, gulping audibly, and then telling
Hannah, who was standing nearby, “Whatever you do, do NOT make jelly out of
them.”
I needed a quart of coffee to wash down the bitter
taste (I knew they weren’t poisonous, by the way) ... but it was worth doing,
just to see the funny looks on their faces.
A friend told me the name of the berries – ‘lingonberries’, or
‘cowberry’. And you CAN make jam out of
them! How ’bout that: Lingonberry jam.
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| Robin & Victoria |
I was taking Joanna’s picture, when along came a larger
friend of hers (Joanna isn’t very big), and she proceeded to wrap her arms
around Joanna. I was concerned over Joanna’s broken arm, but... Joanna
took it all in stride. She looked at me,
and she said, said she, “I feel like an endangered species.”
BWAAHAHAHAHA
I walked to the children's toys and found Jacob, just clambering up onto the rocking horse -- one of those with a big spring underneath. Seeing me with the camera, he set out to give me a show. You know, entertaining Grandma can get a bit hair-raising at
times. He went at it so vigorously, his feet were soon flying higher than his head! Then he slowed, gave me a sweet smile, said, "See you later, Grandma," and away he went to a new endeavor.
Somebody asked how I make apple salad. Well, it turns out different every time I
make it. I use whatever fruit I happen to have, but we especially like
Thompson grapes, bananas (even though they make the salad more short-lived),
peaches, pineapple, and mandarin oranges.
Sometimes I make a Miracle Whip/powdered sugar base; that’s my brother’s
favorite way, because it tastes like the apple salad our mother used to
make. Sometimes I use cream cheese... or sour cream and whipped cream...
or yogurt. I sweeten it with powdered sugar until I like the flavor (that’s
the best part of making apple salad – all the tasting).
 |
| Football |
I spotted Teddy holding baby Warren, talking with some friends. Warren was sooo
sleeeepy... but working hard to get his bothersome little cap off. Teddy
soon noticed, and removed it. The sun was so bright, it made Warren squint his eyes tight shut. And then they relaxed -- still shut -- and the baby was sound asleep. He’s
a little past six months old.
Did you ever see your child (even a big, grown-up
one) do something that made you realize (all over again), “Hey, I really, really
like that kid”?
I was taking pictures of a whole lot of young men
playing basketball at the park Friday. Most were in their late teens or
twenties... big brawny kids... but there were a few smaller boys, seemingly endangering
their lives in the melee. The smallest, a boy named Christopher (I think
he’s 11 or 12), was somehow in the right place at the right time when the ball
ricocheted off the backboard, and he managed to grab it. Someone tried to
snatch it from him... he turned to the side – and quick as a wink, Caleb
whisked it right out of his hands and headed off like a shot. I heard
Christopher say in a very disappointed tone, “Ohhhhhh.”
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| Basketball |
Caleb heard, too.
He stopped dead in his tracks, spun a neat
pirouette, and, ker-plunk, that ball was right back in a surprised (and
pleased) Christopher’s hands, and the game went racketing on. (He did
lose it again shortly, but he had a few extra moments of glory there, thanks to
Caleb.)
I managed to get a shot of the ball grab, the dead
stop – and a bunch of the kids beginning to grin, because they knew exactly
what Caleb was going to do. He does stuff like that. J
Caleb is 21 already, imagine that.
By 4:30 p.m., we were home again. It had only gotten up to 74° – usually it’s
around 100° on the 3rd of July. It was a
lovely picnic, and I took ... (downloading) ... oh! My goodness. I
took 651 pictures. Now for the fun of going through them... Only it was a wee bit disappointing.
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| Volleyball |
I used my 70-300mm lens, and most of the time I didn’t
use my flash – and that was a mistake. It was too overcast to handhold
that big lens. I’ve had many good pictures with it without the flash, and
my new camera draws in light so much better than the old one... so I decided to
give it a try. It was too bright to see the pictures on the camera screen
well, and I didn’t realize I was getting underpar photos. Slightly fuzzy ...
not colorful enough... and people don’t have the light in the eye the flash
would have given them.
Fortunately, the sun came out in the middle of the
picnic, and the later pictures are good.
Sooo... I’m sharpening a whole
lot of the first ones. Siggghhhhh... I took a lot of pictures!
This is taking some time. But... they’ll
be my Christmas gift to my friends, so I want them all as good as possible.
It would have been my father’s birthday that day –
he would’ve been 99 years old. He passed away in ’92. He would be
so amazed to see all the people at our church picnic – over 380. That’s
about twice the number there were in the 90s. When he started our church
in the mid 50s, there were only 26 souls.
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| Sand castles |
After editing some pictures, it occurred to me that
it was almost time for our county fair. I’d intended to enter the Graceful
Garden quilt last year (Hester said I could) (really, she did!), but the fair
came and went without so much as a by-your-leave. If one’s family doesn’t mind if one ‘borrows
back’ things one gave them, in order to enter them in a fair, is it then
considered proper and polite to do so??
I spent a good long while hunting and searching for
information about fair entries, when and where they have to be in. The Ag Park website is not finished... and I
couldn’t find the information anywhere.
Bother! Just about the only things
they have on their homepage are pictures of the singers(?) they plan to have,
including a group called ‘Quiet Riot’.
Isn’t that clever. They all look
like derelicts and desperados.
 |
| Larry the Lily Slaughterer |
Larry mowed and did some weed-eating that evening –
and he took down at least four Stella de Oro lilies that Victoria had nearly
slaughtered last month, lilies that were valiantly making a new attempt at
life, even sending up spires with just-ready-to-open buds on them.
AAaaaarrrrrgggghhhh. Why does everyone hate my flowers?! There are lots of tall weeds still left
standing. Why doesn’t somebody hate them?!
Hester has been putting her Sizzix to good use. Saturday she sent me a picture of about
one-and-a-half-dozen cards she’s made. “So
I’ve been having fun with my Sizzix,” she wrote. “Apparently I can’t just stop at one or two.
hahaha”
I responded, “Don’t worry about the ‘can’t stop with
one or two’ syndrome. Nothing you can do about it. It’s genetic.”
She replied, “It turns into a job almost. MUST
MAKE MORE. And I have to make them fast, like there’s a deadline.
Hahaha”
 |
| Daylilies |
“That’s what your Uncle Loren said about cutting
down our trees last winter,” I told her.
“He’d get himself all worn out, and I told him, ‘Maybe you should slow
down a bit!’ He answered, ‘You mean there’s not a deadline?!’”
Saturday afternoon, Victoria sent Larry a text: she was bringing Teddy home from town — because
he had the front end of his van taken off by a sleeping driver as he sat at a
stop sign waiting to pull onto the highway. Teddy saw them coming and thought
the driver was doubtless falling asleep, as they veered off the road, and were
coming straight for a big light pole. He thought the pole would stop them
– but those poles are made to sheer off or break away, so they don’t kill
people.
Teddy wasn’t hurt, not much, anyway – his wrist was
swollen from the airbag hitting it, and the chemicals evidently burned it.
Good grief... to think I was just moments before, looking at his picture with
baby Warren and thinking how much I love him!
 |
| Teddy |
After reading that text, I turned my computer around
so Larry could see it, and we both looked at that picture good and hard for a
while.
Teddy’s van is totaled. But they have a
Suburban... none of the children were with him ... So we are thankful.
Victoria said when she pulled up into Teddy’s drive,
Emma came running and gave Teddy a big hug. “Oh, Daddy!” she exclaimed.
Now that got to me.
I worked on the lighthouse quilt that afternoon.
I’d finished sewing all the cording and tabs onto the binding the night before;
now I’m sewing on the binding facing (there has to be a facing, since the cords
and tabs are sewn into the outer edge of the binding).
 |
That evening, we went to Norfolk to watch the fireworks
by the lake. I was looking forward to
trying out my new camera on the pyrotechnics show... but! – Victoria had borrowed
my tripod a couple of weeks ago – and she forgot to put the clip back that
screws into the bottom of the camera. So
I couldn’t fasten my camera down, but just held it atop the tripod and tried
not to jiggle while the lens was open a few seconds.
That’s impossible, did you know that? So a
good many of my shots look more like psychedelic creepy-crawlies than
fireworks. I might be able to salvage a few.
Teddy sang in the choirs Sunday – the mixed choir
Sunday morning, and the men’s choir Sunday night. I looked at him and thought, I sure do like
to see that face, yesirree, I sho’ ’nuff do.
Sunday evening, I finally found the link to the pdf
with rules for fair entries – in small print down at the very bottom of the
unfinished webpage, where the only items on the page are small pictures of
goats, a man on a carnival ride, lights of the carnival rides at night, and
five photos of the odd entertainment they have selected, including a person
whose motto is ‘Wake Up Drunk’. Lovely.
Whoever designed that webpage needs help. Even the email address one can write to for
more information isn’t an active link; it must be copied and pasted. There are five links to stand-alone pages,
most of which are unfinished, unhelpful, or both. The History page is interesting, at least
there is that.
Anyway, I found the link. Did I miss it, when I looked before? I suspect it was only just added. I clicked on it. And I learned -------- AAAAaaaaaaaaaa! Entries were due the very next morning, July
6!
By the time we got home from church Sunday night, I had
been an A-One, First-Class, Bona Fide Indian Giver (I’m part Indian; I can say
that) (never mind the fact that I’m probably only 0.0001% Indian; I can say
that!) (and I will, even if I can’t): I had collected a whole heap of
stuff (well, nine things; that’s a heap, isn’t it?) I’ve made and given to
various family members, for entering in the fair.
In asking for and collecting things for the fair, I
discovered something: The apron I
thought sure I gave to Lydia, I had given to a friend, instead – and Lydia
doesn’t have an apron from me! She
really liked them, too. Dear me, and I thought I knew exactly which one I
gave her.
So there’s another project that has just taken a
jump to the top of my list. They only
take a day or so, fortunately.
“I want a cupcake one in pinks and aquas,” announced
Lydia. “Or whatever you want,” she added. hee hee
 |
| Larry & Caleb |
This business of entering stuff in the fair puts a
cramp in my style. I was not at all ready to hit the hay last night when
we got home; I was still in high gear. But
they accept entries from 7:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. It takes nearly an hour
and a half for morning ablutions, including drying and curling my hair. Then I would need to gather everything together
and drive to Ag Park on the far side of town. I certainly didn’t want to
arrive at the last minute, for I’ve never gone to the fair before, and didn’t
have the faintest notion what part of the building I was supposed to go in, or
how long it would take to check everything in. Victoria entered that
paper-pieced piano mug rug for me a couple of years ago, but that’s the only
thing I ever entered. Well, other than a project a teacher entered for me
without telling me, many years ago.
I answered email, read the news, edited pictures,
and finally got tired enough to go to bed. When my alarm went off at 7:00
a.m. and I ran into myself climbing in and climbing out at the same time, I regretted
that late retirement.
Larry took Teddy to work this morning. Later, the insurance company loaned him a rental
van to use for a while.
About 9:30 a.m., I headed to Ag Park, wondering, What
do I do, what do I do? Where do I go,
where do I go? Then, Oh, well.
I’ll just ask. There are always nice
people around to help helpless li’l ol’ ladies. I just give everyone my
sweetest smile, and they start springing forth to offer me assistance. I
find this funny... because once upon a time when we were teenagers and a
friend(?) and I were shopping at a big mall somewhere, people were being really
friendly to me... not so much to her... and she said snottily, “Well, just wait
until you’re so old you’re not cute anymore! Then everyone won’t be going
out of their way to fawn all over you.”
 |
| Plecostomas |
I laughed, “Cuteness has nothing to do with
it. They avoid you, because you look so sour.”
(You don’t suppose we’re still friends, do you? No?
You suppose right.)
I wonder how many things I entered? Hmmmm...
- Graceful Garden Quilt
- Arrow-Crown Apron
- Scissors Case
- Pincushion
- Needlekeep
- Cathedral Windows Pillow
- Kitties Mug Rug
- World Map Placemat
- Braided Star Table Topper
It didn’t even occur to me to take some of the doll
clothes I’ve made. Maybe next year.
Wednesday morning they are accepting photography. If I get a surge
of energy, I might print and mat a few photos. ‘If.’ That’s a
bigger word than you’d think.
 |
| Tiger barb |
This is kind of exciting... and I thank those of you
who encouraged me to enter! I saw a number of pretty quilts and crafts
already entered. The things will be on display Wednesday through Sunday. Judging of the craft items takes place this
very afternoon. Reckon I’ll be rich and
famous by the end of the week? Well, not
rich, since even the Grand Prize only garners a person $3.00 for each item.
By contrast, the winner at the Houston International
Quilt Show won $10,000! Just look at
this wonderful quilt and read the amazing details: Nancy Prince & Linda
French, On This Winter Day
I think I’ll see if I win anything from the fair,
and then use the money at Earl May. The Fun Money will give me 50%
off. Let’s hope I get enough to buy a heavy, dark red bird bath.
Victoria worked nine hours today – because one of
her coworkers didn’t come in, and failed to tell anybody what she was doing
until the last minute. You want to know
what she was doing? She was babysitting,
that’s what. She’d found herself a
nice-paying babysitting job, so skipped her shift at Earl May. This girl was once fired from the place – and
recently given her job back (the hiring manager doesn’t always make the
brightest decisions). Last week one
afternoon Victoria had the job of telling this girl and two new employees what
they needed to do before closing. This
girl refused to do anything. Victoria
told her manager the next morning, and the girl apologized. I wonder how long she’ll keep the job this
go-around?
It kept getting steadily smokier this afternoon and
evening. I figured one of the neighbors
had lit a big burn pile. When Victoria
got home, she said a customer at Earl May had told her the smoke was from the
wildfires on the Canadian border. That’s
over 1,000 miles away! I didn’t think
that could be. While far-off wildfires
have sometimes give the sky an odd color, especially when the sun is low, I
don’t recall ever seeing smoke from such fires lying low and thick on the
ground, and I certainly don’t remember ever being able to smell it. Not when it came from that far away. We decided to drive a little ways north,
where the hills are higher, and see what things looked like.
Every hill we crested only gave us another view of
smoke-filled valleys, and a sun gone blood-red in a smoky sky. I turned on the radio. The news came on... then the local news... And there it was.
Here’s a story an online quilting friend wrote:
“My brother-in-law’s name was David, as was his
father and his son, my nephew. Once, when the middle David was out of
work, he and my sister moved in with his parents for a while.
One day,
the phone rang, on a day when dear sis was just about at the end of her endurance.
The caller asked for David, and sis replied, “Which David do you want? David
the father, David the son, or David the holy terror?” :-D
Now I’d better get back to the Mosaic Lighthouse
quilt binding. I’m putting the binding
facing on now. Then, before I do the
embroidery and add the Hotfix crystals, I must quilt the cross-stitch quilt
that I plan to give Loren for his birthday. Suddenly, it’s July – and his
birthday is August 9th!
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn
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