Here’s a little bird that we saw on the beaches of
Florida. I thought he was some type of
plover, possibly a juvenile Wilson’s. After
posting a picture on a photography forum, someone told me he’s a ruddy
turnstone. I looked it up, and sure
enough, that’s definitely what he is. He’s
in his non-breeding plumage. Turnstones
are now classified in the sandpiper family rather than with the plovers. These days, birders don’t have to guess at what family any particular bird
is in; DNA tells them.
According to the birding sites and my birders’ book,
ruddy turnstones are more likely to be found in the wintertime along the
California coast, in Cuba, and all along the South America coastlines except
for the very southernmost parts, than in Florida. So this sighting was evidently
somewhat rare.
Monday afternoon, Dorcas
sent pictures of their new baby goat, Little Bit – up in a tree! Silly little kid. :-D
That evening, Lura
Kay wrote to tell me that our late Uncle Howard’s son Robin had died of a heart
attack. He would’ve been 64 May 15th. I never knew this cousin very well, but I remember
liking him when as a child we would visit my mother’s family in North Dakota.
When he was quite
young, he was afraid of heights. In true
Winings fashion, he decided to rid himself of this fear. Thus, he propped a ladder against the house,
up to his second-floor bedroom window.
My Aunt Evelyn
entered his room in time to see him exiting through the window, stepping onto the
ladder, and saying to himself, “Just don’t look down, Robbie; just don’t look
down.”
Tuesday evening, I
took Loren some supper: meatloaf burger, creamy potato soup with
provolone cheese and a bit of garlic powder, green beans, and cherry jello.
Since he hasn’t done any work around our house for some time now, he insists
on paying me for the food, time, and gas.
I’m pretty sure I’m far, far behind, as he’s 22 years older than me, and
has been doing things for me since before I can remember! I
don’t see any chance of ever getting caught up, unless he becomes totally
incapacitated. heh
Loren will be 78 this August. He’s always busy, busy, busy.
His yard and house look so nice; he works hard at it. He’d just gotten back
from Wal-Mart when I got there. He’d bought
a stainless steel coffeepot for the gas stove in his camper and a nice backpack,
because he was planning a little excursion out to Rocky Mountain National
Park. He’s been there a couple of times since Janice passed away.
He loves the mountains almost as much as I do.
That night, I
completed the appliqués on the central block for the Buoyant Blossoms BOM (or
at least I thought I did, until I noticed one small edge of a flower
that hadn’t been stitched down). There was some embroidery to do on the
butterflies; I would do that the next day.
Every now and then,
fabric I am sewing rubs the underneath side of the take-up lever casing, just
above the needle bar. It comes away with black marks on it, and it’s as
hard to get them off as it is to get grease out of Larry’s work shirts! Wouldn’t
you know, some of this greasy oil got on the piece I was sewing – on the
off-white background, of course.
I used OxiClean Max
Force Laundry Stain Remover Spray on the spots. With a name like that, it
otta be good, right? I applied it a couple of times... let it sit for a
few minutes... and dabbed at it with a hot, wet cloth and some detergent, as
recommended on the OxiClean bottle. This resulted in damp black
marks, as opposed to dry black marks.
I let it soak longer...
tried it again. The spots faded, but
didn’t come out entirely. I applied
more, and let it sit overnight. That
just about did the trick. The two
remaining spots are light and smaller than the head of a pin, barely
noticeable. But they’re still there.
Ugh.
Black oil or grease
will contain itself carefully inside machines of any type until white fabric
comes near said machine. It will totally ignore blacks, dark browns, or navies.
But the moment the oil or grease detects the white fabric, it will leap forth
with great glee to smudge and smear itself upon the fabric.
When I started
writing of this matter, I wondered what that particular part of my sewing
machine was called, from whence the oil was coming. I looked for a diagram.
So... in case you,
too, ever need to know the name of some thingamarolphgidget on your sewing
machine, here you are:
And you’re welcome.
Victoria worked 57 hours a couple of weeks ago.
60, the week before that. This, partly because the one and only nasty
(and extremely lazy) girl who worked at Earl May Gardening Center got fired
(finally), and because hours pick up there in the springtime. Also, having been promoted to supervisor at
Super Saver, she now works 40 hours there.
That’s too many hours for her. She gets too tired... too sore and
achy... and, as she stated, “I have to make time for a couple of dates, somewhere
in there!”
Wednesday morning
dawned pretty and sunny, 62° by midmorning and well on its way to the projected
68°. I poured myself a fresh mug of Gevalia’s vanilla roast coffee and filled
the bird feeders. They’d been empty for a couple of days, so the birds didn’t
notice that they’d been refilled for a little while. But the backyard
trees were full of red-winged blackbirds, robins, mourning doves, grackles,
field sparrows (I think), yellow-rumped warblers (maybe)... and an unknown or
two. The questionable ones were out of sight, and I’m not sure of their
songs; so I’m making only-partially-edjeecated guesses.
I paid some bills, ordered
birthday gifts for my sister and a couple of grandsons, and then off I went to
embroider butterflies’ wings. Did I have any orange floss???
I dug through a bag of floss and found some orange/rust/peach
variegated stuff that would fill the bill.
It took longer than I expected to embroider all the little spots, the
legs, and the antennae, complete with beads at the ends.
The corners of this
large block will be pieced; that’ll be part of another month’s block. I won’t post this one on my quilting blog
until the end of May, but here’s a sneak peek.
I think I’ll offer
a few suggestions of other possibilities for the center block at the time I
upload it. Some of the pieces weave over and under each other and some
are very small, and it’s a little tricky knowing where they go, since the
lightbox doesn’t shine through multiple layers of pattern and fabric. I
can just imagine people getting all frustrated, wailing and gnashing their
teeth. :-\
I like to look at
other people’s patterns, and see how they go about selling them, explaining
them, writing instructions, etc. I’m new to this pattern-selling
business, and I’m sure I have a lot to improve on.
I picked up the five little Jacksons after school that day. We always have great fun driving home, telling
each other stories.
After church that night, I finished embroidering the
tulip basket block.
Thursday, I set out
to make a table topper for Maria’s sister Heidi, who’s getting married May 29th. They should be able to have their reception in
our new Fellowship Hall, as it will most likely be done in time. I decided
to draw my own design, as opposed to using someone else’s pattern, so that I
can offer it for sale on my Craftsy and Etsy stores. Why didn’t I do
this with all those mug rugs I made a couple of years ago?? Well, I
still can, by using my photos. But... if I post the pictures along with
the mugs they were made specifically to match, people will want to know where
to get the mugs. Then I’ll have to admit I got them at the Goodwill and
the Salvation Army, won’t I? :-D I’ll
write up the instructions for the table topper after I finish it. Heidi’s kitchen colors are aqua blue, bronze,
and white. I rummaged through my fabric bins and pulled out all the colors
I thought might match and coordinate with each other, thinking of a friend
describing the process as ‘a pig rooting for truffles’.
I went upstairs to
refill my coffee mug – and caught a glimpse through the front window of
something moving fast. Peering out, I saw
Teensy loping pell-mell, lickety-split down the opposite side of the lane,
running for all he was worth as the neighbor’s pickup came along behind him,
rumbling over the cattle guard – and then, when Teensy got even with our
driveway, he cut right across the lane in front of the pickup with not a whole
lot of time to spare! Made my hair stand up on end, it did.
Half a minute
later, Teensy, who’s possibly around 12 years old, came into the house through
the pet door, limping slightly (fairly common for him – it seems he has a bit
of arthritis, if he’s not limping on account of getting bitten by one of the
stray cats). He barely got inside the kitchen before throwing himself
down on the floor, sprawling out and breathing hard. He lay there for a
while, thought about going to his food dish, got up, took two steps, and collapsed
right back down on the floor again.
Good grief, I thought, is the poor thing going to have a heart attack?!
He finally went and
got on the bed, and there he stayed for the next five hours, stretched out,
paws up, in a somewhat awkward position. Did himself all in, he did.
Back in my sewing
room again, I looked through favorite things I had saved on Pinterest... a few
of my photographs... pulled up my Electric Quilt program... and set my brain on
‘churn’ mode.
Eventually I
decided on the design, got it all in order, and printed the foundation blocks
on newsprint. I was ready to start!
But first, I took
my brother some supper. He wanted me to show him how to make pancakes, so
I made half a dozen. He ate three not-too-big ones and sent the other
three home with me. Mmmm, yummy. I make good flapjacks!
I was sitting at my
marble table sewing away, when a sudden, loud
humming-tooting noise interrupted the quiet.
It was the Rowenta iron steam station, making like it wanted to blow its
top! Should I put on a helmet?
It was loud. LOUD, I tell you! LOUD.
It stopped when I released some steam through the iron. I turned it off, let the pressure in the tank
drop, removed the cap, and checked the gasket.
Everything looked all
right. But it sure hadn’t sounded all right.
I sent a text regarding
the anomaly to Larry. He helpfully
suggested I put corn in it.
I turned the steam
station back on. It built up pressure –
and went back to tooting.
I released the
pressure and turned the steam gauge down.
There has not been a repeat of the malfunction. I certainly hope it keeps working; I’ve never
had an iron I like half so well as
the Rowenta steam station.
Lydia sent pictures
of some chocolate turnovers she’d just made, writing, “Arby’s quit selling
chocolate turnovers, so I made some myself. Yummy!!”
Then, “And so healthy!” she added.
That reminded me of
when she was little, and if we gave her something she didn’t like, she’d say, “This
isn’t very good for me.” On the
other hand, if we gave her something she really liked, she’d say in
great sincerity, “I can tell this is really good for me!” hee hee
Shortly thereafter,
Jeremy sent pictures of the dining room floor he’s laying. Isn’t it beautiful?
Jonathan loves the ‘track’
his Daddy has made for him (the dark border).
He drives his trains around it all day.
That evening,
Victoria fixed pork burgers with ‘the works’ for Kurt and Aaron. Aaron went with them to Norfolk to get Kurt’s
wedding ring.
Victoria ordered
her wedding gown – and was informed that that particular gown is on back order
from the manufacturer until October 1st. Yikes, that’s cutting it close. But it’s the exact, precise gown she wants, and therefore no other gown will
do.
So we’ll wait until
that first week of October... and then... if the dress is not forthcoming,
we’ll head for Omaha and hunt down a wedding gown. But we will keep hoping... hoping... hoping...
Kim Komando,
technology advisor, is warning that someone called The Collector has stolen
hundreds of millions of email addresses – and passwords – from gmail, Hotmail,
and yahoo mail. We’re all supposed to
change our passwords. I don’t
wanna. Maybe I won’t.
Who cares? If those passwords aren’t for anything else
important, such as the bank account where I secretly store my millions,
then... who cares?
If, and only if, someone starts using my
accounts to send spam, then and only
then will I change the passwords.
I always assume
that people will take a look at me, and never, ever steal anything from
me, because I’m so formidable! Or sympathy-provoking. Something.
One of the few things
I ever had stolen from me in my whole life was a large half of a geode, with
beautiful amethyst crystals inside it. My parents let me get it at a rock
shop in the mountains. That rock was
stolen right smack-dab out of my very own bedroom by my very own friend, who
was about 9 years old. When I realized
what had happened (I was about 2 ½ years older than her), I felt so bad about
it, I never told on her.
A few years ago
when we were traveling through the Rockies, I decided to get another geode to
take the place of the one that had been stolen from me so long ago – and I
discovered that the price of those things has gone up by about
eleventy-thousand percent! I didn’t need
one, after all.
Saturday, I
continued with the paper-piecing for the table topper. I’ve made a good start on it. When printing the foundations blocks, I ran
out of newsprint. I ordered three reams
from Blick Art Supplies Friday night. The
last three reams lasted three years. Why
did shipping three years ago cost $8.95, while shipping today costs only $4.95?? Each ream is $3.54, down 2¢ from 2013.
I sure hope that
shipment picks up speed. It’s taken it
75 hours to travel 57 miles, from Galesburg, Illinois, to Rock Island, Illinois. That’s 0.76 mph. If it never goes any faster, it will take
exactly 521.84 hours to go 427 miles, which is about 23 ½ days.
That won’t do.
Maybe Eakes Office
Supply uptown might ha---------------- Oh, good grief. I just checked online, and learned that a
ream of Pacon newsprint from Eakes is – are you sitting down? It’s $23.29
per ream!!! How can that be??
Hmmmm... I could
order it from Wal-Mart, I see. And I get
a choice of prices, seemingly for the same stuff: Here’s a ream of Sax newsprint for $10.27...
or $14.15... or, if that’s not enough to suit me, $29.21. That’s worse than
Eakes’ price! Hmmm... here’s Pacon, same
brand Eakes sells, for $13.11. Or I
could get it for only $4.51, if I prefer – and pay an astronomical amount of shipping.
Okay. The quilting ladies who originally told me
that Blick Art was the cheapest place to get newsprint were telling the truth. Hopefully, it will get here before I use up
the pieces I’ve already printed.
I discovered why I
didn’t seem to have nearly as many pieces of aqua-blue or teal as I thought I did: I’d pulled out
some of my favorites a week ago, and laid them out near my older machine – and
they looked so pretty laying there, all fanned out and overlapping and coordinating
so nicely, they just looked like they belonged there, and there they
stayed.
Fortunately, I
spotted them again just before I started cutting and sewing. So several
more aquas, blues, and teals have been incorporated into the design. I’d
already begun sewing when Caleb sent me a note with the size and shape of Heidi’s
table (Heidi is Maria’s sister): it’s round, and is about 60” in
diameter. Now how’s this for serendipity: the finished size
of this irregularly-edged table topper will be 57.5”.
Last week I got a
package of small squirt guns. Most are for some little grandsons.
One is for me – to discourage the squirrels from eating sunflower seeds out of
the bird feeder.
I just tried one
out.
First, it shoots a much
too gentle spray. The squirrel, upon feeling the drops and mist, turned
and looked at me with bright eyes, watching (and squinting) as I rained a small
mist down over him. He squinted and polished off his cheekful of
seeds. I reloaded and sprayed him again.
He tipped his head, looked at me reproachfully, then turned his back and
put up his umbrella (aka ‘tail’) and went on eating.
I banged the now
empty squirt gun on the window sill. The squirrel turned and came
scampering along the railing directly to the window to see what I wanted.
He sat up and peered up at me, altogether too cute for words. He
extracted another seed from his cheek, nibbled it.
And then I was glad
Larry wasn’t here to laugh at me, because I said, said I, in a soft don’t-scare-the-animals
voice, “Is it good?”
Guess the grandsons
will get all the guns in the package.
That morning, I was reading and watching video clips about that huge fire
all around Ft. McMurray, Alberta, Canada. 1,600+ homes have burned to the
ground. 90,000 people have been evacuated, and there’s no telling when
they will be able to go back to whatever is left of their homes. The
blaze covers nearly 400 square miles – and was expected to double in size Saturday.
So awful.
And then I noticed that our skies were so hazy, it
looked like thick fog, and it was getting more and more smoky-smelling! I
hadn’t even realized I was smelling smoke until I started getting a headache.
I looked at the weather news – and learned that the smoke in our area wasn’t
from Canada, as I had supposed; rather,
it was from Minnesota. There were wildfires in the Iron Range, up by Hoyt Lakes:
Firefighters
Struggle Against Paul Bunyan Forest Fire
So much for having the windows open on a nice spring day!
The smoke went away later that afternoon, as the wind picked up and blew from
a different direction. My headache thumped and pounded on, however.
Just imagine all those poor people right there in the thick of those
fires! I wonder how they cope? I
suppose some have to get masks – those types with filters – and others would very
likely require oxygen.
Until a couple of years ago, I don’t recall smoke from so far away
troubling us. Maybe I’m more sensitive to it now... maybe I never
noticed... maybe I thought it was from something burning nearby ... or maybe
the weather is different, and the smoke is more likely to come right down into
our parts of the country? Whatever the cause, it’s not pleasant. Our house is not very airtight; outside
smells come right in.
Here’s an interactive map that shows location of active fires throughout North America: Public Information – Active Fires. It always surprises me to look at one of those maps, and realize how many fires are burning at any given time, in locations I didn’t even think of as being in danger of wildfires.
Hannah and the
three younger children came out that afternoon, bearing gifts for Mother’s Day. Aaron had made a pencil holder of popsicle
sticks glued around a glass cup, with ribbon and lace tied around it.
Nathanael wrapped yarn around a column
candle tightly enough that it looks like knit fabric.
One of the cards they gave me has several
pages, and looks like quilting blocks and stitches.
Hannah brought a corsage;
Larry generally relies on her to get it for me.
I even remembered to wear it to church yesterday.
I shared the humongous
dipped strawberries from Keith with the children. Things taste better when you have someone to
share them with; did you know that?
Josiah and Leroy
came to the door with an old-fashioned butter crock with three different colors
of salvia planted in it.
Next, Lydia brought
a pretty bouquet of flowers in a celadon green vase, along with lotion, bath
gel, a candle that smells like lilacs, and fur-lined suede bedroom slippers.
Sunday, Hester gave
me some chocolates, a lovely Kalanchoe, and a gift card.
We took Norma a
Mother's Day gift: a Campbell’s cookbook,
along with several Campbell’s Soup-in-a-Bowl, Cream of Celery, and Cream of Something
Else.
Hannah’s family made a Sunday meal for her: Bobby did pork chops in the Traeger grill, Aaron baked potatoes, Levi cooked seasoned mixed vegetables, Nathanael
made a concoction of berries with homemade cream cheese dressing, and Joanna
made double-chocolate skillet cookies and ice cream.
Victoria wasn’t feeling so well last evening before
church. She took her temperature – and
discovered it was 101.5°! No wonder
she wasn’t feeling well. She decided to
stay home.
Today, Loren headed
off to Rocky Mountain National Park for a little vacation. There have been some thunderstorms around,
but I think he has managed to travel between and around them. He’s staying at North Platte tonight.
Good grief, Teensy
is clawing the leather loveseat! ((time
out while I yell at him)) He rarely does
that. I think he’s upset that the orange
cat has decided to stick around. He’s
shedding quite badly, too, which is often a sign of distress. He’s usually a well-behaved indoors cat,
never destructive.
Speaking of cats
being destructive... one of my sister’s cats once pulled all the beautiful
decorations off her daughter Susan ’s new
Easter hat. Lura Kay had made it – she
used to make beautiful hats of wool, straw, etc. The cat had chewed those decorations to
smithereens. Lura Kay came around the
corner to find Susan (she was about 11, I think) nearly in tears, holding the
cat up in front of her face and thoroughly lecturing it, while the cat looked
every which way but at Susan.
“You look at me
when I’m talking to you!!!” remonstrated Susan, and Lura Kay had
to flee for her life before she burst out laughing at her poor woebegone, upset
daughter and the sheepishly guilty cat.
I don’t recall any
of our cats chewing anything up, though Teensy did suck on blankets when he
first came here, probably as a result of trauma at being dumped by his first
owner.
He should be pretty
certain he won’t get dumped by us,
though, don’t you think? Larry doesn’t
even complain when the cat cuddles up on his shoulder and wakes him up!
I’d better hurry
back to the sewing machine.
* * *
Seen in the comment
section of a news story:
“In
the world of liberalism, sanity is an orphan.”
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
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