The Cars Are Sick -- And So Am I!

I have a friend who lives in New York City – and loves it, for a number of reasons.  Judging by the number of people who live in big cities, there are obviously a whole lot of people who feel the same, since I don’t imagine all of them have to live there.  Though... come to think of it... if everyone decided they wanted to live in a rural setting, there wouldn’t be enough rural settings to go around, would there?

One of my great-nieces, her husband, and three young children just had a week-long vacation – which they spent in ... Chicago!!!  Mah woid.

Actually, I like to see big cities... even travel through them (not during rush hour, please).  I’ve seen some quaint little B&Bs in the middle of big cities that I’d like to stay in overnight... and I’d like to explore all around town via hansom cab.  I like to explore.  I like to see things.

But a day would do.  I prefer backwoods mountainous places where humanity is few and far between.  I want to go back to British Columbia one of these days.  I want to go to Alaska.  I want to go to Montana... Idaho... northern California (well, I know there’s a bit of humanity there – but it’s not like L.A., that’s a fact).

Last Monday afternoon, Victoria talked with a couple of friends of ours who do the majority of the planning for meals and luncheons at our church, and got the menu for her reception all planned out.  Then she went to Super Saver and bought (or ordered) all her groceries.  Some things will be picked up fresh right before the wedding; other things are now residing in the freezer at their house.  She tried not to be too extravagant, and she saved some money using her 10% employee discount.  But feeding 450 people even a conservative lunch is not cheap. 

Kurt’s grandparents, upon learning that ice cream had been dropped from the menu on account of the cost, proceeded to give Kurt and Victoria more than enough money to re-add it to the spread.  There are those who really need ice cream with their cake!

That night, I was sitting in my recliner typing happily away on my laptop.  Behind me, a cat was munching happily away at the food bowl.  I thought it was Teensy – until cute Little Gray came strolling through, licking his chops and heading into the music room.  I put down my laptop, got up, picked him up, sweet-talked him, and put him back outside, telling him, “You don’t belong here!  Really, you don’t.”  He purred.  I put the pet blocker in the door to the garage, which meant Tabby and Teensy wouldn’t be able to come and go as they wish.  They do need to be able to head out when they want, as we have no litterbox indoors, and they need to come in to eat.  Tabby needs his soft food fairly often, as he eats very small amounts at a time. 

Cats, aarrgghh!!!

Maybe we’ll have to create and install an electronic pet door that only opens when it detects a certain computer chip close by – and that chip could be implanted into a collar for our own cats?

Aaaaa... well, botheration.  Someone has already invented such a device: 

http://www.petsafe.net/doors/electronic-doors  For $64, we can keep out Little Gray.

Rats!  I already had it all planned out what I was going to do with my first million, after I patented and sold that thing! 

Dorcas, her husband Todd, baby Trevor, and the two boys for whom they are caring, Blake, 11, and Braxton, 4, came to visit Tuesday, and had supper with us.  They live in Tennessee, 1,025 miles away.  They stayed with Todd’s youngest son, who is stationed at Offut Air Force Base in Bellevue.  He’s being deployed to Japan soon, so they wanted to see him and his wife before he went. 

When Dorcas told me they were coming, I wrote back, “Things are a bit dusty; I’ve been sewing wedding clothes instead of cleaning!  If any of you feel a sneeze coming on, please stand next to the dustiest thing you see, in order not to waste the effort.”  :-D

We had spaghetti and meatballs, chef salad, with cherry crumb pie and French vanilla ice cream for dessert. 

Blake is a nice boy – and what he’s doubtless going to remember most about this visit is the fact that I equipped him with a flyswatter and set him to slaughtering the gazillions of mosquitoes of various species and genera that managed to make their way into the house, what with people going in and out.

Braxton was tickled pink that we all liked him; both boys are hungry for affection.  He gave me a hug and wanted me to pick him up – but he’s too big for me; I gave him an extra hug instead.  So he was delighted when Larry got home, scooped him up... up... up... until he could touch the ceiling.

Baby Trevor, 7 months, is bright and inquisitive – and both of the older boys, especially Blake, like to entertain him and make him laugh.

We had an enjoyable visit.  Bobby and Hannah, and Loren came for a little while, too.  Afterwards, on their way back through town, Bobby and Hannah showed them around our new school before they headed back to Bellevue.  

Remember the neighbors I’ve talked about, the ones who want Larry’s garage done now, but complain about the noise every time he works on it?  The ones whose house – quite new, and done to their specifications, so that you’d think they’d stay there the rest of their lives – is inexplicably up for sale?  Anyway, regarding Larry’s machines, motors, and engines:  Larry is generally a peaceful person, and he almost always simply turns off his equipment if the woman complains.  He has a temper, though, and if he’s pushed far enough...  Well, not too long ago, he suddenly startled the daylights out of her when she arrived screaming one late afternoon (she never comes politely, asking nicely if he would turn a motor off), and he whirled around and shouted, “Aw, WHY DON’T YOU SHUT YOUR BIG MOUTH?!” 

She jumped so violently, she nearly tumbled onto her caboose before she scurried for the house.  She’s the only one allowed to yell and scream, after all!  Thereafter, she resorted to flicking her outdoor light on and off, rather than strutting over to scream at him.  She did that the other day when my brother was here helping Larry put up the Internet dish on the tall tower he erected.  The scissor lift was idling, as they were in the caged platform, way up there 40 feet in the air.  It was still light out, probably about a quarter ’til nine – and the lady(?) started flicking her lights on and off.

I suggested that Larry should have a popgun ready, and every time the light flashes, blow one of the bulbs out.  Then, in order to cover his hide, call 911 and in a concerned tone tell them that he is very worried that the neighbors are having some sort of dangerous electrical surging, because every time they try to turn on their lights, a bulb blows up.  Struck ourselves quite funny over this bit of cleverness, we did. 

And of course we would never do such a thing.

I took them a pumpkin pie when they first moved in.  And Larry not only cleared the lane of snow, he also cleared their drive for them.  He doesn’t do that anymore.  We’ve tried to be good neighbors!

I want that pie back.

Wednesday afternoon, Larry and I went to pick up my Jeep Commander from the Jeep/Chrysler dealership where they were putting in a new fuel pump – the pump Larry had painstakingly installed last week was a lemon!  Furthermore, he’d learned that the warranty he thought had expired was still alive and kicking, so most of the work and parts were covered.  He was able to return to the faulty fuel pump to the parts house from whence he purchased it and get a total refund, thankfully.

BUT!!! – some idget in the garage put that used fuel pump in nothing but a cardboard box --------- and then stuck it in the back of my Jeep, right on the carpet!!!  Larry popped open the back hatch --- and the gas fumes nearly knocked him flat, and gas fumes don’t bother him nearly so much as they bother me.  No way could I drive that thing all the way home like that.

He grabbed the box and headed back into the dealership, while I rolled all the windows down.  They wrapped the box in multiple layers of plastic and taped it shut – and it still stunk to high heaven.  Larry put it in the trunk of the other vehicle we’d driven there (Victoria’s old Aurora Oldsmobile), and hurried off to the parts house. 

Meanwhile, I waited in the customers’ lounge while they apologetically took my Jeep back into the garage, shampooed the carpet, and put those little Febreze smallSPACES air fresheners into strategic spots.  Forty minutes later, I was finally leaving, with the Jeep in considerably better shape, aromatically speaking (and fuel-pump-wise), with another apology and a gift certificate for a total detailing, inside and out, at my convenience.

Home again, I returned to my sewing room, where I’d intended to spend the day.  I shortened Emma’s sash and then sewed it to the side seams of her dress.  I sewed Robin’s sash to her dress, too.  Those things are slippery... I’d hate for them to come untied, slither off, wind up around the girls’ feet, and send them smack onto their faces as they attempted to walk down the aisle! 

As I work on wedding things, previous experiences with wedding sewing comes to mind:

Once upon a time, just a month before our own wedding, a couple of our friends got married – and Larry and I were their best man and maid of honor, respectively.  The bridesmaid and I made our own dresses with fabric the bride chose for us.  I was 18.

It was a Gunne Sax pattern a lot like this one:

The bride wanted the dresses to be floor length.

Problem:  she chose a thin tricot knit, almost a jersey, that was very stretchy.  The full gathered skirt wound up quite heavy.  Sandy and I finished sewing our dresses... and then the trouble began. 

Because the skirts were circular (as opposed to large rectangles gathered at the top), part of it was on the bias, and part of it was on grain.

It started stretching.  Just hanging there on a hanger, that thing began to grow.  But not evenly, oh no!  It strrrretched loooong at the bias – and it kept stretching. 

We let them ‘rest’ for a few days, and then we helped each other rehem them.  First Sandy and then I would stand on a chair and turn... round... and round... and round... and round... while the other, ruler in hand, would mark the dress where it just touched the chair.

By the time we’d made one complete revolution, the dress had grown longer, and the marks were no longer right.

We finally hemmed them a little shorter than the bride had wanted, chose shoes with high heels, and hoped no one would notice how uneven those hems were.

The night of the wedding, all went well.  Initially.  There was the Grand Procession... the song service... the sermon... and then the ceremony.

“Will the wedding party take their places,” intoned my father in customary solemnity for that important occasion.

As one, we six personages rose and stepped forward.

The ceremony went along without a hitch.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” finished my father.  “Let us pray.”

When the prayer concluded, we were to step back the few paces to the pew whereon we’d been sitting, as the pianist and organist began to play the final song.  The congregation would rise, begin singing... and as they sang, the wedding party would conduct their recessional – that is, exiting down the center aisle, one couple at a time.

“Amen,” said my father, and we commenced to backing.

BUT.  My dress had grown again at the back skirt section, probably an aftermath of me sitting in it (and stretching it) all through the service, along with gravity exercising its rude influence.

My first step back resulted in me treading upon my own hem.  This pulled hard on the dress, jerking me backwards – whereupon I stepped solidly on the hem with my other foot, which in turn yanked the dress down even farther in the back.  By now I was tilting back at an alarming angle, and each step back to catch myself only caused me to, in essence, walk right up the inside of the back of the dress.

The only thing that saved me was the fact that we weren’t far from the pew, and the backs of my legs suddenly met up with the front edge of the pew, and stopped me in my tracks.  I then managed to extract my hands from my bouquet, jerk that cantankerous hem out from under my shoes, and recapture my dignity.

You can be sure, I didn’t take another solitary step that evening without first gathering up a handful of skirt and hoisting it out of the way of my feet!

I recounted this story to some friends recently, whereupon one remarked, “What a nightmare!!!  Glad no one fell and got hurt.”

“Well,” I told her, “I would say that the biggest problem was trying to keep from laughing.  I was 18!  Everything was funny.”

After church, I worked on the insert for the top of Victoria’s gown, as the neckline is a bit too low.  I used the yard of matching taffeta we ordered at the same time we ordered the gown.  I started with a simple bodice pattern – but before I cut it, I made tapered bias pleats in the yardage, ¾” wide at the top and ¼” wide at the bottom, and angled them to coordinate with the pleated design at the waist.  Then I placed the pattern atop the pleats the way I thought it looked best, offsetting it a bit to match the offsetting at the waist, pinned, and cut.  The lining will make it hold its shape.

Thursday I washed a few loads of clothes and sewed on Joanna’s bag.  I attached borders on the blocks to give them an attic-window effect – though I’m not sure it has that much of an effect, since only one block can be seen at a time.

 I have some Peltex 71F single-sided fusible ultra-firm Pellon stabilizer that I might use.  It feels like cardboard, almost; it might be too stiff.  But I don’t want to buy anything if I don’t have to.

Do you know, I made that entire Buoyant Blossoms quilt from scraps, and the only thing I bought was the batting?  I’m pleased about that.

That evening, Larry, Victoria, and I went to Omaha – caravan-style, in three separate vehicles:  Larry drove the VW Touareg, I drove the Jeep, and Victoria drove the Aurora.  We first met with a girl who, after her brother checked it out for her, bought the Aurora. 

Next, we dropped off Victoria’s Touareg at the dealership so they could – hopefully – fix it.  Sometimes at highway speeds (or slower, too), it feels like someone suddenly slams the thing into Park.  It especially happens if we accelerate quickly.  Drive it like a li’l ol’ lady on the way to Sunday School, and it’s usually all right.  Usually.  Every now and then it downshifts hard, too.  If it wasn’t for that, it would be a terrific little SUV.

We all came home in the Jeep – and discovered that evidently when the mechanics at the Jeep dealership put in the new fuel pump, they damaged the float or something, because it wasn’t registering fuel levels properly.  It stayed at three-quarters full, 270 miles to go before empty, for 150 miles... and then suddenly the low-fuel light came on – and the Check-Engine light with it.  Also, the tire pressure sensors went all wonky halfway to Omaha... but recovered themselves after about 20 miles.

Sooo...  Friday, I took the Jeep back to the dealership in town.  Aarrgghh, I didn’t wanna, I didn’t feel like it!  I’d acquired a sore throat the night before, and by Friday it was worse.  I suppose I could’ve hunted up the guy who stuck that leaking fuel pump in the back of the Jeep, getting gas all over the carpet, and breathed and coughed on him, just for spite and malice.

Because of the gas they got on the carpet last week, we’ve been leaving the windows open a bit – so mosquitoes got into the Jeep, and I had a rip-snortin’ free-for-all with them all the way to town.  Since I killed more persqueeters (as my little nephew used to say) than I acquired bug bites, I’d say I won.  Nor did I run any li’l ol’ ladies off the road during the skirmish, either.  I get points for that, don’t I?

The young man who listened to my complaints was polite and helpful.  He brought a courtesy van out for me to drive until the Jeep is fixed.

When I got home, I poured myself a cup of French vanilla coffee, stuck an extra-strength Cepacol in my mouth, and posted the next pattern for the Buoyant Blossoms quilt – the Blue Lotus appliqué block. 

Wouldn’t you know it, the pattern-upload/edit function of Craftsy was down for maintenance – or at least that’s what it said, every time I tried to upload a pattern.  In actuality, they were revamping the entire site.  I reckoned they’d be back up before long; they have too many customers and sellers to have it down too long.  The peasants would revolt!  The aristocrats would start a mutiny!  Still, you’d think such large websites could do such things overnight, instead of smack in the middle of the day, when they have the majority of their web traffic.

I went to bed about midnight, but got up again in an hour, as I couldn’t sleep, because I couldn’t breathe, lying down, and drainage in my throat made me feel like I was drowning.  Yuck.  I took some medicine, but it didn’t help much.  I decided to sleep in the recliner.

Trouble is, the only time I seem to be able to sleep in the recliner is when I don’t intend to.  Here’s a question:  why doesn’t Larry snore when he’s in bed alone; but as soon as I go climb in, he goes to sawing logs like a, uh, like a logger?  My presence must relax him.  Or make him nervous, one or a-tuther, depending on, uh, this or that.  Whatever makes any particular person snore.  There is more than one reason, you know.

Around 6 in the morning, the cold medicine finally kicked in, and I managed to sleep for a few hours.  Then I got up, took a bath, washed my hair, ate some oatmeal – got too tired to see straight, and went back to bed.

Ugh, I hate wasting time!  The next time I got up, I headed downstairs to finish the insert for Victoria’s gown.  I sewed lining to outer pieces at the neckline, trimmed, turned, and pressed it (carefully!), then serged the edges.  Now I just have to tack it to the dress. 

Once upon a time, about 30 years ago, I was feverishly sewing Christmas dresses for Hannah and Dorcas, ages 5 and 4, the night before our Christmas program.  The fabric was a red silky stuff with a gold metallic thread running through it.  I sewed black lace on the multitudes of skirt ruffles and over-the-shoulder ruffles, set in a black chiffon yoke on the bodice, attached a black chiffon sash, and put in black chiffon sleeves.  I took the last stitch, turned off my sewing machine, went to the iron, set the iron down on a sleeve – and the hungry thing ate it.  I mean, it gobbled a large hole right out of the middle of that sleeve. 

I had neglected to press the Steam button before touching iron to fabric.

Luckily, I had just barely enough chiffon left to cut another sleeve.  I took out the old… put in the new… and finished (again) at 4:00 a.m. 

Morning came pretty quickly, that day.

I stayed home from church yesterday, as I still had a bad cold, with some stomach flu symptoms, too.  Sore throat... earaches... achiness... fever... cough... congestion... 

The neighbor’s cute little gray cat keeps coming indoors through the pet door!  And he doesn’t get along with our cats.  Aarrgghh.  I live in a menagerie.

Tiger has wound up with several bad bites in the last week.  His poor face was all swollen... the sores were infected... then they drained...  We’ve been putting triple antibiotic salve on them, and they’re getting better.  Poor kitty.  I don’t know who the culprit is, but I do know that he and Little Gray do not like each other.

It’s time for me to change the cover or banner on the quilt-talk group – and Yahoo is not allowing photo uploads.  I tried three different browsers – and then noticed on another forum that people are complaining about this very issue.

Now I need to figure out how to make these zippered pockets stand alone, one after another, in the interior of the bag.  I’ve found a gazillion tutorials and instructions for side pockets, but none for putting them in the center of a purse or bag, as a divider. 

Guess I’ll just launch in, and see what happens.  Maybe I could find a cheap purse at the Goodwill, deconstruct it, and see what makes it tick. 

Oh! – maybe if I look up ‘divider’...

Yes!  Here we go, I’ve found several tutorials. 

I need to drop off some things at the Goodwill.  Want me to pick you up a tarnished wall sconce while I’m there?  A chipped cup from Disney World?  A book on fad diets from the 70s?

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