Weddings and Birthdays, Oh, My

Last Monday, the Schwan man – yet another new one – came.  It was an older man, polite, friendly, fast, and efficient, even though he doesn’t have all the numbers in the book memorized yet.  The man who came to my house (for the first and only time) a month ago was about 30, tall, with narrow shoulders and broad hips, the fundamental opposite of Big Bad John.  He had messy, wavy, almost curly, hair in a strawberry roan color.  And he was such a nervous nelly, he gave me back my check after he keyed it into his system instead of putting it in his money pouch.  (I looked at it to see if there was a problem with it... handed it back.)  He parked way off down the lane, and then when he got my order and went back to the truck, instead of backing it up so he didn’t have a long city block to walk, he traipsed over hill and dale, heavily laden with bags of food.  It took him a year and a day to find the food, even though I’d placed the order a couple of days before, and he should’ve had it ready.  He apologized for the time it took – must’ve been half an hour, for pity’s sake – and I consoled him by saying, “Well, by next time, you’ll have a better idea where everything is.” 

He replied dolefully, “No, they never put anything in the same place.”

So I just smiled pityingly, because the only thing I could think of saying was, “Come to think of it, it wouldn’t do you any good anyway even if they did put it in the same place, because you don’t know how to punch your way out of a paper bag.”

The next week, the manager who used to deliver Schwan’s to us years ago brought the stuff, saying the other guy was having troubles with his route, so he was helping him out.  And now, another one.  I hope this one sticks around; the guy ‘with something in his mouth besides the normal stuff’, as a friend described him, annoys and makes me impatient.  And yes, I do feel sorry for him; but I feel sorry for me, too.

One of the things I got from Schwan’s was chicken pot pie.  It’s good stuff.  When Larry is eating chicken pot pie, Tabby is right at his knee, standing up against his leg, patting him, “Me-me-meeing” until Larry relents (he always relents) and gives him a few tidbits.  Tabby keeps at it until Larry finishes, and puts his plate down for Tabby to lick.  Larry’s own father would shudder at that ... but it doesn’t bother Larry in the slightest.

When Larry’s home and we’re eating, Tabby ignores me completely.  Larry’s a milquetoast in comparison to me, when it comes to giving begging kitties what they’re a-begging for.  But... Larry wasn’t home when I ate my chicken pot pie, so I got the full brunt of Tabby’s begging.  He’s quite an old pro at it!

For once, I put my plate down for the kitty to lick.  When I picked it back up a few minutes later, it was clean enough to go right back into the cupboard!

(No... don’t worry... I put it into the sink.)

That afternoon, Victoria went to Kurt’s house to take his little sister Wendy the cute sparkly gold T-strap shoes that had arrived for her (she’s the Jr. bridesmaid). 

They didn’t fit.  In fact, they were a good two sizes too small.  So Victoria sent them back and reordered.

Kurt and Victoria got their marriage license that day.  Here’s a picture they took on the courthouse steps.

Monday evening, I put the squares for the front and back of Joanna’s Blossom bag on my frame and began quilting them.  Looked funny – a couple of 13 ½” x 13 ½” blocks, side by side, on a 14’ frame. 

 Victoria put on her wedding dress, and then I pinned the insert into it.  The insert looks nice – but I should’ve cut it a little lower.  It’s all right...  and I can’t really redo it... Siggghhhh.  Why can’t I ever get anything exactly right??? 

I told Victoria, “Well, at least it’s not a turtleneck!” 

I paid some bills, watered the indoor flowers (the poor cyclamen were wilting all over the edges of the pots), started a load of clothes, and then headed off to my sewing room to stitch the insert in place.

A box came in the mail for Kurt and Victoria – a really nice knife set from Andrew and Hester.

On one of the online quilting groups to which I belong, we were discussing the various machine we have. 

I started with a Singer that my brother Loren gave me when I was about 8 years old, and he was selling sewing machines.  He helped me make a lined triangular-shaped scarf with grosgrain ribbon ties, showing me how to sew it right side to right side, leaving a hole to turn it, hand-stitching it shut, then making a little loop with the ribbons to hide the cut edge and sewing them onto the corners.

And so I was off and running!  I still have that little red-polka-dot scarf.  It matched one of my favorite red-polka-dot dresses, as we made it with the leftovers.

Next, I got a Bernina 830 Electronic Record, purchased new with two of my first paychecks when I was 17, back in 1978, when the world was very, very young.  I’d just started working in the Word Processing Center of Nebraska Public Power District, a job I enjoyed immensely.  I thought those big word processors, the computer’s predecessor, were the cat’s meow.

Anyway, I came home with this wonderful machine, which I purchased for $600 at half price (we had friends in the Bernina sewing machine business) – and was promptly informed by my father that I should have asked before making such a costly purchase.  After a bit of a discussion, he inquired, “Where will you put this sewing machine?”

“On my card table,” I replied.

“An expensive machine like this, on that flimsy little card table?!” exclaimed my father, aghast.

And with that, he walked to the phone, called the friend who had sold me the machine, and before I knew it, I was not only the owner of the MWMITW (The Most Wonderful Machine in the World), but I also had the store’s nicest desk in which to put the MWMITW!

That was the way Daddy rolled.

That was my only machine until I got a serger in 2006, an HQ16 in 2010, and then a Bernina Artista in 2011.  With that 830 Record, I sewed thousands upon thousands of clothing items and household decor.  I diligently kept it oiled and cleaned, and it has repaid me by never causing a moment of trouble, just humming quietly along, even at top speed, like a, well, like a sewing machine.

“Nothing runs like a Bernina.  Nothing.” ~ that’s Bernina’s motto, and that little machine has done its bestest to make it true.

I bought a new Bernina 1300DC serger in 2006.  Then I got a used Bernina 180E Artista sewing/embroidery machine, in 2011.  I love it, and use it all the time – with a few returns to the 830, sometimes when the Artista is embroidering, sometimes just to keep the 830 in good running order.  And it is in good running order, sewing so smoothly and nice, you’d think it was still brand new.

The 830 is mechanical; the 180 is computer-run.  I love all the bells and whistles – I need all those bells and whistles!  But...  that 830 is going to outlast the 180, I’ll just betcha it will.

In 2010, I got an HQ16 (HandiQuilter midarm).  It has totally changed the things I can quilt.  I’m so thankful for it; it was terribly difficult trying to cram a king-sized quilt through that 830 Bernina.

I also have a couple of antique treadles.  One works; the other would if it had a belt.  I keep them just to decorate my half-done quilting studio.  One is in a beautiful cabinet, and has the most intriguing folding wood tool box with all sorts of feet and gadgets.

Tuesday afternoon and evening, it rained like anything.  A couple of large bean and corn fields to our south have now been damaged beyond repair, and country roads were flooded and impassable.

Meanwhile, in Dover, Montana, they were getting 2-4 inches of snow!  More, in the mountains.  I want to be there...in a little cabin right up on Going-to-the-Sun Road.  I love it up there... and want to go back.  Caleb was only nine months old, the last time we were there.

I finished stitching the insert into Victoria’s wedding gown – and it didn’t lay right.  Ugh, why can’t I make it turn out like I want it to?!  I took the front part back apart.  The next day, she tried the dress on again, I repinned it, and then stitched it back in.  It was finally lying neatly and smoothly, as inserts ought to do.  So the second time was the charm.  I hope.

Teensy is intrigued with Victoria’s dress.  If she lays it on her bed, he wants to climb on it, in it, curl up and sleep inside it.  So any time she has the dress out of its protective bag, she must remember to keep her door shut.  She put it in my sewing room, draping it over a chair and up onto the big maple table – and that cat found it immediately, and started thinking about climbing it, and nearly pulled it off onto the floor! 

I cannot get a quilt done and spread it out without a cat strolling in with every intention of walking on it and lying on it.  Cats!  They want to be part of anything that has captured our attention.  Speaking of cats enjoying our fabric...

During the quilting of the Mariner’s Compass quilt a few years ago, I had more than half the quilt done, and it was getting easier, the farther I got from the center.  But one evening as I was sewing along, trying hard to make the loops and circles and curves smooth and artful (hard job, with my smallish Bernina and that big quilt), part of the quilt seemed to get stuck and drag back, making one loop take an odd tangent.  I stopped, put the needle down, and lifted the quilt carefully, thinking it had gotten caught on the edge of the table or something – and Socks went rolling out!  He’d been all cuddled up in there, and that’s why there was so much drag.

Socks, a dignified, imperial cat, took great umbrage at this disrespectful treatment, and went stalking off to the other side of the table in High Dudgeon, there to seat himself regally with his back to me.  He would not deign to so much as glance my way for another couple of hours.

Tuesday night, I poured another cup of coffee, and then got on with sewing a plum-colored chiffon sash for Kurt’s sister Mary’s dress.

Does anybody but me have troubles not so much when a drink is hot or cold, but when it’s lukewarm?  When not paying attention... lifting a drink to the mouth... the temperature of the liquid, being about the same as the air, lips, face, doesn’t make its presence known – and, if I’m oblivious to this fact, I just might wind up pouring the stuff straight into my face and right down my front!  (The color of my outfit will always be in direct contrast to the color of the liquid.  Always.)

Wednesday, Victoria told me a delivery was scheduled for arrival, and somebody would need to sign for it.  It was midafternoon before the DHL yellow truck came wandering down the lane.  The driver paused... stared at the house... then continued on over the cattle guard and up toward the neighbors’ house.  But before he got halfway up the hill, he backed back down, nearly winding up in the other neighbors’ lawn.  He backed... and backed... and then stopped for a while near the corner.  And then he disappeared. 

Five minutes later, he came back.  He pulled into the drive... pondered...

I went to the door so he would understand that, yes, this is a house, and yes, people do live here.

He brought a package to the door; I signed for it.  It was a lightweight tan trench coat Victoria had ordered.  Very pretty – and just in time for the cool weather we’ve been having.

She also got a beautiful winter white (slightly ivory) fur shawl to wear over her wedding gown when she leaves the church the night of her wedding.  It has snaps under the elbows, to make a sort of sleeve.  That makes them warmer than when they’re just hanging free, blowing in the wind.

As I quilted, I listened to big orchestras and bands on youtube.

So here’s Andre Rieu putting on a concert at the Qudos Bank Arena in Sydney, Australia.  The place seats 21,000 people – and it looks full, right up to the top.  He asks how many in the audience are from Sydney.  Thousands and thousands of hands go up.  Andre Rieu looks around, says, “A few,” points down into the audience, starts counting:  “One, two, three—” and everyone bursts out laughing.

After church that evening, I worked on the insert on Victoria’s wedding gown, and when that was done, I finished quilting the front and back of Joanna’s bag.

Thursday, October 6^th, was my birthday – I’m now 56.

That morning, Victoria took her wedding gown to a place in Norfolk that steams wedding gowns.  After being shipped to us in a box, it had to be steamed.  It’s slightly too long... and if steaming gown and petticoat doesn’t make it the right length, we’ll try starching the petticoat – and if that doesn’t work, I’ll have to add a ruffle of netting to the petticoat to make it hold the dress out a little more.

I worked on Joanna’s bag, as I could do no more on wedding attire until others finished various things.  Along about 9:30 a.m., it occurred to me that Victoria would be driving Kurt’s pickup, as her Touareg was still in Omaha.  I hope she understands that it handles much differently than her little SUV, I thought – and then gave a short but heartfelt prayer that she would be kept safe.

About ten minutes after that little prayer, as Victoria was heading north out of Schuyler, where she’d gone for a chiropractor treatment, she pulled into the passing lane and began going around a slower-moving vehicle. 

She was a little past being abreast with them when an east-moving vehicle on a gravel country road appeared from behind a bit of a hill, pulled up to the stop sign, and then with hardly a pause, turned south, entering the very lane in which Victoria was driving, aiming right straight at her.  There wasn’t enough time to hit the brakes and get back behind the car she was passing, so she instead stepped on the accelerator and started pulling over.  Better a sideswipe than a head-on, she thought. 

Fortunately, the driver of the northbound car beside her immediately veered toward the shoulder to give her room to pull in.  The oncoming car kept right on a-coming, seemingly oblivious to the calamity that was looking him right straight in the eyes.  Victoria skinned past him as she returned to the right lane as quickly as possible. 

And that was the High Excitement for that day.

Late that afternoon, Loren came and picked up some supper:  ancient-grain-encrusted cod, mixed vegetables, brussels sprouts, southern-style biscuits, vanilla pudding, chocolate chip/pea-nut butter chip cookies, and strawberry jello. 

I sat down at my sewing table to work on a cross-stitched Bucilla butterfly – and Teensy landed in my lap, thereby informing me that it was muddy outside.  As soon as his muddy little paws had warmed up, he headed off to a new perch.  My skirt was white, of course.

Meanwhile, it was snowing, just 150 miles to our west.  Wanna snowball fight?

I got a note from Hester, the subject line reading as follows: 

****COULD BE SPAM****  Happy Birthday!!!!   🎂

“Thank you!  :-)” I responded, then added, “Look, Verizon thinks that’s Spam, rather than a cake.”  :-D

Larry went to Omaha that evening to pick up Victoria’s Touareg.  They fixed only the airbag computer glitch.  Larry will attempt to fix the hard-downshift problem himself, now that he has a pretty good idea what the trouble is.  The Volkswagen dealership there in Omaha would’ve charged $7,700 to fix everything on that car!!  Good grief.  We only paid $1,500 for it, for pity’s sake!  (Maybe it was just that cheap because the seller knew how much it would cost to fix it!)  Until Larry can fix it, Victoria is driving it gently.  It works well, so long as one doesn’t accelerate hard.

Perhaps you’ll recall that last week I wrote about Kurt’s grandparents paying for the ice cream for Kurt and Victoria’s wedding reception?  Well, another friend of ours, upon learning that we did not plan to serve fresh fruit, offered to buy it!  We’d left it off the menu, since it’s expensive if one wishes to feed it to 450 people.  And one of Larry’s cousins is buying enough little pumpkins to decorate all the tables, which will have a fall/harvest theme.  We certainly have a lot of generous friends and relatives!

That night, realizing I was fast getting to the bottom of my last good-smelling candle, I wrote a note to Victoria, who was working at Super Saver, asking her to kindly bring home a candle.  (She carries a debit card for Larry’s and my banking account, and I now and again ask her to bring various things home from the store.)

The girl came home with not one, not two, but six candles!  There was one big Tropical Fruit candle from the Candle-Lite Company, and five smaller Glade candles, some striped.  They were in a gift bag along with a package of peanut butter cups and a pretty birthday card.  They smell sooo good...

“I’d just been wondering what to get you!” she told me.

I, in my defense, had totally forgotten it was my birthday.  I cannot therefore be accused of begging for a present.  Can I?

The other kids had been wishing me Happy Birthday and making noises about coming to visit, but it was cold, rainy, and blowing up a gale.  Plus, Larry would not be home until quite late.  So I recommended that they wait until Friday night to come visiting.

I sewed together three ruffly slips – a full and two half-slips – for Kurt’s little sister Wendy, winding up with one whole slip that will be just the right puffiness for her dress.  I took very wide, long zigzags (my machine does 9mm zigs and zags) through the elastic at the waist, so it’ll remain stretchy there.

Two of the bridesmaids’ petticoats are too small and too short.  I’ll add to them, and make them work, somehow.  I ordered a crinoline petticoat from Amazon that I hope will be the right size for Emma.

After quitting with the cross-stitching, I made use of a gift card Kurt and Victoria gave us for our anniversary.  It was from Omaha Steak Company.  I’d been saving it, in case we decided to go there.  But now I changed my mind, and placed an order online.  Tuesday, I should receive 4 (3 oz.) Gourmet Jumbo Franks, a Signature Seasoning Packet, 4 (3 oz.) Polynesian Pork Chops, 4 (4 oz.) Caramel Apple Tartlets, and 2 (4 oz.) Filets & 2 (4 oz.) Top Sirloins.  Mmmm...

Friday, the Jeep was supposedly fixed, and I headed to town to get it and return the courtesy van.  They had put in a new powertrain control module, and the total bill was $872.25.  However, the deductible on our warranty is $50.  They added some office fees, since the warranty is not through their dealership (Booo!  Hisss!), and I had to fork over $69.72.

Now, I’d already had to pay them about $75 the previous week, when they’d put in a new fuel pump.  (Remember the idget who put the old pump into a cardboard box and then set it inside my Jeep, and gas leaked all over the carpet?)  While I am no mechanic, I do know that when somebody installs a new fuel pump in my vehicle, and immediately thereafter the gas gauge is all wonky and the Check Engine light comes on, that same somebody did something wrong.  Duh.

I made a small complaint (you can’t bawl out the poor, hapless receptionist, after all – or at least you shouldn’t)... but paid the bill.

We did not drive it much at all – not quite 20 miles – before the gauge suddenly dropped to Empty, there was a ‘Ding!’, and the Check Engine light came back on.  Grrrrr...

After leaving the dealership, I went to Ruth’s house to pick up Wendy’s dress and the bodice of Mary’s dress. 

On the way home, I stopped at Hobby Lobby to get some heavyweight fusible interfacing to use in Joanna’s Blossom bag.  I met up with Hannah in the parking lot, and she showed me the quilling picture she’s been working on for Kurt and Victoria:

It will go on the wall behind their gift table at the reception (and of course on one of the walls of their home, later).

Larry has been saying that he wants to go to the cabin in Long Pine for a couple of days right after the wedding.  Sounds good to me – despite the fact that I know, regardless of the fact he hasn’t mentioned it, that what he wants to do is go hunting up there.

I’d better take along the Bucilla butterfly quilt, hmmm?  And my hiking shoes.  There are plenty of places to go hiking, if the weather cooperates.

Oh, and I’ll choose one of the nearby state parks or lakes to hike around – no hunting, there.  I only shoot things with cameras!  And I don’t care to get shot at, either.

Larry once shot some doves that I was supposed to turn into a gourmet meal the next day.  We were newlyweds, both of us 18 years old.  He carefully dressed the doves, and put the breast meat into saltwater to marinate overnight.  And then he set the dish on the counter. 

“Hey, you can’t do that; it’ll spoil!  You have to refrigerate them!” I objected.

“No, this is what my mother always does,” he informed me knowledgeably.  “The salt will keep it fresh.”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered... but who was I, to argue with his mother?

But that isn’t what his mother did.

We knew this, the moment we opened our eyes the next morning.

Wheweeeeeee, those things were rank.  Amazing, that they could go that bad, that fast.

He has not since shot any doves... and I have not yet ever tasted dove meat.  Don’t intend to.  I prefer my doves flying around in the cottonwoods and maples, cooing, thank you kindly.

And then there was the time, in the middle of the winter, I was backing our big Suburban into the garage.  Tight fit, as Larry had toolboxes, table saws, and monkey wrenches all over the place. 

I watched my mirrors... backed carefully... back... back... back...

CLONKITY-CLONK!!!! – I hit something!

What in the world!

I jumped out, ran back to look – and came face to face with a solidly frozen deer hanging from the rafters.  The clonking came when rear hatch and frozen hooves had a meeting.

Good grief.

Hunting husbands are sometimes every bit as troublesome as hunting cats.

Speaking of vacations...  I love the redwoods and sequoias and mountains of California.  Haven’t been out there since I was... 11?  12? with my parents.  One of these days, Larry and I hope to travel up the west coast.

When I was there, walking on the beach near San Francisco, some woman up the beach a ways suddenly screamed her head off.  When we got closer to the fracas, Daddy asked someone what had happened – and we learned that a young sea lion had poked up out of the waves and LOOKED at the woman.  haha

During our travels, we parked with our Airstream camper and Buick Electra at a little old-fashioned rest area atop a mountain.  We started getting out – when suddenly a mountain lion screamed!  My mother, just getting out of the car, screamed, too, and leaped rapidly back in the car.

My mother NEVER screamed.  But she screamed.

And then Daddy, who NEVER laughed at Mama, had to put his hand on the hood of our big Buick to support himself, because he was laughing so hard.

“It’s farther away than you think!” he finally told her; “It’s just echoing through the mountains!”

Friday evening, Jeremy and Lydia, along with their little boys Jacob, Jonathan, and Ian, came visiting, and a little later Bobby and Hannah, with their children Aaron, Joanna, Nathanael, and Levi, joined them.

Jeremy and Lydia gave me all sorts of lotions, bath gels, perfume, coffees, and some Coffee Thins chocolates, too. 

Hannah made me a thick, beautiful crocheted rug.  I love how it feels under my feet when I get out of bed.  It reminds me of a rag rug my Grandma Swiney braided for my 6^th birthday.

After Levi came in, he asked me to go back outside with him – because he wanted me to see how very bright the Milky Way was.  The stars always look a lot brighter out here in the country than they do in town.

Later that night, I put the hem in Wendy’s dress, tacked the sash on, cut Mary’s chiffon sleeves, and sewed them into the bodice.

Saturday, I serged the sleeve seams and put the satin cuffs on.  That was as far as I could go, until Mary tried it on and I get the skirt pattern back from our niece Katie when she’s done with it.

Kurt’s sister Mary is 20.  She’s small, but it’s a little difficult to get things to fit her properly, because of her back brace.  She’s had a permanent rod in her back to compensate for severe scoliosis, ever since she was very young.  They extended the rod several times as she grew, but decided when she was 13 not to do it again, since there was a scare when the surgeons bumped the spinal cord and Mary was partially paralyzed for about 30 minutes.  Mary was always an active girl despite all this – and nobody wanted to think about her possibly winding up in a wheelchair!

One time when Mary, at age 4, was in the Shriner’s Hospital in Minneapolis, recovering after surgery, the nurses were in her room, chatting with her. 

Mary said, “I like to help Mama fold the clothes!”

The nurses were all cooing over how sweet she was... and then she added in her spunky way, “I like to throw socks at her!”

Her father Bill walked in about then to see how his little girl was doing – and found the nurses in stitches over the funny things the child was saying.

When I had as much done on the dresses as possible, I put buttonholes in the plum-colored satin vests for Kurt and for grandson Jacob, who’s the ringbearer.  Lydia made them, but her machine maliciously pulls various random threads tight when she tries sewing buttonholes.

We had dinner at Bill and Ruth’s house Sunday after church.  We always have an enjoyable time, visiting with them; they are good friends.

Caleb and Maria put a big basket full of things in our Jeep that morning after church – a pretty plaque, a tea towel with a recipe printed on it, a pumpkin spice candle, coffee (do I look like a coffeeholic to you?!),

Last night after church, I started vacuuming, since the piano tuner was coming today (a birthday gift from Hester)... but the vacuum wasn’t working so well.  For one thing, it was a bit too full; for another, my shoulder was hurting.  So Larry took over the vacuuming, and I washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen.  When he finished vacuuming, he dusted the piano.  I’m washing dishes, cleaning the kitchen.

As if the piano tuning wasn’t enough, Andrew and Hester also gave me two big bottles of Tarocco lotion and shower gel.  The scent is Sicilian Blood Oranges – what we found in our Hilton Gardens motel room in Pascagoula, Mississippi, the last day of February.  And Hester remembered how much I liked it.  I liked it so well, in fact, I’d thought to order some when I got home.  So I looked it up online – and then gave up the notion when I saw how expensive it is!

The piano tuner arrived at 2:30 this afternoon.  Here’s my pirrano (as one of my kiddos used to say, at about age 1 ½):

He first set about discovering what the clicking noise in the middle section was.  Do you remember, about a year ago, when I asked Larry to pull out the keyboard, because I thought a pencil or something had gotten dropped in there?  Nothing was in there.

But... when he started put the keyboard back into the piano, the hammer on the lowest note caught on the piano frame, and snapped it right in half.  Larry had to glue and splint it back together again, no easy task.

Well, having eliminated the chance something had been dropped inside the piano, I decided that probably the felts on the hammers needed to be replaced – a long and pricey job.  So just imagine my delight and relief when it turned out to be nothing more than loose screws on a thin wooden slat deep inside the keyboard! 

The tuner soon had everything tightened up and properly adjusted, and was not long in screwing the keyboard back into place.

He then began thumping his way up the keyboard, one note after another.  I’ve always loved hearing off-key notes moving into tune!

One time when Caleb was about three years old, he was twiddling around on the piano... and then he thumped on one particular note, a bit loudly, multiple times in a row.  ‘Twiddling’, I didn’t mind.  One thumping note, I did. 

“Hey!!!  What are you doing?!!” I demanded.

Caleb jumped, whirled around, and looked at me with eyes wide.  Then, grinning sheepishly, “I wuz jus’ tunin’ the piano,” he told me.

This piano goes out of tune quicker than it should – because back in 1988, it went through a house fire.  It didn’t get burned, as the majority of the fire was in Hannah and Dorcas’ room downstairs, but it did get much too hot, and it got a lot of moisture in it from the firemen spraying water and foam.  Insurance paid to have it totally restrung.  But it should be tuned three or four times a year, and there’s no way I can afford to do that.  I tune it up a bit myself sometimes.  My friend Penny, who used to tune pianos, gave me a tuning tool years ago, along with some rubber wedges.  Last year I got a long strip of felt to put in the strings as I’m tuning – but I have yet to use it.

It sure is nice to have it done by a pro.  I could hear the tones moving into place, one string after another.  By 5:00, he was done – and he wouldn’t take anything extra for fixing the click, even though he had to take the keyboard out of the piano twice, the second time to adjust the very top hammer, which was rubbing slightly against the next one.  He first asked, “Do you use this note much?” and I replied, “Yes!” because I do.  I use all the notes – and wish for one of those amazing Austrian Bösendorfer Imperial Grands, which has nine extra notes in the bass.  However, since they cost upwards of $200,000, I suspect I will not have one anytime soon.

Anyway, my piano sounds wonderful – the man was an excellent tuner!  A piano technician, to be more accurate.

After he left, I made a big chef salad, with several colors of peppers, grape tomatoes, cucumbers, a little bit of purple cabbage, light and dark chicken (Swanson’s), medium-boiled eggs (intending almost-soft-boiled, but I overdid it), a variety of cheeses, and ranch dressing.

When I was little, Bobby’s Great-grandma Stotts – who would be Kurt’s Great-great-grandma – lived in a little house on the corner where the school is now.  I liked to visit her.  I would often find her cross-stitching.  Her fingers flew so fast, they were just a blur.  We have a beautiful cross-stitched tablecloth that she made us for a wedding gift.  She had an exquisite old pump organ – and now and then she let me play it!  I was so thrilled.  It looked somewhat like this one, and was probably made in the 1880s.

My brother Loren just brought me a bouquet of lilies, along with a card with $$$$$$$$ tucked in.  I knew he’d forgotten my birthday, and I’d been keeping still about it, because he’s generous enough already.  But I spilled the beans, in emoting over my piano, and telling him it was my gift from Andrew and Hester... and shortly thereafter, there he was at my door, flowers and card in hand.  The bouquet has buds galore – it’s going to be really impressive when they open!  Good grief, there’s just no staying up with his generosity.

My piano sounds beyoooooootiful.  It’s a 5’8” Baldwin grand piano, really a wonderful piano with an excellent tone.  The sounding board must be a cut above the norm, because when we got it, I played several identical pianos all in a row, and this one surpassed the others in brightness and mellowness, both.  My father got it for me in 1976 when I first started playing for our church.  It was our church piano; I had a Kimball baby grand at home.

After I got married, he got a 6’3” Baldwin for the church, because I kept breaking strings (I played, er ... lively).  The bigger the piano, the less likely the strings will break, as there is more elasticity in longer strings.  The church reimbursed him, though he had said they didn’t need to.  He put the smaller Baldwin in his house, in the place where my Kimball had sat before I got married and went away with it.  “That corner had been looking mighty lonely!” he said.

Then we decided to switch my Kimball and 5’8” Baldwin, because I preferred practicing on one with a more similar action to the piano at church.

It’s no small task to play, uh, ‘musical pianos’, as it were, with grand pianos!  It took several men to move them.

When my nephew David and his wife Christine were married, Daddy gave them the Kimball.  Just a few years ago, Christine got a new Blüthner, and gave the Kimball to Lydia.

I have no idea what became of the bigger Baldwin; it was likely traded in on a 9’ Boston we got for our church in about 2004 (seen in the photos I posted of our Fellowship Hall). 

We now have a 9’2” Blüthner in our sanctuary, built to order in Germany and shipped here about ... ?  5 or 6 years ago, I think.  It is a truly magnificent piano:  Blüthner

Anyway, I’m really, really happy with my piano tonight!

My friend Penny wrote a note to me a few days ago, and added, “I can’t type, for I was playing piano.  Notice how the keyboards are NOT NOT NOT the same and you have to do a different skill?”

I replied, “That’s so funny – I’ve never heard anybody else complain about that.  Once you play the piano, it’s next to impossible to immediately turn to the qwerty keyboard.  I always feel like my hands are in the child’s F-major position – that is, left little finger on F, middle finger on A, thumb on C.  Right thumb is on F, middle finger on A, and the fourth finger must reach to the next row to hit a B flat.  Except it’s an O.  Plumb corn-fyoozin!”

!  I just heard an odd noise behind me in the kitchen... almost electrical.  I pulled open the cupboard under the sink, pulled out the electronic mousetrap – and sure enough, there was a mouse in there.  :-P

Victoria got one of those ‘secure’ purses to take on her honeymoon – cards with chips cannot be scanned through it.  She and Kurt are going to Colorado.  I suppose the purse might do her a good turn... but I actually think the biggest draw is that it matched her new trench coat and is just plain cute, and she’s a sucker for cute purses/shoes/hats/coats/etc., etc., etc.  She’s trying to be frugal...  She’s trying.

Well, I have wedding clothes to work on.  There are petticoats to alter... and I’m going to see how much lining we have left... and maybe, just maybe, I’ll cut pieces to line all the bridesmaids’ skirts.  I know they’ll look better, if I can.  Time’s a-flyin’!  Gotta go!  A wedding is rushing at us, flank speed emergency! 

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