Journal: Cleaning, Sorting, Organizing -- and New Glasses

Larry hasn’t used his contacts since I took them out for him, a week ago last Saturday.  He especially wanted them for riding his bike.  With his glasses, because he leans forward over the low handlebars, he either had to tip his head back to see out of the proper spot in the trifocals, which made things uncomfortable, or look over the top of them, which made everything blurry – and he often wound up looking down at the road just beyond his tire, which isn’t safe when one is going 25 mph.  More on the subject later.

Tuesday, I finished the laundry, then headed down to my quilting room to work on my customer’s quilt.  I was done by evening. 

Ladies on one of the quilting groups have been discussing where they buy their quilting fabric.  I have bought fabric online with good success, but I prefer to see and touch the fabric I buy.  We have a fairly new Hobby Lobby in town; their prices are good (especially when I remember that 40% coupon that’s always available online).  We also have two good quilt shops with friendly, helpful owners and workers, and one is owned by a friend with whom I went to school.  It’s always enjoyable to shop there.

Now for my ‘favorite fabric shop’ story:

We once went in an old, old quilt shop in a quaint little town.  The ceilings of the large building were about 25 feet high, of pressed tin.  The floors were rough-hewn wide planking, and there were antique sewing machines sitting around here and there in picturesque settings, usually with partially-done, antique quilts arranged under the presser foot and fanned out just so, as if the seamstress had just hopped up for a moment and would be back shortly.  The bolts were arranged in ‘rooms’, with the walls being stand-alone shelving, again of rough-hewn planks (possibly old barn planking), and all coordinating things were together in such beautiful order, it made one wish one could say, “I’ll have a couple of yards of every bolt in the store, please.” 

In each ‘room’ there was a lovely quilt displaying those particular fabrics in that particular area, and there was always a little wooden rack with a different choice of pattern books or packaged patterns.  In the center of the store, under a huge chandelier comprised of old-fashioned lanterns, there was a ‘book store’, and the choices included not just pattern books, but also historical books and even novels such as the Elm Creek Quilts series by Jennifer Chiaverini.  I particularly wanted one of the historical books, such as Stories Behind the Quilts, maybe, can’t remember.  It was a small hardback with a plush cover, wider than it was tall, and on the left side of each page was a picture of a quilt with an inset of either the quilter or her family (very old pictures – some of them tintypes), while on the right was a story about that particular quilt.  There’s a book called Quilts in the Attic: Uncovering the Hidden Stories of the Quilts We Love; I wanted that one, too.  I wanted all of them.  I love books.  There was even a tall thermos of gourmet coffee and a couple of comfortable chairs, in case you wanted to sit down and read one of those books.

There was a balcony at the back of the building, and in that upper half-story were several longarm machines that customers could rent – or you could hire someone to do the quilting for you.  (We didn’t go up the stairs, so I never got a real, honest-to-goodness look at a quilting machine until just a few years ago, shortly before I got my HQ16.)  One entire room was devoted to notions and tools of all sorts.  Quilts hung high on the walls, all the way around the store, put up with cords and pulleys and hardware to make it easy to change them.

And, oh, yes, the restroom.  It was a wonder ladies ever came out and let another in, in timely fashion, the way they had that restroom and small lounge decorated.  The toilet was one of those old-time apparatuses that has a wooden tank affixed high on the wall, sporting a pull chain (did you ever wonder what would happen to your hairdo, should one of those things spring a leak whilst you were, ah, perched?), and the sink was a pedestal type with double cross-handles.  There was beadboard paneling all around, and lanterns for light fixtures – but what stalled everyone out was the array of amazingly gorgeous and intricate miniature quilts arranged so beautifully and artfully around the walls.  In one corner stood a tall, old wooden ladder with a couple of antique quilts hanging on the rungs.  In a vintage magazine rack, there were – what else – magazines, circa 1920s and 30s.

Near the front of the store was an old dry cupboard filled with all kinds of homemade candles, potpourri, and soap.  They made the whole store smell absolutely scrumptious.  The moment we opened the big old door with the giant cowbell that announced our entrance, we smelled a faint odor of fresh-baked apple pie.  I had actually thought it was a souvenir shop, and was surprised and delighted to discover it was a quilt shop.

The owner and employees were friendly, helpful, and homey.  (No, not ‘homely’, *homey* – i.e., ‘with the ability to make one feel at home’.)

But! – it was a long time ago, and I cannot remember for the life of me if it was in Arkansas… or Missouri… or Wisconsin… or Michigan… or Minnesota!  I recall that there was a stream flowing rapidly right through town, wooded hills on all sides… and some of the little shops along the old brick street had decks at the back, built right out over the stream – more of a small river, really – where you could sit at wrought iron seats or benches and tables, and eat the homemade goodies they offered.

I know it was not to our west, not Colorado or Wyoming or Montana or Idaho, or suchlike, because there was a whole lot of vegetation – vines climbing the trees, etc. – and the trees were mostly deciduous, as opposed to evergreens.  It was summertime, hot, but not unpleasantly so, and a bit humid.  Only the side streets were brick, not the main thoroughfare.  There was only one main street, and I believe it ran north and south.  It’s possible it was somewhere along the St. Croix.

But!  – ♫ ♪ I’ve been everywhere, man ♪ ♫ crossed the desert fair, man ♫ ♪ trouble I’ve seen my share, man ♫ ♪ I’ve been everywhere! ♫ ♪  --- So how am I to know?  If I try adding any more details, it’s very, very possible that I will wind up accidentally combining lovely locations I have stored in my memory – or my imagination, for that matter. 

I recall the store ladies’ expressions when they saw us walking in with the children (I think they were all with us, but I could be wrong about that – sometimes the older ones stayed home).  In any case, the youngest was Victoria, and she was not yet a year and a half.  The ladies tried to hide it, but I saw horror on their faces, as they glanced from our ducklings, large and small, to all their pretty things.

We walked quietly through the store admiring things, and now and then one of the children pointed something out to me – usually in a whisper, for they were shy.  Besides, no one else was saying anything; it probably felt like a library to them – especially when we came upon the books and chairs in the middle.

When nothing calamitous seemed imminent (candle jars still intact, no antique sewing machine pedals stepped on, vintage quilts left untouched), the ladies in the shop began warming up, then became friendlier and friendlier.  If I remember right, I bought a kitten quilt pattern and a set of greeting cards with a quilt pattern embossed on them.  Finally, as we were about to go, one of the ladies, after asking my permission, brought out a basket of lollipops for the children.

The children thanked them – even little Victoria.  “Fankoo,” she said, as we turned to leave. 

Small fry do not believe that sound waves travel in any direction except in that particular track that leads directly to the ear of the person to whom they are speaking, ever notice that?  Victoria, whose only word(s) until now had been to voice her appreciation for the candy, suddenly proclaimed in her piping little voice, “I wike twit chops!!!”

And then everyone burst out laughing, and out the door we went, with the ladies merrily waving and admonishing us to “come back soon to our ‘twit chop’, and bring all the children!”

And that’s my twit chop – er, quilt shop – story.

We are fortunate in that our Wal-Mart has a fairly large quilting department, and many of their fabrics are good quality.  I’ve been in some Wal-Marts elsewhere, and found their ‘quilting cottons’ to be more on the order of sheers for the windows.

Some people have argued with me, saying Wal-Mart never has nice fabric.  Ha!  As if they’ve been to every single Wal-Mart in the known universe, and felt every single piece of fabric on the shelves.  All I know is, I’ve bought nice fabric from Wal-Mart, and I’ve bought not-so-nice fabric from Wal-Mart – which happens to be what I can say about many fabric stores.

It was Hannah’s birthday Tuesday, the 28^th, but I still wasn’t feeling so great, so I didn’t go anywhere.  I sent her a birthday email with animated photos, and told her I would see her the next day at the school when I picked up some of the grandchildren.  I also told her I had the quilt done for her children’s piano teacher, and would bring it.

I’m unhappy with my quilting.  I’d debated between the train panto, a cute little duck panto, and a teddy bear panto.  I’ve used the teddy bear pantograph, and it turned out quite cute.  The duck would’ve been fine, too.  I should’ve known better than to use the train, with all those diagonal lines! – but just looking at it, I was thinking ‘straight lines’, not ‘diagonal’, because it didn’t soak into my grey matter that the little engine was angled one way and the little car was angled another.  Also, I’ve fooled myself into thinking I can do diagonal lines just fine, because I can – so long as I’m doing ruler work!

But the wheels on my carriage want to go straight – either back and forth, or side to side.  When I make a large circle freehand, it more closely resembles a round-cornered square.

I wish I would’ve quit after the first little car, picked out the stitches, and laid down a new panto.  But nooooooo, I’m stubborn, and have to keep right on going, thinking, this’ll get better.  Bleah.

The good thing is that the quilt is very busy, and the quilting doesn’t show too much.  The bad thing is that of course it’s a customer’s quilt that I do an under-par job on.  One more good thing:  the batting did indeed keep any puckers out, where there was too much fullness.

At ten after three Wednesday afternoon, I headed to town.  I dropped off some things at the Goodwill, mailed a letter, then drove to the school.  Soon Hannah pulled into the parking lot.  I hopped out and gave her the bag with her birthday gifts inside. 

Problem:  I’d forgotten the quilt.  This fact eluded me until I was halfway home again.

Meanwhile, Hannah had forgotten about her birthday, and assumed the bag contained the piano teacher’s quilt.  She therefore drove all the way to the lady’s house, took the bag in – and there they proceeded to open up her birthday gift:  a fleece robe, the knit sweater with hand-stitched flowers, a red Cape Cod – vintage Avon – condiment dish, and money for some T-shirt yarn, in front of the piano teacher. 

No quilt was forthcoming.

Hannah was embarrassed.   The piano teacher laughed ’til she cried.

So I go my merry way, providing amusement (or embarrassment) wherever I go, whether advertently or inadvertently.  Sometimes people laugh at me... sometimes with me.  heh

Thursday, I went on working on the kids’ abandoned bedrooms upstairs, with a little break to go help my brother with his laptop.  He’s really happy with the SwissView DVD I gave him, the one that was supposed to be for his birthday a year and a half ago, but got lost.  It must be a knockoff, though, because it’s missing a few functions, and it won’t play in his big DVD player, only in his computer.  This isn’t all bad, because it has him learning a little more about his computer.  ;-)

In one bin, I found the ruffly pink baby shoes Hannah wore home from the hospital, 36 years ago.  Unless they’re duplicates.  They were with Victoria doll clothes... so it’s possible they’re duplicates.  My old autoharp will go to Hannah, too.  The case has a big ol’ hole chewed right through it by dirty, nasty, little rodents.  Ugh!  You store something nice and neat in what you think is a safe place – and the next time you look at it, horrid critters have practically destroyed it!  But at least the harp itself is still in good repair, other than one missing string that some kid broke in an ill-advised attempt to tune it.

One of Todd and Dorcas’ Pygmy goats, Little Bit, had her first babies that day – twins.  Unfortunately, one was extra small, and didn’t make it.  Dorcas was sad about that.  The other one is doing well, as are the twins born to their other goat.

Then she sent me this picture, and wrote, “On a positive note, here are my other babies.  They are Rhode Island layer chicks, almost three weeks old.  They are in the house ’til they get a little bigger and it’s warmer outside.  They should start laying eggs at 18 to 20 weeks old.  I will have 11 chickens and 2 roosters.”

“That should give you plenty of omelets!” I replied.

Dorcas has started selling eggs now.  Little Trevor likes all the animals, and gets excited when they head toward the barn.

I finished Victoria’s room by 11:00 that night, including going through everything that was in the large cubbyhole under the eave.  There must’ve been a good four dozen big boxes of stuff.  I kept saying, “Just another dozen, and I’ll be done!” – but the dozen would come and go, and there were still a lot more.  Everything in the room is now sorted, organdized (a la Winnie-the-Pooh), taken to the Goodwill, given to the kids to whom it belongs, or put into plastic totes to save.  I pitched out all the big boxes. 

Next, Caleb’s room.  But I was done for the night.  I’d lifted a couple of totes with books or albums in them, and my back was complaining. 

Do you ever look up someone on Facebook, and then get waylaid by this and that, connecting links, and other IGI (Items of Great Importance), and forget what you’d gone to look for in the first place?  I hunted for a certain ‘evangelist’ Finnegan Maximilian (quotation marks mine, since he is no evangelist in my book), and found him.  (If you find anybody on Facebook by that name, do please know that I drew the name out of a hat; that was not the real name of the ‘evangelist’ for whom I was looking, and I offer humblest apologies to the real Finnegan Maximilian.)  His Facebook page was active, and he had in fact posted that very morning.  It seems he had come upon a little black pig trotting down the middle of the street on his way to work ------- uh, Finnegan Maximilian was on his way to work, not the pig.  Well, actually, the pig could’ve been on his way to work; how am I to know?  Anyway, Finnegan Maximilian had taken a video of the piggy trotting along, finding a half-full cup of coke along the street, popping the top off, and slurpity-slurping it down.

I finished that video, and 3,203,982 videos of cute piglets popped up, with or without the half-full cup of coke, along with several videos of goats and a few more of cats. 

When this happens, if I don’t exercise some immediate restraint, four or five hours from now I will be cross-eyed and never remember the name ‘Finnegan Maximilian’ at all.

Speaking of names, Finnegan Maximilian named the pig ‘Chris P. Bacon’.  Someone remarked that he should take it home; his boys would really enjoy it. 

“Yes,” he answered, “they do love bacon.” 

I wasted five more irretrievable minutes of my life looking at ‘Sayings’ on a former acquaintance’s page.  But at least I did find one thing of value there:  à

She’s supposedly ‘religious’, but many of her posted sayings are downright indecent.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  Dark burgundy hair with neon green stripes and indecent sayings come in a kit.  Don’t they?

I posted a late note on the quilting group – and a lady from Cincinnati immediately wrote, “Hey, are we having a slumber party???  I am just about to sign off and go to bed, and here you are.  I’m getting tired.  I filled out a questionnaire for a friend who needed to interview an older handicapped person for her college course for her Master’s.  She chose me... but it took me about four hours to complete.  She sent it Sunday and then sent a note tonight that said she needs it by tomorrow morning.  LOL!”

I responded, “Your college friend is behaving like my kids did when they were in elementary and Jr. High school!  :-D  ‘Oh, by the way, I need three dozen cookies for tomorrow morning.’  ‘Oh, I meant to tell you, I need fifty leaves by tomorrow afternoon, labeled and mounted.’  ‘Oh, yeah, I need several articles on Stalingrad for morning History class.’”  :-O

When I went to pick up the Jackson grandchildren Friday afternoon, I had three big boxes in the Jeep to drop off at the Goodwill, and a stack of yearbooks and other things for some of the kids – I even found Teddy’s ‘First Christmas’ ornament.  There were a few sweaters for Aaron or Nathanael, and a Size 0 jean jacket for Joanna that used to be Victoria’s. 

“How do you know where you are, if you’re a Size 0?” I asked Victoria once. 

“I use your magnifying mirror,” she responded.

I emptied half of the Jeep at the Goodwill and the other half into willing (or otherwise) kids’ hands.  The grandkids are pleased with the games and clothes I’ve given them, if their parents aren’t.  (Well, Hannah was happy to get my old autoharp.)

Home again, I got back to the sorting.  Why is all this stuff in here????

I found one of my own first dolls, still in very good condition.  It’s one of those soft rubber dolls, circa 1961 or so.  I’ll make it a vintage set of clothes someday.  She came dressed in a pink check romper.  The doll is obviously generic, as the body is all one piece, and there are no markings on it.  My family wouldn’t have spent money on an expensive doll back then.  These days, however, my sister is always in search of nice collector’s dolls – and she gives them away to daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters, nieces, great-nieces, ... and any other little (or big) girl who looks like she needs a doll.

I’ve packed Victoria’s dolls, many still in their display boxes, doll clothes, and doll furniture carefully into large bins.  She and Kurt are renting their house right now, and she doesn’t want the dolls until they are in their own home.  I’d forgotten how very many beautiful dolls Lura Kay has given her!  Beautiful keepsakes, for sure.  But I’ll make my cheap little doll something cute one of these days.  She’s a keepsake, too, after all.

A pause in the sorting to put away a load of clothes... put another load into the dryer... eat a Fuji apple (my favorite)... scrub the tub... and then I headed back to Caleb’s old room.

Upon finding a pack of Tylenol Severe Cold medicine, I suddenly remembered:  I’d forgotten to take my last dose of Azithromycin.  You know you really are feeling better, when you forget to take your medicine!  I dashed downstairs and took it.

There!  I’m well, I’m well, I’m well!  Just feel my nose.

Look what else I found! – little cross-stitched Suspender Sam and Sunbonnet Sue pieces that I made years ago.  Those little Sam and Sue circlets will go with the quilt I’m planning to make from the vintage Sunbonnet Sue blocks done by my grandmother, great-grandmother, aunts, great-aunts, and their teachers and neighbors.  The quilt will be a wall-hanging; I think the fabric is too fragile (and too much of a treasure) to use on a bed.

I got the rock and the geode slice long ago at a rock shop somewhere in the mountains.

See more pictures of the messy room I’m cleaning and the one already cleaned here:  Findings While Cleaning

At a quarter after nine, Larry wrote to say he was just leaving Lyons, Nebraska, about 90 miles to our northeast, after picking up forms.  He thought he’d be back around 11:00 p.m.

Instead, it was after midnight, because he washed his truck when he got back to the shop.  The jobsite was all muddy, and mud on newly polished chrome wheels will stain them.  He spent a long time painting his truck and pup and polishing the wheels; he doesn’t want all that work to go to waste.  Here’s a picture he took of his rig in all its glory.

That night I made it through the halfway point in Caleb’s old room, not counting the big cubbyhole, which is still chock-full.  Six big boxes were emptied, and the empties hauled out.  Three large bags of things were in the Jeep for the Goodwill, and three smaller bags were full of things for Hester, Caleb, and Victoria.  Most of the closet is cleaned out, and I cabbaged onto a few of Victoria’s dress suits that she left behind.  It’s quite beneficial when daughters grow up – and outgrow you!  (Like I need more clothes, heh.) 

Early Saturday morning, we went to Omaha to pick up my new glasses.  I’ve needed them for a long time, and was excited to get them.

Larry tried to put in his contacts before we left, using the new tools that had arrived Friday – tools especially to aid in putting in soft contacts.  He was unsuccessful. 

He kept trying.

I finally said, “You’d better put those things in their case, gather up all your stuff, and come.  We’re going to be late, already!”

And we were, about 5-10 minutes late. 

Fortunately, we didn’t have to see the doctor, who isn’t in on Saturdays in any case.  Larry was probably supposed to demonstrate that he could indeed insert and remove those recalcitrant contacts; but he didn’t mention it, and neither did anyone else.  Instead, he hunted for some frames he liked, and then ordered new glasses with a single prescription (as opposed to trifocal), especially for use while riding his bike.  These new glasses also darken in the sunlight, and lighten quickly upon coming indoors.

Meanwhile, they brought out my two pairs, one with graduated lenses, one with a single prescription throughout the lens, which would hopefully be just right for sewing, quilting, computering (should be a word), and pianoing (which is a word). 

I put them on (one at a time, you know) and peered about.  The ‘crafting glasses’, as the doctor called them, were perfect.  I positioned myself at the correct distance from a poster with small print – and, yes, it was perfect.  I looked up at the top of the poster – still in perfect focus.  Yayyy!

The transitional lenses were also in excellent focus, near and far, but when I first put them on and looked down the mall hallway, it appeared pretty much as though I was looking through a fishbowl, all wavy and distorted.  I figured I would soon get used to them; the prescription strength had been upped a bit.

While Larry’s glasses were being made, we went to Cracker Barrel for breakfast.  I ordered oatmeal – and wound up with the yummiest oatmeal I ever had in my life.  It was made with apples, dark raisins, golden raisins, dates, prunes, pecans, and walnuts, and served in a little cast iron skillet that kept it piping hot until it was all gone.  A little ceramic pitcher of milk accompanied it.  A blueberry muffin came with it, too, but I could barely, barely eat all the oatmeal, let alone the muffin.  They gave me a bag for it, and I had it for dessert that night.  Larry had the chicken and rice platter special, with a side of green beans, a biscuit, and a cornmeal muffin.  We both had raspberry tea.

By the time we went back to LensCrafters an hour later, I was already used to my new glasses.  They are perfect.  I’m so happy with them.  My eyes still get blurry in the evenings and I have trouble seeing, but that’s not the fault of the glasses.

Larry wore his new glasses home, and was pleased as punch with them.  Maybe he will and maybe he won’t ever get those contacts to work for him.  But at least he now has glasses that are right for bike-riding and boom-running. 

Bobby and Hannah and family went to see the Sandhill cranes west of Grand Island that day.  Right now, there are a quarter of a million birds in that vicinity.  In two or three weeks, there will be over 600,000 of them.  Here’s a beautiful 8:15-minute video clip of the cranes:

Sandhill Cranes

The cranes are loud.  A single Sandhill crane can be heard 2 ½ miles away.  The main part of the migration funnels through a narrow area along the Platte River between Grand Island and Kearney, about 70-150 miles to our west.

It was a pretty day, with the temperature getting up to about 65°.  Our trees are beginning to bud – and that puts them in real danger of freezing.  Nebraska isn’t done with frosty days and nights just yet!

Sometimes on the Yahoo quilting groups, messages come through with spaces in odd places, often smack-dab in the middle of words.  If the space thereby creates two ‘real’ words, it can make for a confused sentence.  It’s generally not an error by the typist, but some odd glitch in Yahoo.  It’s happened in some of my emails.  I look back at my original – and there are no random spaces.

This happened Saturday, when a space wound up in the middle of the word ‘inept’.  Someone had mentioned, tongue in cheek, how patterns that used to fit when she was in her teens no longer fit properly.  “Those inept pattern designers!” she exclaimed – but it came out, “Those in ept pattern designers!”

Another lady, whose first language is not English, wrote, “Even after reading the other posts in the thread, I don’t know what ‘ept’ means?”

Someone explained, “Not ‘in ept’, but ‘inept’.  As in, ‘The computer did an inept job of typing the word inept.’”  hee hee

I helpfully enlarged upon the explanation:  “Yahoo often does that – as it passes from my computer through the group to private emails, that recalcitrant little guy at the front desk reaches out and randomly hits the space bar as he sees the email sliding through!  He’s probably repressed at home.  His wife talks too much, his dog barks all the time, the parakeet won’t hush up, or something.”

That evening, I uploaded the pictures I took on our jaunt to Omaha:  Omaha Trip

Home again, I gave it a try, and discovered I can finally see the books on the song rack again when I’m sitting on the piano bench!  And it’s easier to see the computer screen, which means it’ll be easier to see what I’m sewing, if and when I ever get back to sewing.

I did a little more cleaning that night, hauling some big bags of stuff for the Goodwill out to the Jeep.  Hester was happy because I found her big horse picture that’s framed in rough wood.  It’s about 2’ x 3’, I think.  I carried out to the Jeep in one hand, a bag of books my mother had given her in the other, not realizing that the wind had picked up and was blowing at about 25 mph.  The picture turned into a sail, and I went whizzing off to the Loup River, startling a couple of otters who were playing tiddlywinks on the bank.

Yesterday afternoon, the quilting ladies were discussing how to dye fabric.

I dyed something once.  Shoes.  Satin shoes, to be exact. 

The key word in the above paragraph was ‘once’.

Here’s an excerpt from my journal from quite a few years ago:

I once dyed some satin shoes for myself.  I wanted them to be peach, to match a beautiful peach satin suit I was going to wear for Easter.  Now, most satin shoes sold in the vicinity of $35, plus shipping.  To have them dyed was $10.  So, imagine my delight when I found a lovely pair of satin shoes at Payless for only $20!  I snapped them up quick and scurried home to order a dye kit – $6 – from J. C. Penney’s.  I would be saving $15-$20.

Two days later the dye arrived, and the Great Artistic Dying Endeavor ensued.

(Before I continue, I should tell you one additional small detail:  the shoes had already been dyed mint green.  Thinking this should pose no problem, and not bothering to research the issue, I happily set to work.)

One coat of peach on… and the shoes turned a sick pink.  Hmmm.  Another coat of peach.  Sicker pink.  Another coat.  Ghastly pink.  Coat after coat, until finally I ran out of dye.  Well, nothing else for it, but to head for the professional shoe dyers.

I marched in, holding those sopping shoes gingerly in separate boxes.  “I need these shoes dyed peach,” I announced nonchalantly.

The bored Femme Fatale behind the counter snapped her gum and reached for her ticket book.

“We’ll have to bleach them first,” she said, eyeing my poor sick slippers with distaste, “and that’ll be an extra $6.”

“Okay,” I said, attempting an unconcerned air.

She filled out the ticket and reached over to pick up those abominable clodhoppers with her manicured, blood-red talons.

“EEEYOOOO!” she shouted with what I consider a great lack of sophistication, having come into actual contact with the twin drowned rats.  Her gum disappeared entirely.  “These are all wet!” she explained loudly, looking at me like Einstein would’ve looked at Mortimer Schnerd.

“Hmmm,” I answered intelligently, staring wonderingly at the shoes.

“Well,” snapped The Fashion Plate, “these will have to dry before we begin on them.  Can you pick them up in about three weeks?”

“Oh, no,” I exclaimed, “these are for Easter!”  (It was Thursday, the day before Good Friday.)

She bugged her eyes out in an unflattering manner and batted them, looking remarkably like a frog in a hailstorm.

Well, the end of the story is, the shoes got done, and I wore them on Easter, although I did feel just a wee bit damp around the toes.  One thing for sure, though:  I certainly brought that Disinterested Doll at the shoe shop out of her doldrums in one quick hurry.

It’s always a good day when one can bring someone out of their doldrums.

I think.

Just for the fun of it, here are the next three or four paragraphs in that old journal, from 22 years ago:

Caleb is walking a little more bravely every day.  Aren’t babies adorable when they’re learning to walk? – arms held high for balance; cute little smile of delighted accomplishment on their faces.

Lydia, age 3 ½, is tickled pink over her little brother’s new feat.  “Now he can really play with me!”

This morning Hannah (14) put Hester’s (5 ½) and Lydia’s hair up in ponytails pulled to the side of their heads and fastened with big ruffly barrettes.  Lydia came skipping into the kitchen to show me, ponytail swinging merrily.

“Two of us little girls have our heads on crooked!” she told me gleefully.

That girl at the shoe shop ought to have eight kids; then she wouldn’t be so bored.

We now return to our normal Sunday afternoon programming.

After eating one of Larry’s yummy pancakes for Sunday afternoon lunch, I wrapped the wedding gift for our friends Samuel and Grace, whose wedding was last night.  Samuel is our daughter-in-law Maria’s brother.  I filled the ceramic soup tureen with several packages of Bear Creek soup, wrapped tureen and lid, tucked the teakwood ladle and the Color Catchers in at the side, and laid the Coffee Cup potholders on top, wrapped in tissue paper. 

I took 196 pictures last night.  206, if you count the 10 pictures I took of the cats before we left, trying out the diffuser lens on my new flash to if it was better with, or without.  I never came to a definite decision, but I pulled the diffuser down at the reception, and used it with the flash the whole time. 

Upon arriving home, I downloaded the photos – and am very happy with the color and lighting.  Here's Larry and his mother Norma.

Our niece Rachel made the cakes – the tiered wedding cake, side cakes, and the sheet cakes.  It takes a lot of cake to satisfy 450 people. 

Her uncle, our son-in-law Jeremy’s father, recently found several commercial ovens and tables being auctioned off cheap from a restaurant that was closing.  For several years, Rachel carried on her budding little business with one little oven in her kitchen.  This will help her so much!

Lots of texts are going back and forth between Victoria and me as I try to determine just what she wants from all the stuff she left behind.  The glue gun I thought was hers may actually be one Janice gave me – a smaller one that she gave me some years after first giving me a large one.

I was using my big one the other day... and after it cooled, I unplugged it ------ and bumped the almost totally cool tip against the fleece blanket I made for one of the grandsons, which left a gluey, melted smudge.  L

I washed Caleb’s camouflage quilt and sheet set; I’ll give it to Aaron to go with the mattress and box springs they’ll be coming to get soon.  I found some baby blankets, too, including one of Caleb’s that Norma hand-embroidered and hand-quilted. 

The washing machine has been going all day, washing clothes and bedding from upstairs along with our weekly laundry.  One more load, and I’ll be done... for tonight, anyway.

When I picked up the Jackson kiddos after school today, I gave Emma the J. C. Penney's quilt Norma once gave to Victoria.  It was well-loved, but still nice.  Emma was pleased. 

I dropped off Victoria’s old fish tank stuff and three of Mama’s electric coffeepots at the Goodwill.  I almost put in one more... then changed my mind.  They do come in handy now and then, on those rare occasions when one is staying in a room somewhere with no coffeemaker and no microwave.

It’s a quarter ’til eleven, and Larry is still working on his blue pickup at Caleb and Maria’s house (in Caleb’s big garage, separate from the house).  He wants to get it done before Samuel and Grace get back from their honeymoon, because they’re going to park their trailer out there on Caleb’s property and live in it, and Larry would feel out of place racketing away in the garage right next door.

I just spent a while trying to clean my reading glasses... all dismayed because I thought I’d scratched them.  Odd, though – identical scratches on each lens, two on each.  I’ve decided to wait until tomorrow when I can see better.  My eyes get blurry at night, as mentioned previously, because of this Blepharospasm.  To be continued...

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