Last Monday, Amy
sent Elsie’s one-year pictures – and she was dressed in the little dress Amy’s
mother made Amy when she was one year
old. I took Amy’s one-year pictures in
that dress. Elsie is just starting to
walk.
Late that night when we got home, at about a quarter ’til
two, Teensy met us at the pickup and squalled and bawled – well, it should
probably be called ‘caterwauling’ – telling us all about how sad and unhappy he’d
been that we’d been gone. It was long and
loud, and I’m not completely sure of the entire content, but I heartily agreed
with him.
We carried
everything in, and I began unpacking our bags.
The moment I unzipped Larry’s bag, Teensy scrambled inside, burrowed way
down deep, and soon all I could see was his tail, one haunch, and a big amber
eye peeping out from under some folded socks. 😆😅
He was determined that, if we left again, he would be with us.
I had everything put away by a quarter after three, and
then spent about 45 minutes unwinding before I gathered up enough, uh, well,
Daddy would have called it ‘spizzerinctum’, to go to bed.
Tuesday, I found
the lost packages that had been marked ‘delivered Friday’, though Hannah hadn’t
been able to find them. They were under the haystack, fast asleep.
No, wait, that was Little Boy Blue.
The packages were under the lilac bush on the east side
of the porch. I recalled Amy telling me they were having high winds with
gusts over 40 mph that day, so that’s the first place I looked. And there
they were.
Hannah had taken
care of the cats while we were gone. As
usual, she said I didn’t need to pay her.
I sent some money anyway, telling her, “It’s a stingy amount, just
enough for gas, not much for your time! Especially if you sit and discuss
the improbabilities of life with the cats.”
Tiger and Teensy were both underfoot all day long
Tuesday, hoping to prevent me from vamoosing again.
A quilting
friend, upon hearing of our escapades, wrote, “You do have your fun!”
I replied, “Is that
what it was?! My brother keeps calling it a ‘vacation’. And I keep
protesting... 😄”
She told me, “I live near Seattle, for when you need a
longer vacation. I’m quite sure there are heavy duty machines out
here as well. Do you have a crane, I see a lot of those?”
Haha! And
help, help.
I told Larry, when
we finally got to the bottom of the last mountain pass with our heavy load, “I
don’t want to do this, ever again!!!”
I have no idea if
he’ll pay any attention to me or not. I’d tell him to just leave me home
on these scary excursions... but... two things: 1) I like to go
places, and 2) I have some kind of an odd notion that I help keep him
safe. After all, it’s because of me that we stop when we do, and check
things out... and it’s because of me that we find motels to stay in before he
falls asleep at the wheel... and it’s because of me that we eat healthy meals.
Maybe I have an exalted opinion of myself? heh
A friend was relating what happened to her when, some years ago, she
went to a fabric store to purchase fabric for one of her first quilts. Without even inquiring into her sewing
experience, the quilt shop owner informed her that the quilt she had chosen to
make was too difficult for a beginner. But my friend had taught herself
to sew at age 13 on Barbie doll clothes. She was used to sewing intricate
pieces with accuracy, things that were far more complicated than the straight
stitches she would be doing on the planned quilt.
Isn’t it
aggravating when people are like that? They shove all humanity into the
same groove willy-nilly. “You must all start with a one-block four-patch
potholder!” Bah, humbug.
My 8th-grade
home economics teacher recently passed away. She was 68. Her
picture was in the paper, and she was such a pretty lady. When she was my
teacher, back in 1973, I thought she was beautiful. I was 12, and turned
13 in her class. So she would’ve been about 23-24. Young, for a
home ec teacher. But she was a wonderful teacher, and I loved her.
Our first project
was supposed to be something simple – a skirt or apron... or, for those who had
made a skirt the year before and were a little more adventurous, a simple
blouse.
I went and asked
her if I could make a quilted-lininged (should be a word), plaid wool jacket
with faux fur sleeves and collar, and a separating zipper. It had plaid
cuffs and waistband. I even had the pattern (because I was going
to make it, whether at school or at home).
She looked at the
pattern, surprised, then laughed, and said, “Have you ever made anything like
that before?”
“I’ve only made
blouses; never anything lined,” I told her.
“What if you get
discouraged when it gets difficult?” she asked.
And I answered with
12-year-old earnestness, “Oh, no; I would only get discouraged if it was too easy,
and if it was not what I wanted to wear later!”
She smiled...
studied my face... than grinned, nodded, and said enthusiastically, “Let’s have
at it!”
And you know
what? She taught me the simplest, quickest way to put lining in,
including into the sleeves, so that nothing at all was done by hand except one
last little hole where I turned everything. It was far better than the
directions on the pattern. I’ve used her method, with a few variations,
ever since.
Everyone is
different, and not all beginners – never mind the project – want to
putter along with the ‘easy stuff’. There are different skill levels, different
experience levels, different comprehension levels, different goals, different
preferences, and different amounts of determination in individuals.
I wish more
teachers... quilt shop owners... and even parents would be like my home ec
teachers (I had several excellent ones). I had a sister-in-law, too, 17
years older than me, who thought there really wasn’t much of anything she
couldn’t figure out and do, from craftwork to mechanics. She taught me,
gave me confidence, and helped me learn so much.
My brother was so
lost without her, especially that first year. He said, “I just keep
finding out more... and more... and more things she did for me, without even
mentioning it!”
Another time he
said, “I don’t think I let her know how much I appreciated her.”
Well, I just
happened to know where there was a box of cards – Christmas, birthday,
Valentine’s Day, anniversary – that he and Janice had given each other, so I
pulled one out (from him to her) at random, and showed it to him.
“Look what you wrote
in there,” I said. “You let her know.”
I pulled out
another, from her to him. “See?” I pointed at her writing. “She
knew.”
He cried, but they
were happy tears.
One of my
blind friends whom I’ve asked to please let me know if she finds errors in my
letters wrote to say, “Wow! You sure do have some interesting experiences! Never a dull moment!”
“Yeah,” I responded, “I’m ready for a dull moment, any
time now.”
She told me of a few errors she’d
discovered in last week’s letter.
I thanked her, and
told her that I’d sent
that journal without rereading it, because I thought I was tired and needed to
go to bed... and then I scanned back through it as I was posting it, and found
a blunder or two... and once I got started, I kept on a-going, and found a
whole lot of errors. I fixed the ones I found – and she found a
few I hadn’t seen. If you received an emailed version, you got
lots of mistakes. If you read it online,
you saw the corrected version.
One of
the sentences in question included the phrase, ‘older than me’. I decided to look it up. I’ve looked it up before, but wasn’t totally
satisfied with what I found. Now I found
several more articles about it. The
following is in general agreement with all the other articles I found, and
perhaps the most concise:
In formal
writing, “You are older than I” is indeed the abridged and preferred form of “You
are older than I am,” using ‘than’ as a conjunction. However, in the spoken register most native
speakers prefer “You are older than me,” in which case ‘than’ is a
preposition. Therefore, either is
correct.
How ’bout
that? (I also discovered there are those
who violently disagree with one or the other.
But they probably have bad attitudes in the first place and need their
ears boxed.)
Larry came home
from work Tuesday, gave me a big hug and a kiss, and said, “I missed you today!”
So I, being a
curious, inquiring sort, asked, “Why?”
And he replied, “I
didn’t have anybody telling me what to do!”
Ummm. Not
sure that was a compliment. 😆
The cats went on being really, really needy
for the next few days. They needed cuddling. They needed
petting. They needed food. They needed water. (Never mind the
fact that the bowls were not even half empty.) Teensy is now on my lap,
trying his best to keep me from typing. He wraps his paws over my arm and
tugs on it when I reach for the keyboard. He stuffs his fluffy little
head into my hand when I try to type. “Yes, yes, Teensy, I love you!”
Here’s a
shot I took in southwestern Colorado. It’s
not a good picture, and I didn’t intend to capture Larry in the shot at all. But we hit a bump, the camera went askew, and
I wound up focusing on his silhouette instead of the countryside I’d intended
to shoot. So... like I said, it’s not a
good picture ----- but there’s Larry, singing away. So I’m going to keep it. 😍
I did yell, “Hey! Get out of the picture!!!” and foul up his
song by making him laugh.
Here’s
what I meant to take a picture of – a long string of cows, all walking
in calm, precise order, one after another.
Follow the Leader at its
finest. There were hundreds of them. But by the time I regrouped and
regathered my wits after the Big Bad Bump, I only caught the first 8-10 in the
line.
We saw a couple of antelope in this vicinity, but they are
harder to get pictures of than flippity-flappity little birds! In all my
picture-taking years, I’ve only managed to get a small handful of decent
antelope pictures.
As a fellow photographer put it, “One would think their lives were in jeopardy and they had to get away
or die!’
You can almost hear
them saying to each other, “Run, leap, and jump for your lives! It’s a
lady with a camera!!! AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!”
Thursday morning
found me up early, preparing to head off to Fremont to meet up with a friend
and fellow quilter, for whom I was going to quilt a quilt.
Sounds funny:
‘Quilt a quilt.’ I really think they should come up with a new word for
it. “I’m going to wibbletyziggletybliggert a quilt.” See how much
better that sounds? Just ask anyone trying to learn the English
language. All those words that can be either verbs or nouns are confusing!
I made a new pot of
coffee... grabbed my tablet... my cell phone... and lint-rolled my skirt.
Why does Tiger absolutely love to rub and purr around my ankles when
I have on a navy blue skirt? He’s not nearly so lovey-dovey
when I’m wearing something he more closely matches.
Both cats get
nervous when they think I’m getting ready to go somewhere, such as to church Wednesday
night. They try to find something they think I might be taking along with
me, and sit on it. There, this will keep her home! As
I was gathering up my things, Tiger rushed to lean on my ankles, wrapping his
extra-long, extra-strong tail around my legs... Silly kitty.
It was a nice day
for a drive. I met my friend Carol at Milady Coffeehouse in Fremont. The Coffeehouse is the old May Brothers
Building. The May brothers are considered the founders of Fremont.
The building they first built on that corner in 1868 was a grocery store.
Now it’s a
coffeeshop, and they have it set up with tables here and there, or small
clusters of soft armchairs, so that you feel like you’re in your own little
living room. You can even take your coffee or tea and pastries up to the
balcony, if you like. Nice music plays in the background. Why didn’t I take my camera inside?!
None of the pictures online do it justice.
My friend bought me
a cappuccino, and it had a fancy leaf made of cream in the top of the cup.
Faaaaancy. I’ve never had a cappuccino like that before.
It also cost over $4 for each small cup. So that’s likely why I’ve never had anything
like that before.
The lady’s quilt is
a Christmas-themed quilt. I need to hurry up and get it done, so she can
put it on her bed before Christmas!
After a very nice
visit, I drove on to the Sears at Oakview Mall in Omaha, where I found all the
pjs, sleepers, and robes I need for the grandchildren for Christmas. Now
I only need to get a toy or gadget or some such item for each of them (man
cannot live on pajamas alone), and I’ll be done shopping for the
grandchildren.
I purchased a
7-quart Kenmore slow cooker with a smaller food warmer on sale there, too, for
Kurt and Victoria. Now I just have to find something equivalent for the
other kids, and I’ll be through. Sometimes I get them foodstuff that they
don’t normally buy themselves. In fact, I already have a few jugs of that
scrumptious, not-from-concentrate Martinelli apple juice and some organic, raw
Ambrosia honey. Something good... and good for them... but a bit pricey,
so they probably wouldn’t get it for themselves.
All in all, it was
a day well spent. 😊
I arrived home
hungry, fixed supper, and got it done just as Larry was coming in the
door. Good timing! It’s always more pleasant to eat supper
together.
I edited a few more
of my Colorado pictures, and then hit the hay.
Friday, my friend
commented on our visit to our quilting group:
“Our conversation ranged over an impressive range of topics: piano lessons, tempers, typology and other
theological delights, sweet mothers-in-law, and more, lol! You know you have a real friend when you can
talk on such a wide range of topics and leave with a smile on your face!”
Her list of the topics
we plowed through made me laugh.
That afternoon, I
loaded my friend’s Christmas quilt – and then spent 30 minutes trying to wind a
bobbin for my HQ16. The thread kept breaking. I adjusted the
tension on the discs... kept trying... the thread kept breaking... I took the
discs apart and cleaned them... put the winder back together with what I hoped
was the correct tension... tried again... the thread kept breaking... I kept
trying... the bobbin started slipping... I hunted up a fat little screwdriver,
opened the prongs wider on the bobbin holder... tried again... the thread kept
breaking...
When I finally had
an almost-full bobbin (with multiple lengths of thread wound onto it, ugh), I
removed that bobbin and spool from the winder, grabbed another bobbin, and
wound another color of thread onto it, just for the fun of it.
It wound the entire
bobbin with nary a quibble nor a quobble.
It was the thread,
not the bobbin winder.
Okay, I pretty well
suspected and then knew that. But... I was being stubborn. Or
stupid. I was doing an impersonation of Charlie Brown (according to Lucy,
of Peanuts fame): “You
blockheaded it out of your mind, you blockhead!” ... because ...
I don’t have any
other thread that matches as well. But... will my machine quilt with it
all right, or will it keep breaking? And if it keeps breaking, how will all
those starts and stops look on the backing? Furthermore, this is a medium
custom quilting job. It will take a lot of thread. I don’t want to
fight with thread for a week or two, hours and hours every day.
I had another color
of thread that, while not exactly matching, does coordinate all right. The backing is a dark green paisley design on
a lighter green. I suppose a lighter green thread wouldn’t be too awful.
I can always use
this other thread on my Bernina for something or other that doesn’t matter so
much, where it wouldn’t hurt anything if the thread was a bit elderly.
There’s one of the
drawbacks to getting boxes of cheap thread, some of it used, from
someone! You never know how old the stuff is. This 3,000-yard
cone of darker green thread had never been used. Maybe it will get
better, closer to the cone? It could’ve been stored too close to a heat
source; one never knows.
Anyway, the bobbin
winder did need lint cleaned out from between the discs, and I’d been
telling myself I needed to do that; so it wasn’t an entirely wasted endeavor.
I got one little
border done, and I used my mirror and flashlight to peek at the back and see
how it looks, and it doesn’t look too bad at all with the lighter color of
green. Hopefully the lady will be all
pleased that the quilting shows up so well on the back.
I had a potholder
loom when I was little. I made dozens of potholders – and sold them, too.
I sold large cotton ones for 25¢ each; small polyester ones (why did they make
polyester loops, anyway?!) for 10¢ each.
One summer, I took the
loom and loops along with me on all our travels, and sold potholders in
campgrounds and rest areas and small towns – and made $25. It was 100%
profit, too, since Daddy and Mama bought all my supplies!
Back then, I never
knew enough to worry about polyester loops at all. But... wouldn’t they
melt?? ... looking it up ...
Here we go: Polyester melts at 220°-268° and ignites at 432°-488°.
Why on earth did
they make potholder loops of polyester?!
I guess one could
just use them as decorations on the table, under a warm bowl. But what if you didn’t know?!
Oh, my word. I just did a little research, and I see that
those stretchy loops weren’t polyester after
all. They were nylon!!! Good grief,
that might be even worse.
Look at this: Nylon melts at 160°-275° and ignites at 424°-532°.
Hmmm. With that
wide of a range of melting and igniting temperatures, one would just never know if the things were about to shrivel
into hard balls of plastic, or burst into raging infernos. Russian Roulette of the Hotpads!
I recall enjoying
weaving with the poly-----er, nylon
loops better than with the cotton loops, because they were so much stretchier,
and thus easier to work with, especially when doing the edges. Maybe they can make cotton stretchier these
days?
That night, Hannah
sent a link to an audio album of Rudy Atwood, our favorite pianist, playing for
a Spanish singer, Ray Robles: Rudy Atwood Accompanies Ray Robles
“How ’bout
that!” I responded to Hannah, “Rudy Atwood can play in Spanish.”
Next, she sent a
link to an album of hymns played by one of our favorite organists, Lorin
Whitney – and he was accompanying someone who can whistle like you wouldn’t
believe. Hannah wrote, “This last one
just to drive you nuts.”
I listened for a
couple of minutes, and then, with the music still playing, wrote back to
Hannah: “Well, it doesn’t really drive
me nuts; I’ve never minded whis--------- !!!!”
The whistler had turned
into an eloquent bird.
I
finished, “Oh. Started writing too soon.” Then, “Haha
Actually, I like it!”
My
parents had a record with someone whistling hymns. I remember we were amazed at how he could whistle.
Today, I remembered the whistler’s
name: Fred Lowery. He was blind.
Hannah remarked
that Levi whistles a lot, and added that she used to love whistling with me. Two-part whistling in harmony is lots of fun
– if one can keep from laughing. Hannah learned
to whistle when she was three or four. I
have a picture of her on the sidewalk corner, whistling away.
Saturday, I did the
laundry... watered the houseplants (the cyclamen and the African violets are
blooming, and the Kalanchoe has tiny bud clusters on it)... filled the bird
feeders... fed the cats (and petted them, too)... and cleaned the kitchen. I started my Christmas letter, and got about
three paragraphs written. Just 30 pages to go!
Kidding, kidding.
Aren’t I?
“Sarah, Lynn,”
asked a friend, “are you really
sure you’re kidding, little Miss Wordy?”
“Wellllll...” I replied,
“I’ll try to hone it down to 25 pages.”
But I had a customer’s quilt to do, and it’s a rush job. Custom quilting. Hours and hours of work. So off I went to the quilting machine.
That afternoon, I
posted some pictures of the quilting I’d done so far, and told my customer, “You’re
getting all sorts of compliments on your beautiful quilt on the Facebook
quilting groups. 😊”
I often post
pictures on Quilting, QITD (Quilt It To Death), Quilters’ Show and Tell, and
Free-Motion Quilting. There are 75,------ wait, let me look.
Oh!!!! My
word. When I joined the group a few months ago (maybe a year?), there
were 75,000 members. Now there are 98,979!! That’s the largest of
those groups, though they’re all
quite large.
I debated what to
do on that flowered border. Curved-spine
feathers? Something geometric? But the fabric is so busy and colorful,
nothing like that would’ve shown up well – or if it did, it would take
away from the pretty fabric, I feared. So
this is what I decided on:
It’s time-consuming,
but the lady is paying me well, and she wants ‘fancy’. I always worry
because my stitches aren’t perfect – especially when the customer is paying
quite a bit. But I’m trying as hard as I can!
I wanted to get at
least one full row done on my customer’s quilt and roll it forward before stopping
for the night, but when I switched from King Tut #40 thread to So Fine #50 for
the white areas, I couldn’t get the tension right. I put a design into three triangles... took
it out... reset the tension... tried again... one triangle is now okay, but the
next one was bad. I took out the
stitching (that’s not easy, let me tell you – not like taking the seam out of a
skirt)... looked at the clock... and threw in the towel. And I really, really hate to quit in the
middle of a dilemma. I never like to stop
until the dilemma is solved. But I had to get up early in the morning, and
didn’t want to fall asleep in Sunday School.
I told myself, At
least you’re not rushing madly down a mountainside with the brakes smoking up
the entire county. Bobbins and troublesome thread and bad tension are
small potatoes, by comparison. Ha!
Speaking of
thread... someone asked online about various types of threads, and how to know
what to use. Here’s my answer, which in
no way is conclusive or definitive:
I use Dual-Purpose
Coats & Clark for sewing and piecing, and have for years. My Berninas
like it just fine. I save the more expensive threads (Mettler, Gütermann,
Aurifil, Sulky, etc.) for embroidering and for use on my HQ16, where I need
long-staple threads because of the speed of the machine. The Dual-Purpose
Coats & Clark thread I generally use is short-staple. A close-up
macro shot of this thread looks really, really fuzzy – while a macro shot of
such a thread as Superior’s #60 Bottom Line (poly) looks totally smooth.
Coats & Clark
makes a whole lot more thread types than I ever used to know about. I’ve
used their metallic embroidery thread... and even found a spool of long-stapled
stuff (at Wal-Mart! – shocking, heh) that I used on my quilting machine once,
in a pinch (I usually use various Superior threads). It worked
fine. I thought I’d get more – but never found more there. Must’ve
been an ordering fluke.
I use their waxed
thread for my smocking/pleating machine. I use their industrial-strength thread
for sewing on buttons... upholstery...
For embroidery, I
usually use Sulky on top (mainly because I bought a humongous, colorful stash
of it at a marvelous bargain from someone on SewItsForSale). In the
bobbin, very fine Mettler – because someone gave me a handful of spools.
There are many
brands of good thread... and some machines are more picky than others. In general, the faster any machine sews, the
more it needs longer-staple (stronger) thread.
Good information
can be found on https://www.superiorthreads.com/ . Click the Education tab on the right. Here’s an informative video: Thread Therapy; Cotton Staples Explained
A lady on a machine
quilting group I belonged to use to say, “Don’t worry about lint! Lint just means, ‘I’ve been sewing/quilting!’
Clean it out with each bobbin change, put in a drop of oil, and quilt on.”
I mostly agree with
her, although too much lint can get where it doesn’t belong and cause problems
sometimes. I clean out my bobbin area and put in a drop of oil with each
and every bobbin change, whether on my Berninas or my HQ16, regardless of what
thread I’m using. Makes for happy
machines. Happy machines make for happy quilters. 😉
One afternoon, the
ladies on one of the Yahoo quilting groups veered from discussing quilts and
launched into a discussion about animals.
One lady wrote, “Dogs
want to be with people and they deserve the comfort of the inside. I
always feel so sad for those dogs that have to live outside. Not at my
house!”
I totally
agree. Animals (I’m thinking particularly of dogs and cats) make much
nicer pets when they are close to their owners. Why, our cats and dogs
(and even the cute little guinea pigs we used to have) learned quite a lot of
our language. Eventually, if we didn’t want them to get all excited over
words like ‘food’ or ‘car’ or ‘go’, we had to spell out the words.
And then they
learned to spell.
(...giggle...)
Here’s a
fact: the average dog can easily learn about 165 words. With
consistent, patient, and loving training, a smart dog can learn 250 words or
more.
Cats can do the
same – but they certainly don’t want you to know it.
We had a big moose
of a Siberian husky who lived in the house – at the same time all nine children
were still at home. She was an intelligent
dog, and we loved her. The children would play hide and seek with her,
and when she’d find them – or when they would find her – she would wag her tail
wildly, point her nose skyward, and issue that familiar husky howl, “AaaarrrRRRRROOOOooooaaarrrrRRR!” The more we laughed, the more she’d ‘talk’.
Here she is with
Teddy:
I taught her one
command and trick after another, and she gamely learned them all. She
loved pulling the children’s sleds and toboggans across frozen lakes and snowy
hills. She’d heel neatly beside us when we went for walks in the
summertime – but if I was pushing the stroller, she would not walk at my
side; she walked at the side of the stroller. That was the one
thing she was totally and entirely stubborn about, and I eventually stopped
trying to force the issue and just decided to see things her way on that
point. I have to admit, it was charming that she thought so
strongly that she must stay beside the baby, whichever baby it happened
to be.
My uncle used to
tease me, “If you teach the dog everything you know, the dog will be smarter
than you, because the dog knows something in the first place!”
We got her when our
sixth child, Hester, was a baby. Siberian huskies are notorious for
having a mind of their own, and can be stubborn about it. It takes
patience, love, and some determination to properly train a husky. During
the first 3-6 months, I was sometimes exasperated with that dog, and wondered
if we’d been nuts to get her. After all, Hester was only six months old when
we brought the puppy home, and there were five other young children in the
house, too, which limited the amount of time I could spend training the
puppy. But I wouldn’t have an undisciplined dog in the house, so I gave
her as much time as I could.
And then one day,
the dog herself put my doubts to rest, and I decided she was a keeper.
Aleutia was in the
back yard, and I heard her whine to come in. The back garage doors were
shut, as it was a hot summer day. I walked through the garage to open the
back door, leaving open the door that led into the kitchen. Upon opening
the back garage door, Aleutia came bounding into the garage, spotted the open
kitchen door, and headed toward it on a dead run. I could see that she
was going to jump the entire set of steps from the garage up into the
kitchen.
And then something
unexpected happened: Little Hester walked over to the door and stood
looking out.
That wasn’t all.
Directly behind
her, opposite the garage door, the basement door stood open. Hester, about
14 months, was well capable of going up and down the stairs by then, and had
been downstairs in her sisters’ bedroom.
Horrified, I could
clearly see what was about to happen: the dog, already at the base of the
steps, would jump, hit the baby, and knock her tumbling down the yawning basement
stairs.
I cried words I
knew the dog understood: “Aleutia, careful of the baby!!!”
And then the most
amazing thing happened. That big dog, already launching into flight,
twisted her entire body sideways in midair, tucked her feet up tight against
herself, and in that position, whizzed past Hester at waist height, and then,
unable to recover herself, landed with such a hard thud on her side on the
kitchen floor that she knocked the wind out of herself.
“OOOOOfFffFFFF!!!”
went the dog.
Hester, who had
only had time to squinch (should be a word, and would be a word, had
Noah Webster seen Hester) her eyes tight shut when she realized her peril,
opened them cautiously, and stared in astonishment at the dog, lying gasping on
the floor. She knelt beside her and touched the dog’s head gently. “Oh,
po’, po’ doggy, you falled down!” she exclaimed.
I dashed up the
steps and knelt beside Hester to stroke the dog’s thick fur. “You’re a
good dog,” I told her. “A good, good dog!” And I extracted a treat from the refrigerator
with which to reward her.
Aleutia gathered
her wits, scrambled to her feet, wagged a happy thank-you, and devoured her
treat. She spent the next few minutes trotting gladly from one to the
other of us as we petted and praised her, quite wearing out her big flag of a
tail in the process.
A dog that will
save the baby at all costs, including harm to herself, is worth keeping, don’t
you agree?
More dog stories
upon request. Or cat stories, if you insist.
Movie at eleven.
My pets have always
been indoor/outdoor pets – that is to say, they come and go as they wish. All except for the little calico, that is, who
was an indoor-only kitty, because we got her when we lived in a mobile home right
after we were married, and I thought it was much too dangerous for a kitten out
there near the road where dump trucks went roaring constantly throughout the
day – witness all the cats that met their demise on that road.
But when I come
walking out of the bathroom all squeaky clean in the morning, happily heading
for the coffeemaker, and I step in cat throw-up... or when one of the brat cats
brings a cute baby bunny into the house and releases it (then catches it,
releases it, catches it, and releases it), nobody is surprised to hear me howl,
“Who’s idea was it that animals ever belong in the house, anyway??????!!!!!!”
The new boom truck that
Larry is going to drive for Walkers arrived Friday, and he was just starting to
feel all happy and delighted when he discovered that the computerized boom wouldn’t
take a load toward the front end of the truck. The people who set it
up hadn’t programmed the computer properly. So Larry couldn’t even put a load
of forms into the basement where they belonged.
Frustrating for him! When a company pays that much money for a big
piece of equipment and machinery, it ought to work.
Somebody who
supposedly knows what he is doing is coming from Omaha tomorrow, laptop in
hand, to reset it correctly.
Meanwhile, Caleb had
the truck that Larry had been using at
another job, and the boom just plumb broke, and that was end of the
truck working at that job. It will likely be out of commission for
three or four months. Fortunately, the boom didn’t come completely out of
the sleeve, so it didn’t fall, and nobody got hurt.
And... a hydraulic
hose broke on a third, older truck. At least this glitch was something Larry could fix, and he got it done late
Saturday afternoon. This morning he used
this truck to lift those cradles of forms down into the basement.
Kurt and Victoria
invited us over to their house after church last night. Finally, sweet
little Baby Carolyn was awake! I declare, every single time I’ve seen her
except once this last month, the baby has been sound asleep.
“She won’t even know
me, if she keeps that up!” I said to Victoria.
But Baby Carolyn acted
like she knew us just fine, and smiled and smiled at us.
Victoria made some
scrumptious smoothies of mangos, bananas, mango/orange juice, almond milk, protein
powder, baby spinach leaves, and honey.
Mmmm, good.
It’s been a couple
of years since I told the following story... (I looked!)... so... I decided it
wouldn’t hurt to tell it again.
One Christmas 24 years ago, I got our little manger scene
off the shelf where I had stored it. My late sister-in-law had given it
to us the first Christmas we were married, and I treasured it. The
children helped to carefully unwrap the ceramic pieces from the cloths in which
I had enveloped them. They duly admired the pieces, from the majestic
kings on their camels to the little lamb that Hester, age 4, placed beside the
smallest shepherd boy so it didn’t get ‘losted’.
But the children’s favorite was Baby Jesus.
There was a pause as Teddy, age 10, pulled it from its
cloth and they all looked at the Baby’s beautiful face. The artist who
had created the little set had truly done a wonderful job, especially on little
Jesus.
Once the figurines were removed from the box, the stable,
in which they’d been nestled, could be lifted out and set up. Keith, the
oldest at 13, set it on one of the end tables, and then the children turned to
retrieve the small statues from the table upon which they’d laid them.
Hannah, who was 12, put Mary and Joseph against the
middle back of the little structure, and Teddy arranged the Wise Men on the
right side of it.
“I thought we usually put the shepherds on that
side,” objected Dorcas, 11, poised to do so with the three in her hands.
Teddy adjusted one just so and then turned to look at his
sister. “They have to come from the east,” he informed her, and indeed
they were coming from the east.
She gave it a moment’s thought and then nodded
seriously. The shepherds went on the left, and Hester scurried to put the
lamb with his master, “before he gets scared and baa-aa-aa-aas,” she said,
sounding quite like a little lamb herself.
Joseph, age 8, set the donkey, the cow, and the sheep in
their places, and then it was time for the Most Important Piece of all:
Baby Jesus.
Hannah reached for it.
It wasn’t there.
The table was empty; nothing was on it at all.
“Where’s Baby Jesus?” asked Hannah.
Hester turned and looked at the table. Then, all in
an alarmed panic, “Baby Jesus is losted!!!” she howled.
“But we just had it,” breathed Dorcas in
distressed horror.
Someone has simply misplaced it, I thought, and looked quickly around the
room.
There was Lydia, just 2 ½, sitting in her favorite little
wooden chair, the tiny figurine cradled in the crook of one arm while her other
hand was wrapped protectively around it. She was rocking gently back and
forth, and we had stopped talking suddenly enough that we all heard her singing
sweetly, “ ♫ ♪ Little Baby in the manger, ♪ ♫ I love you! ♫ ♪ “
Then, realizing everything had gotten very quiet, her
head popped up, a questioning look on her face. Her eyes fell on the
stable, and then it dawned on her: Baby Jesus was the only figure
missing.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet, “Here He is, I
has Him!”
As we had done for many years, we allowed the youngest
able child to place the Baby in the stable. That was Lydia, since Caleb
was only 2 months old. Her eyes shone with delight as she carefully laid
manger and Baby directly in front of Mary and Joseph in the spot saved for Him.
I went to the piano, everyone gathered ’round, and we
sang a few Christmas songs.
I went out to get
more wood for the wood-burning stove a little while ago – and discovered that,
just like the weatherman predicted, there’s a bit of sleet coming down. We
will most likely get nothing but flurries.
However, there are some areas in the Black Hills of South Dakota that
have already received 9” of snow – and remnants of that storm is moving our
direction.
Larry isn’t home
from work yet. The wind is gusting past 55 mph, making the 28° temperature
feel like 12°. He’ll be tired and cold and hungry when he gets home... so
I’m fixing some of Schwan’s ‘homemade’ chicken noodle soup (more likely ‘factory-made’, but it certainly tastes
homemade – even the noodles do, and there are big chunks of chicken, along with
various vegetables) and mini 12-grain loaves. There’s pineapple to go
with it, and then we can cool ourselves back off with an ice cream bar for
dessert, heh.
Maybe I should make
a fresh pot of coffee, with which to warm back up after the ice cream bar?
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
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