It’s sooo
aggravating to come walking out of the bathroom (barefoot) in the morning, all
squeaky clean, and step ‘squoosh splurg’ into something the cat upchucked. 😜😝😖 This doesn’t happen as often as
it used to when little Tabby was still here.
Teensy is more likely to leave me a heap of feathers to churn into a
whirlwind when I unsuspectingly pull open a door somewhere. Aarrgghh.
I got the dog’s
picture at a big truck stop in ... Limon, I think it was. I thought the
owner had gone into the station, so I whistled and made a few friendly dog
noises... took the shots --- and then realized the owner was sitting behind the
wheel, head on backwards, looking at me. Emmmbarrassin’.
As for all those old
houses I take pictures of... I often look at them and think, Just imagine
the lives of people who lived there... maybe even generations of families...
and I’ll betcha all they went through just eking out a living in some of those
barren places would make us look like we were living on Easy Street.
After we went over
Imogene Pass back in 2014 (wow, hard to believe it’s been that long), and saw
the remains of the town around Tomboy Mine way up over 11,000-foot elevation, I
bought a book called Tomboy
Bride – written by a young pioneer woman, Harriet
Fish Backus, about her life after marrying and moving with her husband to the
mining town above Telluride, Colorado.
If you think going
over some of those mountain passes in modern vehicles is scary, imagine
traversing them in a stagecoach!
While I full well
understand (well, theoretically, at least) the hardships and dangers our
forefathers went through settling this land, there’s nevertheless always been
something in me that wished to experience some of that. You know what I
mean?
Harriet Backus was
a pretty young woman. There’s a Facebook page hosted by her
grandson, Rob Walton, dedicated to his grandmother’s story: https://www.facebook.com/TomboyBrideBook/
Pictures in Harriet’s
book show her dressed in clothes very much like clothing my great-grandmothers
wore. One of my great-grandmothers was a seamstress and a tailor.
Her wedding gown has sooooo many tiny pleats in various sections of sleeve and
skirt... pin-tucks in the bodice... lace overlay here and there... It was so
intricate and perfectly made – and she did it all by hand. I have no idea if that dress was ever
saved. But at least we have pictures!
I have a couple of
tiny gowns someone made for me when I was born. I should freshen them up
and display them in a glassed shadowbox or something similar.
I’ve always enjoyed
learning about our country’s history. Earlier
history, especially the Dark Ages, not at all, at all. It
was a terrible time in humanity – dark because of the awful things men did to
one another, mostly in the name of religion. Did you know that almost all
other religions violently persecuted the Baptists? The Baptists are not
considered ‘Protestant’. I didn’t used to know that, until we began
studying Baptist history.
Even in the early
days of North America’s settling, Baptists were persecuted – sometimes to death
– before some of the more just and unbiased of our forefathers took pains to
make it clear legally what ‘freedom of religion’ should really mean.
One of the points
that so riled other religious personages was the fact that Baptists did not
practice infant baptism. In early Europe, the magistrates would take
Baptist preachers, strap them to long poles, and dunk them until they were
nearly drowned (or truly drowned), trying to get them to recant their
beliefs.
Lookers-on would
chant gleefully, “Baptize him again! Baptize him again!!”
Real Christianly of
them, hmmm?
How in the world
did I get off on that? <...scanning back...> Oh.
History. Dark Ages. Yes, well...
We might think our country is going downhill, and it is, in many ways — but we
can surely be thankful we have it better, freedom-wise, than many have had it
since the calendar began!
Tuesday evening, Larry
went hunting with Bobby. But just as the
previous day with Kurt, the only deer they saw were over 600 yards away.
Caleb, upon hearing
this, scoffed, “I saw a video where a little eight-year-old girl could shoot a
jug of milk at 1,000 yards!”
His father
retorted, all affronted, “I wasn’t hunting milk jugs.”
Caleb laughed, “’Course,
she did have something on her rifle that amplified her aim.”
“A heat-seeking
missile?” I speculated, and they were promptly into longwinded discussions
about how that would (or wouldn’t) work.
“It might turn
around like a boomerang and come after me!” exclaimed Larry.
You all could
probably guess that I would not shoot a deer with anything other than my Canon
EOS Rebel. But I’m not averse to cooking the venison, once it’s
processed!
Look what I found
on Bobby and Hannah’s family-room wall when we were there for our family
get-together a week ago last Thursday:
This quilt was a
birthday gift for Bobby a couple of years ago. I didn’t realize until
last summer when I ‘borrowed it back’ to take to the county and state fairs
that the rod I’d given them was too short.
So we got a longer one for them. And there it was, hanging there
in all its glory. There are 8,550 half-inch squares in that quilt.
The quilt measures maybe... ? 56” x 57”, perhaps? Something like
that. (I already garnered praise for
that quilt once... but I was so pleased to see it hanging on their wall, I just
had to take pictures of it... brag about it... 😉 )
Wednesday was spent
quilting, quilting, quilting, with a pause for our church service that night,
after which we had a late supper, and then I quilted some more until time for
bed (whatever time that was).
In chatting with a
friend that afternoon, I was reminded of... hmmm... let’s call it The Big Bedbug Bedlam. It all started when someone on a quilting
group asked me where I got all the uniquely shaped pillows I’d covered to
coordinate with some of my quilts. I get them at the Goodwill and the
Salvation Army. My criteria are: 1) it must have a good
shape and not be lumpy, and 2) it must smell good and be clean. I
find all sizes and shapes of pillows there, and they only cost 50¢ to $1.50
each. It’s fun to cover the oddly shaped ones with the leftover partial
blocks from the quilt. I like to have half a dozen or so decorative toss
pillows on the bed, depending on size of pillows and size of bed.
Someone promptly
wrote to the group to tell everyone not to get pillows (or clothes, or
anything else, for that matter) at the Goodwill or Salvation Army. “I
would strongly advise against it,” she wrote. She recommended buying such
things at a department store. (Of course, you’re not going to find those
unique shapes there – and the ones you do find, if you should happen to
be fortunate enough to find them, will cost you a pretty penny.) “The
department store is definitely more sanitary than the stuff at Goodwill.
Bedbugs are still a huge problem in many cities.”
Rather insulting,
to be accused of doling out unsanitary pillows to people, isn’t it?
But I wrote back,
in an attempt to be funny (which never works, when one is insulted), “Oh, don’t
worry. I have a pet baboon especially trained to pick off all the bedbugs
I bring home with me.
“Actually,
our Goodwill cleans and sanitizes things very well before putting them out on
the floor. It smells fresh and nice in there, and is bright and well
organized. I inspect things closely before bringing them home, and often
find brand-new items with price tags still on them.
“We live
in a smallish town in the middle of the prairies and cornfields, and there’s
more likely to be a tumbleweed stuck in the front door of the Goodwill than a
bedbug lurking in a decorative pillow. Besides, we’ve taught our bedbugs
to confine themselves solely to low thread-count sheets.
“I couldn’t
make all these pillows if I had to buy them new.”
,,,>^..^<,,,
Sarah Lynn, putting on a flea collar ,,,>^..^<,,,
The lady
didn’t seem to appreciate my sparkling wit. She wrote, “Apparently
you don’t realize what a huge problem bedbugs are.” Etc., etc., and on
and on and so forth.
I decided
I’d better not answer, in the interest of preserving peace in the quilting
group. But… of course I do too, I do too!! (Realize
there are huge bedbugs, that is.) I
read! I even read the news, directly after I read the funnies. I
do.
And since
I do, that’s precisely why I hired the pet baboon. If you receive a throw
pillow from me, you may be assured it has been picked clean of vermin and
parasites.
{Senses
of humor seem to be going the way of senses of horse these days. Grum
grum grum grum grum… I like things clean!!! Clean. And
I’ll betcha the finicky manager of our nice, clean Goodwill would be highly
offended if she knew anything in her store was coming into question for its
sanity. Uh, sanitation. Sanitization? Something.}
The following day,
I worked on a couple of bedbug-free aprons for a customer.
* * *
Okay, now flash
forward to my journal of 01-28-13:
Do you remember the
bedbug flap that began when I announced to one of the quilting groups that I
got pillows at the Goodwill and covered them to match my quilts, because they’re
so much cheaper (and of greater variety in shape and size) than pricey pillow
forms from Wal-Mart or anywhere else? One of the moderators drew back in
horror and announced, “Those thangs have bedbugs!” whereupon I reassured
her by saying that I had a pet baboon especially trained to pick said bedbugs off
said pillows.
“Ve are not amüsed,”
quoth Queen Victoria (of the U.K., that is; not of the Jacksons).
Well, the other
morning I wrote the following on that same group when one of the ladies asked
what everyone was working on that day:
I will be putting
together the hang for the foot of the quilt. (‘Foot of the quilt’?
Sounds funny.) (Are there other terms for ‘drop’ or ‘hang’ or ‘foot’?)
Then the border strips… and then I can begin loading it on my frame!!! I
have new Red Snappers with which to attach it… AND I have brand spankin’
new Railz on my frame that should make quilting a breeze!
Soon I need to make
a run to Lincoln for batting (need something drapable and lightweight – Dream Poly
or Dream Wool, probably), and I will drop off my Bernina 180 at the Bernina
Store to have it thoroughly serviced. Good time to do it, while I will be
using the HQ16. And I do still have the
old faithful Bernina 830 Record.
I will also stop at
Hobby Lobby for trim for the pillows. They have a rack with several
shelves chock full of all sorts of fancy trims – piping, beading, cording,
braid, etc. – in teal blue and brown that perfectly matches my fabrics, and I
want every single roll/skein/bolt/spool of it. If there are a gazillion
yards, and it runs an average of, hmmm, let’s say $10 a yard, just to make it
easy, then I only need… well, looks like I need to rob the bank before I go,
eh? Oh! – need to make a stop at the local Goodwill, too, for the pillows
to cover. (Yes, I remember the bedbug debate; I promise to feed them well
before I cover them, so they won’t need to eat anything for awhile.
Okay?) :-D
I envy some of you
ladies the snow you are getting!
* * *
It was not ten
minutes before this post – from one of the moderators – came through the list: “It was
absolutely NOT meant as a joke and I’m not appreciating the humor.”
! Mercy me, I didn’t know she was that bent out of shape about
it. So she doesn’t want me to feed them. What will PETA think of
that?!
I have not bothered
to answer her, though I can certainly think of plenty to say. For
instance, shouldn’t she be more concerned about me robbing a bank?? I said I was going to do that, too, you
know.
Actually, I should
be all offended at her for acting like I make vermin-infested things,
and then dole them out to innocent, unsuspecting loved ones.
Sooo… do you
think bedbugs are funny? So long as they’re on de üddêr guy, of
course.
Siggghhhh… Some people. Tsk. You’d’ve thought I said her müdder whars
army boots.
You want a
pillow? Will you be a-wantin’ bedbugs with that? And would you like
them supersized?
Poor lady probably
got all bitten to bits by bedbugs once upon a time, and is still suffering the
traumatic aftereffects. PBBSD (Post BedBug Stress Disorder), as it were.
Still, it wasn’t my
fault. Nor is it my fault that bedbugs are funny. Why, even
websites that have all sorts of remedies and treatments for bedbugs and bedbug
bites have jokes about the horrid little pests.
Other ladies then
wrote privately to assure me that my remark was quite funny and not at all
offensive, and, further, “Some people are just dreadfully stuffy and
impossible,” as one put it.
Why can’t people
joke about things?! Or, lacking that,
why can’t they just let me joke about
those things? Why must those who suffer
from PBBSD get all twisted up into angry, hostile pretzels?!
(An angry, hostile
pretzel is something to behold.) (Closely rivals a hungry bedbug.)
All right, that’s
enough, that’s enough.
For now.
Maybe.
Yeah, I do
have a tendency to run things into the ground.
* * *
There. So now
you know all about The Big Bedbug Bedlam, if you didn’t before.
Thursday,
I sorted out a few emails for my blind friend that had landed in the Spam
folder. Uh, that is, the emails had landed in her spam
folder. Linda herself was seated quite
stably in her desk chair. English,
tsk. It seems no matter how I label or engage filters on some of
her mail, it will determinedly find
its way into spam. I pitched out one email
that was written in Japanese, with all those artistic little characters that
take ten minutes apiece to write.
I later
remarked to Linda, “Maybe I should’ve tossed it into Google translate, in case
you are the sole heir of a Japanese prince who died in seclusion in Bol’shoy
Shantar, remote island in the Sea of Okhotsk.”
Do you
ever get those, and wonder if they could possibly be true? Don’t worry; if you really are an heir to some spectacular fortune,
you’ll get something other than an email full of misspelt words and bad grammar
to advise you of the fact.
A friend sent me a
video clip of a futuristic smart car, of sorts, part computer and part robot, that
behaves like a taxi and can pick you up and transport you here and there
quickly and safely. Kind of nifty, but I
told her, “I’m a-gonna hold out for the kind that can instantly morph into
miniature helicopters and jet planes and speed boats.”
Can you imagine, if
all 7.6 billion people in the world had one of those? We’d be jostling
each other in the sky and sea, in addition to on land!
Look what the
prophet Nahum wrote, in about 612 BC: “The
chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall justle one against another in
the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the
lightnings.”
Speaking of
jostling one another, did you know that there are twice as many people on earth
now as there were in 1970?
Do you like Pumpkin
Spice Coffeemate Creamer? Hannah offered
me some, the other day when we were at their house, and the coffee was a wee
bit weak. Now, if I say the
coffee is weak, you’d better believe it’s weak, because I don’t like
strong coffee. (Why do I think coffee tastes like paper towels, when it’s
too weak?)
I opened the lid,
tipped the bottle...
“It comes out fast!”
said Hannah, too late.
It came out fast.
I had a paper
towel/pumpkin spice milkshake.
No, actually, it was
downright good. But if everyone had’ve been as big of a pig
as me, someone would’ve had to go to
the store for more creamer!
This reminded me of
another time a few years ago (everything reminds me of another time,
ever notice that?) when I trotted into the kitchen to warm up my coffee in the
microwave – and forgot that, the day before, Victoria had been ‘making candles’.
She’d poured mulberry-scented wax into a lid, along with a fat string...
then she made ‘designs’ all over the top ... then she decided that that didn’t
look nice, so she melted it again – by putting it into the microwave – on high
– for three minutes.
It melted, all
right. It boiled. It splattered mulberry wax
high and low. The whole microwave reeked of mulberry. And so did my
coffee. 😜 I set
her to cleaning the microwave. Soon the
wax itself was gone, but the microwave smelt mighty good, and everything we
warmed up in there came out tasting vaguely perfumed of berry. There were
bright mulberry splotches all over the walls, ceiling, and floor of that
microwave ’til the day it died.
But the day wasn’t
over yet.
Later, I made a new
pot of coffee. A few minutes later, tastebuds all polished up, I came to
get a nice fresh mug of coffee.
Pulling the pot
from the coffeemaker, I poured – not noticing that there on the spout was a
heap of pumpkin pie spice.
Eh? You’ve
never had a heap of pumpkin pie spice mysteriously materialize on your
coffeepot spout?
Well, then, you’ve evidently
never had a spice cupboard directly over your coffeemaker, nor yet a teenage
Caleb rummaging through that same cupboard. He’d knocked out the bottle
of pumpkin pie spice. And the person who had last used said spice had
neglected to screw the lid on tight. The lid popped off… the spice spilt…
and, though Caleb cleaned up what landed on the counter, he did not notice the
pile of spice on the coffeepot spout.
Now, I like
flavored coffee – hazelnut crème, French vanilla, Irish caramel, blueberry
cobbler, . . . but!! --- I do not much care for mulberry-candlewax
flavored coffee, nor yet pumpkin-pie-spice flavored coffee --- especially a
whole tablespoon in one small mug of coffee.
Two ruint mugs of
coffee in one day is almost too much to bear.
And then there was
the time when we lived in town, and Caleb was about five years old, and he decided
to be Mama’s Little Helper and warm up my coffee for me. It was in a tall
plastic thermal mug with a lid, nearly full, and it was lukewarm. Almost
cold.
“How much shall I
warm it up?” he queried.
“Oh, about 70
seconds,” I told him.
He put it into the
microwave and hit the buttons.
He hit the zero one
too many times.
At the five-minute
mark, the lid blew off. BANG!!!
“Wow!” said Caleb,
who’d been peering patiently in the microwave window.
“What happened?!” I
asked, having forgotten by now what he’d been doing.
“Oh, the lid just
blew off,” he told me nonchalantly, still watching the now lidless (and nearly
coffeeless) mug revolving inside the microwave.
Yeah, we made fresh
coffee. (And cleaned out the microwave.)
A friend wrote to lament that her coffeepot had
died. “No coffee to be had. The pot just up and died, but it had a
good long life,” she wrote.
Oooo, that’s cruel
and unusual punishment, for your coffeemaker to croak! In a pinch, I have
put coffee into a filter, tied it shut with a twisty, and put it into a teapot
that goes on the stove. I heat the water (usually boiling it, without
meaning to)... let it steep awhile... and tässä! Ah haff kahvi!
By suppertime
Thursday evening, I was halfway through the second row from the bottom of the
quilt – and supper was not started, except for the apple pie in the oven. I planned to cook chicken breasts and fresh
green beans for supper, but Larry wasn’t home yet. He worked ’til almost 9:00 that night.
The lady for whom I am quilting does editing,
working from home. That day, she was working
on a devotional document for a church in New York City.
“I still remember the first time I edited a
30-page document full of Bible quotes,” she said. “I kept pinching myself, hardly believing that
I was being paid to read the Bible!”
Reminds me of when Caleb,
as a young teenager, when he couldn’t actually be hired by Walker Construction,
but was allowed to ride along in the boom truck with his father. When
they were at a job, he could trot around picking things up for everyone, or he
could help direct Larry as he backed the truck into a tight spot...
The company paid
him anytime he did work such as that. The first time he got a check, he
came dashing in the door, waving his check under my nose and crying, “Look at
this!!! They’re paying me to have
fun!!!”
Friday, I began working
on the final row of my customer’s Christmas quilt. Too bad I couldn’t have had the new longarm
just a month sooner! I believe I’ll have better stitches and better
tension with this machine. I certainly hope so. I have a large mirror and a flashlight that I
use to look at the underside of quilts on the longarm frame. But... every
now and then... I’ve looked... I think everything is fine... I quilt... and
discover belatedly that the tension changed in some certain spot, and has gone
all awry. 😕
‘Awry.’ Now I have to tell you about the time we had
this particularly aggravating individual trying to fill my father’s shoes in
the pulpit for a time, when my father was not well. He was an obnoxious
oaf, and that’s the nicest thing I can say about him. Anyway, he was ‘preaching’
away one day, trying his bestest to wax eloquent (what aggravated me so badly
was that he tried to preach like my father did – but he didn’t really believe what he was saying, and I knew
it) – and he said, “...if you wonder why everything goes a-wire, ...” (instead
of ‘awry’).
I needed to
laugh. I needed to laugh really, really badly.
So later, there I
was talking to a friend of mine about the bumbling bloke, and I said, said I,
“His sermons always go a-screw!” (I meant to say, ‘askew’.)
Penny laughed ’til
she cried. That was 30 years ago, and she hasn’t let me forget it since.
I made soup that day,
using up all the leftover vegetables I’d sliced for vegetable trays, and throwing
in some frozen baby bakers (little potatoes), too. Here’s what was in the soup:
Broccoli
Carrots
Cauliflower
Red sweet peppers
Yellow sweet peppers
Orange sweet peppers
Green bell peppers
Summer squash
Asparagus
Celery
Baby bakers
Then I cooked some
hamburger and tossed that in, too... and began adding salt and other spices:
Hungarian paprika
Sage
Garlic powder
Sweet basil
Italian seasoning
Thyme
Oregano leaves
Once everything was
cooked and had simmered together for a while, I added some milk, a slice of
American cheese, and several slices of Pepper Jack cheese – the kind with ghost
peppers in it. Then I added just enough potato flakes to thicken it a
bit. And that was really, really
scrumptious soup. There was plenty for supper Saturday night, too.
One thing I learned a long time ago, though: milk-based soup doesn’t
last nearly as long as other soups, and you’d better have it gone before three
days pass. Nothing like warming up your soup, only to discover it’s gone
sour! Ugh.
Mama used to make
what she called ‘hamburger soup’, but she certainly never had the strange
concoction of vegetables I used in ours. The vegetables I used
would’ve turned Daddy wrong side out. haha Mama used corn, green beans, and
peas. I don’t think Daddy thought there was any other kind of
vegetables than those. 😅
And she would’ve
never ever put hot spicy cheese – or hot spicy anything – into
the soup.
That evening we had
our get-together with Teddy and Amy’s family; the kiddos were finally well
again. We had supper and exchanged
gifts. Norma came, too. Here’s Teddy helping his boys put
together the Toss Across game we gave them.
Saturday, Larry went to Oklahoma to pick up a
flatbed trailer for a neighbor man, who’s paying him mileage. Larry did
the purchasing on the Purple Wave auction; the neighbor gave Larry the money. Last week, Larry talked on the phone with the
person from whom he bought the trailer, telling him when he could pick it up –
but Thursday he received notice from Purple Wave that the seller had filed
Abandonment charges!
That’s when a buyer
fails to pick up a purchased item. After a set time, the seller may then
relist the item – and keep the purchaser’s money! The seller did
that less than a week after agreeing to the time of pickup.
Dishonest sellers
do that in order to resell items that were already sold, thus garnering twice
the profits.
Purple Wave contacted
Larry... he told them his side of the story... they assured him that he had
another month to collect the item. I hoped the seller actually had the
trailer Larry had already paid for.
He got up at 3:30 in the morning, and was gone by 3:45 a.m.
He didn’t get home until
3:00 a.m. Sunday morning. Long
day. He drove a little over 1,000 miles. The seller had taken the
trailer to someone else’s house. He told
this to Larry as Larry was en route, and gave Larry a phone number. Larry couldn’t hear him well, and couldn’t write
it down, as he was driving, so he asked the man to text it to him. No text came.
Larry tried calling him. The man answered
his phone... heard Larry’s voice... and hung up on him. He would not again answer or respond to texts
thereafter. Purple Wave auction house is
closed on Saturday, but fortunately Larry had one of the representatives’ personal
number, and this person was able to discover where the trailer was. So Larry went to get it, after losing half an
hour over the ordeal.
The taillights were
smashed. They were not smashed in the pictures on the auction
site. The man was probably angry because
Larry was the only one or maybe only one of two who had bid on the trailer, and
thus the price was extremely low... so the guy wanted to relist it, and get
paid twice. It is understood that this can happen, when one puts items on
particular auctions. It’s not the buyer’s
fault, for crying out loud.
Then Larry went to
pick up the forklift tines he had purchased somewhere ‘nearby’. Well, it looked nearby on his
smartphone screen. It was actually another 300 miles.
Moral of the story:
Look at maps on big
screens! 😏🙃
(Or check the
mileage.)
Meanwhile, here at
home, I quilted. By a quarter after one
in the morning, I’d finished the last row of Carol’s Christmas quilt. More pictures here. I have only the bottom border to go!
I haven’t used my
Avanté yet. First, I’ll complete this quilt, then I’ll finish getting my
new quilting studio set up exactly how I want it, including hanging things on
the walls. I’ll appliqué the remaining
petals on Todd and Dorcas’ quilt – and then I’ll quilt it.
Everyone else who’s
champing at the bit to send me quilts will have to wait until I’m at least done
with that, because I want to ‘practice’ first with my own quilt, not a
customer’s quilt.
I really don’t want
to be as swamped with customer quilts as I was last year – six months of
non-stop customer quilts! I have many, many things of my own I wish to
do. Plus, it’s sometimes nerve-wracking
when I don’t feel like I’m doing a good enough job – and it’s not my quilt! I’m feeling this way about Carol’s, because
the tension is wrong in places. She’s paying me a lot, and I
really, really wanted to do a good job for her!
It should have been
done before Christmas – but she wasn’t able to get it to me at the first of
November as I requested, and custom quilting takes a long time. I had
many things I needed to do for Christmas, too. So it couldn’t be helped.
One good
thing: by timing my custom quilting and keeping track of the minutes, I will
get better at guessing how long it will take, and then I’ll know better just
how many scribbles to put into each block to make it tally up to what the
customer requests.
Oh, well.
Better too much quilting than too little. (Unless, of
course, the customer doesn’t want ‘too much’.)
And at least it’s
not like fruitcake, where if you don’t get it to someone soon enough after
baking it, petrification (or worse, fermentation) sets in. heh
8:00 a.m. Sunday
morning found me blow-drying my hair, sipping a fresh mug of coffee, and
reading email, the news, and the funnies, not necessarily in that order.
At 25 after 8, I
reluctantly awoke Larry, wondering what the interval between ‘I woke him up’
and ‘he got up’ would be. Amazingly
enough, it was only five minutes.
He took a long nap later
that afternoon, and then last night he headed to bed just a couple of hours
after we got home from our evening church service. He shut the bedroom
door.
Then he opened it back
up, peered out into the kitchen where I was, and said in a somewhat sheepish,
somewhat imperious tone, “I’m going to get in bed!”
That tone just
called for... something, so I stared back at him with a blank face and
retorted, “How dare you.”
So off he went to
bed, laughing.
By this morning, he
had pretty well recovered from Saturday’s ordeal.
After a couple of
weeks of subarctic temperatures and blowing winds, we’ve finally had a couple
of days where the temperature has been over 40°. Shocking! It felt like the arrival of summer! Well,
almost. It’s supposed to be fairly nice
until Friday, when the temperature will drop again, and there is a possibility
of snow.
I went out to fill
one of the bird feeders – barefoot! (Had to wash my feet thereafter, as
the deck was damp from melting icicles, and sunflower seed shells stuck to my
feet. Bleah.)
We got our electric
bill yesterday: over $400 – $100 more
than last month. Next month’s will make
this one’s look like chicken feed.
I’m having Legends
of China white tea that Loren gave me, with a Clover Honey Spoon from Caleb and
Maria, while a Crabtree & Evelyn White Cardemom candle from Andrew and
Hester makes the whole room smell good.
The other candles are from other offspring’ns. I suppose I shouldn’t burn them all at once? 😄
Now I have a bit of
computer work... laundry... housecleaning... and then I’ll get back to Carol’s quilt.
I have only the bottom border to go, only the bottom border to go!
Oh! – I just
discovered Larry has washed his work clothes.
There is a load in the dryer... and another in the washing machine. I need only put one load into the dryer, and then
I can start a load of delicates. I’ll be
done sooner than expected!
Some of my friends
don’t like their husbands to do the wash, because they wind up with things
tinted the wrong color. But at our house, it isn’t Larry who tints the wash, it’s me. He didn’t fuss so much about the pink ‘White Things’,
but when I accidentally got a burgundy rayon skirt mixed in with his khaki
workpants, well, that was another matter.
And no, I don’t
know how it happened, and no, I didn’t know a burgundy rayon skirt would
run like an Olympic sprinter.
What’s wrong with
sick pink khaki workpants anyhow?
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
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