Tuesday, I
filled the bird feeders... washed the dishes... and headed upstairs to my quilting
studio.
I could
repeat that sentence each day for the rest of the week, and my journal would be
done. 😃
Well, I did add
laundry to the mix on Wednesday. That
day, I got a couple of big, heavy boxes of
groceries from Wal-Mart. One box,
according to the email notification, was supposed to include a ten-pound bag of
Gold Medal flour.
The
bag itself was conspicuously absent.
However, it did appear that
someone had tossed a handful of loose flour into the box, over the top of all
the other groceries. What in the world?
I
contacted Wal-Mart, and a bag of Gold Medal flour is now on its way.
On
our way home from church that night, we heard a volley of frogs croaking away
in the water-filled ditches alongside the roads. That was the first time we’ve heard them this
spring.
Thursday
afternoon, it was cooler than it had been for a couple
of days, only 49°; but the birds were nevertheless singing their hearts
out. (Caleb, when he was little, once happily and innocently announced
that they were ‘singing their gizzards out’.) I could hear goldfinches,
house finches, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, wrens, song sparrows, English
sparrows, blue jays, robins, mourning doves, Eurasian collared doves, ...
and... Oh! There was a little downy
woodpecker giving his sharp, quick chirp! Wanna hear what they sound
like?
One
time we were tent camping with the seven older children in Nebraska’s wooded and
pretty Johnson Lake State Recreation Area, about 170 miles to our west. The kids were so amazed when we awoke at dawn,
to hear what sounded like choirs and choirs of an enormous variety of birds in
the trees all around us. They’d never
heard anything like that before.
At
5:30 p.m., I rolled the New York Beauty forward... and
row #6 showed up!
There are eight
rows, counting the top and bottom borders.
When our neighbors to the east sold their
property, it was divided into two parts, and now two different families own
it. The people who live in the log home have quite a bit of the property,
and raise goats and chickens and guineas (when the foxes aren’t chowing down on
them) (uh, that is, the foxes chow down on the guineas, not
the people). They have been very good neighbors; we really
like them. We take care of their animals when they are gone, and when we
refuse money, they give us gift certificates to nice restaurants. So
Larry moves snow off the lane that goes up the hill to their place... and they
then bring us cartons of fresh eggs.
Last week, the man who bought the property
where the barn used to stand had Koch Excavating dig his basement, Walker
Foundations (either Bobby or Teddy’s crew) put in the foundations, and Thursday
Heartland Concrete Placement arrived with their big pump truck, and Gehring Ready-Mix
sent half a dozen cement trucks, and they poured the basement walls.
One of Kurt’s grandfathers, Steve, owns Koch
Excavating. He was one of my favorite ‘big boys’ when I was little.
He taught me to ka-whack a baseball
clear out of the ball park. When I was
13, I stayed with him and his late wife, Mary, when my parents went on a trip
somewhere. It was one of my favorite places to stay. Steve taught
me to play chess while I was there. Each morning, Mary and I rode our
bikes to Jr. High together – she had a Beauty Salon just a block from the
school. She died of cancer when she was only 44. Her little boy
Nathanael was 4, a month older than Hester.
Steve has since remarried.
Another friend of ours owns Heartland
Concrete, and his brother, another of my favorite ‘big boys’ – he once took me
trick-or-treating, after all! – owns Gehring Ready-Mix. My brother-in-law John H. drives the truck
that hauls the cement powder.
Friday
afternoon about 4:00 p.m., I heard a ‘tink-tink-tink’ on the windows, looked
outside, and discovered it was sleeting.
Little round balls of ice were pelting the windows.
One of my cousins posted a picture of a bag perched conspicuously
in her well-manicured yard. She told the
story behind it:
The previous night, her big dog had gotten out of
the fence and into the neighbors’ yard. She
called him back, and took him inside.
The next day while she was at work, the neighbor
sent her a text to tell her that the dog had made a mess in her yard.
My cousin headed home from work at noon to clean
things up.
But when she drove up to her pretty house, she saw
the bag – a doggy bag, and not the kind from a restaurant – sitting on her front
lawn. The woman next door had gathered
up the mess – and put the bag right in my cousin’s front yard.
We all (cousins, sister, friends) helpfully
suggested that she empty the bag, then hang it on the neighbors’ doorknob. One should always return things to their
rightful owners, shouldn’t one?
We used to have a neighbor who would clean up the
messes in her yard with a small shovel – and heave them over the fence into
ours. Maybe she thought that because we
had a big ol’ Siberian husky and she had a wee li’l Scottie, it wouldn’t make a
lick of difference?
Later, after we moved out to the country, we had
neighbors who would let their dog out, watch him use our yard, and then call
him home again. Furthermore, it was a
nasty, heathen dog who growled at us and chased our sweet, Christian cats. I decided if they didn’t care what we thought, I wouldn’t care what they
thought. I went to throwing things every
time the dog arrived for his daily constitutional. I’m a good shot. 😉
(No, I didn’t throw anything that would hurt him; I
just scared him and ordered him home.)
After he yipped and ran for home a couple of times,
the problem ceased. It is unknown
whether it was the dog or the owners who smartened up.
I
looked out the window again at about 4:30, and saw that it was snowing like
everything. On the weather apps on my
laptop, all the while it sleeted and then snowed, it said we were getting a ‘light
rain’. It was first the noisiest, and
then the whitest, ‘light rain’ I had
ever seen. 😏
I had a friend who
was a year and a half older than me, who had Down’s Syndrome. We sort of
grew up together, because her father was the head deacon, and our parents were
very good friends. We learned to walk at
about the same time, and accomplished other milestones around the same time,
for a while when we were little. She was
a sweet person.
One time she let me
ride her adult tricycle. Have you ever ridden one? If you are only used to a bicycle, those
things can throw you for a loop! I took
off, pedaling furiously, headed around a corner — and, feeling like I was
falling because I couldn’t lean into the corner, wound up going in a short,
fast circle the opposite direction.
Jeanne laughed ’til
she sat right down on the ground and howled. “Never thought I could ride that
better than you!” she said, with an up-shrug of one shoulder that was so
characteristic of her whole family.
I scowled, “It isn’t
that funny” – and started her up all over again. She was quick at
knowing when I was teasing her.
* * *
I went on
quilting. And then........... !!!!
I’d been getting
worried, thinking I was going to run out of batting before I ran out of quilt
top. I measured... Yep, I was going to
run out of batting. Then I looked at my
EQ8 diagram... looked back at the row that was showing on my frame...
Huh??!
Mah woid!!! (in a
Shirley Temple tone) I was on row 7, not
on row 6!!! I’m one whole row closer to
being done than I thought. I must’ve quilted one row in my sleep. After
row 7, there is only the border to go.
Yaaay,
after a big update (599 MB!) to EQ8, it finally opens properly! When I choose the quilt I want from my files
and click Okay, it just opens,
without having to then click on the project sketchbook and again click Open.
Saturday,
I heard a familiar, low-pitched, raspy squawking, looked out the window, and
found that the grackles are back. Some
people hate them, I suppose because they are loud and messy. But I like to watch them strutting around,
fanning out their tail feathers, their midnight blue/purple/black feathers
shining iridescently in the bright sunlight.
A quilting friend, upon seeing this picture, wrote, “Sarah
Lynn, I’m so delighted to see that your table looks just as cluttered as mine.”
I promptly retorted, “Hey, that clutter is VIP!
– Very Important Paraphernalia! 😂 It’s the stuff I’m
using for this quilt (rulers, thread, marking tools, binding fabric, scissors,
snips), my laptop, speakers, the requisite stuffed animals, my Bernina,
pincushions, and the backing for the table runner that’s waiting to be quilted
when this NYB is done. Oh, and there’s
my iron, too, and a scarf I put on the other day when it was freezing cold in
that room. At the back of the table are
my ‘tool bags’, and the cases with embroidery thread. Those stay there all the time, unless I need
to cut something from 60”-wide fabric. Everything gets put back into
their proper places as soon as the project is done. 😃 (But maybe if I picked up that wayward
Kleenex, everything would look better.)”
A couple of friends asked the dimensions of the
quilting studio. I’d been wanting to
know, myself, so I grabbed Larry’s big metal tape measure, trotted upstairs,
and measured.
It’s 21.5 ft. x 11.5 ft., give or take a little for
the sides of the dormer. The little
office just across the landing where my ironing board, rolltop desk, dresser,
and some fabric bins are measures 11.5 ft. x 9 ft. It might be nice to have a big, square room;
but I’m quite fond of this old farmhouse with its nooks and crannies.
I have recently gotten emails telling me of the
birth of a couple of friends’ babies. Both
were a day or two old (the babies; not the friends) – but had no names
yet. This generally strikes me as odd,
since we always had our babies named a good seven months ahead of time. And we’re plumb normal, right?
Sometimes
people don’t name their babies right away, because, so they say, they ‘have to
see what he or she looks like first’.
Well, but... but... but... I always wonder, how, then can you name the
urchin at, oh, say, one week, when everyone knows
the kid’s looks are going to change immensely by the time he’s 5, or 15, or
25, or 85?!
And then
are those peculiar people who allow the child to name himself, when he gets old enough, thereby bequeathing the
world with individuals named Freight Train or Rocket Ship or Dust Bunny or
Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Ah,
well. That’s not much worse than some of
the monikers parents themselves have saddled their young’ns with. If your last name is Ball, why would you name
your daughter Krystal? If you last name
is Hogg, why would you name your daughter Ima?
If your last name is Case, why would you name your son Justin? If your last name is Tyme, why would you name
your daughter Rosemary Ann? If your last
name is Horne (or Frye), why would you name your son Frenchie?
At 5:30 p.m., I wound a bobbin – and finished using
up one cone of thread. That means that I
have now used 3,000 yards of Bottom Line thread and 3,000 yards of Signature
thread. Therefore, since I am more than
three-quarters done with this quilt, and I have another 3,000-yard cone of
Bottom Line, and just as much Signature thread for the top, this means I have
plenty of thread with which to finish the quilting.
Later that night, I heard a Great Horned owl hooting
in the trees right outside my quilting studio windows. Wish I could see it!
Sunday, Dr. Sam Slobodian from BIEM (Baptist
International Evangelistic Ministries) and a pastor from the Ukraine, Igor, visited
our church. Dr. Slobodian showed a video
of BIEM’s work; then Igor gave his testimony, with Bro. Sam interpreting. Bro. Sam played his trumpet for both the
morning and the evening services. Boy oh
boy, can he ever play! I love lively
trumpet, piano, and organ trios.
Last night was more of both of their enthralling testimonies. Bro. Sam told the story of his grandfather,
who went from the Ukraine to Argentina looking for work during the Depression
and World War II times... found nothing ---- until he found the Lord.
He sent money for his family to join him after six
years, but the price of tickets had gone up, and the oldest boy, Peter (Sam’s
father), who was 12, had to stay behind.
He lived with relatives for a couple of years, then worked for someone...
but everywhere he went, people were abusive to him.
Finally, two years later, his father sent the money
for him to go to Argentina. It was a
wonderful thing when the family was reunited.
But... all of them but Peter knew the Lord. It would be a few years before he turned to
God; but when he did so, he did it with all his heart.
Peter, his wife Mary, with their daughter and son, would
eventually come to the States, making their home in Minneapolis, Minnesota,
where Peter established Baptist churches for Russian- and Ukrainian-speaking
people. When the Iron Curtain came down,
and immigration ceased from those countries, he started a Baptist church for
Spanish-speaking people in Chicago.
He preached the gospel via short-wave radio to
Christians in Eastern Europe and Russia.
When barriers were lifted and Glasnost (‘openness and transparency’) came
about in 1985, thousands of requests for Bibles and religious literature poured
into BIEM from people who had been listening by radio. Here’s a touching video:
Today we got up early and headed to Lincoln for either realignment or new dentures for
Larry; he wasn’t sure which, but knew it was something more than a simple
adjustment, since they gave him appointments at both 9 a.m. and at 2 p.m. The last adjustment wasn’t so great, and the ‘gums’
on those new teeth really needed to be totally reworked.
The sun topped the
horizon shortly after we left home at about 7:05 a.m. By 7:45, it had risen enough to shine
brightly right in our eyes. Fortunately,
our route soon took us southward, and by the time we turned east again, the sun
was high enough to not be a problem.
After the 9:00
appointment, we drove to Nebraska City to see the Missouri River, which is
still flooding. The dentist, in the
meantime, was working on Larry’s teeth, and Larry didn’t want to go somewhere
where he’d have to do much talking. He’s
not really all that embarrassed about his teeth (or lack thereof), but it’s
definitely harder for him to enunciate without them.
I assured him that one
cannot at all tell he doesn’t have his teeth, just by looking at him. “Unless you laugh,” I ended.
I then informed him
that it was April Fool’s Day today. “So
the dentist will put fangs on your dentures,” I said.
He burst out
laughing, protesting, “You told me not to laugh!”
“No,” I
contradicted, “I just told you that no one can tell you’re missing your teeth, unless you laugh. But I didn’t tell you not to laugh.”
As we wended our
way through the backroads near Nebraska City, heading for an overlook where we
could see the Missouri, we saw signs reading, “Detour to Missouri River Basin
Lewis & Clark Center,” and decided that would make a good destination, and
take up some of the time before we had to be back in Lincoln at 2:00.
The Center was open,
but I’ll betcha their business has been mighty slow since the flood, as the major
route that goes past the place is closed.
Somewhere in this photo is supposed to be the Nebraska City Bridge, aka J Sterling Morton
Beltway, aka Rte. 2, over the Missouri River.
But right now, it’s the other way around: the Missouri River is over the Beltway.
We wandered around
the Center looking at everything, imagining what a strenuous and dangerous
undertaking those men took, and how amazing it was that they lived through
it. Years ago, I read the entire Lewis
and Clark Journals. Quite a revelation, after
reading only the sanitized version we learned in grade school. 😲 
After completing
the tour through all three levels of the building, we departed. As we drove through Nebraska City on our way
back to Lincoln, Larry spotted a Dairy Queen.
By this time he was hungry, so he stopped to get us a couple of Royal
New York Cheesecake Blizzards.
But... the boy who
was working there said he didn’t know how to make them, and, if Larry really
wanted them, he would have to wait for the manager.
How do ya like that?! That’s what you call a revoltin’
development. A small bowl of chocolate
and vanilla soft serve just doesn’t satisfy, when one’s chops are all polished
up for a Royal New York Cheesecake Blizzard.
“Why didn’t you
show him how to make it?!” I demanded, picking at my ice cream like one of the
cats with something objectionable in his bowl.
As we headed back
toward Lincoln, several jets from Offut Air Force Base flew over. I looked it up online, and learned that
floodwaters have receded from the runway, and it has been declared safe for
use. When the rivers rose last month, one
third of the Base was inundated and 55 buildings were damaged.
Ever since the 2011
flood, when waters came within 50 feet of the runway, it was known that the
levees needed to be built up. But, as
usual, a gazillion requirements from the Army Corps of Engineers kept Offut
from getting approval until last year. The
Corps then approved construction bids earlier this year – and then the floods
came.
What some of those IHPs
(Idiots in High Places) need is a good Dithers Boot.
We arrived at the
Affordable Dentures office with nearly an hour to spare, so we drove around a
nearby lake, then parked in the dental office parking lot, and Larry took a nap
while I typed this journal.
Soon it was 2:00,
and time to go in. It didn’t take very
long at all. They had totally rebuilt
the ‘gums’ on Larry’s dentures, and they fit much better now, especially the top ones that were so prone to
coming loose. The gums are also not as
big as they were, so they don’t make his face look slightly swollen like they
used to.
Larry was really
happy, upon arriving home, to discover that he could eat chunky peanut butter
again without much trouble at all. That’s
been one of his hardest trials: eating
‘slimy peanut butter’, as he calls it.
Time to get to the
quilting machine! Just a few more days,
and I’ll be ready to sew the binding on.
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.