When I was young, my father had a series of
several different Peugeots, from sedans to station wagons to sports models,
some gas, some diesel. Before Teddy, our
fourth child, was born, he sold us (for a very small sum) his 1983 Peugeot
station wagon. This isn’t it, but this
is what it looked like:
One of the vehicles in which I first learned
to drive was Daddy’s 1975 diesel sedan Peugeot.
I was 15.
One evening I was behind the wheel, Daddy in
the passenger seat, and Lyle, my future father-in-law, riding in the rear
seat. The drive went uneventfully – until we got back home. I
slowed at the bottom of our sloped drive and shifted down. I’d never driven up the drive before. The
car was a manual, 4-speed transmission.
And then Daddy said, said he, “Now, you have
to give it a little more gas to get up the drive without lugging it – ”
No sooner said than done. I was nothing
if not quick on the trigger.
In one fell swoop, I stuck it in first,
stepped down on the throttle, and smoothly lifted my foot from the clutch.
Scrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!
Up the drive we shot, laying two black strips
of rubber all the way, the looming garage door seeming to fly at us
headlong. Nobody had the slightest chance to say a word—I imagine they
were still inhaling sharply—before I jerked my right foot from the gas pedal
and slammed it down hard on the brake pedal,
simultaneously shoving in the clutch with my left foot.
We came to a squalling, abrupt stop mere
inches from the garage door, the car rocking so violently one could hear the
fuel sloshing in the tank in the dead silence that ensued.
I waited, cringing, for my father to
come unglued.
But into the silence, Lyle said in his low
drawl, “Could somebody please come ’round and get me out of the glove
compartment?”
My father took a breath, started to say
something, coughed, tried again, spluttered, – and suddenly burst out laughing
in his big, rollicking laugh. So my life was spared.
He later told my mother, “I never knew diesel
Peugeots were so snappy!”
And to my brother, who sometimes went with me
on my learning excursions, “You don’t need to tell her not to lug it. Ever.”
Tuesday night, I asked Hester, “Did you know
a tiger at the Bronx zoo has tested positive for COVID-19? Other big cats
are sick, too, though tests were not run on all of them. There are two dogs in Hong Kong, one cat in
Hong Kong, and one cat in Belgium who have COVID-19. Cats are more likely to get it than dogs, but
either are rare. Or so they say. There
was a zoo employee at the Bronx zoo who had COVID-19. No pets in the United States have been
reported with it so far.”
“Maybe that’s why Spooky has been doing this,”
replied Hester, and sent these pictures.
Our neighbor man, Chopper, left Wednesday morning
to go get his wife, who has been in Texas for several weeks. She flew down – and then the COVID-19
pandemic took over. So rather than have
her risk flying home, Chopper drove to get her.
He told Larry that his billy goat died a
couple of weeks ago. It had always been
susceptible to various ailments. Too
bad; I liked that friendly little goat.
The wind was blowing at 40 mph that day.
I had to fight my way through it (and get blown home later) to check on the
neighbor’s goats, because one little nanny thinks the grass is greener on the
other side of the fence, and has a penchant for shoving her head through the
wires, and then she can’t figure out how to turn her head and pull it back
through. 🙄
The goats and the roosters all came hurrying
to see if I’d brought them any treats. I
hadn’t, so I plucked up several handfuls of clover and gave it to them, which
seemed to suffice.
Nobody had her head stuck through the fence,
so I came blowing home again.
Somebody is going to come and get the
roosters; Chopper is giving them away because they keep flogging him when he goes
inside the fence. We will no longer be
serenaded with distant ‘cock-a-doodle-doos’ all day long.
I finally got the toilet paper I ordered
about a month ago. (We can talk about
such things now, right? My mother would
still be horrified, though, I’m sure.) I
had no idea it was being shipped directly from China! Do you think they sent the coronavirus along
with the paper? There are many rolls,
but they’re all quite small. I haven’t
opened it yet, so I don’t know the quality.
That day, I repaired two of my sweaters, put
a new zipper in one of Larry’s jackets, and turned one of his long-sleeved
white Sunday shirts into a short-sleeved white Sunday shirt.
Larry went to Genoa to work on his friend’s
vehicles after supper again that evening, and I set about learning to use the
embroidery module on my ‘new’ Bernina 730.
Note regarding the aforementioned supper: it does not work well to bake pizzas with the
cardboard left underneath them. When the
thing is supposedly done, you’ll need to take it from the oven, flip it over,
remove the cardboard, stick it back in the oven, and turn the oven on broil in
order to cook the still-raw-and-runny dough.
Note #2:
You might want to put the pizza on a baking stone before doing this, if
you don’t want cheese, tomato sauce, and sausage flambé all over the oven
floor.
Bon appétit!
The 730 isn’t too awfully different from my
180, though there were a couple of points I needed to look up in the manual. By the time Larry came home again, I’d input
the lettering for the label and was looking for a couple of butterfly and flower
motifs to add to it. But it was late, so
I saved the design and headed for the feathers.
Thursday morning, I ordered Teensy’s thyroid medicine
(Felimazole 5 mg). Larry went to Pet
Care to get it during his lunch hour. As
they have their door locked on account of COVID-19, Larry had to call them from
the parking lot, and they were supposed to bring it out to him. However, they told him they were all out of
the medicine and would have to order some, and they would get it the next
day. (Are cats panic-hoarding
Felimazole?)
Well, but... we didn’t have any more! And Teensy needs it. I called to ask if they mightn’t have some
2.5 mg pills, and I could just give him two at a time.
At that point they decided they could round
up several of the 5 mg pills they had in the office.
Larry brought them home when he got off
work. They’re soft white pills instead
of the orange-red ones with a hard shell.
I can hide them in his food, and Teensy downs them without me having to
crush them with the pestle.
That day, I finished the label for the
Atlantic Beach Path quilt. I’m so happy
with my Bernina Artista 730! I could see the screen so much better than
the one on my older Artista 180, and it worked so much faster. I didn’t
run into character limitations on the lines, and, using Word Art, I curved one
of the lines with a touch of a button. What used to take an hour and a
half took exactly 34 minutes – and the thread didn’t break once.
The more different things I tried, the more
things I found that were an improvement over the older machine. Plus, the
surround table that Johnny made for Sue (the people from whom we bought the
machine) fits perfectly, and makes the job just that much easier. (And it’s
pretty, too.)
When I walked over to the quilt to sew the
label onto it, I discovered that the sunlight shining in the window was
illuminating the hexagon-shaped Swarovski crystals. Since I’d had a hard
time catching the glint of light in them when I took previous pictures, I
grabbed my camera and shot a few close-ups. Even these photos, though
they are better, just don’t do justice to these beautiful crystals. More pictures here.
This quilt was done; I was ready to start the
next quilt.
Before bedtime, I edited a few pictures,
including some that I took when we crossed the Inner Bar Channel between the
Gulf of Mexico and Galveston Bay on the 1999 Robert H. Dedman ferry, back in
February.
I looked up information about the ferry, and
discovered that you can see exactly where the ferries are, at this exact moment. Here’s the one we were on: Robert H. Dedman Ferry
When Larry got home from Genoa that night, he
told me that his friend Joe, owner of the vehicles he’s working on, had told
him that the Cubby’s in Columbus has now been closed, because a man and wife
who work there have been diagnosed with COVID-19. Larry (and probably a whole lot of our
friends and relatives) was just in there the previous day.
Upon posting on one of my online quilting groups this picture of my
Bernina with the embroidery module and table-surround attached, a friend
commented to the group at large, “Did you all notice the tidy sewing area???? Mine doesn’t look that tidy and all I did was
make a preemie quilt.”
Another friend promptly retorted, “Sarah Lynn is computer savvy. She probably photoshopped all the stuff out
of view.”
That made me laugh right out loud.
The really funny thing is, a few days ago
when I took pictures of the quilt as I was putting the binding on, there was a
small green bag of cat treats sitting conspicuously behind it, and I thought, Well,
that doesn’t look so pretty, and I did indeed photoshop it right out of the
picture.
Hannah once said, “We ‘photoshopped’ before
photoshopping was a thing. Remember moving toys out of the picture before
you took photos?” 😅
I did. Sometimes, if a room was too
messy, I cleaned the whole room before I snapped a single shot.
No, I’m not obsessive-compulsive. I
just don’t want anyone knowing how UNobsessive-compulsive I am.
Friday, I hung a new suncatcher in the studio’s
north-facing window. The flowers,
leaves, and butterflies are hand-painted seashells from the Philippines.
Then I started a quilt for my nephew Kelvin,
who is suffering from colon cancer. By
the time I quit for the day, the middle and a couple of borders were done,
along with six blocks for the next border. Here’s a close-up of part of
the panel. Can you tell what it is?
Saturday, I needed to go to Sew What,
my favorite LQS, owned by a friend, Jo Johansen, whom I’ve known since Jr. High. Yes, it’s still open. In fact, she’s doing
a lively business, because Hobby Lobby has closed.
Larry got home about the time I was heading
out, and backed the Jeep out of the garage for me. I walked out there – and we both saw that the
radiator was leaking worse than ever. I
would not be going anywhere in the Commander.
He took me to town in his pickup, with only a minor amount of grumbling.
“I can’t tell you how many yards of fabric I’ve
sold just for face masks,” Jo told me. “People
who have never sewn before are making face masks.”
I bought five yards of brown/black
not-quite-plaid Timeless Treasures flannel, which I will use on the back of Kelvin’s
quilt. I have no pieces amongst my stash
big enough for even a small backing. I sometimes piece together
coordinating fabrics for backs, but for the quilt I’m making, I wanted either
fleece or flannel.
That was the first day I had gone anywhere in
a vehicle since March 16. Our town looked strange, with one empty parking
lot after another.
My small stash has mostly small leftover
pieces from other projects, but I do have a few pieces I’ve purchased in the
last five years or so that I’m planning to use in quilts for the
grandchildren. When I was hunting for fabric Friday, I spotted some that
has pictures of dolls on it... and several pieces that a friend gave me with
cowboys and horses printed on them. I’d better get those done before the
grandchildren are too grown up for the prints, hmmm?
My fabric is stored in six clear 28-quart
bins. (23” x 17” x 6 ½”) I do have two or three bins downstairs
that have fabric suitable for clothing. Some of that, I think, will go to
the Salvation Army as soon as it reopens. I have no idea how many yards
my stash comprises; but since a folded yard of fabric takes up little space, I reckon
I have more than I think I do.
It was Ethan’s birthday that day; he is
16. A few days earlier, his little
brother Josiah turned 10. I thought I
ordered their gifts in plenty of time, but one of Josiah’s has not yet arrived.
I got nine more quilt blocks done that
day. “Can you imagine me calmly sewing a
quilt the day before Easter, in days gone by? 😂” I asked Hannah.
Usually I was long done sewing Easter clothes
before Easter, but it seemed like something always cropped up at the last
minute that needed to be done – alterations (somebody sprouted six inches immediately
after Palm Sunday), a hat that needed to be trimmed, a little boy’s tie that
needed to be shortened, suits that needed to be pressed, or a cancan that a
little girl suddenly decided she needed to go under her floofy dress. (Yes, Mr. Gates; ‘floofy’ is a word. If you had’ve ever sewn a ruffly, puffy,
fluffy dress for a little girl, you would know that, and refrain from
underlining the word with a wavy red line.)
Easter Sunday, Victoria had a big breakfast
prepared, some of which she had started on Saturday. She made enough for us, so Larry went and
picked it up that morning.
Later, we listened to our morning service
online.
We got a couple of inches of snow around
midday, and the wind was blowing at about 50 mph. By 7:30 that evening,
the wind had slowed to 45 mph. It was 31°, and felt like 18. Brrrr!
I missed our services, and especially our
music. There were only a handful of people actually at the church, including
two of my blind friends, one of whom played a medley of three Easter songs on
the piano, and then she accompanied the other while she sang.
I don’t know what other friends of ours did,
but I know that our children dressed up the grandchildren while they listened
to the online service and then sang hymns in their homes, as they do each
Sunday.
Victoria said, “I know the girls are really
little, but I don’t want them to forget that Sunday is the Lord’s day!”
(No, we don’t do what Laura Ingalls Wilder’s
father’s family did, back in the mid-1800s, when they made the children sit
silently on benches all day long. 😬😏 We want the children to love
Sundays!)
After the service, we had video phone calls
with Victoria, Carolyn, and Violet, and then with Hester and Keira. Keira at one point informed us all that we
needed to go say hi to her Daddy, and off she went running lickety-split into
the other room where Andrew was. Hester
followed with the phone. We all greeted
each other, laughing, while Keira stood by smiling happily. Then, satisfied, off she went again
pell-mell, to happily do all kinds of things, assured she had an excellent and
captivated audience.
Hester told us, “She’s definitely missing her
little friends and grandparents. Video calls are her new favorite thing!”
Dorcas called, and we had a nice visit. The moment I said, “Hello,” Trevor announced,
“HiGrandmaJacksonIGotaBooboo!” hee hee
That evening, I wrote a note to
Victoria: Thank you! Mmmmmmmmmmm....
Thank you so much for the scrumptious
breakfast/lunch/dinner/supper. 😋😄
I had bacon and a spicy cheese roll for
breakfast... an orange crueller(?!) aka ‘donut twist’ for lunch... and yogurt,
hard-boiled eggs, raspberry trifle, a macaron, cranberry juice, and a handful
of crunchy Cheetos for supper. 😂
I’m full.
I need more coffee.
Happy Easter!
Love, Mama
Everything but the yogurt, juice, and Cheetos
came from Victoria.
Once upon a time, many years
ago, my Jr. Choir was doing ‘Secret Pals’, choosing someone (an elderly person,
maybe, or someone living alone) to give little gifts and notes to, and then
after a few weeks or months, the children would reveal their identities.
Many of the adults responded with letters to
their Secret Pals, and I would deliver these letters to the children. An unexpected result of all this fun was that
many of the children remained close to the person they’d chosen as their Pal for
the rest of the older person’s life.
When it got close to Halloween, I thought it
would be fun for the kids to give each of their Pals a Jack O’Lantern.
(This was in the days before I got so totally disgusted and unenthralled with
Halloween, learned more about its origins, watched it deteriorate into
something even more ugly than it used to be.)
Now, I never wanted my Big Ideas to created
hardships for anyone, so... my Big Ideas usually created hardships for me,
and for Larry, by association.
We wound up carving 32 pumpkins. 😲
The house smelt of pumpkin for days.
Or at least my imagination thought it did.
Larry was loads better at it than I was,
and not just because he’s tougher’n me, either. He is artistic.
Larry’s Jack O’Lanterns looked like this:
Mine looked like this (or worse):
A few nights before Halloween, we loaded Jack
O’Lanterns and kids into the car (the Peugeot station wagon, heh), grabbed the
big box of candles and the matches, and headed off.
We had all kinds of fun parking down the
street from people’s houses, positioning the Jack O’Lanterns on porches (facing
the door, so when the people opened their doors, they would see the carved,
glowing faces), putting the candles inside, lighting them, ringing the
doorbell, and running for our lives. Oh,
and we slid handwritten notes from the Junior Choir children under the
pumpkins, too.
We’d sit in the car down the street and watch
as people came to the door and found their pumpkins, and enjoy seeing their
surprised and pleased faces.
One of the children had chosen a certain
single man as his Pal. The man was
living in a garage-turned-apartment. Larry
and the boys – Keith, Teddy, and Joseph – laid the note down in front of the
door, put the pumpkin atop it, removed the lid, set the candle inside, lighted
it, put the lid back on, knocked on the door – and fled.
Before they got 20 yards away, all the lights
went out in the apartment.
They whisked into the car, quietly pulled the
doors shut ---- and we sat in the dark and watched.
Minutes later, the front door came open a
couple of inches – and was abruptly slammed shut again.
We waited. Snickers and snorts emerged
from the rear seats of the Peugeot. Someone (probably Hannah) hissed, “We
shouldn’t have given him a pumpkin with such a scary face.” More snickers.
A good five minutes later, the man himself
came sneaking around the outside corner of the garage. He crept up
verrrry slowly on that poor, hapless, unsuspecting Jack O’Lantern ------
And then he suddenly leapt on it, kicking it
over and then smashing it flatter’n a pancake—uh, a pumpkin pie—with a baseball
bat!!!
Dorcas gasped in horror, “Why did he ruin our
Jack O’Lantern????????!!”
When I could quit laughing enough to answer
the poor child, I said, “It’s okay; it’s not our Jack O’Lantern; it’s his!
He ruined his own Jack O’Lantern. We had already given it to him, so
it’s his.” And then I went into peals of laughter all over again.
We figured he, being an imaginative and
somewhat paranoid person, must’ve thought someone had rigged a bomb inside that
pumpkin, and the flame of the candle was about to ignite it.
And now, here’s another face mask – for when
we run out of fabric. (You might want to
wash it first.)
We have belatedly learned that Norma’s cancer
is considered ‘Stage 4’. We did not know
this until today when she sent a picture of one of the papers the doctor had
given her last month when she was there.
I keep wondering if she would’ve had better
care and more explanations and help with follow-up, had her surgery taken place
in ‘normal’ times, instead of during this COVID-19 outbreak.
Her family doctor is recommending a feeding
tube, since she cannot eat regular food and continues to lose weight she can
ill afford to lose.
I hope you all had a nice Easter, despite all
the COVID-19 drama and trauma.
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.