Journal: Doctors and Eyedrops and Old Photos

Note to self:  Never, ever again buy coffee with ‘Chipotle’ in the flavor description.

Chipotle is smoke-dried ripe jalapeño chili peppers.  I do not like smoke-dried ripe jalapeño chili peppers seasoning my coffee.  😜😝😛😕😖🤪😵😡🤢👿

WHY DID SOMEONE THINK THAT STUFF BELONGED IN MY COFFEE??????!!!!

{... time lapse ...}

Okay, I’ve discovered I can allllmost bear Christopher Bean’s Chipotle Almond Brittle coffee if I pour in copious amounts of French Vanilla coffee creamer (sugar-free, of course; I gotta be healthy, heh) and chew Spearmint Rain 5 gum whilst I’m a-drinkin’ it.

Bleah.  I went all agog over ‘Almond Brittle’, and totally neglected to think, Chipotle = smoke-dried ripe jalapeño chili peppers.  Why anyone should think smoke-dried jalapeños belong in their coffee is beyond me. 

Thinking to console myself, I texted Larry:  “Want to bring home taco salad and nachos from Amigos?  We could split them each.” 

Yeah, that was badly worded.  Larry does not let this go.

“Each little piece?!” he responds.

So I reply, “Yes, we have to be fair.  And remember, NO CHIPOTLE!”

“Sounds good to me,” he answers.

And then, regarding chipotle, “Isn’t variety the spice of life?”

“No!” I retort, “The Spice of Life can kill you!”

You know, there’s somethin’ to be said for plain ol’ well water.

Tuesday was Jeremy and Lydia’s twelfth anniversary.  Wednesday night after church, we gave them a basket with various food items – including the bag of Chipotle Almond Brittle coffee beans.  I even poured the coffee I had already ground into a Ziploc baggie and stuck it into the bag.

Handing Jeremy the basket, I pointed out the coffee.  “I gave you that coffee...” (I gave him a sideways look) “...because I didn’t like it.” 

As I knew they would, Jeremy and Lydia both laughed. 

“Give it back and we’ll give you something to replace it, if you don’t like it,” Larry told them.

They haven’t given it back.

Yet.

In my scanning of old photos, I found another of my prebridal pictures.  I hadn’t seen it for so long, I’d forgotten all about it.

I like to listen to audio books or the Bible while I scan pictures or sew.  While I’m quilting with my Avanté, I usually listen to music, since the machine is loud enough that I miss sections of audio books – but it doesn’t matter so much if I miss a line or two in a song.

But my favorite thing to do is throw open the windows, when the weather is nice, and just listen to all the birds or, after dark, the night insects and owls.  There is rarely the sound of a vehicle.  Once in a while I’ll hear the rumble of a tractor.  And sometimes, late at night, I hear red foxes, coyotes, raccoons, and even mockingbirds.  I had never known before moving out here to the country that, from springtime to early summer, mockingbirds will sing their beautiful and varied mating songs from the time the sun is setting until 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning.

Here’s Hannah, age 4, and Calico Kitty, who would've been almost 6, having been born on our wedding day.  We got her six weeks later.  She lived to be 14, and always particularly liked Hannah, of all the children.  She knew when Hannah was sick, and would cuddle up next to her. 

And here’s Teddy, 1 ½, silly little boy, having just learned to curl his tongue.  Both pictures were taken in early 1985.

Having finally gotten the check from Norma’s life insurance company, I took it to the funeral home Wednesday.  Now we’ll be able to get the headstone made and put in place.

I took Loren to his doctor in David City Thursday morning to have a checkup to determine if he’s healthy enough to have the cataracts removed.  Cataract surgery is slated for August 26 – this coming Wednesday – and September 2, the Wednesday a week later.

He’s very much healthy enough.  Blood pressure:  120/70.  Oxygen level:  99%.  Weight:  164.

I’d made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him to eat on the way, and he was glad, because he hadn’t eaten anything yet.

The doctor gave Loren his sympathies over the loss of Norma, and Loren was quite puzzled over just exactly who he was talking about.

The doctor looked at me.  I looked back, and gave my head a little shake when Loren wasn’t looking – which I hope the doctor interpreted as, “No, he’s not keeping things straight,” rather than “No, don’t ask him that stuff!”  (I didn’t think of the possible misinterpretation until it was too late... but he seemed to understand.)

This is Hannah’s 10^th-grade picture, one of my favorite pictures of her.

This picture of Caleb, Hester, and Lydia brings back the following memory:

We were in Dillon, Colorado, one winter, and a snowstorm was coming.  I told Caleb, who was 3, that if it snowed overnight, we’d go to a nearby clothing store in that pretty mountain town and buy him some new boots, since we didn't have any that fit him.  (Well, there were some, but they were pink or purple, with hearts and butterflies and unicorns on them.)

Bright and early the next morning, before the rest of us hardly had our eyes open, he jumped out of bed, rushed over to the window, pulled back the curtain, peered out... and then he yelled in great elation, “I’M GETTING NEW BOOTS!!!  I’M GETTING NEW BOOTS!!!”

I hastily hushed him up (other people in the motel were doubtless still trying to sleep) and went to the window.  Sure enough, there was about a foot of snow on the ground.

We went to a nearby Wal-Mart and got him some adorable little red, white, and black boots with Dalmatians on them.  He loved those boots.  As soon as we put them on him, along with his coat, scarf, and mittens, and went outside, he dashed into the snow, found a drift almost as tall as he was, and jumped and jumped and jumped in it.  He promptly fell flat, and was laughing so hard, Hester had to help him up.

He loved Dalmatians from that day on.

A friend, having read my description of chipotle-flavored coffee, told us about the Blueberry/French Vanilla coffee he likes to get at Dunkin Donuts.

That sounded scrumptious.  I had to have some; so I ordered Blueberry Cobbler by New England Coffees (I already know I like New England coffees) and French Vanilla by Dunkin Donuts to mix with it.  {...droooool...}  Arrival date:  Saturday.

That same friend then informed us that he likes coffee after it has sat in a pot on a burner for half a day.  The employees at his local Waffle House know this, and save their oldest pot of coffee for him.

“Bleah, old pots of coffee?” I exclaimed.  “I turn mine off as soon as it’s done, and sometimes pour it into a thermos, because I can’t stand that ‘burnt-coffee’ flavor.”  

Here are Hester and Lydia in the red fleece coats, fur muffs, and hats with black velvet trim that I made for them.  It was November 25, 1996, so they were ages 7 and 5, respectively.  They loved those coats and hats – but they loved the muffs best of all.  

Later, Victoria would wear them. 

Hester said it wasn’t fair at all, because Lydia and Victoria got to wear both coats, and she only got to wear one.  😂

We were once traveling in Yellowstone National Park in late October, and we finally found a store open where we could fill our coffee mugs and thermoses. 

The aroma stench should’ve warned us.

I tell you, that stuff must’ve been on the burner since the college kids left the Park and headed back to school in mid-August.  Accckkk.  Somebody hand me a fork!

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.

Here are Joseph, 11, and Dorcas, 13, on Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 1996.  Dorcas’ outfit – skirt, blouse, and vest – is a Gunne Sax pattern.

Back to the Topic of Coffee:

Caleb was about five years old (a year older than he was in this picture), 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. 

BLAAAANG!!!

“Wow!” said Caleb, who’d been peering patiently into 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.

The Schwan lady was supposed to come any time between 10:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. Friday.  She didn’t come, and I got no notification giving a reason.  That company is going to fold, just see if it doesn’t.

That afternoon, Loren’s supper consisted of ancient-grain-encrusted cod, green beans, a biscuit, peach jello, raspberry tea, and Farmer’s cheese.  I returned the laundry I’d washed for him, and he once again worried over whether or not he was giving me too much to do.  I assured him that one or two more loads of laundry were practically no trouble at all.

Here’s Caleb at age 3 in a cute little sailor sweater Hannah crocheted for him to wear to our Thanksgiving dinner at church.

Once upon a time my late sister-in-law Janice, 17 years older than me, taught me how to crochet a granny square.  I was 8, and it was raining outside, and I needed something to do. And then the sun came out — and it’s been shining ever since.  

Look, Hester found a nice, comfortable pillow on which to take a nap.  Neither the funnies nor the Moving Day book could keep father and daughter awake, it seems.

Larry got off work at 9:30 a.m. Saturday morning.  He was working on something in the garage at about 10:30 when Loren came along, needing some help with an irrigation pipe that had come apart.  Larry followed Loren to his house on his motorcycle, fixed the pipe, and then had some coffee and visited with him before coming home again.  Loren gets lonely sometimes.

After taking Teddy a mower, Larry went to Genoa to work on vehicles – his friend Joe’s and his own.

That evening, Teddy sent pictures of a tall thundercloud in the western sky at sunset, so I had to pop outside and take a picture, myself.

As I was scanning my old photos the last few days, I found a few of my mother when she was my age.  I thought, I look enough like Mama, I wonder how long it will be before Loren gets me confused with her. 

Two days.

Two days after the thought occurred to me, anyway.

He told me something that Mama had supposedly said to him recently.

“It wasn’t Mama,” I said, “because she passed away in 2003.”

“Oh, that’s right!” he answered. 

So then he was stumped, and finally decided I must have told him that.  “Did you say it?”

It was kinda sorta close to something I maybe might’ve possibly said, so I agreed.  I’m very agreeable.

This all makes me sad; but... maybe my resemblance to Mama will keep him ‘knowing’ me longer than he otherwise would.

I like Cream of Rice.  However, it has been impossible to find it (at least online) for a good long while now, unless I wanted to pay $50 for a small box of the stuff.

But finally this week, Amazon had some for less than two dollars a box – providing one bought an entire carton of 12 boxes.  I bought it.  I would’ve had it for breakfast by now, but the neighbor man brought us another bag of garden produce, so I’ve been having peanut butter and tomatoes on toast for breakfast.

I like regular rice, too.  I like it in Mexican dishes... Chinese dishes... American dishes... and plain, with gobs of butter, and sprinkled with brown sugar.

Sunday morning, I opened the new bags of New England’s Blueberry Cobbler coffee and Dunkin Donuts’ French Vanilla coffee that had arrived Saturday, put a half-and-half concoction in the filter basket, and turned on the coffee maker.

A couple of minutes later, I poured a cupful.

SSSLLLLUUUPPP

Mmmmm.  Yep, it’s good, mixed together.

Yesterday I uploaded a few pictures of the kids, mostly, dressed in clothes I’ve sewn through the years.  If you’d like to look:  Clothes from Yesteryear  Keep clicking ‘Older Posts’ at the bottom to see all seven posts.

I now have about 14 ¼ large albums scanned.  That’s the tip of the iceberg.  I’m going to be soooo happy, one of these days, when I can hand each of the children one of those flash drives that has multiple types of connections, with each drive containing every picture I’ve taken up to that very date, along with a whole raft of ancestral photos, too.

My brother once remarked, years ago, concerning projects I start, “You’re part bulldog!  You get hold of a bone, and you just won’t let go!”  haha 

Yeah, I hate to start any new project before finishing the one I’m working on right now, even if it’s hard and troublesome and taking fo’evah (as one of our little grandsons used to say).  That trait has its advantages – and its drawbacks. 

See the pin on Hannah’s jumper?  It’s a tiny silver teapot on a stick pin, with a little chain hanging down and connecting to a tiny teacup at the other end.  If the pin was angled just so, the chain would then look like a pouring stream of coffee.  Hmmm... I should get that pin and take a close-up of it.

<< ... heading to my jewelry box ... >>

Here it is:

The pin is from Avon; I got it when I sold Avon before Keith was born.  That was 41 years ago.

I’d totally forgotten until I started scanning all these old pictures how I used to put some of my jewelry – necklaces or pins – on the girls when I was getting them all dressed up to go somewhere.  A couple of the girls, upon seeing some of these photos in the last few days, have commented on how much they enjoyed wearing my jewelry.

My late sister-in-law Janice made the china doll for Hannah.  Can you tell she’s concentrating on being very, very careful with it?

In the picture below, Hannah’s vest and skirt were made from a sweater of Larry’s that he had grown out of.   The first day I put it on her, she could hardly wait for Larry to get home, so she could go running (giggling all the way) and inform him, “Daddy!  I’m wearing your sweater!”

Teddy’s pants were made from an old skirt of mine.

In the next picture, my dress (I’m on the right, next to the bride, Martha) and the other bridesmaid’s dress were made from a Gunne Sax pattern.  They were of the stretchiest single knits we had ever worked with, and it took an act of congress to get the hems straight.  As you can see, the other bridesmaid’s skirt stretched after she was done with it, and wound up dragging the floor.  And it had been so perfect!

But let me tell you what happened on the wedding night, after the sermon:

My father finished preaching, prayed, and then said, “Will the wedding party take their places.”

The bride and her attendants arose, as did the groom and his groomsmen.  We stepped forward to the alter, and the wedding ceremony commenced.

And then Martha and Carey Gene were husband and wife, and it was time to step back to the pew and then file out while the congregation sang the closing hymn.  The newly married couple would go first, followed by Larry and me, then the other bridesmaid and groomsman, the candlelighters next, and finally the ringbearer and flowergirl (my nephew and niece, Robert and Susan).  Since the pew was only a few steps back, we did not turn around; we just backed up.

Problem:

Sitting in that strrrretchy single knit dress through the service had stretched the back of the skirt, and it was no longer half an inch above the floor.

I stepped on the hem.

This pulled me backwards a little, so I automatically stepped back quickly with the other foot to catch myself.

That foot wound up even farther up the hem, jerking me back all the more.

By now, I was leaning backwards at a precarious angle, as I effectively walked up the inside of the back of the skirt.

The outcome would have been nothing less than ignominious, if the backs of my legs had not suddenly ka-bonked into the pew, which brought me up short and prevented me from landing flat on my back in front of the entire congregation.

I did not willingly wear a floor-length thneed (à la Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax) ever again.

Last night Hannah sent me a video clip of a lion cub just learning to roar.  I clicked ‘Play’ – and awoke Teensy from a sound sleep.  He stared around in some trepidation before realizing it was merely my computer, at which point he hopped up on my lap and demanded an apology.

If I ever fooled Socks with computer noises, he’d go sit down in the far corner of the room with his back to me and not deign to look at me for the next half hour.

Saturday, I looked out the window at the profusion of white hostas blooming, and thought, Soon, the hummingbirds will be coming back through.  They love those blossoms.

And just like that, I caught a glimpse of one whizzing past the window.  I held very still... watched... and he came zooming back, pausing to hover in front of the hummingbird feeder.

No! I thought, The stuff in there has long fermented!

I scurried out to get it, then quickly started more sugar water boiling while I washed the feeder.  The hummers would have to make do with blossoms while the water cooled.

A little over an hour later, I poured it into the feeder and rehung it.

Early this afternoon, I spotted a ruby-throated hummingbird perched on the feeder, sipping away.

Last night after church, we stopped at the Dairy Queen on our way to Schuyler for E-85 gas for Jeep.  It’s only $1.55 a gallon at the Co-Op there.  I got a turkey BLT and a small New York Berry Cheesecake Blizzard.  They overfilled it, and it was running down the sides when they handed it to me.  I wiped it off and wrapped it in a napkin, but I still wound up with a couple of drips on both the skirt and jacket sleeve of my dry-clean-only suit.  Larry got chicken strips and a medium New York Berry Cheesecake Blizzard and a large iced tea.

These pictures of Hester and Lydia were taken at David and Christine’s house on Christmas Eve, 1996, where we were exchanging gifts with my side of the family.  Lura Kay and John H. gave them the dolls.

When I called Loren at 3:00 this afternoon, as usual, I asked again about his eyedrops, and told him that Eye Physicians said the box had been delivered August 10^th.

After telling me last Thursday he’d never gotten them, today he said yes, they had come, on that very day (not that he can tell one date from another), and he’d been taking them ever since.  (He was only supposed to use them for the three days prior to surgery.)

When I got to his house with his food at 4:00, I looked for the eyedrops, but couldn’t find them.  He showed me the box – “Here it is!  I’ve been using it twice a day just like they told me to.”

It was a Flovent inhaler.

“That’s what they brought me!” he insisted.

I looked at the date:  2001. 

“It couldn’t have been this!” I exclaimed, feeling rather alarmed.  “This was prescribed in 2001.  You shouldn’t be taking this stuff!  Flovent is what my children use for asthma.  It can be bad for your heart.  It’s old.”

He laughed, “Yes, my heart is old!”

Aiiiyiiiyiiieee.  I stuck it in the lunchbox I’d brought the food in, and said I was taking it with me to discard of; it’s no good anymore.

Then we looked all over the house for any eyedrops.  He showed me several Equate lubricant eyedrops.  Nope, those won’t do.

Sooo... I took his checkbook with me and went to Eye Physicians, got some eyedrops – $52! – and took them back to him.  The first eyedrops were included in the surgery costs.  These had to be paid for out of pocket.

He put a drop in each eye (I didn’t get him told in time that he only needed it in one eye), and it burned his eyes quite badly, and made them all red.  At least the burning stopped fairly quickly.  I hope he’s not allergic to those drops.  If there’s still a problem with them tomorrow, I’ll call the doctor’s office.  I tried today, but they had already closed.

After leaving Loren’s house, I went to the cleaners to drop off Larry’s black suit and my unfortunate aqua suit.  I stopped at the Goodwill to donate a few things before heading home again.

Here I am at 18 months.

Shortly after my second birthday, I had pneumonia.  My parents knew I had a bad cold – and then one evening, I fainted – and didn’t regain consciousness for a while.  Nowadays, it would probably be called it a seizure, brought on by a fever.  They called an ambulance... and I later woke up in the hospital in an oxygen tent. 

The tent was plastic.  My mother had thoroughly taught me of the dangers of plastic over one’s head.  I thought I was suffocating because of the plastic, though of course it was the pneumonia causing that feeling.  I saw an opening, reached for it – and discovered that the zipper pull was on the outside of the tent!

I never made a peep... but my sister walked in shortly, saw that my eyes were as big as saucers, and rushed to comfort me.

But I didn’t get over that awful feeling for a long time.  Maybe never!  I am more claustrophobic than most people know, since I keep quiet about it, and if I have to do things in tight quarters, I just do it. 

During one of those days when I was in the hospital, John H. and Lura Kay brought me a little doll, along with a small toy bathtub.  The tub had a shower head on it, and it worked like a siphon – you filled the tub, sucked water through the shower head to get it started, and there it was then, showering away.  It even came with a tiny washcloth and an itty, bitty bar of real, honest-to-goodness soap.  I was enthralled.

The next evening, they came again to visit.  John H. picked up a glass of water on a tray and poured it into the little tub, then started it spraying.

Problem:  it wasn’t water.

It was 7-Up.

The stuff started fizzing and bubbling, and soon overflowed the tub.

John H. was exclaiming and frantically trying to wipe up the overflow. 

I laughed and laughed, all the while thinking how funny I sounded, because I was so hoarse my voice was all croaky, and every time I took in a big breath, my lungs wheezed and whistled.

Here’s Keith at about ten months.  He’d just begun standing in his crib, and this was the cheery little face that greeted me each morning when I went to get him.

And here’s Victoria at ten months, with Hannah holding her.  Our oldest – Keith – and our youngest – Victoria.  I had not before noticed how much they looked alike as babies.

I just found this story in an old journal:

One time when Lydia was about a year and a half, just at the age where she particularly enjoyed such toys as Fisher Price’s Fit the Shapes Into the Holes Ball, she was playing in the living room while her father slept, sprawled out on the carpet nearby.  She sat down beside him and looked at his face contemplatively.  His mouth was open in a perfect O, and he breathed steadily in and out in a soft snore.  Lydia stared at his face.  She turned her head and looked at her little Shape-Finder Bench.  She glanced quickly back at Larry, and then her gaze returned to the Shape-Finder.

Then, quick as a wink, she snatched up a small plastic cone-shaped piece, whirled around, and dropped it ker-plop right into Larry’s mouth.  It was a perfect fit.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAACCCKKKKK!!!!!” said Larry, abruptly sitting bolt upright and spewing Fisher Price shapes like a professional tobacky spitter.  “Pa-TOOOOOOOey!!!!” he added, just for good measure.

Lydia gazed at him impassively.  Then, as her father got his wits about him once again, she asked sympathetically in her sweet, low-pitched voice, “You choke, Daddy?”

Moral of the story:  Never lie anywhere near ground level and impersonate a Fisher Price Shape-Sorter while sleeping, if there are toddlers anywhere on the premises.  Not without wearing a face guard, that is.

This is Teddy at age one.

Back to the photo-scanning!

 

,,,>^..^<,,,          Sarah Don’t Chipotle Me Lynn          ,,,>^..^<,,,