February Photos

Monday, January 25, 2021

Journal: Birds, Snow, Old Photos, & Old Journals


Did you ever walk past a sleeping cat who roused enough to wonder what you were doing... turned his head to follow your progression past him... but was toooo, toooo sleepy to actually open his eyes?  Makes im look sorta like a mole. 

This week I’ve been watching discussions on a number of quilting forums.  Some people post pictures of partially-done quilts and ask for advice; others get advice, whether they asked for it or not. 

I am fundamentally opposed to those who are forever screeching, “Less is more!  Less is more!!!”  That just isn’t good math.  Any math teacher worth his or her salt knows more is more.  Less is simply... less. 

I wish I could remember the name of a quilting lady who put together a book on appliqué (it’s in my bookcase, somewhere – but since I don’t know which book it’s in or what color the cover is, how would I ever find it?) — anyway, she said, “Before you decide you don’t like a certain appliqué design on your quilt, add to it!  You probably don’t have enough pieces in the design.” 

Appliqué work, especially when there’s a lot of it to do, always feels like a gigantic task when I first start.  But because it’s so pretty, it becomes rewarding quite quickly, and it isn’t hard at all to keep going.

A friend was trying different appliqué mockups on the border of a beautiful quilt she has made.  Several fellow quilters offered their advice, many telling her not to make it ‘too elaborate’, or admonishing her not to ‘go overboard’ for fear of ‘detracting from the top’.  If you knew how many, many times I’ve had people say that, when I posted pictures of tops before I added the borders!  And I hadn’t even asked for advice.  😅  One person even advised her to leave off appliqués entirely, and maybe even leave off the outer border! 

When I was making the Americana Eagle quilt, I posted a picture of it after attaching that first narrow maroon border around the eagle.  There were eight more to go, including the ones with the pinwheels, the beaded Prairie Points, and so forth.  I had started this quilt by putting together all those little pinwheels, constructing them from leftover bits from another quilt.  Then I used EQ8 to design something to showcase them.  Well, yes, the pinwheels wound up showcasing the eagle, rather than the other way around; but I was quite pleased with it – and Larry liked it so well, I gave it to him, rather than giving it away.



Immediately after I posted the picture with that one little border, some woman wrote, “Do NOT, under any circumstance, add anything else to this quilt!!!  You will RUIN it if you do!  Anything else will way overbalance it.” 

Usually I ignore remarks like that.  This time, I wrote back, “I shall only ruin it with eight more borders.” 

Then when I was making that twisted-tuck border for the Atlantic Beach Path quilt, someone exclaimed in horror, “Oh, NO!!!  You aren’t going to add THAT to your quilt, are you?!  It DOESN’T MATCH AT ALL!” 

A whole slew of quilting ladies pummeled THAT one back into the earth on my behalf.  I didn’t have to say anything at all.

And there are always, ALWAYS, those souls who say, upon seeing a finished quilt top (whether mine or someone else’s), “Whatever you do, do NOT quilt anything fancy on this quilt.  Simple and minimal is the way to go, or you will overpower the beauty of the quilt.” 

One poor lady on one of those big Facebook groups was getting all worried and anxious over statements like that last one, because she really wanted to quilt something pretty and fancy on her first big quilt.  I decided to give her another point of view, and wrote, “Or you could add immeasurably to the beauty of your quilt with the most beautiful quilting you are capable of.”

I was quite surprised when she wrote back, “Oh, thank you, thank you!  I was beginning to think I was nuts for even liking that kind of quilting!”

People who are easily swayed shouldn’t join enormous groups with Bossy Boots Bertha and her cohorts running rampant through it.  🤪🥴

I was hunting through some of my old journals for a piece of information, and came on this one from July 31, 2000.  Victoria was 3, and we were getting ready to go to Columbus, Ohio.  (Here she is at the 4th of July picnic that year, and yes, it was hot.)



(“Why Columbus, Ohio?” asked Caleb, who’d never heard of the place.  “Because we’re tired of Columbus, Nebraska,” I told him.)

Marblehead Lighthouse
Lake Erie, Ohio
Friday, July 28, 2000

Lydia, Larry, and Sarah Lynn
Hester took these pictures


I’d doled out lists to the older kids, and was going to help Victoria after I got all my things and Larry’s things packed.

But Victoria beat me to it:

 

Victoria came rushing into the living room.  She was carrying her doll basket, and it was full of all manner of things that she thought she should take with her:  her biggest doll, a toy coffee pot, a stuffed tiger, a stuffed bear in a mint-green crocheted dress, books, Caleb’s corsage from Bobby and Hannah’s wedding, a tiny metal car, and a plastic bag from the veterinary clinic with the words Cat Stuff imprinted on both sides above a cute photo of kittens.  Inside the bag were a large car and a kaleidoscope.  But the strangest thing in the doll basket was a long plastic pipe that was part of a set of pipes that went on a big Tonka truck that used to be Keith’s many years ago. 

Hannah said to Victoria, “Are you all ready to go?” 

“Yes!” Victoria affirmed, showing her the basket.  “Here’s what I’m taking!” 

Hannah, who’d come visiting from her ‘new’ house about 3 blocks away, peered into the basket.  “Oh!!” she exclaimed, pulling out the pipe, “This will really come in handy!” 

She held it to her lips and spoke loudly into it, in a very good imitation of Victoria herself:  “I need to go to the restroom!”  🤣😆

Victoria looked amazed, then embarrassed, and her shoulders went higher and higher until they met her earlobes.

I took pity on the child, stopped what I was doing, and packed her things, so she would no longer fear getting left behind for lack of proper packing.

 

Tuesday, Loren’s supper consisted of butterfly deer steaks, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet peas, pineapple slices, apple juice, a cranberry-orange muffin, prunes, and rice pudding. He was so pleased over those yummy little deer steaks that for once he didn’t start eating dessert first.

Here are Hester, age 11, Lydia, age 9, and Victoria, age 3, at Bobby and Hannah’s wedding on June 25, 2000.  Hester was one of the candlelighters, Lydia sat at the guestbook desk, and Victoria was the flowergirl.




Loren had what he thought were light switches going bad in his kitchen.  He hit the switches, first one, then the other, and the lights immediately came on, but were flickering.  They are fluorescent lights.  It wasn’t the switches, but the bulbs themselves, behaving exactly like fluorescent lights do when they are about to go kaput.

I relayed the problem to Larry, so the next day he stopped by Loren’s house, brought a ladder in from his north garage (the ceiling in the kitchen is vaulted and fairly high), took the cover off, and removed the bulbs.  There are four in the main fixture; two in the one over the sink.  Half were going bad; the other half were already burned out.  He went to Menards and got all new bulbs.  The lights are working fine now, and Loren was quite surprised that it wasn’t the switch after all, though when Larry arrived, he was surprised Larry thought there was a problem with his lights; he’d forgotten all about it.

Loren said he doesn’t often use the kitchen lights at night, “...but Norma might’ve needed them; her schedule is a little different than mine.”

Sometimes I think of the bright side of this Lewy Body dementia is that in thinking Norma is there now and then, he isn’t as lonely as he would otherwise be. 

On the other hand, maybe when he’s lonely, he’s more likely to hallucinate?  Hard to say.

One afternoon, he told me about a phone call he’d just gotten, and says this happens about once a week (though his perception of time is extremely skewed) – but when he picked up the phone, no one was there.

I said it could’ve just been a robocall; they have a certain number of phone numbers in queue, and if too many people actually answer, they have to let a few calls drop.

“On the other hand,” I remarked, “It could be a robber casing the joint, in which case you should whisper into the phone, ‘There’s a pot of boiling oil directly over the door,’ and then hang up.”

Loren looked amazed, then started laughing – and laughed all the more when I reminded him of how Calvin (of Calvin & Hobbes fame) didn’t like taking messages from colleagues of his fathers; so once when someone wanted him to take a message, he blew up a balloon, popped it with a pin, yelled, “AGHH!!!  I’ve been shot!” and hung up the phone. 



I often have to tell stories like this two or three times, since Loren can’t quite catch it all the first time around.  He told me with a twinkle in his eye, “The older I get, the faster people talk.”

As I left, he thanked me for the food – and for the funnies. 

Home again, I paid some bills, then got back to the photo scanning.  




Going through all the photos from Bobby and Hannah’s wedding brings back lots of memories of sewing lots of purple dresses.  One bridesmaid’s dress wound up a wee bit too small; another wound up a wee bit too big.  They traded – and all was well.  Whew.



Hannah’s gown originally had a very long train on it, which she did not want.  I took pictures of her in the gown with the train still on it – and then I cut it off and used it to make Victoria’s dress.  Hannah put that exquisite beadwork on Victoria’s dress, matching it to the beading design on her own.  Hannah made Caleb’s ringbearer pillow.  (I think.)  She put the beading on it, too.

Sooner or later, I’ll get to that photo of Hannah with the train still on her gown.

Last Monday, I mailed a package of ink to a lady who has a printer like my older one.  (Why do printers quit working immediately after one buys new cartridges of ink for them?)  Since it was MLK Day and the post office was closed, I stuck on what I figured would be enough stamps, and put it in a mail depository.

Thursday I got it back, with a sticker on it that says the post office can’t ship packages that large (it’s quite small, actually) for security reasons.  Siggghhhh...  At least they didn’t cancel the stamps!  I was able to reuse them.

Ah, well; the advantage to taking the package inside the post office is that we now get a tracking number.

Andrew had some time off to use before the end of the month, so he, Hester, and Keira took a little vacation in Colorado last week, staying in a cabin near Longmont.  Hester sent this picture of Keira, writing, “Everywhere we go, we are kept busy with rock-digging!”



I ordered groceries online Wednesday, and reserved a time slot for 4:00 – 4:30 p.m. to pick them up Thursday.  They’re doing their time slots in half-hour increments now, rather than one-hour increments.

I arrived at Hy-Vee at 4:25 p.m., though I had not yet received a text telling me the groceries were ready.  They usually text the following shortly before time to pick them up:  

“Hy-Vee Alerts: Your order is expected to be ready at 4:00pm. Reply GO when leaving and we’ll have it ready. Reply HELP for help, STOP to stop these messages.”

This being unusual, I decided to text “Go”, and see what would happen next. 

I got this message:

“Hy-Vee Alerts:  Your order isn’t quite ready yet. We’ll let you know as soon as it’s ready. Reply HELP for help, STOP to cancel.”

I waited 20 minutes, then texted “Help”.

I then got this message: 

“You signed up to receive Hy-Vee Alerts. Contact 800-772-4098 for further assistance. Message & data rates may apply. Reply STOP to cancel.”

I waited 10 more minutes, then texted “Here”.  It was 4:55 p.m. by then.

I got a repeat of message #1.

I’d seen store boys bringing several cartloads of groceries to the pick-up trailer, but none were mine.  I called the store and asked if they were running behind.  The lady apologized, and said my order should be ready right then... but she gave me no hints as to what I should do next.

So... I pulled into the pickup lane.  A boy soon came out to ask my name, then went back into the pick-up trailer and promptly returned with my groceries.  They’d been there the whole time, cooling their heels!  Or warming their heels, as the case may have been.

I was home and had long put away the groceries and got on with the photo-scanning again when I got a text from Hy-Vee: 

“Hy-Vee Alerts: Your order is expected to be ready at 4:00pm. Reply GO when leaving and we’ll have it ready. Reply HELP for help, STOP to stop these messages.”

It was 6:27 p.m.  🙄  I wonder... if I replied ‘Go’, headed to the store, and then texted ‘Here’, would a duplicate of my first order be loaded into my Jeep?  (No, I wouldn’t do that.)

Here’s a picture taken on the day of Bobby and Hannah’s wedding.  There was tornadic activity going on all afternoon.  We were glad it cleared up and the sun came out in time for a few outdoor pictures before the service.



That Sunday afternoon, the tornado sirens went off several times.  There were tornadoes to the northeast that caused extensive damage to several farmplaces.  This was the view from our house.  We couldn’t actually see the tornadoes, but we could see definite circular movement in those strange clouds.

This is the photographer, Mike Senior, with Hannah and Bobby.



Each morning while getting myself all cute and presentable, I listen to the news on a local rural radio station.  There’s an ad for tree removal service that drives me bonkers, and gets stuck in my head for hours:  “Don’t put yourSELF in harm’s way; call Steve!” 

You know, put him in harm’s way.

Don’t people who oversee ads – or better yet, those who pay for the ads – notice when the acCENT is on the wrong syl-AH-ble?

Think how much better it would be if the ad narrator said, “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way; call Steve!”  With no over-emphasis on any words, it means exactly what the ad writer wanted it to mean:  “Call someone who knows how to do it safely!” rather than, “Let’s all endanger Steve!  He’s a mean one.” 

I also heard a discussion on the Covid-19 variant and its mutations.  They’ve gone from saying that, while it’s more contagious, it’s not more dangerous, and the vaccine would cover it, to now saying that it’s scary, scary-bad, getting worse, and the vaccine may not work.  The solution?  Double-up on masks, of course! 

I paused, and listened a bit closer to see if they’d really said what I thought they’d said.

Yep.  Put two masks on.  No, wait, three would be better!  Really.  That’s what they said; I’m not kidding.

See, they should’ve listened to me, when not too long ago I said we should all just wrap our heads in saran wrap!  A plastic bag will do, in a pinch; simply pull it over your head and gorilla-tape it good around the neck.

Here I am while on a field trip with several classes of schoolchildren visiting some friends’ farmplace in late spring of 2000.



I was chatting with a friend on Facebook.  She asked a question about the dresses for Hannah’s wedding.

“pfp[ ‘;” I replied unintentionally.

Now, I could delete that remark (yes, one can delete and edit one’s comments on Facebook – just click those three little dots on the right side of the comment), but it was funnier to leave it there and explain what had happened:  Teensy cat had jumped on the keyboard.  He had also brought up Groove music app and the calculator.

I grabbed him (carefully! – he’s old, and I don’t want to hurt him) and put him down, exclaiming, “That’s bad!  You know better than that.”

(He does.)

He raced off to vent his spleen on throw rugs throughout the upstairs, dashing headlong at them, grabbing them with his claws, and rolling.  You’d never have known he’s gone gimpy and practically decrepit at times.

By 5:00 p.m., the mist that had been falling since early afternoon was starting to freeze, as the temperature had dropped to 27°.  The freezing mist would continue through midmorning Sunday.  And there’s dense fog in Galveston!  (I knew you’d want to know.)

Larry had driven some distance to the north that day.  The road was very slick all the way home.  There was a bad wreck just north of Madison; a van had evidently been going too fast to make the curve on a hill, slid down through the median, overturned in the oncoming lane, and was then hit by a pickup.  Both the driver and the passenger in the van were killed.

Saturday night, I finished scanning the 37th photo album – 9,649 photos are now scanned. 

Sunday after the morning service, we gave Loren sirloin steak and vegetable soup, asparagus, strawberry cheesecake yogurt with granola, a banana, and cranberry juice.  Larry took it to him, and put de-icing salt on his porch and drive while he was there.

Here’s another excerpt from my journal of 07-31-00:

 

In Avon, Ohio, we pulled into a vacant lot across the street from a convenience store for one of our multitudes of pit stops. 

We walked across the street.  After filling our hands with a variety of such things as extremely hot coffee, extremely hot water (to pour into the extremely thick coffee, unless one didn’t mind using a fork with which to eat one’s coffee) (just what one needs when the temperature is in the 90s and one cannot run one’s AC because it causes the truck to overheat), pop, juice, and granola bars, we headed back across the busy street.  Joseph and Hester ran ahead and were already in the pickup as the rest of us were preparing to cross the road.  I was holding the extremely hot coffee in one hand and the extremely hot water in the other (to pour into the extremely thick coffee, because I am not Turkish).  Larry was holding a large glass of pop in one hand and Victoria’s hand in the other.

Suddenly, a block to our left, just beyond a big intersection, there was a blinding flash and a horrific BOOM!! 

Flames shot every which way, high voltage lines sizzled and crackled – and began popping loose and falling, one loop after another, fast coming our way.  I, not being one to panic, stood and looked at it with interest.

“We’ve got to get back!” Larry said urgently, stepping back and pulling Victoria with him.

I abruptly came out of my mesmerized state. 

“Get back!” I shouted, and then for good measure, “GET BACK!!” — and 7,214 people – the entire population of Avon – leaped back from whatever they were doing, whether sitting at a computer terminal, standing at the water cooler, waiting at an elevator door, washing dishes at their kitchen sink, trimming rose bushes in their yard, or sitting in an easy chair reading the evening news.  I am not a preacher’s daughter for nothin’.

So far as I know, all those people are still standing in mute shock, gazing at whatever it was they were near, and whatever it was they so suddenly ‘got back’ from, just because of the sonic sound waves their subconscious minds heard, wondering what in the world happened.

Meanwhile, the five of us on the near side of the street skedaddled backwards like skeert chickens, gazing skyward, looking for a place where there were no high voltage wires overhead.  About the time things settled down and we decided we would attempt to cross the street again, some trucks passed by the downed lines, sending them swaying and bumping into each other.  Once again, it sounded like the Fourth of July, snapping and popping and spitting fire.  More wires burned and fell, coming altogetherly too close for comfort, and we hurriedly backed farther away.  The box on the side of a metal pole at the corner burned swiftly, and it looked as if the poles on both corners, including the one nearest our pickup and trailer, were wiped clean of their creosote coating with one swipe of a giant eraser.

We were glad that Joseph knew his safest course of action lay in staying put, and keeping his sister there with him.  Just as we deemed it safe to go across the road, the police arrived to block off the route where the wires were down.  We crossed the street, climbed into the pickup, and started to go – a difficult piece of work, because the stop-and-go lights at the corner were out, and the traffic was backed up on all four sides of the intersection.  We wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, because those wires continued on right over the lot where the pickup and trailer was parked, and we were afraid they would catch another breeze, touch each other, and start their flaming, crackling descent again. 

We cautiously pulled under wires that were still live – and it was at that moment that a truck with a tall load, the driver not noticing the downed lines, turned the corner and started under the low-hanging lines.  It looked to us as though he was heading right into direct contact with those wires.

“His tires are going to blow right out from underneath him,” said Larry quietly, and we watched in wordless, helpless dread as that big truck rolled closer to disaster.

And then the driver saw the police cars and stopped, in the nick of time.

It took a moment or two for our hearts to start beating again, and another moment or two to catch our breaths.  We carefully jockeyed around the rear of the truck as it sat there in the middle of that junction, and then we were off down the road and out of danger.  Whew!  These paid vacations...

After crossing over Sandusky Bay on the Bay Bridge, we drove around Marblehead Peninsula, stopping to see Marblehead Lighthouse.  This lighthouse has been in continuous service longer than any other lighthouse.  Construction was completed in 1822, and it’s been working ever since.  As we walked nearer, we could see people far above us, walking around the light up at the top, holding the railing.  We happily headed for the door.

It was a big old wooden door, painted green – and it was stuck.  I pushed on it, succeeding in getting it open a few inches.  I braced my feet and determinedly pushed.

What I didn’t know was that the lighthouse keeper was trying to shut and lock the door from the other side.  He pulled it open, looking a bit disgruntled at this persistent tourist who wouldn’t take no for an answer – and I, still shoving with all my might and main, nearly tumbled in onto his feet.

I gathered myself together and grinned at him.

“Oops,” said I.  “Sorry!”

He quit looking peeved and laughed.  “The last tour went up at 4:30,” he told me.  “I’m just locking the door; you can come back tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”

Four-thirty.  We were fifteen minutes too late, and ‘tomorrow’ would find us 500 miles farther west.  But I thanked him, and we trekked off to the rocky shores of Lake Erie, where we used up handfuls of film and a good deal of energy clambering about on the boulders.  Whitecaps sparkled snowy white in the sunlight, and breakers crashed against the rocks at our feet.  Boats in the distance rose and fell on the waves, and sea gulls wheeled overhead, their cries drifting down like tinkling chimes.

 

Here are Lydia and Caleb at Marblehead Lighthouse, Ohio, on the shores of Lake Erie:






Marblehead Lighthouse, with Joseph taking videos:





It started snowing early this morning.  By 2:30 p.m., it was 24° with a wind chill of 11°.  We had 6” of snow, and it was still coming down hard.  It was beautiful.  I love snow, and I’ve gotten a lot of pretty pictures of the birds at my feeding stations.  The photos were a bit dark, but I popped them into my photo editor and brightened and sharpened them up a bit.  Here's a female Downy woodpecker:



Larry came home for lunch a little after noon, so I packed up a box with cold things for Loren – peach-white cranberry juice, V8 cocktail juice, red grapes, and a banana.  Larry got him the red grapes at the little store in Genoa Saturday evening, knowing Loren really likes them.  Larry would get a hot chicken sandwich for him at Sapp Bros. truck stop and take him the food at about 4:30 p.m.  KFC, Subway, and other restaurants were closed, due to the weather.

When I called Loren to tell him Larry would be bringing him some food, he thanked me, then said in a bit of a worried tone, “You’ve been bringing me food for a looong time now.”

So I retorted in an indignant tone, “Well, you just keep eating!!!”

That made him laugh, of course.

I wonder how many different kinds of birds there are at the feeding station today?  Hmmm...

1.                 Eurasian collared dove

2.                 Harris’ sparrow

3.                 American goldfinch

4.                 House finch

5.                 Downy woodpecker

6.                 Hairy woodpecker

7.                 Red-bellied woodpecker

8.                 Blue jay

9.                 Northern cardinal

10.             Dark-eyed junco

11.             Pink-sided dark-eyed junco (a Rocky Mountain variant)

12.             English sparrow

13.             Red-breasted nuthatch

14.             European starling

 

The blue jays are not quite as skilled as the nuthatches, but their agility is nothing to sneeze at.




Here is a Harris’ sparrow in winter plumage:



I think there are still mourning doves and American robins about, but I haven’t heard or seen them today.  Maybe they skedaddled south in front of the snowstorm. 

I took 82 pictures and 23 videos. 

This is a European starling.



Winters have generally been a bit less severe than usual in the last five years or so, but when the storms come, they have often been more violent.  I just measured the snow out on our back deck, and it’s 10 ½”.  The forecast says we could get an additional 3” through the night. 

Makes things tricky and sometimes downright dangerous for the menfolk in construction, but the moisture itself is good news, because the entire state is in severe drought, and has been for several months.

Here’s the pretty red-bellied woodpecker, big ol’ bully that he is.



Bedtime!  Tomorrow I need to take care of some financial matters for Loren at an office in town (if they’re open), pay bills, extract my 830 Record Bernina from its cabinet and clean and oil it for Victoria, take Loren some food, ... and scan pictures.

Goodnight!



,,,>^..^<,,,          Sarah Lynn          ,,,>^..^<,,,




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