Last Tuesday, Victoria sent me a picture of their new kitty,
Yuki. He reminds me of our cat, Tad,
that we had in 2001 (below).
Victoria has a new website that she set up for her
photography:
Yuki loves to play fetch on their stairs. The little girls toss his feather stick down
the steps, and the kitty dashes pell-mell after it, grabs it by the feathers,
and then, with the thing protruding from his mouth, feathers on one side,
handle on the other, he races back up the stairs, runs past the girls to some
corner in the house, drops the feather stick, and waits for Carolyn or Violet
to pick it up, dash back to the steps, and pitch it down again. So funny.
Late
Tuesday night – early Wednesday morning, really – after receiving an email
telling me a package had arrived that day, I found the box tossed into the snowdrifts
on the porch, and nearly buried. The U.S.
post lady had delivered it, of course. She has often wrecked up such things as books,
cramming them into our mailbox, bending the cover; and many times she puts
other people’s mail in our box (often with addresses not even remotely similar
to ours, nor are the locations anywhere nearby). It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s
happened when we don’t get vital pieces of mail or packages.
Strangely,
the UPS and FedEx drivers we have at the moment are much better than she is,
and are kind enough to put my boxes right inside the front door, which I
appreciate, especially when they are large and heavy. (The boxes, not the drivers. The drivers are tall and fairly skinny.)
Larry
got his W2 form, so I started working on our taxes Wednesday afternoon. And then before I knew it, smack-dab in the
middle of itemizing the multitude of things we’ve given to the Goodwill, it was
time to get ready for church. I thought
to finish when we got back home, but by the time we finished eating a light supper,
I was too, too sleepy.
We
either didn’t get our 1098 Mortgage Interest Statement yet, or the mail lady
misdelivered it. It usually comes the first or second week of
January.
That
day we found a big box the mail lady had put on the sidewalk on the far side of
the garage, way over by the driveway. It couldn’t be seen from either of
our doors; Larry just happened to notice it between the snowdrifts as he was
backing out after lunch. Furthermore,
there were bottles of tea in that box! I’d splurged and ordered Tropical
Mango tea by Pure Leaf. I’m drinking some right now. Mmmmm...
Good
thing he spotted it shortly after she put it there. She has a little
trouble walking, and she does not like having to bring
anything to our house, particularly if it’s rainy or snowy. Or sunny.
Our mailbox is over on the old highway. (This is part of the
reason she crams things into the box that really don’t fit.)
Since I
needed the 1098 form, I made myself an account with our mortgage company (until
now, I’ve done online transactions with them through our local bank) – and on
their website I was able to find that statement. That’s one of those
small things that make me unreasonably pleased with myself.
Victoria
decided it was time to take my 830 Bernina Record that I gave her for her
birthday (almost 11 months ago now). They moved last year into a nice
little house, but it’s a little smaller than the one they had before, and she
didn’t want any extra stuff, and she still had her 810 Bernina. She’s
giving that one to Joanna now (at 18 our oldest granddaughter), along with the
desk that used to be my mother’s. It originally fit Mama’s Necchi, but
Larry cut the insert to perfectly fit the 810. (I sold Mama’s Necchi on
eBay.)
In the
next few days, several of our daughters, granddaughters, and young friends plan
to get together and sew. Victoria found some yellow eyelet and yellow
flowered cotton at Hobby Lobby, and will make Carolyn and Violet Easter
dresses.
So Wednesday
I cleaned and oiled my 830, and put it into its hard red case. We sent it
home with Kurt and Victoria after church that night. I totally forgot to
give her all the presser feet and bobbins that go with it! At least the
feet for her 810 would fit it, and it did have the regular foot on
it, in case she used it before I took them to her the next day.
I acquired another little great-great-niece Thursday morning.
I wonder how many great- and great-great-nephews and nieces I have now? Too many to count, probably.
That afternoon after taking Loren some food, I had to go to
the investment banking company where Loren has several accounts to sign papers
and have a medallion signature guarantee and Power of Attorney papers sent to
them – just to change the address on Loren’s accounts to my address.
I had never even heard of a medallion signature guarantee until one of
the companies asked for it; the others had already changed the address on their
correspondence without any fuss at all. Fortunately, the post office
forwarded a statement from that particular investment bank to me, even though
the forwarding service had expired. I have no idea if I know about all of
Loren’s accounts now or not; maybe I’ll find out when I take things to the CPA who
did Loren’s taxes last year. It’s at the
office where Andrew works, and his advice has been so helpful.
Before going home, I took Victoria the accessories and the
manual for her machine.
Home again, I refilled the bird feeders, and before
I got back inside to look out the window, the
feeders were full of birds again. Here
are a couple of dark-eyed juncos. They
are ground-feeders, and they busily clean up the seeds the other birds spill.
I went
back to working on our taxes. I called
Larry to ask a few tax-related questions, and discovered that he was out hunting
with Bobby, and they’d gotten a deer. This
one would be Bobby’s, as Larry had already gotten one, and both of them shot at
it, and neither knew which one hit it.
I also
learned that Larry had had an accident with a grinder at work that afternoon. It had slipped and gotten caught in his
pants, tore through them, and ground right on into his leg. He thought perhaps he should get stitches,
tried calling Urgent Care, and got the run-around from a robotic answering
system. An electronic woman’s voice
first droned on
and on with long-winded advice, rules, and regulations about the coronavirus, then
finally gave some instructions for reaching a real, honest-to-goodness
person. Larry pressed the number he was instructed
to press — and the robotic voice bid him adieu and hung up.
He
tried again – and got a different woman’s robotic voice. Same song, second verse.
His patience ran out. He disconnected, rummaged up a medical patch,
gauze, and some antibiotic salve in a first-aid kit, then applied it to his
leg, pulling the bandage tight. Because his
pants were all ripped up – brand-new ones Teddy and Amy had given him for
Christmas, soft as doeskin and insulated, too – and he really wanted to go
hunting, he grabbed a roll of silver tape and wrapped it snugly round and round
his leg, holding the pants together and keeping the bandage in place.
The wound is healing; it
should be okay.
I took
a little time out for a small lunch of cottage cheese and pears, and polished
it off with a bit of Chobani Greek yogurt.
By a quarter after
nine, the taxes were done and filed. We have a nice-sized refund coming – but the
IRS doesn’t open until February 12. Boo,
hisssss.
Friday morning, I finished the daily ablutions, trotted out
to the kitchen to get a fresh cup of coffee, played a couple of songs on the
piano, and went back into the bathroom to blow-dry and curl my hair. Tiger kitty
came hurrying after me and ker-plunked himself down against the backs of my
ankles as he so well likes to do. This foils
my exercising-while-I-curl-hair routine, but I sorta hate to move him, because
he’s so cuddly, and he purrs so vigorously.
I solve the problem by putting a few Greenies
Smartbites tuna-flavored treats over on the other side of the room. As soon as he clambers to his feet and
waddles over to get them, I stand in the spot he has vacated and start up the
exercising. So long as I don’t stop, he
steers clear.
I’ve
done exercises since way back when I was a teenager I got all concerned about ‘losing
muscle tone’ on those winter days when I couldn’t ride my bike. (I
probably had nothing to worry about, since I could lift an 80-pound
barbell over my head and leg-press 280 pounds.)
Nowadays, I’m a wimp, but the exercising really helps keep
arthritis pain down.
Here’s
a European starling. Did you know that
the starling is particularly easy to turn into a pet, and will be quite
affectionate with its owner?
I got back to scanning old photos that day. Here’s a shot of my
mother, Hester Maurine Winings (seated in the chair), her older brothers,
Robert and Charles, and her older sister, Ruth. Mama was about a year old here, so this would
have been taken in the fall of 1918.
Loren called a little after noon Saturday, wondering where
Norma was. He’d been to Kenny’s house, and the door was locked, and he
suspected she was there... and on and on. When I explained that Norma has
passed away, he got quite agitated and said, “I’m not talking about the
dead!!! I’m talking about my wife!”
I replied, “There is no other Norma
to talk about. You are no longer married, and haven’t been since she
passed away.”
That explanation has satisfied him in the past, but it
didn’t this time.
After going around the mulberry bush a few more times, he
told me, “I can’t talk your language, so just drop it.”
I called him at 3:00 as usual, acted like nothing had
happened, and he seemed fine.
I took him some food at 4:00, and also gave him a page with
Norma’s obituary and a couple of pictures on it – and things promptly went
downhill. I figured that would be the case, but I knew I needed to
address the issue of him hunting for Norma, as he has gone to one or two of his
neighbors, too, thinking she was there ‘working and cleaning houses’.
“She isn’t there,” I told him; “she has passed away. The neighbors know this, and they are
concerned and care about you, and you can be thankful for that. But if
you keep driving around asking people where Norma is, sooner or later someone
is going to decide you are no longer able to live here alone. We are all
trying hard to keep that from happening, because we love you!”
It was an unpleasant conversation, really; but I know one
must hold one’s ground in such cases. A
person in the early to middle stages of dementia can keep some things in
their short-term memory, if the incident makes a deep enough impression. And sometimes making an impression is a
matter of necessity. That ‘always agree
with them!’ advice is not always possible, that’s a fact.
Here is my father, George Dean Swiney, with his
siblings. From left to right: Geraldine, the oldest, Don, second oldest,
Daddy, fourth, and Bob, third. Each of
my parents were the fourth child in their respective families.
After church yesterday, we took Loren tomato basil soup, a
grilled cheese sandwich, Yoplait strawberry yogurt, apricots, and apple
juice. He seemed fine, though maybe a
little more subdued than usual. I have
no idea if he remembered what had taken place the day before. I was glad it was Sunday, as I know our
church services help him. They certainly
helped me!
Kurt and Victoria invited us over for a lunch of pulled pork
tacos. Yummy! We took along some Chobani Greek yogurt for
everyone. Victoria had made peanut
butter chip/chocolate chip cookies for dessert, and we finished with her favorite
coffee with non-dairy creamer and Stevia drops to sweeten it.
After the evening service, Hannah brought
us smoked venison, mashed potatoes, and gravy.
It was really foggy out. We couldn’t see where to turn from Highway 22
onto Old Highway 81. Larry spotted a
marker, slowed, put on the turn signal – and nearly pulled into a small lane
leading into the big cornfield to our south.
We crept on a little farther... and finally found the corner.
When Hannah came, half an hour later, the
fog had thickened. She called about the
time she was pulling into the drive, saying with a laugh that she was sitting
there a minute to let her heartrate slow.
“I need a glass of water!” she said.
She wasn’t really kidding; stressful things
tend to make her asthma act up. Not
being able to see where one is going is stressful!
Larry helpfully replied that he’d have the
water ready to throw on her as soon as she stepped in the door – and pretended
he was going to do just that, when she came in.
Here are Teddy, 4, and Joseph, 2, from September of 1987.
This afternoon, I baked meatloaf made with
deer burger and took it to Loren along with peas, applesauce, Señor Rico rice
pudding, and some Alo Aloe Vera ‘Spring’ – mixed berry juice. In addition to aloe vera juice and pulp, it
has these juices in it: blueberry,
cranberry, red grape, white grape, yumberry, mulberry, and apple.
What in the world is ‘yumberry’? Checking Google... Well, how ’bout that. It’s more often called ‘Chinese
bayberry’. But look at all the names it
also goes by: Myrica rubra, yangmei,
yamamomo, Chinese bayberry, Japanese bayberry, red bayberry, yumberry,
waxberry, or Chinese strawberry. The
fruit grows on a subtropical tree.
I like the name ‘yamamomo’ better. It’s lots more fun to say ‘yamamomo’ than
‘yumberry’, which sounds like something General Mills made up about the same
time they trotted out ‘Gogurt’.
Today Larry was working on the outriggers on his truck. A large pin was hanging up, as it had layers
of dirt around it and in the hole into which it was supposed to slide. Larry, holding the heavy hydraulic pump, was
trying to get the pin to go into its hole.
It was thoroughly stuck. He
wiggled something – and it unexpected went zipping right into the hole -----
but his index finger got caught in it, and there just wasn’t room for
both the pin and his finger. By the time
he got his finger back out, it was thoroughly cut and chewed up. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose the end of that
finger at the top knuckle. His
fingernail is all black and blue. I just
took a good look at it, and see that it will heal all right, thankfully.
Too many accidents! I
think he’s getting too tired, working too many hours.
And now, since I’ve been up too many hours too, I shall head
for the feathers.
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.