My old-fashioned pink rosebushes are all covered with leaves. These bushes came from my mother’s house shortly before she died, and hers came from her mother’s house in North Dakota. I found one solitary root, a big thick one, and, not knowing what it was, I split it into five parts and planted it. When spring came, I had five little rose bushes. I now have five big rose bushes. 😊
“You should share some
of those rosebushes with some of your daughters,” a friend suggested.
“Yes... but this
old-fashioned rose variety is sort of untamed, grows into a huge bush, and
sends roots out all over the yard. It’s nearly impossible to contain
it. And it has dreadful thorns on it. Imagine if the grandchildren
tumbled into it!”
“Ahh, well then...”
reconsidered my friend, “give each grandchild a hamster and call it good.”
haha You think that would be better? I have funny friends.
When I was young, Loren and Janice had gerbils. (They were forever getting loose, but that’s another story.)
About the same time, Daddy purchased a Subaru.
This caused some confusion, adding two new words to the
vocabulary at once, and Daddy accidentally called the gerbils ‘Subarus’ a
couple of times. We thereafter called his Subaru a ‘gerbil’, to his
consternation.
(You gotta admit, they do have the same expressions,
the gerbil and the Subaru.)
Loren’s supper Tuesday evening was baked
chicken breast filet, French-cut green beans, Chobani Greek cherry yogurt, a
mixture of Schwan’s fruit (dark sweet cherries, sliced strawberries, and sliced
bananas), Welch’s grape juice, and a banana nut muffin fresh out of the oven.
Since Loren seemed happy that I was
starting to clear things out of his house, I decided to speed things up. So that day I stuffed the Jeep clear full
of boxes and bins from his lower level. Most were Norma’s things; others were
Janice’s – old dishes and knickknacks and clothes, items Loren will never use
or need. I dropped off one of Monday’s bins (Christmas decorations) at
the Salvation Army, filled the Jeep with gas, and stopped at The UPS Store to
mail birthday gifts to Joseph and his little girl Juliana, who both have
birthdays April 24th. Aaron, too, has a birthday that day, and
Jeremy’s birthday is on the 20th.
For Joseph, Jeremy, and Aaron, I got
suede and canvas work gloves and pocket watches with glass fronts and backs, through
which the gears can be seen turning. For Juliana, I got a sparkly unicorn
purse, a little round mirror with a unicorn on the back, strawberry chapstick,
and a fleece nightgown with a hood sporting unicorn eyes and a horn on top. 😄
When I got home, I parked on the
driveway, unloaded the Jeep (it was cold out there! – only 44°, with a wind
chill of 39°), took a quick look through the stuff, and brought into the house
one half-full bin of family photos, a few brand-new towels, and a couple of cellphone
chargers that don’t fit Loren’s phone. His
cupboards are full of nice towels, but ours are not, and he told me to
give away or keep things, as I wish. I
loaded everything else back into the Jeep and took it to the Goodwill, except
for one bin full of cleaning supplies. I
took that back to Loren the next day; he would be needing those things.
He really does like to keep his house clean and nice.
Home again, I trotted back upstairs to
my little office to resume the scanning of old photos. Here’s one I took of Andrew, age 1, in July
of 1990.
And
here I am with Hester, also age 1, at our church picnic, Pawnee Park, Fourth of
July 1990.
In the picture taken
immediately before this one, Hester was sucking her thumb. In this shot, I’d just pulled it out of her
mouth, saying, “POP!” as I did so, and making the requisite ‘popping’ noise. Can you see that that little thumb is all wet
and glistening? And yep, I sewed our dresses.
Hester will be 32 in
a couple of months. Astonishing, how
that happens.
In Wednesday’s Jeepload of things from
Loren’s house, I found a small light-up Christmas village that Norma had hand-painted. That went to Hannah that night after church.
Joseph sent a thank-you for the
birthday gifts, and a picture of Juliana in her unicorn nightshirt with the
unicorn purse.
Some days before I head to Loren’s
house, I fill a bag or box with things from my house to drop off at the
Salvation Army. The Salvation Army is
not too far from Loren’s house, which is in a housing addition north of
town. If I drive south toward town
instead of straight back west to my house, I travel right by the Salvation
Army, which is actually my preferred donation site, as their policies are
better than the Goodwill’s. I drop
things off at the Goodwill more often, though, because it’s on the west side of
town, nearest our house.
Thursday after leaving Loren’s house, I
took three heavy boxes of quilting magazines to the Salvation Army. These were given to me by Hannah’s children’s
piano and organ teacher some time ago. I’ve
been wanting to get rid of them (the magazines,
not the children) for years, but I was afraid that if I took them to any
secondhand store here in town, the teacher or some of her family or her many students
might spot them and know I hadn’t kept those magazines she so generously gave
me. (Yeah, I worry about strange things. But I don’t want to seem
ungrateful!)
The magazines are like new, and still
have the patterns in them. I didn’t use
them, because some are ‘modern’ patterns that I don’t particularly like, while many
of the instructions are old-fashioned and not very practicable with today’s
quilting tools (rotary cutters, in particular). Since getting quilting
and designing software (Electric Quilt), I rarely use other patterns.
Last year, the teacher passed
away. So... I let her rest in peace for almost a year before I
dropped off all those magazines at the Salvation Army. Don’t you think
that’s commendable of me? Well, don’t
you??
Next, I went to the cleaners to pick up
Larry’s suits. I should’ve gone Wednesday, but I forgot, and didn’t
remember until 15 minutes before time to go to church. I have no idea if
the last two straggling suits in the closet still fit him or not, so I was
quite relieved when it was getting later... and later... and later... and he
still hadn’t shown up. I gathered up
Bible and purse, marched out to the Jeep, and headed to church. Halfway to town, my phone rang.
It was Larry. He had picked up forms at a job and was still
in Fremont, had finally noticed the time and thought to call and tell me he
wouldn’t get home in time for church. (I
usually let him call me, so as not to bother him at some
inopportune time, such as when he is driving the truck in the midst of thick
traffic, or carefully setting a cradle full of forms into some small spot.)
I did not mention that he might’ve had
to wear a pair of coveralls, had he gotten home in time. What they don’t know ain’t a-gonna hurt ’em,
right?
Fast forward back to
today (that makes perfectly good sense, yep, it does): parking at the cleaners, I popped out of
the car, trotted purposefully to the door, grasped the handle, and gave it a
good, hard yank.
Nothing happened.
Not being one to give in easily, I
redoubled my efforts.
Next, I screwed my arm back into its
socket and read the sign on the door.
They now close at 3:30 p.m. on
Wednesdays and Thursdays (on account of Covid-19, which evidently is more
lethal between the hours of 3:30 p.m. and 5:30 p.m., their former closing time,
on those particular days).
Oh.
The parking lot is right next to the
main thoroughfare through town. In our smallish town (population 22,000),
I know hundreds of people. Thousands of people know me.
Scores of the aforementioned souls are traveling on said thoroughfare at
that time of day. And they were all looking at me.
I did my best Lucy impression: I
held my chin up, kept a stiff upper lip (this sort of contorts the face, but
one must do what one must do), and strode with purposeful resolve back to the
Jeep. Tomorrow I would get the suits.
If I didn’t forget.
I drove home, parked in the driveway,
and unloaded and sorted the Stuff and Things I’d put in there. This was
not an entirely pleasant operation, as it was only 55°, and the wind was
gusting at 35 mph.
I saved a box of Janice’s family
recipes for her sister Judy (it even has recipes from their grandmothers), kept
an assortment of hand creams and lotions for
myself (I use that stuff up; it never has time to get stale at my house),
exchanged the large, unwieldy file in my house that I have Loren’s financial
things in for a much smaller one I found at his house, then stuck everything else
back in the Jeep, drove to the Goodwill, and emptied the vehicle.
The Goodwill is two miles and/or seven
minutes closer to our house than is the Salvation Army. Thus, going to the Goodwill instead of the
Salvation Army gives me 14 more minutes of photo-scanning time.
This clean-out-Loren’s-house endeavor
makes it all the less likely that I will get my photos scanned and put on flash
or thumb drives for the kids by this coming Christmas. But I shall keep
trying...
Here’s Joseph learning to walk, pushing
one of the girls’ strollers. Hannah is
beside him; she could be depended on to catch him if he started to fall. It was springtime, 1986.
Friday, my cousin Ronnie
Swiney, about 83, oldest son of my father’s oldest brother, Don, wrote to tell
me that he and his younger brother Roger were talking,
and Roger told him about giving me a little harmonica years ago, when I was ten
or eleven years old. “To his surprise,”
wrote Ronnie, “you could play it after a bit of practicing.”
“I still have
that itty-bitty little harmonica!” I told Ronnie. “It’s only about an inch long. I absolutely loved it, and was
so delighted when he gave it to me. I still
love it. It’s right here in the upper left-hand
drawer of my roll-top desk in my office.”
I took pictures
of it, front and back, and sent them to my cousin.
Then... “Okay,”
I told him, “I had to try it out – and I can still play ‘Turkey in the Straw’
on it. 🤣”
“Now I have to call
Roger!” exclaimed Ronnie.
Here’s Larry pulling a
cart laden with all five of the children, from Keith down to Joseph, behind his
bike. It used to be a pedal cart, but
the teenagers who owned it before us totally demolished it. Once demolished, they gave it to us.
Larry removed the
gears, welded on a hitch, hooked it to his bicycle, and we then used it to
travel all over town with the children in tow.
Sometimes the baby (Joseph) rode in the bike seat on Larry’s or my bike,
and sometimes he rode in the car seat, which we belted into the cart, as it is
in this photo.
Friday when I
looked through the bins I’d collected at Loren’s house, I found several candles
that I had given Norma. I set them on
the table; one is burning now, as I type, and smells sooo good. It’s cranberry, I think.
I once, at age
10 or so, nearly started my bedroom on fire when I lit a candle I had on my
bookcase shelf. Why should it
matter whether it was on the top shelf or the next one down? 😬
Another time, I nearly caught some
blankets on fire when I lopped them over a little lamp and made a tent for
myself, the better to read late at night.
I’d originally been rolling up a rug and putting it in front of the
crack under the door in order to keep my mother from noticing that my light was
still on. But she took to pushing the
rug away with a ruler. Hence the blanket
over the lamp.
When I suddenly surfaced from my very
enthralling book and realized my little ‘blanket cave’ was full of smoke, I
came bailing out in one fast hurry.
And yes, Mama smelled the smoke, and
the next day saw the damaged blanket.
Both occasions causing considerable
smoke and some fast rushing around, once the smoke was discerned and the cause
realized.
 |
| Hannah, 5, 1986 |
After a hasty organization of the
things in the bins, I took another large (and heavy!) load of A-1, First-Class,
Topnotch Stuff & Things to the Goodwill. Included was a very nice set
of pans. Someone is going to be thrilled.
I should’ve sold it on eBay; but that takes time, and there really isn’t enough
of me to go around, timewise. 😑 😕 I’ll collect
receipts and itemize donations for next year’s taxes; that’ll have to do.
 |
| Dorcas, 4; Hannah, 5; Joseph, 1; Keith, 6; Teddy, 3 1986 |
I even
remembered to pick up Larry’s suits at the cleaners that day.
This is Hannah
in front of our blossoming plum tree in 1986.
Below is Teddy pulling
Dorcas in the little red wagon. Dorcas
was a year older than Teddy, but he liked pulling her around, and she liked
riding; so it all worked out. (They did
take turns.)
Saturday, I fixed
some food for Loren that didn’t take too long to make, planning to get there earlier,
load up the Jeep with more stuff, and get to the Goodwill a little sooner. I walked out the garage door, food in hand (a
southwestern burrito, Mediterranean vegetable mixture, dark sweet cherries,
yogurt, white cran-strawberry juice, and a couple of Vlasik dill pickle slabs)
---- and found Larry’s red and white pickup in my way. No Larry anywhere around.
I called him. No answer.
Tried again. No answer. I called Teddy. He’d just talked to Larry on the phone. Larry was leaving the shop, telling Teddy he
needed to hurry before I tried going to Loren’s house and discovered I couldn’t
get out. The pickup was in the way
because it wouldn’t start that morning before he went to work; something was
wrong with the starter.
He got home in a few
minutes, and tried pulling the red and white up the drive, then coasting
downhill and popping the clutch to force it to start. It started – and died.
Meanwhile, in the
house, I heard it start, figured the way was clear, and rewarmed the food for
Loren. I hurried out the door – and
found the pickup still on the drive, this time with the hood open and Larry’s
head under it.
Was it was wrong of me
to consider letting the hood down?
I asked Larry to take
me to Loren’s in his other red truck before the food got cold.
With some obligatory grumbling,
he unearthed the passenger seat, I climbed in, and we lurched our way to Loren’s
house. (The transmission is going out of
that truck.)
While at Loren’s
house, Larry put new batteries into the game cam. I couldn’t gather up anything from Loren’s
house, as there was no room to stow it in the pickup.
Home again, I went
back to scanning pictures. Here’s Larry,
giving 11-month-old Joseph an early motorcycle lesson on his Kawasaki KZ440.
Below is Dorcas swinging on an old-fashioned
swing at Stuhr Museum, Grand Island, Nebraska.
She remembers swinging on that swing, and she also said she loved that dress.
I made the dress along with a few more
like it and several nightgowns from the same pattern before we took a rather
sudden trip to Mexico in 1984 when Teddy was 9 months old. The girls didn’t have enough clothes for
everyday, or enough nightgowns, for a trip that would take over a week. The boys needed pjs, too. So I grabbed
the easiest patterns I could find, picked up several pieces of $.50/yard fabric
(cotton for the dresses and nightgowns, knits for the pjs) from Wal-Mart, and
then cut and sewed as fast as I could. In three days, I’d made eight
dresses, eight nightgowns, and ten pjs (more for Teddy than for Keith, since
babies need more changes).
Saturday night Larry
and I had chicken tortilla soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, peaches, and raspberry
scones, hot from the oven. I don’t make
chicken tortilla soup for Loren; it’s so hot and spicy, it would probably give
him a dreadful stomachache.
Here are Hannah and Dorcas in coordinating dresses:
When I quit
scanning pictures that day, I had 16,390 photos scanned, and was on the 55th
album. There are 71 albums to go.
I went to bed late
enough that I should’ve slept nicely all the way through the night until my
alarm clock rang.
But... I woke up at
3:45 a.m... went back to sleep... woke up again at 5:00... and after that, I
never did go back to sleep.
But not for lack of
trying. I climbed back in bed, got
pillow and blankets situated exactly right... and then my ankle itched. The top of my head itched. My hip hurt.
The back of my neck itched. An
unreachable spot between my shoulder blades itched.
Do I have fleas?
((...considering...))
Maybe I have bedbugs!!!
((...scramble...)) Flipping on the light, pulling back the
covers...
Never mind; it was only
my imagination; there were neither bedbugs nor any indication of bug bites.
I got back in bed and
resituated myself. I was cold. I pulled both the fleece blanket and the
quilt up to my nose, making sure only the fleece was actually touching
my nose. (Don’t tell anybody, but I don’t
really like the way a quilt feels against me.
I want fleece. Flannel
will do, but fleece is better.)
I no sooner got the
blanket and quilt precisely adjusted than I was too hot.
I kicked off the quilt
and uncovered feet and hands.
Ahhhh... now I was
comfor---------
No, I was cold.
I pulled the quilt
back up and tucked my feet into the fleece blanket. I tried turning on my side, tucking the big
body pillow under one knee to keep my hip from protesting.
I started to drift off
– and Teensy batted something under the door.
I whacked my hand on
the side of the bed to inform him that I didn’t appreciate that one little bit.
He was quiet for one
minute... two minutes...
– and then he batted a
roll of paper behind the door and rattled the door, all at the same time.
I let fly with a
sturdy toss pillow. (Why do you think
they call them toss or throw pillows?!)
Ker-SMACK!!! It hit the door
with a resounding thud and dropped to the floor.
I heard feline
toenails scrabbling for purchase on the oak floor.
No more noise from the
cat.
By this time, the
eastern window was starting to show a smudge of light, and I knew that my alarm
would soon be going off.
A robin scolded at a high
decibel level.
This, I was fairly
certain, meant that Teensy had gone outside to vent his offended spleen by
stalking the backyard birds as they attempted to fix breakfast on their little
backyard grills and feed their assorted offspring, all seated around their
little backyard picnic tables.
The robin’s persistent
chirping awakened other birds.
A goldfinch warbled
loudly. It was so loud, it surely must’ve
been perched on a branch of the Black Locust tree outside that same eastern
window.
Thinking of that
reminded me of what Aaron, our oldest grandson, had once called that tree when
he was about three years old: ‘a June
Bug tree.’ Pretty close – but he’d gotten
the wrong bug.
This in turn reminded
me that it was Aaron’s 20th birthday, and I needed to wrap his gift
so I could take it with us to church and give it to him after the service.
In thinking of
birthday gifts, I recalled the sweater jacket I purchased for my sister, whose
birthday is May 17th. The
fabric isn’t as soft as the description promised. The print is gaudier than expected. Will she like it? How many other family birthdays are in May? I need to check.
I wiggled around,
trying to get comfortable again. My
brain went on clattering away, segueing effortlessly from birthday presents to
Christmas presents, and wondering where we should have our family get-together
this year.
The back of my arm
itched. My ankle hurt. My toes hurt.
My pillow had unplumped itself (probably because my brain got so heavy
with all that preponderant prepondering).
I scratched,
replumped, and kept my eyes shut. Eyes
should work like switches. You should be
able to close your eyes and turn off your brain at the same time. On the other hand, a lot of calamities are
undoubtedly averted when people who have just climbed into bed suddenly
remember something vital that they forgot to do.
Everything was finally
exactly right, and I was beginning to feel drowsy.
The alarm blared.
I sat up, turned off
the alarm, and got out of bed.
No, I don’t use the
snooze alarm. I hate snooze
alarms. Why do people want to make themselves
miserable barely falling asleep over and over again, only to be rudely awakened
time and again?? I can do that
spontaneously, all by myself, thank you very much.
I put on a robe and
went out to the kitchen to make coffee and give the cats their food, with
Teensy’s hyperthyroid pill crushed into his helping.
However, Teensy had
vanished off the face of the earth. He
must’ve thought I meant business when I flung that throw pillow at the door.
While I made coffee, Tiger
performed figure eights around ankles, doubtless wondering why the Fancy Feast
was not forthcoming. He has no idea that
the only reason he, tub-a-lard that he is, gets a dab of Fancy Feast soft pâté
twice a day is because Teensy needs it in order to disguise his medicine and to
keep him from getting too thin, and I’m too softhearted to give Teensy such a
treat without giving Tiger some, too. He
also doesn’t know that his portion is considerably smaller than Teensy’s. Cats, fortunately, neither understand nor
notice grams and ounces.
I scritch-scratched
his cute little head, promised him some Fancy Feast later, and headed for the
bathtub. By the time I came back out,
Teensy was sitting outside the bathroom door, explaining to me that he needed his
pâté posthaste, and that I had somehow gotten the order of things mixed up, and
how could I possibly do such a thing to such a sweet and good kitty?!
After the morning
church service, we took Loren roast beef, fire-roasted potatoes and vegetables,
applesauce, yogurt, and apple juice.
Larry carried out a heavy
bin full of books that I’d planned to get the day before. It wasn’t as full of books as I’d thought. There were two boxes in it, one full of
pictures (many in the magnetic clear frames Norma used to keep on her refrigerator),
the other full of cards. I put the
magnetic pictures of our grandchildren on my own refrigerator and put the rest
of the photos into one of my picture boxes.
I thumbed through the cards ----- and found a $20 gift card to Super
Saver that someone had given to Norma for Christmas in 2017. She got sidetracked from using it, I’ll
betcha, by marrying Loren shortly thereafter.
I put the books –
Bible commentaries and concordances, a hymnbook, etc. – back in the bin to give
to Bobby.
Larry was glad to find the old Jackson family Bible in that bin; we will keep it. Larry remembers getting it off their coffee table when they lived in Trinidad, Colorado, sitting in a big stuffed chair, and carefully looking through it. There are many pictures and paintings in it.
He
was looking at it one day when he was about 10 years old, thinking about old TV
shows he’d watched where someone said they’d ‘swear on a stack of Bibles’ that
what they’d said was true. He asked his
father Lyle why they said that.
Lyle told him, “It’s
because all of the Bible is true. You
can believe everything you read in the Bible.”
Larry never forgot
that, though their family wasn’t particularly religious back then. They moved to Columbus and started coming to our
church when Larry was 13. He never had
the least trouble believing God’s Word, in large part because of what his
father had said to him.
Larry is pleased to
have their family Bible back again.
A
good friend of mine had her little doggy put to sleep last week. It was time, but it was sad, and she misses her
little pet. I offered my condolences; I
liked that little dog, too.
“She
was the sweetest, most loveable of all the dogs I had,” said my friend. “It’s too quiet and lonely here now!!”
“Maybe
next time get a Galapagos tortoise?” I suggested. “They can live about 150 years. If you want some noise, you’ll want to get a
male. They made a bellowing, periodic ‘groan’
that sounds similar to a loudly mooing cow. Female tortoises make no vocalizations at all.
“Or
maybe you’d prefer a sulcata tortoise.
It’s similar to the giant Galapagos, but it’s even more friendly and
sweet-tempered, and it absolutely loves to be petted. It can live well over 100 years.”
I
signed off, “Always willing to impart the helpful advice, I remain, Yours
truly, Sarah Helpful Hattie Lynn”
We went to Arby’s
after church last night. Whataya know,
Jeremy and Lydia were right in front of us, going through the drive-thru. This happened at Runza, a month ago, too.
And... they did the
same thing again: they paid for
our food! I had ordered a
turkey/bacon/ranch sandwich; Larry got a jalapeño turkey bacon and loaded
fries, and we each had a diet pop. The
total was over $20.
So... after finding
out at the window that the ‘previous driver’ had paid for our meal, I texted Lydia,
“You awful brats!”
Lydia responded
promptly, “Oops, my bad.”
(She knows I think
that saying is quite stupid.) She added
a laughing emoji for good measure.
I wrote, “Kids these
days,” to which she answered, “Taught ’em well.
lol”
So... when I got home,
I ordered some food for them from Wal-Mart:
Campbell’s Chicken & Dumpling soup, Ritz crackers and Keebler
multi-grain crackers, cans of pears, white cran-strawberry juice, blueberry
granola bars, and, for a treat, chocolate hazelnut Pirouettes. It should be delivered tomorrow. Let’s see what they say about that.
Here I am holding Joseph, 11 months:
...and
this is Dorcas, age 3 ½:
A friend who recently went hiking in
the mountains was remarking that coming down the side of a mountain with any
speed is just about as tricky as going up.
When I was young – early teens – I was
reading my way through my usual pile of books, and found a good explanation and
description of why and how the Indians could run down the side of a mountain
that was all covered with slippery shale, and do it so quickly and with such agility.
Two or three things were especially noteworthy:
they took long easy strides, almost like gentle jumps; they landed
lightly on the balls of their feet with little weight on the heels; and they
ran with a slight pigeon-toed deportment.
The next time we were in the mountains
(we went fairly often), I set out to give this a try. After all,
Pocahontas was my 13th-great-grandmother! (Really! That’s the truth. John Rolfe was my 13th-great-grandfather.) I should be able to run lickety-split down a
mountainside just like an Indian. Right?
I discovered it was easy, it came quite
naturally – indeed, it was pretty close to the way I’d been dashing down
mountainsides already.
Outrunning others down a mountainside is
an extremely valuable skill, particularly when there is a bear taking up the
rear. You don’t have to outrun the bear;
you only have to outrun the others.
Ahem.
Here is Keith, age 6:
...and this is Joseph, age 1. The pictures were
taken in 1986.
It’s 86° today. Yep, our weather is finally warming up, so I
hope to be working in the flower gardens in the mornings. If I was rich,
I’d hire someone to do it. I keep telling myself, This will be
your outdoor vacation! Fun! Nature!
Birds! Flowers! Hillside!
Butterflies! Outdoors! Photos!
I can’t tell if I believe myself yet.
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
