My
nephew Robert’s wife, Margaret, has been helping my sister, Lura Kay, sort and
label her photos. She sent this to me
last week. I had never seen it
before. I’m the baby, so the picture was
taken in late 1960.
From
left to right: Loren, 22; G.W., 17;
Sarah Lynn, about 1 month; Mrs. Hester M. Swiney, 44 (if after October 31, her
birthday); Rev. George D. Swiney, 45; and Lura Kay, 20.
This
is a ‘picture of a picture’ taken with a cellphone; thus the skewing and the
reflection.
Last
Monday evening, Teddy brought a padded motorcycle jacket for Larry. Now if he crashes his motorcycle, he won’t
have quite as many skinned spots. 😅
There’s Larry, trying on the jacket;
and that’s Teddy, aka
He Who Does Not Like His Picture Taken. 😆
Here’s Teensy,
having spotted a bunny.
And there he
goes stalking it! 😬
There’s the bunny, naively thinking he’s well hidden...
and finally, there’s Teensy sulking
under the cedar tree after I made him stop his carnivorous hunting.
Tuesday was
Bobby’s 41st birthday. We gave
him a gift after church the next evening:
long fire-resistant leather gloves for his fireplace, a hardback book
about hymns and their authors, including a CD, and a vintage skeleton pocket
watch with glass sides.
My back, which is on the mend, was
tired Tuesday night after spending about eight hours cutting quilt pieces and
sewing them together. Yep, I’ve begun
the sewing the Colorwash Blooming 9-Patch quilt! It will be king-sized – 111” x 120”. Most of the pieces are cut; I won’t cut the
borders until I’m ready to add them to the central section. There are 1,376 pieces. The outermost corners were together.
When my back was finally protesting
louder than the music I was trying to listen to, I retired to my recliner with
my laptop, tucked a heating pad behind my back, and prepared to watch a few
YouTube videos.
But it wasn’t long before I had to get
up and do something, because... Tiger kitty came in via the pet door, walked
into the living room, and then just stood there in the middle of the rug looking
sad and forlorn. I watched him, thinking his dejection was probably
because his nose had told him I’d fed Teensy Fancy Feast soft cat food while
Tiger had been outside.
And then I saw the problem: his
bed – thick eggcrate foam covered with soft minky fabric – had gotten pushed
halfway under the loveseat, and there wasn’t enough of it left sticking out for
him to lie on. 😅 Poor old
kitty! I pulled it out and patted on it to show him he could come lie
down now.
He looked studiously past me.
“Tiger!” I said, patting the bed with
vigor.
He barely wiggled. His eyeballs involuntarily started rolling in
my direction, but he jerked them back and went on staring elsewhere. Anywhere other than at me.
Hmmmph.
Two can play that game.
I went back to my recliner,
re-sit-chee-ated meseff, and purposefully ignored him.
He turned his head and looked at me.
I ignored him with all my might and
main.
He rolled his eyes toward his bed,
quickly glanced back at me. Finding me
apparently absorbed in my computer, he clambered laboriously into his bed, lumpety-lumped
toward the middle, and lay down too soon, as he is oft wont to do. After nearly slipping back off of it rump
first, he scramble-dee-doo-dawed (that’s not a word, but it should be,
and it would be, had Noah Webster ever watched Tiger trying to prevent
his behinder from slip-sliding off his bed) until he was close enough to the
middle of the bed to avoid tumbling off it.
He collapsed, pfffffllut. That was hard work for an old, arthritic,
roly-poly cat!
After curling his front paws
contentedly under his chest, he peeked suddenly in my direction and caught me
looking at him.
Since he couldn’t exactly turn the
other way, now that he was ensconced and entrenched in his cushy crib, he made
do by squeezing his eyes tight shut.
Hee hee
Cats (and their owners -- uh, servants) are such funny critters!
I skedaddled posthaste
back to the bedroom for my glasses, rushed back into the bathroom, and took
another look at the behemoth in the bathtub.
It was a male giant
stag beetle, almost 3 inches long.
Aauugghhhh. Shiver me timbers. I grabbed a flyswatter and gave him a few
good whacks.
He grabbed the
swatter and hung on.
I tried thumping
him off into the toilet.
He hung on.
I snatched my
long-handled lotion applicator off the hook and tried raking him off the
flyswatter with the end of the applicator handle.
He latched onto
the rope hanging loop at the end of the handle and hung on.
I held him
underwater, hoping he’d let go. He did
not.
I finally got
the metal loop of the flyswatter handle around him and jerked him loose from
the lotion applicator. Falling into the
water with a plop, he proceeded to swim with dexterity. His beady little eyes glared at me with
malevolence as he debated how best to sink those mandibles into my digits or
schnoz or aurises externa.
I pressed the
flush lever down, and held vigil for a few minutes to make sure the creepy
thing did not resurface.
Shudder.
Hannah called that afternoon to tell me
the sad news that my brother-in-law John H., Lura Kay’s husband, had passed
away. (We called him ‘John H.’ because
of the number of friends and family also named ‘John’.) He’d been failing
for the last few months, and after a stroke was no longer able to drive the
semi that hauled dry cement powder for Gehring Ready-Mix.
But
he had had a good week. He’d been well
enough to go to church Sunday, and Wednesday morning had carried the garbage
out, then taken a shower. It was shortly
thereafter that he had either a heart attack or a stroke.
Here is his obituary:
John H. Walker, 78, passed away Wednesday, July 14, 2021, at his
home in Columbus.
Funeral services are 2:00 p.m. Friday, July 16, 2021, at the Bible
Baptist Church in Columbus. Visitation
is 5:00-8:00 p.m. Thursday and will continue Friday from 1:00 p.m. until the
service time, all at the church. Burial
is in Roselawn Cemetery.
John H. Walker was born in Denver, Colorado, on November 1, 1942,
to Herman and Margaret (Newham) Walker. He
attended school in Bennett, Colorado, until moving to Columbus where he
attended Kramer High School.
John married Lura Kay Swiney on March 1, 1964. They had four children. He was a dedicated member and deacon at Bible
Baptist Church for many years.
He owned his own trucking company for many years. He also worked with his son, David, at Walker
Foundations. In later years he drove a truck for Gehring Construction and
retired early this year.
He is survived by his wife, Lura Kay, two sons and one daughter, all of
Columbus: Kelvin and wife Rachel, Robert
and wife Margaret, and Susan Seadschlag and husband Charles; daughter-in-law,
Christine, Mrs. David Walker; 20 grandchildren, and 32 great-grandchildren.
He was preceded in death by his parents, sister and brother-in-law, Helen and
Delmar Tucker, sister, Mary Krieger, and his son, David Walker.
Victoria, as is her way after sad news,
soon sent pictures of Carolyn and Violet – and a sonogram. Yes, a new baby is on the way.
“Sweet little girls,” I responded, “and
a steady little heartbeat. Blessings you
can’t count; they’re beyond measure.”
“Yes,” replied Victoria, “Especially
today. I’m so glad I told Uncle John and
Aunt Lura Kay about the new baby, last Sunday night.”
It was only a couple of hours later when
Dorcas, too, sent a sonogram image, plus a ‘Big Brother’ shirt for Trevor and
a ‘Little Sister’ shirt for the coming baby.
We have no trials without some
blessings. We have sorrows, but the joys
are always greater, that’s the truth of it. And we are thankful.
When I told Loren about John H., he
immediately decided to go see Lura Kay, but he forgot they’d moved several
months back, even though he’d visited them the week before. He went to the old house. Fortunately,
friends live there – Bobby’s younger brother Stephen, who is our school
principal, his wife Melody, Jeremy’s younger sister, and their two little
boys.
Melody reminded Loren that Lura Kay and
John H. had moved, and he then remembered, and drove there for a short
visit. He was soon back home again.
I’m glad he visited them the previous
week. He understood John H. was not
well, so it wasn’t the shock to him it might otherwise have been.
Our evening service that night was a
comfort. The beautiful old hymns are so heart-touching.
We had a late supper after we got home,
and then, knowing there were quilts on the way from Cincinnati, I went back to
my quilting studio and finished sewing together thirty 9-patch blocks. These 6”
blocks are for the dark outer edge of the Blooming 9-Patch.
Thursday morning, I ordered three large
peace lilies, to be combined in a big basket, for the funeral. Whoever put the basket together added several
other plants, some in bloom. It was sort
of pricey, but hopefully it will be long-lasting. I much prefer spending money on plants,
as opposed to cut flowers.
Whataya know, I just found a poll
online where more people voted in favor of living plants than for cut
flowers. How ’bout that. I figured my opinion was far in the minority.
John H. was very special to all of us –
almost like another grandpa to our children. I’ve loved him dearly since
I was a wee little girl – even if he did spank one of my dolls one time,
thinking I’d think it was funny. 😮
I was John H. and Lura Kay’s flower
girl; I was three when they married. I once gave him the rare privilege
of coloring on the right side of my coloring book while I colored on the
left. This honor was reserved only for a) those I loved best, and b)
those I thought could color well. I loved to color, and my mother had
taught me to color in tiny little circular movements with a dull edge of my crayons,
so my pictures looked smooth and even. I was quite proud of my coloring
prowess.
John H. colored a little girl’s face
blue.
Now, he thought I would think it
was funny. I thought lots of things were funny, after all.
I was horrified.
However! – I decided he surely must not
know better, so I kept very, very quiet about it. My mother had also taught
me not to hurt people’s feelings, and certainly not to act like I could
color better than other people.
But after that, I saved one coloring
book especially for sharing with others, and kept my favorites hidden.
When I was two years old, I contracted
pneumonia and wound up 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.
Now this, I did
think was funny.
I laughed and laughed, all the while
thinking how peculiar 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.
My father often called John H. ‘a
prince of a man’ – and it was the perfect description. Anyone would be hard put to find any fault in
him. He was a friend and a helper to so many people. At the
visitation Thursday evening, I heard several young people telling Lura Kay about
things John H. had done for them, and how kind and friendly he was.
I’m glad we have a heaven to look
forward to, for those of us who love the Lord! We will see our loved ones
again.
Thursday afternoon, a box containing
three quilts arrived. After finishing a bit of housework, I got started on the quilts.
The first one had fabric with daffodils
printed on it – and I had a pantograph I’d long hoped to use, called ‘Deb’s
Daffodils’. I threaded my machine with a
soft yellow 40-weight Omni thread called ‘Butter’, and put light yellow 60-weight
Bottom Line thread into the bobbin.
When I quit for the night, I had passed the halfway
mark.
Friday afternoon at 2:00 p.m. we went
to John H.’s funeral and a luncheon afterwards.
We got home some time after 6:00. The first order of business was to eat a
piece of blueberry rhubarb pie that Larry had decided to put into the oven at
10:30 p.m. Thursday evening, for some unfathomable reason. It was frozen; one of the children had given
it to him for Father's Day. The pie
finished baking around midnight.
Fact #1: I love pie.
Especially pie with rhubarb in it.
Fact #2: I do not eat pie at midnight.
Fact #3: I would love to eat pie at
midnight, but the bathroom scale would make very rude remarks to me the next day. Therefore, I do not eat pie at midnight. Even when Larry is eating said pie right
smack-dab in front of me, I do not eat pie at midnight.
So, Friday evening, I warmed up a piece
of that pie in the microwave (feeling a bit done-wrong-by, since I know
it tasted better the night before, fresh out of the oven), and gladly polished
it off. Then I headed upstairs to work
on the Daffodil quilt.
A few hours later, the quilt was
finished, and I had loaded the next one, ‘Shadowbox Favorites’. After turning off machines, lights, fan, and
coffee mug warmer, I went downstairs, made a cup of Blueberry Wild Child Tiesta
loose-leaf tea, and settled into my recliner.
This tea has apple, hibiscus, elderberries, rosehips, pomegranate bits,
cornflowers, and blueberries in it.
Saturday, my customer told me,
regarding the ‘Shadowbox Favorites’ quilt I was starting on, “I was a little
disappointed in this one because there was not really any contrast; but I am
sure after it is quilted it will have its own charm. Someone will fall in
love with it.” (She gives most of her
quilts away.)
I told her, “I think it’s a lovely
quilt. Sometimes the ones with less contrast wind up looking so soft, all
vintage and delicate. That’s how this one affects me.”
That afternoon when I trotted out to my
vehicle, box of food for Loren in hand, I heard the tiny, high-pitched peep-peep-peep!
of fresh-hatched baby birds. It’ll take a couple of days before the pitch
descends enough that I’ll be able to tell what kind of birds they are (unless I
spot the mother, of course). I really enjoy all the birds.
Loren is doing all right; he really
can’t grieve for his brother-in-law and best friend like he might if he didn’t
have Lewy Body dementia, because his attention span is so short. It’s a silver lining to the cloud, really.
I was having troubles with a roadblock
that day as I quilted. A furry, purry
roadblock. I’d quilt a while, move
Tiger, quilt a while, move Tiger, repeat.
He’s too big for me to actually pick up, but as soon as I put my hands
around him as if I was going to pick him up, he scrambles to his
feet. I then get him aimed in the right
direction, move into the spot he’s just vacated, grab the handles of my
longarm, and go on quilting.
Tiger watches my feet for a while, trying
to discern which direction they might be going, and then, once he comes to some
sort of conclusion, lies down in whatever spot he deems most likely. Soon I’ve moved along the quilt row far
enough that the cat is again doing duty as a speedbump. I drop the needle at a good stopping point,
lean down, and make as if to physically move the cat.
He struggles to his feet, with me
giving him enough help that the job is a little easier than it would’ve been.
We continue in this fashion for some
time, until Tiger tires of the rigmarole and climbs into his Thermabed.
I don’t make a peep. If I congratulate or praise him in any way,
he will get right back out of that bed and come purring to rub on my ankles,
after which he'll ker-plop himself down right where I will soon need to put my
feet.
By
10:30 p.m., the Shadowbox Favorites quilt was finished, trimmed, and removed
from the frame. I will start on the next
and last quilt tomorrow.
The pantograph is called ‘Angelica’; it’s one of my
favorites. It uses up a lot of thread, but it’s fun to do, and I like
how it almost looks like custom feathering.
The
quilt measures 63” x 87”.
Yesterday after the morning church
service, Victoria asked us to stop by and pick up some roast, potatoes,
carrots, and onions – she had baked enough for us and for Loren, too. He was pleased; that’s one of his favorite
meals.
This afternoon, Keith sent a picture of
the front-loading ready-mix truck he drives.
He wrote, “These trucks are used heavily
in mountain areas because they are 6x4 and low geared, safer in steep areas,
and can climb like anything. The chute
on the front is controlled by a joystick in the cab. I am able to dump out concrete while the
workers finish it behind me.”
I tried calling Loren at 3:00 p.m., but
he didn’t answer. I took a looked at the
game cam – and discovered he was mowing his lawn. He’s been busy all day: he took out his garbage early; he used his
big John Deere tractor here and there, including taking down the weeds in the
driveway; he went to Wal-Mart; and then he used his smaller riding lawnmower on
his yard.
So I made him some food and took it to
him: General Tso’s chicken, potato
salad, green beans, peaches, strawberry cheesecake yogurt, and pomegranate
cranberry Crystal Lite.
While I was putting his food on the
table, Hannah arrived, with Nathanael driving.
They had brought Loren three gallons of water. I had brought two; my back is finally well
enough that I can carry jugs of water again.
He shouldn’t run out of water for a few days!
A little crop sprayer was buzzing the
cornfield to the north this evening, so I popped out onto the porch and snapped
some shots.
Time for bed. Tomorrow I shall quilt!
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
* * *
Here are the
words to the song the choir sang at John H.’s funeral:
1.
There is rest ’neath His wings ’til the morning shall break,
And we in His likeness at last
shall awake;
Naught of evil can harm or our
soul overtake;
’Neath His wings let me rest until
morning.
Refrain:
’Neath His wings let me rest until
morning,
From the tempest and storm let me
hide;
’Neath His pinions my spirit finds
refuge;
In His shadow my soul shall abide.
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