Last Monday night, I got a notice that I’d already burned through all but 10% of my high-speed Internet, just six days after it had kicked in again. Two hours later, I was informed it was gone, gone, gone. What in the world! It usually lasts ten-twelve days, and that final 10% gives me another half a day.
I asked Larry, “Have you been sharing
my hotspot? Is that why it’s all used up
so fast? I haven’t been using it at all
tonight, and it’s gone, only two hours after the 10% warning!”
He checked – and then sheepishly
admitted his tablet was connected to my tablet’s hotspot, by accident.
Surely someday there won’t even be such
a thing as slow-speed Internet?
(Although ‘slow’ speed these days is still a whole lot faster than the
dial-up speeds we used, 22 years ago.)
A woman wrote
under the photos of the Sphinx moth I posted online, “It’s a hummingbird,
right?” – although directly above the photos, I’d typed, “White-lined sphinx
moth.”
I answered,
“No, it’s a white-lined sphinx moth,” politely refraining from adding, “Duh.”
She responded,
“That’s what I thought.”
š Rrrrrrrrrright, lady. (She probably did that all the time in grade
school, whataya bet? – “That’s what I was going to say!” immediately
after another child answered the teacher’s question correctly.)
Another lady
asked if this moth is also called the hummingbird moth and if it comes from the
tomato worm.
People do sometimes call them hummingbird moths, but these are not the same as the hummingbird hawkmoths found in Eurasia and throughout the northern Old World. And the tomato hornworm turns into the five-spotted hawkmoth. Here’s the tomato hornworm:
and here's the five-spotted hawkmoth:
Tuesday
as I spread out one of my customer’s quilt tops, backing, and batting in
preparation to loading it on the quilting frame, I discovered a ragged 3” tear in
the middle of the backing. I was glad I
found it before loading it on the frame and starting with the quilting! Even if I had’ve noticed it later (and
it’s quite possible I would not have noticed it), I would’ve had to remove the
whole works from the frame, attempted to fix it, and then reload everything
while it was partially quilted and connected together. Wow, that would have been a major pain.
I
measured carefully, then made a horizontal seam across the entire backing. I trimmed off the excess, pressed the seam,
and loaded the quilt on the frame.
I told my customer about it, sending a
picture and saying I would return the trimmed piece to her. The store where she bought the fabric ought
to give her some remuneration for that.
“I watched while the clerk measured
that fabric,” she told me, “and I didn’t see the tear. I was really trying hard to make the loading
easy for you!” (She means, by sending
such a nice big piece of backing, perfectly squared.)
“I know,” I assured her a couple of
hours later, “and it isn’t your fault. The quilt is all loaded now,
backing, batting, and top; I’ve just finished rolling the top into place.”
It was time to make some supper for
Loren. I trotted downstairs, hoping to find something good in the freezer.
Loren would be happy as a turtle
on a conveyor belt, I think, with nothing but yogurt, applesauce, peaches,
muffins, pie and ice cream. He almost always reaches for dessert first,
and that day was no exception, as he slid the deer burger meatloaf and the corn
(with lots of butter and a dab of orange blossom honey, mmmm) out of the way
and reached for the fruit. I rarely give him ‘real’ desserts (because I
rarely make them, and rarely eat them) – and in fact have read that too much
sugary food can make Alzheimer’s worse, which probably means it can make Lewy
Body dementia worse, too.
Loren says he doesn’t eat sweets – but
I happen to know that he likes Biscoff cookies, and now and then I spy cookie
crumbs on his table, and sometimes I even catch a glimpse of this telltale red
package. So I know he does sometimes
buy those at the store. Ha!
When I got home, I laid out
a pantograph, taped it in place, and started quilting.
By
suppertime, the first row of the Stars & Arrows quilt was done. The pantograph is ‘Evening Primroses’.
I used Omni 40-weight thread in ‘Butter’ on top, and Bottom Line 60-weight
thread in a darker yellow ‘Tan’ in the bobbin.
I got four or five rows quilted and
then had to quit; my back was protesting.
It was time for bed, in any case.
Once upon a time when I was little, I
was complaining about how much time was lost sleeping. “Think how much
more we could get done if we didn’t have to sleep!” I exclaimed.
My father promptly showed me what David
wrote in the Psalms: ‘He giveth his beloved sleep.’ “Since God gives
it to us, we should be thankful for it!” he told me. “It refreshes our
minds, gives us strength for the next day, and helps us heal,” he added.
So I changed my Wise Ideas and proceeded
on with a more Biblical outlook after that.
A quilting friend was telling about how,
when she raised her son many years ago, she had a shelf in the pantry and another
in the refrigerator for ‘free grabs’, as she called it. “The rest was off limits,” she said, “and I
threatened him with death by toenail removal if he took any of it, so he never
pushed it.”
That
made me laugh, because I threatened my kiddos with ‘toenail removal’ a time or
two, and added, “Sans Novocain!”
Once
upon a time when Caleb, the youngest of the boys, was about five years old, he
was clipping his toenails (gingerly; it was one of the first times he’d tried
it himself), and he informed his little sister Victoria, who was watching the
operation so industriously she kept getting her small head in between
Caleb’s head and his toes, “I’m removing
toenails, sands, and canes!”
A few days ago, Dorcas posted some pictures of their bountiful corn crop.
I was reminded of a story of one of my
cousins when he was little. Robin
particularly loved corn on the cob. He’d
busily eat all the kernels off his cob, then hold it up and request, “I need
more beans on my cob!”
When
I took Loren his food Wednesday afternoon, I carried two boxes: One had hot, just-cooked food in it (along
with fruit, yogurt, juice, etc.). The
other had similar items, but instead of anything that would need to be warmed
up, there was a sandwich made with whole-wheat buns with cornmeal dusted on
top, thick Carving Board deli turkey and chicken, and a slice of Gouda cheese. V8 cocktail juice would suffice for
vegetables that day. I taped a note on
the outside of the box, “Thursday’s supper”, and put it in the refrigerator at
eyelevel.
This,
because we would be out of town the following day.
After church that night, we chatted
with some of the children and grandchildren, and gave Andrew and Hester a gift
for their 13th anniversary – a handmade brass sailboat on a piece of
quartz. They’re moving to their big ‘new’
house (built in 1926, and totally refurbished from basement to 3rd-floor
walk-up attic) on the 24th (tomorrow!).
“That sailboat will look perfect in
Andrew’s new office!” exclaimed Hester.
Their anniversary was on the 10th,
but we hadn’t seen them ’til Wednesday because they’d all had colds.
While
we were still chatting in the parking lot, Lydia sent pictures of her beautiful
new piano, writing, “It was brought while I was at church so I’m just now
trying it out. You can come see it if
you want to.”
We
wanted to, and we were trying to.
I
answered Lydia, “Okay, if we can ever get out of the church parking lot. The BMW is having its glitch again.”
“Do
you need me to come get you?” asked Lydia.
“Not
yet,” I replied. “š We’ve made it to the railroad tracks... and
now we’re sitting here on the shoulder waiting for the vehicle to (hopefully) get
its wits about it again. Kurt and
Victoria are behind us, in case we need help.”
A
few minutes later, I wrote, “Now we’re jerking along... in manual gear... and
we’ve made it to the stop sign on 19th.”
Lydia
answered helpfully, “Horse and buggy might be faster, lol.” And then, “I’ll hook up Monty (their St.
Bernard) to our radio flyer for you.”
We
pulled over again and shut off the car.
Previously, turning it off for a minute would bring it back to
rights. Kurt and Victoria pulled over
behind us, and we chatted with them for a bit, then tried restarting the BMW.
Letting
it regroup had done no good whatsoever, and only wasted more time.
We
pulled onto Shady Lake Road, where there is no shoulder, and crept along
at about 12 mph in limp mode; the thing refused to go any faster. Kurt and Victoria followed, hazard lights blinking. I hoped Carolyn and Violet didn’t have to go
to the restroom any time soon. Well I
remember the times in years gone by when we had mechanical malfunctions in some
remote part of the country, and several of the children needed a restroom – and
there was no restroom within 50 miles.
(When you’re only going 12 mph, you might as well be out in the
boonies.)
Lydia
wrote again: “We can help! Do you want a tow rope?”
But
we were puttity-putting into their driveway right then, so we went to the door
and answered her in person.
It was Jeremy and Lydia’s 13th
anniversary that day. (Hester and Lydia
were married just eight days apart.) We
gave them a big book of hymn histories. How
special, that the grand piano Jeremy and Lydia had ordered several months ago
arrived that very day! The piano, a 5’
11” Hallet Davis, was made in the 1800s, and has been totally refurbished. It’s a gorgeous instrument, and plays
beautifully. The keyboard action feels lovely
and perfect.
Lydia gave her old
grand piano – the beautiful 4’ 11” Kimball that my father bought for me when I
was 13, on the very day Jacksons moved to town – to Maria. I told Maria to consider that piano hers as
long as she wants it – but I’ve asked all my daughters and daughters-in-law to
please never sell it; I consider it a family heirloom, and hope they do,
too. ❤
Maria is delighted; she has not had a
piano for a couple of years, since the cousin whose piano she was keeping at
her house got married and reclaimed her piano.
Lydia showed us that she can now play
Larry’s guitar, which she borrowed a few months ago. She’s good at it, playing the melody on top,
with chords at the bottom. That girl can
play anything, and do it well, too.
We had fun visiting with them and the
four children. They’ve just returned
from a vacation to Hawaii, and had lots to tell us.
Ian, 5, told us his biggest
adventure: “My sandal came off in the
waterfall pool, and started floating down the stream! But Jonathan rescued it.”
Jonathan, 7, chimed in, “If I hadn’t’ve
caught that sandal, it would’ve floated all the way to Big Bridge!” š
We
headed for home via Shady Lake Road a little before 11:00 p.m. Halfway there, Teddy sent me a note, and I
told him, “We’re coming home from Lydia’s house at 10 mph, because the BMW is
throwing a tantrum.”
“Do
you need a tow?” asked Teddy.
“No...
we’ll get there,” I answered.
“Your
opinion, or Daddy’s?” queried Teddy. š
“It’ll
be October,” I replied, “but we’ll get there.
We are moving, and at least there are no cars on Shady Lake Road. The bugs are serenading us.”
Then,
“Time out to look at the deer,” I added.
We watched several does and a buck go bounding through the
cornfields. Then I wrote again to Teddy,
“We’ve now turned north... we can see the railroad track...”
Lydia
then wrote, “Did you make it home?”
“We’re
just heading up the hill toward our lane, š”
I answered. “10 mph.” A couple of minutes later, I added, “We’re
within walking distance – and we’re rousing the neighbor dogs, because of our
creeping along.”
Funny
dogs, they knew something wasn’t right.
“Glad
you made it,” said Lydia. “We should’ve
towed you.”
“Daddy
says that would be hard on it š,”
I told her.
“Oh.
Well, I guess we shouldn’t’ve then š
,” she responded in typical Lydia fashion.
We didn’t meet a
solitary vehicle that entire 30 minutes it took to drive the five miles from
Jeremy and Lydia’s house to our house.
Larry talked about the ‘throttle body
plate’ that’s probably sticking, and told me what he could do about it.
Since he was speaking another language and I did not see a translator lurking
anywhere about the house, I went back to playing the piano and concerning
myself with hemidemisemiquavers and demisemihemidemisemiquavers (aka a two
hundred fifty-sixth note).
Then we had a very late supper, and it
was 1:00 a.m. before we went to bed – and we’d planned on getting up early. ššš
At
9:25 a.m. Thursday morning, a couple of hours later than we intended, we headed to
Grand Island (in the Jeep Commander; we put the
Beemer in time-out) to drop off my quilts for the Nebraska State Fair. A small flock of Canada geese flew low over us as we
drove west. Near Monroe along the Platte River, there were dozens of them
on sandbars.
After leaving Grand Island, we
continued on to North Platte, where we first went to Scout’s Rest Ranch, home
of William F. Cody, aka “Buffalo Bill”, an American soldier, bison hunter, and showman,
with plenty of other titles to his credit. He was born in Le Claire, Iowa Territory, but
he lived for several years in his father’s hometown in modern-day Mississauga,
Ontario, Canada, before the family returned to the Midwest and settled in the
Kansas Territory.
Buffalo Bill started working at the age
of eleven after his father’s death, and became a rider for the Pony Express at
age 15. During the American Civil War,
he served the Union from 1863 to the end of the war in 1865. Later he served as a civilian scout for the U.S.
Army during the Indian Wars, receiving the Medal of Honor in 1872.
One of the most famous and well-known
figures of the American Old West, Buffalo Bill’s legend began to spread when he
was only 23. Shortly thereafter, he
started performing in shows that displayed cowboy themes and episodes from the
frontier and Indian Wars. He founded
Buffalo Bill’s Wild West in 1883, taking his large company on tours in the
United States and, beginning in 1887, in Great Britain and continental Europe.
Here is his mansion,
which he built near North Platte, Nebraska.
We trekked all over the Cody Ranch, through the mansion, into the spring house, the ice house, and the huge barn.
Next, we went to the Lincoln County
Historical Museum, an eight-acre village complete with historical buildings. I love exploring the old houses, all fixed up
like they were in the late 1800s to the early 1900s.
We walked through the Brady Island Depot, and I thought of many stories I’ve read of long-ago travelers in the Old West.
We climbed into the old caboose, and went into the District #36 School, established in 1892. The nice, new metal door from Menards on that old schoolhouse bothers me a lot, though. š
Larry found the school bell in the
schoolyard and rang it. If there’s a
bell, Larry must ring it. He cannot
leave those things alone. And it was loud.
At least we were alone, almost
everywhere we went!
In one old house, we went up the stairs
to the bedrooms, including a nursery. I started
pointing out an old metal tricycle with handmade Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy perched
on the seat, when Larry suddenly tapped on my shoulder and hissed urgently (and
loudly enough to wake the dead), “SSSSHHHHH!”
I turned my head quickly and looked at
him. He was staring at the iron-framed
bed, where a mannequin was tucked under the covers, head on the pillow and hair
splayed about, looking quite like an honest-to-goodness person sleeping there.
I couldn’t quit laughing, the rest of
the way through the house and on into the old general store we entered next.
We saw the old Maxwell Jail, nothing
but a metal cage, and Larry of course had to get ‘locked in’ and then ‘escape’,
just as he’s done at every old jail we’ve found in museums all over Nebraska,
Wyoming, and Colorado.
After leaving the Lincoln County
Historical Museum, we went to the Bailey Train Yard and the Golden Spike Tower.
Union Pacific’s Bailey Yard in North Platte,
Nebraska, is the largest railroad classification yard in the world. Named in honor of former Union Pacific
President Edd H. Bailey, the massive yard covers 2,850 acres, reaching a total
length of eight miles. The yard is
located in the midst of key east-west and north-south corridors on the busiest
freight rail line in America, making it a critical component of Union Pacific’s
rail network. You can read more about it
here:
https://goldenspiketower.com/bailey-yard/
The Golden Spike Tower and Visitor
Center gives visitors a bird’s-eye view of Bailey Yard. It opened on June 26, 2008. We took the elevator to the 7th-floor
open-air observation deck, then on up to the 8th-floor enclosed
viewing room.
Bailey Yard’s motto is: “More Trains Than You Can Keep Track Of!”
We had purchased All-in-One tickets
that also included the Cody Park Railroad Museum, but they would’ve been closing
just as we got there. Besides, our
various and assorted backs, ribs, hips, and feet were protesting vociferously.
We went to Penny’s Diner instead.
Now, I had found the Penny’s Diner menu
online, and was planning to order a Greek Gyro of some sort; I like to try
things I’ve never eaten before. But,
wouldn’t you just know it, the online menu I’d found was not the menu
for this particular Penny’s Diner. So...
I ordered a Frisco burger, and was happy as a bear in a berry patch with that
burger.
The day went by very quickly, and then
we were on our way home. It’s about 215
miles from North Platte to our house.
I don’t have all my pictures uploaded
yet, but you can see a bunch of them here:
http://natures-splendor.blogspot.com/
Or, if you like Facebook’s format
better, https://www.facebook.com/sarahlynn.jackson2/
Friday, I cleaned the kitchen, finished the Stars & Arrows quilt on my frame.
I then loaded the next one, Rail Fence.
That afternoon, the Quilters’ Dream
Wool for my customer’s third quilt arrived.
The lady wants custom quilting.
Hopefully, I can finish it this week.
When
I called Loren at 3:00, he couldn’t think whether he was hungry or not – then
said he wasn’t able to eat because of ‘everything that was going on’. I kept still, and he eventually added, “John
H. dying,” quite as if it had just happened that day. John H. had been one of his very best friends
for almost 70 years. He then talked
about the trials we have on this old earth, looking forward to heaven, etc.,
and I thought, He’s been reading a book, and is repeating what he just read,
and it’s making him think of John H.
I
named some foods I knew Loren liked, and he decided it sounded good after all,
but asked that I wait until 5:00 to bring it.
When I got to his house, he informed me that my ‘little sister’ had just
been there. She’d brought something, but
he couldn’t remember what.
“I
don’t have a little sister!” I told him.
“I am the little sister!”
He
laughed... tried to remember... “She has a nice, new white SUV. I don’t know what kind. She left the boys in the vehicle; she never
brings them in.”
I
totally forgot Hannah had a new white SUV.
I guessed Susan... then Amy (because her van used to be white)... No, and no.
I
saw a new book on his table, thought maybe that was what this mystery person
had brought; but I didn’t suggest it or ask about it; I wouldn’t necessarily
get the correct answer.
I’d
been home only a few minutes when it occurred to me, OH. Quite so.
(In a Winnie-the-Pooh tone)
Hannah has a new white SUV. And she has boys.
I
asked her if she’d been to Loren’s house.
Yep,
she’d been there, and yes, Loren had fretted because Nathanael and Levi were in
the Pacifica and it was running, wasting gas.
She’d taken him a book on airplanes for his birthday, and she’d been
there 20 minutes before I arrived.
I
was right, he’d been reading a book:
Philip P. Bliss’ autobiography.
It’s quite sad, as he and his wife died young in a fiery train accident,
leaving behind four young children. So
that’s why Loren was feeling as he did when I called. It’s good that Hannah took him a different
book to read for a while. The airplanes (and
the gift itself) should cheer him up a bit.
When I rolled the Stars and Arrows
quilt forward to the last row, I was happy to see that the seam I’d made in the
backing (to cover that tear) wound up just beyond the bottom edge of the quilt. It wouldn’t be on the back at all.
About the time I finished loading the Rail Fence
quilt on my frame, Larry came home from work, and we ate supper. When supper was over, I didn’t have enough
steam or want-to, either one, to go work on the quilt. So I retired to my recliner and watched a
beautiful video taken from a ferry crossing Cook Straight, New Zealand. Spotting another video entitled “Rough Crossing
over Cook Strait,” I watched that one, too.
Someone commented, “When the shorebirds hide behind
rocks, you know something bad is going to happen.”
Another person asked, “Where are the shorebirds?”
A third person responded, “Behind the
rocks.” š¤£
Kurt, Victoria, Carolyn, and Violet
came visiting Saturday, and Larry gave them rides in the RZR.
I took Loren some food at 5:00. He asked if I’d heard from Daddy and Mama...
so I wrote the dates of their deaths on a piece of paper for him, upon which he said he knew Daddy had passed
away, but didn’t know the exact date.
Daddy died September 14, 1992.
Mama died December 12, 2003.
Then he asked where the ‘meeting’ was
going to be tomorrow.
“Our same Bible Baptist Church,” I told
him, “the one we always go to. The only
one we go to.”
“Well, there are Bible Baptist Churches
in several towns, so I didn’t know...”
“In Columbus,” I told him. “There’s only one Bible Baptist Church in
Columbus, and that’s the only one we ever go to.”
He laughed as if I was being funny, and
said something about ‘other churches’, and I realized he didn’t remember what
town he lives in. “You live in Columbus!”
I told him.
“Oh!
Yes, that’s right!” he responded, laughing. “That can get confusing!”
By
bedtime, I was about three-quarters done with the Rail Fence quilt. The pantograph is called ‘Alfresco’. I rolled the quilt forward, positioned the
AvantƩ at the start of the next row, then shut everything off and quit for the
night.
Sunday morning as we were getting ready
for church, it was 67°, and already a pretty day. The plantain lily hostas and the tall
lavender phlox are blooming like crazy; the yard is simply brilliant with the
blossoms.
Larry called
Loren at about 8:30 a.m. as usual.
“I’ll be ready
to leave in ten minutes,” said Loren.
“No,” said
Larry, “That’s too soon. Sunday School
doesn’t start until 9:45, and it takes you about ten minutes to get there; so wait
at least 45 minutes.”
Loren sounded
agreeable, then wondered where the ‘meeting’ was. Larry told him, and he seemed to understand; but
he left home at 8:43 a.m. regardless of Larry telling him not to, and then
proceeded to drive south right through Columbus and out the other side on
Highway 81, over the Loup and Platte Rivers, jogging west on 81 all the way
through Shelby and Osceola. On the other
side of Osceola, he turned south again on 81 – then made a U-turn and came
back. He arrived at the church at 10:00
a.m.
Larry,
meanwhile, had gone out looking for him.
He tried calling him, but Loren didn’t have his cell phone, as usual.
As he came in
the door, Loren told a friend what had happened, and the friend told Larry. We later looked at the Vyncs map and saw
exactly where he had gone.
Between Sunday
School and church, Loren told us about it.
I said, “And
you didn’t have your cell phone!”
He blustered, “I
never take my cell phone to church!”
(ongoing argument)
“You need to
have it in your Jeep, anytime you go somewhere!” I said. “It’s important.”
So he, all bent
out of shape, snarled (quietly; we were in the Fellowship Hall, after all), “Do
you want to stomp on me in here, or shall we go outside?”
“It’s very
important that you have your cell phone with you,” I repeated, then turned away
to talk with Hannah, and ignored him from then on.
Larry,
meanwhile, said in a reasonable tone, “That’s the first thing I do when we
wonder where you are and if you’re all right, is try to call you on your cell
phone!”
So Loren
subsided, as he often does if Larry will stick up for me.
After the
service, Loren left without a word to Larry.
He usually has a short, friendly little conversation with him before
leaving.
Victoria told
us to stop by for some food for us and for Loren – roast beef, potatoes,
carrots, onions. I called Loren to tell
him we were bringing him some food, as I always do.
Silence. Then, “You don’t need to bring me anything.”
I said
cheerily, “Victoria already made it, so we’ll be bringing it shortly.”
Silence. Then, “Okay.” (in a subdued tone)
We walked into
Loren’s house together; then, while I dished out the food, Larry went off to put
new batteries in the SpotTrace in his Jeep – and he discovered why it had quit
working. Despite the batteries being
low, it should’ve kept working, as it was plugged into a USB port; but Loren
had evidently bumped his gloves into it and unplugged it. Larry resituated everything so hopefully that
won’t happen again.
The moment
Larry disappeared, Loren pushed his plate aside, and said something on the
order of, “We need to figure out what to do so this won’t happen again.”
(It wasn’t
quite that clear; he wasn’t putting whole sentences together, so it’s difficult
to repeat what he said.)
I thought he
was actually (finally) worried about not knowing where he was supposed to go,
so I said, “We can take you to church if you’d like us to. Would you want to ride with us?”
No, he would
not! He didn’t need to! But he didn’t like for ‘this’ to happen, and
everybody to get all upset. “Larry, and you,
...” he tried to think of other names, couldn’t, and finished, “and others.”
“We were afraid
you were lost!” I told him.
“I wasn’t
lost!!!” he informed me
in a huff. “I knew exactly
where I was! I never went out of the
county!” (Actually, he was out of Platte
and into Polk County as soon as he crossed the Platte River just south of
Columbus.) “I know this county from top
to bottom! I know every road in this
county!”
Then he said, “When
I got past Osceola, I looked at my watch, and I realized I didn’t have time to
do it!” He looked at me accusingly.
“Do what?” I
asked.
He squirmed around,
agitated. “Well, whatever it was we
talked about!”
“What did we
talk about?” I asked.
(I don’t
usually ask a whole lot of questions – but when he starts getting troublesome,
I start in on the questions. It’s the
YBTIBT Syndrome.) (That’s the You Be
Troublesome, I Be Troublesome Syndrome.
It’s one of my specialties.)
“Well, we
talked about it yesterday, too.”
“What was it?”
I asked.
“I had to go
get... (pause) down there...” he petered out.
“I have no idea
what you’re talking about,” I said.
“It started
with a ‘C’!” he exclaimed. “You
needed...” He couldn’t finish, and said,
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
(‘Church’? ‘Columbus’?
‘Cockamamie’? I think of these
things, but I refrain from saying them.)
He tried a
couple more times to say something, but never really got anything said. “I can’t describe it,” he said, tossing up
his hands in exasperation.
I soon realized
he was trying to say it was my fault he’d trundled off to Osceola, because I’d apparently
sent him to get something when there wasn’t nearly enough time for him to do
it.
Maybe he was
confusing our taking my quilts to Grand Island with going to church Sunday? After all, ‘quilt’ starts with a ‘C’. (Doesn’t it?)
I didn’t offer any suggestions; I try to never put words in his mouth
(or ideas in his head) in such situations.
“Well, I’d
better go,” I said, heading for the door.
“The evening service is at 6:30 p.m.”
“It is?!” he
asked, surprised (as always). “I can
never keep it straight, because it switches back and forth from 6:30 to 7:30!”
I thought maybe
if I’d explain it, he might remember it, at least for the evening service: “It’s 6:30 on Sunday evening—”
“I know it!” he
butted in, scowling.
I continued as
if I hadn’t heard a word. “—because that
way everyone can go to bed earlier—”
“Yes, I know!!”
he said.
I went right
on, “—and it’s 7:30 on Wednesdays—”
“I KNOW
why!!!!” he said.
I marched
resolutely on: “—because the menfolk in
construction would have trouble getting there any earlier.”
“Yes, I know,”
said Loren.
“Goodbye, I’d
better go,” I finished, and headed out the door. I helped Larry put batteries in the game cam,
and off we went.
Loren got to church just fine that
evening – about half an hour early, as usual.
This morning he remembered to take out his trash before the garbage
truck arrived.
Here’s a video I took of a white-lined
sphinx moth on tall lavender phlox: Sphinx moth
Later this morning, my nephew Kelvin
sent pictures of his daughter and son-in-law’s new baby, writing: “It’s a boy!!” – and the baby’s name is Kelvin
Arthur, named after both of his grandpas.
Here’s a picture Kelvin’s wife Rachel
took, entitling it, “Kelvin met Kelvin.”
That’s awfully special, don’t you
agree?
This afternoon I took Loren Alaskan
salmon, peas and corn, cornbread fresh out of the oven, peaches, strawberry
yogurt, and V8 Mixed Berry juice. He
thanked me, worried that I had too much to do to bring him food, and was
otherwise friendly and cheerful. He is more often preferring supper at 5:00 rather than 4:00
these days – and he tells me to call at 5 and see if he’s hungry, which doesn’t
work out right, because the stuff – whatever it is – needs time to cook, you
know.
So
each day I tell him this, saying, “I’ll just bring food at 5, and if you aren’t
hungry, we’ll put it into the refrigerator” – and he agrees.
I had brought along my customer’s Stars
& Arrows quilt to show him; he’s always interested in my quilting. We spread it out on his couch, and he oohed
and ahhed over it.
So he’s okay today; but one of these
days, we’ll have to take his keys, I’m sure.
You will want to make popcorn for the show.
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
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