Journal: Happy Thanksgiving -- and a Quick Trip to Illinois

 

The last album I scanned was from 1996.  Here’s Hester fishing at Muscatine Lake near Stanton, Nebraska, June 1, 1996.

Loren was in good spirits Tuesday, not sad like he was Monday, though he didn’t know where Janice had gone.  (He means ‘Norma’; he just says the wrong name.)  He told me he had figured out what went wrong Sunday night (that was when he wound up 28 miles north of town on his way home from church):  he should’ve taken those two boys with him!  Then they would’ve understood.

He finally remembered one’s name was ‘Larry’... he couldn’t remember the other.  He was probably thinking of Robert, since they were the two ‘boys’ at his house Sunday night.

But he or they or someone didn’t wait at an intersection or somewhere, and so...

I didn’t ask questions.  I just smiled and doled out food.  The menu that day was Philly steak, broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower, peaches, applesauce, green Thompson grapes, string cheese, Dannon strawberry yogurt, and cran-grape juice.

As expected, the little paper on which I wrote Grocery List and put on his table had gone AWOL.  I put another one there, with the pencil, which had evidently gone lame, as it hadn’t run off with the paper.  Again I told him to write down anything he needed.

He pondered, then said, “The only thing I need is my keys!” 

I looked blank. 

He told me, “Someone was going to talk to someone else about that, but I haven’t heard if they did it yet.”

I said, “Oh,” in a blank sort of way, gathered up the previous day’s dishes and the laundry, and then bid him adieu. 

I’m sad about all this, but on the other hand, it’s a relief knowing he’s not driving off somewhere, liable to get lost, or even just saying odd things to people around town, such as when he told a manager at Wal-Mart that he’d run over Norma’s toes in the parking lot, and she’d run off somewhere, and now he couldn’t find her.  Yikes.

I have many good memories of my brother.  He and Janice were like a second set of parents to me, caring for me the times my parents were traveling, and I couldn’t go with them on account of school.  These days, he thanks me always, and worries that it’s too much for me, to keep feeding him, and so on.  I assure him that I’m fine and dandy.

I try to always treat him with love and kindness.  I might wind up in the same boat one of these days, after all, and I sure hope there are people around who will love me, in spite of myself! 

Home again, I put clothes into the washing machine and got back to the photo-scanning.  Here’s Larry with the one and only fish, a sunfish, that we caught at Muscatine Lake 06-01-96.

Early Tuesday evening, I sent a group text to the children to ask, “Could some of you share the responsibility of making sure Uncle Loren has what he needs, take him some supper, see that he has bread, milk, butter, juice, yogurt, etc., in his refrigerator if I go with Daddy for two or three days to Clinton, Illinois, to get a scissor lift?  And could someone come check on Tiger at least every other day?  He likes soft food (Fancy Feast) now and then, but doesn’t have to have it.  At least he doesn’t need medicine twice a day like Teensy did.  What do you think?  If this won’t work for anybody, I’ll stay home.”

They were soon all replying to tell me they could help.  Hannah would take him supper on Friday; others would do it Saturday and Sunday.  “I’ll tell him who will be coming each day,” I told them.  “He still knows you all, but forgets names.”

Then I added, “Thanks, everyone.  I do like to go with Daddy! – so long as he isn’t going over Wolf Creek Pass with truck on fire, or something.  😲”

It’s been at least a year and a half since we went anywhere, except for a couple of one-day trips.  I don’t feel like I should, much, because of Loren. 

Hannah said they would take care of Tiger.  At least now she won’t have to come to our house twice a day to give poor Teensy his medicine, since Teensy is no more. 

I finished scanning the album I’d been working on at 7:45 that evening.

Loren called at 1:29 p.m. Wednesday to tell me he needed his keys.  I said I’d be coming with his food at 4:00.  He didn’t want to talk about food; he needed his keys. 

“Do you need some groceries?” I asked.

Well, he didn’t know.  But he needed to go to the store! 

Then he told me he had a sore foot and could hardly walk.  After a bit more dialogue, he said in an accusatory tone, “I won’t be able to walk to the store; it’s too far.”

I asked, “How did you hurt your foot?”

He didn’t know; he said it has been hurting for several months now.

Ah.  So that was all just to say that he needed to drive, he needed his keys.

I told him I could get him what he needed at the store.  That didn’t satisfy him at all.  I told him he could write what he needed on the paper I’d left on the table.

“I can’t shop from a list!  That doesn’t work for me!  I have to walk through the store, and just pick up the things I want as I see them!”

I said I couldn’t take him to the store right then, since there was a roast and potatoes in the oven.

Caleb, 2 ½, 06-01-96

Next he said he needed his keys so he could pay his bills. 

“What bills?” I asked.

“Well, how should I know?!!!” he said.

I kept still... and he soon added (people will eventually talk if you just wait them out), “My monthly bills!”

“I pay all your bills.  Everything is paid; you have nothing that needs to be paid,” I told him.

“Well, I didn’t know!!!” he said defensively – although later he admitted he did know.

He asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before they give me back my keys?”

I hem-hawed around, and said I didn’t know.

So then he asked, “Are you thinking they won’t ever give them back?”

“Yes, that’s the way it is,” I answered.  Best to be honest.

He exclaimed, “I’ve never, ever treated anybody like that!  I thought back through my life, wondering if I’d ever done that to someone, and I haven’t!”

I told him, “Nobody is trying to be mean.  Do you realize you have often forgotten where your house is?  And where the church is?  And where you’re supposed to go?”

He started to say yes... then changed his tune.  He never wants to admit these things to me (probably because he figures I will then impose more restrictions).  The thing is, he doesn’t need to admit it to me; I already know. 

I tried smoothing things over by again assuring him that I’d get him what he needed, as soon as I found out what that was.  After 11 ½ minutes of conversation that didn’t go much of anywhere, and not very nicely at that, he said, “Well, I might as well hang up; I can tell I’m not getting through to you.”

So I reminded him that I’d be bringing some food at 4:00, and told him goodbye.

15 minutes later, his sister-in-law Judy called to tell me that Loren had just called her, asking if she knew we had taken his keys away. 

“I can take Loren to the store,” she said, “if you think that would be okay.”

Yes, I thought that would be fine, and thanked her; I was glad she could.

Lydia, almost 5, 6-1-96

A little after 3:30, I went out to the BMW to take Loren his food – and it wouldn’t start.  So Larry came home from work, hooked up his charger to the battery, and it did eventually start; but all the warning lights were on again on the dash – and that means the thing is going to go into limp mode if we try to drive it.  Ugh.

Larry took Loren’s food and laundry to him; hopefully, the roast and potatoes weren’t cold and yucky by the time he got them.  They were in a lidded ceramic bowl, so maybe they were all right.

Judy called a little later, and said she and her husband Randy could pick up Loren and take him to church, then take him home again.  They live a bit farther east of town than Loren does, and wouldn’t have to go too far out of the way to do it.  We, on the other hand, would be adding about 17 miles to our usual trip.  I was so relieved and appreciative for her offer.

I packed things for our trip that evening, except for those items we would need to use the next day.

“Don’t let me forget to spring the mouse traps!” I said to a friend.  “If Hannah encounters one that a mouse sprung, she’ll run in place two or three feet above ground, and make a high-pitched squeak as she acquires the altitude.”

We picked up Loren Thursday morning at about 10:40 a.m., and went to church for our Thanksgiving service.

The strings played several songs, and then the congregation sang with them.  Emma is now playing the cello, which is one of my favorite instruments.

Next, the horns played a few songs, and again we all sang the final song with them. 

We sang a few more Thanksgiving songs, and Brother Robert read verses of thanks and praise from Psalms.  He finished by reading a bit in his book on the Pilgrims.  They suffered so much that first winter, losing half of the people who had arrived, and yet they thanked God for His mercies.  Out of 102 passengers, 51 survived, including only four of the married women:  Elizabeth Hopkins, Eleanor Billington, Susanna White Winslow, and Mary Brewster.  These four women, along with the older girls, oversaw food preparation for the three-day harvest feast for the colonists, Massasoit, and his 90 Indian men – the feast that we now call “The First Thanksgiving.”  Fifty-two English were at that feast, as Peregrine White, son of William and Susanna White, was born after their arrival.  Edward Winslow and Susanna White, both widowed during the first winter, were married in a civil ceremony, as was the custom, on May 12, 1621.

Dinner was at noon.  We had turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, orange fluff, lettuce salad, dinner rolls, muffins (banana nut, carrot, etc.), pickles, olives, strips of red and yellow peppers, milk (white or chocolate), juice, coffee, tea, ice cream, and a variety of pies.

I didn’t have any pie.  I’m almost always too full to eat it, and it’s the wrong time of day for me to have a big meal in any case.

Teddy, 12, 06-01-96

We sat with Teddy and Amy and their five younger children; the older four, from ages 13 and up, were serving tables.

Warren, 6, sat directly across the table from me.  Larry handed him a package of croutons, since Larry can’t chew them very well.  Warren carefully tried to open the package.  

I told him, “If you pull hard enough on each side of the packet, you can spread croutons all the way up and down the table.”  

He has the cutest grin when I tell him nonsense like that.  😄 

We took Loren back to his house and went home, where I finished packing and Larry went off to attach a hitch to the BMW.  I filled Tiger’s large water and food dispensers.  He would be fine for several days, though he would get lonesome.  He loves to stay right with me, wherever I am in the house.  Hannah is too softhearted to leave him alone more than a day.

By 7:30 p.m., I wanted that pie.  😥

That was just about the time we left home, heading east for Clinton, Illinois, which isn’t very far north of Shelbyville, my father’s hometown.  Quite a number of Swineys still live in the area.

At ten ’til ten, we crossed the Missouri River near Blair and were then in Iowa.  Forty-five minutes later, the moon – the half-moon, to be exact – came up, glowing huge and orange on the eastern horizon, with wisps of clouds wafting around it.

I spotted a raspberry Danish at a truck-stop convenience store, and sorta wanted it.  No pie, after all.  I decided not to get it.  I didn’t need it; I wasn’t hungry; I’d had plenty of food that day.

Keith, 16; Hester, almost 7; Dorcas, almost 15 – Muscatine Lake 6-1-96

Thirty minutes later, I was starved, and really wanted it. 

My hunger sensor and my tastebuds are not on the same wavelength and don’t always play nicely with each other.

It was coooold that night as we traveled through Iowa – only 15°.  Brrrrr.

We drove past Anita, Iowa, while Anita Carter, coincidentally, was singing I’ll Be Somewhere Working for My Lord on a YouTube channel playing through the car’s radio.

We stayed in a lovely room on the fourth floor of the Comfort Inn in West Des Moines.  There was a large tiled shower with a huge rain head in a big, pretty bathroom with the softest white towels.

There was a very nice armchair in the corner, and a pretty double lamp behind it.  But... where was the switch?  I felt all over the lampstand, expecting to get shocked at any moment.  I peered behind the chair – and spotted an odd button-like thing on the floor. 

“There’s the switch,” I said, pointing it out to Larry.

He didn’t think so.  He felt all over the lampstand.  I hoped he’d get shocked.

I shoved the heavy chair out of the way, stretched a foot back behind it, and stepped on the button thing.

The light came on.

So ha!

“That’s handy,” said Larry, rolling his eyes.  hee hee

Friday morning, I discovered that I’d forgotten my face cream.  The motel supplied some good-smelling citrus body lotion, so I gave that a try.

When my face felt like the Sahara Desert within five minutes, all dried out and burning, I put on the Vaseline cocoa body butter I’d brought along.  After that, it was sorta greasy and dry, both at the same time.  I informed Larry that we needed to stop at either a grocery store or a pharmacy for face cream.  Not Wal-Mart! – it was Black Friday, and I didn’t want to get trampled!

That morning, Hannah was placing an order for me with Lilla Rose for the hair pieces she sells.  Black Friday sales were on, and I had ordered some gifts.  She asked for my address.

Larry, knowing she was planning to check on Tiger a time or two, ask if she needed to put our address into her GPS in order to find our house.  “And don’t be playing with my motorcycles while you’re there!” he added.  😅

Early that afternoon, I posted a picture as we traveled, captioning it, “Boonies, middle-east Iowa”.

“When someone from Nebraska says they are in the boonies,” remarked a friend from a large city in the east, “why, the ‘boonies’ must be where they are.” 

Laughing, I answered, “Maybe so, but the boonies of Iowa are less boonier than the boonies of Nebraska, which are less boonier than the boonies of, oh, say, Wyoming.”

A little after 1:00 p.m., we took an inadvertent drive on west I74 instead of east I74.  It was pretty, driving beside the Rock River; but we had to drive eight miles before coming to an exit where we could make an about-face.

A couple of hours later, we walked through a covered bridge over the Spoon River and then climbed to the top of a five-story lookout tower.  (Iowa I74 Rest Area attractions, haha.  But nice!)

For miles, one after another, we kept meeting cars with Christmas trees strapped on top.  And then finally, at a corner two or three cars deep with trees on top, we saw the sign:  Richland Grove Tree Farm. 

Oh, my woid, I just plugged it into Google, and look what it says on their website:  “Due to the volume of tree sales opening weekend, we are closed for the 2021 season as of Sunday November 28^th at 4pm.  We hope to see you next year!”

Wow, imagine a booming business where you only had to work 2 ½ days a year.

Friday at 3:00, I called Loren.  I told him where we were, and said Hannah would be bringing him a meal in about an hour.

When Hannah arrived at 4:00, he was just finishing two slices of toast with peanut butter and honey.  He was full.

He ate one or two bites of the scrumptious beef tips, potatoes, and broccoli she had fixed, then put the works into the refrigerator.  🙄

I assured her that this happens to me, too.  It’s the thought that counts, right?  🤣  I just pretend he ate it.  And sometimes he does, later.

Loren told her that someone had taken his keys just because he made a U-turn in an intersection.  😕

We got to Clinton, Illinois, around 4:00 p.m., and found the location where the scissor lift awaited us.  Larry winched it onto his trailer, strapped it down, and then we drove the 65 miles back northwest to Peoria.  We would’ve liked to stay and explore the Clinton Lake State Recreation Area the next day, but there just wasn’t enough time.

We ate supper at the Cracker Barrel in Morton, a little bit east of Peoria.  As usual, they gave me a plate of food big enough for three people.  So, as usual, I asked for a take-out box.

We would be glad to have it for lunch the next afternoon.

We checked into the Stony Creek Hotel beside Peoria Lake.  Our third-floor room was lovely, with a vaulted ceiling and two dark red walls, and wonderfully comfortable beds.  I like the highest-level rooms we can get; that way we don’t have to listen to people bedding down their camels overhead.  (At least, I think that’s what they do.)

Outside our door was a large living-room-like area.  We liked the rustic nautical décor.

In choosing our motels, I made sure each of them served a complimentary breakfast.  We were pleased to find they weren’t simple breakfasts, either; each one had a large variety of choices, including Belgian waffles, toast, bagels, numerous kinds of muffins, jellies, honey, scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, sausage, hashbrowns, an assortment of cold cereal, oatmeal, numerous flavors of yogurt, apples, oranges, bananas, apple or orange juice, milk, coffees, lattes, mochas, cappuccinos, and teas.  We ate ’til we had to waddle our way back out of the breakfast nooks.  Then we tried our best to wear it all off by taking the stairs instead of the elevator as we lugged luggage down to the BMW.

We didn’t get to go exploring in Peoria that morning because it was cold, windy, and raining.  We headed northwest, and I looked on Google maps for a big lake we might like to see.

Late Saturday morning, I walked into a restroom at a convenience store.  There were two stalls.  A little boy was in one, chattering away to his mother, who was in the other stall.  He started opening the door to come out... saw me... his eyes got big... and he slowly and silently backed back into the stall he’d been in. 

His mother came out and asked, “Are you coming out, peanut?”  

Peanut answered very softly, “Noooo!”  

I grinned at her and said, “He dodged right back in there as soon as he saw me.” 

She laughed, waited ’til I pushed the door shut, then called out, “It’s all clear, peanut!” 

So Peanut exited, and off they went.

At 1:30 p.m., we stopped at a rustic little rest area to check the trailer tires and wheels, because there was an odd vibration, and it seemed to be getting worse.  Larry unhitched the trailer, and we drove a couple of miles north, over the Illinois River, and then back again to see if the BMW vibrated without the trailer.  It didn’t.

The wheels and hubs were all cool to the touch, and everything looked all right, so he hitched back up, and away we went again, still vibrating, though not all the time.  Was it the road?  The wind?

A little before 2:00, Loren called to inform me that he needed his keys.  “I need to get back home!” he said, and further, “I need my keys so I can work!” 

I told him (gently, I hope) that he was home, and we had taken his keys because he didn’t know where he was, and had gone 28 miles to the north on Sunday night, instead of going to his house, getting himself lost out in the country.  He protested that that wasn’t the way it had happened at all, and that he had gone there on purpose.

In an old marina

I asked, “Do you realize that you have often forgotten where you live, and that the house you are in is your own home?  Do you know that you don’t remember the town where you live, and sometimes not even the state?  And do you understand that you regularly forget where the church is?”

“No, that’s not true!” he said.  “You’re believing a lie!”

(At least he didn’t call me a ‘liar’; there is that.)

He informed me that he was going to have to call a lawyer in order to get his keys back.  

I promptly informed him that the Bible says we are not to go to law against a brother (I guess I should’ve said ‘sister’).

Quoting Bible verses to him often stops his arguing – he used to be an interim preacher, after all, between the time our father passed away in 1992 and our nephew began preaching in 1999, and he believes as I do.  He won’t argue with a Bible verse... though he did once tell me, “You’re misapplying that!” 😄

I tried to change the subject, telling him that Hester would be bringing him some food in an hour or so.

“I don’t need food!” he exclaimed.  “I NEED MY KEYS!!”  Among other things, he said, “It was one of your relatives that took them!”

I told him our children would make sure he had anything he was needing.  My explanations and assurances only seemed to rile him up all the more, and suddenly I arrived at the end of my patience (which, admittedly, doesn’t have all that long of a tether).  “It doesn’t do any good to argue,” I said.  “So I’m not going to.  Goodbye.”  And with that, I hung up.

I wondered if Hester would be walking into a bees’ nest when she arrived, and debated whether to tell her, in order to prepare her, or keep still, so she wouldn’t be all worried and anxious whilst a-trying to fix Loren’s meal.  Hester is expecting, and she must carefully watch her blood pressure.  We are hoping and praying that there isn’t a repeat of what happened with Keira, when Hester’s blood pressure was so high, it’s a wonder she didn’t have a stroke.  Her organs weren’t working, and they had to take the baby by C-section in order to save Hester.  Keira only weighed two pounds, eight ounces. 

At least this time, they know they must watch for this problem, which is called HELLP (Hemolysis, Elevated Liver enzymes and Low Platelets).

I decided to keep still.  Besides, Loren might very well say absolutely nothing about his keys when she arrived, whether because he forgot, or because he didn’t think she had anything to do with it, who knows.

I texted Robert and told him what was happening, since Loren had made noises about calling him.

Quite the Thrift Shop!

Robert wrote back, “I could call him and tell him that we only took one set of keys for each of his vehicles!  At least then he could do something constructive, like look for the other sets!”  😅

I don’t know if our assorted senses of humor ever help Loren, but I know for sure they help me.  😄

At a quarter ’til four, Hester wrote to ask, “Will it confuse Uncle Loren if Lydia comes instead of me?  She’s taking him pumpkin bread, and she offered to pick up what I’m making and drop off supper also, which is great because I’m tired.  😄😵‍💫  We were going to go together, but I think I’ll go nap instead, lol.”

“Since he can’t even remember Daddy’s name half the time,” I replied, “I can’t imagine it would hurt a thing!  And that sounds like an excellent plan.  Napping, that is.”

Barely past 4:30, the sun went down.  That’s waaaay too soon for the sun to go down.

We got a little way past Davenport, and then Larry decided to return to O’Reilly Auto Parts for a brake light for the BMW.  Turned out, we didn’t need a new light; the original only needed to be pushed in and attached better.  Since we were already at O’Reilly’s, Larry worked on the turn signals on the trailer.

There was still a rather bad vibration when we were driving highway speeds.  However, all the wheels felt cool and the tires looked fine.  Larry didn’t know what it was.

As I sat in the vehicle there in the O’Reilly parking lot with it idling (the car, not the store), I kept hearing a Pop. Pop. Pop. noise, sort of like the sound of distant big-boomer fireworks going off.  Larry opened the hood and we both stuck our heads in and listened, but heard nothing. 

“Maybe it’s the vents for the heater, opening and closing under the dash,” suggested Larry. 

But the noise continued when I turned off the heater.

That’s a Cadillac SUV in that garage.  😮

When Larry restarted the Beemer, the dash warning lights came on.  He restarted it, and all but the Check Engine Soon light went away.  He used his gadget for checking codes to find the number, then Googled the number.  He learned that the problem could be a valve of some sort (no, I don’t know what I’m talking about; even Larry wasn’t sure, so how in the world do you expect me to know?!) causing the problem – which could very well also be the noise I keep hearing.

Lydia texted to tell me about going to Loren’s house.  I was glad to hear that Jeremy went with her.

Loren told them, “Everything is in a turmoil,” and he didn’t know if he was going to be working from home now or what he was going to do.  But then he started eating and talking about Jeremy’s business, asking how many kids they have, and he didn’t mention the ‘turmoil’ again.  Lydia spotted a picture of their family on the piano, and showed it to him.  Pictures always help him remember. 

Hester had sent oranges, and Loren was particularly pleased about that.  I need to remember how much he likes them!

Lydia put his leftover food into the refrigerator, and also left him some fruit and a loaf of pumpkin bread.  Lydia said, “Uncle Loren motioned to the bread at one point and said that he had a nice big biscuit there for later.  😂  I cut a few slices for him.”

Loren talked with Jeremy about his house, remembering that he had helped Jeremy when he was building it a few years ago.  He then mentioned how Delmar, Jeremy’s grandfather, had laid the brick for Loren’s house, and Loren had helped by carrying the mortar.

“So he decided he was in his own house after all, I guess!” I remarked.

“Yes,” agreed Lydia, “he knew it was his house while we were there anyway.  😅  He told us he has two lots; each is an acre.”

I think Jeremy and Lydia left Loren in a much better frame of mind than he’d been in when they arrived.

We stopped at Lowe’s Home Improvement for the tools Larry needed for working on the trailer – a saw, a drill, and a couple of other things, including blades for cutting metal.  He wanted to shorten the tongue on the trailer (which is actually a boat trailer; thus the long tongue), as it could have something to do with the vibration.  He thought perhaps the vortex the BMW sets up, as vehicles do at certain speeds, hits the scissor lift waaaay back there on the trailer, and causes a vibration. 

We stayed in Iowa City that night, stopping earlier than usual because we were both tired of riding in the vehicle, and Larry wanted to get up early to work on the trailer tongue.

When we walked up to our second-floor room, heavily laden with bags, the cards did absolutely nothing in the locks of room 242, which was what the man at the desk wrote on the little card envelope.  We tried both cards, every which way.  Nothing.  Not even a red light to tell us we were doing it wrong.

Larry went back to the desk, down on the first floor and some distance away.  The man redid the cards in his computer.  Larry came back.

Same song, second verse.

We looked at each other.  I gestured at all the other doors along the hallway.  “Let’s just go along trying them in other random doors, willy-nilly, and see what happens.”  So saying, I stuck my card in 243 directly across the hallway, while Larry exclaimed and made small noises of alarm and protest to indicate I shouldn’t do that.

The lock said BZZZT, and the green light came on.  I pushed the handle down and opened the door.  Larry’s small noises escalated into a big strangled sound behind me, whilst he evidently imagined me walking in on the hapless humans already occupying the room, who would doubtless start lobbing hammers and hand grenades at me.

I figured it was too early for most of the rooms to be engaged; and if this one was, by some fluke, I’d apologize and blame the whole works on the man behind the desk.

It was empty. 

I flipped on the light and walked in.  It had all the amenities we had paid for, so we grabbed bags and marched in.  Larry went to get a few more things, stopping at the front desk to let the man know what had happened.

The man immediately blamed the snafu on computer, cards, and/or locks.

None of his excuses really explained what had happened.  Now, if he had’ve said, “Ooops, sorry; I wrote the wrong number on the envelope,” then everything would’ve made good sense.

The motel room wasn’t quite as nice as the last two, but it cost almost the same.  Furthermore, I think there’d been a recent murder in the room, and they’d tried to mask the odor with bucketsful of Country Fresh Pine-Sol.  I opened the window as far as it would go, though it was only 41°.  An hour later, it still reeked.  I mean, it smelled so good, I couldn’t stand it.  Mind you, it wasn’t really good.  Whatever it was, it was burning our eyes and noses and throats, even though Larry couldn’t smell it as much as I could.

There were no hangers on the rack.  How do you hang coats and sweaters on a rack on which are no hangers? 

There was only one chair in the room – and it looked like one someone stole out of a 1955 café.

The refrigerator and microwave sat loosely in a cabinet, and when we tried to use them, they skidded around all over the place, and we had to set down whatever was in our hands, grab the appliances with one hand, and then hang on while we either opened the door or programmed the panel.

We needed three-year-old Nathanael (he’s 15 now) there with the long carpenter’s level – a real one – that we gave him for his birthday that year.  He’d have had a ball, going around finding all the things that weren’t level and on equal planes with floor and ceiling. 

He was so pleased with that level.  He checked everything in their house that it was possible for him to check, and he put little sticky notes on the uneven things, indicating that they needed to be fixed. 

I wonder if his Daddy appreciated me getting that gift for him?

Stony Creek Inn lobby

The one redeeming factor about lots of older motels is that they still have those old heat lamps in the bathroom ceilings.  This motel was no exception.  So at least I was toasty warm during those few moments pre-shower when I generally freeze to death.

By the time I am preparing to blow-dry and curl my hair, I am invariably piping hot, and go around opening windows even in the dead of winter.

While Larry did this and that, I downloaded pictures from camera to laptop.  Would you believe, my new laptop has no slot for an SD card?!  I have to use the cord to connect camera to computer, which is quite a lot less handy than downloading from a card.  I ordered a card reader; it just came today.

Through the open window, I could hear a lady out in the parking lot who, every time she sneezed, instead of saying ‘ker-choo!’ politely like a lady otta, said, “SHRRRIEEEEEEEEK!!!”  I hoped I wouldn’t run into her somewhere in the motel about the time she belted out one o´ them thar gesundheits, ’cuz my Mama taught me not to laugh at people (especially not directly into their faces), and I was not at all sure I could contain myself in a face-to-face sternutation.

We ate supper at Chicago Pizza, mainly because it was right next to the parking lot for the inn where we were staying, and we therefore didn’t have to go anywhere, either dragging the trailer along or going to the bother of unhitching it. 

I had an applewood chicken avocado chef salad and cheesecake with berries.  

Larry had something macaroni-ish with broccoli and chicken, and cheesecake with berries.  The server, a friendly young black man, came to our table, and without so much as a pause, informed us that the drinks we had to choose from were Coke and Diet Coke.

This, regardless of the fact that right there on the wall behind the counter were dozens and dozens of taps, and there was a flip-card hanger on our table, with the first card advertising ‘110 flavors’ of drinks.  We didn’t used to patronize restaurants where they serve liquor; but sometimes these days, there’s not much of a choice.  I was surprised to see that the Cracker Barrel restaurants in Illinois now serve liquor.  We try to stop early enough that families are still having meals, and guzzlers are still comparatively in their right minds.

Servers of all ilk take one look at us and know, Them thar guys don’t drink.

One time in The Soap Shop in Idaho Falls, Colorado, I started to look through a basket of cute little bottles on the counter.  The clerk (who may very well have also been the owner) slid the basket out of my reach like I was a bad toddler playing with stuff I hadn’t otter and said, “You don’t want those; they’re tattoo conditioners.”  She slid another basket my way.  “Here are some lip balms.”

So I bought a lip balm, whether I wanted it or not.

Apparently, soap shop clerks take one look at me and know, Thet thar gal ain’t got no tattoos.

Goes to show Isaiah was right when he said, “The shew of their countenance doth witness against (or ‘for’) them.”  Our countenances evidently announce us to be non-tattooed non-drinkers.

In the morning, Larry cut three feet off the trailer tongue while I showered and curled my hair.  He finished just in time to eat breakfast before they put all the food away.

Oddly, his card wouldn’t let him back inside the motel’s side door; he had to come in through the front lobby.

After we finished breakfast and headed back up to our room to pack, we discovered that neither of our keys would open the door to our room.  We inverted them... tried again... nothing.

I looked at my card.  Then I turned around, crossed the hall, and, with Larry protesting again, slid it through the card reader on door #242.

Bzzzt! said the reader, and the light turned green.

I didn’t open the door, just in case someone was in there.

Our cards were somehow no longer programmed for room 243, but for room 242. 

What in the world.

We went back down to the front desk, and this time I explained the entire scenario, finishing with, “So we’ve decided that someone is trying to gaslight us!”

The clerk (a different one, and one who seemed to have a few more molecules of grey mattuh than the previous night’s clerk), laughed, shook his head, apologized, and then, after reprogramming the cards, came up the stairs with us, master key in hand, to make sure the cards would work.

They did.  We were In Like Flynn.

Whataya bet the night clerk tried to ‘fix’ his mistake after we got into our room, and either had not understood Larry to say we were in room 243, or simply made yet another blunder on his computer?  Since we did not try the cards again until morning, we would not have known there was an error.

Soon we were traveling west on I80.  The shorter trailer tongue had not stopped the vibration.  Since Larry had jacked up the trailer and spun each wheel separately, determining that they all moved freely and easily, and nothing was getting hot, we tried to pretend we couldn’t feel it, and kept on a-truckin’.

That afternoon, we drove around Saylor Lake north of Des Moines.  As we walked down a boat ramp to the water, we saw a lady with two little dogs in harnesses and leashes.  They’d trot along, then all stop and wait, looking back.  Finally, as they crossed the ramp up at the top near the parking lot, pausing again to look back, a big fluffy black and charcoal tortoiseshell kitty strolled forth from the tall grasses from which they’d just come.  She was in no particular hurry, and fully expected her ‘family’ to wait for her. 

I asked the lady if she’d care if I took pictures, and she laughed and said, “No, you can take pictures of my parade!”  😅

We saw them some time later, heading up a curving road to a residential area, the doggies trottity-trotting ahead of the lady at the far reaches of their tethers, the cat still calmly strolling along behind.

We ate at the Subway in Blair, Nebraska, last night.  Why is the temperature in every Subway in the nation set at -32° F?  I had on my down jacket and a scarf, and still froze solid.

I didn’t really want any Subway food, but Larry did.  I ordered a bowl of broccoli cream soup.  It was lousy.  Larry had some, too (it was the only soup available), and even he didn’t like it, which means it was baaaaad.  He also ordered a 6” chicken bacon ranch sub, and let me have some.  It was extremely heavy on the olives, which gave it a bad flavor.

By a quarter ’til ten, we were home.  Tiger kitty was very happy to see us.  By 10:30, everything was put away, including the empty luggage bags.  I gladly ensconced myself in my recliner with the vaporizer puffing mist into my eyes (they hurt), hazelnut coffee on my side table, and the heating pad behind my back and neck while I edited a few pictures.  I’m sooo glad to have PaintShop Pro 2022.

When I took Loren some food this afternoon, he was his ‘normal’ cheery self.  I’m thankful, each time it’s like that.

I saw that he had bread, butter, peanut butter – and totally forgot to check for milk.  Larry got some, and will take it to him in the morning.

This time of year, I like to wear long-sleeved blouses and shirts, as opposed to sweaters, which are too hot.  It got up to 70° today; but most of the time it was a little chilly for the short-sleeved top I was wearing.  So I spent the day putting on a cardigan, taking it off, putting it on, taking it off, and on and on ad infinitum. 

I have a long-sleeved 100% silk blouse that hangs nearly to my kneecaps.  I wear it anyway, because it’s sooo soft.  But I look like the saggy-baggy elephant in it, and need to shorten it.  It would be best if I used my serger on the hem and then just turned it up once... but I’d have to change all four thread cones on the serger, and that sounds like too much trouble, even if it does only take a minute or two.

I wonder if there are any sergers with the presser foot connected to a knee lift?  My serger doesn’t have a knee lift – but that doesn’t stop me from trying to use it.  I take a fast sideways swipe with my knee, find no handle there to slow my momentum—and land on the floor on the other side of the room.  (You know I nevah, evah exaggerate, right?)

Bedtime!

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