Journal: When It Rains, It Pours

 

Last Tuesday, Lydia sent pictures from where their family was vacationing at Huntington Beach State Park, South Carolina.  

I wrote back, “What a beautiful place.  Don’t let the sharks get any of the kids!  I kinda like them.  😊”

Lydia responded with pictures of seashells and teeth, writing, “We found a couple of little shark teeth amongst all the seashells.”

“Well,” I said, “so long as they’re not still connected to the shark...”

She then sent a shot of an alligator, taken from somewhere above him.

I wrote, “I’m glad you were abov----------- — wait!  I hope you are not descending on him in a parachute!”

I didn’t get an answer.

Did the alligator eat them all?!

(Spoiler:  Evidently not, since they all got home safe and sound Saturday.)

That afternoon, a nurse, the assistant to the doctor who attends patients at the nursing home, called to tell me that Loren had been sick Sunday and again Tuesday, after seeming to be better on Monday.  When the doctor touched his stomach where he said there was pain, it really hurt him, so they ordered an X-ray.  She said she would let me know if anything was found to be wrong, from the X-ray.  She never called, so everything must’ve been all right.

I got 116 photos scanned that day.  The pages of the album I was working on wouldn’t fit on the scanner glass, so I had to turn the book this way and that to scan all the photos.  A few times I took pictures of some of the photos with my Canon camera.  I was glad there weren’t many pages in that book, and glad there were no more albums with such large pages.

We had Schwan’s baby back pork ribs and roasted baby bakers for supper that night, and I made enough that there would be plenty for supper the next night if I added soup to the menu.  Larry never gets home from work in time to eat supper before church on Wednesday nights, and by the time we get home, we’re both starved and don’t want anything that takes too long to fix.

Wednesday, one of the small handful of men on the Quilt-Talk group posted pictures of a 5^th-wheel camper he is fixing up.  He had put stickers on the shower door that read, “I don’t sing in the shower; I perform.” 

I told the group at large, “Just remember this one important thing:  If, whilst a-warblin’ away in there, your shower gel atomizer misfires and shoots you in the face, you’ll wind up doing a soap opera.”

Thursday, I started on another album.  Remember when I said I thought I could get done in a couple of months? – but that was before I found the two more bins of ‘lost’ albums?  Well, I reached that first goal a couple of weeks early.  Now the question is... can I finish these two bins of albums before Christmas?

I wonder how many albums are left?  >>... trotting off to count them ...<<

OH !!!!!!!  Mah woid, I just discovered something:  The large binders in one big bin are not photo albums! – they are plumb full of printed weekly journals from days gone by.  I used to print them for a friend who did not have a computer, and she gave them all back to me; so I kept them in binders.

Wowzer, do you know what this means?!!!  I have only one bin to go! – and there are 9 albums in it.  Some are really big, and some aren’t very big at all.

I marched back up the stairs with renewed purpose.  Yes, indeedy, barring calamity, catastrophe, disaster, fiasco, debacle, or shipwreck, I will be done before Christmas.  I’ll even have time to shop for and wrap grandkiddos’ Christmas presents.  That’s an important thing to have time to do, yes it is.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee...  I can do this, I can do this.  Up the stairs!  Up the stairs!  Up the stairs to the Big Scanning Party!  (with apologies to Dr. Seuss)

{One drawback, though:  this means there are still about 13 missing albums.}

Here’s a recently-scanned photo.  It’s pictures like these that keep me going, going, going, with this huge project.  This is my dog Sparkle that I got when I was 12 years old.  She was part German Shepherd and part Collie, and the smartest dog in the world.  I taught her everything I knew, and then she was smarter than me, because she knew something in the first place.  😄

I called her my ‘push-button’ doggy, because she so readily learned every last trick I taught her.  Once she had all the voice commands down pat, I added hand signals.  By the time she was a year old, she would do anything I wanted her to do with nothing but a hand gesture or a nod of my head.  A couple of times, she kept me from possible harm.  Quite a dog, she was.

The last few days of April 1976, several friends and I baked heaps of cookies, made May baskets, filled the baskets with a variety of cookies, and then delivered them to every family in our church (there were considerably less families than there are now).  What a lot of fun we had!  I took along my camera, of course.

Here are a few of the girls; I am on the far right.

Moments before arriving at one house, Rhonda, my future sister-in-law, who was old enough to drive and had been allowed the use of her parents’ car, missed the corner.  She was plumb aggravated about it, too.

She said in a peevish tone, “Well, I don’t know where we’re going!” (meaning, of course, that it had been my fault she missed the corner, because I hadn’t told her to turn in time – and indeed the Jacksons had only been here for a couple of years, and she had not yet learned where all our friends lived). 

I, on the passenger’s side, sprawled comfortably with my feet on the dash, looked down the avenue she was preparing to cross, and said calmly, “Well, right now we’re going into a car.” 

’Cuz we were.

Rhonda slammed on the breaks, skidded, and came to a stop with no more than a couple of feet to spare.  And then, unpredictable and funny thing that she was, she got a serious case of the giggles.  And couldn’t quit.

So when we walked up on our friends’ porch, she was still somewhat convulsed – and got even more so when I smiled at the man who was sitting on the porch eating a sandwich, glanced toward Rhonda, and gave an apologetic shrug as if to say I hadn’t a clue as to what was setting her off.

This, of course, always sent her farther down the path of no return.  😄😂

When we got back into the car, I asked, “What on earth is so funny?!!” – because, truth to tell, I hadn’t thought it was nearly so funny.  Not the snit over the missed turn (it wasn’t the end of the world, after all), and certainly not the close shave with the oncoming car.

She snickered and snerked and chortled, and then finally managed to say, “You!!  You were what was so funny, all sprawled with feet on the dash, telling me we were ‘going into a car’, without even moving a muscle.”

Here’s one of the older couples, long since passed on, to whom we gave a May basket.  They are Amy’s great-grandparents.

Following are some pictures of my parents’ vehicles and Airstream trailers.  First is the Blazer with our 25-foot Airstream.  I liked the Blazer, because it could plow its way through mud or snow without breaking a sweat.  But it sure was bouncy.

Next is the Buick Electra, and I think that’s the 27-foot Airstream.  I loved the Electra not just because there was so much room in the back seat, but also because when Daddy stepped down on the accelerator, it shoved me back hard against the seat.  It was a fast, powerful vehicle.

The last two shots are of our International Harvester Travelall pulling the 31-foot Airstream, which was at that time Airstream’s longest travel trailer. 

The Travelall was a good, dependable four-wheel-drive vehicle, and I thought its sky-blue color was so pretty.  The Airstream had a nice-sized bedroom at the back, and Mama and Daddy let me have it to myself when I was traveling with them.

One drawback:  it had a pair of speakers back there that were hooked up to the 8-track player up front.

You wonder why this was a drawback?

I’ll tell you why!  It was because when Daddy decided it was time for everyone to wake up, he’d plug in a tape by the Happy Goodmans or the Blue Ridge Quartet, and crank the volume waaaay up, that’s why!  I prefer to awaken quietly, thank you very much.  Especially after a short night, which we were entirely too prone to have, when traveling with Daddy.

In the background behind the first picture with the Travelall, you can see the big garage where Daddy parked his camper.  The garage was long enough that he could pull in and park without unhitching.

In photo #2, with the Electra, you can see the big house that once belonged to my mother’s parents, and then later was Uncle Howard and Aunt Evelyn Winings’ home near Arthur, North Dakota.

I remember going there a few times shortly after Christmas when I was little.  Daddy had a new 1964 Studebaker Daytona 4-door sedan like this one.  He would stop somewhere west of Fargo to put on the chains before leaving the highway for the unpaved country roads, as there was almost always a lot of snow out in the country up there in North Dakota at that time of year.

There was often so much snow, the road graders would leave high walls of it on the sides of the dirt roads, waaaay over the roof of our car.  There was only one plowed lane, and if we met another car, someone would have to back, back, back until they got to a farm lane to back into, so the other car could go by.  Sometimes the wind would blow the snow shut over the tops of the roads, making a snow tunnel.  I recall getting stuck only once, and Daddy soon had us out and on our way after using the little shovel he always brought along, just in case.

I thought all this was a Grand, Marvelous Lark.  My parents never acted frightened or worried, and so neither was I.

I liked going to Illinois to see my father’s family best in the summertime, because my Uncle Don and Aunt June would give me a bucket and let me go pick strawberries to my heart’s content.  I’d walk around their pond, watching fish jump and listening to all the birds in the surrounding trees.  It was at their farmplace one evening that I heard my first whippoorwill, as it ran competition with the big bullfrogs and the katydids.

We would sometimes all pile into a vehicle and go driving in the Illinois countryside looking at the places where my ancestors used to farm.  I wondered why so many of the asphalt roads were reddish in color, and learned it was caused by iron compounds in the aggregate.

In my photo-scanning, I came upon a photo I had taken of my sister’s family in 1976 with an inferior little 110 camera.

Here are John H. and Lura Kay with David, 8, Robert, 6 (we called him ‘Robby’ back then), Susan, 3, and Kelvin, 10.  And yes, David was by then taller than Kelvin.  He would be 6’ 4” as an adult – and his youngest son is nearly 7’ tall.

I sent the picture off to my nephews and niece and niece-in-law (David’s widow).

They each thanked me.  Robert wrote this:  “Thank you!  It brings back a lot of memories.  Looks like I was already starting on my ‘old man’ figure!”

“Haha!” I retorted.  “No one would’ve ever thought such a thing – until you said it.”

Robert is 51, ten years younger than me.  He’s 6’ 3”, and he doesn’t look like an ‘old man’.  😄

A quilting friend was telling our quilting group that she once had a parakeet that she taught to sing Jesus Loves Me.

That reminded me of the time I decided to teach one of our parakeets to say, “Hi! My name is Chalcedony!”, so named because his feathers were the beautiful blue colors of the chalcedony stone.  I recorded it on a cassette tape, in my own voice, set the player near the bird’s cage, and played it periodically.

The bird never learned to say a solitary word.

However, any number of my irreverent kids were likely to greet me at any hour of the day with, “Hi!  My name is Chalcedony!” in tones remarkably like my own.  🤣

Note:  It’s hard to properly chastise one’s bratty offspring when one is laughing.

This might be my mother’s parakeet, rather than mine, in which case Dorcas probably took this photo.  Our parakeet was a little more sky blue and a little less aqua blue than Mama’s.

For supper Friday, we had baked bone-in ribeye steaks with Idaho potatoes, sweet potatoes, and carrots.  That was really, really good meat, tender and tasty.  I ate at 7:00 p.m.  Larry ate at 11:30 p.m.  This, because he needed me to pick him up at Walkers’ shop and take him out to H2 Equipment on the far east side of town to get Jeremy’s tree-mek truck that was having some hydraulic leaks repaired.  Before going out there, though, we stopped at our friend Tom’s RV Sales and looked at a 2007 Laredo 5^th-wheel camper.  It’s quite nice – but it reeks of mothballs!  For cryin’ out loud, why do people DO that?!!!  AAAARRRRGGGHHH.

We walked around looking at other campers, including a pickup camper with slideouts in the rear and side, so roomy inside you’d never know it was a pickup camper.  There was even a full bathroom with a tub/shower combination.

No, I still don’t want a pickup camper.  They feel top-heavy to me, and I never feel quite safe, especially when driving in the mountains, going too fast in the dark of the night with a pickup that doesn’t have very good headlights, the wind blowing hard, snow falling on a road that’s already gone slick, on a road we don’t know.  Eeeek and yikes.

Anyway, by the time we got home from H2 Equipment, parked the tree-mek truck, went back to the shop to get Larry’s pickup, and then came home again, it was after 11:00 p.m.

That evening, Hester sent us a video clip, writing, “I was wondering why my windowbox flowers looked a little rough.”

There was her pretty windowbox... and there was a squirrel burying nuts amongst the flowers!

She also sent pictures of Keira and Oliver snuggled up against the pillows in Keira’s bed, watching a ‘Clifford, The Big Red Dog’ video on Hester’s tablet.  They both have ear infections.  Keira looks sad and under the weather, but Oliver is beaming happily at his Mama.

Hester wrote, “In non-squirrel news, these two have ear infections.  😣  It’s easy to see who feels the worst.”

“Poor little sweeties,” I replied.  “They look pretty cute, for being sick, though!”

“Keira has been pretty miserable the last two days,” said Hester.  “Watching something helped take her mind off of it; otherwise she was just the saddest thing ever.  Part of the last day and night, Oliver just cried for hours.  Andrew and I are a little sleepy! 🥴 and this is just two kids!!  I can’t imagine having more sick at one time.  😧”

“It can get pretty hectic!” I agreed.  “We had several who had chickenpox all at once, and other times, the flu.  We needed half a dozen nannies, a cook, and five or ten maids!”

Larry added, “And several butlers. 🤡 ”

I got 167 photos scanned that day, finishing another album.  I sent Victoria a few of her pictures, and she remarked, “Violet sure looks like me!!”

I had earlier sent this picture (below) of Victoria when she was about one, and she’d written, “It’s funny, Willie definitely looks like a Koch, but at the same time I think I see more of me in him than I do in the girls sometimes!”

I think she’s just tryin’ to claim all her kids as hers, what do you think?  😄

Saturday afternoon, I went to visit Loren.  Larry had only that one last day to borrow Jeremy’s tree-mek to take down more of our breaking and volunteer trees, and to put piles and piles of yard waste into Jeremy’s big chipper, so he didn’t go with me.

The staff was gathering everyone into the dining room when I got to the nursing home.  Loren was already there with his friend Roslyn, and their plates had been set in front of them.  Loren did not seem particularly interested in his food, and, looking at it, I could certainly see why. 

Usually, everything looks and smells really good!  Not this time, not this time.

“How have you been doing?” I asked.

“Not very good,” he told me, and indeed he seemed weaker, and a bit trembly.  “But I’m getting better,” he added with a smile.

I knew the doctor had done some lab work, because the backs of his hands were all bruised up somethin’ awful.  Mama’s used to look like that, from IVs or bloodwork. 

Loren pushed his plate toward me.  “I think this is yours,” he said.

I have no idea if he was kidding, or if he really thought that.  In days gone by, he would absolutely have been kidding.

“Nope, it’s yours,” I told him.  “You’d better eat it before it gets cold!”

He poked at this and that with his fork and tried a small bite.

A friendly black nurse spotted me at Loren’s table, and came to ask, “Hon, would you like a plateful?”

Give me credit.  I smiled and said, “No, but thank you for asking!” rather than “GAAAACCCKKKK, NO!!!”

There were overcooked brussels sprouts (I just learned the word is ‘brussels’, plural, not ‘brussel’, singular, as I’ve thought all my livelong life), splak, and chunky pudd.  I think.

The splak consisted of small, diced ham squares in death-gray sauce, and breaded, ... ? ummm... breaded nothingness, near as I could tell.  Breaded air.  Greasy breaded air, i.e., chunky pudd.  Maybe it was made-in-the-bird dressing, and the bird flew the coop before it arrived at the tables, and they had to substitute ham splak (aka Splakked Ham) for the turkey or chicken.

I wonder if the chefs know that cooking white sauce in aluminum pans that are not clad in stainless steel can cause light-colored sauces to turn gray?

Loren’s friend Roslyn, whose face looks much better this week, ate hers like a trouper.  Maybe even like a trooper.  😉

I made it a short visit, since my presence seemed to be keeping Loren from eating (or maybe it was the food itself, keeping him from eating).  After showing him Instagram pictures of various grandchildren, both mine and Lura Kay’s (great-grandchildren, in her case), I bid him adieu and departed.

Between Omaha and Lincoln, I drove through two bands of the worst blinding downpour I’ve ever driven in.  Wow.  At least the Mercedes got good and clean.  If the water didn’t wash it, the pelting raindrops scoured it clean!  

The above picture was taken just before I drove into the worst of the storm.  I didn’t take any pictures, in the middle of that.  (Wouldn’t have been anything to see, if I had’ve.)  Everyone was putting on their hazard lights, and I did, too.  It was only way we could see the other vehicles!  That was a hair-raising ordeal.

The rain let up enough as I approached Lincoln that I drove into the downtown area, got some pictures of the Capitol Building, and walked down brick pathways at the Sunken Gardens.  

Late summer flowers were in profuse bloom, and gentle raindrops in the pond were bringing the koi to the surface.

But it wasn’t long before I decided I’d better skedaddle back to my car if I didn’t want the soft but steady drizzle to drench me, along with my camera.

As I drove northwest toward home, the sky went all dramatic, and I got a lot of good pictures.  (Just what I need – more pictures, right?)

You aren’t bored with VP Kamala Harris yet, are you? 

Good.  Neither am I.  Here’s one of her ‘musings’ after a recent state election:  “Well, this really does highlight... um... the importance of elections and who will be elected in terms of who gets elected.”

Yep.  Word for word.

And then there was this, accompanied by vigorous hand and arm gesturing:  “I believe that some things should stay settled, yes, should stay settled.”

Reporter:  “But clearly, they do not.”

Kamala:  “Yes, and that’s just another sign of the unsettled times we live in.”

Me:  “That’s unsettling.” 

>>... snicker ...<<

A friend had her car serviced on Thursday – $175 for transmission service (an oil change).  She needed a seatbelt repaired, too:  That will be $354.

By Sunday, the transmission fluid had leaked out into the driveway.

A wrecker from the transmission place is supposed to come and get it (the car, not the fluid) tomorrow.  Meanwhile, she couldn’t make it to work today.

She asked for an estimate on painting her vehicle at the body shop where the seatbelt will be repaired:  $8,000!  “It was a short conversation,” she reported.

I told her how Daddy once repainted his Model T, back in about 1937, with black automotive paint – and a paintbrush.  He did such a bang-up job, people thought he’d gotten a new car.

I doubt if that would work, on today’s cars.  😏

My entire house needs a thorough cleaning,  I’ve been skating along, giving whatever shows a lick and a promise, spending every minute I can on photo-scanning.

Late this afternoon, I put a rack of lamb ribs in the oven on slow bake.  After it had cooked for 45 minutes, I added potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions, which I kept separate in tin foil that I left open at the top.  When the meat and vegetables were done, I popped some banana nut muffins into the oven.  We had cranberry juice with it, and that was supper.

When we were through, I picked enough meat off the ribs to make a couple of generous sandwiches for tomorrow night’s supper.

And now it is bedtime.

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