Journal: Birthdays, Anniversaries, and Weddings (and Quilts)

 

Last Tuesday, I finished the ‘Little Ones’ quilt for grandson Oliver, 1½.  It measures 39” x 48”.  The panel, ‘Little Ones’, was designed by Dawn Rosengren for Henry Glass Fabrics.  I used 40-wt. Omni natural white thread on top, and 60-wt. Bottom Line natural white in the bobbin.  The batting is leftover cotton scraps zigzagged together.

The coordinating piece for the backing wasn’t quite wide enough, so I added strips of contrasting fabric to the sides.

The other day, Joanna was telling us about her little brother Levi, 13, going into the store for some eggs (he likes to cook).  Hannah expected him to come out with a dozen or possibly a dozen and a half eggs. 

He came out with two flats.  That’s five dozen.  60 eggs.  🤣

“I guess he hasn’t learned about economy yet,” laughed Joanna.

Wednesday, I started the ‘Little Darlings’ quilt for Eva, 2 ½, also made with printed blocks from Henry Glass Fabrics.

The trouble with panels and printed blocks is that they’re often printed all whoppyjaw.  The print is actually askew, off the grain of the fabric.  Ugh, look at this.  Fortunately, fabric is flexible.  🫤🙄

I put sashing around each block, ignoring the grain of the fabric, and instead just lining up the print.  I got a few blocks done before church, and finished them after we got home and ate supper.  There are fifteen of these 10 ½” blocks.

I had a better idea, along about the time I was a quarter of the way done, and it was too late to do anything about it.  🙄🫤  But I have nine more of these prints, slightly smaller than these because they were on the ends of the fabric cut, and it looked like somebody hacked it off with a hatchet.  I’ll use them for a quilt for granddaughter Brooklyn, 1½, and try my ‘better idea’ on that one. 

I steamed and pressed and cut and sewed carefully, and steamed and pressed again before squaring up all the blocks.  I think they don’t look too awfully cockeyed now.  

Thursday, I worked on the alternating star blocks for the Little Darlings quilt.  I drew this 8-pointed star block using EQ8’s EasyDraw tools.  The block had to accommodate the fussy-cut square in the middle, which needed to be exactly 3½”, finished.  I got most of the fabric cut for the 15 star blocks, printed the foundations for paper-piecing, and put together a couple of blocks, including one that will be for a pillow.  It’s possible I will run out of that tan fabric.  If that happens, I’ll come up with a revised plan. 

Friday, I got four more blocks done.

Note:  Paper-piecing makes me feel exactly like a toddler must feel when he sizes up a small chair, works up a logistics formula in his active little brain, and then begins turning around, the better to dispose of his small ka-rumpasetter (Hester’s word, when she was three) smack-dab into said chair.

He turns around... and around... and around... and around...  and then, feeling he has properly and precisely arrived at his destination, he sits down, ker-PLOP.  And looks totally amazed to find himself on the floor. 

What happened to those worthy logistics?!

That’s how I paper-piece.  However, the more I do, the better I get!

Ahem.  Theoretically.  “The better I get.”

>>...disrespectful guffaws issue from the peanut gallery...<<

Despite my griping, paper-piecing does turn out a pretty block with nice sharp points.

I actually like paper-piecing, but it’s been a while since I’ve done it, and any time I start a new project with this method, it takes a couple of blocks before I get into the swing of things.  Here’s why I did paper-piecing for this block, which can usually be done easily with the more traditional method of piecing:  The middle square is 4” x 4”.  The outer squares are 3.75” x 3.75”.  The large triangles are 4.337” x 4.027” with 62° angles.  The skinny triangles are 4.492” x 2.419” rectangles, bisected diagonally.  This, because the block had to be 10 ½” in order to match the coordinating blocks.  😏

At 5:00 p.m., I interrupted my sewing to go pick up an order from Wal-Mart.  It’s ten miles away, and takes 13 minutes to get there.  There were several cars before me, and it took about five minutes before it was my turn; and then it took about 15 minutes to carry in the groceries and put them away when I got home.  Wal-Mart makes deliveries to other places in town that are 15 minutes from the store; but they consider our address ‘out of their territory’.  I could’ve had another star block done in the time it took me to drive there and back again!

Ah, well.  It was a pretty day for a drive, gave me some exercise, and pick-up is less troublesome than going in the store and shopping, after all.

By the way, do you see that pastry/ pizza roller in the picture of my sewing table?  I use the smaller curved end to quickly flatten paper-pieced seams.  Works great, and I don’t have to go to the iron nearly so often.  Also, I don’t run the risk of accidentally hitting the steam button and shriveling up that thin newsprint I use for paper-piecing.  (I buy it by the ream from Dick Blick Art Materials.)

Saturday, I went to visit Loren.  On the way to town, I dropped off grandson Jacob’s and daughter Lydia’s birthday gifts.  They live 5 miles east of us, about a mile west of Columbus.  Jacob was 14 that day.  We gave Jacob a blue knit shirt, a screwdriver set, and a small Kabar pocketknife with a mother-of-pearl handle.  For Lydia, we had a teapot with ‘blooming’ teas.

My drive to Omaha was straight towards these towering thunderheads.  But they were not coming toward me, and the day remained hot and sunny.

I got to Prairie Meadows at suppertime and found Loren in the dining room at a table with two other men and one lady.  One man and the lady were in wheelchairs.  Evidently the man who was not in a wheelchair was the lady’s husband.  For the life of me, I could not tell which one had dementia and which one didn’t, though I leaned toward it being the lady who was so debilitated.

The man in the wheelchair did not converse much with us.  But the other!  He immediately asked, “Have I met you before?” 

I was retrieving a chair (those armed chairs are heavy!) from another table and bringing it to Loren’s table, so I didn’t answer him immediately.  A couple of women who work in the kitchen strolled slowly in front of me and then paused directly in my way.  I debated whether to run into them (bonking a chair into the backs of someone’s knees always makes for interesting results) or to say, “BEEP BEEP!” like that large nurse said to me last week. 

Eventually, I got the chair put in place at the table.  By then, the man was loudly repeating the question for the third time, evidently thinking I was deaf.  This behavior made me wonder if it was he who was a resident of the home.

“No, I don’t think so,” I answered, smiling at him.

He introduced himself.  “I’m Jim, and she’s Cathy!” he told me, gesturing at the woman in the wheelchair.

I told him my name.  “I’m Loren’s sister,” I added.

He dropped his mouth open, all astonished, nearly convincing me with that classic overreaction that he lives there. 

He then proceeded to inform me that he has adult ADHD (attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder).  “But I don’t have any trouble conversing!”

Quite true; I could discern that for myself.

He monopolized the conversation for a while, telling me that they used to live in Long Pine, and his grandfather constructed the cabins at The Pines, where we have stayed.  When I said as much, he waxed even more loquacious and talked nonstop about hunting and fishing, and elk and white-tailed deer and mulies. 

I always try to be kind and friendly with the residents there, but I soon tired of being held captive.  I smiled at him and his wife, then turned my chair sideways from him and toward Loren.  Hyperactive Jim made a few false starts into further conversation, but gave it up when I didn’t reciprocate.

I started telling Loren about the newspapers and the Spurgeon pamphlet I’d brought him.  He gave me that sideways grin of his, giving a sidewise look askance at Hyperactive Jim, and I knew that any minute he was liable to say, as he has said before, “Mama would have never allowed us to be so rude!”  

Fortunately, the lady finished her meal then, so the man wheeled her away, and Loren and I were able to visit in peace.

Later, I would find the couple on a video posted on Prairie Meadows’ Facebook page.  I’m thinking more and more that they both live there.  There are some very nice suites at Prairie Meadows for couples.

I grabbed these pictures of Loren from that same video.  It was taken June 21^st, the Summer Solstice, longest day of the year, and the residents were going for a walk in their courtyard.  Loren shows up at the 1:08 mark. 

Don Woods, the financial manager and the one who really got in gear and helped us get Loren into the home quickly a year ago last January, took the video.  He is asking various residents if they are planning to go for a walk, and when Loren gets close to the camera, he says, “How about you, Loren?”

Loren, who probably hadn’t heard the original question, having just come out the door, looks at Don’s phone camera, and, seeing himself, smiles and says, “Well, ... it looks like me!”  He chuckles.

Don, who I think hadn’t the faintest idea what Loren meant (and probably wasn’t even thinking about what he’d said), exclaims, “Oh, absolutely (one of his favorite words), and we’re here to walk...” etc., etc.

He asks one lady if she likes summer.  The lady looks silently and suspiciously at the phone... and then, just about the time Don is ready to rush on to the next person for lack of response, she says, “Sure, it’s better than snow.”  🤣

I showed Loren Instagram pictures on my phone, including our school principal (Bobby’s younger brother) Stephen and Melody’s new baby girl. 

“That’s such a blessing,” said Loren, admiring the baby, “that Judy (his late wife Janice’s sister) finally has a baby girl.  You know she’s wanted one for many years.”

“That’s Stephen and Melody’s new baby,” I told him again.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” he readily agreed, and I thought perhaps he’d just said the wrong name. 

He often remembers people, but gets their names mixed up.

I showed him a picture of our niece Susan, who with her husband Charles is still in Scottsdale, Arizona, receiving treatment for cancer.   

Loren has always understood that Susan is our sister Lura Kay’s daughter, and when I talk about it, I think he remembers that she is fighting cancer.  However, this time he looked at the picture, taken in the beautiful area around Sedona, and he said, “It’s such a blessing for Judy to have a daughter like that.”

“Susan is Lura Kay’s daughter,” I said, and Loren looked quite amazed.  “Judy’s daughter is Sara.  She and Ernest have four sons.” 

I thought he would remember, because he really likes Ernest and Sara; but I don’t think he did.  He thought every girl or woman whose picture I showed him after that was Judy’s daughter. 

However, he remembered an old story Daddy used to tell about trying to work with Grandpa Swiney’s mules out in the field.  One smart but stubborn and onery mule invariably backed purposely through the traces and got all tangled up, until Grandpa came out cracking the whip and ordering her to get back into the traces.  She did exactly that, carefully and quickly stepping right back where she belonged, and she didn’t mess up the traces for Daddy again.

When I was little and traveled with my parents to get-togethers for either side of the family, I liked to hang around near the older members of the family and listen to their stories.  I loved hearing the old stories from days gone by.

Sunday was Lydia’s birthday and Bobby and Hannah’s 23^rd anniversary, and last night we attended a wedding.  The bride is a first cousin of Larry’s, twice removed (some call it a 3^rd cousin, but that didn’t used to be correct, technically, though I think it’s acceptable these days).  We gave them a large bronze wall clock with a clear face through which one can see the bronze gears working.

Weddings are lots of fun when fellow attendees are in the same general attitude as Willie, our youngest grandson at 1½.  He belongs to Kurt and Victoria.  In a few months, he will no longer be the youngest grandchild, and he will be a big brother!

I took a picture of Charity, my great-great-niece, and Susan’s granddaughter.  She will soon be 3.  I then showed her the picture, which was quite cute, on my camera screen.  She looked at it, smiling – then suddenly gasped, looked horrified, and exclaimed, “I forgot to say cheese!!!”

She hurriedly scampered back down the hallway a little distance, posed, and yelled, “CHEEEEEZE!!!!”  🤣

It was really windy yesterday, blowing steadily at 18 mph, with gusts up to 31 mph.  Bad for Sunday hairdos!  

We’re giving Bobby and Hannah several cuts of frozen pork for their anniversary.  We bought them from Teddy after he butchered one of his hogs.  He’s going to have a little trouble butchering one of the hogs he has now, because that big ol’ thing follows him around the place like a puppy while he cares for the other animals, and it looks all bleary-eyed and grunts with happiness when Teddy scritch-scratches behind its ears.  😏

We’ve been hearing fireworks lately.  A particularly loud one reminded me of the time when I, at about age 10, found an intact firecracker, bigger than any I’d ever had.  The fuse was sorta short, but I happily brought it home.  I found a punk, lit it, carried punk and firecracker to the front drive, positioned the firecracker, and then, getting back as far as possible, stretched out and touched the glowing end of the punk to that short fuse.

SIZZLEBANG!!!!! went the firecracker before I could even move.

Quite stunning, really.  Literally.  I crouched there at the edge of the drive, somewhat stupefied, wondering if I was still in one piece.  Then, feeling akin to Piglet when he fell on the balloon he was carrying and it exploded, I stood up. 

Remember the story?

 

Piglet had gone back to his own house to get Eeyore’s balloon.  He held it very tightly against himself, so that it shouldn’t blow away, and he ran as fast as he could so as to get to Eeyore before Pooh did; for he thought that he would like to be the first one to give a present, just as if he had thought of it without being told by anybody.  

And running along, and thinking how pleased Eeyore would be, he didn’t look where he was going ... and suddenly he put his foot in a rabbit hole, and fell down flat on his face.

BANG!!!???***!!!

Piglet lay there, wondering what had happened.  At first he thought that the whole world had blown up; and then he thought that perhaps only the Forest part of it had; and then he thought that perhaps only he had, and he was now alone in the moon or somewhere, and would never see Christopher Robin or Pooh or Eeyore again.  And then he thought, “Well, even if I’m in the moon, I needn’t be face downwards all the time,” so he got cautiously up and looked about him.

He was still in the Forest!

“Well, that’s funny,” he thought.  “I wonder what that bang was.  I couldn’t have made such a noise just falling down.  And where’s my balloon?  And what’s that small piece of damp rag doing?”

 

I couldn’t hear much, the entire rest of the day.  There was mostly just a strange, hollow feeling in my head, which may or may not have meant I’d lost a number of brain molecules.

Good thing I never, ever held fireworks in my hand while lighting them, ay?

I used to like riding my bicycle around the neighborhood, gathering up unexploded or partially-exploded firecrackers (small ones, after that kaBOOM experience!) from the neighbors’ debris piles.  Many had no fuses.  I’d get my father’s big hammer from the garage, go out on the back sidewalk, and pound firecrackers.  I got really good at it.  One well-aimed, hard-swinging blow, and the firework would go off with a bang.

My career got curtailed, however, when my mother came out to see what the racket was.

Around the same time, we were out in Colorado or Wyoming, and I learned about geodes.  Mama let me buy a geode half in a rock shop.  It was so pretty, with the insides all covered with sparkling lavender amethysts and clear crystals. 

When we got home, I borrowed a book from the library about rocks and geodes.  Feeling inspired, I promptly set about geode-hunting.  I gathered rocks from the alley behind our house, and from nearby graveled roads.  Then, collecting my father’s hammer (you’d’ve thought someone would’ve hidden that thing), I headed for the back sidewalk and set about splitting rocks.  (And no, I had no eye-protecting goggles.  Never gave it a thought.)

I found no geodes, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover that many plain-looking rocks were all colorful and sparkly inside.  Once again, however, it wasn’t long before my mother came out to see what all the noise was.  She seemed unimpressed with the rock sparkles, though, and disproportionately dismayed over the wreck and ruin of the sidewalk.  I’d made chips all over it. 

I, thoughtless kid that I was, had no idea until then that one should ever have a worry about a fragmented piece of cement.

Sigghhhh... live and learn.

One of these days, I should buy myself another geode half.  A little girl I used to know once came to visit, and helped herself to that geode.  I’d shown it to her earlier in the visit, and not long after she left, I discovered it gone.  I never told on her.  It hurt my feelings immensely that she would steal something from me, and I often refrained from talking about things that made me feel bad.  I liked her!

Come to think of it, I do have a geode half, or an almost-geode half; but it only has a very small part in the middle that is hollow with crystals.  The rest has been polished, and is pretty; but it just can’t equal that first geode I got.  

Any time I think I might pick one up at a rock store or souvenir shop out west, I discover all over again that those things have gotten expensive. 

The one-eyed Siamese cat is strolling down our front walk, and a Northern flicker, a Baltimore oriole, and a Northern cardinal are all taking turns divebombing him. 

And now it is time for supper, and I think I shall pop open a jar of Zoup’s Spicy Chicken ’Chilada Soup, given to us by one of the kids at Christmas time.

 

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

 

P.S.:  The soup was really good – but it was hot, and I made mine even more so by scattering a handful of Cheez-It Snap’d Jalapeño Jack chips on top of it.  Aiiiyiiieee!  Pass the yogurt!  Pass the grape juice!  Pass the cottage cheese!