Journal: Birds and Blooms

 

The Rembrandt tulips are blooming.

I used to have hundreds of tulips all along the fence line and beside the front sidewalk.  Nearly all of them have disappeared now.  Some have doubtless fallen prey to chipmunks, gophers, mice, squirrels, whistlepigs, and even rabbits.  Others expired because I planted them too close to the hundreds of daylilies I put in the ground at the same time.  Unbeknownst to me, daylily tubers put out so many roots, the underground becomes quite dense with them, essentially choking out other plants and bulbs.

I learned the trouble from a giant gardening book my sister gave me – too late for the tulips.  The book is as big as an encyclopedia volume, and I read it through from cover to cover, partly because that’s what I do (I read the dictionary straight through when I was about ten, after all), and partly because it was such a jolly entertaining and educational book, well-written and funny besides. 

As for that business of reading the dictionary through, I was working my way through that hefty tome – Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary, circa 1963 – when my father happened into the room. 

He looked at me, all snugged into the big overstuffed chair in the living room, book in lap.  He looked at the dictionary.  “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Reading the dictionary,” I responded, feeling as though that should have been obvious.

“Why?” he inquired.

How do you answer a question like that?!  “Because...” I paused, considering.  “Because it’s interesting,” I finished.

Daddy clapped a hand to his forehead.  “Just what I need,” he groaned, “a know-it-all kid in the house.”

hee hee

I was in my 20s before I found someone who had done the same, when she was very young.  It was none other than my blind friend Penny! 

Before the dictionary, I read through an old encyclopedia set that I found in our basement.  It was printed in 1955.  My mother’s hair would’ve stood straight up on end, had she known what all I learned from that.  I did glue a few pages together, for conscience’s sake, when I got to the Painting and Arts, using some of that Elmer’s School Paste in a jar with the application stick in the lid.  And I skipped through Aeronautics and Diesel Motors when it got a little too deep and convoluted for my 6- or 7-year-old brain.

For the most part, though, I made it all the way from Aardvark to Zyzzyva (that’s a South American leafhopper).

How’d I get off on that tangent??  Oh... yes.  The gardening book.  Tulips vs. daylilies.

Tuesday evening for supper we had beef stroganoff, Oui yogurt, strawberry watermelon juice (I always get the 100% juice with no sugar added), and a cherry Danish (so much for no sugar, heh).

I alllllmost got all the borders sewn on the animal print blocks, but I ran out of steam.  I would finish them the next day.  The last border needed to be precisely the right width so that the blocks would exactly fit a section of three Cock’s Comb blocks with sashing between them.  That’s easy enough; but what should be easy can easily turn into a mess when one is about to snooze off on one’s feet.

Wednesday, I finished the borders on the animal prints and began joining them with the Cock’s Comb blocks.

That afternoon, I saw the first wasp of the season, hovering malevolently right outside my sewing room window.  (Not that that particular wasp was the first one of the season; but he was the first one I had seen this season.)

When my late niece Susan was a little girl, about 2 ½ years old, she was outside playing one day while my sister was working in the kitchen.

Suddenly the back door flew open, Susan came dashing in, slammed the door behind her, and stood leaning on it, panting.  Then, “A wäps (wasp) was chasing me!”  She gulped down a few more breaths of air, then exclaimed, “I don’t wike wäpses.  Dey toon dayo heads and dey wook at a witto grill!” 

(Translation:  “I don’t like wasps.  They turn their heads and they look at a little girl!”)

We got sandwiches at Arby’s after church that evening.  I got a Smokehouse Brisket, and Larry got a Crispy Chicken (I think).  

We could’ve done better; those aren’t the healthfullest sandwiches we’ve ever consumed.  Why anybody needs anything breaded inside a bun, I have no idea.  Next time, I’ll get a salad.  Or make one, at home.

Thursday was son Joseph’s 40^th birthday, his daughter Juliana’s 11^th birthday, and our oldest grandson Aaron’s 24^th birthday.  Larry works with Aaron, so he took him his gift – an electric lunchbox that can heat food, like the one we gave his cousin Ethan earlier this month.  We plan to see Joseph and his family next Saturday.

The plum bushes are blossoming.  I wonder if there will be any plums on them this year?  I haven’t ever seen any on those bushes, probably because they weren’t yet old enough to bear fruit. 

Thursday was a cool, misty, drizzly day with a high of 53°, which was good, because there were two or three wildfires in the state that were not under control.  One still is not.  The Plum Creek Fire in Brown County, 175 miles to our northwest, which started as a controlled burn by a private landowner in coordination with Nebraska Game and Parks, has burned over 7,025 acres and is currently only 70% contained.  Governor Pillen has declared a state of emergency and mobilized the Nebraska National Guard to assist in fighting the fire.  A statewide burn ban has been issued due to high fire danger.  Crews from over 60 local, state, and federal agencies are responding to the Plum Creek Fire.

You’d think of all people, the Nebraska Game and Parks personnel would know they shouldn’t let someone burn anything, prescribed or otherwise, on a dry, windy day!

Here are a pair of blue-winged teal, female on the left, male on the right, that I saw at the David City park last week.

And over here we have the camouflaged and the blue-hoodied fishermen.  They’re similar to the blue-winged teal, but less likely to catch any fish.

As I sewed that day, I listened to (and periodically glanced at) a YouTube video about the Pethericks, a British family who is restoring a chateau and an old convent in France.

The British accent alone makes it fun to listen to.  Here’s Billy Petherick, attaching studs to old stone walls:  “I have to do a Brico (France’s version of Home Depot) run, because the timbahs I have left ah all buh-näh-nuhs.”

A bit after midnight, I finished the Safari Animals quilt top, except for the borders.  I sure wish I had a decent place to take good photos of large quilts!  I keep mentioning this to Larry... and he keeps looking at me with a pondering expression.  Reckon I’ll wind up with a snazzy large-quilt holder one of these days?

A few days ago when I cut the animal-print panel apart, I suddenly noticed the printing in the selvage and then understood why the prints were the size they were, and why there was only a small amount of border print.  It said, “Pillow covers and cases.”

Friday, I attached the borders to the Safari Animals quilt, and that finished the top.  Next, I put the backing together, and then paused for supper.

Soon I was pulling a pizza out of the oven – Italian Wood-Fired Prosciutto and Arugula Pizza.  Mmmmm, yummy.  It’s one of my favorites.

Larry is unimpressed with it:  “It has a few skinny slices of some kind of ham on it, so skinny you may or may not be able to taste it; a few green twigs, two drips of sauce, and possibly a scattering of cheese.  That’s it.”

After supper, I got the quilt loaded on my quilting frame.

“Tomorrow I shall quilt!” I told some quilting friends, then added, “Lord willing, that is.  As the Apostle James said, ‘For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.’”

Saturday, while the Safari Animals quilt patiently waited, I looked through my panels and fabrics, deciding what to make for Jeffrey’s older brother Lyle, in case I needed to order anything for it.  After pulling out a printed panel I liked, I decided to work on a design for it in EQ8, so I wouldn’t be stymied when the Safari Animals quilt is done.  I don’t like getting stymied!  😄

Here’s the EQ8 design I plan to use for Lyle’s quilt.  It’s called Wolves’ Dream Catcher (since that’s the name of the panel).  I’ve ordered the backing, and will need to order fabric for the top.  I’ll do that as soon as I sign my name to this letter.

That done, I headed to my quilting studio and started quilting the Safari Animals quilt.

I briefly considered some vertical lines from the edge to the arches, but decided against it.  This is supposed to be a soft, cozy bed quilt, after all.  I’d put those lines in... and next, I’d feel obligated to put ovals between the tall and the short arches... and then I’d want some background pebbles and spirals in every other triangle... and then... and then... and then...

A friend was telling a story about vehicles, including her husband’s tractor, getting stuck in mud near her house; and that reminded me of my own story.  Here it is, from an old journal of March of 1998.

We were visiting Larry’s Aunt Lynn in Raton, New Mexico, and decided to head south to Gladstone to visit her two sisters and their husbands, as they couldn’t come north to visit us, being smack in the middle of calving season.  With that short intro, I’ll sort of jump into the middle of the story:

We all, including Aunt Lynn, headed for Gladstone.  The aunts and uncles lived about ten miles from this little town, on ranches on opposite sides of the highway.  We went to Lois and Earl’s, and Lorraine and Bill came there to visit and eat supper with us.

But it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

You see, some time in the afternoon, it started raining, and it kept at it all evening and night.  So the country road to Uncle Earl’s house was nothing but wet clay and slime.

Mercy.  It was awful.  There were deep ditches on each side of the road where the road grader had pulled the dirt up onto the road, making it extremely humped in the middle, which made it even harder to stay in the center of the road.  We slipped and slid and skidded one way and then the other, constantly threatening to slide right into the ditch.

And then we’d see a cattle guard up ahead – a cattle guard that was positioned high atop a steep rise in the road! – a cattle guard that looked to be about three feet wide, whilst our lovely Suburban was all of nine feet wide, sliding sideways as it was.

But do you know what happened, each and every time we arrived at one of those guards?  I’ll tell you:  the Suburban miraculously straightened out and squirted through, its pretty teal and metallic sand sides unscathed.

I told Larry that the only reason it went through like that was because the terrified occupants all gasped in unison, which sucked the sides in and made it skinny enough to fit.

Finally, we spotted Uncle Earl’s spread up ahead through the darkness and rain, and it seemed like it took an endless amount of time to travel the distance to the driveway, which was to the right.  Just before we got to it, the Suburban began skidding uncontrollably to the left.  There was no stopping it.  Fortunately, there was no deep ditch at that particular location; but there was a two-and-a-half-foot bank.  We thudded hard against it.  That jarred us back toward the road, and we found ourselves pointed straight at Uncle Earl’s drive.  Larry steered into it, and we slipped and slid along until we at last reached the house, where we managed to get stopped before we hit the picket fence.

I thought sure the left side of our Suburban would be severely damaged; but, amazingly enough, we couldn’t find a single scratch or dent.  It took a good long while, however, before my hands stopped shaking and my heart started beating regularly again.

The whole while we were in Uncle Earl and Aunt Lois’ house, I could hear the rain pouring down, and I knew that hideous road was getting worse, and worse, and worse . . . . .

But I’ll have to say, Larry didn’t win all those motorcycle and dirt-bike trophies for nothing.  I tell you, if it had’ve been me driving that Suburban, I’d have slowed to a petrified stop in the road, whereupon we would’ve slithered right on over into one of those roadside gullies, and there we would’ve been then, stuck until the next ten-year drought came along.  And probably not right-side-up while we waited for it to come, either.

Anyway, we did have an enjoyable visit, in spite of the difficulties.  On the way back, Uncle Bill led us through the pasture for part of the drive, so we didn’t have to contend with that awful road for such a distance as before.

Nevertheless, I informed Larry that he’d’ve never made it safely, had he been all by himself; for then he would’ve had only one guardian angel; whereas, with all of the rest of us along, including Aunt Lynn, there were no less than twelve of them.

I’ll take Nebraska’s ice and snow any day, as opposed to that.

The crabapple tree is budding.  It’s so pretty!

Below are buds on the apple tree, from a couple of weeks ago.  It has already blossomed, and the blossoms have nearly all lost their petals.  Little green leaves are beginning to unfurl.

Sunday, I was reminded of a time when I was a little past 2 ½, not yet 3, holding my little New Testament in hand as I sat there in church beside my mother while my father was preaching.  I was staring at the print on the page, and thinking, There’s a story on this page, and I can’t read it!  By the time a year had passed, I was beginning to read, and absolutely delighted over the accomplishment.

Last week, just as our church service started, someone’s phone went off.  The sound quickly faded away, and I figured the person had either managed to shut it off quickly, or they had fled out the door with it.  Even though we generally have well over 450 people attending services three times a week, this seldom happens.

Years ago, friends of ours with a number of kids brought along a favorite teddy bear for the baby.  It played music when it was wound up, but the mother didn’t worry, because Baby couldn’t wind it.  Problem: the older sibling could wind it.  And wouldn’t you know, Baby dropped it, big brother picked it up -- -- -- and wound it.

So right in the middle of the service, there was Lullaby, and Good Night tinkling away.

The father grabbed the bear and rushed out the door with it.  

Usually, people only exited that fast with a crying baby, not with a singing teddy bear.  😄

Yesterday at about 6:30 p.m., a tornado struck a BNSF train near Bingham, Nebraska, in the northwest part of the state, almost in the Panhandle.  It knocked a long string of coal cars onto their sides.  The engine stayed upright, and the two men inside it were not injured.

I spent an hour working in the flower gardens this morning, while birds of various denominations in all the surrounding trees made concerned and sometimes downright nasty remarks at the back of my head.  There are nests, eggs, babies, and fledglings in them thar trees!  Tulips and Lily-of-the-Valley are blooming, and there are buds on the irises.  Here’s a juvenile house finch in Floof Mode.

This afternoon as I was washing dishes, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, looked out the window – and saw a rabbit rushing out from underneath one of the fir trees.  He immediately froze in place – because, not 25 feet away, the friendly black neighbor cat strolled stealthily along.  The black neighbor cat is friendly to me, not to bunnies.  The bunny didn’t move, and the cat never even glanced his way.  It’s a full-grown rabbit, and he’s pretty close to the same size as the cat; but bunnies aren’t carnivores, and cats are. 

I like them both.  Why can’t cats just eat straw?  Dandelions?  Something other than the neighborhood bunnies?! 

Ah, well.  Bunnies do have a habit of eating hostas, so the cats do save the flowers.

Siggghhhh.

I have a nice-sized patch of Lily-of-the-Valley now after starting with just one lonesome little plant several years ago.  Every time I walked past them this morning, I could smell their sweet fragrance.  After I came in the house, I lit my Lily-of-the-Valley candle that Hester gave me.  Mmmm... I love that aroma.

There are white-crowned sparrows grabbing spilled sunflower seeds under the feeders, and I hear them whistling in the trees.  

Earlier, I saw a Baltimore oriole on the suet feeder.  Maybe I’ll work up a smidgeon of want-to, and fill and hang the oriole feeder.

A couple of Eurasian collared doves just landed on Larry’s scissor lift out front.  Did you know that most doves mate for life?

Okay, now the female has flown down to the sidewalk right below my kitchen window, and the male has quickly followed her.  As she waddle-bobbed along in the usual dove-walk fashion, gobbling down seeds, leaf buds, and the occasional wayward insect, her mate, more concerned about impressing his lovey-dovey than in having supper, hurried along behind her, bowing his chest right down to the walk as he intoned, “HOO-hoo... Hoo!  HOO-hoo... Hoo!”  A few more quick steps forward, then several more deep bows, repeating, “HOO-hoo... Hoo, HOO-hoo... Hoo!” 

The female bobbed along, seemingly impervious to his birdy charms. 

Mr. C. Dove scampered forward, close enough to the missus that his deep bow nearly caused him to bump his little round punkin on her pretty tail feathers. 

“HOOO-hoo... Hoo!” he yelled (as well as a dove can yell), so loudly that his voice cracked in the middle of that first ‘HOO’. 

Mrs. Dove turned and looked at him.  “You okay there, honey?”

And now it’s 7:25 p.m., and woweee, the winds have suddenly begun blowing somethin’ fierce!  My weather app still says ‘32-mph winds’ and ‘Fresh Breeze’, as it’s been saying all day; but these winds are more like 50 mph, at the least.  It’s really roaring through the trees.

There are tornadoes and severe thunderstorms in Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, and northern Nebraska.

And that’s right where Larry is picking up forms with the boom truck – in northern Nebraska, near Yankton, South Dakota, to be exact.  Black threatening clouds with a lot of lightning are headed his way from the west, so he’s hurrying to get the job done and come home before the storm strikes.

According to the radar map, we’ll be getting some rain between 10:00 p.m. and midnight, but after that it should clear.  Therefore, I plan to hit the hay a little earlier than usual, in order to again work in the flower gardens in the morning.

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

Journal: ♪ ♫ I Serve A Risen Savior! ♫ ♪

 

Last Tuesday, Hannah sent a picture of a cedar waxwing, writing, “In our tree out front.  Haven’t seen one of those birds for a while!”

“Well, that’s no fair at all!” I retorted.  “I haven’t seen one for years and years.”

“It’s eating seeds and buds on the trees,” Hannah said.  “Normally, I see more than one at a time, but I didn’t see any others.”

Maps at All About Birds and other birding websites show that they do breed in our area, but probably most of the ones we have seen were migrating through, as we’ve seen them in the spring or fall, and not summer or winter.

Some years back, a huge flock of migrating cedar waxwings arrived as scheduled in a little town in Iowa.  They showed up like clockwork every autumn, because Main Street was lined with cherry trees, and the birds feasted on the ripe berries before continuing on their southward flight.

The morning after the cedar waxwings arrived, citizens discovered, to their amazement, waxwings all over the sidewalks, streets, and yards, staggering along, unable to fly and barely able to walk.  After the initial horror dawned realization:  the weather had been such that all the cherries on the trees had fermented.  

Those birds were drunk.

By late afternoon, the inebriation had worn off and the birds were able to fly again.  And fly, they did – straight back up into the trees, where they again gorged themselves with the intoxicating cherries, again rendering themselves flightless.  The bird-eat-cherry cycle repeated itself for several days until the cherries were all gone.

Once the waxwings had recovered their wits, they continued their migration, hopefully with their little birdy compasses functioning properly again.

“Other than crashing into windows and falling prey to opportunistic domestic cats, the birds were fine and dandy,” the article said.  

According to an ornithologist at Cornell Lab, “Waxwings have large livers that can handle the ethanol, and won’t suffer any long-term effects from consuming the berries.”  (Although getting eaten by a cat seems to me to be somewhat of a long-term effect.)

Those birds were probably alcoholics for the rest of their little birdy lives.

Tuesday, I headed upstairs to my quilting room.  I have to turn 8 switches to get everything turned on:  lights, heater (or fan, depending on the weather), sewing machine, iron, coffee mug warmer, lights, lights, lights.  Oh, and my upstairs laptop.  Air conditioner in the landing window, too, if it’s hot up there.  Why don’t I have a master switch?!

Every now and then when the children were very young, we would have a soft, misty, drizzly summer day.  It’s rare, but it happens, in our neck o’ ze woods.  I often let the children play outside with umbrellas on those days, if there was no threat of lightning.

It used to be hard to keep healthy umbrellas around this joint because of that.  But the children looked so cute, out there playing under them!  Somehow, though, an umbrella spine always got broken, and then I would have to go places with a lame umbrella, one side drooping limply over my head. 

Here are Hester, 3 ½, and Lydia, 1 ½.

One evening I was reading a Winnie-the-Pooh story to the children from the original books, which were mine when I was little.  This story was The Flood, when Piglet got stranded at his house, and Pooh had to figure out how to get across a large body of floodwater – and He of Very Little Brain came up with a Grand Idea:  he would take Christopher Robin’s umbrella, open it, turn it upside down, sit in it, and paddle his way across the water.  And it worked!  That is, so long as Christopher Robin sat on the opposite side for ballast, it worked.

Pooh and Christopher Robin made it across the water, Piglet was saved, and Pooh was a hero. 

“Hooray for Pooh, hooray, I say, Hooray for Pooh!”

The very next afternoon, I noticed a flash of color out my bedroom window, peered out – and there was Hester, three years old, just positioning my brand-new umbrella upside down in a large mud puddle in the alley behind our house.  As she carefully seated herself in the center of the umbrella, bowing the spines alarmingly, she was singing, “Hooray for Pooh, hooray, I say, Hooray for Pooh!”

I would have had time to save the umbrella if I had’ve cranked open the window and yelled with haste; but I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.  Sooo...  we added yet another lame umbrella to the collection. 

Did you know it’s hard to look elegant and capable when walking down the sidewalk – and your umbrella keeps sproinging wrong side out every few minutes, and then when you tug it back down to try popping it up properly again, it folds itself over your head like a limp lampshade?

That afternoon, my bird feeders were full of red-winged blackbirds, common grackles, house finches, English sparrows, American goldfinches, Eurasian collared doves, mourning doves, Northern cardinals, blue jays –  and a squirrel.  The goldfinches are all dressed in their summer finery again, with bright yellow feathers, black wings and tail, and little black caps on top.

I spent a good part of the day putting together Cock’s Comb blocks.  The previous week, it was taking me an hour to complete a block – and that’s after the first four patches in each quarter-block were already done.  By Saturday, it was only taking 40 minutes.  Reckon I could get it down to half an hour?

By midafternoon, I had completed six blocks in four hours.  40 minutes per block, same as last Saturday.  But I had paused to start some supper in the Instant Pot, so maybe I was a little faster than I had been.

I texted Joseph, “What size shirt do you wear?”

He responded, “Xtra smedium.”  😄  A minute later:  “Jk (just kidding).  XL.”

I ordered him a shirt for his birthday, which is the 24^th.

For supper we had tenderloin steak and lima beans, and for dessert, banana splits with fresh strawberries.

Wednesday, I opened a new bag of coffee beans:  Caramel Walnut Shortbread.  Mmmm, it’s good.  Some don’t care for flavored beans, but I love many flavors, and Christopher Bean’s are especially good, and always fresh.  It takes a few days to get orders from them, as they don’t roast their beans until they get the order.  They do have the regular roasts, too, with beans from several of the places that produce best-loved beans – Tanzania, Hawaii, Nicaragua, Sumatra, Sulawesi, Java, Ethiopia, Guatemala, and Kenya.

It was a pretty day.  Soon it will be warm enough in the mornings for me to work in the flower gardens.  I like flowers.  Mucking around in the dirt and weeds, not so much.  But it is good exercise.  And... flowers. 

A little before it was time to head off to our midweek church service, I finished putting together the last Cock’s Comb block.  Next, sashing and cornerstones.

At 8:30 a.m. Thursday, the temperature was 63°, on its way up to 80°.  It was sunny, windy, and a bit smoky from prescribed fires in the Flint Hills of Kansas.  The previous day, a weatherman had mistakenly called them ‘wildfires’.  

I had an appointment with my family doctor in David City that morning to have a small spot on my face removed.  Nothing serious, just one of those spots that are best taken care of before they do become serious.  David City is about 35 miles to our southeast.

After leaving the doctor’s office, I drove over to the nearby park and little lake to see if there might be any little goslings wanting to be photographed.

No goslings, but I did get some good WGCPs (Wild Goose Chase Pictures), despite it being overcast by then, and still smoky. 

One gander – let’s call him Tutankhamun – was completely convinced that the entire pond was his, his, his!!!, and he set out to prove it, too.  He flew all the way across the lake to chase another goose – let’s call him Tatum – that was calmly minding his own business on the opposite bank.  With a ferocious flurry of feathers and frantic honks, Tutankhamun chased Tatum into the water, where the fight raged on.  The pursued goose dove, and the pursuing goose dived after him. 

The water had almost calmed before one popped up.  The other came up shortly, and the chase was immediately on again.

Tatum, who’d just been trying to live his little goosy life, swam for dear life and managed to get far enough from Tutankhamun’s sharp, snapping tomium, flailing wingslaps, and raking claws that he was able to take flight.  With his concentration solely on escape, he flew straight at me as I stood alongside the lake snapping pictures.  I vaguely wondered if I should move out of his flight path, but the photo opportunity was too great to pass up; so I went on standing there, pressing the shutter button. 

Fortunately, Tatum saw me before it was too late, avoided me, and proceeded on down the lake to the other end.

Meanwhile, Tutankhamun’s attention then focused on a couple of other geese he was determined to eradicate.  They – let’s call them Gander and Goosey McGooseface – were strolling harmlessly along the banks of a little island in the middle of the pond.  It being about noon, they were probably looking for some tasty snails and worms, with a bit of barley and sedge on the side.

With a ferocious hiss and a frightful honk, Tutankhamun interrupted their lunch.

Mr. and Mrs. McGooseface, however, were of sturdier cloth than that first hapless patsy.

Together, they stood their ground.  Quite the cacophony, ’twas.  Even the turtles along the shoreline stood high on the rocks (or each other’s backs), craned their turtly necks, and watched the show.  A dog in a passing SUV stuck his furry head out a window and stared, too.

 % Turtles &

Tutankhamun, effectively routed, went off to tend his feathers in another part of the lake.

More pictures here.

On my way home, I took a birthday gift to granddaughter Keira, who is now 7.  She’s the little girl who weighed 2 lbs. 8 oz. when she was born.

I gave her the ‘Paper Dolls of Fabric’ that I once made for my sister, who kept them at her house for her granddaughters and great-granddaughters to play with when they visited.  They still look like new.  (The ‘paper’ dolls, that is, not the granddaughters.  The granddaughters have aged considerably in the last ten years.  😆)

Oliver, 3, watched me taking pictures of Keira with the ‘Paper Dolls of Fabric’.  He looked around, spotted some small silk blossoms on the floor; they’d fallen from the festive flower streamers Hester had put up over the door into their enclosed porch.  Picking one up, he said, “Would you like to take a picture of this pink flower?”

“Sure!” I said, and aimed the camera.

He held the flower right beside his face and smiled sweetly into the camera.  I took the shot.

He grinned, looked around, spotted a lavender blossom, picked it up.  “Would you like to take a picture of this purple flower?” he asked.

I aimed, he again held the flower up near his face, smiled sweetly.  I took the picture.

He looked around again.  Seeing nothing to his fancy, he trotted into the playroom, grabbed a big red balloon, and ran back to the porch.

“Do you want to take a picture of this balloon?” he asked.

“Okay!” said I.

He held the balloon in front of himself, smiled at the camera.  I snapped the shutter button.

Funny little boy.  He didn’t want to just say, “Take my picture!” – but he got it done, didn’t he?

Spooky kitty came to greet me (cautiously at first; she’s easily spooked, after all!), and then Bumble, the new kitten, peered around the corner to see what was going on, eyes huge.

We walked outside and looked at the blooming trees and all the pretty flowers – tulips, daffodils, hyacinths... and a lot more that are coming up and will soon be blossoming:  peonies, iris, etc.  Andrew and Hester have a pretty yard.

Hester wondered what her little pointy-petaled tulips are.  I used to have some when we lived in town, but I couldn’t remember what they were called.  I looked it up when I got home.

They are Linleaf Tulips (Tulipa linifolia), I think.

Hester sent a cup of sliced fresh pineapple and strawberries home with me.  They were scrumptious, and exactly what I needed.

Here are a few of those ‘Paper Dolls made of Fabric’.  There are two little girls and two little boys, and dozens of sets of clothes.  Each doll is about 18” tall.

Hester found this pretty, vintage basket amongst her things, and the dolls and accessories fit into it perfectly.  I had thought I should look for a plastic bin for them, but the basket is much prettier.

I was just picking up my cup of coffee and preparing to head upstairs to my quilting studio when I caught a glimpse of movement outside the kitchen window.  I barely turned my head and looked out in time to see a woodchuck ripping down the front sidewalk and over to the east lawn, going faster than any squirrel I’ve ever seen, even when running in high gear.  I’m telling you, that critter had pushed the nitrous oxide button!

Back in my sewing room, I cut sashing and cornerstones for the Safari Animals quilt, got the long sections sewn together, and then started removing newsprint from the paper-pieced Cock’s Comb blocks.

It was 51° by midafternoon Friday, but there was a cold north wind gusting up to 26 mph, making it feel like 37°.  I spent the rest of the day removing paper from those blocks.

One of my great-nephews, Michael, is Larry’s boss.  He and his wife Andrea invited us for supper that evening.  They have three little girls.

We took each of them a glass jar of Oui strawberry yogurt and a Cerez Pazari fruit leather bar.  I gave Michael and Andrea a fruit leather bar, too, “so the parents don’t eat the children’s food,” I told them.  😅

Too bad it was the Cerez Pazari fruit leather instead of the Zest Delites I got before Christmas; the Zest Delites are better.  I thought I’d check these out, just to see which we liked best.

They fed us bacon-wrapped meatloaf patties, green beans from the garden, mashed potatoes, and strawberry shortcake.  Other members of the family were visiting, too, and we had an enjoyable time.

The little girls evidently liked their treats, as they spent the rest of the evening smiling at me every time I glanced in their direction.

We watched an interesting National Geographic documentary on Lewis and Clark while we were there.  Michael and Andrea have a nice area all finished off in the lower level of their house, complete with big comfy leather sofa and loveseat and a big stuffed chair, and there’s a large screen on the wall.  The three little girls and their little cousin all fit in that one big chair, and they kept peeking around the arm of the chair to grin at me.

Saturday was a pretty day.  I opened a couple of windows, even though it was only 52° outside.  I got as many of the rows of blocks sewn together as I could before cutting apart the animal prints and attaching borders to them.

I put a Red Baron supreme pizza in the oven that evening, while Larry took the Mercedes to the shop and washed it.

Sunday morning, our Sunrise Service was at 7:00 a.m.  We sang some Easter songs, the men’s choir sang, and our pastor, my nephew Robert, gave a short sermon.  Then we all went to the Fellowship Hall for breakfast.

We had scrambled eggs, hard boiled eggs, buns and mini nut muffins, ham, sausage, chocolate or white milk, various kinds of juice, bowls of mixed fruit, and doughnuts of all kinds.  We sat across the table from son and daughter-in-law Teddy and Amy and three of their children.  The other six are teenagers and young adults, and were helping serve tables.

Our main service was at 11:00 a.m.  Before our song service, the brass band played a medley of songs.  It was so beautiful; I love the majestic Easter songs.  ♫ ♪  He lives!  ♪ ♫

The congregation sang a song with the band, and the choir sang before the sermon.

The string orchestra played before our evening song service, and we sang the first congregational song with them, also.  One young girl plays the harp.  Our granddaughter Emma plays the cello.  A young women’s group sang before the sermon.

After the sermon, we had a luncheon.  We sat across from Andrew and Hester and their two, Keira and Oliver; and Bobby, Hannah, and their oldest, Aaron, sat next to us.

When Andrew and Hester went to Ireland a number of years ago, they were served some breakfast tea somewhere that Andrew particularly liked.  They have been unable to find any here that he likes as much, and they don’t recall the name of the tea they had there in Ireland.  So every now and then when I find a New and Different kind of Irish breakfast tea, I get it for them, on the off chance that it might be The One.

Church near Bellwood

Recently, I was listening to a YouTube video in which some English people are renovating a chateau and a convent in France.  They traveled to England to pick up some items for their buildings, and they also purchased some Barry’s Irish breakfast tea, which, they claim, is the best tea available, anywhere, ever.

I promptly pulled up Amazon, hunted some down, and ordered a box of it.  I also ordered a small bottle of Wite-Out. 

The sturdy plastic-bubble-on-cardboard package containing the Wite-Out arrived rattling around in a box that would’ve held a dozen packaged bottles.  The fairly large (and flimsy) box of  tea?  It arrived in a thin bubble envelope.  Squished. 

Before the evening service, I texted Hester:  “The Barry’s tea will be in a bag on the back seat behind the driver’s seat, in case you head out of church before we do.  The box is all jimmied up, and evidently there’s at least one tea bag broken, because there was tea all over the box under the plastic wrap.  I removed the wrap and got the tea off the box, and put it in a Ziploc bag.  And somebody stole a couple of teabags while they were at it.  😉”

And then we drove home after church without noticing that the tea was still in the car.  Andrew and Hester must’ve been upstairs playing with the children in the gym; they had not left before us after all.

Hester texted, “We drove around the parking lot but didn’t see your car.  🙃  Hopefully we didn’t miss you!”

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologized, “we drove off without even looking to see if the tea was riding along with us!  Daddy will give it to Andrew tomorrow.  It’s Arnold’s and Maisie’s fault.  Just a couple of small discussions with those two small people, and the thought of ‘tea’ fell right out of our small brains.”

“That’s okay!” laughed Hester.  “We both are bad at recognizing cars, so weren’t sure if we just missed you!”

“That’s because car manufacturers make cars look so much alike these days,” I told her.

I sent this picture, labeling it ‘Lada’.

Next picture:  “See?  Just alike.  Bentley.”  😂

Speaking of cars, not long ago I watched a video where a young woman drives up to a gas pump, placing the pump on her left.  She climbs out to fill her car – only to discover there is no gas flap on the left.  She stares at the smooth rear quarter, bamboozled and perplexed.  She finally walks around to the other side of the car.

Ah.  There it is; it’s on the right!  She gets back in the car and drives a half-oval to the other side of the pumps.  Gets out and goes to fill the tank – and finds out that she is still on the wrong side of the pumps.

She gets in her car with a little flounce of exasperation (this trouble is probably the fault of the gas station attendant somehow, right?  Or possibly the car manufacturer) and she proceeds to try her luck at the pumps on the opposite side of the bay.

She carefully pulls up just so... climbs out...

But she has driven yet another half-circle, placing those recalcitrant gas pumps on the left side of her car again!!

She gives a little stamp of aggravation, jumps back in her car, and this time chooses to back around to the other side of the pumps, narrowly avoiding taking out the barrier post as she goes.

This time it will surely be different.

She climbs out, stomps with determination to the pump, jerks out the handle, turns, — and again there’s no gas flap on the left side of her car.

She pitches the handle back onto the pump with force, leaps back in her car, and, squealing the tires a bit, roars off, purportedly to find a station specifically for cars with gas flaps on the right.  Obviously, this station was only for cars with gas flaps on the left!

It was a sunshiny day, 60° at noon on the way up to 73°.  I drove to town this afternoon, got the Mercedes insured in Larry’s and my names rather than Loren’s and my names; then went to the courthouse to have a new title made with my name on it instead of both Loren’s and my names.  It took over an hour – not too bad, I guess, since the insurance company is on the east side of town, and we live 7 miles west of town.

I think the most important part of the whole shebang is in the section of the Insurance ID card under the heading ‘If You’re in an Accident’.  Point #1 reads, “Don’t admit fault.”  😄

Trees were leafing out and in bloom all over town.  Too bad I didn’t have my camera!

I finished the laundry this evening.  Tomorrow I hope to get the Safari Animals quilt top all put together.  Maybe by Wednesday I’ll be quilting it! 

I sent this picture to Hester a little while ago, writing, “Weren’t we cute?”

She responded, “I love that picture!!  Reminds me of Maisie.  Lolol”

I have noticed the similarity a few times, myself.  😊

What on earth.  Microsoft Word just replaced a random bunch of proper nouns in my journal with the name ‘Lana’.  Proper nouns like ‘Larry’, ‘Amy’, ‘April’, ‘Keira’, etc.  Not all of them, mind you; just random, as I said.  About 30 of them.  I’ve never had that happen before!  And I’ve been using Word for 27 years now.  Oh, and it replaced my own name, ‘Sarah Lynn’, with ‘Lana Lana’.  Maybe Sonny James hacked my laptop?  (He sang ‘No Lana-Lan-na-na’ in 1962.)

“Did you hack my laptop, Lana?” I asked my friend and fellow quilter.

I looked it up, and discovered I’m not the only one who has experienced this phenomenon.

One young woman had written a 140,000-word dissertation, and just minutes before she sent it to her professor, Word randomly replaced a couple dozen country names with ‘England’!  That was back in 2020.  The only advice a Microsoft tech could give her was to take all the macros out of her document.  She couldn’t, though; the document was actually utilizing those macros.  (I doubt that was the problem, in any case.)

Computer gremlins!  That’s what it’s gotta be.  Right?

Bedtime!

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