Yesterday for the evening church service I sang a solo, played the song for the communion service, and the ending song, too. The solo comes before the sermon, somewhere near the beginning of the service; the communion is at the end. So there I went, strutting proudly up the aisle to the pulpit; there I came back down off the platform and back to my seat, just as conceited as could be; and again, about 45 minutes later, I swaggered arrogantly up to the piano, played, and then flounced back down, reseated myself,--and that’s when I noticed: my skirt was off-kilter by exactly 90°.
The zipper was on the side, which is a fine and dandy place for zippers to be…except I discovered a slash pocket right smack-dab in the center front! Feeling surreptitiously around behind me, I located the other pocket exactly in the back. I bounced up and down a couple of times on the pew (luckily, we usually sit on the second to the last pew at the back of the church), giving the skirt a good tug each time. That didn’t help much, and I thought half a dozen people behind me were no doubt wondering what in the world was the matter with me, so I waited until my brother began the prayer at the end of the first half of the communion service, when I again commenced to scrambling around vigorously. The recalcitrant skirt hung onto the cushion for dear life, thwarting my energetic efforts to turn it.
When it was time to play the final song, I gave that skirt a good hard yank as I stood, hoping nobody would notice. I then marched up to the piano. Not daring to call attention to my plight, seated as I was on the platform in front of everybody, I left the skirt alone until the closing prayer. The awful thing was still a good 45° whoppyjaw! How incommodious. Luckily, the piano bench doesn’t have a cushion, so I was able to slide that skirt around to where it belonged just before the preacher said “Amen.”
There. I was finally adjusted and squared. I put my nose in the air and strode haughtily back to my family---and that’s when I realized: my sweater had followed my skirt in its counter-clockwise orbit, and the button placket headed off due west in a 30° curve. Good grief.
Larry got the garage and the shed all cleaned this week, and he’s threatening to string anybody up by their toenails if they so much as sneeze on his well-ordered array.
Dorcas is now working on the edging of the blanket she’s been crocheting for my nephew’s new baby. She’s making three-dimensional roses in pastel colors of pink, blue, and yellow, all the way around the blanket. It’s so pretty.
Hannah is just about done with a little cardigan for one of that new baby’s sisters. It is white with pink trim and big puffy sleeves, and it has hearts and flowers embroidered on it, too. She’s also finishing a pink five-piece doll outfit for somebody for Christmas; she’ll be paid about $10. That’s probably not enough for the amount of time she puts into it; but one can hardly charge by the hour for crocheting.
Hannah and Dorcas’ dresses for the Christmas program are all done now, except for the appliques Hannah will put on hers, and Saturday I cut out Lydia’s. It’s a black/red/white check in metallic taffeta, with a three-tiered skirt; the bodice is black velvet; and the cummerbund, sash, and piping are a red metallic ribbed taffeta. Norma gave me the material, which was left over from the dress she’s sewing for Katie. Lydia is all excited about matching Katie.
One afternoon I noticed that Caleb had a sore on his lip.
“What happened?” I asked, tipping his chin up to take a closer look.
He made a woebegone face. “When I was running into Victoria’s room, I fell down and chipped it!” He looked around sadly, making sure everyone was listening to his sad tale. ”And I couldn’t put a Band-Aid there!”
Larry is in pain from a tooth whose roots are disintegrating. He’s taking antibiotics to reduce the infection, which went into his sinuses, and also a strong painkiller, which isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. The dummy won’t go to the dentist until I call and make an appointment for him, and then bossily insist he keep the engagement.
Thursday evening was our last Jr. Choir meeting until after the first of the year--from now on, it will be Christmas program practice, starting Friday. Keith, knowing I would be busy with Jr. Choir, helpfully bought us pizza for supper.
Tuesday we took Victoria to the immunization clinic in David City for the last in her first series of shots. The poor little baby hardly cries. When it’s over, she snuggles up on my shoulder for a few seconds, then enchants the nurses by turning around and smiling sweetly at them.
You should’ve seen the two-year-old we saw there once. He got his shot, three people trying unsuccessfully to hold him down as he bellowed and struggled valiantly. No sooner had his mother picked him back up again and attempted to console the brat, than he hauled off and smacked her full in the face!
Caleb, who was 1 ½ at the time, said what we all were thinking: “Wowwwww.”
Tuesday evening we went for a drive down Shady Lake Road. Rounding a corner, we came upon a big buck right in the middle of the road. A doe had already crossed and was waiting for him in a corn field. He stood and looked at us calmly for a moment or two; then, with two smooth bounds and a leap, he was across the ditch and over the fence. Aren’t whitetails beautiful creatures? Two miles farther on, we saw a bobcat slinking his way stealthily through a harvested field. When we turned and shone our lights on him, he fled, covering ground rapidly in long feline springs and bounces.
The signature stamp which I ordered for my mother for Christmas arrived, and I can hardly wait to give it to her! She sometimes has difficulty even signing her name; her right hand has been troublesome ever since she had a slight stroke a couple of years ago.
I called my brother and sister to tell them what I’d gotten for Mama--just in case they should happen to be as clever as me in dreaming up a good present for her--and Loren said, “Oh! That’s just what we got her!”
“Right,” I responded, “and if you hadn’t have said that, I would’ve been very disappointed; I’d’ve thought you were slipping!”
He laughed. Of course, they hadn’t gotten her anything of the sort.
Thursday night I helped Teddy finish his Industries Report; he did his on aluminum. I find these reports ever so interesting; I learn all sorts of things. A couple of years ago, Hannah did her report on the history of teddy bears. Last year, Dorcas did hers on the postal system. I don’t remember what Keith’s was; diesel engines, probably. Anyway, I cut out the letters ALUMINUM from aluminum foil, along with several stars, and we glued them here and there on Teddy’s posterboard, making it look quite flashy. He typed his report and printed it on a computer at school that has a penchant for putting X’s at the beginning of every line, which makes one’s report look unique, to say the least. Fortunately, the teachers are all aware of this quallyfobble, and politely overlook it.
Larry traded some of our yummy elk meat to a friend of our for some deer sticks (almost like jerky), of all things. (I threatened to trade him in, should he do it again.)
Caleb asked, “Could I have some string meat to go with my string cheese?”
Friday I figured out the perfect thing to do with one whole pound of deer sticks: I put it into potato stew. Mmmmmmmmmmm!!! It was so yummy, I forgave poor Larry for going off with the ground elk meat.
That evening we went to Grand Island. We climbed into the Suburban. Larry handed Victoria across the front seat and over to me--bumping his coffee mug, which was a good third full of cold cappuccino, knocking it over into my lap. But we were already running late, and I didn’t want to take the time to go back into the house and don new attire, so I soaked it up as well as I could with a couple of paper towels. When we got to Grand Island, I decided to change Victoria. This I do on my lap, putting a plastic bag under the baby to, supposedly, save me from a total drenching.
It’s an activity fraught with danger.
You guessed it; I got soaked.
So there I was, traipsing around in a cold, damp gale in a cold, damp skirt. Yuck. (Anyway, at least I didn’t ruin two skirts.)
First, we got a couple of appliques for one of the Christmas dresses--$9 for two ten-inch appliques! Aarrgghh. And then I found a three-inch button with gold scrolls around a mother-of-pearl cameo that I just had to have for my red-sequined top, in spite of the fact it was $4.25. Yi. But I guess that is cheaper than a piece of comparable jewelry.
After that expenditure, I assuaged my conscience by trotting down the sidewalk to the Goodwill, a couple of doors down, where we got a suit--just like new--for Teddy--$6.25, two pairs of pants to go with it--$2.75 each, a pair of pants for Thanksgiving--$2.75, two sweaters and two skirts for the little girls--$1.50 each, two belts--$.75 each, a brand-new dusty pink down-filled coat for Hester for next year--$3.25, and a cookstove--$2.00.
Feeling frugal and quite pleased with ourselves, we headed off to the 24-hour Wal-Mart, where we found some striking navy and white spectator pumps for Hannah, and some wing-tipped, fringed and tasseled dress shoes for Teddy. Those were both on sale for quite a smashing bargain. We’ll soon be all ready for Christmas!
On the way home, we indulged in chocolate/raspberry frozen yogurt and macaroon granola bars.
Meanwhile, Keith, Esther, and Dorcas went to Norfolk, where Keith finished his Christmas shopping and Esther bought herself a skirt and sweater for Thanksgiving.
The children's school pictures arrived. Keith’s is smaller because we got the cheapest set they sell, since I already took his graduation pictures.
Now here is a conversation I overheard as the children were looking at their pictures:
Hannah: “My hair is crooked.”
Dorcas: “My eyes are crooked.”
Teddy: “My grin is crooked.”
Joseph: “My glasses are crooked.”
Hester: “My neck is crooked.”
Lydia: “My dimple is crooked.”
Caleb, who of course had no picture: “My socks are crooked.” (And they were.)
At that point, everybody quit griping and burst into peals of laughter, much to Caleb’s surprise.
Monday, November 24, 1997
Monday, November 17, 1997
Monday, November 17, 1997...Girlfriend for Dinner
Today Hester and Lydia got their report cards for the first quarter. Both little girls have grades in the upper 90%s and a couple of 100%s, too. Grades to be proud of.
Yesterday Esther, Keith's girlfriend, came for dinner. We had corn on the cob, steak (cooked on the electric grill with Larry’s special spice mix), fruit/jello salad with crumbled graham cracker crust, whipped cream, cream cheese, sour cream, and powdered sugar mixed in, and my Grandma Swiney’s spaghetti/tomato juice soup. After cooking the spaghetti and draining it, I pour in a big can of tomato juice, heat it up again, add a little bit of baking soda (to keep it from curdling) and salt, and pour in enough milk to turn it pink. That’s it.
The first time I made this concoction after Larry and I were married, he thought I was nuts. Where were the meatballs?!
Well, actually, the first time I made it, it was a disaster. I hadn’t bothered asking my mother for directions, and I was as unlearned about cooking as our friend's wife is about deer. I first boiled the milk, of all things, putting the spaghetti into that. Then, knowing nothing about the consequences of mixing milk with such a substance as tomato juice, I simply poured in the juice.
Wow, I'll betcha that was the lumpiest curds and whey ever created. Inedible pink cottage cheese. Bleah.
But, after I learned to do it right, Larry discovered he actually liked it. Esther had never had such a thing before, and she, being a proper young lady, was having trouble keeping the spaghetti on her fork or spoon.
Joseph helpfully informed her, “There’s nothing to it. We use really long spaghetti, so we only need to cook as many strands as there are people. So, all you need to do is to find the end, get it in your mouth, and slurp it down. Then all that’ll be left in your bowl is the tomato soup, and you can just drink that!”
“’Course,” his brother Teddy added, “you might want to tuck your napkin around your neck before you start, and you might want to borrow one of the girls’ shower caps to protect your hair, ’cuz the end of that spaghetti strand really slaps around.”
Esther made a face. “Oh, you guys,” she retorted.
And now I’d better go feed Victoria and then fix some supper for this hungry tribe.
Oh... Larry just came in and informed me that he put a new radio and cassette player in the Suburban, and we need to go take a ride after supper and try it out. A ride? Sure! I’m always game for ride.....a ride usually means a stop at Cousin’s Corner for a large mug full of steaming hot Amaretto Cappuccino!--just what the doctor ordered.
Yesterday Esther, Keith's girlfriend, came for dinner. We had corn on the cob, steak (cooked on the electric grill with Larry’s special spice mix), fruit/jello salad with crumbled graham cracker crust, whipped cream, cream cheese, sour cream, and powdered sugar mixed in, and my Grandma Swiney’s spaghetti/tomato juice soup. After cooking the spaghetti and draining it, I pour in a big can of tomato juice, heat it up again, add a little bit of baking soda (to keep it from curdling) and salt, and pour in enough milk to turn it pink. That’s it.
The first time I made this concoction after Larry and I were married, he thought I was nuts. Where were the meatballs?!
Well, actually, the first time I made it, it was a disaster. I hadn’t bothered asking my mother for directions, and I was as unlearned about cooking as our friend's wife is about deer. I first boiled the milk, of all things, putting the spaghetti into that. Then, knowing nothing about the consequences of mixing milk with such a substance as tomato juice, I simply poured in the juice.
Wow, I'll betcha that was the lumpiest curds and whey ever created. Inedible pink cottage cheese. Bleah.
But, after I learned to do it right, Larry discovered he actually liked it. Esther had never had such a thing before, and she, being a proper young lady, was having trouble keeping the spaghetti on her fork or spoon.
Joseph helpfully informed her, “There’s nothing to it. We use really long spaghetti, so we only need to cook as many strands as there are people. So, all you need to do is to find the end, get it in your mouth, and slurp it down. Then all that’ll be left in your bowl is the tomato soup, and you can just drink that!”
“’Course,” his brother Teddy added, “you might want to tuck your napkin around your neck before you start, and you might want to borrow one of the girls’ shower caps to protect your hair, ’cuz the end of that spaghetti strand really slaps around.”
Esther made a face. “Oh, you guys,” she retorted.
And now I’d better go feed Victoria and then fix some supper for this hungry tribe.
Oh... Larry just came in and informed me that he put a new radio and cassette player in the Suburban, and we need to go take a ride after supper and try it out. A ride? Sure! I’m always game for ride.....a ride usually means a stop at Cousin’s Corner for a large mug full of steaming hot Amaretto Cappuccino!--just what the doctor ordered.
Sunday, November 16, 1997
Sunday, November 16, 1997...On Sticking to Floors
This has been a busy week, what with the sewing machine clacking along full steam ahead, the crochet hooks moving at the speed of greased lightening, and homework and bookwork vying for attention.
I cut out and sewed Hester’s Christmas dress. The bodice is a black velvet with fuschia and mulberry and plum flowers with raised gold around the edges; the sleeves and very full skirt are iridescent plum silky something-or-other; and the gathered cummerbund, which comes to a V in the front, the sash, the pleated neckline trim, and the piping around the cuffs and hem are metallic gold crepe. Norma gave us the material, and I can hardly wait to show it to her, it turned out so beautifully. That done, I began remodeling Hannah and Dorcas’ dresses. They were both prom dresses, with necklines much too low.
Now that is the kind of thing I do not like to do--to try to add pieces to an already-made dress. It’s difficult to get the piece to fit into the dress just right, with no puckers or strange unwanted lumps, bumps, and odd shapes. Dorcas’ dress is supposed to be an off-the-shoulder number, and the tops of the sleeves are elastic. Now how, I ask you, do you attach anything to that? Oh, help and bother.
Hannah’s dress is almost done. It’s navy, and she is crocheting ruffled roses and three-dimensional leaves in sparkly white thread to applique onto the front of the bodice. Dorcas’ is midnight blue. The top is velvet, and the skirt is taffeta.
The children have been practicing their violins and cello every day now, preparing for Thanksgiving. We usually sing a few songs before heading downstairs to eat dinner. The day after Thanksgiving will be the first Christmas practice.
Teddy had his science test on elements last week; the kids all consider it the hardest test in any grade. He got a 95%! He was quite tickled pink. The test is not only graded on knowing the right element for each symbol, but also on spelling. Can you spell these? And do you know their symbols?
tin
gold
iron
lead
neon
zinc
argon
boron
radon
xenon
barium
carbon
cerium
cesium
cobalt
copper
curium
erbium
helium
indium
iodine
murium
nickel
osmium
oxygen
radium
silver
sodium
sulfur
arsenic
bismuth
bromine
cadmium
calcium
fermium
gallium
hafnium
olmium
iridium
krypton
lithium
mercury
niobium
rhenium
rhodium
silicon
terbium
thorium
thulium
uranium
wolfram
yttrium
antimony
astatine
chlorine
chromium
europium
fluorine
francium
hydrogen
lutetium
masurium
nitrogen
nobelium
platinum
polonium
rubidium
samarium
scandium
selenium
tantalum
thallium
titanium
tungsten
vanadium
There. Now, wouldn’t you agree, 95% is indeed spectacular?! (Hannah beat him when she was in ninth grade, however; she got 100%.)
Keith hurt his wrist some time back, lifting a heavy stack of re-bar. And it can’t get better very well, because he keeps straining it. One day as he was drilling something, the bit caught on some metal and flipped the drill, which hurt his wrist all over again. Keith is the sort who, if he has an owie, he tells you about it. If he thinks perhaps you may have forgotten, he tells you again.
Now, I know his wrist is sore, don’t get me wrong. But here beside him sits his next younger brother, who last week slipped on his bike and bent his thumb backward, causing it to swell to nearly twice its normal size.
(“I’d’ve rather had it happen with a horse,” said Teddy, “because people don’t think you’re quite as stupid as when it happens with your bike!”)
Anyway, Teddy didn’t even tell me about his poor thumb until two or three hours later. Kids are sure different; here we have Teddy, who ought to complain more (such as about tight shoes, and that sort of thing); and then here we have Keith, with whom we could do with a little less grievance reports.
So when Keith launched into the story about the wayward drill, Joseph said in a so-sorry tone, “Awwwww. . .did you pull your pork loin?”
(Ham string, you know.)
Even Keith had to laugh at that.
Saturday Teddy got his thumb nail--on that same old sore thumb--caught on the sander and ripped the top half part of the way off. Later that evening, he was giving Hester and Caleb a piggyback ride on his back and caught the nail on the carpet. So he gritted his teeth and pulled it the rest of the way off, making us all shiver and shudder in unison.
Victoria is quite adept at clicking her tongue. In fact, she’s been doing it for at least a couple of months. Today an elderly lady--one of those sorts who thinks children below the age of ten or so are mere infants, incapable of deep thought processes--patted on Victoria’s arm and click-clicked into the baby’s face--and the baby promptly wrinkled her nose, leaned over into the lady’s face and click-clicked right back at her, much to the lady’s surprise. Everybody around laughed, so Victoria laughed, too. I’m not sure what the lady thought.
As we were leaving church tonight, I tossed Victoria’s big fleece blanket over her head--it’s only 25°--and headed for the door, with Hannah walking along behind us.
Victoria carefully lifted one corner of the blanket, peeked over my shoulder, and said, “Hi, Hannah,” before ducking back down under the blanket. Peeping out again, she repeated, “Hi, Hannah!” and down she went again. Funny baby.
I discovered the following little note in the box of Caleb’s Tonka dump truck: “Dear Caleb Daniel Jackson: I love you very much. You are a very nice little boy. I love you! Love, Hester.”
Isn’t that sweet?
Wednesday a good customer of ours--the one who owns hog confinements all over the Midwest--gave us about fifteen pounds of ground elk meat. That night after church, Larry grilled elk hamburgers, which we ate, with a tomato on top, on toasted sourdough muffins. He put lots of spices on it: lemon pepper, garlic salt, lemon pepper, salt, lemon pepper, onion chips, lemon pepper, chili pepper, lemon pepper, beef bouillon, lemon pepper, ground mustard, lemon pepper. There is very little fat at all in elk meat, and it was exceptionally good. We grilled it on an indoor electric grill/broiler which my mother gave us.
One day last week, a friend gave me a couple of flashy blouses, one of which I think I’ll wear to the Christmas program. It’s bright red silk, with red sequins in swirling patterns all over it. The other is black silk, with black organza sleeves, and with jewel-toned sequins and beads on it. Pretty fancy! I’m a-gonna look like a lit Christmas tree, I’m a-gonna!
Larry got another light-fixture job for Disneyland--sixty more of them. He’s finished painting them, and they will be collected tomorrow morning. One thing about working for Disneyland--we needn’t worry about their checks bouncing!
Yesterday morning, after putting on nice clean socks, I collected my nice clean baby and headed into the kitchen to feed her some breakfast. I immediately stuck to the floor. That is, my nice clean socks did. I nearly left them behind, I did. Aaarrrggh. There was a combination of jelly, honey, and juice, all over the floor.
Jelly: this was from Hester’s peanut butter/apple jelly sandwich, which she was eating as she strolled through the kitchen. Being too liberally spread, the excess deposited itself on the floor.
Honey: this was from Joseph’s muffin, and it was on the floor for precisely the same reason Hester’s apple jelly was down there.
Apple juice: this was because Caleb tipped the pitcher when he removed it from the refrigerator.
Cranberry/raspberry juice: this was because Teddy shook the carton, as instructed on the container itself.....without first ascertaining the lid was screwed on tightly.
Four kids were soon scrubbing the floor.
Thursday and Friday, my mother had a touch of the flu; I think she is feeling better now, although rather weak.
I just got the Battenburg lace parasol I ordered from an old-fashioned catalogue entitled ‘Victorian Papers’. I plan to use it when taking Victoria’s one-year pictures and Hannah’s graduation pictures. I’ve wanted one for a long time, but they’re $40, and I don’t like spending that much money for something that seems to be so totally frivolous. But it sure is pretty!
Friday Keith’s new boots from Mason’s Shoe Company arrived; they were the nicest boots he’s ever had. He rubbed beeswax into them before going off to work, completely pleased over those boots.
Last week Larry cut the boys’ hair. He perched Caleb on the tray of the high chair, the better to reach him.
Realizing the clippers were on the bathroom counter, he asked Hannah to stand beside Caleb so he wouldn’t fall off, telling him, “Don’t move!”
When he returned, Hannah said in a sassy, tell-on-your-brother sort of voice, “Daddy! Caleb was moving--he kept blinking.”
Caleb giggled. Larry made a frowny face at him. “What were you doing that for?!” he asked in a growly voice.
And Caleb answered indignantly, trying not to laugh, “I have to! Otherwise my eyes would get burned out!”
Saturday Nebraska won the football game against the Iowa Cyclones 77-14. Our next game will the day after Thanksgiving.
Larry’s been spending evenings cleaning our extremely cluttered garage. Good grief; we have so much stuff, we could fill all the rooms at Kensington Palace with no trouble in the slightest. This, along with another snow on Friday, must’ve stirred up the resident mice, sending them scampering for cover.....in our house. Unfortunately it isn’t as safe as they hoped: we’ve been catching mice one after t’ other.
One of our customers owns a gas station here in town. The station is a check-in point for hunters. The station owner's wife was manning the station one evening when about four hunters in quick succession brought their deer in. The lady knows little about deer.
(“But I’m learning!” she informed Larry, laughing as her husband told on her.)
“My, what long antenna your deer has!” she remarked to the first hunter. “And they’re so curvy, too!”
To the next, having learned ‘antenna’ wasn’t quite right, and elicited great guffaws from men in general and hunters in particular, she observed, “My! Just look at those fangs!” which brought an even louder response, to her chagrin.
Resolving to keep her comments to herself, the better to mask her ignorance, she asked the following hunter in a business-like tone, “Male or female?” He stared incredulously, looking from her to his enormous ten-point bull.
“Well, at least I know how to make cookies!” she countered, and she proceeded to fill a sack full for us.
I cut out and sewed Hester’s Christmas dress. The bodice is a black velvet with fuschia and mulberry and plum flowers with raised gold around the edges; the sleeves and very full skirt are iridescent plum silky something-or-other; and the gathered cummerbund, which comes to a V in the front, the sash, the pleated neckline trim, and the piping around the cuffs and hem are metallic gold crepe. Norma gave us the material, and I can hardly wait to show it to her, it turned out so beautifully. That done, I began remodeling Hannah and Dorcas’ dresses. They were both prom dresses, with necklines much too low.
Now that is the kind of thing I do not like to do--to try to add pieces to an already-made dress. It’s difficult to get the piece to fit into the dress just right, with no puckers or strange unwanted lumps, bumps, and odd shapes. Dorcas’ dress is supposed to be an off-the-shoulder number, and the tops of the sleeves are elastic. Now how, I ask you, do you attach anything to that? Oh, help and bother.
Hannah’s dress is almost done. It’s navy, and she is crocheting ruffled roses and three-dimensional leaves in sparkly white thread to applique onto the front of the bodice. Dorcas’ is midnight blue. The top is velvet, and the skirt is taffeta.
The children have been practicing their violins and cello every day now, preparing for Thanksgiving. We usually sing a few songs before heading downstairs to eat dinner. The day after Thanksgiving will be the first Christmas practice.
Teddy had his science test on elements last week; the kids all consider it the hardest test in any grade. He got a 95%! He was quite tickled pink. The test is not only graded on knowing the right element for each symbol, but also on spelling. Can you spell these? And do you know their symbols?
tin
gold
iron
lead
neon
zinc
argon
boron
radon
xenon
barium
carbon
cerium
cesium
cobalt
copper
curium
erbium
helium
indium
iodine
murium
nickel
osmium
oxygen
radium
silver
sodium
sulfur
arsenic
bismuth
bromine
cadmium
calcium
fermium
gallium
hafnium
olmium
iridium
krypton
lithium
mercury
niobium
rhenium
rhodium
silicon
terbium
thorium
thulium
uranium
wolfram
yttrium
antimony
astatine
chlorine
chromium
europium
fluorine
francium
hydrogen
lutetium
masurium
nitrogen
nobelium
platinum
polonium
rubidium
samarium
scandium
selenium
tantalum
thallium
titanium
tungsten
vanadium
There. Now, wouldn’t you agree, 95% is indeed spectacular?! (Hannah beat him when she was in ninth grade, however; she got 100%.)
Keith hurt his wrist some time back, lifting a heavy stack of re-bar. And it can’t get better very well, because he keeps straining it. One day as he was drilling something, the bit caught on some metal and flipped the drill, which hurt his wrist all over again. Keith is the sort who, if he has an owie, he tells you about it. If he thinks perhaps you may have forgotten, he tells you again.
Now, I know his wrist is sore, don’t get me wrong. But here beside him sits his next younger brother, who last week slipped on his bike and bent his thumb backward, causing it to swell to nearly twice its normal size.
(“I’d’ve rather had it happen with a horse,” said Teddy, “because people don’t think you’re quite as stupid as when it happens with your bike!”)
Anyway, Teddy didn’t even tell me about his poor thumb until two or three hours later. Kids are sure different; here we have Teddy, who ought to complain more (such as about tight shoes, and that sort of thing); and then here we have Keith, with whom we could do with a little less grievance reports.
So when Keith launched into the story about the wayward drill, Joseph said in a so-sorry tone, “Awwwww. . .did you pull your pork loin?”
(Ham string, you know.)
Even Keith had to laugh at that.
Saturday Teddy got his thumb nail--on that same old sore thumb--caught on the sander and ripped the top half part of the way off. Later that evening, he was giving Hester and Caleb a piggyback ride on his back and caught the nail on the carpet. So he gritted his teeth and pulled it the rest of the way off, making us all shiver and shudder in unison.
Victoria is quite adept at clicking her tongue. In fact, she’s been doing it for at least a couple of months. Today an elderly lady--one of those sorts who thinks children below the age of ten or so are mere infants, incapable of deep thought processes--patted on Victoria’s arm and click-clicked into the baby’s face--and the baby promptly wrinkled her nose, leaned over into the lady’s face and click-clicked right back at her, much to the lady’s surprise. Everybody around laughed, so Victoria laughed, too. I’m not sure what the lady thought.
As we were leaving church tonight, I tossed Victoria’s big fleece blanket over her head--it’s only 25°--and headed for the door, with Hannah walking along behind us.
Victoria carefully lifted one corner of the blanket, peeked over my shoulder, and said, “Hi, Hannah,” before ducking back down under the blanket. Peeping out again, she repeated, “Hi, Hannah!” and down she went again. Funny baby.
I discovered the following little note in the box of Caleb’s Tonka dump truck: “Dear Caleb Daniel Jackson: I love you very much. You are a very nice little boy. I love you! Love, Hester.”
Isn’t that sweet?
Wednesday a good customer of ours--the one who owns hog confinements all over the Midwest--gave us about fifteen pounds of ground elk meat. That night after church, Larry grilled elk hamburgers, which we ate, with a tomato on top, on toasted sourdough muffins. He put lots of spices on it: lemon pepper, garlic salt, lemon pepper, salt, lemon pepper, onion chips, lemon pepper, chili pepper, lemon pepper, beef bouillon, lemon pepper, ground mustard, lemon pepper. There is very little fat at all in elk meat, and it was exceptionally good. We grilled it on an indoor electric grill/broiler which my mother gave us.
One day last week, a friend gave me a couple of flashy blouses, one of which I think I’ll wear to the Christmas program. It’s bright red silk, with red sequins in swirling patterns all over it. The other is black silk, with black organza sleeves, and with jewel-toned sequins and beads on it. Pretty fancy! I’m a-gonna look like a lit Christmas tree, I’m a-gonna!
Larry got another light-fixture job for Disneyland--sixty more of them. He’s finished painting them, and they will be collected tomorrow morning. One thing about working for Disneyland--we needn’t worry about their checks bouncing!
Yesterday morning, after putting on nice clean socks, I collected my nice clean baby and headed into the kitchen to feed her some breakfast. I immediately stuck to the floor. That is, my nice clean socks did. I nearly left them behind, I did. Aaarrrggh. There was a combination of jelly, honey, and juice, all over the floor.
Jelly: this was from Hester’s peanut butter/apple jelly sandwich, which she was eating as she strolled through the kitchen. Being too liberally spread, the excess deposited itself on the floor.
Honey: this was from Joseph’s muffin, and it was on the floor for precisely the same reason Hester’s apple jelly was down there.
Apple juice: this was because Caleb tipped the pitcher when he removed it from the refrigerator.
Cranberry/raspberry juice: this was because Teddy shook the carton, as instructed on the container itself.....without first ascertaining the lid was screwed on tightly.
Four kids were soon scrubbing the floor.
Thursday and Friday, my mother had a touch of the flu; I think she is feeling better now, although rather weak.
I just got the Battenburg lace parasol I ordered from an old-fashioned catalogue entitled ‘Victorian Papers’. I plan to use it when taking Victoria’s one-year pictures and Hannah’s graduation pictures. I’ve wanted one for a long time, but they’re $40, and I don’t like spending that much money for something that seems to be so totally frivolous. But it sure is pretty!
Friday Keith’s new boots from Mason’s Shoe Company arrived; they were the nicest boots he’s ever had. He rubbed beeswax into them before going off to work, completely pleased over those boots.
Last week Larry cut the boys’ hair. He perched Caleb on the tray of the high chair, the better to reach him.
Realizing the clippers were on the bathroom counter, he asked Hannah to stand beside Caleb so he wouldn’t fall off, telling him, “Don’t move!”
When he returned, Hannah said in a sassy, tell-on-your-brother sort of voice, “Daddy! Caleb was moving--he kept blinking.”
Caleb giggled. Larry made a frowny face at him. “What were you doing that for?!” he asked in a growly voice.
And Caleb answered indignantly, trying not to laugh, “I have to! Otherwise my eyes would get burned out!”
Saturday Nebraska won the football game against the Iowa Cyclones 77-14. Our next game will the day after Thanksgiving.
Larry’s been spending evenings cleaning our extremely cluttered garage. Good grief; we have so much stuff, we could fill all the rooms at Kensington Palace with no trouble in the slightest. This, along with another snow on Friday, must’ve stirred up the resident mice, sending them scampering for cover.....in our house. Unfortunately it isn’t as safe as they hoped: we’ve been catching mice one after t’ other.
One of our customers owns a gas station here in town. The station is a check-in point for hunters. The station owner's wife was manning the station one evening when about four hunters in quick succession brought their deer in. The lady knows little about deer.
(“But I’m learning!” she informed Larry, laughing as her husband told on her.)
“My, what long antenna your deer has!” she remarked to the first hunter. “And they’re so curvy, too!”
To the next, having learned ‘antenna’ wasn’t quite right, and elicited great guffaws from men in general and hunters in particular, she observed, “My! Just look at those fangs!” which brought an even louder response, to her chagrin.
Resolving to keep her comments to herself, the better to mask her ignorance, she asked the following hunter in a business-like tone, “Male or female?” He stared incredulously, looking from her to his enormous ten-point bull.
“Well, at least I know how to make cookies!” she countered, and she proceeded to fill a sack full for us.
Sunday, November 9, 1997
Sunday, November 9, 1997...Beamuts & Christmas Rehearsal
There! I’m done! All done. All done putting the Christmas program together, so it’s ready to start practicing. Caleb’s getting more excited as the days go by; this will be his first year to participate. He and Lydia already know the two little songs their classes will sing, and we hear his high, piping voice coming from all corners of the house, at all hours of the day.
Yesterday he was listening to a CD of George Beverly Shea, the gospel singer who often sang during Billy Graham’s crusades.
“I like George Beb— Bebber— Bebberly—” he came to a stop.
Teddy helpfully intoned, “Borge Sheverly Bay,” which of course caused his little brother to dissolve into giggles.
When Hester was little, she thought Aleutia got her puppies out of the bathroom cupboard.
Larry has taken his camera to the shop and is taking pictures of his six-door pickup as its development advances. Too bad we didn’t think to take a picture of it before he started!
Tuesday I did bookwork all day. Guess what I did last month? I forgot to record a $1,065 deposit we’d made. Good thing it was a deposit, rather than a withdrawal I’d omitted, yes? You can be sure, I had my checkbook out paying bills in nothing flat.
Tuesday we got Hannah a Peak Flow Meter at Walgreens. She is to blow into it at least once a day, and record the pounds of air pressure. It should be about 350 pounds, but yesterday it was only 180. She’s got a cold, which always makes the asthma worse. I tried out the meter, and hit 350, right on the dot. (I gave myself a headache in the process, however.)
I spent Thursday afternoon and evening wrapping three more boxes full of presents I’d collected. Now all the ladies are crossed off my list, and only several men and boys remain. I think it’s much harder to buy presents for men than ladies, because, after all! How many ties does a man really want?? But, of course, a lady would appreciate innumerable necklaces and bottles of perfumes and such like. (Well, most ladies, anyway; I’d like innumerable photo albums and film cartridges, don’t you know.) (And Aunt Lynn would probably rather have a new horse or two.)
The other night, Keith and Esther were making lists of what everybody wanted for Christmas.
When they came to me, I announced, “Really, really warm boots, and a twin-sized electric blanket for only my side of the bed, since your father is hot enough already.”
At that, Teddy unobtrusively exited the room, returning posthaste with a large bulky sweater which he proceeded to drape around my shoulders, saying in an overly-sympathetic voice, “Poor Mama must be cold!”
I swatted at him, but he skedaddled backwards, and I missed.
At that point, Caleb trotted in with my thickest mittens. “Here’s some glovies for your hannies!” said he, giggling.
(Now, that kid, I caught.)
We’ve been practicing Christmas songs in Jr. Choir, which gets the children all inspired and looking toward Christmas with much anticipation. I wish I had time enough to work individually with some of them; we have quite a bit of talent here.
In my Avon order this week, I got a song book with electronic Christmas songs that was to be a Christmas present for Caleb. But I bumped a button, and it promptly played ‘Frosty The Snowman’, which brought Caleb running, on the double. So he got it now, rather than on December the 25th.
At the moment, he’s galloping down the hall, singing at top velocity, “Thumpity thump thump, thumpity thump thump!”
(No, Victoria is not sleeping.)
(Not now, anyway.)
You know, it sure is difficult to indulge in a private little snack around here before everybody goes to bed; someone invariably discovers me and wants some, too. And, of course, there isn’t always enough for everyone. This happened with the last handful of honey-roasted peanuts. Not a soul was around, and I was hungry. I knew those nuts were in the cupboard, and the more I tried to forget them, the louder they called. And there was only one handful. I finally sneaked into the kitchen, silently got them out, poured them into my hand----and there was Lydia, smiling at me.
“What are you eating?”
My mouth was full; no use trying to deny that I was eating something.
“Beamuts.”
Following came the inevitable “Could I have some?”
So I did what I always do--I gave them to her.
I poured them into the lid, set them down on the table in front of her, and told her not to tell anybody. She’d barely put one nut into her mouth, when Caleb came along. She calmly covered the lid with both hands. And while he puttered about, talking to us, playing, getting himself a drink, and so on, she surreptitiously smuggled one after another into her mouth. I tried not to laugh.
But it wasn’t long before Caleb smelled peanuts.
“Could I have some?” he asked beseechingly.
So Lydia surrendered her last precious few peanuts to her little brother, and then she could control her giggles no longer. Caleb, carefully chewing his prized peanuts, looked on the merriment with sparkling eyes.
“I know what’s so funny!” he chuckled. “It’s because we’re sneaking these peanuts away from the other kids!”
I finally finished Victoria’s Christmas dress. The ruffled skirt, attached to a sleeveless top, is flowered white satin jacquard. The jacket is forest green taffeta, double-breasted, and sports twelve gold and silver buttons down the front, a big embroidered organza double-pointed collar with Venice lace around it, and bows at the two inverted V’s at the bottom side fronts and at the pleat on the sleeves’ wrists. I copied a dress I saw in the Storybook Heirlooms catalog which sold for $128. I used scraps of leftover material, only buying three cards of buttons for 25¢ each. That’s all. There are over a dozen seams in the skirt’s ruffle--I was nearly out of scraps!
Lawrence and Norma happened to go to the Salvation Army in York the day they were having a sale: every last item in the store, excluding furniture, was $.99 each. They bought several nice suits for Keith and Teddy, brand-new jeans, a bright purple fur double-breasted coat for Dorcas which she dearly loves, and a black tweed coat for Hannah.
I thought, “Splendid! Now she’ll quit hauling off with mine!”
No such luck.
Boy, oh boy, did we ever have a wild and wooly game with Missouri Saturday afternoon. First, Missouri got a touchdown; then we got two touchdowns; they got another; then we did; they did; us; them; us; them; ........ until we went into overtime with the score 38-38. And then, we won!! 45-38. Whew! That’s the sort of thing nitroglycerin companies depend on, to stay in business. Nay, to make a profit! A big profit.
Just before the game began, Teddy and Joseph mowed the yard, filling many bags with leaves. Boy, were they ever moving in high gear!--they didn’t want to miss any of the opening plays!
The game was played in Columbia, Missouri. It didn’t rain like it did the previous week; the sky was blue and sunny. However, the Missouri fans got soaked anyway--something went awry with the sprinkler system on one end of the field. They valiantly sat there anyway. And then, poor things, to add insult to injury, their team lost.
I just found the birthday card Joseph gave Caleb last month: “Dear Caleb: Happy birthday to my favorite little brother. I love you! Love, Joseph.” That one gets saved.
Larry took some pictures with his camera (it’s the one that motley group left behind when they were chased out of Chief Hosa Campground west of Denver last year after they built a ground fire in such dry weather last year, as you may recall). One shows Joseph, Caleb, and Hester by the stream beside which we ate breakfast.
When Caleb first saw this picture, his eyebrows flew right up to the top of his head. “Was that when I was taller than Joseph?!” he inquired in amazement. And then, a bit sheepishly, “Oh! (tee hee) I was standing on a rock.”
And now, if I don’t hurry to bed, I will have a frightful collision with myself getting back up again.
Yesterday he was listening to a CD of George Beverly Shea, the gospel singer who often sang during Billy Graham’s crusades.
“I like George Beb— Bebber— Bebberly—” he came to a stop.
Teddy helpfully intoned, “Borge Sheverly Bay,” which of course caused his little brother to dissolve into giggles.
When Hester was little, she thought Aleutia got her puppies out of the bathroom cupboard.
Larry has taken his camera to the shop and is taking pictures of his six-door pickup as its development advances. Too bad we didn’t think to take a picture of it before he started!
Tuesday I did bookwork all day. Guess what I did last month? I forgot to record a $1,065 deposit we’d made. Good thing it was a deposit, rather than a withdrawal I’d omitted, yes? You can be sure, I had my checkbook out paying bills in nothing flat.
Tuesday we got Hannah a Peak Flow Meter at Walgreens. She is to blow into it at least once a day, and record the pounds of air pressure. It should be about 350 pounds, but yesterday it was only 180. She’s got a cold, which always makes the asthma worse. I tried out the meter, and hit 350, right on the dot. (I gave myself a headache in the process, however.)
I spent Thursday afternoon and evening wrapping three more boxes full of presents I’d collected. Now all the ladies are crossed off my list, and only several men and boys remain. I think it’s much harder to buy presents for men than ladies, because, after all! How many ties does a man really want?? But, of course, a lady would appreciate innumerable necklaces and bottles of perfumes and such like. (Well, most ladies, anyway; I’d like innumerable photo albums and film cartridges, don’t you know.) (And Aunt Lynn would probably rather have a new horse or two.)
The other night, Keith and Esther were making lists of what everybody wanted for Christmas.
When they came to me, I announced, “Really, really warm boots, and a twin-sized electric blanket for only my side of the bed, since your father is hot enough already.”
At that, Teddy unobtrusively exited the room, returning posthaste with a large bulky sweater which he proceeded to drape around my shoulders, saying in an overly-sympathetic voice, “Poor Mama must be cold!”
I swatted at him, but he skedaddled backwards, and I missed.
At that point, Caleb trotted in with my thickest mittens. “Here’s some glovies for your hannies!” said he, giggling.
(Now, that kid, I caught.)
We’ve been practicing Christmas songs in Jr. Choir, which gets the children all inspired and looking toward Christmas with much anticipation. I wish I had time enough to work individually with some of them; we have quite a bit of talent here.
In my Avon order this week, I got a song book with electronic Christmas songs that was to be a Christmas present for Caleb. But I bumped a button, and it promptly played ‘Frosty The Snowman’, which brought Caleb running, on the double. So he got it now, rather than on December the 25th.
At the moment, he’s galloping down the hall, singing at top velocity, “Thumpity thump thump, thumpity thump thump!”
(No, Victoria is not sleeping.)
(Not now, anyway.)
You know, it sure is difficult to indulge in a private little snack around here before everybody goes to bed; someone invariably discovers me and wants some, too. And, of course, there isn’t always enough for everyone. This happened with the last handful of honey-roasted peanuts. Not a soul was around, and I was hungry. I knew those nuts were in the cupboard, and the more I tried to forget them, the louder they called. And there was only one handful. I finally sneaked into the kitchen, silently got them out, poured them into my hand----and there was Lydia, smiling at me.
“What are you eating?”
My mouth was full; no use trying to deny that I was eating something.
“Beamuts.”
Following came the inevitable “Could I have some?”
So I did what I always do--I gave them to her.
I poured them into the lid, set them down on the table in front of her, and told her not to tell anybody. She’d barely put one nut into her mouth, when Caleb came along. She calmly covered the lid with both hands. And while he puttered about, talking to us, playing, getting himself a drink, and so on, she surreptitiously smuggled one after another into her mouth. I tried not to laugh.
But it wasn’t long before Caleb smelled peanuts.
“Could I have some?” he asked beseechingly.
So Lydia surrendered her last precious few peanuts to her little brother, and then she could control her giggles no longer. Caleb, carefully chewing his prized peanuts, looked on the merriment with sparkling eyes.
“I know what’s so funny!” he chuckled. “It’s because we’re sneaking these peanuts away from the other kids!”
I finally finished Victoria’s Christmas dress. The ruffled skirt, attached to a sleeveless top, is flowered white satin jacquard. The jacket is forest green taffeta, double-breasted, and sports twelve gold and silver buttons down the front, a big embroidered organza double-pointed collar with Venice lace around it, and bows at the two inverted V’s at the bottom side fronts and at the pleat on the sleeves’ wrists. I copied a dress I saw in the Storybook Heirlooms catalog which sold for $128. I used scraps of leftover material, only buying three cards of buttons for 25¢ each. That’s all. There are over a dozen seams in the skirt’s ruffle--I was nearly out of scraps!
Lawrence and Norma happened to go to the Salvation Army in York the day they were having a sale: every last item in the store, excluding furniture, was $.99 each. They bought several nice suits for Keith and Teddy, brand-new jeans, a bright purple fur double-breasted coat for Dorcas which she dearly loves, and a black tweed coat for Hannah.
I thought, “Splendid! Now she’ll quit hauling off with mine!”
No such luck.
Boy, oh boy, did we ever have a wild and wooly game with Missouri Saturday afternoon. First, Missouri got a touchdown; then we got two touchdowns; they got another; then we did; they did; us; them; us; them; ........ until we went into overtime with the score 38-38. And then, we won!! 45-38. Whew! That’s the sort of thing nitroglycerin companies depend on, to stay in business. Nay, to make a profit! A big profit.
Just before the game began, Teddy and Joseph mowed the yard, filling many bags with leaves. Boy, were they ever moving in high gear!--they didn’t want to miss any of the opening plays!
The game was played in Columbia, Missouri. It didn’t rain like it did the previous week; the sky was blue and sunny. However, the Missouri fans got soaked anyway--something went awry with the sprinkler system on one end of the field. They valiantly sat there anyway. And then, poor things, to add insult to injury, their team lost.
I just found the birthday card Joseph gave Caleb last month: “Dear Caleb: Happy birthday to my favorite little brother. I love you! Love, Joseph.” That one gets saved.
Larry took some pictures with his camera (it’s the one that motley group left behind when they were chased out of Chief Hosa Campground west of Denver last year after they built a ground fire in such dry weather last year, as you may recall). One shows Joseph, Caleb, and Hester by the stream beside which we ate breakfast.
When Caleb first saw this picture, his eyebrows flew right up to the top of his head. “Was that when I was taller than Joseph?!” he inquired in amazement. And then, a bit sheepishly, “Oh! (tee hee) I was standing on a rock.”
And now, if I don’t hurry to bed, I will have a frightful collision with myself getting back up again.
Sunday, November 2, 1997
Sunday, November 2, 1997...Painting for Disneyland
I’m typing this Sunday night while most of the family is in church. I am home with Lydia and Victoria, who have a bad headache and a cold, respectively. I took Victoria to Sunday School this morning, but brought her home before the church service at 11:00 A.M. because her poor little nose was running constantly, and she didn’t act like she felt well. Tonight I went to church, because I had to sing in the choir [some sing low, ♪ ♫ and some sing higher! ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ Some sing out loud on the telephone wire! ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ And some just clap their hands, or paws! ♪ ♫ ♪]
Anyway, after finishing with the choir number, I headed for home, and Lydia came, too, since her headache had not improved after taking a Tylenol. Now Victoria is switching back and forth from playing on the floor beside me, well entertained by Lydia and a large box of toys; and sitting on my lap playing with some toys I’ve put on the slide-out section of my desk just under the desktop.
A minute or two ago, she reached for the keyboard, and I said “Hey!--Don’t!” so abruptly that she gasped, jumped out of her hide, and her arm flew straight up in the air. Now she is warily steering clear of that scary keyboard.
She must be getting tired; she just plopped all her toys down, sighed, gathered up a corner of her dress, rubbed it on her cheek, cuddled up against me, and popped her thumb in her mouth.
* * *
Victoria has now been fed and tucked in bed, opening her eyes just enough to give me a sweet little smile when I pulled her fleece blanket up to her chin.
The Super-Duper Crewcab should be done sometime in December, since that’s when the man who bought the old crewcab needs it. He’s already given us his pickup, a ’90 3/4-ton 4x4 pickup, as a down payment. It’s in very good shape; we hope to get about $8,500 for it. If we get that amount, the man will then owe us another $8,500; we sold the crewcab to him for $17,000. Larry will take out all the hail dents, received last summer, into the bargain. That will probably mean a new hood; that poor thing got peppered.
Guess what Larry is painting now? ? ? Oh, you’ll never guess. He’s painting light fixtures......for Disneyland. Boy, we’re really famous now. We’ll require respect!!
You see, a manufacturing company in town made the fixtures and painted them--the wrong color. They painted them gray, using an exceptionally hard paint which is nearly impossible to remove. Then they learned that the fixtures were supposed to be a shiny, metallic silver. (Seems like that should be a given, if it's for Disneyland.) They enlisted the aid of Casey Paint Company of Omaha, which just happens to be our paint supplier, and they recommended Larry do the repainting. He did half of them yesterday, and will do the other half tomorrow. They must be done by Tuesday morning. There are 50 fixtures, with five pieces to each fixture--250 in all. Appleton did all the original paint removal and masking off of the threads where the pieces are screwed together; all Larry has to do is paint them. He’s charging $7.50 per piece --$1,875. Appleton bought the paint: two gallons @ over $300/gal. (!!) We are glad Larry landed this job, because the electric motor on Larry’s big air compressor just went kaput, and he must have a new one immediately. All his paint guns and nearly all his tools run on air, so we might as well close shop if we don’t have an air compressor. And it has to be a big one, too.
Hannah has now finished the third (and last) doll’s dress for our friend’s little girls for Christmas. I think the only things she has left to do are a bonnet and one more little blanket. She made the cutest little Mary Jane slippers for this last doll. They are for Tim and Malinda's little girls, ages 10 and 7. And I think the smallest doll is for the baby, Melody Joy, who was born prematurely. She now weighs nearly nine pounds.
Early last week Larry finished a burgundy Lincoln Town Car for one of our customers, who rewarded us not only by paying the bill, but also by giving us several pork loins and roasts. I like to fix the boneless loin by baking it until it can be sliced, then sprinkling lemon, pepper, garlic salt, onion chips, parsley, and celery seed on top of it and between each slice. Mmmmmmmmm. We baked the roasts in apple juice. (We would’ve done it in pineapple juice, but one of the urchins guzzled down the juice we were saving just for that purpose.) In any case, they turned out more juicy and tender than any roast I’ve roasted yet.
The same man who bought the Lincoln also bought the Suzuki Samurai. Now, isn’t that a curious conjugation.
Wednesday I helped the kids write a couple dozen letters to their penpals. This time, not all of the letters went to the Philippines; one went to Turkey, one to South Wales, two to Trinidad & Tobago, and one to Mauritius. Mauritius is a little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean some ways east of Madagascar. The girl who lives there, Jyotee Khoodeeram, just celebrated her first wedding anniversary last week, and she and her husband are expecting a baby at the end of December. Hannah has already begun crocheting a baby gift for her. Luckily, small crocheted items are lightweight, so it doesn’t cost too awfully much to mail it.
We’ve learned that if we use thin paper, we can type a two-page letter, using front and back, and send three pictures in a small envelope--and still keep it under half an ounce, which costs 60¢. About three weeks from now, we’ll be getting reams of mail from the Philippines, mark my word. Thought we were going to let that connection peter out?
Thursday Hannah made pumpkin cookies for the trick-or-treaters we expected to see Friday night. Word has gotten around that our house doles out homemade cookies, and, each ensuing Halloween, business picks up.
October 31st is my mother’s birthday; she is now 80. About once a day for the last two weeks she’d been informing all the members of her family that she didn’t want any presents, or any party, or any big ‘doin’s’, as she calls it. She called me last Monday. “Friday is my birthday,” she began--and I butted right in and said, “Well, for shame! Calling me up to beg for presents like that!!”
She laughed, of course, knowing I knew good and well exactly what she was going to say.
I told her, “Mama, you are going to have to behave just like you taught your children to behave: when one of your children or grandchildren gives you something, you’ll have to smile nice and say ‘thank you’ politely, whether you need it, want it, like it, or not!”
Friday we trotted several handfuls of presents over to her house. Now, Mama’s kitchen table is quite large, and she always keeps all the extra leaves in it…just in case, you know. Just in case the Jacksons come visiting, as they are periodically wont to do. Or the Walkers. Or the Tuckers. Or the Wrights. Or who knows who. Anyway, there sat Mama at her enormous table, which was absolutely covered with cards, flowers, and presents. Lydia’s class had made cards for her, and those made a sizable stack.
And you know what? My mother, who’d insisted she didn’t want a thing, was just as pleased as punch.
Of course, as soon as we began setting down our numerous packages, she began to say, “Oh, I told you not to!”
I replied, “Well, every time you called and said that, it reminded me that I didn’t have enough presents for you, so I got something else!”
She laughed. “Oh, for pity’s sake.” (That’s one of her pet phrases.)
She had started to feel a little bit better, but somebody gave her a 10-pound bag of bird seed, and she lifted it out of the decorator bag it was in and sprained her shoulder. “Don’t tell them, for goodness’ sake,” she implored me, “They’d feel just awful!”
That afternoon I’d made four pumpkin chiffon pies, reserving enough crust and filling to make Mama a cute little tiny pie in a popover bowl, complete with fluted edges. We also gave her a miniature bell which looks like a birch tree trunk with a rose-crowned finch perched on it; a vanilla candle in a tin imprinted with flowers, butterflies, and birdhouses; a calendar on which I’d written all our friends’ birthdays and anniversaries; a bar of clear blue glycerin soap inside of which is a shiny silver soap shaped like a snowflake; a small wreath pin with dried and silk flowers; a delicate white doily with raised pink petals around the edges (crocheted by Hannah); and a little ceramic magnet shaped like a heart with ‘You’re Special’ printed in the middle. Those last two were in a small bag with pictures of kittens on each side, picked out by Caleb “’specially for Grandma!”
Friday night we went to Lawrence and Norma’s, taking along a pumpkin pie to share with them. (Yes; I have big pie pans.) (Yes; I fill them really full.) Norma had made chocolate chip cookies. Later, Kenny and Annette and their children came. Nathan was dressed like a cowboy, and Annette had made Charlie a cute Robin Hood outfit, hat and all. Rachel was wearing a white leather jacket and skirt with fringes and beads which used to be Annette’s when she was little. In fact, I remembered seeing her wear it! Amanda is such a striking baby with her black hair, eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. She smiled so big at Dorcas, she wiggled all over.
Olivia opened a box of dominoes--upside down. With a loud clatter, they fell out.
“Ze dumb sings,” she remarked, trying to gather them up again.
Along came Caleb.
Olivia looked up at him in relief. “Cawub! You tan hep me!”
She placed the box in his hands, smiled sweetly, and trotted off, dusting her hands vigorously.
A great portion of this week has been taken up in preparing the Christmas Program. I have the songs all picked out and in order (I think), and most of the scriptures chosen, along with several poems. I wrote Christmas words for one of my favorite songs, leaving the fourth verse and final chorus the same; it was written by Fanny Crosby. She was blind and wrote over 8,000 hymns. Ira Sankey was a world-famous gospel singer and writer who traveled with just-as-famous evangelist Dwight L. Moody, who established the great Moody Bible Institute of Chicago and also the Moody Press.
Following is a poem I wrote last night:
Heir Of All Things(Hebrews 1 & 2)
God spake by His prophets
In days long ago
His Word to His people,
That Truth they might know.
But now in these days
He speaks by His Son,
Chosen Heir of all things,
The Most Holy One.
Express Image of God,
He’s the Brightness of glory;
He purged all our sins;
Oh, tell the old story!
Now at the right hand
Of the Majesty above,
Better than angels,
This Jesus I love.
No angel hath
A more excellent Name;
For He is God’s Son--
In perfection He came.
For ever and ever
Shall be His throne;
A sceptre of righteousness
Is His alone.
The oil of gladness
Anointed His head;
The heavens and earth
His mighty hands spread.
Though they shall perish,
He shalt remain;
They shall wax old,
But He is the same.
Made lower than angels,
Suffering death for us all;
Bringing many to glory
Who were ruined by the fall.
He was made like His brethren,
Our comforter to be;
He was tempted and tested,
Like unto thee.
If we hold fast the confidence,
The hope, and the joy,
Then praises of glory
Our tongues will employ!
Perhaps Hannah will say the poem; we’ll see.
Nebraskans are sad. You see, yesterday Nebraska played Oklahoma--and Oklahoma made a touchdown. They even got the extra point.
All right; I know Nebraska got 69 points; but we were hoping for the third shutout in a row.
Greedy, huh? Tom Osborne, our coach and a real prince of a man, won his 250th game yesterday. A big fireworks display was put on after the game, in spite of a torrential downpour earlier during the last quarter. A beautiful rainbow came out and arched over the stadium. They’ve already made a poster of a picture of it!
Tom Osborne is called “The Winningest Coach In History”. He’s the kind of a person who never takes the credit for anything, is always thankful to everyone else, and always talks about the other teams’ good points. The newscasters and reporters never can get him to brag, no matter how hard they try. He calls his players “my boys”, and insists that good morals are part of the agenda.
Today it has been terribly windy (rather detrimental to Sunday hairdos), knocking down several large trees around town. One fell on a major power line, leaving a number of houses without electricity. Power lines keep knocking into one another, making lights flicker continuously all over town. The main computer at the police station has been down so many times I’ve lost count (we hear about it on our scanner). Joseph has broken his own speed record for resetting the time on all our electric digital clocks, having gotten well practiced at it. At the moment, the wind is whistling mournfully down our chimney, rattling the flue, and disturbing last year’s ashes.
As we were eating dinner this afternoon, the back door suddenly blew wide open, while the front door simultaneously flew shut with a jarring crash. Esther, who was eating with us, jumped out of her skin and uttered a small shriek, sending those bratty littles of ours into peals of laughter.
Even Aleutia wagged and looked twinkly-eyed. I really like dogs; they’re my favorite pet, I think, although cats have a splendid habit that dogs never do: they make bread on your lap.
And that’s all, she wrote!
Anyway, after finishing with the choir number, I headed for home, and Lydia came, too, since her headache had not improved after taking a Tylenol. Now Victoria is switching back and forth from playing on the floor beside me, well entertained by Lydia and a large box of toys; and sitting on my lap playing with some toys I’ve put on the slide-out section of my desk just under the desktop.
A minute or two ago, she reached for the keyboard, and I said “Hey!--Don’t!” so abruptly that she gasped, jumped out of her hide, and her arm flew straight up in the air. Now she is warily steering clear of that scary keyboard.
She must be getting tired; she just plopped all her toys down, sighed, gathered up a corner of her dress, rubbed it on her cheek, cuddled up against me, and popped her thumb in her mouth.
* * *
Victoria has now been fed and tucked in bed, opening her eyes just enough to give me a sweet little smile when I pulled her fleece blanket up to her chin.
The Super-Duper Crewcab should be done sometime in December, since that’s when the man who bought the old crewcab needs it. He’s already given us his pickup, a ’90 3/4-ton 4x4 pickup, as a down payment. It’s in very good shape; we hope to get about $8,500 for it. If we get that amount, the man will then owe us another $8,500; we sold the crewcab to him for $17,000. Larry will take out all the hail dents, received last summer, into the bargain. That will probably mean a new hood; that poor thing got peppered.
Guess what Larry is painting now? ? ? Oh, you’ll never guess. He’s painting light fixtures......for Disneyland. Boy, we’re really famous now. We’ll require respect!!
You see, a manufacturing company in town made the fixtures and painted them--the wrong color. They painted them gray, using an exceptionally hard paint which is nearly impossible to remove. Then they learned that the fixtures were supposed to be a shiny, metallic silver. (Seems like that should be a given, if it's for Disneyland.) They enlisted the aid of Casey Paint Company of Omaha, which just happens to be our paint supplier, and they recommended Larry do the repainting. He did half of them yesterday, and will do the other half tomorrow. They must be done by Tuesday morning. There are 50 fixtures, with five pieces to each fixture--250 in all. Appleton did all the original paint removal and masking off of the threads where the pieces are screwed together; all Larry has to do is paint them. He’s charging $7.50 per piece --$1,875. Appleton bought the paint: two gallons @ over $300/gal. (!!) We are glad Larry landed this job, because the electric motor on Larry’s big air compressor just went kaput, and he must have a new one immediately. All his paint guns and nearly all his tools run on air, so we might as well close shop if we don’t have an air compressor. And it has to be a big one, too.
Hannah has now finished the third (and last) doll’s dress for our friend’s little girls for Christmas. I think the only things she has left to do are a bonnet and one more little blanket. She made the cutest little Mary Jane slippers for this last doll. They are for Tim and Malinda's little girls, ages 10 and 7. And I think the smallest doll is for the baby, Melody Joy, who was born prematurely. She now weighs nearly nine pounds.
Early last week Larry finished a burgundy Lincoln Town Car for one of our customers, who rewarded us not only by paying the bill, but also by giving us several pork loins and roasts. I like to fix the boneless loin by baking it until it can be sliced, then sprinkling lemon, pepper, garlic salt, onion chips, parsley, and celery seed on top of it and between each slice. Mmmmmmmmm. We baked the roasts in apple juice. (We would’ve done it in pineapple juice, but one of the urchins guzzled down the juice we were saving just for that purpose.) In any case, they turned out more juicy and tender than any roast I’ve roasted yet.
The same man who bought the Lincoln also bought the Suzuki Samurai. Now, isn’t that a curious conjugation.
Wednesday I helped the kids write a couple dozen letters to their penpals. This time, not all of the letters went to the Philippines; one went to Turkey, one to South Wales, two to Trinidad & Tobago, and one to Mauritius. Mauritius is a little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean some ways east of Madagascar. The girl who lives there, Jyotee Khoodeeram, just celebrated her first wedding anniversary last week, and she and her husband are expecting a baby at the end of December. Hannah has already begun crocheting a baby gift for her. Luckily, small crocheted items are lightweight, so it doesn’t cost too awfully much to mail it.
We’ve learned that if we use thin paper, we can type a two-page letter, using front and back, and send three pictures in a small envelope--and still keep it under half an ounce, which costs 60¢. About three weeks from now, we’ll be getting reams of mail from the Philippines, mark my word. Thought we were going to let that connection peter out?
Thursday Hannah made pumpkin cookies for the trick-or-treaters we expected to see Friday night. Word has gotten around that our house doles out homemade cookies, and, each ensuing Halloween, business picks up.
October 31st is my mother’s birthday; she is now 80. About once a day for the last two weeks she’d been informing all the members of her family that she didn’t want any presents, or any party, or any big ‘doin’s’, as she calls it. She called me last Monday. “Friday is my birthday,” she began--and I butted right in and said, “Well, for shame! Calling me up to beg for presents like that!!”
She laughed, of course, knowing I knew good and well exactly what she was going to say.
I told her, “Mama, you are going to have to behave just like you taught your children to behave: when one of your children or grandchildren gives you something, you’ll have to smile nice and say ‘thank you’ politely, whether you need it, want it, like it, or not!”
Friday we trotted several handfuls of presents over to her house. Now, Mama’s kitchen table is quite large, and she always keeps all the extra leaves in it…just in case, you know. Just in case the Jacksons come visiting, as they are periodically wont to do. Or the Walkers. Or the Tuckers. Or the Wrights. Or who knows who. Anyway, there sat Mama at her enormous table, which was absolutely covered with cards, flowers, and presents. Lydia’s class had made cards for her, and those made a sizable stack.
And you know what? My mother, who’d insisted she didn’t want a thing, was just as pleased as punch.
Of course, as soon as we began setting down our numerous packages, she began to say, “Oh, I told you not to!”
I replied, “Well, every time you called and said that, it reminded me that I didn’t have enough presents for you, so I got something else!”
She laughed. “Oh, for pity’s sake.” (That’s one of her pet phrases.)
She had started to feel a little bit better, but somebody gave her a 10-pound bag of bird seed, and she lifted it out of the decorator bag it was in and sprained her shoulder. “Don’t tell them, for goodness’ sake,” she implored me, “They’d feel just awful!”
That afternoon I’d made four pumpkin chiffon pies, reserving enough crust and filling to make Mama a cute little tiny pie in a popover bowl, complete with fluted edges. We also gave her a miniature bell which looks like a birch tree trunk with a rose-crowned finch perched on it; a vanilla candle in a tin imprinted with flowers, butterflies, and birdhouses; a calendar on which I’d written all our friends’ birthdays and anniversaries; a bar of clear blue glycerin soap inside of which is a shiny silver soap shaped like a snowflake; a small wreath pin with dried and silk flowers; a delicate white doily with raised pink petals around the edges (crocheted by Hannah); and a little ceramic magnet shaped like a heart with ‘You’re Special’ printed in the middle. Those last two were in a small bag with pictures of kittens on each side, picked out by Caleb “’specially for Grandma!”
Friday night we went to Lawrence and Norma’s, taking along a pumpkin pie to share with them. (Yes; I have big pie pans.) (Yes; I fill them really full.) Norma had made chocolate chip cookies. Later, Kenny and Annette and their children came. Nathan was dressed like a cowboy, and Annette had made Charlie a cute Robin Hood outfit, hat and all. Rachel was wearing a white leather jacket and skirt with fringes and beads which used to be Annette’s when she was little. In fact, I remembered seeing her wear it! Amanda is such a striking baby with her black hair, eyebrows, and dark brown eyes. She smiled so big at Dorcas, she wiggled all over.
Olivia opened a box of dominoes--upside down. With a loud clatter, they fell out.
“Ze dumb sings,” she remarked, trying to gather them up again.
Along came Caleb.
Olivia looked up at him in relief. “Cawub! You tan hep me!”
She placed the box in his hands, smiled sweetly, and trotted off, dusting her hands vigorously.
A great portion of this week has been taken up in preparing the Christmas Program. I have the songs all picked out and in order (I think), and most of the scriptures chosen, along with several poems. I wrote Christmas words for one of my favorite songs, leaving the fourth verse and final chorus the same; it was written by Fanny Crosby. She was blind and wrote over 8,000 hymns. Ira Sankey was a world-famous gospel singer and writer who traveled with just-as-famous evangelist Dwight L. Moody, who established the great Moody Bible Institute of Chicago and also the Moody Press.
Following is a poem I wrote last night:
Heir Of All Things(Hebrews 1 & 2)
God spake by His prophets
In days long ago
His Word to His people,
That Truth they might know.
But now in these days
He speaks by His Son,
Chosen Heir of all things,
The Most Holy One.
Express Image of God,
He’s the Brightness of glory;
He purged all our sins;
Oh, tell the old story!
Now at the right hand
Of the Majesty above,
Better than angels,
This Jesus I love.
No angel hath
A more excellent Name;
For He is God’s Son--
In perfection He came.
For ever and ever
Shall be His throne;
A sceptre of righteousness
Is His alone.
The oil of gladness
Anointed His head;
The heavens and earth
His mighty hands spread.
Though they shall perish,
He shalt remain;
They shall wax old,
But He is the same.
Made lower than angels,
Suffering death for us all;
Bringing many to glory
Who were ruined by the fall.
He was made like His brethren,
Our comforter to be;
He was tempted and tested,
Like unto thee.
If we hold fast the confidence,
The hope, and the joy,
Then praises of glory
Our tongues will employ!
Perhaps Hannah will say the poem; we’ll see.
Nebraskans are sad. You see, yesterday Nebraska played Oklahoma--and Oklahoma made a touchdown. They even got the extra point.
All right; I know Nebraska got 69 points; but we were hoping for the third shutout in a row.
Greedy, huh? Tom Osborne, our coach and a real prince of a man, won his 250th game yesterday. A big fireworks display was put on after the game, in spite of a torrential downpour earlier during the last quarter. A beautiful rainbow came out and arched over the stadium. They’ve already made a poster of a picture of it!
Tom Osborne is called “The Winningest Coach In History”. He’s the kind of a person who never takes the credit for anything, is always thankful to everyone else, and always talks about the other teams’ good points. The newscasters and reporters never can get him to brag, no matter how hard they try. He calls his players “my boys”, and insists that good morals are part of the agenda.
Today it has been terribly windy (rather detrimental to Sunday hairdos), knocking down several large trees around town. One fell on a major power line, leaving a number of houses without electricity. Power lines keep knocking into one another, making lights flicker continuously all over town. The main computer at the police station has been down so many times I’ve lost count (we hear about it on our scanner). Joseph has broken his own speed record for resetting the time on all our electric digital clocks, having gotten well practiced at it. At the moment, the wind is whistling mournfully down our chimney, rattling the flue, and disturbing last year’s ashes.
As we were eating dinner this afternoon, the back door suddenly blew wide open, while the front door simultaneously flew shut with a jarring crash. Esther, who was eating with us, jumped out of her skin and uttered a small shriek, sending those bratty littles of ours into peals of laughter.
Even Aleutia wagged and looked twinkly-eyed. I really like dogs; they’re my favorite pet, I think, although cats have a splendid habit that dogs never do: they make bread on your lap.
And that’s all, she wrote!
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