Monday, April 27, 1998 - Spinning Our Wheels, Figuratively and Literally Both

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I like snow, but since I’ve planted all these flowers, I’m glad that danger of snow around these parts is practically nonexistent after the middle of April. This week, rather than plant flowers, I’ve dug them up. Dandelions, that is. I’ve got sore hands from all those stupid weeds, I do! Or maybe it’s just the people who are stupid, who think you should slave your life away trying to eradicate a plant that is perfectly harmless, and even edible. Fact is, I think a field full of dandelions is kind of pretty. Oh, well. We mustn’t antagonize the neighbors; hand me my Weed Hound.

We have now determined that the smoke billowing from the More-Door Ford was caused by neither old gas, old oil, nor a bad computer. Evidently, somebody tried to start it after it had rolled over, before they’d drained the oil out of the piston holes. And they ruined the motor. Tuesday evening, Larry climbed into the pickup to drive it home. Just one block from the shop, ka-BLLLAAMMMMM!! It committed suicide, throwing a couple of piston rods straight through the engine block, leaving large, gaping wounds behind, through which gushed an oily Niagara Falls.

Good-bye, cruel world.

Larry coasted into the nearby long lane of the Reese Wood Sole Shoe Factory. Later that night, after all the kids had gone to bed, I went with him to pull the crewcab back to the shop. Larry hooked up the tow rope. Just as we pulled out of the circular drive of the Shoe Factory, a looooong limousine pulled into a neighbor’s driveway. But, instead of them attracting all the attention, we were doing so. Why, even the passengers in the limo had their noses presses against the glass! Too bad it was nothing but a lame duck they were staring at.

Friday, Larry removed the power-stroke (or, ‘powerless’ stroke, as the case may be) from the pickup; and Saturday we took that motor, three axles, and three transmissions--all parts we had no more use for--to Burwell, Nebraska, the town near Calamus Reservoir, where there’s a man who owns a rebuilding shop and salvage yard. He lives on a farm, works by himself, and his place is absolutely as neat as a pin.

At this salvage yard, there were two Rottweiler puppies that came romping out to greet us, friendly as could be. Their mother, who is supposed to be the guard dog, is every bit as friendly.

We traded our motor and parts and $1500 for a . . . . can you guess what?

That’s right; a Cummins Turbo diesel. And what a motor this is! It’s a 1998, with only 15 miles on it. Yes!--fifteen miles, that’s all! Marvelous bargain for us; but can you imagine how the people felt who had only just bought themselves a brand-spanking-new Dodge pickup, proudly driven off in it, and then smacked up a short fifteen miles farther on, totaling out their new truck? Poor people.

The pheasants and wild turkeys were out by the droves, but I didn’t get any pictures, either because we were traveling past at too high a rate of speed, or because I had the wide-angle lens on my camera when I needed the 600mm, or because it was raining and too dark.

Monday we went to Kearney (except Keith, Dorcas, and Teddy) to get another part for that Suburban of Charbonneaus’. I tell you, while my week’s journal looked something like this: “Monday: dug dandelions. Tuesday: dug dandelions. Wednesday: dug dandelions. Thursday: dug dandelions. Friday: dug dandelions.”, Larry’s journal (if he had one) would’ve looked like this: “Monday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; new transmission’s splines won’t mesh. Had to go back to Kearney for the piece I told Elton last week I didn’t need. Tuesday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; man who used large power press to realign splines called immediately after I’d gotten the transmission put back in to say he hoped I hadn’t put it back in yet, and to tell me he’d mistakenly left a vital piece out; I’d just discovered it wouldn’t shift on account of said missing piece. Took transmission out again. Wednesday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; must remove and reposition cross member, since new transmission is 4 ½” longer than the old one. Thursday: worked on Charbonneaus’ Suburban; would never have attempted this job, had I known the logistics problems from the beginning. Friday: abandoned one downed vehicle for another; took motor out of crewcab.”

As you can well imagine, all profits for last week went right down the tubes. If the lady hadn’t’ve minded the two little switches for overdrive and lock-in, Larry wouldn’t’ve had to put the automatic transmission in. The other one worked perfectly. But switches! What pampered rich lady can cope with switches?! Brother.

Monday, after getting the piece we needed in Kearney, we went on to Sumner for some other parts. Upon leaving, we traveled a ways down a country road, just for the fun of it. We came upon a half-dozen baby calves, out of the fence and running madly alongside the road, while their mothers lowed worriedly on the other side of the fence. They sure are frisky little things! They were having a frolicking good time rocketing through the ditches and nearby fields. Their mothers seemed concerned, and periodically the babies went to the fence and carried on a discussion of sorts with their respective mothers--“MAAA!” and, in answer, “MOOOOOOOOOooooo!” But they were either unable or unwilling to find the hole in the fence from which they’d escaped; I hope Farmer Brown found his wayward dogies before the coyotes or bobcats did, or before they got run down on the road.

One little calf kept running straight at me. But he always chickened out and veered off elsewhere before he got at all close. As we were driving away, we saw a farmer on a tractor heading that way; so the little calves were probably soon back where they belonged.

Actually, I did get a few other things done besides digging dandelions; I finished Teddy’s shirt and Lydia’s dress and did a bit of mending, too.

One afternoon as I was carrying a box full of dandelions into the backyard to dump them, a chipping sparrow, with many twittering ‘chip chip chips’, flew from the buckeye tree and flitted toward me, fluttering over the box and tipping its head this way and that, the better to see what was in there. Perhaps he thought I’d built him a nest?

I thought I’d discovered the perfect, cheap, plenteous thing to put on my flower beds to not only hold the weeds down, but also to add nutrients to the soil. Grass clippings! Well, you know what else I discovered?? It stinks. Wheweeeeeeee!!! Does it ever stink.

The Virginia bluebells that I thought had croaked are blooming like everything. They’re so delicate and pretty! The bleeding heart, lavender wildflowers, and Rembrandt tulips are blossoming, too. The white and purple pansies and the purple-with-white-striped pinwheel petunias have nearly doubled their blooms, and a lavender hyacinth just flowered today.

That horrid neighbor boy, Paul, took a notion to write nasty words on the sidewalk and porch in front of the church with his sidewalk chalk. Several of the girls saw him, however, so I walked out and asked him why he did that. He, of course, denied it, so I informed him that lying was even worse than writing bad words on the walk.

“And it’s especially awful,” I told him, “when we’ve tried to be nice to you!”

With that, I ordered him and his friend off the church porch, where they were sitting. He stared at me to see if I really meant it; I stepped forward a pace and stared right back; he jumped to his feet and departed, posthaste.

Now, these sorts of skirmishes, we always regret, and we try hard to avoid them. One must live with one’s neighbors, after all. Furthermore, one must sometimes live with one’s neighbors for a long time! And we certainly have no wish to have an antagonistic boy just two houses down, prepared to destroy our property or the church’s anytime he determines we aren’t looking.

So the next day we made Nestle’s Crunch/Heath Brickle/ Butterscotch Chip cookies--my favorite cookie, bar none--and, when they were just fresh out of the oven, Dorcas took a small plateful to their house.

She knocked on the door. It was promptly opened by Paul, whose eyes grew large upon seeing who stood there. He backed up quickly, and looked nervously behind him, probably wondering if he dared shut the door in her face.

Dorcas smiled at him, pulled the screen open, and thrust the cookies toward him. “Here’s some cookies for you and your family,” she said.

And then his eyes became even bigger, and he swallowed once or twice to regain his voice. He reached out and took the plate. “Okay,” he muttered, and gingerly pushed the door closed.

By an hour later, he’d recovered his manners, and thanked one of the children for the cookies. He still had chocolate smeared around his mouth, as proof that he’d eaten his. And guess who was playing with the kids the following afternoon, just as nice as you please? Yup; Paul.

Thursday evening, I told the Jr. Choir this story, and asked of them a favor. “You see,” I explained, “the last thing we need is a nasty neighbor kid who hates us; he’d be only too glad to wreck and ruin or steal any of our things he thought he could get away with. So, I want to ask a favor of you: would you please, whenever you happen to spot those two boys outside playing, be friendly! Wave at them and say ‘hi’! And then maybe, just maybe, we can convince them that it’s better to be friends than enemies!”

The children, a good 45 strong, grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

As far as I know, that’s the best way we can deter an unpleasant escalation of unpleasantness.

Joseph is thirteen! Hard to believe. He’s now sitting on the boys’ row, way up front, in church, and looking mighty small up there. Larry offered to gel his hair straight up for him, to make him appear taller; and a boy in Hannah’s class advised him to wear a propeller cap--jet propelled, that is--to lift him up to a height more comparable with that of the other boys. He just laughs and takes it all in stride.

We gave Joseph his Second Generation Virtual Puppy, along with a folder for school with a picture of Garfield seated before a computer screen on which is the likeness of Odie, and the caption is “My Virtual Dog ate my homework.” We also gave him a teal-colored model Suburban with opening doors and tailgate. His other presents, a watch with a horse pictured on the face and a horseshoe which floats around the dial once each minute, and the fleece robe, we’d already given him.

My mother gave him a baseball mitt, which he was in bad need of, a pocket knife, some $, and socks; and Lawrence and Norma gave him a wood-burning kit, with which he has already burned himself and made a hole in his new robe. Good grief.

Friday evening we visited Lawrence and Norma, who fed us ice cream and peach pie.

Yesterday afternoon we drove around White Tail Lake, looking in vain for the mute swan. It’s gone, and its nest doesn’t look like a nest anymore, either. I wonder what happened? Maybe it wasn’t a real nest in the first place.

Anyway, at least we got to see a couple of grackles, which is the first time we’ve ever seen any. They have such big, fan-shaped tails, that, when they fly, they look like a fancy guppies swimming through the air. We went along beside the Platte River near Duncan, where we saw cormorants swimming. They look funny, the way they lower their body clear down into the water, thinking that then they won’t be seen, in spite of their very long necks and red faces sticking up. Just the opposite of ostriches, they are! When I took its picture, the flash must’ve startled it; for it suddenly dived straight down and didn’t come back up again for nearly one whole minute. Some people call them ‘snake birds’, because of the way they swim.

Victoria is mighty proud of her hat; I no sooner put it on her than she exclaimed, “Mirror?!” and scrambled to her feet to look in the mirror that hangs over her dressing table.

We’re still busy passing around the flu and cold bug in this house; since I’m still feeling rather gimpy (or, as a friend of mine used to say, “not quite up to ‘power’”), I think I’ll head directly off to bed, directly.

Toodle-oo!

Sunday, April 19, 1998 - Robes, Flowers, Jeeps, and Sickos

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Remember the recipe card holder Joseph made (‘TECHER’) and the card I made to go with it? Well, he gave it to Bethany Wright, Bobby’s mother and Joseph’s science teacher. Here is the thank-you card he received in return:

Dere Josuf,

Thanx fore the teechurz recipy holdur. I wuz gladd to cee that siuns wuz not chopt, minsed ore skrambuld. U maa need an xtra spuunfull of speeling and grammur for krispy kookies.

Love, Mrs. Rite

Woodwork: A+

Handwriting: A+

Creativity: A+

Spelling: F-

That sure brought back memories of school days with Bethany, who was a grade ahead of me. I used to write silly letters to her, put them in her locker, and then find an answer in my own locker a couple of hours later. Without fail, they were hilarious. I saved several, and still have them.

Tuesday, Larry put the new strings into my piano, replacing the ones I had broken, and I tuned them. Much better!

Joseph’s new robe is done, in plenty of time for his birthday. Since he needed a robe, and it’s made of fleece, which is good for this cooler weather, but probably not so good for our summer weather, I gave it to him already. After that, I sewed a dozen or more cute buttons into a fabric book for Victoria--lady bugs, turtles, bunnies, footballs, soccerballs, flower baskets, etc. She thinks it’s pretty nifty, and it makes a nice book for church.

I then sewed Caleb’s shirt, a mulberry-colored western style with navy-starred yokes and gold-striped piping, and I’m halfway done with Hester’s dress. But now I will have to put that dress on the bottom of the stack and sew something else, because the entire back piece is missing. What on earth did I do with it?! Bother. I suppose it’s folded neatly with another piece of material somewhere, hopefully with the fabric I’ve already cut, in which case I will run across it sooner or later. If I accidentally put it back in my fabric closet, it’ll take an Act of Congress, a Sheriff’s Posse, and The National Guard to track it down. Furthermore, it was an old scrap of white linen, and there was only just enough, and I don’t know where in the world I’d ever find a piece of material to match. Bother again.

Tuesday night after the kids were all in bed, Larry took me for a trial run in the crewcab. It rides remarkably well, drives excellently, and cuts a closer corner than ever expected; but it lays a smoke screen like you wouldn’t believe. It improved somewhat with use, and we were hopeful that the cause was old fuel, old oil, and the fact that it hadn’t run for about a year. But it now has all new fuel and oil, and additives, too; and it hasn’t improved much. So Larry suspects the computer is bad; and, if it is, it’s a $650-problem. Good used ones are nearly unheard of.

One day I said to Victoria, “You’re a little Cutie Pie!” and she mimicked, “Pewie Kie!”

Thursday Larry went to Kearney to get parts for the Suburban of Charbonneau’s that was supposed to have been done Wednesday. He’s had all sorts of troubles trying to put a new transmission in the thing; I think they would have been ahead to simply leave the manual one in there. Now something else went wrong, and Larry is planning to go to Guthrie, Oklahoma, to get a pickup he bought some time back which has the parts he needs for the Suburban. Furthermore, this is a job for which we will receive no remuneration--it was figured into the original deal, more’s the pity.

To make matters worse, I sat down to pay some bills, opened a letter, and discovered a customer had put a stop payment on a sizable check we’d deposited a week earlier, because he wanted the delayed wiper fixed and the seat belts hooked down. Troubles and trials! At least I hadn’t written out a whole volley of checks and mailed them off already.

Victoria is walking better every day; when she falls down, she says, “PLOP!” And if it hurts, she shakes her head and says, “Dee-uh, dee-uh!”

I finally found a little gardening shovel just like the one I lost--all one piece construction, with a big rubber handle..... at our trusty Wal-Mart. That got me so enthused, I filled my whole shopping cart with flowers. When will I ever learn, an entire cart-load is too much for me to cope with in one day?!

But I got ’em planted, I did I did. Pansies, dahlias, and red flame roses in big decorative pots on the front porch; burgundy and double white mums along the walk; purple and pink hyacinths under the red maple; Hawaii blue ageratums beside the drive; pink-striped tulips on the other side; and white and purple, burgundy, and yellow pansies, white and purple pinwheel petunias, and lavender and yellow mums in the north and south flower beds. It started sprinkling, but I hardly got wet at all--because Caleb came rushing out the front door with an umbrella, which he held over my head the whole while it was raining.

It was cold outside, what with the rain falling, and my hands in wet, muddy gardening gloves; so I brought a steaming mug of coffee out to help warm me up. Now, I’ve been saying for a long time that coffee mugs are magnetic, and children are magnets. Knowing this, and seeing that Joseph was outside playing with his remote-controlled Jeep, I carefully set the mug down in a snug little corner by the garage door.

S P L L A A A A A T

Joseph backed up and tripped over it. Mind you, he’d never before stepped in that spot in his life. So there was my coffee, running down the driveway. Good grief.

We have some neighbors, two houses down, who have the horridest two little boys you’d ever hope never to meet. We go out of our way to try to be nice to them, in the interest of Preserving Peace With The Neighbors, and all that, and sometimes the little boys enjoy playing with our children, much to the annoyance of their parents, who don’t want them to have anything to do with us. The father once, having seen a pedal car of the older boy’s on our lawn, shouted at the top of his voice, “Paul, you @#%&*%*@ brat, if you leave a #&%*$()# toy on their lawn ONE MORE TIME, I’m going to throw all your *@% ()$ toys in the !@%#%$%#! garbage!!”

The parents are mean to the boys, and the older boy is mean to the little one. One day Teddy saw the older one jerking madly on the little boy’s tricycle, nearly dumping it over. The little one, Dylan, was hanging on for dear life, screaming at the top of his lungs. Teddy, unable to bear watching that kind of abuse, ran to Dylan’s rescue, grabbing the tricycle and holding it steady, and saying to Paul, while looking him straight in the eye, “You shouldn’t treat your little brother like that! You should be nice to him, and then he’d really like you! But that’s awful, to try to make him fall off! He might really get hurt!”

Well, Teddy made no points with Paul, but Dylan, who’s about two, loves him forever. He followed patiently after Teddy the rest of the afternoon, dragging along his tricycle and patting on its seat, saying to Teddy, “Do you want to ride my sicko??” with his high-pitched, piping little voice cracking every time he said, ‘sicko?’

I think that’s heartbreaking, to be entrusted with innocent, helpless little lives, and then not love them enough to nurture them, teach them, defend them, watch out for them. That poor little boy is simply starved for love.

I said to our children that evening, after Teddy told us this story, “Just imagine if one of you would be jerking on a riding toy of Caleb’s or Victoria’s, about to make them fall on their head on a cement driveway!”

Caleb’s eyes were huge. “Nobody would ever do that to me, and I would never do that to Victoria!”

Victoria looked on, her eyes just as wide. “Bi-roar-yuh!” (that’s how she says ‘Victoria’) she said in agreement, nodding her head seriously.

I wonder how much she understood of all that? Anyway, she certainly knows she’s loved!

When Joseph was driving his Jeep around, he headed it down the sidewalk to the north, having seen Paul and Dylan go into the house earlier, and not knowing their mother was about to set them loose (which she does every afternoon during the soap operas, rain or snow, hail or sleet, ‑40° or +125°). Just as the Jeep approached their driveway, Paul came racing around the corner. He stooped down and made ready to snatch up the Jeep. (Our $150 Jeep!) Joseph, who’s gotten to be pretty handy with the switches, promptly hit reverse, backed that little rig right through that boy’s legs, about-faced, and took off like a shot straight for our house. And Paul was left peering through his legs, trying desperately to keep from doing an unplanned somersault. haha If that didn’t look funny!

Last night, Keith picked up Victoria, lifted her over his head, and placed her on his shoulders, then walked about the house. Victoria sat perfectly still and grinned from ear to ear. Directly he put her back down. Dorcas handed her a doll. She promptly slung it over her head and, holding its hands, wrapped its arms around her neck. It wasn’t quite right, so she tried it again. That time she wound up holding its feet, wrapping its legs around her neck; and the doll’s head was left, upside down, bonking against her back.

The littles all screeched with laughter, and Victoria sat still, holding the doll’s feet, and smiling smugly at her audience. What a funny baby.

Today Hester’s temperature was over 101°, and her ears, head, and throat hurt; and my ears, head, and throat hurt, too; so we stayed home from church. This afternoon we went for a drive around White Tail Lake. Coming around the farthest, most uninhabited stretch, we spotted a mound of white on a big clump of bulrushes. Larry grabbed the binoculars while I grabbed my 600mm lens and hastily began attaching it. Sure enough! It was a female mute swan sleeping on her nest! A four-wheeler went by and awoke her, so I got several good pictures of her with her head up. I’ve seen trumpeter swans and black-headed swans, but this is the first time I’ve seen a mute swan, I think.

We left quietly, hoping nobody would disturb her. Perhaps we’ll get to see the cygnets soon. Wouldn’t that be neat?

Monday, April 13, 1998 - Easter, Big Pickups, Flowers -- and Victoria is Walking

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Today the children have no school, so we all slept late (all but Larry and Keith, that is, who went off early to work), on account of staying up late last night.

Sunrise Service started yesterday at 7:00 a.m.; breakfast was at 8:00. Home again to change into our fanciest duds, then back to Sunday School and church. After the evening service, we had a lunch. We were having such an enjoyable time talking with our friends (and I, as usual, was taking pictures), that we didn’t go home until 11:45 p.m.

Victoria was glad to get home. She couldn’t decide which she wanted more: to go to bed, or to eat. (She didn’t eat much of our lunch; she still eats mostly baby food.) While I was putting her pajamas on her, she pointed at her crib.

“Ni-ni!” she said, squinting her eyes shut tight and sticking her thumb in her mouth. But when I picked her up and headed for the kitchen, she grinned happily. “Num-num!” she announced, nodding her head vigorously. “Ya!”

Last week I expected to finish the fleece robes for Joseph and Caleb and start on the Fourth of July clothes. Well, I did finish Caleb’s robe and make a small start on Joseph’s, but that’s all. Making insets for prom gowns, sewing on appliques and thousands of pearls and sequins, hemming pants, decorating hats with flowers (which had to be spray-painted first), netting, and pearls, and making barrettes of flowers, pearls, and ribbon takes more time than you’d think.

We had a hat that exactly perfectly matched Dorcas’ silk suit. It was made of heavy mesh, and covered with a heavy, shiny, raw silk. Unfortunately, the UPS man had run over it with his biggest truck. Well, that’s what it looked like, anyway. But the color of Dorcas’ suit is salmon pink, a particularly difficult color to match, so we really needed to repair this fair headwear.

Now, it so happens that my sister, Lura Kay, used to make hats. She would order the round, flat pieces of wool felt or woven straw; then, using some type of compound called ‘hat sizing’, she curved them around her hat shaper this way and that, each hat unique, stuffing batting inside curled brimmers, tacking creases in fedoras, bending the dip in the brim just so. After letting them dry for a day or two, she decorated them with netting or ribbon or flowers, whatever struck her fancy. She made pill boxes, portrait-brimmed hats, sailor hats, berets, derbies, milans, cloches, panamas, chapeaux--you name it, she made it.

So I called for help. Now, I didn’t intend to just give the job to my busy sister; no, I intended to merely ask for advice, then take the billet myself. But, since I was doing hems for my niece, her daughter, she decided she should take on this hat.

She soon returned it to us in nearly perfect shape. I then spray-painted silk flowers to match it, tied them with a white satin bow, twisted pink netting into the brim, and glued sprays of pearls against the crown. Dorcas was delighted, and I must say it is one of our prettiest hats.

Learning that I was sewing sequins and pearls on Dorcas’ dress, a friend gave me some glue especially for affixing jewels to fabric. With the glue, I finished the dress: pearls stuck to fingers, tweezers, pins, sewing cabinet, my sweater, my skirt, my hair--and, more rarely, the applique. Aaarrr-ggghhh. Next time, I shall use needle and thread, that I shall.

Anyway, I got everything done, and we made it successfully through Easter Sunday. (Dat id, udder dan da fact dat I aguired a nasty code and goodn’t sigg by solo. But I wud able do sigg wid da guire. Wid dat binny beepo, da fact dat one’s node id dopped up id nod so eedily nodiced.)

Hannah crocheted herself the neatest little sparkly white envelope purse, with an old-fashioned button holding it shut, a tassel hanging from the button, and a shiny white cord for the strap. She made it to go with her white eyelet, but it looks more like one a bride would carry, it does.

Larry now has the side windows and the windshield in the crewcab. One night I even helped him put the headliner in it. Friday night Larry put the new, elongated driveshaft underneath. Putting the side windows into a Ford proved to be a challenging puzzle. Larry has put many Chevy windows in, but no Fords. The Chevys have little side windows beside the bigger window, giving better access; but the Ford--! How, Larry wondered, do you put a large window into a smaller frame?! He struggled and struggled and struggled. . .and suddenly, without warning, in it went.

And then the power window didn’t work. Larry was afraid the motor was bad, and they are rather expensive. Also, it was the middle of the night, and no parts stores are open at that hour. He carefully pulled the wires out of the door frame--and one came loose right in his hand. He was relieved. He got out his soldering gun, soldered it back together again--and it worked. Larry has spent many nights working on that pickup; the days are spent on customers’ things, since that’s what pays the bills.

Tonight Larry drove the pickup home from work. It doesn’t have the grill in yet, nor yet the headlights, so it had to go back to the shop, posthaste, before it got too dark. But before Larry took it back, he drove it up my mother’s driveway so she could step out on the porch and look at it. She was quite amazed at its length.

“The front bumper is against the garage door, and the back bumper is still out in the street!” she laughed.

Mama has lost weight; she only weighs 93 pounds. But now she can chew most of her food, and my brother Loren brings her milkshakes and such like every day, so she should be putting a few pounds back on.

Tuesday afternoon, Bobby came and asked me if an Easter lily would bother Hannah’s asthma.

“Probably,” I replied. Then, seeing his downcast demeanor, I inquired, “Are you trying to think of an Easter present for her?”

“Wellllll.... I’ve already bought it,” he admitted.

“Oh!” said I. “Then you’d better ask Hannah.”

He did.

No, it wouldn’t bother her at all.

“Kids always make liars out of you,” I informed Bobby.

He laughed.

The lily had two blooms and four buds, which have since opened, making our whole house fragrant with Essence of Lily.

Teddy walked in. His nose twitched. He looked around to discern the source of the aroma.

“That lily bothers my asthma,” he announced.

Brother! He who had jubilantly announced just last Thursday, after mowing and fertilizing the church yards, “I’ve grown completely out of asthma; that didn’t bother me a bit!”

For once, the Goodwill had a whole rack of nice jeans in the boys’ sizes. And we got several pairs of brand-new shoes for the little girls and Victoria. I wonder what happens?--do people buy shoes on sale, discover they don’t fit, and are unable to return them? We made enough purchases that we were able to get six shirts for Keith free. Joseph got a brand-new pair of work boots for $3.50.

Teddy has completed a couple of the overhead doors for his miniature shop; he used several small wooden slats hinged together with tiny brass hinges. He’s going to use a little electric motor to make the door go up and down, and he’s trying to figure out how to make a metal rod slide smoothly in the rails. And how do you make rails, anyway? Teddy has always been the sort who likes to do his own work. When he was about 1 ½, one of his favorite things to say was, “Me do byself!”

We used to know a State Patrolman, a tall, slender man with brown wavy hair in military cut who always dressed impeccably and walked with a long, purposeful stride. He moved away, and we hadn’t seen him for a long time.

Well, one day a nondescript car pulled into Larry’s shop, and a tall, skinny hippie climbed out, wanting something repaired on his car. He had long, unkempt hair, a beard, ragged jeans, and a black leather jacket; and he walked with a surly slouch.

Larry walked out to meet him. He extended a hand. “Bruce!” he exclaimed, grinning.

The hippie came to an abrupt standstill, and the blank look on his face was replaced with amazement. “How did you know me?!” he asked in his usual well-modulated voice.

Larry laughed. “The eyes stay the same,” he responded.

Bruce shook his head. “All this work for nothin’,” he lamented. And then he told Larry his story: he is now an undercover agent, specializing in finding and breaking up drug rings. And he’s successful at his job, too.

The third quarter has come and gone; time absolutely flies. Lydia’s lowest grade, once again, was 97%. All the other children’s report cards were good, too. The last day of school before spring break was last Wednesday; school will start again tomorrow.

Tuesday morning, Bobby’s 12-year-old brother, Stephen, the one who won all those spelling contests and geography contests, had his appendix removed. He was dismayed: “Wouldn’t you know it! This would happen, right before spring break and Easter!”

Friday evening Bobby and Hannah, along with Hester and Bobby’s sister Esther, entertained Stephen with Hannah’s new games from Lawrence and Norma.

One afternoon, I found a cute little photo of a Sharpei. I cut it out and glued it to a small birthday card somebody had given Lydia, and gave it to her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Somebody took a picture of Rumply!” She looked closer. “Well, this was when he was really alive.” She paused. “I mean, this is a picture of a dog that really is alive.” She put it up on my desk with the family pictures. “But it looks just like him!” said she.

When I finished cutting out the Dalmatian fleece for Joseph and Caleb’s robes, I found exactly two Dalmatians still intact on the fabric--no more. I cut them out, sewed them together, Lydia stuffed them, I stitched the opening shut, and then we added a little black bow above its ear. Lydia was enchanted.

“Now Rumply has a playmate!” she said happily.

It rained quite a bit last week, which made the weeds in my flower beds grow like anything. But it also made the ground soft, so I transplanted several flowers and put in a few new ones. One was a lilac-colored azalea which I bought for the sole purpose of putting into one of my big flower pots for the front porch, not knowing that azaleas require indirect lighting. That would never do for our front porch, which gets piping hot every summer afternoon. So I wound up planting it in the north flower bed, which then inspired me to pull all the weeds and fix the little post and rail fence that curves around it.

I planted two lavender mums under the red maple; the three purple and lavender asters I planted a couple of years ago are already coming up. The honeysuckle vines are coming to life, and the daffodils and grape hyacinths and miniature tulips are blooming like everything. The peonies are up and growing fast, and the lilac bush has buds all over it. Gaillardias, hollyhocks, butterfly flowers, purple bugle, and blue-fringed daisies are developing nicely. (Can you tell I’m partial to shades of purple?)

My favorite little hand spade, which was molded all in one piece, with a big rubber-coated, finger-impressioned handle, disappeared off the face of the earth, so I rushed off to Ace Hardware, the nearest store of that type, and bought a rather cheap one. Out to the flower garden I went, put on my gardening gloves, stuck the spade into the soft dirt--and the shovel came right away from the handle, staying neatly buried in the ground.

I jerked it out, cleaned off the mud, took it back, and got a better one.

By the time I’d planted two more flowers, the shovel was loose.

Stupid things! Stupid people that make them! Stupid people that sell them! Stupid kids that lost my good one! Stupid stores that don’t sell the good ones!

One evening after coming into the house from the Suburban, I helped Victoria remove her coat and hat.

Dorcas laughed. “Is your hair all messed up?”

Victoria patted her head, and nodded gravely. “Rain!” she informed Dorcas, pointing skyward. (I’d complained that the rain was ruining my hair.)

We got our tax papers back from the tax man Wednesday. Guess what?! We have nothing to pay. Nothing. Fact is, we hav a refund coming!! Boy, oh boy; what a relief.

Joseph made some cute little wooden recipe holders for his teachers. With the router, he engraved “TEACHER” on the first; then, accidentally, “TECHER” on the next one. He was quite disappointed, but I told him to leave it just that way, and I would make a recipe card to go with it. And here it is:

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SKOOL COOKYS

Too kups grammer

Thre kups histry books

For tablspoons math kards

Won pintch litterchur

Five teespoons handriting

Wun-haff kup aljabra

Putt engredience into larj bole; stur hard four ate minnets. Pore into cassaroll dish; bake in 350° uvven fore tin minnets. Sprinkel with crusht soshel studdies. Injoy!

Today while I was working in the garden, Hester, Lydia, and Caleb played with their cousins: Caleb took his Tonka machinery to play with Jason in the sandpile; Hester put on her roller blades and had a fierce fast race with Jodie; and Lydia and Sharon threw a tea party for their dolls. After that, the girls all played “Horsie”--a game in which one wraps a jump rope around her waist and the other holds the ends, yells “Giddyup!” and then they both gallop madly across the lawn. Why this is so outrageously funny, I do not know; but I do know that all four girls invariably wind up on their backs in the grass, laughing their heads off. Cousins are wonderful inventions; they’re so compatible, don’t you know!

Saturday evening, Lawrence and Norma brought us a singing bird clock, just like the one we gave Lawrence for his birthday. It's the neatest thing; I’ve wanted one ever since I first saw one. I just discovered that not only does it not play when it’s dark, but it also plays quieter when it isn’t very bright in the room. Caleb, having forgotten all about the clock, was sitting at the kitchen table directly underneath it when it went off Sunday afternoon. It so happened that it was the blue jay, which is particularly loud and strident.

Caleb, in the process of taking a bite, suddenly plopped his fork right back down and stood straight up on his chair, irregular for him, the better to stare out the kitchen window at the bird feeder hanging in front of it.

“Where is that bird?!” he breathed, eyes wide as saucers.

“Right behind your head,” I told him, while the other children tried in vain to keep from laughing.

Caleb turned slowly around, and wound up staring the clock straight in the face. Looking sheepish, he reseated himself and picked up his fork before it struck him funny, too, and he went off in a giddy gale of mirth.

I got a new bird feeder that holds suet cakes.

When Joseph unwrapped the cakes that came with it, Caleb asked, “Is that bird cheese??”

Tonight Caleb and Teddy were playing with a raft of matchbox cars and trucks, each sitting at one end of the front hall, rolling vehicles to each other. Directly came the inevitable crash.

“Oh, mercy!” cried Caleb. “They had a collusion!!”

(Now, I thought ‘collusion’ was a nifty, made-up word combining ‘collision’ and ‘conclusion’, which is quite logical, if you see what I mean. But when, upon typing that word on my word processor and noting that it didn’t beep and stop me short, I got out my trusty Webster’s Dictionary and looked it up. And now I have a vague recollection of having known this word somewhere, sometime, a long time ago: it means, ‘a secret agreement for fraudulent or illegal purpose; conspiracy’.)

Caleb is a ‘smiley’ little boy, as various people call him. He’s just about always jolly; things hardly ever upset him. A little while ago, he said ever so quietly, “Mama! Look around the corner, quick!”

So I peered around the side of my desk, and there was Caleb, sitting on the floor in a rather awkward position, having been in the process of scooping up blocks with his big Tonka loader, and Victoria was standing behind him with her little Minnie Mouse brush, carefully and intently brushing his hair.

She saw me looking, and grinned at me, wrinkling her nose. “Ca-wub!” she told me. “Hair!” And she leaned over and gave him a big hug and a sloppy kiss.

Caleb hugged her back. “She really likes me,” Caleb said, “because I really like her!”

He’s exactly right, the dear little boy. Don’t you think?

Victoria is walking! She was so busy practicing her new feat today, she hardly had time to play with her toys. She says, “Walk walk walk!” as she trots along, and she laughs gaily when she arrives triumphantly at her destination.

Somebody suggested that we should have taken home the pig I saw north of Albuquerque. But even if it was a porker of the tame variety, we would’ve done it no favors by taking it home with us; rather, the favor would’ve been to our pet wolf, Aleutia, who would’ve been overjoyed to have bacon and sausage for supper. Anyway, I hope it was wild, and well able to care for itself. It was eating something, when I saw it.

The price of insurance is not cheap! We spend $350 a month on insurance--and that’s just for the shop and the vehicles, and for protection in case something goes wrong with somebody’s vehicle and they sue us; and it will pay some (not all) of the doctor’s bills and the lost time, should Larry get hurt on the job. It also has a clause about injuries to the children, but neither of us know exactly what that’s all about; I do know it’s not very inclusive. In other words, most things are not covered. I’m not covered at all. But that’s okay; mothers never get sick or hurt.

Do they?

Anyway, we can barely afford that, let alone a better policy.

I got back some pictures I took, and am particularly pleased with a photo of little Melody Joy, the baby who was only 2 pounds, 2 ounces when she was born June 28, 1997. Her mother, Malinda, is holding her. She’s wearing the dress I made her when she came home from the hospital. She seems just as bright as can be, and just last week the specialist in Omaha pronounced her hale and hearty!

We are all so very happy about that.