Sarah Lynn's Nature's Splendor: April 2020

Last Tuesday, I went with Loren and Norma to David City, where we saw Norma’s doctor and learned the results of the tests they had run the previous week when her feeding tube was put in. The new radiator for my Jeep had not yet arrived, so they came and picked me up.

After we were let into the waiting room (where the chairs were all covered with sheets, as they’re painting walls in there), a nurse checked our temperatures. As always, mine was over a degree low – 97.2°. That’s a little higher than usual, because I was hot in the back seat of the Wrangler all the way there. There I was, roasting in short sleeves and sandals, and Loren was chilly in a leather jacket and leather gloves.

When the doctor came into the exam room, he told us, “We have good news for you,” and gave us the details. Norma’s blood count was up, the CAT scan showed no tumor, and she is to see her dentist in Omaha soon. She has gained half a pound. If she can gain up to 115, or better yet, 120, and get her dentures, they can remove the feeding tube. Her lungs and heart are good, oxygen level is good, and all is well with the feeding tube.

We were quite encouraged with this report.

Now here’s ‘A Study in Contrasts’:

The UPS guy brings a box to the porch (it was the radiator for the Jeep!!!), sets it down, pounds on the door so violently he nearly knocks the house over, and shouts in through the open screen, “UPS!!!” He then swaggers back to his truck, immensely proud of himself.

A few minutes pass, and along comes the FedEx truck.

The guy steps cautiously out of his door, looking warily all around. He sneaks silently through the yard up to the porch, sets the boxes down noiselessly, turns and tiptoes off the steps – then takes off on a dead run back to his truck, leaping flora old and new like a young springbok.

It’s at such times that one wishes for a pop-bottle rocket, because the man was obviously in a mad, rushing, skeert-rabbit hurry, and pop-bottle rockets are always helpful in hurrying people along. (If you don’t believe that, you really need to watch the episode from Little Rascals of the 1920s when Spanky chased ‘Uncle George’ with that lit, multi-firing rocket.) One should always try to be helpful.

The box this time, amazingly enough, was the rest of Josiah’s present – a pair of glow-in-the-dark pajamas. His birthday was April 7^th, and I ordered well before that date. At least the basketball (a large junior-sized ball) was only a week or so late – though we made it later because Larry kept forgetting to air it up, and I had no Jeep with which to deliver it. Ah, well; it would’ve been a lot worse news for a ten-year-old, had the pajamas arrived first, and the ball almost three weeks late.

A friend, after reading what I had to say about Christopher Bean’s coffee last week, wrote, “Your description of the coffee flavors sounded so good that I almost ordered one before I remembered that I don’t like coffee.” hee hee

This friend was writing from a cottage in New York State, where the temperature was about to drop to 25°, with a windchill of 10°. She was worried about her pipes freezing, even though she planned to leave her faucet dripping.

We have sometimes been camping in the mountains where the temperature dropped well below freezing almost every night. We always left water running slowly through all the pipes in our camper. Campgrounds had signs in their restrooms and shower houses, “Please leave a trickle of water running in the sinks and showers at all times.”

I remember walking into a campground restroom somewhere in the Rocky Mountain High Country when I was a child, and seeing that the sink’s trickle had frozen solid! It was a miniature icefall. Whataya bet the owners had to replace some pipes under that building?

Meanwhile, it was 65° here, bright and sunny, on its way to 74°. Too bad I couldn’t ship my friend some of this weather!

Another box arrived – this time, Keira’s presents. These were only five days late.

After starting a load of clothes and watering all the houseplants, I headed into the kitchen to divide the two-day-old chili into the freezer bags Larry had brought home the night before.

Problem: They weren’t freezer bags. They were merely storage bags. That wouldn’t do. They’re not airtight, the plastic isn’t thick enough to prevent freezer burn, and they’ll leak.

I voiced my complaint to the cats, but they didn’t care.

So I sent a grumbling text to Larry, telling him he’d gotten the wrong thing and asking if he could bring home some real freezer bags when he got off work.

His response: “I will do better. 😘”

His Daily Bible Verse that day must’ve been, “A soft answer turneth away wrath.”

Then I happened to open the freezer for something, and realized freezer bags wouldn’t do any good in any case, because there was absolutely, positively no room at all for a dozen large bags of chili in there. In fact, there might not have been room for even one large bag of chili in there.

I started hunting up canning jars. I found four big jars, five medium-sized jars, and two small jars.

In order to gauge how much chili I should heat, I filled the jars with water and poured it into a big pan. I drew a mark inside the pan at water level, then emptied the water and refilled the pan with chili. After heating it to boiling, I poured it quickly into the jars and screwed on the lids.

For the next half hour or so, I listened to those lids give their metallic ‘pops’ and ‘pings’ as they sealed, one after another. Quite satisfying.

Reheating the chili of course changes the texture of it a bit; that’s why I prefer freezing it. Fortunately, I had slightly undercooked it in the first place so as not to have mushy chili beans, so it’s still really good.

Having run out of jars before I ran out of chili, I filled two bowls for us for supper, and poured the rest into a large, square sealable bowl. I pulled a bag of frozen 12-grain bread from the freezer (it goes great with chili, after all), and voilá! – there was room in there for the plastic bowl.

I got a little quilting done that afternoon, and after supper I did a little more. By bedtime, the top borders of the Silver Wolves quilt were done, and I was ready to start the thread-painting on the printed panel.

A friend was laughing because I called this ‘simple and fast quilting’.

Yeah, well... I guess ‘simple and fast’ would be a large meander over the whole works. I’d’ve been done in two hours flat! 😃

When I was looking for my first longarm, somebody told me, “You’re going to love it! – especially when you load a quilt and finish quilting it all in one afternoon.”

And I thought, Noooooooo. I want to do that fancy stuff, and I know it takes longer than that.

I just didn’t know how much longer it really takes. 😏

I do like pantographs, sometimes, and they’re definitely a whole lot faster than intense custom work. But custom is my favorite, even light custom.

I recently saw this headline:

“Some Days You’re the Tether; Some Days You’re the Ball”

I have a similar headline:

“Some Days You’re the Frisbee; Some Days You’re the Nose”

I was 14. I was playing frisbee with Larry, his brother Kenny, and sister Rhonda. We were a long distance apart, really winging that saucer with all our might and main. It came toward me, flying high... I took a wild leap, snagged it, spun, and, without pause, let it fly hard at Kenny.

But.

He, sure I was going to miss it, was running full bore toward me, prepared to jump for it.

The thing caught him right across the nose. Brought him straight down to the turf, flat on his back, sporting the first bloody nose he’d ever had in his life. (The latter part of the sentence is astonishing on its own, considering what daredevils they all were.)

For a little while, they were all indignant and upset with me, thinking I’d done that on purpose. I didn’t realize it for a few minutes, in my concern over Kenny, and it then took me some time to convince them I would never do such a thing on purpose, just for the fun of it.

If I slug someone in the nose, you can be sure he deserved it. Just ask Dale Lovell.

I guess the Jackson siblings hadn’t been here long enough to really know me yet!

I was quilting away Wednesday afternoon, stopped momentarily for a few sips of coffee, looked out the front window, and spotted a cottontail in the yard. Isn’t he cute?

I worked on the printed part of the panel that day, along with the side borders. When I quit for the night, I was almost to the halfway point.

Thursday started off with bright blue skies, but by midafternoon it was completely overcast.

I got the big wolves in the Silver Wolves quilt quilted (thread-painted) that day, and was almost to the bottom border.

Friday, I spotted a picture of a small quilt with an intriguing block. It wasn’t labeled, and I couldn’t find it anywhere, so I posted it on several online quilt groups and asked if anyone recognized it.

Several ladies answered with a variety of suggestions. Someone mentioned a block I had never heard of: the “Fifty-Four Forty or Fight” quilt block.

What a funny name for a quilt block! I had to look it up.

So here’s the history:

Fifty-Four Forty or Fight

Quilt Block

People have often used art to express political beliefs. Women used to stitch their political views, when it was frowned on for them to voice their political opinions aloud.

In 1844, America didn’t look like it does today. State and national borders were disputed and fought over.

James Polk was an unknown from Tennessee who had been nominated for the Democrat candidate for President. In order to gain national attention in hopes of becoming President, and realizing that manifest destiny was what could get him elected, Polk said he would expand the country to include Texas, California, and all of Oregon. The Oregon border latitude was 54 degrees, 40 minutes. He used the slogan “Fifty-Four Forty or Fight” as a rallying cry. James Polk became president, but he didn’t win the 54^th parallel. He compromised with the UK in 1846 at the 49^th parallel, and the area to the north became Canada.

The quilt block didn’t show up until 1933, 89 years after Polk made the slogan popular. It’s possible that the block had been being made for 89 years. In the 30s, big newspapers started publishing quilt block patterns. Nancy Cabot released this one in 1933 in the Chicago Tribune. She said in her article that ‘women had no outlet for political expression, and the block was the expression of patriotic American women.’ Other newspapers doubtless ran it as well.

How ’bout that.

We had chicken pot pie for supper Saturday night, with cranberry-grape juice to wash it down, and Schwan’s Vanilla Almond ice cream bars for dessert.

Note: It is not good to drink the rest of the cranberry-grape juice in one’s glass after eating a Schwan’s Vanilla Almond ice cream bar.

Larry started putting the new radiator in the Jeep that night. It was a hard job, because everything is crammed in tightly under that hood, and he had a difficult time getting wrenches into place, and then turning them as needed.

He didn’t finish it that night, because he decided to replace the wingblum that goes on the plinkett that runs the blarkfub that in turn makes the jugwop work. And O’Reilly’s was already closed by the time he decided.

There was a brilliant sunset that night, with the clouds turning rosy, then fiery red, then dark scarlet before fading to dark rose and finally navy and violet.

I finished Kelvin’s quilt that day! All that’s left is the label. The backing is a soft flannel from Timeless Treasures. The quilt measures 68.5" x 77".

Just as I started snapping pictures of the quilt on the bench on the porch Sunday afternoon, out popped Teensy, quite sure I’d made him a nice quilt to sleep on, on that bench.

When it looked like he planned to hop up on it, I said, “Stay down,” and you can see his disappointed mien in the next photo. Po’ mistreated thang. (Yes, you can train cats.

) More photos here.

Our governor, Pete Ricketts, has announced that restrictions in Nebraska will begin easing May 4^th, thankfully.

We listened to the morning church service online, but our Internet was hiccuping, making both my tablet and Larry’s tablet and my computer struggle, all at the same time.

I’ve been playing with EQ8 (Electric Quilt program), designing and trying out ideas for my niece Susan’s quilt. Which of these six designs do you like best?

Later that afternoon, we took Josiah his glow-in-the-dark pjs.

“I hope these don’t keep you up all night,” I said, “or keep your brothers from sleeping!” 😂

We petted Molly the white Lab and the two newest baby lambs.

Teddy told us the evening service was going to be streamed for the first time since COVID-19 shut down the church services. Robert must’ve announced it right about the time our Internet went all wonky. Wednesday’s service will be streamed, too, at 7:00 p.m.

Back in the pickup, I hunted for my Thieves hand sanitizer, but it wasn’t in my purse. So I poured a bit of coffee on a napkin and wiped my hands. Works great, and I’d a whole lot rather my hands smelled like coffee than like dogs and sheep. (But I don’t imagine it actually sanitizes.)

We then took Jeremy his birthday gift – three books by Vance Havner. We petted Bella the golden lab, who happily licked and slobbered my hand. This time, Jeremy pulled out some hand sanitizer for me. 😅

On we went to Andrew and Hester’s to give Keira her birthday present, but she was taking a nap. We stood on their enclosed porch and chatted with Hester, saying that we’d take Aaron his gift, pick up a part for the Jeep at O’Reilly’s, and be back. We were edging out the door, still talking, when Andrew came out on the porch to see us. When he realized we were leaving, Keira’s gift bag still in hand, he crept up behind Hester and whispered something in her ear.

“Oh, they just came to show it to us,” she replied, gesturing at the gift. hee hee

We explained that we’d be back, because we really wanted to hand it to her ourselves.

“Big kids know,” I said, “if someone hands them something and says, ‘That came from Grandpa and Grandma Jackson’; but a two-year-old understands better if we hand it to her, directly!”

He laughed and agreed.

We headed to O’Reilly’s, got the part, then went to Bobby and Hannah’s to give Aaron his book – three books in one, by A. W. Tozer. Another one is coming, but who knows when.

Back to Hester and Andrew’s then, and Keira had just awoken. She was delighted with the Polly Pockets set (tiny dolls and furniture in a large donut that opens to a tiny restaurant. We also gave her three little knit dresses with matching undies.

Next, we went to Loren and Norma’s to give them the Power of Attorney papers and an anniversary card. It’s their 2^nd anniversary today. Our niece (and Norma’s granddaughter) Amanda was there, helping Norma with her feeding tube.

The peach, apple, and crabapple trees are blossoming in our yard. Here’s a tiny little wildflower, less than half a centimeter wide, called Veronica persica or Common Speedwell (aka Bird’s-eye Speedwell or Persian Speedwell). It was first recorded in the UK in 1825, spreading later to the U.S. It’s not native to either country, though; it came from South East Asia.

Peach blossoms

Apple buds

Crabapple buds

Common Speedwell

That night, since the Internet was behaving again, I relistened to the morning service, since I missed a good part of it. We would listen to the evening service as soon as they post it.

Here’s a plaque posted online by a poor, bedraggled, henpecked husband somewhere:

“It’s been such a joy being home with my wife the past three weeks. We’ve caught up on all the things I’ve done wrong the past 30 years.” 🤣

Larry finished his job on the Jeep, and then took it for a test drive. The temperature gauge stayed where it’s supposed to, everything worked fine, and nothing leaked. Ah haff wheels again!

For breakfast this morning, I had one of Larry’s Supah-Dupah pancakes, left over from yesterday. In addition to butter and syrup, I put a couple of spoonfuls of strawberry jam on it. Mmmm...

Now to get the quilt label for Kelvin’s quilt embroidered!

I was 5 ½ when Kelvin was born, and he was my favorite little boy in the whole, wide world. That status lasted until his little brother David was born 1 ½ years later, and then I had two favorite little boys in the whole, wide world.

Kelvin is the little boy who said to me, when he was about 5, “Sarah Lynn, I like to play with you better than anyone else in the world!”

That was just about the best compliment anyone ever gave me. Through the years since then, I’ve gotten it out, dusted it off, and felt the glow all over again.

Kelvin and his lovely wife Rachel have five children.

When we lived in town, we were a block away from them. They lived in a house we used to live in, and had renovated it very nicely. Our youngest four were almost the same ages as their oldest four. They had Jodie, we had Hester. They had Sharon, we had Lydia. They had Jason, we had Caleb. They had Jamie, we had Victoria. They played together often, and still get together. Their youngest, Ryan, is about 11.

One morning, I opened my door to get the newspaper – and there sat Sharon, age 3, right in the middle of my front lawn. She’d had to cross the street to get there, and wasn’t supposed to do that.

“Hi!” she greeted me cheerily.

“Hi,” I returned, setting the paper down and heading out to collect the child.

“I know what your name is,” she informed me, “And I can say it, too!” She nodded once or twice for emphasis. “It’s Shar Win!” hee hee

“We’d better take you back home!” I told her, taking her hand. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said airily, “’Cuz Mom doesn’t know!”

Her mother had gone to the grocery store, and Kelvin was working in the yard. He’d gone inside to answer the phone – and Sharon had made her getaway. Jodie, age 5, had dashed in and told her Daddy.

He was just trotting down the sidewalk, looking worried, when I rounded the corner toward his house.

“Found your wayward puppy,” I said.

“Sharon!” he exclaimed, “You know better than to run off like that!”

“Yes,” she agreed, “But Mom doesn’t know!” haha

Now Jodie and Sharon each have two girls and two boys. Sharon named her first little boy after my father, her great-grandpa – George. He would be tickled over that. Jamie and her husband have two little girls... and Kurt and Victoria have two little girls. This next generation of cousins is turning into good friends, just as their parents are.

A friend was telling of her excursion to the grocery store, and some troubles finding all the things she needed. Among other things, she bought a bag of ten-bean soup.

Ten-bean soup. That reminds me of the time my late sister-in-law Janice brought us a big potful of 17-bean soup. I dished it up and we all sat down to eat.

So there was little Hester (about age 3 or 4) down the table, spoon in hand, pawing through her bowl like one of the cats with something disagreeable in its dish, and she said, said she, in the most plaintive little voice imaginable, “Mine has more than 17 in it.”

Hester and Keira came tonight, bearing chocolate chip ... ummm... blondies? brownies? cookie bars?

Larry wasn’t home from work yet, and Keira asked often where he was. “Grandpa? Truck? Busy? Work?” She’s such a sweet little thing.

She enjoyed herself for a little while in the little library upstairs. She particularly likes all the stuffed animals sitting on little benches – and she’s happy that those little benches are just her size.

Larry was pleased with the chocolate chip blondies, especially so because I’d gotten a bag of Pepperidge Farms Double Chocolate Nantucket cookies from Wal-Mart last week, and he was less than impressed over them.

“Well, I like them,” I told him, “So quit eating them!” (He did not quit.)

Hmmmm... I should watch this youtube video, Big Ships in Horrible Storms, right? It was recommended because I watched a few minutes of a Storm at Sea quilt tutorial. 😏

Since deliveries have been taking so long, today I ordered birthday gifts for the grandchildren whose birthdays are in May. Only Levi and Lyle have birthdays in May, and both on the same day, the 21^st. In April, we have seven birthdays and one anniversary.

Before I leave you, here’s something you need to know: a pile of cookie crumbs, no matter the size of the pile, equals half a cookie. Never more than that. No matter the size of the pile.

You’re welcome.

P.S.: Those were Pepperidge Farms cookie crumbs. Hester’s blondies were nice and soft, and not prone for crumbling.

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