Journal: The Quilt Police Strike Again

Last Tuesday afternoon, I took Loren some chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, California blend vegetables, chocolate banana pudding, pomegranate blueberry juice, maple nut ice cream, and half a little loaf of 12-grain bread.

At the time I went to his house, I wasn’t sure... but by evening I knew:  I had pinkeye in my left eye.  (Loren is fine; I was careful not to share it with him.)

Just for kicks, I plugged into Google ‘COVID-19 and pinkeye’ – and discovered that pinkeye is indeed one of the rarer symptoms of COVID-19 (if you can believe the reports, that is).  Got me so upset, I sneezed, then coughed, then blew my nose, then got a sore throat.  heh  Actually, I always have a slightly sore throat, on account of 1) swollen lymph nodes, caused by rheumatoid arthritis, and 2) that very sophisticated problem called ‘post-nasal drip’.  (Why didn’t they name it ‘lilac-raindrop-osis’ or something nice?)

So either I had a slight infirmity, or one foot in the grave.  While I waited to find out which it was, I trotted upstairs to quilt.  After all, just about every disease known to man has now somehow been linked to COVID-19. 

Probably brilliant people will realize any day now that lack of breathing is connected to death.

That day, I worked a bit on sewing together the ninety 3D Flying Geese for the Old-Fashioned Sewing-Machine quilt.  They consist of a folded rectangle between two squares, sewn with one seam – so the edges of the triangle are folds, not seams.

Poor old Teensy is getting old, on thyroid medication, and a little gimpy sometimes.  In the last couple of weeks he’s hurt a paw or leg, and it takes him longer to recover than it used to.  I couldn’t find a wound.  He got better... then got worse again – probably from chasing bunnies – and now he’s limping only a little bit.  We love this kitty; he’s extra special, somehow.

After supper, Larry went off to Genoa, 20 miles to our west, to work on his friend’s vehicles in the man’s large garage/shop there.  He makes extra money doing that, but he does get quite tired. 

He enjoys working on vehicles, whether on the body, or on the mechanics.  He’s good at it.  We like to say that if you give Larry a paper clip, a garbage disposal, and some hair tonic, he’ll build you a truck. 

Joseph wrote to tell us that they’d gone over Independence Pass, crossing the Continental Divide at an elevation of 12,095 feet.

 On a drive over that pass years ago, we stopped at a pullout – and spotted a small, wadded-up sports car way down beside the Roaring Fork River.

And then there was the time we were coming back down the mountain, heading east, when a bad windstorm hit.  We rounded a hairpin turn, and I glanced back up the road — just in time to see an entire stand of evergreens, ten to twelve of them, tip right over ka-blooey onto the road above, where we’d just been driving.

Yet another time, we came around a corner on a one-lane-only section and met up with a large straight truck that was traveling much too fast for the road.  The driver, who looked too young for the job, veered wildly (and unnecessarily) onto the very narrow shoulder with its vertical drop-off – and ran the right front wheels up onto a large boulder that was serving as a guardrail.  The truck teetered frighteningly, and we thought it was going to tip over – which direction, onto us or into the ravine, we couldn’t hazard a guess.

It came crashing back off the boulder, bounced crazily, and came to a stop inches from the cliff on one side, and inches from our bumper on the other.

Wednesday, I awoke with pinkeye in both eyes.  Ugh!  Plus, my throat was sore.  I therefore assumed I had the Bubonic Plague. 

Hannah offered to take Loren some lasagna for supper, and I gladly took her up on it.

“I wonder where you got pinkeye?” she asked.

That reminded me of the time Lydia, who was about four, caught a cold, and when my mother commiserated with her, she said mournfully, turning her little palms up in a ‘who knows’ gesture, “Nobody else has it, so I must’ve gotten it from my dolly!”

Hannah said Loren tried to pay her for the Arby’s sliders she took him last Saturday, because she accidentally left the receipt – for the entire family’s meal – in the bag.

“He finds those things like they’re magnetic!” I told her.  “He once found an old grocery receipt in a bag I took him a couple of years ago – and wanted to pay the entire bill!”

Having been relieved of that responsibility, and deciding I’d better not go to church that evening, I trotted upstairs to my quilting studio and played there the rest of the day, attaching 3D Flying Geese to each other.  For those who have asked, I don’t have a pattern, but here’s a tutorial with a good explanation and good photos of the 3D Flying Geese:

http://www.right-sides-together.com/3d-flying-geese-tutorial/

Late that afternoon, barn swallows were swooping all around the house, on all four sides, in circles and figure eights.  There must’ve been a massive insect hatch.  Sometimes, seeing me standing at a window or door, they would fly right at me, curious little birds that they are, and only dodge away at the last moment.  Their long wings and scissor tails make them agile flyers indeed.

Thursday morning, I worked out in the flower gardens for an hour and a half.  The front yard looks good... the west side looks good... part of the back looks good – but I didn’t make it to the southeast part of the back yard or the east side of the house.

Early that afternoon, a FedEx man knocked at the door.  He gave me a large, flat box.  I brought it in... opened it... and there was my New York Beauty quilt, home from Paducah, Kentucky.  It’s once again safe and sound, but it only got to attend one of the three quilt shows for which it qualified.  The rest of the AQS shows for 2020 have been canceled. 

There were half a dozen flood warnings for the Ohio River while that quilt was in AQS’s warehouse there.

I will probably save the quilt for next year’s shows.  Lydia won’t mind, I don’t believe, because she once said, “Could you run it through a laminator, so the kids won’t get it dirty?” 

And Jeremy, before he knew I was making them this quilt, was once sweeping up a pile of chocolate birthday cake crumbs under one of his kiddos’ chairs, and he grinned at me and remarked, “If you ever make us a quilt, it better be in shades of chocolate and mud!”  hee hee

June 24^th was Jacob’s 11^th birthday, and June 25^th was his Mama’s (Lydia’s) 29^th birthday – but they’re on vacation visiting Todd and Dorcas and Trevor in Tennessee. 

June 25^th was also Bobby and Hannah’s 20^th anniversary.  I gave them the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt, having learned a couple of weeks ago that not only did Hannah like it, but she also has a wall on which to hang it.  I’m so happy to do this; I’ve been wanting to give that quilt to someone in the family ever since I made it, and just didn’t know who.  It needs to be hung, but it’s big and heavy, and we need to get them some heavy-duty hardware.  Laying it on a bed doesn’t do it justice, since the picture can’t be seen well at that angle.

Lydia sent pictures from Ijams Nature Center, Knoxville, Tennessee.  See Malinda, trotting along the boardwalk beside the Tennessee River?

I gave Lydia the news about her quilt, adding, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you it was going to be yours!  By the time I finally give it to you, you won’t like me anymore. 😏 ” 

“Oh, that’s good it’s home again! 😅 ” she responded.  “It’s okay; I can wait patiently. 😂 ”

When I was little, my father and I had this running argument going:  Daddy, whose favorite color was green, said God obviously liked green best, because there’s so much of it.  I, who preferred blue (or red, or purple), said He liked blue best, because there was waaay more blue than green, taking into consideration the sky and the waters.  Daddy said no, because more people are in the middle of green than in the middle of blue, and waters are just reflections, in any case, and skies look blue only because of scattered particles.

I argued right back, "But He causes us to see those particles as blue!"

Many the longwinded discussion we had over the matter.  I even checked out books on color and light and refraction at the public library in order to continue and prolong the debate.  I learned waaay more about molecules and photosynthesis and suchlike than I would have done, had we been in agreement.

And no, Daddy didn’t do that on purpose, just to get me to learn; but he enjoyed the discussion just as much as I did.

That night, I finished putting together the Old-Fashioned Sewing-Machine quilt top.

Friday, I found a suitable backing for it amongst my fabric stash.  It had to be trimmed and then pieced back together a bit, but it worked.  I loaded it on my frame.

I then opened a large bin full of batting, pulled out a bunch of pieces of thinner cotton, stitched them together until it was the right size, and loaded it on the frame.  Next, I stitched together several high-loft poly pieces and loaded that onto the frame.

I’ve been piecing batting together and haven’t bought any new rolls for the last six quilts, except for the Atlantic Beach Path quilt.  I had more batting leftovers than I thought!  I’m down to two large totes, and those totes have quite a variety in them.  I combined them willy-nilly for this wall hanging; it won’t matter at all. 

That afternoon, I took Loren some food:  ancient-grain-encrusted cod, green beans, applesauce, and half a little loaf of 12-grain bread, sliced, buttered, and popped in the oven for a minute or two.  Oh, and V8 cocktail juice.

Upon telling Loren what kind of cod it was, he asked, “Couldn’t you afford new grain?”

I said, “Well, at least the grain is ancient, and not the cod.” 

He laughed at that.

While I was there, I got the rest of Norma’s clothes, except for a few shoes, from Loren’s house.  It took eight trips from his house to my car – and his house is not set up for convenience (or for older folks); the main floor is one flight up.  It’s half a flight of stairs from main floor to front door, and another half of a flight from front porch to driveway.  To make matters worse, my brother keeps his house too hot.  Whew.

When I got home, I let those clothes percolate in the Jeep for a while; I’d run out of steam.  I quilted for a while, then Larry came home from work, and we had supper.  He then went to Genoa, and I returned to the quilting studio. 

Somewhere around 9:00 p.m., I noticed there was a beautiful sunset, so I trotted down the stairs, grabbed my camera, and stepped out on the porch to take some pictures.

It was cooler by then, so I brought in those clothes.  That entailed another eight trips – and this time, I had to carry them up two flights, as I was putting them in the little library upstairs so Lydia, Joanna, and Emma, who wear that size, can take a look and see if there are any clothes they might want.  I might keep a few, too.  Whatever is left will go to the Goodwill or the Salvation Army.  They should be pleased as punch to get them; Norma wore stylish and nice clothes.

Fact:  it is harder carrying heavy stacks of clothes up flights of stairs than down flights of stairs.  I think I got enough exercise that day.

Back in the quilting studio, I loaded the Old-Fashioned Sewing-Machine quilt top.  I stitched in the ditch around the outer narrow border... quilted some fancy leaves... decided I didn’t like them... and picked them out.

Larry returned home.  It was a good time to close up shop, head for the recliner, and tuck a heating pad behind my back.  And just like that, another day was in the wind.

It rained two or three nights last week, and the flowers showed their appreciation by blooming like everything.  The daylilies along the eastern fence are bursting into bloom all at once.

Here are a couple of amazing bits of trivia:  the longest lightning bolt ever recorded was one that stretched 440 miles across the southern region of Brazil on October 31, 2018.  It broke the previous record of 199.5 miles, when a lightning bolt stretched across the state of Oklahoma on June 20, 2007.  And the longest-lasting lightning duration?  16.73 seconds.  That strike occurred in Argentina.  What do you think those long bolts are called?  ‘Megaflashes’ of course!

I knew you’d want to know.

Saturday evening, I could hear a bat squeaking in my quilting studio, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.  He was up near the ceiling somewhere... maybe hiding in the light/fan fixture.

I turned the fan on full blast and went downstairs to eat supper, hoping the problem would resolve itself in the meanwhile. 

I told this story to a friend, who responded helpfully, “At least you won’t have any mosquitoes in your studio.”  Haha 

I didn’t hear the bat again that night.

By the time I quit for the night, I was a third done quilting the Old-Fashioned Sewing-Machine quilt.  More pictures here.

Here’s a website where they sell this panel, which is called ‘A Stitch in Time’.

And now, just for the fun of it, look what someone on an online quilting group wrote to me:

I would like to know why a lot of quilters use a beautiful, special panel (like magestic [sic] animals, birds, etc.) in the middle of a quilt, and then sew on rows and rows and rows of fabric of different colors and with different designs.  

That really, really frustrates and aggravates me!  I think the center panel should be the focus of the quilt.  And, all the different colors and patterns in the surrounding fabrics just negate the beauty of the center panel.  Plus, all the intricate quilting patterns also negate its beauty.  It’s the magestic [sic] center panel that needs to shine.  Nothing else.

I absolutely hate to see a perfectly gorgeous creature or natural landscape diminished to the point of appearing to be of no value whatsoever.  

I would very much prefer to see a solid color border.  I might consider more than one color, but prefer just one color – white or beige, depending on the colors in the panel.  

In other words, why can’t avid quilters just leave perfect alone?  

Do the quilters just HAVE TO show off their piecing and quilting skills?

No offense intended.

==========================

That last line is just as good as ‘bless your little heart’, don’t y’all agree?

Reckon I should grade her spelling and send her email back to her?

She then sent another email saying I should send her pictures of the Sewing Machine quilt with the Flying Geese borders laid out around it, before I sewed them on, so she could tell me if it looked all right.  “I’m not yet positive that vintage sewing machines and geese go together,” she finished.

Maybe I should have made Flying Sewing Machines?

I wrote back, “Nope, nope, nope!  Me do by self!”

And just look:  I made this quilt exactly like she thinks I shouldn’t have.

‘Showing off piecing and quilting skills’.  Should everyone ‘hide their light under a bushel’?  Why should we ever cut up fabric and sew it back together again?  Why should craftsmen do fabulous things with wood?  Or stone?  Or brick?  Or glass?  Why should we tend flower gardens?  Just let wildflowers grow where they will!  Does she ask, “Why can’t avid gardeners just leave perfect alone?”

Upon my earlier remark that I was deciding whether to give Jeremy and Lydia their quilt or to save it for next year’s AQS show, she wrote this:

Well, I have an opinion on this, too.  Of course.   

I would give it to Jeremy and Lydia.  

1)    I think family comes first.

2)    I feel my children are more important than a contest.  (No offense meant.)

3)    I just couldn’t trust the quilt going all around the country again, and maybe getting lost or stolen; because, if that happened, Jeremy and Lydia wouldn’t get to enjoy it at all.

I didn’t answer her, because the only thing I could think of saying was, “No, I’m saving the quilt, because

1)    I think quilts come before families,

2)    Contests are much more important than my children (no offense meant), and

3)    I couldn’t care less if the stupid quilt gets lost or stolen.

Funny how online folk one has never even met can be uppers – or downers. 

I don’t have to have everyone fall all over me all the time.  But, wow, do they have to be nasty-rude?!

That woman is the same one who took issue with me saying Jeremy’s name first, instead of Lydia’s. 

“Lydia is your daughter!” she reprimanded me, “Jeremy is only your son-in-law.  Did you do that because in your religion the man is more important than the woman?”

I responded, “No; I did that because that’s how they’re listed in the phone book.”  🙄

The old-fashioned roses are still blooming.  When I posted this picture, someone asked, “Do your roses have a sent [sic] if so can you describe it”

So I, probably feeling a little more cantankerous than usual, set out to describe a ‘sent’:

“Yes, they have a delightful scent, with more of an aroma than the hybrid type.  I would say they smell like... um... hmmm... I know, I know! They smell like roses!!! 🤣”

I was inordinately proud of myself for that description.

You know, I see quilts I love... quilts I like... and even quilts I don’t care for quite as much, now and then.  But my Mama taught me to always look for something nice to say.

Plus, I keep this thought firmly in my small brain:  I need not be egotistical about anything, for... there are a whole lot of things I cannot do well at all.  I can’t paint worth a hoot.  I’m a dismal failure at pottery and woodworking.  The list goes on.

I once upon a time decided to make sachets for my little friends; I was about 10 or 11, I suppose.  And decidedly inartistic.

I got little powder puff/sponge thingies from the dime store, tried to stuff them with good smelling something-or-other, and then, for the crowning touch, I scribbled on them with markers, attempting to draw cute faces like the ones shown in a magazine I had.

They were not, uh, good.  Good grief, they looked more like ghouls than cute little girl faces.  And I’d tried so hard.

And then I actually gave them away!!! 

I should never, ever give anyone another sachet in my life, so as not to remind them of those hideous little eyesores.  Or maybe I should give them a new and better one each year, in order to erase the first catastrophe from their memories.

So... keeping just such things as this in mind, one of the many things I see when I look at other people’s work, be it quilting, embroidering, crocheting, woodworking, or whatever, is effort.  A whole lot of time and endeavor goes into such creations, and that means something. 

Therefore, I shall keep my mother’s teaching in mind always:  Look for the kind thing to say – and mean it when you say it. 

Once upon a time my father, upon being asked what to say when one is proudly shown an ugly baby, replied, “Why, you exclaim, ‘Just imagine the potential in this little bundle!’”  😆

Before I draw this communiqué to a close, I shall reveal a fact:  the woman with all the criticisms and disparagements --------- has made... ((drum roll)) one quilt.  One.  And that one quilt was constructed in approximately 1975.

Sunday, the dust cloud from the Sahara made our skies look hazy.  The sunset was strange and dirty-looking.  News agencies were wailing and gnashing their teeth, saying it was going to make COVID-19 worse, or at least make it easier to catch – especially for those with asthma.

“How is that going to happen? 🤔” asked Hannah.

“Well, how should I know?” I retorted.  “I’m no Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosist!”  (I’m pretty sure that’s the right word.)  (Who’s gonna know if it isn’t?)

I was calmly sitting in my recliner reading news and email last night, when something smacked into the closed stairs door, and then commenced to scrabbling on the steps. 

I didn’t have to look to know what that was.

I did what I do best:  I dashed into the bedroom and woke up Larry.  “Come and help me get a bat that’s on the stairs!”

He groggily clambered out of bed, grumbling all the way, and collected a broom, a flashlight, and the tennis racket.  I held the flashlight, and Larry cautiously opened the stairs door.

There was the bat, sprawled on the third step.

Larry swept it onto the racket, held it with the broom, and I opened the front door so he could take it out.  He dumped it unceremoniously onto the porch and then dispatched it with the racket.

And no bleeding hearts are going to make me feel guilty about that.

We have done quite enough catch and release; we’re done now.  If a bat wants to survive, he had jolly well better stay out of my house.

I went to bed happy the studio bat was no more.

Unless there were two of them up there. 

But we won’t think about that now.

The last few days, nearly every time I sit down to play the piano, a brilliant male Northern cardinal lands in the lilac bush just outside the music room window and commences to accompanying me with loud, cheery whistles and warbles.  Now and then a house wren spells him, and it is indeed a toss-up which bird is louder and more melodious.  Truly amazing, what melody can issue forth from the drab but oh-so-lively little wren.

Did you know that the house wren is the most widely distributed bird in the Americas?  It occurs from Canada to southernmost South America.

After searching through photo albums for hours and hours a couple of weeks ago looking for photos to display at my mother-in-law Norma’s funeral, I have renewed my resolve to get my photos scanned.  What an easier time of it we would have had, if I could’ve just plugged her name into a search, copied all found photos into a folder, and then uploaded them to a photography site to be printed.  And now I must return all those pulled photos to their albums.  (Yes, I labeled them with album volume number.)

So... as soon as this sewing machine quilt is done, I plan to spend three or four days each week scanning, scanning, scanning.  I have over 350 large albums to scan.  Siggghhhh...  My family ain’t just a-spoofin’ when they call me ‘snaphappy’. 

That’ll leave me two or three days a week to do such things as ... hmmm... I know, I know:  Quilt!  I’ll try to keep my projects smaller and faster during this time, and save the next Big Quilts for when the scanning is done.  I still need to make a couple of Big, Fancy-Schmancy Quilts.  But I’ll make some simpler ones in the meantime.  I have several drawn up in EQ8... I’ve picked some out of my quilting books... and I can make use of the fabric I have on hand for most of these.

Those are my tentative plans for the next couple of years.  Or decades.

Today I took Loren some pulled pork, 12-grain bread to go with it, corn, applesauce, and a cranberry-orange muffin fresh out of the oven.

On my way back home, I dropped off some things at the Goodwill.  I’m getting a sizeable collection of receipts; that’ll help when it comes time for next year’s tax return.

I stopped at the mailbox – and found a couple of packages, each containing a big, soft Buttercream Frosted Lemon Burst Cookie, each in its own cute little box.  Mmmm, yummy. 

They were from my cousin Ann, who lives in Illinois, where my parents’ families came from.  The cookies are... ahem, were from Cheryl’s Cookies, a company in Westerville, Ohio.

Have you ever noticed how lovely little things like cookies-in-the-mail seem to happen immediately after dumb little things like ‘your-borders-are-ugly-and-you’re-just-showing-off-with-that-quilting’ people pouncing on you?  (I’m pretty sure that sense made sentence.)  Maybe it’s how God ensures we will be properly thankful for the send-sympathy-and-cookies people, and put the quilt-pounce people back into their insignificant corner where they belong.

And with that, off I go to the quilting studio.  Don’t anyone bother me, now.

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

Photos: Cat Naps

Here’s Teensy trying to nap on the Log Cabin quilt. But Larry had it folded and lopped over the arm of the loveseat, and Teensy slid right down it and onto the loveseat. Do you think the blood is running to his head?

Tiger

Journal: Goodbye, Dear Mother-In-Law

Last Tuesday afternoon, I sewed the rest of the ninety 3D Flying Geese, then took Loren some soup, along with cheese and crackers, yogurt, and V8 cocktail juice.

Larry called to tell me that his mother Norma was not expected to live much longer.  He was heading home from Fremont; his brother Kenny was heading home from Grand Island.  They would be to her house in about an hour.

I went there a little later.  Several of the granddaughters were there.  I got a list of things we needed from Loren’s house, and went to retrieve them, picking up Hannah on the way, so she could help me look for things.  We gathered birth certificate, old pictures, and a nice dress.  Loren, despite my protests, carried most of the things out to the Jeep for us.

Later that evening, our nieces Katie and Amanda brought us chicken enchiladas and Spanish rice; it was so good.  The hospice nurse came for a while, too.

We stayed until 10:30 p.m., and then, since things weren’t really changing, we went home.  Larry went straight to the loveseat and collapsed, out like a light.  I typed Norma’s obituary, then washed two loads of clothes and put them away.

Kenny called Larry at 4:30 Wednesday morning to say that Norma was breathing much slower, and the nurse didn’t think it would be long.  Larry headed over there.

Later that morning, I walked into the kitchen to give Teensy his food (with his medication camouflaged in it) (Tiger gets his spoonful of consolation food, too) – and discovered the counter full of little brown ants! 

In all the years we’ve lived here, we’ve only had the rare handful of ants in the house.  In lieu of ant spray, of which I had none, I snatched up Mrs. Meyer’s Lavender Multi-Service Cleaner and let them have it.

On the positive side, it killed them immediately (and smelled good, into the bargain).  On the negative side, it did not prevent more coming in – and every ant on the entire property had evidently been given the notice that there was a new food bar to investigate.  I don’t know what the draw was; I don’t leave food out!

Larry later recalled that when he brought in those insulated Schwan bags from the front porch five days earlier, there had been little brown ants on at least one of them.  He’d dusted them off and killed them all.  (Or so he thought.)  But what he didn’t know is that squished ants give off a scent that attracts more ants.  And quite likely, some ants escaped to the Great Outdoors, leaving their chemical trail behind them, so that new ants, following the trail, poured in under the crack at the bottom of the front door.

For a couple of days, I kept spraying and wiping down counters, table, floor, chair legs, table legs.  Their numbers dwindled, but they were persistent.

Larry brought home several ant traps and set them in strategic places.  And then they were gone.

So is my Mrs. Meyer’s Lavender Multi-Service Cleaner.

Ah, well; at least the house is clean, and has a lovely, fresh lavender scent.

Hannah came that day to help me look through photo albums for pictures to display at the funeral. She went home a little after 5:00 to get ready for church.  I then went to stay with Larry, Kenny, and Kenny’s daughter Rachel, taking them soup, crackers, and peaches.  They’d been with Norma all day.  She’d been unresponsive for the last two days.

Across the street, the church parking lot began filling up; church was about to begin.  I streamed it on my laptop.  God’s word is always such a comfort at times like this.

After the service, I went back home, Hannah came, and we went back to searching through albums.

Shortly after 10:30 that night, Larry wrote to say that Norma had passed away.

We will miss her so much; she was so loving and sweet, always doing things for others.  But... as Louisa May Alcott wrote as the voice of Jo in Little Women regarding her beloved sister Beth, “But those who loved her best smiled through their tears and thanked God that Beth was well at last.”  Just so, we know Norma is ‘well at last’.

I can truthfully say that my mother-in-law never, ever said one word to me that wasn’t kind and loving.

Here’s a picture of Norma (on the left) with two of her sisters, Nora and Betty. 

Larry came home an hour or so later.  Upon learning that we were to be at the funeral home in the morning, visitation at the church would start at 4:30 p.m. Thursday, and the funeral would be Friday at 2:00 p.m. with visitation starting an hour before the service, I called it quits with the photos.  There were many albums we didn’t get to.  We made it through all of Norma’s couple dozen albums, but I have over 350, and I probably only looked through 100 of them.  The pictures we’d pulled would have to do.

Here are Norma and her sister Nora.  They were dressed for a piano recital.

Hannah and Danielle, Norma’s step-granddaughter, spent many hours putting pictures old and new on pretty display boards for the front vestibule of the church.

After a visit to the funeral home Thursday morning with Kenny and his two oldest daughters, we went to Loren’s house.  I had called him earlier to tell him about Norma, and to tell him we’d stop by his house.

I am not sure how much my brother, who is 22 years older than me, understands.  He’s sad about Norma – but more like a person would be to lose a good friend, rather than a wife.  He is sorry for Larry and Kenny more than he is for himself, I think.  So I tell him what I must, and spare him most of the details.

Loren had their wedding album out on his table and had been looking at it when we got there.  Looking at the pictures helps him remember some things.  I asked him if we could display the album at the funeral with the other pictures, and he seemed to like that idea.  I promised we’d give it right back to him after the funeral.  I really like the book, and I like the verses in it.

He asked again what exactly caused Norma’s death – it’s like he just can’t get it into his head that she actually died of cancer; it’s too hard.  He gestured at the album and said, “It was only two years.” 

I put a can of soup and some oyster crackers on his table and told him to eat it later; he said he couldn’t eat right now ... so I told him to leave that can right there where he could see it, and hopefully it would cause a hunger pang later.  He laughed at that. 

Here’s a poem Hannah found among Norma’s old pictures.  It must’ve been special to her, because she’d made three copies of it.  I typed it up and sent it to the funeral home to be printed on the inside of the funeral programs that will be handed out:

THE LORD HATH BLESSED ME HITHERTO

When our soul is much discouraged

By the roughness of the way,

And the cross we have to carry

Seems heavier each passing day;

When some cloud that overshadows

Hides our Father’s face from view,

’Tis well then to remember –

He has blessed us hitherto.

Looking back the long years over,

What a varied path!  And yet

All the way His hand has led us,

Placed each hindrance we have met;

Given to us the pleasant places,

Cheered us all the journey through;

Passing through the deepest waters,

He has blessed us hitherto.

Surely then our hearts should trust Him!

Though the clouds be dark o’erhead,

We’ve a Friend that draweth closer

When all other friends have fled.

When our pilgrimage is over,

And the gates we’re sweeping through,

We shall see with clearer vision

How He’s blessed us hitherto.

- from J. Harold Smith’s paper, The Good Neighbor

I searched for the author’s name but couldn’t find it, though I did discover it was written in 1889.  J. Harold Smith was a pastor and friend of ours from Arkansas, and later he moved to Florida.  He had a radio ministry for many years.  He died two years before my father, in 1991.

Between the morning meeting at the funeral home to choose a casket and arrange details and the afternoon visitation at the church, I had enough time to iron the 3D Flying Geese for the Old-Fashioned Sewing-Machine quilt.  I started putting them together... got half a dozen done... and then it was time to go.

Keith sent word that he was on his way with his wife Korrine and stepdaughters Keyara and Kenzie (stepson Kaiden didn’t come).  They would be driving from Salt Lake City through the night in order to get here in time. 

They arrived at their motel a little after 9:00 a.m. Friday morning.  The manager let them check in right away, and only charged them for one night.  They slept a couple of hours, and then came to the church.

When Keith walked over to his grandmother’s casket, he got tears in his eyes – and Kenzie, who’s 12, immediately went and wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug.  That made me happy, because it tells me that Keith loves his stepchildren, and they love him in return.  Keith and Korrine have been married a little over a year and a half.

Here is Norma’s obituary:

Norma June Swiney | 1939 - 2020 | Obituary

Lyle and Norma Jackson

Norma June Swiney, age 81, of Columbus, Nebraska, passed away June 17, 2020.

Norma June Swiney was born March 9, 1939, in rural Lamar, Colorado, to James A. and Ruby L. [Bean] Jenkinson.  They moved to Trinidad, Colorado, when Norma was 5.  She graduated from Trinidad High School in 1956.  She married Lyle R. Jackson on May 28, 1956 in Raton, New Mexico.

They lived in Trinidad, Colorado, where their children were born, until 1974, when they moved to Columbus, Nebraska.

After Lyle died, Norma married Merlin E. Wright on June 2, 1988.  Merlin passed away, and she married Lawrence H. W. Fricke on February 14, 1991.  After Lawrence passed away, Norma married Loren D. Swiney on April 26, 2018.

Norma was a faithful member of the Bible Baptist Church for 46 years.  She loved the old hymns, and played both piano and organ.  Through her life, she often worked as a secretary or a bookkeeper.  She enjoyed sewing and various crafts, and made many gifts for her children, grandchildren, and friends. 

Norma is survived by:

Husband:  Loren Swiney

Daughter:  Rhonda Jackson of Omaha, Nebraska

Son:  Larry (Sarah Lynn) Jackson of Columbus, Nebraska

Son:  Kenneth Jackson of Columbus, Nebraska

Stepdaughter:  Barbara Jenkinson

Sister:  Betty Cortez of Omaha, Nebraska

Twenty-five grandchildren

Many great-grandchildren, nephews, and nieces

She was preceded in death by:

Husbands:  Lyle Jackson, Merlin Wright, and Lawrence Fricke

Father:  James Jenkinson

Mother:  Ruby Berry

Son:  Lyle Ray Jackson, Jr.

Son:  Leonard Roy Jackson

Daughter-in-law:  Annette Jackson

Infant great-grandson:  Liam Jackson

Brother:  Alvin ‘Tex’ Jenkinson

Brother:  Clyde Jenkinson

Sister:  Opal Walcott

Sister:  Nora Van Riper

After our service, we drove to the cemetery for a small ceremony.  We stuck around for a few minutes and watched the workers close and lower the vault.  I had never seen them do this before.  It looked much like this (not my photo):

Loren rode with us to the cemetery.  The beautiful old hymns we had sung and the sermon Robert preached had helped him, and he seemed very much at peace about everything.  He talked about how helpful Norma was:  “She was at my house washing dishes a lot after the meals!” 

That’s sad, really, but I had to smile about it anyway. 

There’s so often a silver lining to our dark clouds, and here’s this one:  Loren’s loss of memory is keeping him from grieving over Norma’s loss as he otherwise would have done.

So... we don’t try to change his thinking; we just give him information as he needs it, and make sure he knows we love him.  People with Alzheimer’s start losing details, especially new details, more and more as time goes by.  But it’s often a good long while before they lose feeling – and they very likely feel the love, patience, care, humor, and various other emotions we give them a whole lot longer than we’d ever think.

So love him we will.

We returned to the church, where a generous luncheon had been prepared for the family.  There was pulled pork, sliced ham, buns, potato salad, coleslaw, orange fluff, a fruit mixture (watermelon, grapes, blueberries, pineapple, mangoes, and peaches), chips, cookies, and various things to drink.

Afterwards, we walked over to the house where Norma had stayed, and the granddaughters and great-granddaughters chose pieces of Norma’s jewelry, as she had wished for them to do.

Keith, Korrine, Keyara, and Kenzie visited Teddy and Amy and their family that evening, and the girls had a good time catching lightning bugs with Emma, who is about the same age.  They put milkweed plants, complete with the blossoms, into the jar, and punctured the lid to allow air into it.

They are taking the fireflies home with them in the hopes of populating the state of Utah with the insects. 

Now before you get all hot and bothered about a disruption and disturbance to the ecosystem, let me hasten to tell you that there are already lightning bugs in Utah, though not in the very dry area around Keith and Korrine’s home.  Fireflies love warm, humid areas.  They thrive in tropical regions as well as temperate zones.  They come out in the summertime in these environments, existing on all continents except Antarctica.  Fireflies thrive in forests, fields, and marshes near lakes, rivers, ponds, streams, and vernal pools.  They need a moist environment to survive.

Even if those captured insects made it all the way to Utah, there is poor chance for their continued survival in the area where they will be released.  The ecosystem will not suffer.

Also, there is a grand plenty of lightning bugs around here; you need shed no tears over the bugs in the jar.  They kept Keyara and Kenzie entertained for a while, so their lives were not without merit and value.

Now, are you properly mollified?

Once upon a time when I was about 9 or 10, my parents and I were camping at a park in Iowa.  I had found a couple of little girls to play with, and we were catching fireflies.  The competition was on, and we were in high gear, each trying to catch more than the other.  I raced madly about, snatching bugs in midair and off of tree leaves.

Spotting one on the ground, I dived at it, grabbed it up, and tried to drop it into my jar.

It wrapped around my finger.

My skin crawled.

I took a closer look – and discovered I had picked up not a firefly, but a glowworm!!!

Oh, shiver me timbers.

Shudders or not, I carefully scraped that worm off my finger and into my jar.  Mayhap I could win this contest not just by quantity, but by diversity!

And yes, my new little friends were properly impressed.

Speaking of bugs, I saw one of those long black beetles in the house... snatched up a Kleenex to grab him... and he went scampering under the edge of a rug.  I flipped the rug back to get to him – and a large black spider came rip-snorting out.

I didn’t know long black beetles were into quick-change costume acts, did you?

The lilies are all starting to bloom; the yard is colorful.  But the weeds are getting robust, since I haven’t had a chance to do any weeding for over a week. 

Saturday was the first day of summer, and it was also the longest day of the year.  I discovered this by reading the comic Arlo and Janis.

Larry stayed home from work that day to visit with Keith and Korrine and the girls, and to make waffles for them for breakfast.  They slept late, on account of forfeiting almost all of the previous night’s sleep to driving.  It was just as well, since we had a downpour until some time after 10:30 a.m. 

Larry had the waffle iron hot and the batter mixed and ready to pour when they arrived.  Loren showed up around 11:30 a.m.  Fortunately, we had one waffle left, for he was hungry!

Later that afternoon, Hannah took him some sliders from Arby’s for his supper.  So helpful to me, since I was fixing supper for Keith and his family.  She picked up a few more things of Norma’s while she was there, including a couple of small ceramic mallard duck figurines that Norma had made.

Keith, Korrine, and the girls left after supper.  They had a twelve-hour drive ahead of them, as they needed to get Keyara and Kenzie home to spend Father's Day with their father.

They made it by 6:15 a.m. Sunday morning. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life,” said Keith, “trying to drive and trade off with Korrine...”

I know from experience that a second siege of No-Sleep-Drive-All-Night, shortly after a first siege of it, is not one bit fun.  I prayed for their safety Saturday night before I went to bed, rather late, and again Sunday morning when I got up, half an hour before they got home (6:45 CST).

Hannah gave Larry the framed song I Will Sing the Wondrous Story.  It has paper flowers arranged around it.  It was Norma’s favorite song; we sang it at the funeral.  This was Larry’s Father’s Day gift from Bobby and Hannah and family. 

Here’s Teensy trying to nap on the Log Cabin quilt.  But Larry had it folded and lopped over the arm of the loveseat, and Teensy slid right down it and onto the loveseat.  Do you think the blood is running to his head?

Hester texted Larry to say she had fixed a dessert for him (and for me, too!), so we headed out to get it. 

The Jeep wouldn’t start. 

It wasn’t the battery; the battery was hale and hearty.  It had to be in the relay wiring somewhere, according to Larry.

His pickup was still across the street from the preschoolers’ house, as he and Kenny had loaded Norma’s dresser and free-standing jewelry box into her van and he’d driven it home.

So... we drove the van to Hester’s house, despite the fact that it was piping hot outside, nothing but hot air blows from the van’s vents, and the passenger side window won’t roll down.

That was not the worst part, however.  In an empty compartment directly behind the right rear wheel well, something was making a loud, raspy, continuous beep, only a wee bit quieter than a smoke alarm going off.  Larry was untroubled, since he could rarely hear it.  Aarrgghh.

But we made it to Andrew and Hester’s house, ate pretty little cheesecakes with fresh blueberries and peaches on top, and played with Keira.  She’s such a lively little sweetie.

After departing under a brilliant orange and red sunset (no, of course not; why would I have ever taken my camera with me?), we went to get the pickup.  I drove the van home, beeping all the way.  It started raining just before I got here.  Dodging raindrops, I dashed into the house.

Oh, look!  Victoria posted a picture of the sunset on Instagram!  It’s in a different location, and it’s a little later and therefore a little darker, but it’s still plenty spectacular.

Since Larry couldn’t work on the Jeep that night on account of the pouring rain, we had to drive the pickup to church Sunday. 

Huuuumiliating.  I made sure to wear full skirts both morning and night so I could get in and out of the thing (thank goodness for the step Larry installed on that truck when we were in Texas), and I chose dark colors, in case he missed some oil or grease in his quick-cleaning job.

Kurt and Victoria invited us over for lunch after the morning service, and Victoria sent Loren home with some lunch, too.  I appreciate our generous and helpful children.

Saturday, Keith moved the recliner to the other side of the living room (a distance of about ten feet)... and we decided to leave it there, on the chance that there won’t be air blowing right into my eyes like there is when the chair is against the other wall.

This meant we needed to put Tiger’s bed somewhere else.  I laid it in front of the hope chest, where Teensy’s Thermabed usually resides, though he never sleeps in it in the summertime.  It’s in the washroom right now.

Anyway, Tiger just went and started lying down on his bed, but he got a bit off-center as he was ker-plunking down, and winded up thonking into the door of the hope chest, which made a noisy wooden ‘klonk’ noise.  He paused halfway up and halfway down, making as much of an ‘ugh-what-happened’ grimace as any cat could possibly make.

He lumbered off of the bed and clambered up on the loveseat.  It doesn’t go ‘ka-thonk!’ when he lies down on it!

Larry worked on the Jeep last night, and got it fixed in just a few minutes.  A relay wire had corrosion on it and wasn’t making good connection.  He couldn’t get to the point of connection (at least, not without removing half the engine, he couldn’t), so he wiggled the wire back and forth until he figured it was pretty well cleaned off.  Then he tried the starter – and it started, presto.

Joseph sent a note wishing him a Happy Father's Day, writing from a camping trip in Colorado.  They had gone up Pike’s Peak earlier.

Larry and I haven’t ever gone up Pikes Peak – at least not together.  We were going to a couple of years ago, but decided it was too expensive.  It’s $15 per adult; $5 for children ages 5-17.  The price goes by person, rather than by vehicle, the greedy racketeers.  Joseph got in free because he’s a veteran.

I went several times with my parents.  Daddy would drive close enough to the snowbanks to grab a handful of snow, and then toss it back at me.  Then he’d drive reeeeeal close to the snowbank on my side... I’d jussssssssst about reach it — and then he’d swerve away from it.

I ‘drove’ it several months ago – via Google Street View.  When I got to the top, I discovered that the GGWTCOHH (Google Guy with the Camera on His Head) had trekked right down the side of the mountain, so down the side of the mountain went I, too! (via laptop)

Joseph said Juliana got sick from the altitude, but soon recovered.  “My wife had Fear of Gravity sickness, going up,” he added.  😄  Poor Jocelyn!

“Pike’s Peak was on my ‘Need-to-Do List’,” said Joseph.  “Now it’s on my ‘I-Did-It-Don’t-Need-to-Repeat-It List’.”

“We’re moving to my favorite campground ever tomorrow,” he told us.  “Bet you’ll never guess which one.  We stayed there several times when we were young.”

“Chief Hosa?” I guessed.

 “Sugar Loafin’,” said Joseph.

“Ah!” I exclaimed, “I loved that one best, too!”

Sugar Loafin’ is a nice campground west of Leadville, Colorado.  It’s a beautiful area.  We haven’t been there for a while.

“What’s the name of the lake immediately west of the campground?” I asked.  All I could think of was ‘Bright Blue Lake’, and I knew that wasn’t right.

“Turquoise, I think,” he replied, just as I found it on the map.  Turquoise it is.

Tennessee Creek runs through the campground, too.

“Remember when those bums started a campfire at Chief Hosa campground, when the ground was covered with several inches of bone-dry pine needles and no campfires were allowed?” I queried.  “The campground owners called 911, and firemen came and ran them off.  Didn’t even let them get all their things.  The next morning, we fell upon the spoils.”  😂

Larry wound up with a nice camera, including film... and we found enough cartons of chicken-flavored Nissin Cup Noodles to feed our entire tribe their supper the next night.  We’d never had Nissin noodles before, and we all really liked it.

Once we were pulling out of Sugar Loafin’ Campground, when Caleb, sitting between us, said, “Something’s biting me!”  He was about 3, maybe 4.

Larry knew exactly what the trouble was:  the child had red ants on him!

In a giant hurry, without saying a word, Larry slammed on the brakes, opened the door of the pickup, snatched Caleb out of his seat, and set him down on the ground. 

Caleb’s eyes were bigger’n saucers.  He must’ve thought his father was pitching him to the wolves, poor little kiddo!

I was yelping, “Tell him what you’re doing, tell him what you’re doing!” 

By then Larry was out of the truck, helping Caleb off with his shirt, and brushing the ants off of him.  And explaining what he was doing.  Caleb’s eyes gradually returned to their proper size.

“Been there got that t-shirt,” remarked Joseph, upon my retelling of this story.  “Well, the t-shirt came off very quickly.

“I was training in Louisiana (does not recommend Louisiana for tourist destination) and was taking a quick second to eat my Happy Meal (aka MRE 🤢) and was leaned up against a tree and they coordinated their attack and about 20 of them bit me at the same time.  I broke records taking my gear off.  Thankfully my trousers were tied at the bottom and belt was tight so they only got in my shirt.”

More recollections from various trips we took:  We were at a park in St. Jo, Missouri, eating tacos.  The park was under a very big Interstate overpass, which was held up by huge concrete pillars.  The traffic was way, way, overhead, so far above us that even the noise of the big trucks was minimal.

The children, after eating their tacos, went off to play catch with footballs and frisbees.  Caleb, taking a break from all the dashing about, leaned on one of those enormous pillars.

I gasped, “Aahhhh!  Don’t lean on that, the bridge will collapse and the cars and trucks will all fall down!”

He popped bolt upright really, really fast, eyes wide. 

And then, in a quiet, reproving tone when his siblings screeched with laughter, he said, “Mama.”  hee hee

At 3:00 p.m. today, AccuWeather said it was clear and sunny – but it was actually overcast, and radar showed storms heading our way.  I got in gear and fixed some food for Loren, then rushed off to give it to him:  spaghetti and meatballs... a cinnamon roll... broccoli... apple juice... and a fruit mixture of peaches, mangoes, pineapple, and strawberries.  

While there, I picked up some of Norma's shoes and the Buoyant Blossoms quilt I’d made for her, and Loren helped me fold it (keep clicking on ‘Older Posts’ at the bottom to see better shots of the quilting, up close).

He couldn’t remember if it was one Norma had made, or if I had made it for her. I told him again, and then said, “I promise, I won’t steal the one I made for you!” He laughed. Here’s his, created from blocks his previous late wife Janice made:  August Bouquet Quilt

At this stage (and he’s probably likely to continue this way, at least with Larry and me), he’s completely trusting and agreeable with anything we say.  I shall stay cheery and encouraging, doing my best to help him.  Sometimes it makes me want to cry, though.  I really love my brother.

The storm was heading toward our house from the northwest almost as fast as I was heading to it from the east.  I got home before the deluge and the 50 mph winds hit, just barely.  As I stopped on Old Highway 81 to get our mail from the mailbox, big, fat raindrops were starting to fall.  When I pulled into our lane, sudden hard winds came gusting through, so that I had a hard time opening and closing the Jeep doors and collecting the bag of Loren’s clothes I brought home to wash.

Yessiree, it was willy whewy!!!  (à la Victoria, age 1 ½

By a quarter after five, it was sunny and beautiful out, and the wind was barely a breeze at 6 mph.  I popped outside and took pictures of the flowers with all the raindrops on them, filled the bird feeders, and washed clothes.

When Larry got home from work, he told me about seeing a mountain lion in a field near Duncan at about 8:00 a.m. this morning.

“You should report it,” I told him – but he said he didn’t need to, because a sheriff’s car was on the shoulder, and the sheriff was watching the lion as it sashayed through the field, pausing periodically to look back over its shoulder.  It had probably gotten too close to a calf, and the mother cow chased it off.  Cows aren’t so docile, when something is endangering their calves!

Kurt, Victoria, Carolyn, and Violet came visiting, bringing Larry a shave bar, brush, and cup, along with steak and carrots.  He generously gave me a bite of his steak.  😋😄

After they left, Larry went to Genoa to work on one of his friend Joe’s vehicles. 

Fact:  Deep Relief essential oils, to rub on sore joints and whatnot, does not cure Benign Essential Blepharospasm.  In fact, it doesn’t even make it feel better!

I knew you’d want to know.

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

I Will Sing the Wondrous Story

I will sing the wondrous story
Of the Christ Who died for me,
How He left His home in glory
For the cross of Calvary.

Chorus

Yes, I'll sing the wondrous story
Of the Christ Who died for me,
Sing it with the saints in glory,
Gathered by the crystal sea.

I was lost, but Jesus found me,
Found the sheep that went astray,
Threw His loving arms around me,
Drew me back into His way.

I was bruised, but Jesus healed me;
Faint was I from many a fall;
Sight was gone, and fears possessed me,
But He freed me from them all.

Days of darkness still come o'er me,
Sorrow's path I often tread,
But the Savior still is with me;
By His hand I'm safely led.

He will keep me till the river
Rolls its waters at my feet;
Then He'll bear me safely over,
Where the loved ones I shall meet.