Throughout last week, I continued scanning old photos. At the moment, I’m halfway through an album from August of 1999, when we took a vacation to Colorado. All the children but Keith were with us; he had gotten married in March.
This is the Taylor River, which spills
into the Taylor Reservoir. We fished in
both the river and the reservoir (well, not me; I trotted around taking
pictures), and, near as I can remember, caught nary a fish the entire
time.
We saw other people hauling them
in now and then, though.
I was once walking along a viewing and fishing
platform south of the huge Lake Okeechobee in Florida, when a man caught a
fish, gave his pole a hard jerk and flip, and nearly ker-splatted me smack in
the face with a big ol’ largemouth bass. You should’ve seen how big the
eyes of a nearby black man got, as he watched that show. Fortunately, I
saw it coming, and ducked in time.
Here’s
Victoria at Rainbow Lake. She was 2 ½.
Tuesday, I headed downstairs to my
gift-wrapping room. It took a while to get
all of Norma’s albums put neatly into boxes and bins, and stored in another
part of the basement. I carried a couple
of small boxes of loose family photos upstairs to my upstairs office; I will
scan those; they are from the 50s and 60s, and possibly earlier. Perhaps I’ll scan more of her photos, too;
but not until I’m done with my own.
Next, I pulled out all the bins of
Christmas bags, wrapping paper, tissue paper, and decorative boxes, rummaged up
the scissors, pens, permanent markers, old Christmas cards I cut for name tags,
packaging tape, and scotch tape; and then I carried the many boxes of newly-arrived
Christmas gifts downstairs.
I pulled up my Christmas list on my
computer... and was ready to begin.
Two minutes later, the first present
for Christmas 2020 had been wrapped: a
big, beautiful picture book called Passage to Israel. That will be for Loren.
Late that night, I got a notification
from Spot Trace; it thought the device had gotten moved across the lane into our
neighbor’s yard.
This is the little satellite tracker we
got at Cabela's to put into one of Loren’s vehicles. We haven’t done it yet, because we weren’t
sure it was working properly. It doesn’t
seem to give coordinates often enough.
On the other hand, we wouldn’t want it giving a notice every 15 seconds
whilst said vehicle was underway.
Updating the settings is a royal
pain. One must save the settings online,
power off the device, plug it into one’s computer via USB cord, pull up the
program and run it just as if downloading the app for the first time, even
putting in the Authorization Code, before restarting the it. This entails
holding a couple of buttons down for a prescribed number of seconds, and in the
proper order. The Auth code is located
inside the device under the batteries, and a screwdriver is required to open
the thing. Could they possibly make
matters any more difficult?! After having
to take the tracker apart twice as we were setting it up, I wised up and saved
both the Auth code and the serial number in my password files. It’s still a pain; just slightly less
of a pain.
The last time I tried changing the
settings, I couldn’t finish the update because Larry had gone off with the USB
cord in one of his jacket pockets. So
after all the trouble of running the .exe file and going through all its
demands, I had to cancel the operation.
I threw up my hands, tossed the stupid
thing in my purse, and let it be.
It does give notice when we go
somewhere (usually), but it seems to take a good long while to get itself
activated. Maybe we should just stick it
into Loren’s Jeep and see what happens.
Anyway,
I was surprised to get the notification that the device was somehow in the
neighbor’s front yard. (It really
wasn’t; sometimes the pin drops down a little skewwhiff on the map. The tracker was sitting proudly on the
kitchen table right that minute.)
“Why
is the Spot Trace in Dan Tworek’s front yard?” I asked Larry.
“Maybe
I shook it too hard when I picked it up,” he replied.
“Just
now?” I queried. “Did you get mad that
it wasn’t responding, and throw it out the door?”
“Noooo,”
he said, “I just picked it up and shook it to see if the lights would blink. They didn’t.”
Grummm grummm grummm. Electronix.
I finally placed an order with Schwan’s
for the first time since the hub closed in Schuyler and the driver no longer
comes here. It would be shipped via UPS and arrive in freezer bags with
gel freezer packs or dry ice. I can vouch that those gel packs really
work, because one time the Schwan lady arrived when I was gone and left several
bags on the porch, each containing a couple of freezer packs.
I came in the back door and did not see
the bags on the porch, and they sat there for about seven hours on a hot summer
day. Larry found them when he came home from work – and all that food was
still frozen solid, even the frozen yogurt.
The food, in two big boxes containing
two big Styrofoam boxes, with dry ice tossed in amongst the packages, arrived Wednesday,
two days after I ordered it.
It is very nice to have high-quality
vegetables, meat, and fruit again (in decent-sized bags, to boot), and their
frozen yogurt just can’t be beat, even by Kemp’s.
I donned a pair of gloves and put it
away. It’s a good thing we have a new
freezer in the basement; it would never have all fit in the side-by-side
freezer/refrigerator.
I gave the kitchen a quick cleaning,
put the last load of clothes in the washing machine, and then headed downstairs
to wrap more Christmas presents. The UPS
truck came rumbling down the lane about then, delivering a bunch more boxes.
Soon it was time to go to our midweek
church service. Larry always has to make
certain he has a pocketful of little Altoid strawberry mints to give the
grandchildren after church. And yes,
they know those things are in his pocket, and they know who they’re for,
too. š
When we got home, we had a light
supper, and then I trotted back downstairs again, accompanied by Teensy, who
loves Christmas-present-wrapping time.
A couple of hours later, I headed back
up the stairs to my recliner. I made a
cup of Oriental Treasures tea, set it on the mug warmer, sat down, turned on
the heating pad, put it behind my back, and barely got the fleece blanket
pulled up and the laptop situated before Teensy, waiting impatiently, landed on
my lap, right between laptop and stomach.
Just as I got all nicely settled in, I
heard a slight noise over in the back hallway right outside the kitchen. It wasn’t Tiger; he was sound asleep on his
Thermabed beside my chair. The
refrigerator blocked my view, but the slight sound of cat food rattling in the
dispenser is unmistakable.
I urged Teensy off my lap (takes a bit,
because he’s getting older, and is gimpy, and I sure don’t want to hurt him),
then leaped up and dashed through the kitchen to the back door. I heard the pet door close softly. I jerked the door open, flipped on the light
(which comes on slooowly in the cold) – and heard the scramble of claws on
cement as whatever-it-was hightailed it into the nether regions of the
garage. I whacked the sturdy ice cream
scoop I’d snatched up on the door jamb, and the scrabbling picked up speed.
Since both cats were indoors, I put the
pet door blocker in. That raccoon was insistent,
though, trying several times through the night to force that door blocker open. He really, really wanted more cat
food.
The cats, accustomed to coming and
going as they please, are not real happy to find their way to The Great
Outdoors blocked. But they are older
now, and sleep quite a lot; and neither of them set up a ruckus to get
outside. When Teensy wants out, if Larry
or I are around, he’ll sit at the front door with his nose pointed straight up
at the doorknob, ears peeled back, in a vigorous attempt to ‘look the door open’.
Tiger, comparatively the New Cat on the
Block, having watched this performance for several years now, and seeing that
it does get results, tries it out now and then. He never gets his ears exactly right,
though. They always stick out straight
from the sides of his head, making him look more like a plump Dorset sheep worrying
about a bad shearing than a cat requesting egress.
I keep a litterbox indoors, so it
doesn’t hurt anything to keep the blocker in place for a few overnight hours.
By noon on Thursday, it was 67°,
projected to get to 71°, with barely a breeze, only 10 mph. Quite unusual, for the 19th of
November in Nebraska.
By 1:30 p.m., it was 72°... and an hour
later the temperature had reached 73°. It felt more like early summer
than late autumn.
That afternoon I called the Eye
Physicians office to make an appointment for Loren to have an eye exam and get
new glasses, figuring it was about time to get it done, since the doctor had
said we should do that two to three months after cataract surgery. I was
quite surprised to learn that he’d already had the eye exam, and all he needed
to do was choose his frames! He’d gone
to Eye Physicians by himself back when Larry and I had Covid-19 – and they’d
called it a post-op exam, never mentioning he would be having an eye exam for
glasses. They had a couple of mix-ups at their office that week, and I
was too sick to worry about it. They’re
supposed to let me know these things.
They don’t.
When I discovered I was sick the day
before Loren’s appointment back on September 11, I called him and asked if he
thought he’d be all right going there alone. I thought it would be a
quick checkup on the new lens in his eye, and that would be that. I knew
he knew where the office was, because he often told me at which corner to turn
when I was taking him there. He said
he’d be fine.
Well, the morning of the appointment,
he showed up at the Gehring Construction & Ready-Mix office, asking our
friend Stephen if Dr. D. had come yet; he thought he was supposed to meet the
eye doctor at the ready-mix office. Stephen called Eye Physicians, and
after finally getting them to understand that Loren was right there in
his office, and the phone was on speaker phone, they reluctantly gave out that
Highly Secret Intelligence, the time of the appointment. (Who knows
what a felon might do with information like that. OoooOOOooo.) š
So Loren made it to his appointment on
time. We wondered about it when he first told Larry it took 2 ½ hours,
and then later told me it took 1 ½ hours. Isn’t it funny how a
particular trait someone has always had – in his case, exaggerating time – is
one of the things that really goes askew, with Alzheimer's? (Although
it’s a fact that Alzheimer's patients have a very hard time keeping track of
time and date and such things as appointments.)
Anyway, it evidently took longer than
he’d expected, on account of them giving him a full eye exam. I have no
idea why they didn’t help him choose a pair of frames right then and there,
like they usually do, and get those glasses ordered. They probably
politely asked him if he wanted to do that, and he said no, because 1)
he wanted to go home, and 2) he was afraid it would cost too much.
When I said to him last week that we
needed to get an appointment for him to have an eye exam and get his new
glasses, he, all astonished, asked, “Why??!!!” I explained that
having cataracts removed and new lenses put into one’s eyes changes the eyes,
and necessitates new glasses. He proceeded
to tell me he already had his glasses; they’d just put new lenses in the
old frames. Knowing that that hadn’t happened in many years, I said that
now he needs to choose new frames, and they’ll order his new glasses. He
agreed to this; we would do it the next day – but he went on telling me he’d
just gotten new glass (or new lenses only; he switched back and forth between
these accounts). First he told me this
occurred in the middle of the summer; shortly thereafter, he said it had taken
place after his cataract surgery.
I didn’t argue, just went through the
same spiel again about cataract surgery changing one’s eyes, so that he now
needs new glasses, and all he has to do is choose the frames, and I’ll help
him, since after all that can be tricky, because once you remove your glasses
to try on a new pair, how in the world can you tell what you look like?! š
When that didn’t seem to be enough, I
told him we could tell he really needed new glasses, because he’s been
having trouble finding the pages in the hymnals and in his Bible at church. That helped change his mind, and he agreed he
must need them.
I soon realized his major worry was the
price of the things, so I told him his insurance would pay for them, or at
least for part of them. And then all was well, and he was no
longer trying to tell me he had new glasses – in fact, his story then
changed, and he told me his lenses were so old, they were all scratched up, and
he’d been thinking all along he needed new ones.
When it doesn’t matter, I just
nod. I’m agreeable, agreeable,
agreeable. š
His supper that night was a chicken egg
roll, cauliflower, carrots, and broccoli, red grapes, pears, and chocolate
chip/mint ice cream.
Friday afternoon, as promised, I took
Loren to Eye Physicians to pick out the frames for his new glasses. By
the time we got there, he’d gotten the idea that the glasses were going to be
sitting there ready and waiting, and the lady at the desk was already looking
for them before I could get her to understand that we still needed to choose
the frames. (It sure is hard to converse with people whilst everyone is
sporting those stupid masks!)
She eventually figured it out, although
because Loren had said “The glasses will be in those drawers!” (you know how
they bring the finished glasses out in trays?), she thought he wanted the
high-priced designer frames they keep hidden away in drawers. But soon we
made our way over to the frames on the wall, and she pulled out a pair that
were similar to the ones he has, only a little different in color, which will
be good, so we can tell them apart. He forgets which are his old glasses,
and which are his newer ones. I’ll take all the older ones away except
for the last ones, after he gets his new ones. I saw quite a few in his
bedroom one day when I was helping him look for them. They accept old
glasses at LensCrafters; Lion’s Club fixes them up and gives them to poor
people in other countries, and maybe even here in our country.
The glasses will be done in 7-10
days. Loren could see so much better after the cataracts were removed, he
was convinced he had 20/20 vision even without his glasses. He’s been using his old ones to read, but
they’re not right. I think he’ll be really happy to finally have glasses
with the right prescription.
As I dropped him off at his house,
leaving some food for his supper, I was telling him the story of how when we’d
be at our parents’ house years ago, and there’d be other people visiting, Mama
would serve everyone but me a cup of coffee. If I wanted it, I had to get
up and get it myself – because she really didn’t think her baby girl should be
drinking coffee, you know. And she’d say the same thing, every time, in a
surprised tone: “Do you drink coffee?!” hee hee
So Loren was laughing as he went to his
door.
Larry got off work a couple of hours
early that evening, and we headed to LensCrafters in Lincoln, as the prescription
in his new glasses didn’t seem to be right.
Sure enough, it turned out that the focus
point for distance had been placed several millimeters offside. No wonder everything at a distance was
blurry!
He also chose a better pair of frames,
since the ones he’d first gotten seemed flimsy and ill-made, and one of the
nose pads had already gotten lost.
I got mine adjusted – and now they have
a scratch. Did I do that, or did they?!
We got supper from Long John Silver’s/KFC
(both restaurants operate from the same building, and use the same checkout
counter) using a gift card our neighbor gave us for caring for his animals when
they were away. This restaurant didn’t
have a single salad on the menu – and that’s exactly what I wanted when we went
in.
Then I spotted a chicken pot pie listed
on KFC’s children’s menu, and decided to get it. It was $5.00.
From the Long John Silver's menu I chose three jumbo shrimp and a bowl
of coleslaw, $2.39 each. I did not need
those last two items; I was stuffed full after the pot pie, though I tried a
shrimp and then the coleslaw, and it was so good I ate half of it before I
could get stopped.
We couldn’t stay at the restaurant and
eat; it was pick-up only, and the seating area was roped off. We ate in the Jeep.
I walked into the ladies’
restroom. A young girl who had just
rolled a mop bucket in to clean the room jumped so violently, it’s a wonder she
didn’t sit right down in her mop bucket.
š
Once upon a time, when I was 12 years old, my parents and I
went to Newfoundland. We took a ferry
called the John Hamilton Gray – a big, ocean-going ship – across the St.
Lawrence Strait from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland, a trip that took 6 ½ hours. At one point during my explorations, I found
an overflowing loo in one of the restrooms.
My hair stood up on end as I wondered, Does this thing draw from
a tank, or from the ocean?!!!
(The boat didn’t sink; it evidently
drew from a tank.)
Late Saturday afternoon, I wrapped the
last Christmas present – at least, the last one I have; there are several
more still on the way – and then went upstairs to my little office.
I extracted several
photos from the album, laid them on the scanner glass, clicked ‘Scan’, and
thought, That wasn’t what I was going to do! I was going to start working on Christmas
cards!
Oh,
well. It was only November 21st;
there’s still time. One more evening of
scanning photos wouldn’t hurt anything.
So I went on scanning.
Hannah had a
Lilla Rose event (selling hair accessories) in a small town to our northwest,
right in the heart of Czech country, and she brought us a package of real,
honest-to-goodness kolaches! These are
not those cloyingly sweet things found in the supermarkets; these are made with
real, homemade yeast dough and filled with fruit purƩe or cream cheese. These were strawberry-rhubarb, apple, and
cream cheese.
When she
brought them in, I said mournfully, “Ohhh, I just finished eating supper, and
I’m clear full, right up to my eyeballs!”
Shortly
before 9:00 p.m. I sent Hannah this note: “I just went downstairs to refill my
coffee cup... saw the kolaches... and discovered I wasn’t full anymore. I
had to dig out the one farthest from the opening, of course – the cream
cheese. Mmmm, mmm. These are kolaches. Thank you!”
Today I cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the rugs, and then took Loren some food: a chicken egg roll (one of those large ones that is a whole serving in one egg roll; I bake them rather than fry them), a vegetable mixture, a cranberry-orange muffin fresh out of the oven, pears, and peach-mango juice.
These days, he launches right into
whatever food looks sweetest or most like dessert, and saves the main courses for
later.
Now I have a problem to resolve:
I paid for the registration for one of Loren’s vehicles online... but evidently
when they tried sending the stickers, they learned from the post office that
his mailing address has changed (I think that’s what happened). So
now he’s supposed to send proof of address change, pay for a new driver’s
license, etc., etc.
I hunted and hunted (and hunted) on the
DMV web pages, and finally found a place where I could send them an email. I explained that the physical address is the
same; it’s only the mailing address that has changed. Now, if that note will just fall into the
hands of someone with some common sense, who can understand that one’s physical
location may or may not be the same site where one collects one’s mail.
This is Cottonwood Pass, near Tincup,
Colorado. The elevation of Tincup, population
approximately 69, is 10,157 feet. The elevation
of Cottonwood Pass is 12,126 feet.
I need to order some groceries; I’ll
use Hy-Vee’s pick-up service.
I used to enjoy taking the children
grocery shopping. I generally let them, one after the other, pick out
things (within various parameters) as we went along: Keith got to choose
what kind of bread... Hannah got to choose what kind of cereal... Dorcas got to
choose fruit... Teddy got to choose salad ingredients... Joseph got to choose
soup ingredients... and so on down the line.
If we were at Wal-Mart, especially at
Christmas time, we’d first go to the toy department and look at all the
toys. We rarely bought any; they regarded it as sort of a museum. š
Off to Hy-Vee Online Aisles I go!
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
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