Journal: When Dogs Talk, & Blepharospasm Treatments

 

Hannah has started getting ‘Talking Pet’ buttons for her smart Australian shepherds, Chimera, left, and Willow, below right.  She records words onto the buttons in her own voice, and then shows the dogs how to press them with their paws in order to “talk”.  Here are some videos of a smart Lab using these buttons to converse:  The Chatty Lab

Hannah wrote last Tuesday about the following incident:

“Willow is really proud of herself right now.  Chimera was outside and rang the bell to come in.  She rushed over to the buttons and pressed ‘Chimera,’ then trotted back with a big doggy grin.”

Shortly thereafter, she pressed ‘car’ when the alarm for Hannah’s chiropractor appointment went off.  She always comes back to see what Hannah will do or say about the word she has activated.  

Hannah said, “Yes, I have to go in the car.”

Willow promptly sped back to the buttons and pressed ‘go’.

Earlier that morning, Hannah had switched the ‘pickup’ button for the ‘car’ button since they go in the car more often, and the dogs were both activating the ‘pickup’ button multiple times a day.  When Willow first pressed it after the change, she tilted her head and stared at the board for a few seconds before running to Hannah as if to say, “Hey, that button is speaking a different language!”

Icy Loup River

Last week, I found a place to order a large roll of Quilters’ Dream Wool batting, enough for several quilts, at a very good price.  The roll measures 120” x 20 yards.  That’s enough for six super-king-sized quilts.  Those big rolls are somewhat hard for me to handle, but Dream Wool is pricey, and ordering it in the roll saves me at least $150.

Icy Platte River

But you wanna know what gets my goat?  (I know you do.)  It’s when I place a large order somewhere, and the moment I click ‘Submit’ and the order goes through, I get an email telling me something like this:   “How utterly wonderful for you to consider shopping with us!  Here’s a coupon worth 95% off of your first order!  Shop soon, and remember:  this is only for your first order!  Happy shopping!”

Uh, I just submitted my first order.

So... shall I cancel it, and then reorder with this 95%-off coupon?? 

The kitten someone dumped out here last Monday was still here Tuesday morning.  He stayed in the box Larry made for him (by cutting a small doorway in a large Styrofoam box inside a cardboard box) all night and a good part of the morning.  I fed him more of the canned Fancy Feast for kittens, and let him in the house for a few minutes at noon while Larry hitched a trailer to a pickup and moved vehicles around, so the poor little thing wouldn’t get run over, as he ran after Larry everywhere he went, and got right between, on, and around his feet.  He did it to me, too – probably frantic that we would dump him, like his previous owners did.

Earlier, Larry had tried sneaking out the back door where the kitten wouldn’t see him – but there he was on the back drive, trotting along with the big Siamese cat that roams about.  The kitten immediately came running and tried to get up the deck steps, stumbling on them.  Larry picked him up before he fell through the steps and landed way down under the deck.

So now at least three of the neighborhood cats knew the kitten was here.  He’d doubtless informed them all of his existence with his vociferous mewing.  However, contrary to my fears, none of them acted aggressive towards him, surprisingly enough.  Maybe the kitten is a ‘she’ rather than a ‘he’.  Larry tried to determine which it was, but the kitten scrambled with all his (or her) might and main and thwarted the investigation.

Once in the house, the kitten was soon jumping nimbly onto my chair and from there to the counter.  After saying, “Down,” and setting him on the floor for the umpteenth time, I made sure Larry was gone, and put the kitten out on the front porch again.  He sat out there and mewed piteously for a while before heading off to explore the territory a bit.

I was so very glad when Lydia told me that the man who works for Jeremy wanted the kitten for his young family.  Lydia would come and pick him up after the children got out of school that afternoon.

Meanwhile, Wednesday’s winter storm watch had turned into multiple warnings, and the predicted snow amount had gone from 4” to 6-12” or even more.  As you may recall, Wednesday was the day of my appointment at Midwest Eye Care in Omaha.

Lydia arrived at a quarter ’til four.  But... where was the kitten?  We walked all around the house, with me calling “kitty-kitty-kitty”, and the only response being a nuthatch high in a pine tree making its metallic ‘ank-ank-ank’ noise as it spiraled headfirst down the trunk.

We were almost all the way around the house before the kitten showed up.  He (or she) had been sleeping by the air conditioner unit.  He came hurrying to greet us, stopping to strrrretch, as cats so often do when they are happy to see someone.  I picked him up, and he purred loudly. 

We wrapped the towel that was in the Styrofoam box around him loosely, and Lydia carried him to the car, with the kitten patting on her hands and face and scrambling to get down (or up, or somewhere).  Jacob was waiting in the front seat to (try to) hold it.  Jonathan, Ian, and Malinda were anxiously waiting in the back seat.  Malinda, 5, upon seeing us with the kitten, bounced gleefully. 

Bounces are contagious.  Ian, 6, immediately bounced, too.

Jonathan, 9, bounced also – but only because he was on the same seat that was being bounced by his younger siblings.

I put the big box into the trunk, in case the man might want it.  And off they went.

So the kitten has gone to a good home, thankfully, and just in time, too!  I could not have left that poor kitten outside during a snowstorm, now could’ve I?  We’d’ve had to get a litterbox, litter, more food, and bring him into the house.  I really, really cannot stand to see animals suffer and do nothing about it, if it’s in my power to do something.

Lydia later reported that they had gotten the kitten to its destination with everybody still intact.  “The man looked as excited as the kids!” she said.

Once the Matter of the Kitten was resolved and I could think about quilts again, I headed upstairs to my quilting studio to continue removing those bad stitches from the quilt.  This time, though, I used a friend’s suggestion of rolling the quilt forward and then working from the other side of the frame, where the stitches are tight.  They do indeed come out much easier than the top thread, as I knew they would (and the thread color contrasts with the backing, which also helps) – but I couldn’t imagine a way to do it, other than lying on the floor under the frame (but then I’d need myself a pair of gibbon arms, haha).  Sometimes the simplest things – such as rolling the quilt forward until it’s approaching the take-up bar, and then working from the back – totally elude me.  After all, I like doing everything the hard way!  Builds character, you know.

(Well, of course I don’t like doing everything the hard way; it just seems that way.)

I very much appreciated my friend’s advice.  But I couldn’t sit on the high stool and reach the quilt over the quilting table, and I couldn’t sit on the table as she said she does, because it’s too high.  So... I put on some magnifying glasses, stood behind the frame, and removed bobbin thread.  Once I could really get a good look at the back, I saw that there were more bad stitches than I had thought.  ☹  But... I picked up my seam rippers and my rubber-handled, spring-loaded needle-nosed pliers and got on with it.

Supper that night was Chicken Tortilla soup (spicy!), Avocado Ranch salad, strawberry Oui yogurt, and a cherry turnover.  And orange juice.

By 10:00 p.m., it seemed more certain than ever that I should reschedule my appointment with the eye doctor the next day, as the weather continued to look worse and worse for the next day.  Columbus first canceled public school for the afternoon... and then, a couple of hours later, they canceled it for the entire day.  Our church school canceled afternoon classes.  It would be okay in the morning; if there was any snow by noon, the young men in the high school would rush out with shovels and salt and clear the way; and we have many friends who own big loaders and snowplows who can clear the parking lot and the side streets around the school in nothing flat.  But we do try to mesh with the public schools in town, somewhat.

Seen in an Omaha residential area north of Prairie Meadows, this truck – and just so you don’t have to wonder, they’ve painted ‘RED TRUCK’ right on the front of it.  It’s owned by Eyman Plumbing, Heating, and Air – and in addition to training their employees the ins and outs of leaky pipes, dirty ductwork, and condenser cleaning, they really ought to teach them which way to cramp the wheels when parking on a hill.

By 12:30 a.m., the stitches with the bad tension had been removed from The Birds of Colorwash Patch quilt, and a good deal of the quilting had been put back in place.  I had nearly returned to the point where I was when I discovered the tension problem.

Wednesday morning after checking the weather one last time, I canceled my appointment in Omaha and asked for a new one.  The earliest they could get me in, I was told, was April 5^th.  That’s three months from now!

I made the appointment, in case that was all the better I could do, then called Larry, figuring he’d be driving the boom truck somewhere to the east, to find out if the weather really was bad enough to warrant canceling.  Perhaps I could go despite the snowstorm.  I did not want to wait another three months.

Larry was on his way back from Fremont.  Already, he told me, the roads were slick from a freezing mist and fog, and he was driving past a vehicle that had slid off the road right that minute.

I looked at the weather again.  The predicted amount of snow had been increased to 14”, and they were now saying that there would be ⅕” glaze of ice first.

My mother used to say when these things happened, “There’s always a reason!  We may never know what it is, but there’s always a reason.”  And of course she meant that God has a reason.

I decided to hunt for another place that can treat blepharospasm, maybe in Lincoln.  Surely there are other reputable places, if the people at Midwest Eye Care place acted like it was so common?

Around noon, a flake (not corn) or two could be seen drifting lazily down.  Within an hour, it was snowing snowchunks, coming down hard, and starting to go sideways, as the wind was picking up.  It wasn’t long before the gusts were hitting 35-40 mph.  The weatherman had warned of an inch of snow an hour, but he soon switched to two inches per hour.  The storm would continue through 6:00 a.m. Thursday morning.

I usually state these weather reports matter-of-factly – but the truth is, I love big snowstorms.  Always have.  (So long as friends and family aren’t out buried in an arroyo somewhere with a dead cellphone, and their exhaust pipe buried in a drift.  Or traveling down an ice-covered road with a semi sliding sideways at them, covering all lanes of traffic.)

These pictures were taken at 2:50 p.m., 4:30 p.m., and 5:20 p.m.  

In looking at my snow pictures later on my laptop, I spotted a cottontail rabbit in one of the last photos taken just before dark.  Earlier, he was lollipy-lollipin’ around the smaller fir tree.  I ran for my big lens – and he hippity-hopped under the cedar tree before I could get the lens attached to the camera.

As I quilted, I turned on a live weather stream and listened to a longwinded (and probably bug-eyed) weatherman.  Whataya bet a person who says “drowth” also says “heighth”?  Weatherpersons should learn to properly pronounce the words they must use to dole out weather news.

By 2:00 p.m., Interstate 80 and Rte. 30 were closed from Kearney all the way to the Wyoming border, and I found this from Wyoming DOT:  “Interstate 80 between Laramie and Rawlins is expected to be closed through Friday morning due to high winds and whiteout conditions.  At this time Interstate 80 is closed eastbound from Evanston to Rawlins, both lanes from Rawlins to Laramie, and westbound from Cheyenne to Laramie.”

That’s a distance of about 465 miles.  Other roads, including many county roads, were closed, too.

“You get to have all the fun!” remarked a friend from the south who hasn’t seen snow in several years, and misses it.

“Fun would be all bundled up and playing on a snowmobile outside!” I told her.

At twenty ’til three, of all things, I heard a small airplane!  What on earth.  It was snowing and blowing hard by then.  Ten minutes later, I heard it again!  Maybe it wasn’t an airplane, but the LifeFlight helicopter?  I have found no news article telling what was happening.

I chatted with Keith, and was glad to hear that he is feeling much better since having his gall bladder removed.  

“Some slight incision pain,” he told me, “but getting better every day, and able to eat without pain.”

As we talked, he was sitting in his vehicle in front of Korrine’s daughter Kenzie’s school – and he had a little Parti Yorkie puppy with him that he and Korrine had gotten Kenzie for Christmas.  The puppy was anxiously watching for her to come.  Isn’t he adorable?

Texts began arriving from the kids and from Larry, telling me the evening church service was canceled.  The phone rang.  It was a friend, calling to tell me the same news.  

“I just got half a dozen texts regarding this!” I laughed, but thanked her and said, “Now, if you had not called, the kids would have forgotten to text.  Murphy’s Law of Snowstorm Cancelations.”

Thursday, I started a new search for an eye doctor who treats blepharospasm.  I found what I believe to be a better option in Lincoln at Eye Surgical Associates.  The doctors there have been treating this condition for decades.  The owner of the practice, who is semi-retired and usually only does the more high-risk cataract surgeries now, has studied and treated Benign Essential Blepharospasm for 46 years.  If I wanted an appointment specifically with him, I could have one; but I would have to wait two or three weeks.  But there is a younger doctor there, a Dr. Clark, who specializes in blepharospasm.  And, what do you know, there was a cancelation the very next day, and I could have an appointment at 12:45 p.m.!

“Yes, I’ll take it!” I said.

Victoria sent pictures of the children, and pictures of a hat-and-bootie set she made for Kurt’s brother’s new baby girl.

The baby’s name is Josephina Ruth – named after her Grandma Ruth, just like Carolyn Ruth is.  I’ll betcha Ruth is pleased as can be!

The baby’s name reminded me... in a biography I read years ago, there was a big, burly Irish police sergeant named Feeney.  Someone asked him what it was short for, and he said, straight-faced, “Josephine.”  🤣

It wasn’t short for anything.  His name was Feeney.  That was it.  He was Irish!

Our supper that night consisted of small deer steaks, French green beans (they say “Bonjour!  Enchanté!” a lot while you’re eating them), Avocado Ranch salad, cottage cheese, peach Oui yogurt, orange juice, and a cherry turnover.

I recited this menu to a friend, who returned, “I don’t see how you maintain your girlish figure.”

Then we laughed, remembering an elderly pastor we knew when we were little girls.  He and his wife would come to visit my parents, and as we’d be sitting around the table eating, he’d shake his head, exclaim over all the food, and say – usually to me, small for my age and anywhere from age 6 to age 9 – “How will you ever keep your girlish figure?”

And the trick?  Small portions.  Two meals a day, with maybe a small snack midafternoon.  Exercise (though, admittedly, I don’t get enough).  And that’s all, she wrote.

I rarely eat ice cream – but that evening I had a small cup of it, and that, only because Larry got home late and was eating supper... and then ice cream... and I’m such a social eater, I couldn’t help myself.  It was good all the way down – but it no sooner hit bottom than I had a stomachache and my teeth hurt.  But that ice cream was good.

We are spoiled after having Schwan’s ice cream for many years.  No other brand is as good.  But we have found that Kemp’s runs it a good race, most of the time.  We don’t like the stuff that’s so sweet and cloying, it makes your teeth hurt just looking at the picture on the front of the container.

I quilted a few more sections of the quilt, and actually rolled it forward a few inches.

I’m glad I chose a contrasting dark sand thread for the bobbin.  It’s Superior’s 60-weight Bottom Line.  Superior’s 40-weight Omni is on top.  I spent 6 ½ hours quilting that day.

They wound up closing down Interstate 80 all the way to Grand Island, 60 miles to our south.  Thursday it was still shut down clear out to Cheyenne, Wyoming.  Early that afternoon, it was 26°, with a wind chill of 11°.  There were wind gusts up to 22 mph.  When I went out to fill the bird feeders, and it really didn’t feel that cold. 

I had intended to fill those feeders Wednesday before the storm arrived, but got occupied doing other things – and suddenly it was snowing hard, and I decided the birds could find their food in the nearby woods and fields.

In Australia and a few other countries, people are strongly advised against feeding the birds.  Some think it makes birds dependent on humans, even though reliable ornithology studies in several places around the world have absolutely shown otherwise.  Birds know where to find food.  If a feeding station (or any other food source) is suddenly gone one day, they easily move on to another place.

But look at this quote regarding backyard birds:  “An inhumane death by starvation could easily await them if the humans who feed them should suddenly stop putting out the food.”

And guess what website that is on! – it’s on the Democrat and Chronicle .com, I kid you not.  🤣

Anyway, the birds had full feeders again, and were soon busily chowing down, fussing with each other, and fleeing when the blue jays swooped in.

All those cute little twitters one hears when birds are feeding, those sounds li’l ol’ ladies call ‘sweet’ on various YouTube videos? – well, that’s the sound of birds fussing, pecking at each other, and even jerking tail feathers out of fellow birdbrains. 

From the United Kingdom comes this photo of a Eurasian blue tit and a European robin havin’ a squabblin’ ol’ good time.

Catching a glimpse of movement out a front window, I peeked out – and there was a bunny hopping right up on the porch, where he could get closer to the rosebush stems he wanted to nibble on.  How in the world do they do that without getting poked by the thorns??

I quilted, quilted, quilted that day, rolled the quilt forward a few more inches, and, how about that – the head of a bird showed up on one side, and the wing of another on the other side.  I must be making progress.  Only a wee bit, as the quilting is fairly intense; but progress, nonetheless!

Friday, I got up early and got ready to go to Lincoln.  I expected to have an evaluation only, with the injections scheduled for later, as that is what the receptionist thought most likely.

My eyes needed help, but my hair stood up on end every time I thought about needles around my eyes, regardless of being told how tiny those needles are.

Once when I was 4 years old, I had an appointment at the doctor’s office.  I thought every time I went to the doctor, I had to get a shot – which was fairly close to accurate, at that age, I suppose.  Ooooo, I really, really hated getting shots.  But I kept stoic and still (though wide-eyed) in the office.

However, on the way there with my mother, I told her in a resigned tone, “Well, if I die, at least I’ll just go to heaven; so that part’s okay.”

Her face looked... odd.  Years later, I would suddenly remember that moment and realize she was trying hard not to laugh.  😄  Come to think of it, knowing my mother, it is quite likely that she had felt exactly the same way when she was little, and facing scary circumstances.  And she would have been just as stoic and still in the face of impending doom as I was.

We arrived at Eye Surgical Associates barely in the nick of time.  I am always surprised when it takes longer to get to certain locations in Lincoln than it does to get to locations in Omaha.

After signing in at one desk, we traveled down a long, wide hallway to a desk at the other side of the building to check in again, and then we sat down in the waiting room.  After a few minutes, a nurse opened a door and called my name.  We went back to a small room where she checked the pressure in my eyes and had me read a small row of letters on the far wall.

She said, “Excellent!” when I was done.  If that meant that I got those letters all read correctly, then I can tell you this:  I am an excellent guesser, and that’s the truth of it.  But I didn’t come to have my vision checked, after all. 

She led me to another room, pointed out the pedestaled chair I was to sit on, arranged a few things on the table, asked me questions about my eye problem and wrote the answers on papers in a folder, then departed, telling me the doctor would be in shortly.

Workers in doctors’ offices are habitually confused over the disparate definitions of ‘shortly’ and ‘longly’ (which should be a word).

So there I was, sitting all by my lonesome in the exam room, waiting for the doctor to come in.  It was nearing 1:30 p.m.  My appointment had been for 12:45.  I should’ve extracted my phone from my purse and looked at Instagram.  Email.  MeWe.  Facebook.  Anything.  But, expecting the doctor to come in ‘shortly’ (the nurse had said he would, after all) (she had even added, “You’re next in the queue!”), I’d set my purse down on a chair on the other side of the room, and the phone was in the purse’s pocket.  Now, that chair over there was only about six feet away; but I was perched up in the exam chair, two steps up, and I knew good and well if I went scrambling down out of it to get my phone, the doctor would certainly come in and catch me either in mid-scramble-up, or mid-scramble-down.  It’s another one of Murphy’s Laws.

So I sat and waited.

Then I waited some more.

Next, I waited with all my might and main.

While I waited, not one to waste time, I manicured my cuticles, one after the other, with care.  The last time I did this was in 1977.  I think.  Opposing thumbnails work good for this job.

The nurses at the station just beyond the closed exam room door giggled, first one, then another, then the rest of them, until they were all giggling in unison.

I paused and looked around the room for a hidden camera.

Seeing nothing suspicious, I proceeded on to the next hand. 

A nurse giggled.  Another chortled, then snorted, provoking laughter from a couple of others.

I looked hard at the mirror on the wall, wondering if it was a two-way glass, and if I would hear exclamations over there in the nurses’ station if I suddenly shined my cellphone flashlight into it.

I finished the last cuticle and commenced to plucking minute fuzzies off my sweater.  When I had a dozen or so in one palm, I rolled them into a tiny ball and dropped it over the side of the armrest.  Then I leaned over and peered down at it, like a two-or-three-month-old baby just learning that when he drops something, it is down there, somewhere, and has not vanished into a Black Hole, never to be seen again.

There sat the wee ball of navy fuzz on the light tan carpet.

Okay, that was much too noticeable.

I went back to picking off teeny fuzzies, but now I dropped each one separately over the armrests of the chair, varying the drop zone a bit each time.

The nurses erupted into loud cackles of laughter.

I turned my head and gave the phoropter a good hard stare, wondering if one of those optical lenses or rotary prisms might be a disguised camera.

I saw no telltale signs of anything winking, blinking, or nodding at me, so I reconvened the lint-nipping.

I hoped the doctor came in before the fluff around the chair turned into a navy drift tall enough to engulf a chihuahua, and my sweater became totally threadbare.

Then there was a little knock, and Dr. Clark came rushing in with his nurse riding on his coattails.  He asked a number of questions, I answered, and for the first time ever, an eye physician understood exactly what I was telling him, and believed me when I said I have Benign Essential Blepharospasm.  As usual, when I was talking to him, my eyes were fairly normal.  However, when he was talking to me, my eyes gave him a first-rate demonstration of how they misbehave.  🙄😵‍💫🥸🫣

I mentioned the car accident in 1983, when the Fuzz Buster hit me in the head, but the doctor, taking a quick look at the scar, said that that did not have anything to do with the blepharospasm.  The Fuzz Buster injured a nerve that controls impulses and feeling in the forehead.  But the nerve that controls muscles in the eyelids originates right in front of the ear and below the cheekbone.  So that explains why I used to be able to press on that point with my fingertips and my eyes would stay open better.  In years gone by, I would drive with a finger or two pressed on that spot, and switch hands now and then.  That doesn’t help anymore, though.

So, instead of just giving me an evaluation, like the receptionist and nurse had thought he would do, the doctor, upon seeing that my eyes were indeed causing serious problems, went ahead and gave me ten low-dosage Botox injections, five around each eye:  two at the outer corners, two in the upper lids, and one underneath. 

“It should start taking effect in two or three days,” he told me.  He wants to see me in a couple of weeks, in order to judge how to adjust the dosage.

He said there might be some bruising around the eyes the next day, but there wasn’t.  The injections should last anywhere from two to four months. 

Fact:  Botox injections, even though done with very small needles, are not nearly as much fun as, oh, say, quilting, playing the piano, or strolling through the Sunken Gardens.  But neither are eyes that suddenly go tight shut at the most inopportune moments much fun, either.  My eyesight is fine – but it sure is hard to see through lids that persist in snapping closed!

The needles were tiny, but I felt them.  Actually, it wasn’t the needles that hurt so much; the Botox itself stung.  But if I can finally make my way through life without my eyes squinting shut, it’ll be a great relief.

By the time we were leaving the office, I was hungry and feeling a wee bit shaky, which is common for me if I get too hungry.  Since we were going to see Loren, we grabbed a few things at a convenience store and ate as we drove. 

I got a little tray of cheese, crackers, and apple slices, along with a bottle of Casey’s organic cold-pressed ‘Sunshine Day’ juice, which is “100% fruit and vegetable juice, not from concentrate, with no sugar or preservatives added.”  According to Casey’s website, this is “a delicious mix of pineapple, banana, apple, pear, mango, orange carrot, passion fruit, and coconut.”

I won’t get that again.  Not any of it.  Especially the cheese and apples.  At least, not from a convenience store, all in the same little tray.  The cheese was slightly stale, and Essence of Slightly Stale Cheese had permeated the apple slices.  It was edible, though, and I figured I needed it, so I ate it.  Then, needing a drink after a thick bite of cheese and cracker, I grabbed my juice – and discovered what ‘pressed’ means – and what it doesn’t mean.  It does not mean ‘strained’.  I needed a fork to scoop up my juice so I could chew it!

I promptly got the hiccups. 

I switched to coffee.

Despite the diffugalties (which isn’t a word but should be), I did actually feel better after eating the stuff.  Then Larry gave me a few bites of his popcorn chicken (which I consider junk food) and a few pieces of his chocolate covered Rice Krispy bars (which I call ‘Calvin’s Chocolate-Covered Sugar Bombs’, with a nod to Calvin & Hobbes). 

“So much for trying to eat healthily,” I remarked to Larry.

“But there’s nothing wrong with chicken and rice!” he protested.

“Yeah, you go on thinking that,” I retorted.  😂

Loren was really happy to see us.  Mattie, the black lady (maybe the only black resident there, though there are quite a few black workers, including the big man who is the chef in their kitchen and makes scrumptious-looking meals), was finally friendly with me.  This was maybe because when we went into the sitting lounge, we found her in a big leather easy chair, with Loren in a wheelchair right in front of her, both facing the TV, which put Loren’s back to her.  I don’t think he realized that his wheelchair was almost pinning her in.  She saw us coming in, and, evidently realizing we were there to see Loren, started trying to get out of her chair, planning to offer it to me, which quite surprised me. 

Seeing that the wheelchair was causing her trouble, I hurried over there and rolled Loren quickly out of the way, saying to Mattie with a smile, “Do you need to get out of there?”

Loren was immediately apologizing, “Oh!  I didn’t know she was –” he finished his sentence with elaborate hand gestures, indicating a ‘getting up’ movement. 

He often runs short on words, but he never runs short on gestures!  He’s always been that way, to accompany his speech with a whole lot of animation.  And now it’s doing him a good turn, as he loses his ability to think of the words he wants.

“It’s okay,” I assured him, grinning, “I just grabbed your chair and jerked you right out of the way!” – and I, too, accompanied my words with exaggerated gestures, starting with a ‘yank you out of there’ motion and ending with my hands doing a ‘rolling and tumbling’ movement, as if he’d gone flying and tumbling from my action. 

He really laughed at that, and Mattie, who rarely smiles, was smiling at me, too.

I thanked her for the chair, looked around for a chair for her, but there was none.

She actually said, “It’s okay,” right out loud, perhaps parroting my remark to Loren, and then leaned against the doorjamb to continue watching the TV. 

Larry sat down in the chair next to Loren, and began telling him all about the new truck he’ll be driving for Walkers one of these days, if the truck company ever gets their act together and all the parts and pieces ready.  Larry had pictures on his phone to accompany his story. 

Loren inserted odd, nonsensical comments now and then, but, because the TV was interfering with Larry’s hearing aids, he assumed the comments were directly related to what he was saying, nodded agreeably, and continued his story.  Had he actually heard what Loren was saying, it would’ve doubtless thrown him far adrift.  So there’s one silver lining to his being hard of hearing.  😄

A man came wandering in, stopped, and stared at the mechanism under a wheelchair in which a man was sitting, sound asleep.  He then shuffled forward, leaned down, and gave effort to unscrewing a big bolt underneath the chair.

He couldn’t do it.  Since he wasn’t disturbing the sleeping man in the chair, and his activity was occupying him and a couple of onlookers quite nicely, I let well enough alone.  Maybe he used to have an auto repair shop, and thought he was now working on an Edsel!

I showed Loren pictures of the bunny eating rosebush twigs, thorns and all, and of our great-niece Jodie’s puppies and her children playing with them.  They will soon be old enough to be adopted out.

We didn’t stay too awfully long, partly because I was worried about Mattie needing a chair.  So after not quite half an hour, we told Loren goodbye, and promised to be back before too long.

As we left, I paused and told Mattie, “Now you have a place to sit again!” and pointed at the now-empty leather chair.  She smiled at me.  I patted her arm and said, “Goodbye, we’ll see you next time!” and she actually told me goodbye and nodded.  There’s something about her that pulls at my heart.

Even though it was getting later in the afternoon, there was still ice and frost all over the bare trees and bushes.  The frost was likely the result of the feathery fog that had covered the area in city and country alike throughout the morning and the early part of the afternoon.  The trees lining the streets and arcing overhead glistened and sparkled.  My photos do not at all do the scenes justice.

We headed west toward home, with the sun glaring straight into our faces the first half of the drive.  When we got back into Columbus, we stopped at Walkers’ shop to wash the Mercedes.  When that was done, we picked up the taco pizza I’d ordered from Pizza Hut, and went home to enjoy it.

Every now and then when my eyes were not wanting to shut at the wrong time, I thought, Hey, the injections are working already!  I’d barely get done thinking that, and – bip (I think that’s the right noise) – they’d try going shut again.

By the way, did you wonder what in the world Victoria meant (in last week’s letter), saying, “Willie loves meat and potatoes like his D. A. Davidson”? 

That was supposed to say, “Like his Dad.”  🤣

See, I have my computer’s autocorrect set up to throw in all sorts of phrases for various abbreviations I type.  For instance, ‘lsl’ turns into Larry and Sarah Lynn, as soon as I space or hit Enter or a punctuation mark.  And ‘dad’ turns into ‘D. A. Davidson’ (a wealth management organization where my brother has a smallish savings account).  Since I hardly ever type ‘dad’, I figured it would work great in autocorrect.

Icy Elkhorn River

So anyway, I copied what Victoria posted on Facebook, pasted it into my journal... and then, because there was only one space between the sentences and I like two spaces, I went along clicking between the sentences and adding a space – and when I clicked after ‘Dad’ and added a space, my computer immediately changed it to ‘D. A. Davidson’.  I totally missed that it happened. 

Back in the early 2000s, if I knew one of the kids needed to use my computer to type a report in Word, I’d quickly fix it so that every time they typed ‘the’ or ‘and’ it would automatically change to ‘I’m a bird-brained blabbermouth’ or ‘I have a weatherball for a head’ or whatever nonsense entered my head at the moment.

Hee hee…  I always knew exactly what Hannah was going to say:  “What in the world.”  And Teddy:  “Oh brother.”  And Dorcas:  “She did it again!”

Teddy got even:  One day when I went into the living room to sit down at my rolltop desk, the only part of my chair that was left was the bottom rolling pedestal.  The seat part had vanished.

I found it under the grand piano.  🤣

On Saturday mornings while I’m taking a shower and curling my hair, I listen to the 780 Chicago news station, since KTIC rural radio that I usually listen to plays mainly music on Saturdays, and it’s news I want.  Chicago news often gives me a pain, since the Powers-That-Be are so godless in that big city; but I do learn the news.

Saturday I learned that if you are in Hong Kong with your pet rabbit and need to go to the Xiqu Centre Opera House, which is not necessarily a good place to take a bunny, you can have your pet bunnysat at The Bunny Style Hotel, a luxury rabbit resort.  The bunnies have beautiful runs, and such things as wooden castles to climb and hop through.  They can get pedicures and coat combings.  The place even has livestreaming so you can watch your bunny having all this fun, whilst you are, presumably, trying to have all sorts of fun of your own, but worrying most terribly about Bunny Dear.

I also learned that there were over 15,000 Hyundais and Kias alone stolen in Chicago last year.  !!!

The car thefts are part of a growing trend, where thieves utilize a USB hack to start Hyundai and Kia vehicles.  Thieves may have been inspired by demonstrations on TikTok, which showed how to implement the hack.  (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

I quilted for several hours that day.  A little bit more... and a little bit more... and a little bit more... should eventually mean I get done, right?

By evening, I was beginning to think – though I was probably jumping the gun – that my eyes were not squinting shut quite like they had been.  Sunday would be a test, and the Botox would not have had a chance to fully take effect.  My eyes felt a bit odd, as if the underlid was sort of... tight, I guess.  And like they weren’t going clear shut when I blinked.  I put some GenTeal ointment in the corners of my eyes, just a little bit, to make them feel better.  Too much of that, and everything looks like I smeared Vaseline all over my spectacles.  But it is soothing.

Sunday morning at church, my eyes were definitely a little bit better.  I had conversations with people, and could look into their faces the entire time they were talking.  If you knew how disconcerting it was to not be able to do that... 🥸  

Sunday nights have always been the very worst time for my eyes.  And now I can state with assurance, my eyes are truly much better.  I had an enjoyable time after the service visiting with kids and grandkids – and didn’t have to constantly fight to keep my eyes open.  What a relief, if this treatment continues to help as it is!  It should get even better in the next few days.

We pray for our needs... I will not forget to pray a prayer of thankfulness! 💖

A discussion with a friend recently reminded me of when my father was the minister at our church, which was considerably smaller back then.  He sometimes got swamped with people calling to ask his advice on the most inconsequential matters.  (They didn’t have Google Search back then, you know; they called the pastor, instead.) 

The way Daddy put it was, they’d call him up and ask (and here he’d switch to a whiny, drawling voice), “Bruutherr Jorrrge, which side of my cracker should I butter?” 

He said – to the congregation at large, of course – that the right side of the cracker to butter is both sides.  “Do you know why?” he asked. 

If anybody did, they weren’t telling.

So he answered his own question:  “Because that way when you drop it, it’ll always land butter side up.”  (pause)  “And now you won’t have to call me up and ask me that question anymore.” 

Another pause.  Daddy looked at Mr. Wright.  Mr. Wright squirmed.

“I suppose now Mr. Wright will be calling me up to ask which shoe to tie first,” remarked Daddy – and everyone burst out laughing.

This morning I got a notice from Batting Super Sale .com that my giant roll of Quilters’ Dream Wool batting had been shipped and was on the way.

A scant five minutes later, I happened to glance out the front window – and there on the porch was the giant – no, make that GIGANTIC roll of batting!!!  😲  It’s so huge, I had trouble dragging it in the front door.

A box with a couple of quilts from a customer in Cincinnati had arrived, too, along with the coffee mug I ordered that says, “You haven’t had enough coffee until you can thread a sewing machine while it’s running,” and pictures a vintage sewing machine.

My eyes have been watering a little overnight, and especially when I first get up in the mornings.  They feel uncomfortably dry, so I suspect the eyelids might not have been as tightly shut during the night as usual.  I will give the soft satin eye cover my sister Lura Kay gave me a try tonight.

We now have another great-great-nephew, born this morning.  So Charles, Larry’s boss, and Susan, my niece, now have their first grandson.  They also have two little granddaughters.

Hannah texted me the following:  “Willow just tried to pick up a bone that was lying near Chimera.  He growled and picked it up.  She went over to the buttons and pressed ‘Chimera’ with a vengeance.  😅

“Earlier, Joanna was petting Chimera, and Willow was jealous.  She went over and pressed the ‘bone’ button.  A bit later, she brought a bone over, dropped it by them, then snatched it back up and ran away.  She was probably trying to get Chimera to chase her.”

Supper tonight was deer steaks (tender, for once – and indeed these are from a younger animal), baked with potatoes and carrots, chef salad with sunflower seeds and raisins, coffee-flavored Oui yogurt, and Fuji apples.

Larry got home about 9:30 p.m., ate supper, and then toted the roll of batting up the stairs for me.  I tossed the batting that’s hanging down from the quilt frame up atop the quilt, and then together we slid the roll onto the bar under the Studio Frame.  That 12-foot frame is long enough that I could put two of those huge rolls on that batting bar.  So there it is, stored all fine and dandy, out of my way, and ready for use.

And now, from a 30-year-old comic, comes a perfect solution for many of today’s problems: 

Time to hit the hay!

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