Journal: Baby Birds, Memorial Day, & a Wedding

 

Late last Monday night, something thumped on the side of the house beside the kitchen window, then was down on the porch or the ground making crying noises.

I finally found it:  a baby starling on the porch.  It had fallen out of the nest somewhere up in the eaves.  It was too young to survive out of the nest, and it was possibly injured – and there was not a thing I could do about it, poor little thing.

I related this to Larry, who was working on vehicles in Genoa.

“What kind of bird is it?” he asked.

“Bald eagle,” I told him.

We’d talked about the starling nest in the eaves enough times, I figured it must be time to change the details, since he couldn’t remember the original ones.

One of the roaming neighborhood cats most likely cleaned up our porch for us during the night, as there was no sign of the baby bird the next morning.  K

Judging by the racket they’ve been making each day, the other baby starlings are doing fine.  The above picture is from Sialis.com.  (‘Sialis’:  a Greek word meaning ‘kind of bird’).

Baby starlings start out making tiny, high-pitched peeping sounds, just like any other wee baby bird.  By the time they’re two weeks old, the peeps have lowered in pitch to cheeps; and by the time they’re three weeks old, they make mid-tone chirps.  Give them another week, and those chirps have turned into harsh, grating squawks.

The amazing thing is that when they are adults, they will have a large repertoire of songs and sounds, with the ability to mimic other birds and even some animals and human noises.  Listen to their birdsong here:  https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/European_Starling/sounds

A couple of raccoons came up on the deck later that night.  However, I’ve gotten tired of feeding birdseed to the raccoons, and have been bringing the feeders in each night, if I remember to.  Not finding any feeders, the coons proceeded to have a brawl with each other.  They made so much noise, I was afraid they’d trapped one of the neighborhood cats.  I flipped on the deck light, jerked open the patio door, and made loud hissing sounds.  That always scares them half to death; they must think it’s a puma.  One raccoon squeezed through the railing and went down the deck post.  The other ran for the steps – and tumbled down them, head over heels.  They do that fairly often, even when I haven’t frightened them.  I think they’re probably young ones who haven’t quite learned the art of clambering up and down stair steps yet.  Good thing they’re so furry and well padded!

This is a picture from a few days earlier.  As you can see, they’re cleaning those feeders right down to the bottom.

After I posted some pictures from one of my recent trips to Omaha, a friend wrote to ask, “What is that contraption!?”

This is an agriculture sprayer.  They are used for the administration of water and water/chemical solutions, often fertilizers, pesticides, and herbicides.  That one has a boom reach of about 135 feet.

Tuesday afternoon, I decided I’d better pay some bills despite not having my Acer laptop.  Ugh, it was a pain doing it on this slooow little laptop.  But I got it done.  It’s also a pain conducting financial matters from new and different electronic devices.  I think warning bells, sirens, and lights must all go off simultaneously in that particular place of business, and everyone runs en masse to their computers to send me texts, emails, and instant messages requesting me to verify immediately or sooner that it’s actually me trying to pay the bill.

Why should it matter who it is, if the silly bill is getting paid??!  What do I care if Joe Blow from Kokomo decides to pay my bill??  More power to him, I say!  Not that Joe Blow has ever tried to pay any of my bills, more’s the pity.

That done, I headed upstairs and got back to quilting my customer’s Wildflower Way quilt.  By the time I quit a little after 11:00 p.m., the top part was done and I was ready to begin on the center section.

Wednesday morning, Hester sent a video clip of Oliver trotting around, snack packets of applesauce in each hand.  “Oliver found the snack cupboard yesterday,” she wrote. 

In the video, Hester asks Oliver, “Are you happy you found snacks?  Do you have two?”

Oliver grinned, looked at one hand and then the other, and repeated, “Two!”

He’s walking quite well now, and he was certainly pleased with himself to have found that cupboard with all the goodies inside.

Three years ago, I got things at Loren’s bank properly in order after acquiring Power of Attorney over his finances.  I met with some of the officials a time or two to make sure all the t’s were crossed and the i’s dotted.  I was in touch with them again some time later when Loren gave his Social Security number to a scammer on the telephone.  I told them when he moved to a nursing home, and again when we sold his home and deposited that money into his account.

But Wednesday morning while I was working outside, a woman from the bank called.  “I need to speak with Loren Swiney,” she announced.

I get peeved over this kind of stuff.  Do these people even keep files on their customers?  Do they put pertinent information in the file?  Do they read the file before they make such a call?

“He has dementia,” I informed her, wondering if I sounded as irked as I felt.  “He’s been in a nursing home for a year and a half.”

I paused, wondering what she thought of that information.  Then I added, “I’m his sister, and I have Power of Attorney over his finances.”

Silence.  Then, “Oh.”  She waited a few seconds.  I waited, too.  They almost always continue the conversation if you just keep still.  Silence weighs heavy.

“I was just wanting to inquire into whether all is well with his bank account,” she finally said.

“Yes, everything is fine; I check it regularly,” I responded.

Okay, now I’ve made myself curious over whether that woman really was from the bank.  Tomorrow I shall call and ask.

Irises were blooming in my flower gardens that day, and the hostas and Autumn Joy sedum are growing like gangbusters.

I’m allergic enough to weeds that after an hour or two of working outside in my flower gardens, I’m all itchy, and often have little red dots on my arms.  Sometimes they are merely scratches, but other times it’s the start of a rash.

I cope like this:  I come in, and start by washing off my glasses and wiping off my VeryFitPro watch with a Clorox wipe.  Next, I wash my face with St. Ives Apricot Scrub, then shower using Guava & Orange Essential Oil & Sea Salt Body Scrub (a gift from Jeremy & Lydia) (the scrub feels good on itchy skin), and wash my hair with Herbal Essence Hello Hydration shampoo and conditioner, with Coconut and Flower Essence.  I finish by applying lotion.  At the moment, I’m using Nivea Oil-infused Cherry Blossom & Jojoba Oil, and Peppermint Frost Shea Butter on those extremities that were inclined to get rashes or feel itchy (though I do like all different kinds of lotions).  Peppermint lotions and butters always feel cool and refreshing.  They’re often packaged with Christmas themes on the bottles and jars; but I save them for summertime.

That day I worked on the central part of my customer’s Wildflower Way quilt.  

Jeremy and Lydia gave me some Mother’s Day gifts after church that evening; they’re always too, too generous.  They gave me a silver satin clutch purse, a light orange infinity scarf with chiffon and lace, and a brooch with big faux pearls and diamonds.  It’ll match the pearl necklace they gave me a few years ago.

I always have big plans of coming home from the Wednesday church service and quilting for a couple of hours; but if we loiter and chat with friends and family, and then go to the grocery store afterwards, by the time we eat a late supper, I generally decide quilting can wait until the next day.  So I only got about 3 ½ hours of quilting done.  

At the store, we got baked chicken, Panera Bread chicken/rice/vegetable soup, cottage cheese, string cheese, Oui yogurt, cherry turnovers, bananas, and ice cream.  That made a quick and yummy meal.

Later, I went out to bring in the bird feeders, heard a scrabbling at the edge of the deck… then a ka-PLOOOMP! onto the ground, and something BIG went scuttling hurriedly away.  Raccoon, of course.  Though I didn’t see him, one can’t mistake the noise they make.

Here’s a ‘Before’ and ‘After’ shot of some of the LeMoyne Stars in the quilt.

I was lying in bed awake at 1:30 a.m., when I heard something in the rafters and/or ceiling, crunching away on something.  It sounded like Teensy kitty eating his dry cat food, only twice as loud.  I jumped out of bed, ran upstairs, and set off the last odor bomb I had in one of the cubbyhole drawers in my quilting studio.  I went back to bed… and listened.

The sound of animal footsteps sped up… and then vanished.  Either they exited — or expired.  K

Thursday morning, Levi sent a picture of himself on a ladder, helping clean walls and windows at the school and church, as the students do during the last week of May each year.

“Don’t fall!” I texted back.  “One person with a wooden leg is enough, in your family!”  (Meaning Bobby, whose knee and leg injury is quite serious, and is going to be a long time in healing, I’m afraid.)

“Haha,” answered Levi.  Then, “Josiah was on a ladder, too.”

“Eeek,” I responded.  “His father is suffering from a falling injury, too!”  (That would be Teddy, who hurt his back and tailbone last week.)

My family should all bedeck themselves in bubble wrap!

That morning I worked on one of the backyard flower gardens that was neglected the entirety of last year.  As you’ll recall, a lot of my time was taken up clearing out Loren’s house.  By the time that was done, I knew that if I didn’t devote every possible minute to scanning my old photos, there was no way I would get done in time to give hard drives full of photos to each of the children for Christmas.  So backyard gardens were left to fend for themselves, and I gave a bare minimum of attention to the front yard flowerbeds.  The flowers – all perennials – survived!  Tulips and daffodils have already bloomed, and lilies and peonies and honeysuckle and tall lavender phlox will be blossoming soon.

At 10:30 a.m., I came in, showered, and then ate breakfast.  It was noon, but no, it was not ‘lunch’:  the meal ‘breaks the fast’; therefore, “breakfast”!  And then up the stairs I went to quilt.

By midnight, I was approaching the middle of the Wildflower Way quilt.

Friday morning I got all (well, I’m not sure I’ll ever get all) the poison ivy pulled out of one of the far backyard flowerbeds, plus a bunch of smaller volunteer trees cut out.  Always those volunteer trees!  I should start a nursery, instead of cutting them.  The ad would read, “Weeds with bark!  $5 a container!  Bring shovels and dig your own!  Bring loppers, leave the roots – half the weed, half the price!”

Afterwards, I scrubbed thoroughly (so far, I have never gotten a rash after pulling poison ivy), and then had a breakfast of raisin, date, and walnut oatmeal with half a banana sliced into it, and a tall glass of milk.

Larry had Friday, Saturday, and today off.  He has used part of that time to bring home vehicles, tools, and supplies that he had at the garage in Genoa.  He is supposed to have everything out by June 1^st, as someone else will then be renting the place.

Friday morning, he had the Mercedes aligned, and I went with him later to pick it up.  The vibration at 75 mph is gone.  Maybe those new rear tires will wear properly now.

That afternoon, I drove to Fremont to pick up my laptop from the tech.  He was unable to repair the charging jack, as it’s wired directly into the motherboard and would take more specialized tools than he has.  He was nice enough not to charge me anything, even though he spent several hours working on the laptop.

There were vintage car shows in various towns around the state for Memorial Day weekend; I met a few of the cars on the road.

It was approaching 6:00 p.m. by the time I got home.  I quilted until just after 11:00, passing the midway point in the quilt.

Saturday, I pulled the box the Acer came in from the upstairs closet, took out the papers with the Square Trade warranty information, and called the number.

After I was asked several questions by first a woman and then a man, neither of whose thick accent I could well understand, it was determined that the warranty would indeed cover all repairs, or a new laptop if it could not be repaired.

Soon I was emailed a shipping label.  I always wonder how they think that will pan out, if one’s electronic devices are not working.  I guess everyone in the whole wide world has multiple devices these days, hmmm?

The laptop will be sent to The Repair Depot in Stillwater, Oklahoma, where it will [theoretically] be repaired, and then returned to me.  I was instructed to back up all my data before shipping it.

Yeah, well, that would be a fun thing to do, if I could plug the machine in!  The battery is low enough that it would never keep the thing running while I backed everything up.

Actually, most of my data is on external hard drives, except for the last couple of months’ data.  If everything should somehow, unfathomably, get wiped off my laptop, I could get my non-backed-up photos and journals from my blog, though the photos wouldn’t be the original high quality.

I attempted to print the label.  The printer refused to connect to the laptop, though I tried Bluetooth, WiFi, and my usual hotspot; so I emailed it to the printer. 

The printer, after giving the matter serious thought, eventually informed me that it could not print, because it needed a 5x7 paper on which to print.

I pulled out a piece of paper and, using my rotary cutter and June Tailor slotted ruler, cut it to 5x7.  I tucked it back into the printer and pressed ‘OK’.

But it was not okay.

Again I was informed that it needed a 5x7 piece of paper.

I jerked the paper back out, measured it, sliced 1/32” off one side, shoved it back into the printer, and jabbed ‘OK’.  Print, you recalcitrant thang, you!

The printer buzzed, blinked, sent the print head hither and yon, and finally pulled the paper into its innards and deigned to print the thing.

I used the Acer for just a few minutes, emailing some important documents to the other laptop, before I shut it down and packed it up.  Wow, that thing is FASSST.  I knew this; but now I know it all over again, and better, after using this baby-toy HP for two weeks and a day.  It’s not the brand; I’ve had several HPs that were every bit as fast as the Acer.  It’s the fact that I get gaming computers – not to play games on, but because I need a computer that can cope with all the programs I use – sometimes, several programs at once, with lots of windows and tabs open. 

I gathered laptop, coffee, purse, and camera, poked my feet into sandals, and headed off to visit Loren.

On the way out of town, I dropped off a charging cord I had gotten for this little HP laptop, as the wires are showing through the old cord (and you’ll recall I took the new cords I had gotten last year for both this laptop and my older HP to the Goodwill, not realizing what they were for, erg) – anyway, the cord I got was the wrong one.  I took it to the UPS Store – and discovered I couldn’t drop off the Acer laptop there as I had thought to do, because the label was for FedEx – and the FedEx dropoff was a couple of miles back the way I had come – through lots of roadwork and stalled traffic.

Shipping that laptop off to some unknown fate wasn’t much fun.  But it had to be done.

How am I to quilt, I’d like to know, without EQ8??!  And there’s PaintShop Pro... and all my Microsoft programs... my calendar with all the notifications... waa waa waa!

I stopped at Sapp Bros. to fill with gas and clean the windshield, dilly-dallied my way through the roadwork and heaps of traffic, and, an entire hour after leaving home, was finally on the highway east of town.  From there, it takes an hour and a half to get to Prairie Meadows.

I arrived right as supper was being served to the residents.  Loren was at his usual table, sitting by himself.  Even though he was at the farthest side of the room, he spotted me almost the instant I walked through the door, and beamed at me.

Later, he explained that he had looked between three or four different ladies’ heads (pointing in the wrong direction), and that’s how he saw me so quickly.  I had no sooner sat down and commented on what a good meal he was having, than a young black girl (I’m not sure if she’s a nurse, or only works in the kitchen) appeared at the table, plate in hand, asking if I would like it.

Would I!  I would!  I thanked her profusely, and she alllllmost smiled.  She’s a pretty girl, and she’s nice as can be, but she rarely smiles.

I was half starved half to death, and had almost bought myself some fruit at a truck stop a few miles west of Omaha.  (The price stopped me.  :O )  Supper was salmon on rice, steamed asparagus, chef salad, grape juice, and spice cake with whipped topping for dessert.  I scarfed it all down in nothing flat.

“Do you want the rest of my cake?” asked Loren, pushing his saucer toward me.

Thinking he needed it and I most certainly did not, I said, “Nope! I’m clear full.”  I looked at my empty plate, saucer, and glass.  “I did everything but lick the platter clean.”

Loren burst out laughing, and kept on laughing for a minute or two.

I told him how our blind friend Rita used to grow asparagus in her garden, and we’d take handfuls of it with us when we went for rides on her tandem bicycle.  It was so good, and kept us from getting thirsty.  (Those were the days before it was common – and sensible, evidently – to carry bottled water when one went bike riding.  We were only going to be gone an hour, after all!  >>eye roll<<  And one would’ve been laughed clean outa town, had one worn one o’ them thar silly-looking bike helmets.) 

Loren ate his cake, and I realized, He was behaving like our mother used to do, offering her food to us and to the grandchildren, just because he thought I might still be hungry, even though he wasn’t full, himself.

I showed him pictures of the raccoons on our deck clearing out the bird feeders, and gave him some pamphlets by Charles H. Spurgeon, pastor of the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London back in the mid- to late-1800s.  I hadn’t gotten any of the Messenger newspapers he likes to read, and forgot to grab a magazine before leaving the house; but fortunately there was a small handful of those pamphlets in the car.  He was happy with those.

A week or two ago, one of the nurses told me that after Loren reads his newspapers and magazines, he always shares them with others.

When I put the pamphlets in his room before leaving, I saw the long-lost 11x14 digital picture frame that someone finally found in one of the Prairie Meadows office cupboards.  I’d left that frame there way back in... February, I think, of 2022.  The maintenance man was going to put it up somewhere for all to enjoy, but never did.  I’ve been asking for it for a good long while, and finally figured one of the staff had helped themselves to it.  But somebody found it, and now it’s sitting on Loren’s dresser.

When I walked in, it was on – and the picture on the screen right that minute was of our parents back in the 1940s.  There are quite a few old family photos on the SD card I put in the frame.

Hmmmm... whataya bet that’s why Loren has asked me both Saturday and last week how Daddy and Mama are? – because he’s been seeing their pictures on that frame.  I used to tell him the dates they passed away, and he would be surprised, then sort of remember, and finally remark on how fast time flies.  He has never gotten upset when I told him this; but Saturday I decided maybe it was time to quit telling him.  So I smiled and said, “They’re fine,” and he smiled, too, and said, “That’s good.”

I took a longer way home, a more scenic route, specifically so I wouldn’t get stalled out at the roadwork east of Columbus.  It was a pretty drive.

When I was little and traveling with my parents, my father, if he wasn’t pressed for time, would hand me the map and let me choose the route.  I always hunted for the squiggliest roads, knowing those would be the most scenic and fun to drive.  (I was restricted from choosing routes through, oh, say, New York State to get to California, however.  Boo, hiss.)  I grew up loving maps and loving to explore.

I got home in time to quilt for two or three hours that night, getting started on the bottom half of the quilt.  (The missing arcs at the bottom of the Mariner’s Compass will be added in after I roll the quilt forward.)

I came downstairs around 11:00 p.m. to sit in my recliner with the heating pad behind my back – and realized I’d forgotten to wash the dishes.  The sink was full.  So I washed the dishes.  It only took 35 minutes; but it was a loooong 35 minutes.

Early Sunday morning found me getting ready for church, blow-drying my hair, sipping Snickerdoodle coffee from Amana Coffee Company, and reading Quilt-Talk posts and the news, which is a trying occupation on this little laptop that doesn’t like to load pages.  It also regularly disconnects with my ergonomic keyboard, probably on account of outdated drivers – and it will not download new ones, probably because the laptop is old enough that it would not be compatible with the new drivers.  (I promise, I will continue to complain.  ha)

After church Sunday morning, we drove to the cemetery and put flowers on the graves until it started raining.

There was a wedding that evening, and for once, the couple is not related to us, not even distantly.  Astonishing.  :-D 

Um, well… they are related to several of our sons-in-law and daughters-in-law.  Let me count…  Three.  The bride, Ashley, is related to Bobby, Kurt, and Andrew.  The groom, Nicholas, is related to Bobby.

Keira was the flower girl, and she took her job quite seriously.  Pictures from Hester:

We left the church a bit earlier than usual, because Larry wasn’t feeling just the best, and because I had lost a watch and thought it might be at the cemetery, and it was still light enough to look for it.  Larry found it in a flower box in the back of the Mercedes; I have no idea if I lost it when I carried the boxes of flowers out to the Mercedes before Sunday School, or later when we were getting them out at the cemetery.

It was quite nice out, so we wandered around a bit, looking at the headstones, and I took a bunch of pictures.

The headstone for Caleb and Maria’s baby Liam, who was born much too early, always gets to us.  The engraving was made from a real picture; that’s Caleb’s hand holding the baby.

I found one headstone that I hadn’t seen for quite a few years.  It’s for a young woman named Anna who died in 1965 at the age of 36, leaving behind 9 children.  She was coming home from work, stopped at the train tracks to wait for a train; and when it passed, she crossed – directly into the path of another train on the second set of tracks.  I was four, and Anna’s was the first funeral I remember attending.

I also recall that when a little friend of mine, who would’ve only been two at the time, skipped along the sidewalk that day, I informed her in a quite pompous ‘I'm older than you and know better’ attitude, “We mustn’t skip.  Funerals are sad.”

I can still see her standing there looking at me, eyes wide.  (Amazingly, we are still friends.)

Hester sent this picture, too, writing, “And this was Keira’s job at the gift table.” 

That’s Keira there in the middle, industriously removing wrapping paper from that box.

“Andrew and I checked and double-checked to see if she was really supposed to be doing that,” laughed Hester.  “But they said yes, and kept giving her more presents to unwrap for them.”

She sent a few more pictures, writing, “She had such a good time!  She said her favorite thing was shaking hands with everyone.  She said she was the bravest girl ever!!!!”  

hee hee  She’s such a funny and dear little thing.

When we went through the reception line immediately after the service, she gave my hand a shake in her quick little way, and was then going to reach for Larry’s hand, but I hung on, went on shaking her hand, and said, “Hi!  Where have I seen you before?” which made her laugh.  But she really was in a hurry to get on with the hand-shaking.  Nicholas and Ashley were laughing, too.

“She definitely got into the conveyor-belt mode,” laughed Hester when I told this to her.

As I work on this letter, it seems that every window I try to use goes ‘not responding’.  Sometimes I give up and go play a few songs on the piano.  I come back, hoping at least one of the windows I need is back in working order.  The laptop keeps making the aggravating sound it plays when something is unplugged from a USB or SD port, meaning that the ergonomic keyboard has once again disconnected.  Bah, humbug.

Once this afternoon I decided to take a few minutes to read the news, and nearly sent the poor thing belly up.

I think one little starling just flew the coop!  Something went skittering along the wall and front door, landing on the porch.  I went to peak out the window on the front door just as it flew, wings pumping away.  It flew like a baby bird, but I’m not totally sure, as I didn’t get a good look at it.

The pickup that Larry has been trying to finish is now on our driveway; he brought it home from Genoa on a flatbed trailer.  He has not been able to get it started, because now it has a fuel leak (and it’s probably leaking all over the driveway).  He’ll have to take a lot of it back apart again to find the leak.

This evening, I got the SD card out of the game cam on the back deck and looked through the pictures, deleting the majority of them.  But I did find a couple of funny pictures where a squirrel – or his tail, to be precise – startled a grackle that was trying to eat suet.  Look at him bounce backwards off the suet feeder when that reddish-brown tail flipped right up in his face.  (And yes, the pictures are in order.)  

Bedtime!  (Actually, it’s long past bedtime.)  It’s been raining for several hours, and will continue for another half an hour, according to AccuWeather.  I won’t work in the gardens in the morning.  The weeds would come out of the ground easier, but I don’t really care to be a cold, soggy mess.

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