Journal: Whistlepigs, Chipping Sparrows, & Reminiscing

 

Tuesday morning found me getting ready for the funeral of my friend Elaine.  When I went outside to refill the bird feeders, it was already hot and muggy.  A heat advisory would kick in at 1:00 p.m.; it would be hot when we went to the cemetery after the church service.

Look what I found in the front vestibule when we got to church:  It’s the quilt Elaine had started putting together maybe about 40 years ago.  But things weren’t lining up and going together well, and she folded it up and put it away. 

A couple of years ago, my daughter-in-law Amy, one of Elaine’s granddaughters, and other members of the family were helping Frank and Elaine clean their house.  They’d had a water leak, and many things, especially in the basement, had gotten moldy and mildewed.  Amy found the pieces of this quilt, and they were all mildewy and smelly, and she nearly threw them out.  But she noticed that the fabric was Moda quilting cottons, and she found some completed quilt blocks that were really pretty; so she carefully washed everything on the ‘Delicate’ cycle in her washing machine, and let it all air dry.  Then she gave it to me, asking if I might be able to put it together. 

I redid a few of the trouble spots, got it together, and quilted it.  It turned out so pretty, I was sorry I hadn’t taken it even farther apart and fixed it even better.  But I was really happy to be able to give it back to Amy so that she could take it to her Grandmother.  Elaine was able to enjoy it for a year and a half before she passed away. 

After the service, we drove to the cemetery, where there was a short graveside ceremony.  We then returned to the church for a luncheon.

When we got home late that afternoon, Larry headed outside to mow the lawn, and I went upstairs to continue working on the Nine Kittens quilt.

Here’s a picture a friend posted on my MeWe Quilt Talk group, along with her usual friendly ‘good morning’ to everyone.

I once upon a time felt exactly like the Grandma in the picture (or at least exactly like she would feel, were she not totally engrossed with her phone, and if she would just look up long enough to discovered she was engulfed in confetti from some unknown source).  I was going through a giant stack of Christmas cards from friends and family, fingers flying, no time to waste, lots to do:  slit the envelope, jerk the card out, scan it quickly, toss envelope in sack at my feet, put card in stack on the left, any enclosed pictures on the right.  I was really going lickety-split, well into the rhythm, when —

Now I should pause momentarily to tell you that the next card was from a good friend who, having been with me a time or two when I did this, well knew my Christmas-card-opening methodology.

And she, knowing this, filled that card full of glitter and confetti.

I yanked the card out of the envelope and whipped it open, all in one smooth move -----

And got totally drowned, buried alive, absolutely swathed, enveloped, and shrouded, in glitter and confetti.

She was not there when it happened, but believe me, my disrespectful offspring, all of whom had gone into peals of laughter at my hapless State of Sparkle, duly reported the entire spectacle to her.

That evening, Hannah and Levi came visiting, and Levi worked on replacing some broken strings in my piano.  They had to go before he was quite done (and he needs another string), so Larry finished the job, and I tuned the strings.  They have already slid back out of tune.  I’ll retune them tomorrow.

Here’s a Chipping sparrow, scolding.  I think he doesn’t like me staring and photographing, when he’s having a bad hair day.

Aren’t they just the cutest little things, with their little rust-colored caps?

The last few days, I’ve been hearing newly-fledged baby cardinals cheepity-cheeping for their parents to feed them.  They’re loud, too, even though they’re very high-pitched.  This young cardinal isn’t having a much better hair day than the Chipping sparrow, is he?

Wednesday when I went out to refill the bird feeders, it was so hot and muggy out there, my glasses steamed up, and it was hard to breathe.  It was only 85°, but felt like 93° on account of the high humidity.

The friend who posted the granny picture Tuesday morning posted this painting Wednesday morning.  It reminds me of the time a friend and I were bridesmaids in another friend’s wedding.  We sewed our own dresses – and we spent a long time taking turns on a chair just like the girl in the picture, while the other measured and marked, measured and marked.

In the photo below, I’m on the right, next to the bride.  My dress and the other bridesmaid’s dress were made from a Gunne Sax pattern.  They were of the stretchiest single knits we had ever worked with, and it took an act of congress to get the hems straight.  As you can see, the other bridesmaid’s skirt stretched after she was done with it, and wound up dragging the floor.  And it had been so perfect!

But let me tell you what happened on the wedding night, after the sermon:

My father finished preaching, prayed, and then said, “Will the wedding party take their places.”

The bride and her attendants arose, as did the groom and his groomsmen.  We stepped forward to the altar, and the wedding ceremony commenced.

And then Martha and Carey Gene were husband and wife, and it was time to step back to the pew and then file out while the congregation sang the closing hymn.  The newly married couple would go first, followed by Larry and me, then the other bridesmaid and groomsman, the candlelighters next, and finally the ringbearer and flowergirl (my nephew and niece, Robert and Susan).  Since the pew was only a few steps back, we did not turn around; we just backed up.

Problem:

Sitting in that strrrretchy single knit dress through the service had stretched the back of the skirt, and it was no longer half an inch above the floor.

I stepped on the hem.

This pulled me backwards a little, so I automatically stepped back quickly with the other foot to catch myself.

That foot wound up even farther up the hem, jerking me back all the more.

By now, I was leaning backwards at a precarious angle, as I effectively walked up the inside of the back of the skirt.

The outcome would have been nothing less than ignominious, if the backs of my legs had not suddenly ka-bonked into the pew, which brought me up short and prevented me from landing flat on my back in front of the entire congregation.

I did not willingly wear a floor-length thneed (à la Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax) ever again.

Wednesday afternoon, I finally discovered what kept scrambling into the bathroom windowsill, banging around, and then tumbling down the side of the house to land with a jarring crash on the deck.  He’s the one who’s been knocking over the red bird feeder, too.  I’d been just setting it on the deck, as there wasn’t room to hang it on the feeding station, and raccoons bent the shepherd’s hook in the front yard, so I couldn’t use that.

Yep, it’s a fat little woodchuck.

I grabbed my camera, quietly pulled the door open a few inches, and started taking pictures.  The woodchuck (aka groundhog, whistlepig, thickwoods badger, chuck, land beaver, monax, weenusk, and siffleux), upon seeing me, grabbed a few more bites of sunflower seeds, then proceeded to try hiding behind the feeder.

When he realized that wasn’t working, as he was considerably wider than the feeder, he decided he’d better make a dash for the stairs.  Trouble was, he had to come past me in order to get there.

He ran a few steps, stopped, and then humped his back up high, trying to look big and scary in order to keep me from attacking.

Since I merely went on shooting pictures, he regathered himself and bolted for the steps.  More photos here:  If A Woodchuck Would Eat Sunflower Seeds...

Wednesday night after our evening church service, we went to Wal-Mart for groceries and a birthday gift for grandson Jeffrey, who would be 16 the next day.  We got him a heavy-duty zippered case of tools.

After we got home, we had a late supper, and then I headed out the back patio door to collect the bird feeders – and found a mother raccoon and five – five! – roly-poly babies out there scarfing down sunflower seeds.  I didn’t get any pictures of them, more’s the pity.  They were sooo cute.  But here’s an adult raccoon who came by later.

Teddy and Amy have now sold the majority of their 15 Anatolian shepherd puppies. 

Amy was recently telling me how they went about leaving only 7 or 8 puppies at a time with the mother dog.  If they just went out and got half of the puppies and brought them in the house, the mother was very concerned for them.

“So, the first time,” said Amy, “we had to bring all 15 in, and while she sat right at the front door, we divided them, and took half of them back out.  Since she really couldn’t count, she then thought we brought her puppies back outside.  Then when we had to switch them (which they did every two hours), we couldn’t just take the ones in the house out and switch them.  We had to go out and get the ones that were outside, bring them in, and while she sat staring at the front door, we switched them and took the other set back out.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t rest if she knew some of her puppies were in the house.

“A couple times we set the basket down inside the coop where she was, and she’d get up and go look in it like she thought there should be more puppies.”

Sounds like a very good mama dog, to me, don’t you agree?  Maybe, despite her lack of counting ability, she had this sneaking suspicion...

I sewed the majority of the day Thursday, with a short break to take Jeffrey his birthday gift.

While I was there, Amy gave me a Pfaltzgraff coffee cup in the Gabriela Blue pattern.  Isn’t it pretty?

Home again, I was sewing away, when I heard a little scritch-scratching, looked up – and there was a little squirrel on the eave under the dormer window, peering right in the window at me.

Larry likes to open the refrigerator door and then stand there thoughtfully observing the contents. Sometimes he launches into conversation at the same time, which slows the process even more.  

I generally wait a while (for me, a ‘while’ is ten seconds, heh), and then ask, “Has anything new materialized in there while you stand there with the door open?”  😂

I spent Friday sewing, sewing, sewing...

Saturday, I went to visit Loren.  One of the managers was at the desk when I went in.

She greeted me, then remarked, “Loren is such a cheery and good-natured person!  He’s always in good spirits, friendly and cooperative.”

She paused with what she was doing, then looked over her shoulder at me.  “Except for when he isn’t.”

I laughed, “Looks like you have him pegged pretty well!”

A bad storm with 100-mph winds had gone through Lincoln and Omaha Wednesday night, putting over 250,000 people out of power.  That’s the most people without power in that area, ever.  Well, ‘ever’, that is, since electricity came to Omaha and that many people actually had electricity.

Omaha was a pretty up-and-coming city, from years gone by.  Just three years after Thomas Edison perfected the incandescent lamp, electric power arrived in Omaha in 1883 with the incorporation of the Northwestern Electric Lights Company and their installation of 20 arc lights along the city’s streets.  The population of Omaha in 1880 was 30,518.  Population today is about 488,000.  Approximately 1.5 million people reside within the Greater Omaha area – that is, within a 50-mile radius of Downtown Omaha.  In 1950, the population was 251,117.  The majority would’ve had electricity. 

From Mr. Electric .com:  In 1925, only half of American houses had electrical power.  Thanks in great part to FDR’s Rural Electrification Act of 1936, by 1945, 85 percent of American homes were powered by electricity, with virtually all homes having electricity by 1960.  Initially, electricity was used primarily for lighting.

While visiting with Loren, the woman I first saw about four weeks ago, the one who was wearing a pretty blue and white flannel nightgown, walked up and down the north-south hallways several times.  She has been wearing that same nightgown every time I’ve been to the nursing home since.  Either she doesn’t want to wear anything else, or she thinks it’s her special Saturday afternoon attire.  She walked hurriedly along, one hand clutching at her back, and every now and then she shrieked, “OWWWW!!!” and “HURTS!!!” and “OHHH!!!”

The nurses, most of whom were busy doling out the evening medications to the residents, paid her no attention.  Perhaps this is common behavior for the woman?

Directly, Mrs. Nightgown turned down the wide hallway to the west, where Loren and I were sitting.  As she walked by, still clutching at her back, she was exclaiming, “I gotta get outa here!  I gotta get outa here!  I gotta get outa here!”

I turned my head and looked at Loren.  He was looking at me, his old familiar crooked smile on his face.  I raised one eyebrow and told him, “She’s gotta get outa here!”

He laughed.

Meanwhile, another lady was sitting in a wheelchair nearby.  She is a tall, thin lady with a cap of snowy hair with soft waves.  She looks to be about 80, and she’s still very pretty.

Every now and then, she yipped, “HELP!”  A few moments of quiet, and then, “HELP!”

One of the nurses, counting out pills and marking off names at the medicine station directly across the hall responded without turning, “I’ll be there in just a minute, honey.”

“Oh, thank you, sweetie,” Mrs. Snow answered in her soft, high-pitched voice.

She waited about 15 seconds, and then shouted at the top of her lungs, “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!”  One more split second, and she bellowed, “NOW!!!”

This time, I didn’t so much as glance Loren’s way; I just hastily showed him another picture on my tablet.

One of the nurses soon hurried to help Mrs. Snow.

Loren was not quite as alert that day as he has been the last couple of weeks.

After leaving Prairie Meadows, I drove to Standing Bear Lake, just north of the nursing home.  There are branches and trees down all over the place from Wednesday night’s storm.  As of right now, Monday afternoon, there are still a little over 20,000 without power.  Some who regained power lost it again when weakened branches fell on power lines.  The power company has warned that it may be seven more days before power is totally restored.

Here’s the lake, and some of the tree damage.

Prairie Meadows lost power for 16 hours, but they have generators that keep everything running normally.

I sewed for a few hours after I got home.  About half of each of the 72 blue and white Log Cabin blocks are now done.

Late last night, I kept hearing a strange ‘beep-beep’ noise somewhere.  I walked through the house... noted that the sound reduced when I got to the front of the house... went to the laundry room... heard it louder... opened the patio door – and discovered it was a pack of tree frogs, singing up a loud tune!

I wonder what the term is for a bunch of frogs?

Okay, I looked it up:  It’s called ‘army’, ‘colony’, or ‘knot’.

I choose ‘army’ for this bunch.  They were definitely all playing ‘First Call’ on their little bugles.  😂

It was 90° at noon today, on the way up to 95°, and muggy.  The next seven days will be really nice, with temperatures in the mid-to-high 70s, with only one day getting up to 82°.  I’d better make good use of the mornings out in the flower gardens!  The weeds are overtaking the flowers.  Pulling weeds is good exercise.  Not that I’m particularly fond of it.

My VeryFitPro watch thinks I am exercising up a storm when I am pulling weeds, folding clothes, and, to a lesser extent, playing the piano.

I just scrubbed out my small Vicks vaporizer, and now it is steaming away right on the table beside me as I stand and type this letter.  The steam helps my eyes.  I scrubbed the vaporizer with Mrs. Meyer’s All-Purpose cleaner after refilling the spray bottle with concentrate in Rosemary scent.  Now the steam smells good, into the bargain.

I think perhaps I have found some homeopathic pills that seem to be helping, at least a little bit.  I haven’t had any Botox treatments since March, so the last treatment has more than worn off; and yet I’m doing better than I was the last time the treatment wore off.  Nothing is a ‘fix’, but if something helps, I’m glad.  We can’t afford the Botox treatments, as our health savings account is only enough for a couple of treatments a year – and both Larry and I need glasses.  So... I’m trying the homeopathic route.

After learning a few months ago that the homeopathic pills will probably not work well if one is ingesting caffeine, I switched to decaf coffee.  Since I generally made my coffee fairly weak, I really couldn’t tell a difference in how I felt, when I cut out the caffeine.  But I do think it made a difference with the homeopathic pills.

The days are getting shorter.  It’s already looking dusky here at 8:40 p.m. – and Larry is outside grinding on a rubber track for his skid loader, making an unearthly amount of noise.  We’re out in the country, yes, but we do have a few fairly close neighbors.  I usually have to go out and tell him it’s getting too late for that much racket, since he can’t hear how loud he’s being.

I have a cup of Toasted Southern Pecan coffee (decaf) and a tall Thermal cup of iced tea lemonade by 4C Tea2Go at hand.  The best of both worlds. 😄

One of Larry’s cousins is in a nursing home in Minnesota; she’s been there for a few months now after falling several times in her apartment.  In the evenings, nurses’ aides often bring her Sleepytime tea.

Are there ingredients in Sleepytime time to help a person sleep, I wonder?

Annnnd... I found this:  Sleepytime tea is usually caffeine-free and contains herbs that may help with falling asleep.  Some of the key ingredients include the following:

Chamomile:  Contains apigenin, an antioxidant that may help with insomnia and sleepiness.  Some say chamomile tea should be consumed 30–45 minutes before bed.  However, pregnant or ragweed-allergic people should avoid chamomile.

Valerian root:  A natural remedy for anxiety and insomnia.  A 2010 European meta-analysis found it may help with insomnia.  However, valerian may not be safe for pregnant or breastfeeding women, and it hasn’t been evaluated for children under three.

Passionflower:  May help healthy adults with minor sleep issues fall asleep faster.

Other ingredients that may be found in Sleepytime tea include lavender, lemon balm, spearmint, and lemongrass.

Can you tell I like researching things?  I used to be delighted when in school we’d get an assignment that included lots of research and writing.  The other kids were all saying,  “Awwwwww, rats,” and I was thinking, Wheeeeeee, what fun!

It will be Loren’s 86^th birthday Friday.  What should I give him?  I know, I know!  I could recruit everyone in the nursing home to sing Happy Birthday while I played the piano.

Kidding, kidding.

Maybe I could bring a parrot to sing Happy Birthday to him.

Kidding!

Recently, I heard a YouTube video of parrot named Boozle trying to sing Happy Birthday.  It’s dreadfully bad, but I can’t keep from laughing at it. 

You know, parrots can sing perfectly on tune, vibrato and all (there are plenty of videos giving ample proof of this) – if they are taught by a person who can actually sing on tune!  If the bird is singing a song off tune, you can be sure that their teacher sang it off tune, in exactly those same notes the parrot is now singing.  I suspect the person who taught Boozle to sing Happy Birthday had imbibed in a bit of boozle before commencing said voice lesson.

We have several times been in a restaurant where eaters and seaters alike suddenly launched into “Happy Birthday” for somebody.  Good grief, can’t anybody sing that thing on tune??!  The song needs to be started fairly low, especially if one doesn’t have a very wide vocal range, in order to hit the high note on the third ‘Happy Birthday’, particularly the note on the first syllable of ‘birthday’.

Not that some could actually sing on tune even if they did start low enough.  😏

Well, that little soliloquy did not at all help in deciding what to take Loren for his birthday.  I’ve given him picture books numerous times; not that it matters, as he would surely like another.

Ah, well.  By this time next week, I’ll be telling you what I gave him!

Can you see the smoky haze over the far hills in this photo?  I was heading due west, and that smoke is coming from the wildfires in Colorado.  I was glad to learn that they seem to be corralling those fires today.

Bedtime!

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