Journal: Birthdays Galore

 

Some quilting friends and I were discussing some of our sewing mishaps.  Here’s one of mine: 

I was once sewing a ruffle onto a little girl’s dress, going full bore, as usual, when it suddenly jerked sideways and the seam got all messed up.

What on earth.

I tugged at the ruffle to see what the matter was – and discovered I was sitting on one end of it.

After that misadventure, the friend who had been sewing with me at the time took to ending any visits or phone conversations with, “Don’t sit on the other end of the ruffle you’re sewing!”  😄

How often do you go to the dentist?  I don’t go nearly often enough.  Fortunately, my teeth are healthy.

The dentist chair can be miserable, not just because of what’s happening in one’s mouth, but because of what happens to one’s neck and back!  The last time I was at the dentist’s office, it made my neck so stiff and sore, I could barely turn my head for a couple of weeks.  Aarrgghh.

I asked for a pillow to put behind my neck, and they brought me this humongous overstuffed thing that would’ve folded my head forward ’til my chin poked into my chest, if I had’ve been that limber.  Next time I go, I’ll take a neck pillow.  A fancy quilted one, so I can sashay in looking all chic and uppity, instead of embarrassed and chagrined.

Tuesday, I scanned Loren’s tax papers that had arrived that day (sending documents to the accountant is the signal for any further papers to arrive en masse within three days or less) and sent some to the accountant and some to the lawyer. 

I tried to pay an invoice on PayPal, but kept running into a snag.  I assumed the problem was on my end, but then learned that it was on their end when I looked at x.com and discovered that untold persons were having the very same trouble I’d had, and were downright hostile about it, too.

At 5:00 p.m., it was 18°, with a windchill of 10°.  I was all decked out in multiple layers of this and that, and my space heater was on in my quilting studio as I worked on Josiah’s ‘Mane Event’ quilt.

That evening, I fixed a big yummy salad and cooked the bacon my nephew Kelvin had given us for Christmas.  He had seasoned and smoked it, and I froze it until I was ready to cook it.

I took a picture of my plateful and sent it to him with another thank-you.

Wednesday, I paid some bills, then headed to the quilting studio to continue piecing Josiah’s quilt.

By noon, it was 20° with a windchill of 2°.  We were issued a winter weather advisory, as freezing, misty rain had put down a coating of ice in much of middle to southeast Nebraska.

Meanwhile, it was -58° in Oymyakon, Sakha Republic, Russia, aka ‘The Coldest Permanently Inhabited Village on Earth’.  But their hardy little Yakutian horses were doing just fine.  😊🐎

When we got to church that evening, the parking lot was starting to get slick.  By the time the service was over, it was so slippery, it was hard to walk to our vehicle!  And wouldn’t you know, I had an order to pick up at Walmart, on the opposite side of town.

As it turned out, we didn’t have any trouble driving, since the road department had sprayed all the main roadways.

When we got home, we had a late supper of chicken tortellini soup, pretzel flipside crackers, cottage cheese, and juice.

Thursday morning, I listened to news on the rural radio while I showered and fixed my hair, as usual.  The newscaster has updated her terminology from ‘attorney generals’ to ‘attorneys generals’.  😄  Lady, we can tell you’re a-tryin’, but that’s still wrong!  If someone would just explain to her that they are not generals; they are attorneys. 

Now, the title of major general, for instance, is a military rank in which the word ‘general’ is not used as an adjective but as a noun, which can be pluralized.  

However, in the term ‘attorneys general’, the word ‘general’ is an adjective, and hence should not be pluralized.  Attorneys general, despite carrying the title of ‘general’ and feeling all important and stuff, are not military officers and carry no rank.

If the lady newscaster didn’t ever learn the fundamentals about nouns and adjectives, though, all of that would be totally lost on her.

I spent a while that afternoon gathering together birthday gifts and wrapping them for some of the family members whose birthdays are this month.  I like to wrap birthday presents in calendar pages.  I had nearly exhausted my stash of old calendars until I came upon a small hoard of them when I was cleaning out Loren’s house.

Late that afternoon, I put a roast, potatoes, and carrots in the Instant Pot.  It wasn’t long before the whole house smelled delectable.

While supper cooked, I got a considerable bit of work done on the ‘Mane Event’ quilt.

Friday, a little after noon, I looked at the temperature.  It was 39°.  The windchill was 32°.  That didn’t sound too bad, so out I went to fill the bird feeders wearing only a fleece sweatshirt, long skirt, and denim sandals.  That was not warm enough.  There was an Arctic gale blowing across the back deck, and my ears nearly froze right off my head.  Wherever the thermometer for my weather app is located, it’s absolutely in a warmer spot than my back deck.  

But soon the little birds were twittering about and enjoying every one of the feeders I had filled.  Did you know February is National Bird-Feeding Month?

Greg Wagner of Nebraska Game & Parks says it’s fine to feed songbirds in our state unless you have ‘backyard chickens’, as he calls small local flocks.  The songbirds that frequent Nebraska have a low susceptibility to bird flu.  “Just keep the feeders and surrounding areas clean,” he says.

Back to the quilting studio I went.  The whoppyjaw patches for the ‘Mane Event’ are fairly square now; it’ll turn out all right.  

I sewed until a quarter ’til 7 that evening, when we had a multiple-birthday party to attend for four of the grandchildren.  We would be celebrating Willie’s and Oliver’s 3^rd birthdays, Emma’s 19^th  birthday, and Grant’s 12^th birthday.

Victoria sent a link to a folder full of Willie’s three-year pictures.  He was all dressed up in a Thomas the Tank engineer’s outfit.

That cute little boy asked for ‘a purple mama spider’ for his birthday.  

“He’s been thinking about it for weeks,” said Victoria.  “So Hannah crocheted the baby and I made the bigger one.”

So funny, a not-quite three-year-old asking for a ‘purple mama spider’ for a birthday present.  No kid of mine would’ve ever thought of such a thing.  Hannah’s kids would’ve, though.

The birthday party was at Andrew and Hester’s house.

Quite a number of the family was there, and some from Andrew’s side of the family were there, too, which always makes it fun, for they are very good friends of ours.

We started with a supper of barbecued pulled chicken that Hester had made in her slow cooker, and pretzel rolls that Victoria had made.  There was coleslaw, potato salad, vegetables and dip, M&M oatmeal cookies, and of course the requisite cake.  Actually, there were four smallish cakes, one for each of the birthday children, complete with candles on top.  We therefore sang four verses of Happy Birthday (and yes, we sang it on tune, and all the sopranists hit the high note true blue).

After we finished eating, I gave the children their gifts.  Oliver, feeling at home in his own house, kerplunked right down on the living room rug and began opening his gift. 

Finding Willie in the kitchen, I handed him his present.  He smiled at me, then went hurrying into the living room, looking for his little cousin.  He sat himself down right next to Oliver, and Oliver, with a happy grin at his cousin, scooted over to give Willie a little more space.

Later, when they were getting ready to go, Victoria sent Willie into the kitchen to “tell Grandma thank you!”

He accordingly came trotting into the kitchen, stopped and looked around at the large number of people in there, didn’t see me (all but the babies are taller than me, after all), sighed dramatically, and proceeded to make his way all around the room, giving each person an affectionate little pat and a “Thankoo!”

Victoria, laughing, pointed in my direction.  “Grandma’s right over there!”

Willie looked, but didn’t see me.  So, looking a bit twinkly-eyed, he gave his 22-year-old cousin Joanna another pat and said in his cute little voice, “Thankoo, Grandma!”  haha

Oliver, after watching me take pictures of several of the little girls, came smiling to ask, “Grandma, would you like to take my picture?”

“I sure would!” I answered, taking one right while he asked. 

He took a step back and put on his best camera smile.  He was giving it such a might-and-main effort, one little hand was curled into a tight fist.  After smiling at him around the sides of the camera, then trying a teasing frown, then another smile, I concluded that that face was on there to stay, and obligingly took the shot.  

He hurried forward, asking, “Can I see it?”

I showed him.  He stopped smiling, looking at it consideringly.  Then, “We’d better try that again,” said he, and stepped back to give me another close variation of the same smile.

He wasn’t entirely happy with that shot, either.  “Well...” he pondered, tipping his head to look at it.

I figured we wouldn’t get a ‘normal’ one right then unless I happened to catch him off guard, so I assured him, “It’s fine!  I like it just fine.”

So he grinned at me, and trotted off.

After I sent Hester those pictures, she commented, “😄😄 Oliver must have gotten a new smile when he turned 3.  😁 ”

Here's grandson Ethan, who's 20:

Saturday was a cold day, 24° at noon, with a windchill of only 6°.  I did the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and then worked on Josiah’s quilt.

At 7:30 p.m., I went downstairs to eat supper.  Larry was in Genoa working on his pickup.  I had lettuce salad and barbecued pulled chicken on a pretzel bun – leftovers from the birthday party – and white grape/peach juice with it.

I had an M&M oatmeal cookie for dessert.  I’m not sure who made them.  Maria?  Hester?

About the time I was ready to head back upstairs to my sewing room, Larry got home, so I stayed at the table and kept him company while he ate supper.  He had a bad cold, and it was steadily getting worse.

I worked a little while longer on Josiah’s quilt, and then hit the hay.

Larry stayed home from church Sunday.  When I went out to the Mercedes that morning a little before 9:30 a.m., it was 19°, and there were ice crystals all over the windshield.  By mid-afternoon, the temperature climbed a little above freezing.

Several of the grandchildren, and Hester, too, have been sick yesterday and today; I reckon we all shared germs at the birthday party.  Here's Joanna, 22:

As I type, I’m drinking the Cameron’s French Roast coffee Caleb and Maria gave us, mixed with Gingerbread-flavored coffee.  Mmmmm, it’s good.

I got three new bird feeders, each of which are supposed to be squirrel-proof.  Perhaps they are squirrel-resistant, but they’re certainly not squirrel-proof; I’ve seen videos showing squirrels chowing down at these very feeders, though not without considerable effort.  It takes them no effort whatsoever to feast at my old feeders, though; so hopefully these will be an improvement.

Hannah wrote to me this afternoon, “I was watching a redheaded woodpecker cracking seeds.  They fly up to knots on branches and put the seed in there and pound the stuffing out of it.  It takes them much longer than you’d think to get the seed out of the shell!”

That’s how the nuthatches do it, too.  But the sparrows, cardinals, and finches, with their strong, thick beaks, just crack those things right in their beaks, discard the shell, and down the seed.  It’s not at all the size of the bird, but entirely the shape of the beak.

I took a picture of myself with my tablet this afternoon and sent it to Hester, writing, “See, I don’t look like Mrs. Bumstead today (fake name, but she knew I was talking about one of our late neighbor ladies) – that is, my outfit matches, thanks to my kids!  The sweater is from Caleb & Maria & Co.  The vest is from you.  The wrinkled skirt is from GW Boutique (aka Goodwill) (or maybe it’s a hand-me-down from one of my daughters).  The new Bear Paw socks (sooo soft!) are from you & Co.  The slippers were Grandma Swiney’s, given to her years ago by Lura Kay, and they’re from St. John’s Bay, made of shearling, with the suede on the outside and the wool on the inside.  Aren’t I just utterly too-too?”

If a certain person who shall remain unnamed was still writing to me, and if I had’ve sent her that picture, she would’ve immediately written back to inform me that people with white hair should not wear light-colored things, particularly whites and creams.

I had a brown paisley rayon suit dress with a cream-colored silk blouse for Thanksgiving one year, and she informed me that brown was not my color.

Bah, humbug.  Any color is my color!  Every color is my color!  Well, except for maybe olive drab camouflage.  I don’t wanna wear olive drab camouflage.  But otherwise?!  Yes, whatever it is, it’ll be my color!  I like colors, and I will wear them, thank you very much.

I just read an article about the Canada jay, which is about the same size as the Blue jay – but all the pictures in the article were of the Mountain chickadee, which is only slightly bigger than a wren.  Some wannabe ornithologist fell down on the job!

Canada jay

Mountain chickadee

A friend was telling a story of having dinner and staying overnight at a friend’s house when she was young, and of feeling entirely out of place, because the family was nearly silent the entire time she was visiting.

That reminded me of a time I visited a girl’s family for Sunday dinner.  I was about 10 years old, I suppose.  They had recently started attending our church, and they had been to visit at our house, the parsonage, numerous times.  So Kallie Ann invited me for dinner.  They lived out in the country, so I would go home with them after Sunday morning church service and stay until the evening service.

Now, my house was noisy on Sunday afternoons, with my adult brother and sister and their families eating dinner with us, and people carrying on conversations and laughing together.

Kallie Ann’s house was silent.  Kallie Ann was the youngest of eight children.  I knew (or thought I knew) the family to be jovial and fun; that’s the persona they put on elsewhere!  But noooo.  That Sunday afternoon, they were silent.  Was it for my benefit?  Did they want me to carry the news to my father, who was our pastor, that this was one pious family indeed on Sunday afternoons?

Then a noodle fell off of Kallie Ann’s fork, landed on her lap, and slithered slowly down her leg.  I got struck funny.  No one else did.

Now, that was awkward.

I did not again eat Sunday afternoon dinner at her house.  I’d rather eat dinner where people are arguing, than where they are silent!  At least I could’ve snerked at a slithering piece of pasta without gettin’ meseff stared at by nine humorless people and one girl who probably wanted to laugh but didn’t dare.

Here are Willie and Oliver opening their birthday gifts, with Oliver’s other grandpa helping.  Eva is in the background.

Larry has lost the charger for his new, expensive hearing aids.  So... until he either finds it or gets a replacement, he’s using his older hearing aids.  They only cost 10% of what the new ones did – and they’re still pricey.

Bedtime!  I’m almost sure I can get Josiah’s ‘Mane Event’ quilt done tomorrow.

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