Journal: The Eyes Have It

 

Last Monday, we had a heatwave – it got up to 42°.  Today, after a week of cold, cold weather and snow, we had even more of a heatwave:  the high was 53°, and the ‘feel-like’ temperature was 63°!  The wind is only blowing at 4 mph with gusts up to 10 mph.  Practically nonexistent, for this neck o’ ze woods.

Tuesday morning, Hester sent me a link to the latest video by Sherry of Canterbury Cottage, who we both enjoy watching.  She does such a wonderful job thrifting, putting together lovely things that she often gives as gifts, and decorating her house.

Then, because I watched that, YouTube decided I would doubtless want to watch The Grinch, by Bobby Bass, one of the lowest bass singers in the world.  EVER.

I have a knack (maybe even a habit) of going down rabbit holes.  Once I found Bobby Bass a couple of years ago, I proceeded to do a comprehensive study (on YouTube? can it be called that? sounds impressive, anyway) on bass singers, and how loooooow they can go, with electronic ‘charts’ ’n ever’thang.  Eat your heart out, Tennessee Ernie Ford:  Sixteen Tons

WOW.  That’s a low G♭.  I just checked.

I texted all this to Hester, who responded, “I’m always curious:  At what point do the low notes stop being music? 😅”

Finally even the rumble fades from our hearing. We can only assume the ‘singer’ can still feel the note, whether still in his throat, or perchance in his toes by then.

And here we have the world’s deepest voice:  Tim Storms sings Amazing Grace

The lowest sound in the universe, not audible to humans, is a B-flat note from a supermassive black hole in the Perseus galaxy cluster, about 57 octaves below middle C, with waves taking millions of years to complete a cycle.  For human-perceivable sounds, the quietest place is an anechoic chamber, while the deepest vocal note ever recorded (though still infrasonic) belongs to Tim Storms, going incredibly low.

By a quarter after 11 that day, it was 46°, on the way up to 58°.  However, we’d also been issued a High Wind Warning which would take effect that evening and continue until 8:00 a.m. Wednesday.  Winds could gust over 60 mph, so they said.

I played my way through several more pages in my Christmas song notebook, and then continue scanning pictures in the old albums.

A friend, having hurt her right knee, was having trouble using the sustain pedal on her electronic piano.  “Have you ever used your left foot for this?” she asked.

“No,” said I, “but back in 2008 I had a badly sprained right ankle, right when I needed to be sewing some things for Hester’s and Lydia’s weddings.  I propped my right foot up on a stack of pillows under my sewing machine, and proceeded to use my left foot on the pedal.

“I sewed three skirts and one wedding veil before I even got them cut out.”

By 3:00 in the after, it was 56°.  The snow wasn’t melting much, though, as the ground was still pretty well frozen.  

For my midafternoon snack, I had a slice of jalapeño cheese and a toasted, buttered little chunk of Irish brown bread.  Yummy.

Our Internet might as well have been dial-up, that evening.  I’d used up my high-speed hotspots, but it’s usually not that slow.  The wind was picking up; that often slows the Internet.

I went on scanning, scanning...  I scan multiple pictures at once, as many as will fit on the glass scanning bed of the scanner.  I then duplicate that scan, once for every picture, and crop it later, editing if necessary.  I’ve often been glad I saved under-par photos, because now I have the wherewithal to fix some of them.  The one of Hannah, for instance:  I’ll bump up the contrast and the saturation, and it will be quite fine.

By 9:20 p.m., the rafters were starting to rattle, with wind gusting up to around 40 mph.  It would increase to 60 +/- mph during the night, so the weatherman said.

He underestimated.  It got up to 65 mph here, and blew even harder in areas to the southeast, putting a number of people out of power.

When I quit scanning for the night, I had one more album scanned.  16 to go!

I wound up sleeping later than usual Wednesday morning on account of being awake for an hour and a half in the early morning hours.  So I spent most of the rest of the day rushing around trying to make up for lost time, refilling and hanging bird feeders, sweeping floors, showering, shining up the bathroom, curling my hair, ordering Christmas gifts, answering messages and posts, and then belatedly remembering to eat breakfast.

A friend told me the following story:  “Some time ago I bought a nice but inexpensive electric can opener.  I liked it.  It could be disagreeable at times, but with patience, it worked. 

“My husband actually threw it in the trash can once.

“I retrieved it, explained to her that ‘I like it’, and replaced it on the counter.

“I’m guessing I’ve had it for three years, maybe slightly longer.

“Just today, upon closer inspection, I noticed the decorative emblem on the front isn’t an emblem.  It’s a bottle opener.  I decided to wipe it down and while cleaning the back I discovered a knife sharpener!

“I really should check the base to see if a HAM radio is built in.”

I responded with my own story:  “I recently discovered a wee plastic toothpick in a pocketknife I’ve had for years.”

I made myself a tall Thermal mug of cold brew and a fresh pot of coffee, and got busy cropping and editing the photos I’d scanned.

Our cousin who is in a nursing home in Minnesota texted a greeting, then told me, “My neighbor has some kind of flashing light in her room.  I don’t think I would like that.”

“I wonder what it’s for?  Maybe a Christmas decoration?”

“I am sure that is what is for and I don’t have to like it,” she responded.

Hee hee  She doesn’t generally mean to, but she often makes me laugh.  I told her the following story:

My mother used to have a set of three pretty bells that hung on the wall. They were flat on the back, so they would hang against the wall nicely.  The fronts were a white flocked stuff to look like snow.  They plugged in and slowly flashed muted colors of blue, green, and red.  They were pretty – but that particular Christmas, I had the flu.  I was 5 years old.

Mama had me all snuggled up on the couch with pillows and blankets and dolls and stuffed toys – and that set of flashing bells over on the opposite wall was in my direct line of vision.  I forever after connected them with a severe case of the stomach flu.  haha

That afternoon, having used up the last of the cold brew, I made a fresh gallon – Burundi, this time.  I recently got a set of African coffees, because they were on sale, and just for the fun of it.  I like to try new and different flavors.  This one had the following description on the bag:  “Right acidity, intence [sic] brown sugar sweetnes [sic] with citrusy [sic]”.  Did the African coffee plantation owner write the description himself, I wonder, and his first language is Kirundi, and English is waaaay down the list?

About that time, I heard an animal scampering and clumping around in the ceiling over the kitchen and living room.  I accordingly banged and clumped on the wall, whereupon he took himself to the ceiling over the music room.  Aarrgghh.

Okay, that did it.  I marched upstairs and set off a Mountain Air Fogger in one of the upstairs cubbyholes.  The house would now smell strongly of ...  something.  Chemicals, I suppose.  🫢🤪😵‍💫🫤😜😝😖🤧

Shortly afterwards, I heard a bit of scampering on the side of the kitchen ceiling next to the garage... and then, nothing.  The whatever-it-was must’ve gone looking for someplace with less aroma.  It was so noisy, I suspect it may have been a raccoon.  Squirrels are noisy, too, though.

Meanwhile, Canada geese were going flying over, one long V after another, honking and calling.  These were much lower in the sky than those I saw days earlier; they were probably heading for the rivers and lakes south of town.

After our midweek church service that evening, we had a light supper.  I wanted Campbell’s Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup, but Larry wanted eggs and toast.  So... we had both.  I warmed up the soup and fixed buttered 12-grain toast while Larry made eggs over easy.  Grilled cheese sandwiches are good with soup; so why not eggs and toast?  We’d never had that combination before, but it was quite good.

Oh, look what I found online:  “Eggs, toast, and soup make a surprisingly good, balanced meal, offering protein, healthy fats, complex carbs, fiber, vitamins, and hydration, especially if you use whole-grain toast and a vegetable-rich soup.  It’s hearty, satisfying, and can be adapted for any meal, not just breakfast, providing sustained energy and nutrients.”

Since I needed to get up around 5:30 a.m. for my appointment with the eye doctor in Lincoln the next morning, I...  Did you think I was going to say I went to bed??  Tsk.  Of course not!  I watched people sliding on ice, all over the place and out of control, whether on foot or in their vehicles, on YouTube.

But not for long.  I really did need to sleep.

I woke up 45 minutes before my alarm went off.  Plumb aggravatin’.

I lay there trying to fall back to sleep until the alarm blared, then got up and began getting ready to go.

Since my appointment was at 10:30 a.m., I wanted to leave at 8:30 a.m.  It’s 88 miles, and takes about an hour and 40 minutes to get there.  Add in a pitstop, and it takes an hour and 45 minutes.

We left at 8:40 a.m.  We were almost to Lost Creek Parkway, 5 miles to the east, when I realized that the reason everything was blurry was because I still had my crafting glasses on, and had forgotten to change to my regular glasses.

We went back for them.  Larry went in the house to get them.  He was not in a hurry.

We lost 15 minutes because of that small slip-up.  We would arrive with no time to spare.

All went fine and dandy until we were allllmost to the doctor’s office.

GPS has many quallyfobbles in Lincoln.  I discovered one of them the time it had me do circles in midtown around all the skyscrapers – and I had only been to the eye doctor once before when Larry was driving, couldn’t remember the address, and hadn’t been able to pay attention to the route that first time, on account of my eyes misbehaving.

I found out about the second glitch the time Hannah was with me.  We were just a block from the usual lefthand turn into the office and surgical hospital, but the GPS was telling me to turn left at an apartment complex, and was showing a clear route that cut through from the apartment parking lot into the doctor’s office parking lot.

I pulled in, turned on Sumner Street into the apartment complex where I was instructed – and wound up stymied in the parking lot, unless I wanted to bound over the curb, which I did not.  I tried going one block farther east, but there was no entry there, either.  I backtracked to Sumner Street, turned left on S 70^th St., and went a block south to the main entrance.

You can see from this satellite view that there clearly is no road from the apartment complex into the doctor’s parking lot.

Flash forward to Thursday morning.

We were heading south on S 70^th St.  GPS told us to turn left on Sumner.  Larry, invariably in the right lane despite knowing he will soon need to turn left (or in the left lane, knowing he will soon need to turn right), somehow managed to hear the GPS lady and listen, too, both at the same time (although all the way there, he’d had all sorts of troubles either hearing me, or listening, or both.  (There’s a difference, you know.)  He simultaneously put on the turn signal, stomped on the gas, and went whizzing in front of someone to get into the left turning lane.

“Don’t turn here!” I said, surprised that he’d done that, after ignoring Mrs. GPS heretofore.  I peered into the side-view mirror.  “You can continue!”  I pointed.  “The turn-in is right up there.”

“She said to turn here!” Larry protested, making no move to get back in the left lane.

“It’s wrong,” I told him.  “You’ll wind up stuck in the parking lot.”

“No, it cuts through,” he informed me.

“It doesn’t,” I said.  “I tried it once.”

He turned in anyway.

“Make a right turn,” intoned the GPS lady.

Larry promptly did as instructed.

You see that yellow sign there on the right?  “Dead End,” it says.  And below it, “No Thru Traffic.”

I pointed it out.  “Just turn around,” said I.

Larry kept going.  It was now 10:30 a.m.  Time for me to BE there.

We wound up right here:  ⇩  

(The Google Camera Van crew evidently made the same error in June of 2019 and again in October of 2022; the shadow of their camera can be seen in some views.)

Believe me, a car does not fit through that small walkway there on the left, especially if there are cars in the parking spots on either side of it.  That’s the office dead ahead, but you cannot get there from here.

“You could just walk,” Larry said in a considering tone.

“In this cold wind with my eyes tight shut?!” I exclaimed.  “Turn around!”

He drove around the corner – and paused.  He kept pausing, until I yelped, “Turn around, turn around!!!  I’m late!!!”

He finally pulled into one of those parking spots on the right, backed out, and headed back the way he had come. 

The highway was busy with traffic, and it took a while to get back onto it, and another while to cross it again to get into the office parking lot.

Anyway, since I had made us later by leaving home with the wrong glasses than Larry had by listening to Mrs. GPS instead of his wife, I couldn’t very well make too big of an issue over it, now could I?  So all I said (in my politest wifey tone, of course) was, “I’d be there by now if you weren’t such a stubborn mule.”  Very polite.  Right?

He laughed.  He laughed.

We finally rounded the corner and headed toward the front of the office.

“Just let me out at the door!” I said, purse and tablet in hand.  It was 10:35 a.m.

“I think there’s a parking space...” Larry said calmly, pointing vaguely.

Calmness in Times of Great Lateness drives me berserk.

Parking lots are not Larry’s friends.  He can enter a nearly empty parking lot and wander about for minutes on end, trying to decide where to park.  If the lot is nearly full, as this one was, we might be stranded there, driving in figure eights for the rest of our lives.

“Let me out!!!” I said as we approached the front walk, and opened the door.

Larry stopped the car.

I leaped out and dashed for the door.

It was not until I had arrived at the check-in desk that I realized I had the key fob for the Mercedes dangling from my purse strap.

I wondered what the vehicle thought about that.  Had it shut off as soon as I got a certain distance from it, and was it even now stalled out smack-dab in one of the parking lot lanes, effectively barricading who-knows-how-many other vehicles?  What if the doors locked themselves and refused to open, and Larry was imprisoned with no way to come and retrieve the key?

I couldn’t worry about it at the moment.  If such a thing had happened, it would be his just dessert for not listening to his wife in the first place, although it would be too bad if others had to suffer for his imprudence, too.

Meanwhile, the lady at the desk asked about insurance, and you just can’t imagine how glad I was to hand over my new Medicare card, along with my new Plan N card.  I will finally be able to get these treatments each and every time I need them!  This is a great relief.

A couple of minutes later, I headed to the other side of the office, where the waiting room for Dr. Clark’s patients is.  There was Larry, sitting calmly – maybe even smugly – in one of the chairs.

It seems that though the car beeped loudly after I got out, and the dash informed him in big red letters that the KEY IS NO LONGER DETECTED!!!, it nevertheless let him continue driving, pull into a parking space, and turn it off.  He got out, shut the door – and all the doors locked.

I wonder what would’ve happened if he had’ve tried driving farther?

Oh, and I did have just one more itty-bitty thing to say about the entire fiasco.  I said, “You know, it’s one thing to doubt whether or not I know more than the GPS Lady.  It’s another thing entirely to doubt whether or not I know more than YOU!”

And yes, of course he laughed.  (And to be honest, I was teasing.)

I have now discovered why the Google Camera Van crew mistakenly made the same turn we did:  There actually was once access from the apartment complex parking lot into the eye doctor’s parking lot, as you can see from this Street View shot taken in April of 2012:

They apparently closed it off in order to provide more parking for the doctor’s office.  It definitely needs all the parking spaces it can get; it’s invariably almost clear full.

So... why didn’t the Google camera crew make sure Google Maps was corrected?!!

I’ve sent in so many map corrections, I should be on their paid staff.  (They do implement corrections quickly when I submit them, I’ll give them that.)

A friend asked how my appointment went, and if the injections are very painful.

Well, it’s not as much fun as going on a picnic, that’s for sure.  But the needles are teeny tiny, and the doctor has skilled fingers.  It’s not as bad as having bamboo shoots driven under your nails!  😂  And it’s sure nice when the stuff kicks in, and my eyes stop slamming shut at inopportune moments, such as when I’m driving in heavy traffic, or running down the stairs without holding the banister, arms full of jetsam and flotsam.  I’ll actually be able to look at people when they’re talking to me!  That’s always fun.  

Trying to get ready that morning, they were particularly bad.  They’ve been getting steadily worse the last two months, since the last treatment has worn off.

The injections are placed in the eyelids – three on top, two underneath – not in the eye itself. 

It wasn’t a very good day for taking pictures; it would’ve been a prettier drive, had the sky been more interesting... but of course I took pictures anyway.

This was taken as we approached Lincoln from the north.  There’s the State Capitol Building over Memorial Stadium.

A red barn brightens it up. This one has a painted barn quilt on the front.

The sky was showing bits of blue when I took a picture of this church in the very small village of Touhy.  There are probably only 25 to 30 people living in the little town.

On the way home, we had a lunch of breaded, stuffed jalapeno peppers, chicken salad sandwiches with cranberries in the 12-grain bread (scrumptious), and Doritos (me) or bugles (Larry). When we got home a little before 2:00 p.m., we each had half of a big cookie Larry had brought home the day before, and a slice of cheese.

Larry spent the rest of the afternoon working on something in his garage.  I did the laundry, washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, then went back to editing pictures.  

By the next day, I could tell that the Botox was starting to kick in.  Once it does, my eyes burn and water for a few days because the eyelids don’t go completely shut when I blink or sleep.  It’s a small price to pay for them being relatively all right the rest of the time.

I walked into the music room, sat down and played the piano – and realized I was periodically looking from keys to book on the song rack without even thinking about it, or trying to pry my eyes open so I could see.  The doctor always says it will be 4-5 days before the Botox takes effect, but I have invariably noticed an improvement in 1-2 days.

I refilled and rehung the bird feeders, and the birds were soon clustering around them.  I made myself a mug of cold brew, and blow-dried and curled my hair.  After breakfast, I wrapped some presents, then continued with the photo-editing and scanning.

Perhaps I should change from shooting (via Canon – not to be confused with ‘cannon’) red trucks to shooting aqua-blue trucks?

At 4:00 p.m., it was 21° and felt like -4°, what with the wind blowing at 20 +/- mph.  A little skiff of snow fell, enough to make things a bit slippery.

Saturday, a lady on my Quilt Talk group asked the other ladies what kinds of scissors they liked best.

I offered my opinion:  I like the rubber-handled, spring-loaded Fiskars best for all-around cutting – but the heavy-weight ones, not the lighter, less expensive ones (they look the same, and twice I was disappointed when I accidentally bought the wrong ones).  I have some very nice Gingher sheers, but the handles aren't as comfortable in my hand as Fiskars is.  For trimming quilts from my frame or cutting batting, I have some big Mundials with blue rubbery handles.  I’ve had those things for years, and they don’t seem to be any less sharp than they ever were.

My late sister-in-law gave me my first pair of these rubber-handled Fiskars, and some time later I got another pair at a local sewing store.  Years later, I thought to replace them, and was delighted to find some (at Walmart, I think) for only $10!  

But when I tried to cut fabric, I found out why they were so cheap:  first, they were noticeably lighter-weight.  Second, they hardly cut.  They folded fabric instead of cutting it.

Those things turned into kitchen scissors.

I bought another pair – this time, those nice heavy-weight ones with sharp, perfectly-aligned blades.  They were just like the first ones I’d had.

You wanna know why I needed new ones, huh huh huh huh huh???  BECAUSE.... because SOMEbody in this house used those wonderful scissors on – are you ready?  They (ahem, HE) used them on these two things, in one afternoon:  carpet and cardboard.  

Can you believe it?!!!  My best scissors used for carpet and cardboard!!!  Good grief.  And yet we’re still married.  (I told him it was only so I’d have more time to get even.  ha!)

There are a whole lot of nice scissors available at Walmart these days, even Ginghers.  There are many more online than in the store.  With good scissors, it’s pretty much true:  you get what you pay for.

I cooked chicken (or at least I thought it was chicken) and corn on the cob in the Instant Pot for supper that night.  Larry didn’t get home until later, so I set the pot to ‘Keep Warm’ – another reason I like that Instant Pot.  As for the chicken-that-wasn’t?  It was actually pulled pork, and quite excellent pulled pork, too.  There was Chobani Flip yogurt for dessert, and White Grape/Peach juice to drink.

Here’s a bald eagle family we saw Thursday.  There were eagles on the Platte River when we headed out of Columbus.  These, two adults and one juvenile, were on the Loup River as we came back home.

It snowed for a while on Saturday, but not very hard.  We got a little less than an inch.  It was cold, with a high of 11° and a windchill of -14°.

More presents had arrived, so I wrapped them, and then went on editing photos.  Somehow, the hamper had filled back up with a bunch of Larry’s cold-weather work clothes, so I washed them.

For supper that evening we had chicken, rice, and vegetables with an orange sauce, which was a whole lot more spicy than I expected.  >>... breathing fire ...<<

Victoria sent pictures of all the little dolls she’s made.  She got 8 done.

Then Carolyn decorated a little mailbox and Victoria decorated some small boxes, most of which she found at a thrift store, to look like little houses for the dolls, printing pictures to put on both the insides and the outsides.

I got a new warm vaporizer.  The warm mist helps my eyes, often even more than eyedrops, especially right after I get the injections and my eyes are irritated. 

That night, I was hunting up my stuffed-animal orders to see when they will arrive:  “Okay, the honey badger will be here on Wednesday, the 17^th,” I said.  “I wonder when the tortoise will get here?”

“Oh,” answered Larry, “it’s liable to take a loooooong time to get here.”

(I knew that was coming, just as soon as I asked the question.)

A friend was commiserating with me concerning my eye problem.  “I can’t imagine being blind,” she said.  “I would have to take up bean counting or something!”

I told her, “I have three good friends who are blind, two of whom I’ve known since I was a little girl.  All three have been teachers; two still are.  One used to raise a large garden every year.  She and I often went riding on her tandem bicycle.  They all sing and play multiple instruments.  One gave me a slate and stylus when I was little, and I learned to write Braille.  I can read it – but I read it best from the back, the un-bumpy side, because that’s how it’s written with that little old-fashioned slate and stylus!  But you’re right, I would be in dire straits if I couldn’t see.”

At 7:30 Sunday morning, it was 1°, with a windchill of -3°.  Sometimes when I go outside on a cold, dry morning to hang the bird feeders up, and it’s only about 0°, it doesn’t feel nearly as cold as other mornings when it’s damp, cloudy, and windy, even though it’s 20°.

By 9:00 a.m., it had warmed up to 4°, but felt like -4°.  It took a few extra seconds of cranking before the Mercedes started.

Hester has been sick for several weeks with not only a bad cold, but also ‘morning sickness’ – a mis-moniker for sure, since, just like me, she is generally only all right from about 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.  The rest of the time, sick, sick, sick. 

But she felt well enough to come to church Sunday morning!  Andrew introduced me to her during our coffee break in the Fellowship Hall between Sunday School and church:  “Hi!  This is my wife, Hester.”  He gestured.  “I don’t know if you’ve met her?”

Hester:  “Shhhh!”  Then, “Andrew!  Sshhhhh!!”

hee hee

Some time in May, our 30^th grandchild will arrive.

Larry made his scrumptious French toast for lunch when we got home, putting applesauce into the mix. 

By 3:30 p.m., it had warmed up to 23° and was bright and sunny.  A roly-poly raccoon decided that if I’m going to take the feeders in each night, he’ll just have to show up for dinner in the daytime!

He chowed down on some sunflower seeds the birds had spilt, then clambered up on the railing to partake from the suet feeder.

I no sooner shooed him away and closed the patio door than he was right back again.  Twice.

Ah, well.  I decided to just let him have at it.

We had Marie Callender’s chicken pot pie after church last night.  I get the small version; the large one is too big for us.  Trouble is, the crust-to-filling ratio in the small one is heavy on the crust.  I could add soup and canned chicken to it, I suppose... or make it from scratch.

But I have trouble getting Swanson canned chicken into a recipe before I eat half of it.  😄

I was playing some Christmas songs this morning when it occurred to me – Loren passed away one year ago today.  My mother passed away 22 years ago Saturday.

I used to sneak into the room at Prairie Meadows where they kept the baby grand piano, if Loren was nearby, and start playing it.

Sometimes, if I peeped over the song rack, I could see him starting to smile, and then singing along with favorite hymns he’d known since he was little.  He had a beautiful voice, and when he was younger, he often sang with a quartet or a duet (the other man was Bobby’s grandfather, a good friend of my father’s), and sometimes he sang solo.

After a few songs, some of the nursing home residents would start to sing along.  One cantankerous old man generally started yelling, “STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!!!”

I ignored him, but one of the ladies(?) usually bellowed back at him, “STOP IT YOURSELF!  STOP IT YOURSELF!”

Then I’d walk around the piano to where Loren could see me.  He’d start laughing and say, “I thought that sounded like your playing!”

When I was little, starting when I was about 5, I loved it when my father would pull out his pen and stationery and start writing letters to various preachers and evangelists and missionaries – because I’d do the same.  I’d run and get my lined notebook (how did Daddy write so nice and straight on a paper with no lines on it?!) and pencil, and, sitting at the table by my Daddy, I’d write letters to my Grandmas, aunts and uncles, and a couple of pen pals.

My mother was helpful; if I didn’t know what to write, she’d tell me, “Just write like you are talking to them.  Tell them where you are, what you’ve been doing today, and what you can see as you look around.  Tell them what’s out the window (Mama kept birdfeeders, too), and what you learned in school.”

When Mama was young, she’d wanted to be a teacher.  Then she got married and raised the older three children, Daddy went to the Navy, and some time after he returned, he studied to become a preacher, and Mama became a preacher’s wife.  

Despite the fact that she never taught in an actual schoolhouse, she was an excellent teacher to us, and to the young people who sometimes lived with us.  My parents were ‘foster parents’ before that term was even known.

I depended on my mother so much – but I didn’t appreciate her properly until I got a lot older.

The little old hymnal, Hymns of Heavenly Harmony, arrived!  The page that said ‘Sold’ showed it was sold to ...  ME!!!  I didn’t see that, when I looked on Saturday.  It’s in the worst repair of all the books I purchased, but the songs are still readable.  The pages feel quite fragile, though.  This is the same old book, edited by P. P. Bilhorn, that Hester gave me 2 ½ years ago.  I love it so much, I got three of them for some of the girls.  Three, as that’s all I could find.  I’ll keep looking.

Remember the Christmas story ornaments I mentioned last week?  The ones on Hannah’s Christmas tree and in the video she sent me?  They were originally my late sister-in-law Janice’s.  She had three boxes that held 12 each; Loren got them for her from Danbury Mint.  It was one of those setups where you order one ornament, and it arrives with the box, into which you will put new ornaments as they arrive each month.  One box – the one Hannah wound up with – only had nine ornaments.  Hester and Lydia got the other two boxes.  That was a couple of years ago.

I looked for ornaments to fill the box for Hannah, but the ones I found were too expensive.

Anyway, since Bobby and Hannah are hosting our Christmas get-together this year, and since they like those ornaments (there are KJV verses on the backs of each one), I looked for them again on eBay.  I found a set of four selling for $12.50 apiece – $50 plus shipping. 

BUT! – there was a ‘Make an Offer’ button.

I offered $30.  Declined.

I offered $35.  Declined.

Then the seller made a counteroffer of $40.

Wouldn’t you know, I didn’t see it until it had expired.  I went back to the page – and they had increased the price to $15 apiece! – $60 plus shipping!  Aarrgghh.

Nevertheless, I made an offer of $40 – and they accepted!

The package was supposed to arrive by 9:00 p.m. today.  It’s 11:56 p.m. as I type, and the package is not here.  Tracking shows that it arrived in Olathe, Kansas, at 4:49 p.m.  And that’s the end of the tracking trail.

Let’s hope it arrives tomorrow – and further, let’s hope nothing in that packages says ‘tinkle, tinkle’!

We had baked battered fish and clam chowder for supper tonight, with Oui yogurt for dessert.  I like to verrrry carefully stir just the top part of the yogurt until it’s smooth and creamy, not mixing it with the fruit at the bottom.  Then each time I get a spoonful, I scoop up a little bit of fruit along with the creamy yogurt.

Most people stir the livin’ daylights out of it, like all the other Barbarians I know.  Tsk.

There are pictures on Pinterest that show a variety of things one can do with those little glass jars this yogurt comes in, reminiscent of Winnie-the-Pooh’s ‘useful pot to put things in’ – the honeypot that was supposed to be Eeyore’s birthday present, but Pooh had to make sure there wasn’t cheese at the bottom for a joke – and he accidentally ate all the honey, and had nothing but the empty pot to give Eeyore.

Loren always faithfully washed these little jars when I took him any with his meals, despite me telling him he didn’t need to do that.  So I thanked him, brought them home with me, and put them in my trashcan.  😅

I need to place a pick-up order for some groceries from Walmart.  I also need to get some heavy-duty yarn to make a new tail for the vinyl horse, made by Janice for one of our kids, which I plan to give to Willie.

We live too far out in the country for Walmart, on the far northeast side of Columbus, to deliver (though every now and then an order that was marked for ‘shipping’ is actually delivered by someone local).  It’s silly, because it would only take them 10 minutes via Lost Creek Parkway that runs north of town to our house 7 miles east of Columbus – and I know they make deliveries on the far south, west, and southwest sides of Columbus, and some of those places would take a good 20 minutes to get to, since they would have to work their way through town.

Bedtime!  Tomorrow I shall see how much headway I can make on thoroughly cleaning the house.

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