Hari Kari, Here I Come

14 Sep

Several months ago someone in our congregation donated a very basic set of vestments to the church.  Altar frontal, burse, veil and stole. If you are not familiar with liturgical terms, a burse is an envelope to hold extra linens used for communion; it sits on top of the veil and chalice.  The veil is the square cloth that is used to cover the chalice before and after the service. The stole is part of the vestments the priest wears, and represents  part of the clothing worn in “Bible times”. The frontal is the cloth that covers the top of the altar and hangs down over the front and sides.

And thereby hangs a tale. Because I am a seamstress, I got “elected” to put fringe and appliqued crosses on the appropriate pieces. Putting small crosses on the top of the burse and the front of the veil, as well as lining the veil, was no big deal, and putting fringe on the stole was no problem. But I came a cropper when I started on the frontal.

The frontal that was donated is about ten feet by five feet, with a 10 inch square cut out of each end of one long side – a sort of loooog, squat “T” shape.  I carefully basted the fringe to the frontal, making absolutely sure the fringe was straight, and today I sewed it on by machine. A row of stitches on the top of the fringe heading and another row across the bottom of the heading.  All neat, with no puckering or dips. Perfect!

I folded the fabric in half so I could center the large cross on the front – and discovered I’d sewn the fringe to the back edge instead of the shorter front!  Removing that blessed fringe is going to be a major pain. One misstep and the entire thing could come unraveled.

I’m going to have a long, warm bath, a glass of wine, and a big piece of cake. And go to bed.  I don’t need to have the frontal done until mid-November, and life will look better tomorrow.  Scarlet and I will think about it in the morning.

Next time somebody asks me to do this sort of thing, I’m going to blush, bat my eyelashes, simper, and whisper, “Hell, NO.”

 

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Not the Good Pewter!

13 Sep

Most folks know I had a rather exotic upbringing. My Nana could have worked for the CIA, my Mum was probably crazy, and my grandmother had delusions for grandeur. I went to a boarding school , where I learned to use a cloth napkin, and took ballet lessons instead of gym. My grandmother refused to step foot in another woman’s kitchen; even at holidays, she’d help set the table, and she always brought the home-made cranberry sauce, but she would put it on the table, rather take it into the kitchen.

My grandmother was Hyacinth Bucket all over. She had somehow convinced herself – and my sister and me – that my grandfather was a Hapsburg, and we were princesses,  expected to behave as such. All too often she’d stop us from doing something “fun” by telling us ‘Princess Anne doesn’t do that, and she’s just a little thing’.” I grew up hating that poor woman, and she never did a thing to me!

So – Last week a woman at our church had baskets and baskets and baskets of grapes from her vines. I took about five pounds, picked them, cooked them, strained them, and today I finally got around to making jelly. When The Squire and I were first married we had a grape arbor below the pond, and I used to fill baby food jars with homemade jelly for him to take as Christmas gifts for the folks in his office, but this is the first time I’ve done it in living memory. It wasn’t a big deal, and really kind of fun.

All went well until it came time to put paraffin (wax) on top of the jars. Mum used a little white enamel pitcher, but heaven only knows what ever became of that. After considering – and rejecting – several options, I decided to use a small pewter creamer I got from “Hyacinth” herself. I had always admired the set, but once I actually got it in my hand I understood why my grandmother had given it to me. It is very thin, low quality metal, and I can press it out of shape with my fingers. I’ve never put it on the table, and it’s just sat it the china closet since The Squire and I got married. I sat it in a pan of simmering water, melted my wax, and was topping off my jars when The Squire wandered through the kitchen.

“Are you using THAT to melt wax?”

“Oh, this isn’t the good pewter.”

“Oh, well, thank goodness”, sez he.

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Decisions, Decisions

11 Sep

For a good many years The Squire has had to take a medication that costs about $500 over the counter. Maybe five years ago the insurance company put him on the generic brand, which is understandable. It is still wildly expensive, and doesn’t work quite as well, but we’re grateful to get even that.

About two weeks ago he got a letter stating that they would no longer cover this. Period. We called the company and they said the medication needed to be pre-authorized. OK. We do this once a year. Not sure why, as this was just done  a few months ago, for a six month period, and we’re still in the middle.

Call to the doctor, another call to the insurance people, another letter denying the claim. Rinse and repeat.

We got a phone call Tuesday afternoon, informing us “the claim has been decisioned”. Yup. Decisioned. They had, finally, decisioned to cover the medicine.

Yeesh.

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It’s Going to be a Long Winter

8 Sep

I found these when I went out to get the newspaper this morning.  I’ve never seen such huge acorns. Ever.                                                      DSCN0727

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Don’t Bury Me at Sea.

25 Aug

The Squire and I were sitting in the den this afternoon, working at our respective computers when the water pump kicked in. Mind you, we just had a go-round with the pump in June, so we both got up to see what was going on.

A pipe leading to the water heater has split.  When the men installed the tank three years ago, I told them they needed to use plastic pipe. “Our water is so acidic it will eat through the copper in no time.” Sorry, ma’am, but the county code calls for copper. County code be dammed, is my attitude, but I couldn’t talk them out of it. So here we are.

The split is just about at eye-level, and everything from your shoulders down is wet, clear to the floor.  Lovely.  The Squire turned off the pump, and began picking up bags of pet food, and anything else that was either wet or in the way. I called Mac and ran over to borrow their wet-vac. (At this rate, we ought to buy one for ourselves!) We called the emergency number on the side of the heater, but apparently they don’t take Sunday emergencies into their schedule. That will be the first call tomorrow morning.

So – we have cold running water, but not hot. I heated water on the stove to wash the dishes (The dishwasher was loaded.) and we did them the old fashioned way. We can still flush the toilet, but showers may be a problem. I think I’ll wait until tomorrow for that.

Enough with the water problems. Just don’t bury me at sea!

 

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Try to Behave

21 Aug

A few weeks ago The Squire asked our GP about the arthritis in his hands. That good man suggested the problem might be my husband’s CMT* attacking his upper extremities.

A trip to a neurologist, Dr. Thomas, who agreed that this was the problem. He was surprised that The Squire had not even gotten a diagnosis until he was in his mid-30s, and astounded that he was in as “great shape” as he is. Most people with CMT are in a wheelchair – or worse – by their 70s. They discussed the three-times-a-week trips to the gym; keep on keeping on, but try not to overdo it. While The Squire can prevent too much more deterioration, he can’t build muscle, because there really isn’t anything there to build on. The doctor didn’t think the hearing loss was related, as there are no muscles in the ear.

“Now, let’s take a look at those hands.” A nerve conduction test was scheduled and performed, and there is, not surprisingly, a good deal of weakness caused by the nerves dying. One thing the doctor pointed out was that The Squire should be very careful of where his hands are and what they are doing. “You may think you have an item in your hand, but drop it because you don’t have a firm grip on it. Also, when you reach for something, your hand may not go as far as your brain says it has, so be careful of that.” Twice, The Squire has grabbed for the egg turner and touched the side of the frying pan instead, and now it makes sense.

So – he came home after getting the results of the nerve conduction test, and relayed all of this good stuff to me. He wandered around a bit, and then came into the kitchen to clean a bag of fresh string beans I’d gotten from a friend in our knitting group. “I have to find a way to keep busy without messing up my hands and feet any worse than they are.”

Today, he went outside and took rocks out of the stream, tossed them into the cart, and took them away to toss into another spot. So much for not messing up has hands and feet.

Try to behave yourself.

*CMT –  Charcot-Marie-Tooth syndrome is named after the three doctors, Jean-Martin Charcot, Pierre Marie, and Howard Henry Tooth, who first clinically identified it. It is an hereditary condition which causes the nerves to die and the muscles atrophy. If it “kicks in” when you are a child, the bones “warp” to a certain extent to accommodate this, but if it begins in later years, the pain of the tendons pulling against the bones is so severe that some patients have a leg amputated, rather than endure the torment. There is no cure, only palliative care. The Squire has donated his body to the anatomy board.

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Quote Without Comment

10 Aug

immigrant+children (2)anne frank

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Lost in the Past

4 Aug

Many years ago, when I was still in high school, my girl friend and I were up in her attic reading National Geographic magazines and drinking iced tea. Lynn’s mum called to her and she went down to see what was up, telling me she’d be right back.

Sometime later I floated to the surface and realized it was getting dark, and Lynn hadn’t come back. I went downstairs to discover the house was empty. They had gone out and forgotten I was up in the attic, with my nose in a magazine.

I went on home, carefully locking the kitchen door behind me as I left.

image

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I Need All the Help I Can Get

31 Jul

memory foam

With thanks to Garfieldhug for this one.

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A Good Summer Dessert

24 Jul

When my Mum died, most of my inheritance consisted of a massive collection of cookbooks that she had inherited from her mother. If you need a recipe from the 20s, 30s, or 40s, I’m your girl. A lot of them are teaching women how to get the most out of their new “electric ice box”.  I’ve often joked that my grandmother could have fed Coxey’s army with a pound of ground beef and a handful of oatmeal – and I know where she found the recipe!

And so, without further ado, I give you . . Ribbon Ice Box Cake. I found this in a booklet featuring “Pet Condensed Milk; Irradiated for extra Vitamin D”. The recipe includes amount for fixing two, four, or six servings, but I always make six. No more trouble to make enough for several meals.

Mix together . . . 2 whole eggs, 1/2 cup powdered sugar, 1/2 cup crushed pineapple, well   drained, and 1/8 teaspoon salt. Save the pineapple juice.

Cook over boiling water for about 4 minutes, or until thickened.  Chill.

Meanwhile, dissolve 1 package orange gelatin in 1 cup boiling water. Add 1/2 cup                pineapple juice, 1-1/2 teaspoons grated orange rind (optional), 1/4 cup powdered sugar, and 1/8 teaspoon salt.

Cool, then add 1/2 cup Pet Milk.  Grease an 8×4 bread pan with Crisco or similar product.  Pam doesn’t work.

Chill until mixture begins to thicken. Beat with a rotary egg beater or and electric mixer until light and fluffy.

Pour half of the gelatin into your prepared pan, and cover with a layer of graham crackers. Top the graham crackers with the pineapple mixture, cover the pineapple with a layer of crackers, and then pour in the rest of the gelatin. Chill until firm.

To serve, run a knife around the edge of the pan, cover with a plate and flip it over.

This is one of The Squire’s favorite desserts.  Enjoy!

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