Self Control

26 May

You all may remember our friend Mac, who set off the burglar alarm last July. He is truly a very intelligent man, but his sandwiches are packed in the basket in a different order from the rest of us.

He brought his lap-top to church yesterday so The Squire could take a look at it. We locked it in the rector’s office during services, and then brought it home. All fixed and ready to go, so The Squire took it over to Mac’s house who told him the power cord was missing.

A phone call to me to ask where in the office I had put it. “On the rector’s chair by the desk. You’re the one who picked it up.” Hmm. “Maybe I left it on the chair.” The Squire swung by church, and there was no power cord in the chair, so he came back home to see if he had left it in the workshop. Not there, either. He finally grabbed one of his spare power cords and took it back to Mac’s house, so he’d at least have something to run his computer.

When he laid the cord on top of the laptop case, he noticed one pocket was flat and the other bulging. And there was the “missing” power cord. When he confronted Mac about this, after two trip between our house and theirs, and asked why he hadn’t looked in both pockets, the answer was “The power cord belongs in the left pocket, not the right one.”  Shades of Sheldon Cooper!

The Squire said it was a good thing he didn’t have a gun. 

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And the Dish Ran Away With the Spoon

23 May

I mentioned a while back that The Squire and I managed to misplace a pillow case while we were making the bed. We had it, and it disappeared faster than a cat when it sees a carrier. Looked under the bed, between the bed and the cedar chest, in the cradle. I even lifted the edges of the mattress.  Nada. And it still hasn’t shown up.

This morning, we were making the bed, and The Squire noticed he didn’t have “his” pillow.  Now, I am the type to buy pillows on sale at Target, two for $7, or whatever. The last time I sent him off to the store, he got special pillows for each of us. I sleep flat on my back, and he sleeps curled up on his side, so he bought pillows specifically designed for the way we sleep. I didn’t ask him what they cost.

Apparently, his pillow has been MIA for quite a while, but he just noticed it today. We checked the guestroom bed, looked to see if it had been put into the pillow shams, dug around in the linen closet. Gone.

There is a black hole in this house.  Watch your step.

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Ay! Carumba!

14 May

When I make macaroni and cheese, I always use 1/3 pepper jack and 2/3 sharp cheddar.  I also use half the amount of pasta and toss in a package of frozen cauliflower.  I have always called it “Mexican Mac and Cheese” because it is mildly spicy and the cauliflower gives it an unfamiliar texture. But it’s good.

Last week, Aldi’s had some cheese called “Mango Fire” in the same bin with the pepper jack. “Mangos, huh? How spicy can that be?” Well, let me tell you, that stuff will just about clear your sinuses. I took it to a covered dish supper over the weekend, and warned people that is had a kick to it.

I didn’t have any leftovers.

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Speaking in Tongues

9 May

Way back when we only had eight grandchildren, I made each of the kids a sign with their name on it for Christmas. But I had written it in English in the center, and then surrounded the English with as many other alphabets as I could manage. I sounded out the names in Cherokee, our exchange student wrote them in Arabic, and our church organist has her students’ parents write the names in Korean, Chinese, Hindi, and Japanese.  There was one other, but I forget what it was.

Now we have nine grandchildren, several great-grandkids, and both of my nephews also have children, plus some close friends are about to become grandparents, so I decided it was time to get moving on another set of plaques.

I made up the English, and did the Cherokee, and the druggist had agreed to write out the names in Arabic for me. I dropped off the signs on Wednesday, and he suggested I come back for them today, as he would not be in on Thursday, but the druggist on duty that day is Jewish, and he would ask Mike to do them in Hebrew.

When I went to get them today, the druggist was very upset to admit he’d left them on his desk when he went home Wednesday night, but – in addition to Arabic, he also spoke Urdu, so he “would make it up to me” by putting both names on the plaques.  I’ll pick them up tomorrow.

One family at church is from India, and the mom said she would do them in Hindi for me. Another woman in the congregation – an Army brat – speaks Japanese, and she said she’d do them for me, and the lady who does my nails is from Thailand.

I think we’re good to go!

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Closing In On It?

8 May

My friend Kay is back in town, and I gave her all of the Tudor trim to paint. It’s something she can do while she watches TV, and frankly, it’s a job I hate.

tape sideI have been busying myself putting the roof on this beast. It seems to have an obscene number of pieces, and it looks as if it’s going to make actually thatching the roof very difficult, as it wants to “pretend” it is a thatch roof. Well, we shall see.

I played with arranging the furniture this morning and we are not going to be able to make two rooms out of the ground floor. Not quite sure yet what we’re going to do with the upstairs. Probably a bedroom. If I can figure out how to partition a space, we’ll make it a loo; otherwise, they’ll just have to use a thunder mug.

This is a county cottage, after all.

 

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In the Name of the Father

4 May

This morning, Fr. M, the organist, and I were discussing plans for the service on the 25th. He will be away, and we will have a supply.  I always serve as chalistist on the last Sunday, as it is Rite I, which I infinitely prefer to Rite II.

This will also be our Memorial Day service, as it will be in places of worship all over the United States. I asked the organist, that if she was going to do Eternal Father, to please use it as the recessional. I explained that I had followed my father’s coffin to the cemetery to that hymn – and began to cry.  M+ put his arm around me and asked if I really thought I could make it back down the aisle without falling to pieces. I nodded, and mumbled “If we hurry”. He promised he’d have the supply “keep an eye on me”.  He had had to follow me into the narthex last Veterans Day, and put me in his office, out of sight, until I was fit to be seen in public.

My dad died fifteen years ago, on the first of May. You’d think I’d have managed to keep myself held together after all this time.

I talk a lot about my mum, simply because she was such an “odd duck”, to be as kind as possible. Dealing with her was like watching a bird feeder. You never knew what was coming next, and her foibles make good fodder for funny stories.

I don’t have a lot of stories to tell about my dad, simply because his kindness was so constant. One time I offered to scrub the kitchen floor for my mum; I was probably about eleven, and the job had to be done on hands and knees with a scrub brush and bucket. I got about three-quarters finished and was totally wiped out, and nearly in tears from exhaustion. He quietly tapped me on the shoulder and silently nodded his head, then got down and finished the floor for me.  I used to get earaches, and he would hold me on his lap and blow cigar smoke into my ears to melt the wax. Was it the warmth of his breath or just snuggling up that made me feel better?

My dad was like a big old wing chair. Always there, steady, comfortable, soft where he needed to be, and firm when he had to be.  And I still miss him. Dreadfully.

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Making Progress

3 May

 

My friend Kay has been away all week, and I brought the Country Cottage over here to work on it, so I’d have everything in one place. Well, if you consider the picnic table, the kitchen counter, the dining room table and the work bench in the back room “all in one place”…

I got all three walls up, and the doors framed on the outside. The Squire bought some textured paint to re-do the guest room and TV room, and I used that to “stucco” the exterior of the cottage, although it will definitely need some touch up work.

We (well, I) had decided to omit the stairs and have a complete upper floor, instead of a loft, so Tuesday night I hied me down to Michaels and got a piece of thin plywood to fill in the “hole” where the balcony would be. Got that all glued up, and I was going to cover the underneath with ceiling paper. Couldn’t find the partial roll I’m positive is around here, but I did find a piece of thin white cardboard that will work even better. It was a bit bent from having been stored, so once I had glued it to the floor, I stacked encyclopedias on it. Nooks and Kindles are nice, but they’re not much help when it come to holding things down. Or up.

glue job

I glued the floor in place last night. Since this house was designed to be open above the bay window, there were no slots in which to insert the floor, so I had to get creative. Books to support the front wall  so I didn’t mash the bay window, and then more books on top to hold the she-bang in place while the glue dried.

From here on in, it should be fairly straight forward – she said naively. The roof is already assembled, and I’ve ordered the thatching. The furniture is all on hand,  so now we have to decide how we’re going to finish off the upstairs.

Wish us luck!

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Security Problems

1 May

For the second time in about six months, somebody has yanked hard enough on the church doors to get them open, and set off the alarm. The Property Warden, a.k.a. The Squire is not happy.

A while back, some members of the church managed to open the doors so they could return some folding chairs they had borrowed. Today, The Squire found a card from Baltimore Gas and Electric, saying that they had come by to switch the church to a smart meter, and “the customer was not at home”.

First of all, what idiot expects a church office to be open at 5:30 in the evening? And second, this thing could have been hung over the door handle – there’s a hole in the card for exactly that purpose – without pulling the doors off the hinges.

Aaargh!

 

 

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Just Like on Television

28 Apr

I went off to a meeting this morning, leaving The Squire industrially shoveling gravel out of the stream bed so he could fill in some potholes in the driveway.

He told me that about a half an hour after I left, he heard an odd noise behind him and looked up just in time to jump out of the way, as the cart drifted down the bank, followed by the tractor.  We are talking about a spot just slightly shorter than The Squire’s shoulders, as he had run the trailer down a bit, so he could shovel without throwing the gravel over his head. And yes, he had put the tractor in Park.

He called a friend from church who has a big, sturdy pickup truck, and Roger had come over to pull the whole she-bang out of the stream.  I don’t think the gravel ever did get put in the drive, as a good bit of it spilled out what with one thing and another, and I can assure you The Squire was not in the mood to go back and get more.

Can’t leave him alone for a minute, that one.

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New Glasses – Or, A Fast $400

23 Apr

After last month’s little episode with the multiple traffic lights, I decided to get a new pair of glasses.

I’ve needed some sort of vision correction since I was in school. Most of the time I wear my contacts, but I have always had a pair of prescription sunglasses for backup. Last summer, the screw started to loosen at one temple, and the left lens would fall out.  I’d put it back into place and tighten the screw, and off we’d go. Until the lens landed in the drive way, and I couldn’t find it. I stepped back to see if it had landed under the car. And found it.

Under my foot.

Yesterday I went for an eye exam, and then had to select new frames. (Didn’t have the wits to bring the old ones with me.) The cheapest frames I could find were $139.00. I just about had a fit. And the lenses – which are NOT bifocals! – were $268.00! Fortunately, Medicare will cover the exam itself.

When I was in high school, my mother took me to get new glasses, and handed the optician my old frames. He looked at them, and then measured my face, and told my mom I needed new frames. She pitched a fit – a variation on the “don’t waste my money on X-rays” theme. The man showed her that the frames were already too small; in order to put them on, the ear pieces had to be pulled out so far that the lenses were bending inward, and this would only get worse as I grew in the next year.

My mother grabbed me by the elbow, yanked me out of the chair, and dragged me out onto Charles Street, muttering all the way to the parking lot. As she got into the car, she said, “That man must think I’m a mad woman.”

And I, like the tar baby, didn’t say a word.

 

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