Tag Archives: The Squire

The Temperature War Continues

13 Sep

I just popped into the TV/sewing room to collect my knitting, and The Squire has the a/c going full tilt.

It is currently 7:50 in the evening, and the temperature outside is 60-F (or 16-C). He says he is hot. I suggested he turn off the air conditioning and open a window (the a/c unit does have a fan-only setting) and he looked at me as if he thought I was the crazy one.

We keep getting notices from the Gas and Electric company comparing our usage with the neighbors, and he can’t understand why our usage is higher than theirs.

I must love him; I haven’t killed him.

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You Needed Me

6 Sep

Last night, The Squire and I went out to dinner, and afterward spent some time strolling the mall, just window-shopping and people-watching. Suddenly, he put his arm around my shoulders and turned me to him, hugging me very close. They were playing Anne Murray’s You Needed Me over the speaker system.

This has always been “our song”, but I hadn’t heard it in years, and apparently The Squire was just as moved by the unexpected sound of it as I was.

My first marriage was a disaster. By rights, my husband should have been in jail, and it came as a surprise to everyone who knew him that he actually died a natural death. The Squire’s first marriage was no picnic, but that is not my story to tell. Although I didn’t know it at the time, The Squire played Jacob to my Rachel, falling in love with me the first time he saw me, and waiting until I was free before he ever even took my arm to cross the street. When we were finally able to date, we knew from the very beginning we would marry.

I have to admit I would have made a dreadful military wife. I lived in constant terror of losing him. If he was more than ten minutes late getting home from work, I would go into a flat spin, and a half an hour would have me calling the local hospitals. I cannot give words to the depth of my fear.

In the early 80s, I became quite ill, and spent a week in the hospital.  It was a rainy day, and I had dozed off, when I was awakened by the sensation of someone brushing my hair aside and kissing me on the forehead.  I looked at the clock, and my first thought was that The Squire had been in an accident, and had come by to kiss me good-bye. (I told you; I was a mess.)

When he showed up, unharmed, at my doorway, I burst into tears. I told him what had happened, and he asked me what time this had occurred. When I told him, he got the oddest look. “They were playing You Needed Me on the radio, and I blew you a kiss.”

If ever two were one…

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Cleaning House

30 Aug

We borrowed Eldest Daughter’s power washer, and spent the day cleaning most of the outside of the house.  She has a longer wand, Jim'which we will need to use to get the dormers, but everything – and I mean everything – from below the second story windows is spotless.

The Squire cleaned the sidewalk beside the house and up to the far end of the drive, gave the arch a good goin’ over, rinsed the door mats, scrubbed the driveway, and even washed some shelving that holds outside stuff such as weed killer, lamp oil, and other things we need handy but don’t want inside. I think the spray was powerful enough to drill a hole in one section of shelving.

Everything got clean but his legs. It’s pretty obvious where his shorts ended and his socks began. The splash-back was pretty powerful!

We got all the laundry done, but it’s going to rain each day until Wednesday, so I put it in the dryer instead of hanging it on the line.

The drive belt is broken. The machine gets hot, but doesn’t turn. I hate going out on a Sunday, but it looks as if I’m going to have to use the driers at the Laundromat tomorrow. Can’t leave the wet clothes any longer than that, and after all the hard work he did today, I am not asking The Squire to take apart that silly machine.  Do we even have a spare belt? At least with my “solar powered dryer” all we have to do is tie a knot in the thing.

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Oh, Joy! Oh, Joy!

15 Aug

The Squire does not enjoy any hot beverage. No coffee, no tea, no cocoa. I like all of these, especially coffee. I do not like instant coffee per se, but can’t see making an entire pot just for myself, so I have been drinking General Foods International Coffees, especially Orange Cappuccino for about twenty years.  About two years ago, it disappeared from the shelves, but complaints from consumers brought it back for a short while, until it once again faded into history.

Recently, I decided I was going to contact the company to find out where it could be purchased, and discovered it is carried at Wal-Mart, of all places. This created a  bit of an ethical dilemma for me, as I absolutely refuse to step foot in that store, but I discovered I could purchase it on-line for the same price – plus shipping – as buying it locally. I ordered four cans on the 13th, and paid for the cheapest possible shipping, which would have gotten it here around the 28th.

It arrived today!

Oh, glory, glory! Some of us are SO easy to please! I shall have to nurse it along, switching it out with the Hazelnut flavor, to make it last. Some people are so easy to please!

I have often said my mother was a piece of work. When my dad was alive, he often participated in the Anglican church’s TAPE program – Trans Atlantic Parish Exchange. You decide where you want to go, they match you up with another priest, and you swap churches and homes. You do have to pay for your transportation, but when you arrive, you have a job, a house, a car, a dog, and more dinner invitations than you can handle. (My mother said she never had to cook supper the first three months in any new location.)

My father flat-out refused to fly, so they went to the UK about three times in any two year period on the QE2. Not exactly steerage, either.

So – one evening my folks were visiting here, and I asked my mother if she’d like to try a cup of my Orange Cappuccino. This was a long time ago, back when groceries still had price stickers, and my mother turned over the can, looked at the price, all of $2.59, and remarked, “Humph, your father and I can’t afford that”.

To which The Squire replied, “I’ll have you know, my wife is worth a dollar and a quarter a week”.

She nearly choked.

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Holy Smoke!

13 Aug

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning at the unearthly hour of 8 AM. Normally, the only time I have to be anyplace at that time of day is when I am working, so when I mentioned getting up at O:dark-ugly, The Squire assumed that was where I was headed.

When I came down at 5:45 this morning I could smell “burnt”. We had over 6 1/2 inches of rain yesterday between 8:30 and 5, and I figured the rain had come down the chimney and dampened the ashes.  When I walked into the kitchen I found four very well done eggs in the compost, and two others cooling in a pan on the stove. My usual breakfast is two hardboiled eggs and a cucumber, and The Squire, bless him, had fixed me some eggs to take to the office.  He told me that he had put the first eggs in the pan, brushed his teeth, etc., intending to come out and turn off the fire once the water had boiled and let them cook on retained heat. Instead, he had gone up to bed on autopilot.

About 1:30 in the morning, the dog had started to carry on, and he had gotten up to see what had Blazer all in an uproar.

Both the kitchen and dining room smoke alarms were going full-tilt, and the eggs were not only boiled, they had exploded.

Bless him, my husband cleaned up, and then fixed me two more eggs, which he stayed and watched until it was time to turn off the heat and put a lid on the pot.

Me? I slept through the whole thing.

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It Must be the Weather

28 Jul

In our parish, the announcements are made from the pulpit before the service starts, rather than after the Peace, which seems to be the custom in many parishes.

The last two weeks, after finishing the announcements, the rector has said, “Let us with gladness present our offerings and oblations unto the Lord.” Even he admits he has no idea why that particular phrase pops into his mind.

Yesterday, The Squire and the other usher brought up the wine and bread (the offerings and oblations), turned and put up the Communion rail – normally done when they return the collection to the altar – and then started back down the aisle, without the offering plates. About a third of the way down, one of the members of the congregation grabbed The Squire by the arm and whispered “the plates“, without adding “you dummy”, I might add. He actually had to whistle for the other usher, who was high-tailing it back to his pew.  When they returned the plates following the offertory, they bypassed the crucifer and put the plates directly on the side table. I have no idea what either of them were thinking.

The Squire has only been the head usher at our church for, oh maybe, thirty years.

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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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Surprise, Surprise!

24 Nov

The Squire will be 70 on the 29th, and I was determined to throw him a party for this landmark ocassion.

After a bit of mental mumbling, I decided the easiest and best place was to have it immediately after the late service at church today. I passed around a note during the Annual Meeting on the 10th. “Surprise party on the 24th. No gifts.” I did call a few folks who don’t attend our church; my brother-in-law, our closest friends, our eldest daughter and her family – but even people who normally come to the early service came back over at 11:30 to wish The Squire a Happy Birthday.

Eldest Daughter baked her dad a birthday cake, and one member of the early church group (do you have two separate congregations at your church?)  went over to the grocery store to pick up a deli tray I had ordered. I had hoped to have everything in place before the service ended, but it didn’t run as long as I had guessed it would – will have to ask Fr. M to preach longer sermons – so The Squire was coming into the hall from the narthex door as Eldest Daughter was coming in the back door.

My husband was well and truly flabbergasted, and nearly moved to tears.  Lots of birthday cards, a number of gift cards to Barnes & Noble, and a very happy husband. Ta-dah!

And not a single person had a camera.

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Enough, Aleady!

21 Jul

This cough we thought had been caused by damage to my trachea while I was in the hospital had gotten progressively worse, until I was coughing almost non-stop  and really wasn’t eating and drinking properly. I mean, it wasn’t all bad – I’ve dropped five pounds -but let’s just say I’m d… sick and tired of the whole business.

Last night The Squire listened to me hacking non-stop for five minutes and then hauled me off to the local “Doc in a Box”, where I received excellent care.  (The doctor resembled the man who delivered my children!) Blood tests, a series of chest X-rays, and all that jazz. I have developed bronchitis. Probably not contagious, but not pleasant. Unfortunately, the only thing to keep the cough under control is codeine, which makes me sleepy.

We were invited to a crab feast this afternoon; I sent The Squire off to enjoy himself.  In addition to slaving over the new kitchen, the dear man has waited on me hand and foot for the last two weeks. If I went, I’d be coughing all over everybody, or I’d fall asleep in the soup.

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