THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA . . .

Mike got up last Saturday and said in substance: We’re getting a new mattress – and one for the farm, too. I’m old enough that I can’t afford not to have the comfort that money can buy. Maybe it won’t make any difference, but I’m going to try.

It’s not in Mike’s nature to pamper himself – or anyone else – but he has some back pain – and some shoulder pain – and any given night will find one or the other of us -- or both of us – not resting well. And we were long overdue to replace it, especially given the back and shoulder issues.

So Monday we spent several hours mattress shopping. At the first business – a long-time establishment -- we were advised the mattresses were on the third floor.

“Do we do stairs? – both of you?” asked the associate. Was he kidding? How old – and / or infirm -- do we look? We did the stairs handily and he met us there. His focus was on mattresses manufactured by Northwest Bedding out of Spokane, and we tentatively selected one. Then I asked about the Tempur-pedics on the other side of the room.

“They aren’t for everyone,” the salesman said. “Some people really like them, but they just aren’t for everyone.” And when I hear a salesperson say that, I naturally draw the conclusion that he doesn’t think it’s right for me.

“How much are they?” I asked.

“Expensive!” he replied with some force.

And I wondered if he based his conclusion as to its appropriateness for us on our perceived age or on our perceived bank account.

As I wandered over to look at the Tempur-pedics, it was clear he had no interest in selling us one. He didn’t even try.

We shopped a couple of other places -- seems like every third store sells mattresses. As we left one store, the manager called after us: “What would it take to get you into a mattress today?” Clearly, he was more desperate to sell us a mattress than we were to buy one from him – and we were ready to buy. But – that first mattress was calling our name, and we decided to go for it. We bought two – one for town and one for the farm.

 

The “town” mattress was delivered this morning under my supervision because Mike and Ken had taken “the three girls” and gone hunting. Of course, we knew it was going to be high – much deeper than our old unit – but still, I was taken aback when I realized just how much of our headboard disappeared. I pretty much pride myself on my royal lineage, you know. I can feel the pea under the mattress, but I don’t know about this. And how about reading in bed? How will that work?

Amongst the advantages, I found the bed much easier to make at this height. And maybe I can use it for certain sewing projects. KW

"The [older] but wiser dog for me"

Mike decided to leave Nellie behind today. He wanted Bess to have more hunting practice on her own, he said, and Nellie doesn’t need practice. So I suggested that Nellie and I go for a walk when it was time to change Bess’ collar and load up the hunting gear – because Nellie would most certainly not like to be left behind.

But, when I stood ready to open the door, two dogs were waiting expectantly. “You’ll have to help me,” I called to Mike, and he came to hold Bess back. Nellie made a confused glance over her shoulder, which Mike noticed.

“She won’t be confused long,” I said, as we headed down the drive. And I was right. Nellie quickly adjusted to this old activity which felt as comfortable as the proverbial old slipper – Nellie and Kathy going for a walk.

And Meredith Willson’s tune from The Music Man began to play in my head. It’s really “The Sadder but Wiser Girl for Me,” but in my mind, it became “The Older but Wiser Girl for Me.”

Just as humans change over time – but not really – so dogs also change. No longer eager for a system-stirring run, Nellie pokes along, explores where she wants, and trots to catch up if necessary. She’s opinionated – prefers to go where she likes rather than where directed and doesn’t like to be told what to do – just like some of the rest of us.

Bess, on the other hand, is a challenge on the walk. White Nellie is easy to see, while Bess wears natural camo. And I might think Bess is right beside me one moment and the next she’s looking at me from a point far up the road and out of range of my care. Or, she’ll lag behind and then run to catch up – kthump, kthump kthump kthumP kthuMP kTHUMP KTHUMP. And she delights in coming just as close as she can without running into us. Yes, a walk by ourselves is far more relaxed than one with Bess.

But Nellie, for all her elder challenges, is still the “old pro” in the field. Apparently a dog doesn’t need to run and jump, dart here and there, to be a good hunter. “Slow and steady” wins the bird, Nellie knows.

Well, anyway, to shift topics, while at the farmhouse over Christmas, Hallie decided to read The Egg and I by Betty MacDonald. She enjoyed it and then decided to read other books by MacDonald – Anyone Can Do Anything and The Plague and I. (She says she probably won’t read the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle series.) She says she has really enjoyed these light reads and looks forward to reading in the evenings.

Well, while I was mentally humming “The Sadder but Wiser Girl for Me,” I remembered that I’ve wanted to read Meredith Willson’s And There I Stood with My Piccolo.

Have you enjoyed a light read recently? Or – do you have a favorite light read? KW

HOUSING WARS

I don’t know if Mike’s messing with Nell and Bess or they’re messing with him.

Nell and Bess have two “dogloos” in their kennel now, and when Mike puts them to bed of an evening, he tries to see which house they choose. Then he gives me a report:

“Tonight Nellie went in the house with the door on it, and I didn’t see Bess go in any house, but I kinda think she went in the same one.”

 

Or -- “Tonight Nellie went right in the house with the door on it, and Bess went in the other one.”

Or -- “Bess went in the house with no door, but Nellie just stood there. She wasn’t going to go in any house while I watched.”

“Aha!” I think to myself, “Nellie is getting wise to him.” In my mind’s eye I can see her looking back at him with her big brown eyes, her ears in that characteristic question mark pose. “Why do you need to know?” she queries.

Similarly in the morning, he tries to get to the kennel before the dogs come out so that he can see who slept where. It’s pretty hard to catch the scenario. Bess is enthusiastic about getting up.

Most recently, though, it appears that Nellie sleeps in the house with the door – the one positioned where her barrel was – and Bess sleeps in the one without a door. It would have a door if she hadn’t ripped it off – three times -- but I think it’s positioned so that it’s sheltered. But – who knows. It’s entirely possible that they switch houses several times a night, and they’re rather determined that these are details Mike doesn’t need to know.

If Bess is going to get bigger, she’s going to have to hurry. At 8 months, she’s quite small, really – only about 40 pounds. Contrast Pepper (Ken’s dog), who at 11 months weighs a lean 65 pounds. She inherited her father’s size.

Oh – and if it bothers you to see little Bess leaning on Nellie, it didn’t go on for long. She fussed a little at nap time and crept close to Nellie for comfort, but they're snoozing on separate pillows now after a long hunt today. KW

MUSINGS ON A JANUARY DAY

It’s beautiful out today. You should be here. The sky is blue with fluffy white clouds and the sun shines warmly through the windows. It’s 53 at this writing. Maybe spring has come. Well, we can’t count on that – especially on a day when the forecast is for rain and wind -- but that early cold snap might have been winter. It’s happened before.

Back in December when I was posting about Ina’s Christmas, I had her drinking from her Christmas teacup. I really did find a Christmas teacup in the farmhouse, though I don’t suppose she had it in 1934. More than likely it came to her post-WWII. On the bottom it says, “hand-painted,” and a well-worn sticker says, “made in Japan.” I love the theme -- the stagecoach and the houses amidst the wintry scene. There’s really nothing about it that's specific to Christmas – sorta like “Jingle Bells” or “Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” so today I’m drinking “Timothy’s Peppermint Ginger Tea” from this cup.

 

I’ve come to realize that I handle Christmas best if I don’t treat the actual day as a deadline. True, those who come to my house must have gifts on Christmas Day. It would hardly do to say, “Oh, and I’ll have a gift for you later.” I try to have the gift cards to the older grandchildren on time. But the simple things I have for 5-year-old Emmy – doll clothes and color books and such – I think those things are better on days when she might need a quiet evening activity. So, I send her things from time to time and not so much for Christmas.

Now we’re one week – almost two – into the New Year. I have yet to tackle my ongoing sewing projects, though slowly my studio becomes more organized. (I can sit on the sofa now.) And so that you won’t wonder what on earth I do with my time anyway, I’m working on a study project. I listen to lectures recorded in the 1950s by a gentleman who speaks English with a heavy Swiss-German accent. It’s tedious work but I love it. My friend and study partner needs my notes in order to follow him at all, and Hallie helped us tremendously by finding a transcription program – that is, once we cleared my laptop of the virus that piggy-backed with it.

 

There’s just one left-over Christmas topic I’d like to tell about – our annual Christmas bonfire. We pile our burnable yard waste down by the pond at the farm and during Christmas, we have an evening bonfire. It’s a memorable part of our celebration, but it didn’t work this year. Too wet with snow. KW

DOLL MAKING

When I saw this old magazine offered on Amazon, I couldn’t resist. I spent $6.00 for this issue which originally sold in 1964 at 15 cents. That’s the power of nostalgia. You see, I made three of the featured dolls.

But, if memory serves (and sometimes it doesn’t), I think I was several years younger when I made those dolls as Christmas gifts for three of my nieces – Becky, Polly, and Keri. Perhaps the pattern was offered earlier – or maybe I really was 15. At any rate, I painstakingly copied the pattern onto graph paper (one-inch squares, of course), and Mother, more artistic than I, perfected my lines.

 

The dolls were made of pink cotton-type fabric – perhaps percale or whatever was available in the early 1960s. And I’m sure that Mother was much more involved than I remember – keeping me on track, making those faces come together correctly, helping with the stuffing (something we both struggled to learn to do).

By the Christmas in question, three dolls were finished, wrapped, and under the tree. I always envisioned that they would have more of those cute outfits, but in reality they only had the drawstring nightgowns.

I have always aspired to make dolls – not fancy dolls – just cloth dolls, sock dolls, rag dolls. To that end, I have a collection of books and patterns on which I have never acted. Why? Well, I have plenty to do and I don’t have a lot of reason to make dolls. And perhaps the biggest reason is that the dolls look better on paper than my work does in reality.

And faces are a problem for me. I do remember that Mother drew the faces on the three baby dolls. But I could probably do it now . . .

When Hallie was three, I made a Cabbage Patch-type doll for her from a kit, but she was unimpressed, and I quickly learned that life in raising Hallie was going to stretch me in other ways. It was fine then and it’s fine now. The love of dolls is my passion – not hers, but it’s a difficult subject for a multi-tasking adult to rationalize because dolls are a thing of childhood. Well – but somebody has to make them, and that person is likely to be an adult and that adult just as well be me – if I weren’t doing ten other things. KW