The little town near us held its annual community celebration Saturday. The Husband and I drove over there Saturday around noon, looking for something sinfully good for lunch. We had heard that the local FFA chapter would be selling shredded roast beef sandwiches, and after shopping all of the food trucks, we went for the roast beef. They were also selling lamb sausages from sheep that the FFA kids had raised. We tasted a sample and came home with two packages of brats and two fried pies - pecan and chocolate - from a local church group. We were a little disappointed with the chocolate. Our childhood memories of chocolate fried pie filling did not involve pudding. Instead, our mothers filled our pies with dry cocoa, table sugar, and butter.
A couple of hours after we got home, The Husband discovered that his wedding ring was missing from his hand. It has been loose ever since we lost some weight. We looked for it all over the house, in his truck, in the yard. We feared he might have lost it at the community festival. I emailed a friend who was involved in organizing the festival and asked her to let us know if someone turned in the ring. Yesterday we did another search, digging down to the improbable places. He could not remember the last time he saw the ring. I remembered that earlier in the week, he had dug through the cedar chest looking for something, so I went through the cedar chest contents piece by piece. It wasn't there, but digging through the other keepsakes was kind of fun.
Friday, my niece texted me to ask if I would help her turn up a hem on a dress she'd bought. Her proposal was that she and my sister would come over with breakfast ingredients Sunday morning, and we'd have breakfast together and then mark the hem. I told her not to bother bringing anything, as I had Sunday morning breakfast ingredients on hand. I woke up early Sunday morning and had already fried the bacon by the time they arrived. My sister disobeyed my instruction and brought a loaf of delicious pumpkin bread to add to the meal. We made her take it back home with her (after shaving off two thin slices to keep). I think she was planning to stop by our brother's house and pawn the rest of the loaf off on him.
The dress that needed hemming was a floor-length black & white striped knit gown. She intends to wear it as a costume at some Beetlejuice event at Halloween. I didn't ask any questions. We cut 6" off the hem. She said she would hem it by hand, but that was ridiculous when it was only a costume and there was a sewing machine set up in the room. I ran a straight-stitch hem around the bottom, and she was good to go.
Not long after they left, a cousin texted to ask if she could come over. She is the daughter of Uncle B (age 93) who lives across the road from us. She lives in Texas and makes monthly trips here to see him, usually staying 3 or 4 days at a time. Almost every time she visits, she will come over to see us, partly for a change of scenery while Uncle B naps. We enjoy her visits. She has had an interesting life and tells good stories.
(I'm on the porch. It's chilly. The birds just woke up. There's one in a tree outside the porch, chirping its head off. I don't recognize the call. Its friend is chirping back in the distance. Maybe they're strangers, just passing through.)
I don't know what I am going to do today. Unfinished drafts of the brother/daddy portrait are laying all over the porch and the sewing room/craft room/office. They look like a two dozen different people. Not one of them is a keeper, and I would throw them all away except that I can practice or swatch on their unpainted backsides. They leer at me as I walk by them. By Saturday, my frustration with the faces had reached its breaking point, and I decided to turn my attention to the background and foreground to figure out colors and procedures. The practice was a good idea. I did not expect the background and foreground to present any serious challenges, but my practice washes revealed some pitfalls that I might avoid in the final version. If there ever is a final version. If I ever get the faces right).
Addendum: While I was writing the above blabber, The Husband came out to the porch and showed me his hand, with his wedding ring on it. The ring was in the shower.
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