Rona

          You’ve heard me say this before — and it just boggles my mind! — but let me say it again. Time is just slipping by so fast! My days are full and mostly happy. You’d be surprised at the things that make me ridiculously happy. Take, for instance, these face masks. I spent two glorious days making masks. 

           We won’t talk about the one frustrating day I spent figuring out sewing machines. Wait a minute. Yes, we will. I tell you guys everything!

          “Sewing machines?” you query.

          That’s right. I had three sewing machines, now I have four. Let me start at the beginning — always a good place to start, don’cha think?

          Rona, the Coronavirus, COVID-19, has changed our world in so many ways. One of those ways is the suggestion and sometimes requirement of face masks. When the virus first hit, you couldn’t get face masks anywhere. Needing one, I found a pattern online for a no-sew mask and cut out masks for Mike, me, and the Kipps.

          I wasn’t in love with my no-sew mask and wanted to try to sew one. I found a pleated mask pattern online that didn’t look too hard and printed it. I went out into my shop and inside a cabinet was a big bag of material. Lots of colors, lots of patterns. There’s even a partially made pink dress for a little girl. I’ve long forgotten where this bag of fabric came from. The mice hadn’t been in it but it did smell musty. I sorted through it, finding the patterns I wanted to use for me, Mike, and the Kipps. I laid it out and cut mine first. Only because if I’m gonna mess someone’s up, I’d rather it was mine.

Pattern cut, the first machine I tried was Granny’s treadle sewing machine. Mike helped me oil the machine and put on a new belt.

“I want to move it down in front of the window so I have some natural light,” I told Mike.

“You can’t. There’s not a plug down there,” Mr. Smarty Pants says.

It so totally went over my head. “Oh. I guess I’ll leave it where it is then.”

He looked at me incredulously. I caught his look and knew I was missing something obvious — and could’a kicked myself for falling for it. The Singer is a treadle and doesn’t need power! OY!

 I know that my cute little redhaired sister Diane used a treadle machine and liked it so I asked her for tips and hints.

          “What year is it?” she asked.

          “Granny bought it the year Dad was born. So, 1926,” I told her.

          “All Singers have a serial number on them and you can look it up.”

She gave me the website but didn’t really give me any tips; just said that I’d be able to figure it out.

I went to the website and looked it up. It was manufactured in 27 not 26. But that totally makes sense to me. Granny probably remembered that she bought it when Dad was a baby and he was less than three months old when 1927 rolled around.

I found the model number and went to the Singer website and printed the manual for it. Then I set to work figuring out how to wind these strange bobbins. It sure doesn’t look like the bobbins in Momma’s old Singer!

And my first problem manifested.

“What was that?” you ask. I know you’re so interested in this.

The first of my two issues was that the belt slipped when under a load. As long as I wasn’t sewing anything or winding a bobbin it worked well. The belt needed tightened and Mike was out mowing. I had helped Mike do the initial sizing of the belt so I knew how it was done, yet I was afraid to do it by myself. I decided I’d try Momma’s old machine instead. I’d tried to use it once, years ago, but it only wanted to sew knots. I went to my ‘puter and Googled it.

Knotting of the bobbin thread is caused by improper threading of the machine or a dull needle, Google said.

This machine brings back memories. When I was a teenager and bell bottoms were in fashion, I took a pair of jeans, opened the leg seam up to the knee, and inserted a panel to make my own bell bottoms. I’d use flowers or any other crazy pattern material I could find. Momma thought it was clever.

Out on the breezeway, where the Singer was stored, I unearthed it from a tub and a mound of blankets that had been piled on top, pulled it out to where I could open the lid of the cabinet, lifted the machine out — and the belt fell off and landed on my foot. No sewing would get done with this old beauty. She needs a bath and a new belt but I’m gonna get her going again.

My third machine came from a yard sale. A lady begged us to buy it and practically paid me to take it home. That was stored in the back of my glass shop and I’ve never used it. I dug that one out and was surprised to see I had another fabulous old Singer! This one’s electric. I plugged it in, stepped on the foot pedal and it took off at a hundred miles an hour. I left off the pedal but the machine didn’t stop. It just kept right ona goin! I pulled the plug. Sigh. I really had my heart set on making face masks!

I can do this, I thought. I got me a chair and pulled the foot pedal up to where I could see it and flipped it over. Screws. I’d have to get up and get a screw driver. I took the pedal apart and cleaned everything, gave it a drink of oil, put it back together and it works.

The next step was to thread it and see if it would sew. I needed the manual for that because if it’s not threaded right, it won’t sew right. I took the serial number and Googled it. It was manufactured in 1947. It gave the model number which I took to the Singer website and printed the manual. Back out to the shop I went, manual in hand, sat at the machine, pulled the bobbin compartment open, and no bobbin. Momma gave me some extra bobbins when she gave me her old machine so I went for those. But they don’t fit. They’re too big. Who’d’ve thunk bobbins came in different sizes? So now I was either out of business or it was back to machine number one.

Bolstered by my success fixing the foot petal, I decided to tackle resizing the belt on Granny’s machine. I took it off, cut off what I thought needed to go, drilled a new hole and put it back together. No problem. I don’t know why I was so hesitant to try it.

Now to thread the bobbin. It took some doing but I followed the step by step directions in the manual and got it loaded with new thread — and felt a sense of accomplishment at that! Then I had to figure out the bobbin holder. But I did it! 

Then I got a piece of scrap material and test sewed. The machine would sew a few stitches and stop. I’d get it going again and it would go backwards breaking my thread. After breaking the thread five or six times (I don’t give up easily) I gave up and decided not to try to sew anymore. I pulled the tread and just practiced the foot pedal. Forward, backward. Forward backward. It just kept going forward then backward and my staring at it wasn’t making a bit of difference. I couldn’t figure it out. I messaged a couple of people and asked what was going on. They didn’t know — couldn’t help me. So you know what I did?

          “You Googled it?”

          That’s right. I Googled it. I found a video of a guy showing how to use one of these machines and he mentioned my issue as an aside — an off-handed remark. These machines have two dead-stops. One at the top, one at the bottom. You have to remember which direction you’re pushing (with your toe or your heel) when you hit the dead-stop because if you push in the opposite direction the machine reverses and breaks your thread. “Try not to stop on the dead-stop,” he advised.

          Then, since I was at my computer, I ordered new belts for Momma’s machine, which is a 1959, as well as bobbins for the 1947 Singer.

          By now I’d wasted a whole day and never got back to the treadle machine to practice what I’d learned.

          The Kipps. Those precious lovely people, stopped the next morning on their way home from their walk and I was telling them the problems I was having all because I wanted to sew some face masks.

          “I have a machine you can have,” Lamar said.

          “Really?”

          “It’s been sitting in the back room since we got it. I don’t know if it works or not.”

          I looked to Miss Rosie. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

          She laughed. “It was Aunt Lucille’s. We got it when she died two years ago and I’ve never even looked at it. But her son said as far as he knows it works.”

          Twenty minutes later, Lamar pulls in the driveway and delivers me yet another Singer!

          Would you be shocked if I told you I was thrilled?

          I couldn’t find the year this model was made but I did find the manual for it and it works beautifully! I made several pleated style masks both with ties and elastic. Then I got braver and tried a fitted mask. They’re harder to make but I really like the look and feel of them better.

          I messed up two masks. One I put the elastic on the inside. That’ll never work. And I don’t remember what I did wrong with the other one. I tossed ‘em both aside and started again. I added seam ripper to my shopping list.

          On our shopping trip we went to Sayre. I didn’t take any road pictures. Sigh. I just didn’t see anything new or interesting. But I did take a couple of pictures while waiting in the drive-thru at Burger King.

          See it? Can you see the bicycle tossed up there in the weeds? When I see something like this I have to wonder if the bike had been stolen.

          But I wasn’t looking for bikes when I spotted it. I was looking at the pretty flowers coming up from amongst the weeds. This hillside must’ve been cultivated at one time. “Is that a poppy?” I asked Mike.

          “I don’t know.” Which is pretty much what I expected him to say. Since we had to wait anyway, I jumped out and took a few pictures. I haven’t looked it up but I do think it’s a poppy. Correct me if I’m wrong.

          I also saw this one and know that it’s Evening Primrose. Primrose lives about two years. All parts are edible. In holistic medicine it was used to treat eczema, diabetic neuropathy, rheumatoid arthritis, and numerous other conditions.

           

          I also saw this guy before I got back in the Jeep. A Tiger Swallowtail. His wings are so ragged it’s a wonder he can still fly.

          My shopping trip was partially fruitful. I was able to get a seam ripper but there’s not any elastic to be had. We stopped at several stores. Another lady heard me ask for it and said she ordered some online but won’t get it until sometime in August. I’m really okay just using ribbon. I like to tie mine behind my ears and let the ribbons dangle like dreadlocks. I might even put beads on them!

          

          “How’s Ginger?” you wanna know.

          I think her tumor is still growing but she continues to eat and drink well enough. Her pain meds zonk her out and this is how she is almost all day, every day.

          I hear you. I know I should let her slide into a peaceful sleep, never to wake up, but every time I think of that, my heart cracks and leaks out my eyes. Ginger’s been such a good little dog and loves us so much; all she wants to do is be with us. No matter what we’re doing or where we’re going. She’s in my lap now, as I’m writing this, something she used to do all the time but hasn’t done much of since the onset of the tumor in her throat. I’m gonna sit here until she decides she’s ready to get up. I’ll forgo coffee and I might have to dry my chair but I’m going to enjoy the feel of her warm little body and the beat of her heart against my leg for as long as she’ll sit with me.

          I’m already missing her. She loved going for walks and I loved walking her. I thought to take her for a walk this week thinking she’d enjoy it. I can’t put a harness on her because it would hurt her but she’s good about staying with me. I got my camera, picked Ginger up, and took her out. I set her down on the patio.

        “Com’on,” I coaxed. But she wasn’t having it. “Let’s go to the pond,” I tried again with excitement in my voice. She didn’t have any interest, turned around and headed for the door. Did I listen to her! NO! I rushed back and picked her up. “You love going to the pond.” I got out to the pond and set her down. She sniffs and poops and I took a picture of a female Blue Dasher Dragonfly while I waited. I thought Ginger would follow as I moved on but she turned and headed for the house. I went after her and carried her again.

          My next stop was at the patch of daisies. I love the little crab spiders or some people call them flower spiders. Believe it or not, they can see us and this guy is in his fighting stance.

          A few daisies over, I see the petals are folded in, a sure sign of a camouflaged spider. I peek in the back…

          …I peek in the front.

A few flowers over I spot a fly. He might be in trouble. I didn’t hang around to find out.

Then I spot this. Detritus or caterpillar? I wonder and take its picture.

Then I poked it to see if it moved and it did. He stood right up and was ready to take on the world. This guy is a pug moth caterpillar.

          Speaking of moths, this is an Armyworm Moth.

On around the pond I went, carrying my reluctant passenger.  I stopped to take pictures of my volunteer apples. Judging by the yellow spots on the leaves, he’s got something.

This plant has stumped me for years but now that I’m a member of a plant group on Facebook, I know what it is. This is called Ditch Stonecrop. I couldn’t find much information about this plant other than it’s listed as a plant of ‘Special Concern’ in the state of Rhode Island.

          “What does that mean?” you say.

          I know, right! I wanted to know too. As far as I can tell, when a native species is listed as special concern, whether plant or animal, it means that it’s population is low or in such high demand that unregulated taking would be detrimental to the conservation. In other words, it’s endangered. But that’s only in Rhode Island.

          A Silver Spotted Skipper on Pickerelweed.

          Another little crab spider, on bull thistle this time.

          And this guy on another thistle. A Japanese Beetle. I had so many of these things that I decided to help population control. I took a bucket of soapy water and went hunting. If they see you coming, they’ll fall. And I swear they must talk to each other because I only found a couple of dozen. One thing’s for sure, you have to be careful catching them when they’re on the thistle!

          Before I go on with Ginger and my trip around the pond, I have to tell you something. I took my bucket of soapy-water-drowned Japanese Beetles and left it in the back yard thinking I’d go out again the next day. Well those curious critters, my night-time-left-over-cat-food-eating visiting coons dumped the bucket and I didn’t find a pile of beetles like I expected to. Do you think they ate them? Or maybe it was a possum, though I haven’t seen one of those out here in a while. Do you think homemade laundry soap will hurt them?

          

          The Bergamot is blooming! I love the Bergamot! Here are two Skippers and bumbler on two freshly bloomed blooms. Can I say that?

          “I see you!” I told him.

          This one is called a Widow Skimmer.

          Our cherry tree died.

          At this point I can’t tell if these are the Amur Honeysuckle berries or the Autumn Olive because they both produce these bright red berries. I can tell them apart when I see the flowers and later, in the fall, you can tell because the Autumn Olive will get speckles and the honeysuckle won’t.

          My oldest, most beautifulest, sister Patti sent me an article she thought I might find interesting and I did. In the article the man says we should get rid of all the invasive plants like Amur Honeysuckle and Autumn Olive because they crowd out our native plants and don’t nourish our wildlife as well as our native plants would. “Get rid of it and plant native,” is his message and I think about this as I walk along our property and see all of the Autumn Olive and Amur Honeysuckle that grows here.

          I stopped at another patch of Bergamot and saw another Skipper.

          I saw my very first Monarch Butterfly caterpillar!

          And I saw this guy on another milkweed leaf.

          “What kind of grasshopper is that?” you wanna know.

          I know, right! I wanted to know to. Guess what? He’s not a grasshopper! He’s a Katydid nymph!

I set Ginger down while I took his picture. Ginger heads for the house as she did every single time I put her down. I ended our walk and headed for home. Since I knew where she was going, I let her walk.

          We hadn’t gone far before I see Ginger is panting heavily. Was it from her tumor or the heat, I don’t know. But I picked her up and carried her the rest of the way home.

“Mike, I don’t have any Chicory growing here. Would you take me out on the golf cart and look for some?” I asked.

          “Why sure!” he readily agreed.

          I found lots of pretty Chicory to photograph.

          And morning glories.

           And Garden Loosestrife.

          “And there’s an open mullein!”

          Mike stopped the cart so I could get off and take pictures for you.

          We went up to the hunter’s cabin and I took pictures of an abandoned trailer.

          Heading towards the Kipps’ house, I see a shadow under the hay wagon in the field. “Is that a deer laying under there?” I asked.

          “No, I don’t think so. It’s too dark. Maybe it’s a bear!”

          At this point I thought I’d better take a picture and when I zoomed in on it, guess what it was.

          “A bear?” you guess.

          I know, right! I so wanted it to be a bear too but it wasn’t.

           “It’s a tire!” I exclaimed.

          This old house has fallen down more since the last time we were past.

          I know where roses grow. There used to be a house there but it’s long gone now. The roses are past their prime but I still picked some to bring home to my windowsill vase.

          “Peg, you haven’t talked about Sparky yet,” you say.

          I know, right! And that little guy is so precocious I was saving it for last.

          Sparky scored a new toy when we went shopping.

          And he loves to play fetch. He’s got this little ‘bird’ he’ll drop at my feet for me to throw for him. He’ll play for half an hour before he tires of it.

          He found the steps up to the window over the door and isn’t happy when we go out without him.

          I was working on pictures for my letter blog when Sparky came up on the chair behind me. Pretty soon I feel the softest, velvetiest little paws on my forearm. He crept up, sat on the arm of my chair and watched the computer screen. As soon as a picture of a daddy long legs, otherwise known as a Harvestmen came up on the screen he jumped up on my desk.

          Harvestmen are not spiders. They’re Opiliones. They don’t have fangs, they don’t have venom, and they don’t bite.

          Sparky’s paws operate my touch screen as well as my fingers do and he made the picture bigger.

          As cute as he was, I couldn’t work that way. His paws would override my mouse. I put him down. He jumped up on the chair again and watched for a while.

          A picture of Tux came up on the screen and he again jumped up to the monitor.

          “What’s going on with Tux? He looks scared,” you say.

          I know, right! He is! I’m holding a turkey feather I found on our ride about and I showed it to Tux. As soon as he got a sniff he realized what it was and jumped back like he’d been shocked.

          “He’s afraid of feathers,” Miss Rosie said.

          I set the feather aside and we were chatting and I saw Tux creeping toward where I’d set the feather. I picked it up and held it out to him.

          “Stop scaring the dog!” Mike admonished.

          “I saw Miss Rosie do it,” I said.

          “Yeah, but it’s not your dog!” Mike pointed out.

           This is the first picture where I showed Tux the feather for the first time. Sparky is on the teasing picture.

          What in the world can happen to a dog to make him afraid of feathers!?

          Oh. Here’s another picture for you. My legs full of kitten-claw holes. While I sat at the table making masks the ribbons were much too tempting for a little fella to pass up. He’d jump and climb up my pants-clad legs to get to them. Have I ever told you how sharp kitten claws are?

          Oh my gosh. I was going to say good-bye, so-long, see-ya-later when I decided to check my file one more time and I missed two flower pictures! We can’t have that!

          Bouncing Bet is blooming. This one is also known as soapwort. It’ll actually make a mild soap.

          And this one is a first for me. Tall Meadow Rue.

          Let’s call this one done!