Delaware Grammy

   The last few days have been a bit hectic.  First — thanks for all the well wishes and prayers on my behalf.  The tooth is much better, and I am so thankful!

     My Sweet Mama had cataract surgery on Wednesday.  It was something to be able to watch the procedure on closed circuit television.  What a miracle!  It was awesome!  The surgery turned out just as they had hoped, and she came home about a half an hour after they finished.  We made two trips to Lewes yesterday — the first for her post-op checkup, and the second to get a plain lens fitted into her glasses so that she could see better.  It was greatly unhandy that she could scarcely see with her glasses out of her left eye and couldn’t see without her glasses out of the right.  But we got that taken care of, and she is doing so well.  We hope to do the other eye in about a month.  My Sweet Mama is just such a brave, beautiful, plucky lady. 

     Today, I took Oldest Daughter, Youngest Daughter and Youngest Son’s Girl Jess to Lewes (again!) and we went to Beebe School of Nursing and picked up Middle Daughter for lunch.  What a hoot!  We just plain had fun.  And to make it even more enjoyable (and unbelievable) I looked up right after we ordered our food at Bob Evans, and this car pulled up in the parking lot and a man got out that looked just like my Uncle Lloyd Wert (Mama’s youngest brother) from Pennsylvania.  While my head was processing that, the other door came open and the man that stepped out on that side looked like another uncle, Al Shirk (who is married to Mama’s youngest sister, Aunt Ruth Ann).  I looked extra hard, then, and sure enough!  It was them!  At the Bob Evans in Lewes, DE!!!  I could not believe it!!!  They were at the beach to see about a place to rent for one of the families for a week or two this summer.  What a special blessing from my Heavenly Father.  It was just so good to see them! 

     When lunch was over, we took Middle Daughter back to school, flew to two stores where the soccer shoes and stockings were that Youngest Daughter “needed” for soccer season, and found exactly what she had in mind for the season.  The biggest miracle of was that Youngest Daughter was able to make up her mind, without any of her usual dilly-dallying and we accomplished this task in about a half an hour.  I have seen her take longer than that to decide what she is going to wear!  Another miracle of no less importance was that the shoes she wanted were on sale for less than $25.00!!!  I didn’t know they made shoes for that price anymore!!!  And they were the right color, the right size, and for now, they even smell good.  (History tells me that this is noteworthy.  I am almost certain that her shoes from last year are in tatters because of the atmosphere in her gym bag . . .)

     And then we got back to Milford around 2:00.  All of us were so glad that it didn’t take any longer than it did.  I dropped Eldest Daughter off to pick up her car, dropped Youngest Daughter off at home, dropped Girl Jess off at her house, picked up Blind Linda at Sweet Mama’s house, went to the bank, picked up stamps at the post office for Middle Sister who had surgery today, delivered some eggs to Friend Karen at the Spanish Bookstore, and then came home.  What an incredibly satisfying day.  It was just so sweet in every way. 

     Now I need to make some Chicken-etti for the music boosters spaghetti supper tomorrow night, and I think I will call it a day.  What do you all think?  Is that enough activity for one day?  I’m sure I could think of more things to do if I tried, but I am not going to try very hard.

     Today was the day that my dentist that specializes in root canals was to finish what he started almost two weeks ago.  The problem was that the tooth he had started was now feeling fine, and a molar on the other side has been giving me fits.  Last week there was this large, tender bump on my gum that radiated pain up to my eye, and I knew that disaster loomed on the horizon.
     So I sterilized me a big old needle and punched it into that lump.  It went in like it was really going to open something up, but it really didn’t help.  Nothing drained out.  The lump stayed large and tender.  I was discouraged, to say the least.  Especially when this huge canker sore developed where I had inserted that big old (sterilized) needle.
     So I took antibiotics all weekend and held on to my sanity with some pain killer and some warm water flushes, knowing that I was going to see the dentist today and he had said that he would see what he could do about it.
      Today, Eldest Daughter and Middle Daughter went forth with me to the place of torture and they dropped me off at the door and went on to seek things like hair nets and hair pins at the Amish store, and also to see if Byler’s had replenished their stock of cookie dough that tastes homemade.
      The first thing I noticed when on “the rack” was that the tray was already arrayed with the instruments of torture.  They were expecting me!!!  Needles of various lengths and some that were even crooked sat there in readiness.  And I related my tale of woe and asked if there was something they could do with the now troublesome tooth on the other side.  The dentist was sick.  Behind his mask he coughed and snorted and did not smile much.  He is kind, and he does not hurt me much (usually).  The “torture” is the basic principle of the thing, but he really wasn’t looking for extra work today.
      And he looked carefully at the ailing tooth, checked the area about it with concern and then said that it could not be worked on today.  It was too swollen and infected.  He would need to prescribe better and stronger antibiotics than were being used, and hopefully it would “settle down.”
     “Could you just open it so that it could drain?”  Asked this hapless victim.
     “There is no way for me to numb it so that I wouldn’t hurt you.” he said, and that pretty much closed the issue as far as he was concerned.  He is acquainted with my dismal past, and is determined not to hurt me.  I thought about that big, old (sterilized) needle and my hapless stabbing about on my own, and really didn’t think he would hurt me any more than I had hurt myself, but decided not to press the poor sick man beyond his endurance.
     So he finished up the root canal that he had started ten days ago, and it feels a bit tender, but like it will eventually be fine.  And he gave me a prescription for seven days of Clandamyacin (or some such strange antibiotic) and set me free.  And deducted $100.00 off of my co-pay because I am so beautiful.  And it was only 30 minutes after I had gotten there.
      Now, then, where were Eldest Daughter and Middle Daughter?  They were just then getting to Byler’s.  So I decided that I would walk down State Street in Dover until such a time as they could come to pick me up.  It felt warm in the sunshine and the houses were close enough that the wind wasn’t blowing too much.  I had a short sleeved jacket over my denim dress, and thought that I would be just fine.  And so I commenced to walk.
      And the wind picked up speed, and the sidewalk stretched out, and the afternoon sun seemed to get thinner with every step, but I trudged bravely (albeit, coldly) on.  After about four tenths of a mile of pounding the pavement, I looked up and there was the familiar white van, pulling to a stop right at the edge of street, stopping traffic, and opening the door to let me in.  It looked like an inviting miracle, for the spur on my right heel was beginning to complain, and the arthritis in my left ankle was fussing, too.  But that root canal didn’t hurt!  No siree, it was still so numb that my nose felt funny.  The ailing tooth on the other side wasn’t exactly happy, but it wasn’t unbearable.  However, it was a great relief to come on home and to find some pain killer and to have Middle Daughter pick up the prescription and to just vegetate at home.
       And then Eldest Son returned home from his travels afar (He went to see that young lady in Ohio) and things slowly returned to normal at Shady Acres.  The laundry is mostly finished and the house is mostly straightened and people are quieting down for the night.  Maybe tomorrow everything will feel better and even that tooth will have “settled down.”  I think I will betake myself to bed and see what the morning will bring.
      

      If you all go over to Jesses_girl’s website, you will find some pictures and a story there of an accident that Middle Sister’s Middle Daughter was involved in on Tuesday night.  It was quite a miracle that Maria climbed out of the twisted metal without significant injury.  
      This whole episode has helped a rather difficult week turn around for me in a strange and timely way . . . It seems like I have missed my Daddy more this week than any other with a grief that is more “helpless.”  Not that I didn’t believe in Heaven, or doubt that we will see him again, but more that he is so gone, and I have thought that I had to see him.  Monday was a particularly teary day, when it felt like I could not stop crying.  Tuesday wasn’t a whole lot better.  I did the things I had to do, but squeezed in between it all were buckets and buckets of tears.
     But then the accident happened, and on Wednesday morning, I stopped in at Middle Sister’s house on my way to Mama’s and saw the mangled remains of what had been the nicest car that Bert and Sarah had ever owned.  I hugged Maria (gently — she was really sore) and marveled at her lack of cuts and even bruises.  Back on the road again, as I was praying about the accident, and thanking God for His protection over Maria, I had to think about how it would have impacted our family if Maria had died in that mishap. 
      And that brought back the memory of the night that Daddy died, and of what it was like to stand at the bedside of a Saint that was dying.  I thought about seeing him go into eternity with a smile on his face, with a life well lived, with his life’s work well done.  That really was GLORY!  And I will always be thankful that I and my siblings had that opportunity.  But to have to say good-bye to another family member —  one who was young and full of promise, and to have her go in such a violent and unexpected way, that would have been a thousand times harder.  I know that Maria loves the Lord Jesus.  I know that she would have been in Heaven.  But it would have been a different grief entirely.  And thinking about the contrast refocused my thoughts to those of thankfulness instead of such deep, deep grief. 
       So, I’m so sorry for the totaled car.  I’m so sorry that Uncle Bert’s don’t have comprehensive insurance, and I am sorry that Maria had to have such a traumatic experience.  But I am glad for the assurance that God isn’t finished with her yet. 
     I think that I will always miss Daddy, and I know that I am not done with tears yet, but I am thankful for the reminder that our Daddy’s going was timely, and that the Mercy that spared Maria’s life is the same Mercy that took Daddy home, and allowed us the privilege to watch that sweet, sweet smile that told of unseen glory.  Praise be to God for His goodness to us!

       Blind Linda, who has lived with us for over six years, is a St. Patricks Day baby.  She was born in 1949, one of a set of premature twins.  Her sister died, and Linda was one of the first babies to be in an incubator.  They didn’t know that too high a concentration of oxygen would destroy the eyes and affect the brain.  So, though Linda lived, she has been blind pretty much since birth, and was early diagnosed as profoundly mentally retarded.
       After having her for these years, I am pretty certain that she is not as retarded as she is autistic.  She would speak some in the first years of her life, but now she never speaks.
      A wondrous thing happened this morning, though. 
      When I get her up in the mornings, I always sing a song to her.  “Get up, get out of bed, come on, you sleepy head, don’t you know the sun is shining? It’s time for you to rise, the sun is in the skies, don’t you know the sun is shining?” 
      For the last year or so, she has sometimes just hummed along with me when she is in a really good mood.  Just a sort of  “m-m-m-m-m-m” in a happy sort of way.  But this morning, one phrase into the song, I remembered it was her birthday, and said, “Oh, Linda, I just remembered, it’s your birthday!”  So I switched gears and sang, “Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear Linda, Happy Birthday to you!”
      As soon as I started with the first “Happy Birthday to you,”  I became aware that Linda was helping me sing.  “Ha-a-a-a-a-”  She said through the first “Happy Birthday to you.”  Then “Ha-a-a-a-a” again through the second phrase. I’m certainly not a trained musician, but it sounded like she was in tune!  By this time we had traversed the distance between her bed and the potty, and I was ecstatic.  I didn’t break stride or stop singing, but I was grinning from ear to ear.  Suddenly, she seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped abruptly, clamped her mouth down in that determined, stubborn way of hers, and would not budge to open her mouth again. 
      But it didn’t matter on bitty bit to me.  I had heard what I had heard, and it was like the Hallelujah Chorus to my ears.  I don’t think she will ever really speak again, but every now and then there is this spark that tells me that somewhere behind these sightless eyes and silent tongue there is a personality and spirit that is as individually a PERSON as any of us are.  
      “Happy Birthday to you!
       Happy Birthday to you!
       Happy Birthday, Dear Linda,
       Happy Birthday to you!”

ANNA MARIE MARCUM

      I was reading over on “Gracegivens” web site about her sweet little Sarah and her bug situation, and it sounds to me like another little girl I know.  Eldest Daughter has never outgrown her aversion to crawly things.  We have some priceless stories about this peculiarity, believe me.
       But it also brought back a bittersweet memory of something that happened at our house a long time ago.   It was summer.  We had just adopted Eldest Daughter, we had two foster children, and I was pregnant with Middle Daughter.  I had alot to learn.  And I was, unfortunately, a very determined woman. 
       One Sunday afternoon our foster daughter, Anna, who was 11, came out of her bedroom, very upset and insisting that I come and kill a brown spider for her.  I was napping, I think, and I told her to take the flyswatter in there and kill it.  It was no big deal. 
      She said, “But Mom, it is so big!” 
      I said, “Anna, for pity sakes, just go kill it!”  She cried, protested mightily, and finally I decided that I would go in there and “help” her kill it even if I had to hold her hand over the flyswatter to do it.  Back the hall we went, loaded for bear. 
      “Where’s this spider, Anna?”  She looked around.  
      “It was there, on the bed,” she whimpered.  I marched the two of us over there, and lo and behold, there was the biggest spider I had ever seen.  It was humongous.  It really took me aback!  To be honest, it was formidable. But then, I had a dilemma on my hands.  What should I do?  I had said that she had to help me kill it.  I was determined that she would.  So while she closed her eyes and pulled back, I held onto her hand that was on the handle of the flyswatter, and we began flailing away.  What a sight we must have been!!!  She was wailing, and of course, our aim was off, and the last thing I saw of that spider, it was disappearing between the bed and the wall into some mysterious crack somewhere, never to be seen again.  
     Then I really had a dilemma on my hands.  Guess who didn’t want to sleep in her bed???  And guess who was starting to feel really sympathetic about that strong preference?   It took some working through, believe me.  But eventually, we did get it settled to everyone’s apparent satisfaction.
     You know what?  I learned alot about myself as a Mama from that experience.  First of all, in matters of spiders and crawly things and such, which are neither “right” nor “wrong” it is best to err on the side of mercy.  I have wished a thousand times that I would have just gone back there, killed that spider for my Anna girl and been done with it.  I wanted to teach her courage and I wanted her to have the confidence that she could take care of herself.  My intentions were not necessarily bad.
      But I believe that what she saw was a Mama who needed more to be “right” and “the boss” than one who cared about her deepest fears.  I have always been so sorry.  And this was one child that I haven’t had the chance to make it up to over the years.  She was adopted to another family and we lost touch with her. 
      Sometimes I wonder about what she remembers of the sixteen months that she spent in our home.  I hope she remembers riding behind Certain Man in the wagon part of the lawn mower while he mowed lawns.  I hope that she remembers that, for those months at least, she had a Daddy who was never inconvenienced by her, allowed her to tag along in whatever he was doing, whether gardening, building something, or just cleaning up the yard, and always treated her with respect and love.  I hope that she remembers bedtime prayers, new clothes for school, hugs and family trips.  She may.  But I bet she remembers a big brown spider that got away, and a Mama who really didn’t understand what was in her heart.
       Anna-girl, wherever you are today, and where ever life has taken you, I wish you love.  I hope that there is someone who kills spiders for you and understands why you are so afraid of them.  I hope that you have a little girl that looks just like you with freckles and red hair and that she has a Daddy who loves her and loves you and is never inconvenienced by you.  I pray that you remember that you gave your heart to Jesus, and in all the paths your life has taken, I pray that you have never let go of this One Friend who will always understand you, never leave you, never forsake you.  Today, you are a woman of 36, but to us, you will forever be 11 years old, sitting in our hearts in that Anna-shaped hole.  Ah, girlie, what we wouldn’t give to see you again! 

    Yesterday afternoon was anything but a day of rest for a crowd of people that gathered at the Riehl/Sharp farm to clean up.  It was, at the very least, a most memorable time, but the word that came up over and over again was “Fun!”  
     “FUN???”       
     How could a tragedy like this take on the proportions of “fun?”  I don’t know, but there was such a spirit of brotherhood, so many good conversations and enjoyable joking between the men as they worked so hard to get things under cover before dark, so much good fellowship between the wives and daughters as they got food ready, all that can be said was that it really was a most enjoyable time together.
     Some of you may have heard that there was going to be a clean-up frolic there on Tuesday evening for whoever could come to work until dark, but this morning the insurance adjuster made some changes in the plans.  Clean-up cannot begin until the Fire Marshal determines cause of fire, and it is uncertain when he can be there.  So the clean-up plans are on hold until the Fire Marshal gets there.  I will post a notice here of when that will be.
    In the meantime, thank God for the closed in greenhouses, for systems, although somewhat primitive that are up and running to feed the tomatoes, cucumbers and lettuce.  Also, even though the greenhouses are up and running, there has been significant loss to the crops — particularly the tomatoes.  Pray that Calvin and Kathy, in counsel with Menno and Lydia, will know what is the best course of action.  Pray for quick replacement of the things they need to keep operating.  Pray that God will bless this family.  It has been heartwarming to hear the positive attitudes and gratefulness expressed when it would be easy to be downhearted and discouraged.

      Late last night, the family who moved yesterday, Calvin and Kathy Sharp, suffered a fire in the supply room and sales area of their greenhouses.  The damage was limited, thankfully, mostly to those areas, and the greenhouses were not significantly damaged.  The greatest financial loss involved the supply room with the necessary fertilizers and supplies so integral to this large operation.  The sales room is pretty much a total loss.  The cause of the fire is not known at this time, but it would appear that it had to do with the wood stove that is used to heat the greenhouses.  Menno and Lydia came down to do what they can to help, but there will probably be opportunity for the community to help out with clean up and such.  Please pray for Calvin and Kathy and their family.  As you can imagine, this is a most difficult set-back. 

     What a perfect day!  A family from church was moving today, and what a great day to move!  Just sunshine and perfect temperatures and many wonderful helping hands to make the things move smoothly. 
     Riding down the road beside niece Maria, on the way to the new house and lunch, Maria says, “I wonder what people do when they have to move and don’t have a church family.”
     “They hire a moving company.” says I, “and look what they miss!”
     It was such a nice day.  I am so tired tonight, but I keep thinking about the faces of the people who were helping, straining to move furniture, gathering to eat soup and sandwiches in the noontime sunshine, the boxes that were emptied and stuff that was put away.  I remember Young Emily, helping with all her might and main to do anything that her hands could find to do.  She unwrapped kitchen stuff, put away spices, and trundled load after load of trash.  She carted the huge, flattened cardboard boxes to her Aunt Hilda’s van for recycling, and just was the greatest help.  The teenagers were busy setting up bedrooms and getting the beds together so the family could sleep tonight.  What a great thing to belong to a group of people that love to help each other.  And it wasn’t just our little church, but many others joined to make the day a great success.
      And then, tonight Certain Man planted his early vegetable garden.  He has been itchy these past few days, thinking it is warm enough to get in there and plant.  He worked up the patch a few weeks ago, and has kept running the tiller over and over it.  So today, he sent Middle Daughter to the feed store while the rest of us were helping with the move (she was taking care of Blind Linda, working on school and trying to get over this upper respiratory bug that has been going around) and carefully instructed her as to what to purchase.  So tonight he planted his red potatoes, his radishes, onions and even a row of peas.  It looks wonderful now, and he will plant other things later.  Funny how Spring always makes us both so optimistic about the garden. 
      He also put the Purple Martin pole up.  We are trying the gourds for the first time this year, and he is moving the location of the pole.  We have never had a bit of success with Martins, and he hopes to change that.  When I was a little girl, my Sweet Mama wanted Martins so badly.  She would get Daddy to put the houses up and she would stand out there and call, “Come, Martins, Come Martins!”  And it seemed to work, because she always got lots of Martins.  (I may need to try that!)
     And now it is after 6:30 and I have oodles to do to get ready for tomorrow.  Have a blessed, restful Sunday, all of you.  And remember — the best way to spend Sunday Morning is with God’s people in God’s House.  If you at all can, go to Church!

       Did I hear someone knocking???
       Well, yes, I have been up since 5:30.  I find that if I don’t get up and get my morning’s work done before going downstairs it just doesn’t get done.  And I HATE going to my room at night and finding the bed unmade.  Certain Man laughs at me because I will make it before I get into it because those rumpled covers just BOTHER me.  Yes, well, we all have our idiosyncrasies.  Another one I have is that the closet door must be SHUT before I can really sleep.  I started that early in our marriage because I thought it bothered Certain Man.  Found out later that he shut it because he thought it bothered me. Now we are both crazy together and have to have it closed before we can really sleep.  It must be TRADITION, I guess.  (I’m pretty sure that it has nothing with obsessive/compulsive disorder.)
       But the real question of the hour — Did the change in the bed covers aid the sleep process?  Absolutely!   I slept like a rock.  (Of course, the fact that my tooth did not hurt, that I had a day when I hardly had time to think, and a later than anticipated bedtime probably figured into it.)  However, I had a much better feeling inside whenever I thought of those familiar blankets and the good rest that awaited me.  So there you have it, gals.  Half the sleep problems in the world would be fixed if people would just haul out their old blankets and bedspreads and be content.
      And on that note, I leave you to get on with a day that promises to be beautiful.  I heard on NPR this morning that they expect Delaware to hit the 60’s today, temp wise.  What was that old saying about March “In like a lamb, out like a lion?”  We may have some reckoning to do yet. 
       Blessings for a wonderful day!

     Now it came to pass that Certain Man and Certain Man’s Wife have been married for nearly 33 years.  And in that time, there have been relatively few squabbles over small things like blankets and who got their fair share.  There has been peaceable agreement over such things as room temperature, how many blankets and even the firmness and size of the mattress and pillows. 
    Several years ago (nearly ten, to be exact) a Hispanic friend who worked in a local stitching factory gave CMW a large flowery bedspread that has been the covering of choice and that, coupled with a sheet in the summer and a very large fuzzy blanket in the winter, has been all that was needed for warmth most of these years.
     However, within the last year there have been several things that have marred the peace at the Church of the Inner Spring.  Mental Pause with its heat flashes and irritability and sleep disturbances has made some minor inroads into the established patterns. Aching joints and changing schedules and adult children have also made for some differences in sleep habits. And then something else came along that further upset the balance.  The QUILT.
     CMW is not a quilter.  In fact, in her cedar chest there resides a very old quilt top that was given to her by an old friend, Mary Belle Hostetler, for a wedding gift that has never been quilted.  Once upon a time, CM and CMW were given a beautiful friendship quilt by the church they were leaving when they moved from Ohio to Delaware, but it was loved and used into great disarray and finally put on the shelf.  Other than that, not one solitary homemade quilt has ever been in CMW’s possession. 
      The interest in quilts and the desirability of quilts has not been lost on CMW.  She was not consumed by a longing for one, but thought it might be nice to own just one.  So when she was visiting her friend, Bev, a few years ago, and Friend Bev’s Mother had numerous quilt tops that she was working on, it was arranged to purchase a very nice looking non-descript sort of quilt and Friend Bev’s Mother agreed to quilt it for CMW.  Nearly two years ago, this project was finished, and the quilt duly sent and it resided in the closet for about a year until CMW had the urge to put it on her bed one day, and it looked very nice there, indeed.  It actually was perfect in color and size for the summer months, and when winter finally came, the weather was so mild that an occasional blanket thrown over all was enough to keep CM and CMW in comfort.
       Then Certain Man took it upon himself to lose a few pounds.  This always is accompanied by a shift in body temperature for him.  He feels like he is freezing alot of the time.  So, CMW took it upon herself to find a velux blanket that was adequate to cover the bed, but did not stick out below the quilt.  This did not lend itself well to one of the parties wrapping it all around themselves in an attempt to keep warm, but usually it did not matter too much as the other party was usually affected by the aforementioned “mental pause” and had no interest in wrapping up in a thick velux blanket. 
      However, in the mornings, there was evidence of struggle with quilt and blanket on one side of the bed and sheet gathered morosely on the other.  When CMW made the bed in the morning, she pondered about whether two people with such disarray of blankets and sheets could have slept well.  She had a vague, disquieted feeling that maybe neither party was getting enough rest.
     Then CMW developed an abscess on a molar that she had been trying to get her dentist to do something about for several months.  No longer could it be a “wait and see” proposition.  This thing was hurting with a vengeance, causing much nocturnal pain and wakefulness, and making CMW tearful over many things.  And it came to pass that one of the things that was troubling her very much was that there were great snatchings going on over the blankets at night.  And it was being done under the great cover (excuse the pun) of sleep, and she was as guilty as the second party of being disruptive.  Certain Man would turn over in his sleep and hitch the quilt and blanket around his strong shoulder and it would conveniently leave Certain Man’s Wife and snuggle onto his back while she lay out in the cold, clutching the sheet.  Now if she had been sleeping in her usual deep way, she would never have even noticed, but most of the time, she was half way between sleep and misery and thinking that she was almost asleep when the covers would whoosh off of her that would only make her more miserable.  So she got to holding onto the edge of the blanket and quilt with a firm grasp and in her half-sleep, would hang on for dear life when the covers started to move and that would actually pull her over sideways when her bed partner would decide it was time to turn over.  Now CMW did not BLAME him, as it is no fun to turn over and have cold air blasting down your back, but these narrow blankets were obviously causing a problem between two usually agreeable bed partners.  It was making them tired and irritable and the tooth and medication and freezing man and blanket grabbing woman were all being aggravated beyond what was necessary.
     This morning, Certain Woman looked at her bleary image in the mirror and pondered the options.  Suddenly, it looked very simple.  Where were the big old fuzzy blanket and the big flowery bedspread?  Right there in the closet.  It was time for a change.  In a great burst of inspiration, she took the offending blanket and quilt off  and replaced it with the familiar generous coverings of last winter.  It looked so familiar that Certain Man, in from the chicken house and dressing for the office never even noticed.  Certain Man’s Wife looks forward to a good night’s rest and behold, peace hath returned to the Church of the Inner Spring.