Long day....

My day began an hour early. Perhaps not a full hour; when I'm planning on getting up at eight-thirty I tend to wake up a little earlier, and then go back to sleep. But Dad yelled up the stairs at seven-thirty, which is far too early. I think I actually got up nearer eight, though. My alarm clock went off some time after I'd eaten; I believe Peter was milking, and I was sitting on the couch waiting for devotions and realizing that I could've gotten up at my usual time and still have dressed, eaten, etc. by the time everyone else was ready. Sigh.

Then I went on an appliance call with Dad. Peter and Doug were busy, and Owen needed a shower, so I was elected. I have no idea how useful I would've been, but in the event this was not tested. We drove to Panama. We found the place. Dad had me call Owen to get the customers' numbers, in order to ascertain that it was the right house, as there were no visible house numbers. Repeat, until Owen gives the right number. Nobody answers. Dad calls Owen and asks him to get the VOICE News and look up the number for their offices. The owners are not at the office, but the lady who answers the telephone is able to confirm that the beige Mediterranean-style house does indeed belong to the Managing and Advertising editors. So we go and knock, somewhat half-heartedly, and Dad begins trying doors: the front door, the garage door, and the French doors all along the southern side of the house. None have been left unlocked for the scheduled repairman. We left.

At the end of the drive we switched places for a driving lesson. Turning onto the Firth road, I give Dad a heart attack, and most of the drive home is spent practicing left turns. Sigh. So I was late to Jim's.

Jim is expecting his son next week, so there was some extra cleaning to be done. He, meantime, was moving car parts off the living room floor, since the new garage is completed (with the exception of some wiring and the insulation.) This I appreciate, since it's a little hard to vacuum around chunks of engine. There was no such difficulty in vacuuming the guest room, which seems to be where the sci-fi is shelved. The Westerns are mostly in the den.

After that B and Darrel came and got me, so I could try to renew my learner's permit in Beatrice. Unfortunately, as it turned out, I needed to see the tester to accomplish this, and I needed my birth certificate, etc. all over again, so that was a wash-out. I had to sit outside the courthouse and wait for them to get back from picking up a prescription for awhile. It was lovely weather, though, and fortunately none of the employees were on break, so I had the little cement table to myself. We went back to the house to wait for Shane's parents to come get him. Then Darrel took B and me to the Salvation Army. I got lucky: a Terry Pratchett. And we went in the convertible--B splurged on a red Chrysler Sebring. I think that was my first ride in a convertible, but I have a little trouble along the lines of "And they bought this why?" Oh, well, B's spending isn't my problem, thank goodness.

And tomorrow, license unrenewed, Mom and Lark and I are driving to Colorado. (Er, Lark isn't actually going to help with the driving.)

Busy day! We started out herding, of course, with the crew (in theory) me and Owen. In the end we were both given jobs, which we were supposed to do while herding. Save us all from trying to do regular chores with Dad around! So I was stuck trying to pick up trash and supervise the herd simultaneously, and Owen wasn't even supposed to pretend that he was herding, so far as I could tell. Sigh. So we went in from herding, took a break, and then I mashed tomatoes for Mom, who is trying to stay ahead of the garden without much success. She hasn't drowned yet in tomato sauce, at any rate. Following such indoor kitchen-based activities (there was cabbage beet relish, too) we all had some comp time, except Doug, who had gone with Dad to get a clothes dryer from Terry-at-work. While I was at Della, and therefore in an ideal position for phone answering, there was a call from a man in Adams who had a washer he wanted Dad to fix. He was willing to deliver it, and would deliver it in fifteen minutes. Did we have anyone here to help unload? I cast a panicky look at Peter and said we did. When he came, in an aged pickup with "Mayflower Honey" on the doors, he was accompanied by a grandson perhaps my age. They made short work of the dryer, I took Mr. Brewster's name and number, and they left. All very efficient.

Next the boys and I had to go pick up the pasture. Gah. They mostly sat around in a tree while I was out there, but after I went inside they seem to have accomplished something on their own accounts, which is good. They got on the computer while I waited around for Mom, and then she and I practiced my driving. I spent some time driving around the neighborhood, then she had me practice steering in the parking lot by the ballpark. It was a bit of a relief to actually get out and practice; I keep worrying that I'm just going to waste my permit and never actually learn. But maybe not.

By this time it was late afternoon, and I felt I could get away with going upstairs and reading. Mom has a new author for me, a rather good sci-fi writer named Connie Willis. The book was a novella, titled Uncharted Territories, and Mom wanted me to pay attention to Willis' backstory technique, which is very smooth. The story is fun, and I'm considering pursuing the author--except I still haven't gotten through Loretta Chase, even the books Mom wants me to read. Ack. And of course there's Diana Wynne Jones, but I've given up on getting through her in anything approaching an organized manner and am going to grab her books where and when I can. This decision was heavily influenced by the fact that Gere is the only branch with anything approaching a decent collection, and it's still pretty sad. Also I have to compete with the kids for 'em. Sigh. I may not finish reading her before I'm hunting her down for my kids.

Dad and Doug got home, after four, only to unload appliances and take off again after more. Then, when they got home for good, they had to start fixing things. The focus was on Mr. Brewster's washer, which was speedily healed; I'm still not sure if it was fixed by the time he phoned, or if Dad finished up while talking. Anyway, Dad was on the phone for quite a while, in that time discovering: Mr. Brewster is descended from the Governor Brewster of Plymouth Colony; he was very impressed with our professionalism (coughcoughchokeouch); his grandson had us pegged for homeschoolers right off; and he'll trade us a beehive for the washer repair. Ack!

Dad and Doug have replaced Mom's no-longer-functioning dryer, and they tried to put in a new washing machine but the new one didn't work. It was determined more economical to put the old one back. But we have a new dryer.

Owen is down with the flu. The germ has been making the rounds, starting with Mom, then going to Doug. Doug's symptoms have been reduced to a persistent cough, and Mom's entirely better, but Owen's in pretty bad shape. At least nobody's throwing up.