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Show Twisters . . . 27 "You suppose Dad and Grandpa got the tractor running yet?" I asked. "Probably." She lifted the presser foot and I heard her snipping threads. If Arthur hadn't been there, I'd have sat down and watched her sew. I loved her new machine. It was the last thing she bought before she quit at the hair boutique. She really knew how to operate it, too. Forward, reverse, flip, snip. Zig-zag, ziiiiig-zaaaaaaaaag, zg-zg, zg-zg-zg-zg. I made hand motions in the air until Mom asked what in the world I was doing. Then I remembered why I had come to the kitchen in the first place. "We're out of chips, Dan, if that's what you want." I settled for soda crackers. I watched Mom as she held the top half of the lavender dress at arm's length to inspect it. "I wonder if Mother Hatch wants this skirt gathered or pleated," she said, more to herself. "Why not do both?" I suggested. Mom grinned. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, then pushed back her chair and went to the phone. "That'8 funny," I heard her say a minute later. I looked up from spreading peanut butter on crackers to see her staring at the mouthpiece. She clicked the little chrome piece up and down, then dialed again. "Now it's ringing, but no one's answering," she mumbled. "Where would Grandma be on a night like this?" I shrugged and carried my plate of crackers back to the living room. |
