Have you ever heard of a puzzle exchange? I hadn’t, but recently accrued about 10 puzzles from a friend of mine who asked that after I completed them to give them back to her instead of bringing them to a thrift store. It turns out she has a circle of friends and relatives who all enjoy puzzles and they rotate them among each other and beyond. This is such a brilliant concept! We have a smallish collection of puzzles, but most of them I would definitely do again, so they will not be heading to a thrift store. However, I would gladly lend them out to a friend and get them back again at some point. If you don’t love doing jigsaw puzzles, this makes no sense to you and even now, you are shaking your head at the weirdness of it all.

I wouldn’t say I’m an avid year-round puzzler – I tend to do them more in the winter. And I have some basic requirements of a puzzle in order for me to want to tackle it:

1. No landscapes with tons of sky.
2. Interesting, diverse and imaginative visually.
3. At least 1000 pieces (although I’ve done 500 pieces and enjoyed them).
4. Puzzle pieces that stay together and fit well.
5. I appreciate it when a separate poster of the puzzle image is included, but am not a stickler about it.

I’ve only ever gotten rid of three puzzles, two because they were too frustrating or boring to work on and one because it was so hard I thought I’d never do it again after completing it. No regrets on the first two, but I’ve regretted getting rid of the other one many, many times. It was called Purple Madness and had been given to me by my brother. It was basically just fractals. Let me see if I can find a photo on the “interwebs” for you to see.

It was insanely difficult and tedious – just the kind of thing I don’t like in a puzzle – but it was a gift and I wanted to honor the giver by completing the puzzle. However, somewhere along the line I developed what I call my “puzzle eyes.” Some of you puzzlers out there will know what I mean by this. When you’ve worked a puzzle for some time and have looked at the pieces and the picture again and again, your eyes begin to be able to look more discerningly and intelligently at the individual pieces and get a sense for where they go. Anyway, this puzzle was so repetitive visually that I didn’t think it would ever happen. Somewhere after the 7th-inning stretch, I began to SEE the pieces and the pattern in a way that allowed me to take more pleasure in putting it together – it didn’t seem so random anymore. When I finished it, I felt like Rocky finishing his climb up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. “Gonna fly now! Flying high now!” And then I sold it at a garage sale.

I’ve been on a puzzle binge ever since getting this bounty. I find it both relaxing and addicting, a strange combination. Here’s the one I just finished yesterday:

I hate taking them apart after I’m done, so I’ll wait a few days before dismantling this one. Sometimes I put all the border pieces in a separate bag – is that cheating? I was listening to a book by Sue Klebold called A Mother’s Reckoning while I worked on this one and my memories of the book are ever entwined with the image of this charming little picnic scene. Sue Klebold is the mother of Dylan Klebold, one of the two Columbine High School shooters who went on a rampage at the school in April of 1999, killing 15 people (including themselves) and injuring 24. It was a haunting and heart-rending book, read by the author. I recommend it.

Well, this was certainly one of my chattier blog posts. Thanks for hanging in there with me. And thanks for the puzzles, Lori!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, for you skeletonize the apple leaves right in front of our faces.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, for you came across land and sea to make mincemeat of our apple tree.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, blind to the damage that you do.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, straining out the leaf veins and swallowing the chlorophyll.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, for you are shiny and clean, but inside you are full of greed and self-indulgence.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, for you are outwardly beautiful with your coppery carapace, but within you are just another ugly and devilish bug.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, for you wantonly shed the leaf blood that would nourish the apples.

Woe to you, Japanese beetles, for you lay eggs that lie in wait over the winter to produce your brood of larvae.

The first written account of Japanese beetles in the United States was in New Jersey in 1916. They were thought to have come into the country with a shipment of iris bulbs. Talk about your wretched teeming masses! Ironically, these gorgeous pests are not very destructive in Japan because of natural predators. What good are natural predators if they let their prey slip out of the country right under their noses? Well, we may not be natural predators, but we’re going to have to find some way to destroy them.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Hosta blossoms at sunset. I’m not sure I have much to add to that.

I tried to get a photo of a lightning bug the same night I was taking these photos. Totally hilarious. First of all, you have to try to find one of them flitting about, then you have to try to focus on it while it’s flitting, following it with the camera and taking a bunch of photos in the hopes that you’ll catch it lighting up. I did, in fact, get a photo of a lightning bug while it was in lightning mode. When I looked at the photos, all I saw was a whole series of photos of unfocused grass, one of which had an teeny tiny unfocused yellow blob in it. So you get hosta blossoms instead. It’s better this way.

You’re welcome!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, still chuckling over my photographic failure. Well played, Mr. Firefly.

The good news: it’s raspberry picking season. You may recall from a previous post that as Raspberry Queen, it’s my duty to go out and save the raspberries every day from marauders such as birds and beetles.

The bad news: What you see in the bowl above is about all I’m getting each day (sometimes less). It’s enough to put on granola, ice cream or yogurt, but not enough to freeze and make delicious jams and jellies later on. Last year I had about 8 quarts in the freezer by the end of the picking season. Sigh…

The good news: Some raspberries are better than none at all.

The bad news: But I want more!!

The good news: My picking time every day is so short, I haven’t had to battle the mosquitos as much. 🦟.

The bad news: A few clever mosquitos have found me, nonetheless. 🦟

The good news: I put a reminder on my phone at 8:00 a.m. every day to pick raspberries so I won’t forget. The wonders of technology!

The bad news: I’m getting tired of that 8:00 a.m. reminder going off. Technology can be annoying.

The good news: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, among whom I (like Paul) am foremost. I bet you didn’t see THAT coming!

The bad news: None, unless you’ve rejected Him. Then the news is very bad, indeed.

This has been Good News/Bad News, brought to you by lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning when the 8:00 a.m. reminder goes off.

Sunset Realities
You don’t really know
the true colors of flowers
Until the sun sets.

Go out tonight and see with sunset eyes.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but there’s no hurry. I’ve got the whole weekend to think about it.

I’ve been plodding away on the watercolor Jump-Start videos and although I haven’t been able to get to it daily, I’ve been doing it often enough that I am finally starting to understand the watercolor painting process. One of the main skills needed, to my chagrin, is that of patience. Didn’t think patience was a skill? We joke about the dangers of praying for patience, but in truth it is a learned skill that only comes with much practice. I am not a very patient person. Although there are lots of times that you want the colors to bleed and blend together, there’s a trick to knowing how long to wait before adding more color so that it doesn’t just take over the whole area. There are other times when the paper must be completely dry before adding another layer. I keep a hair dryer by my table to speed up that process. And all the time, I hear a voice saying “Patience, my young padawan.” It’s a voice in my head, though, not on the video.

Anyway, I thought you might be interested to see what I’ve done so far, since I’m almost halfway through the video series. A lot of the early ones are very abstract. It seemed like a potential waste of time, but I’ve learned something valuable from each one.

I broke away from my color scheme for one of these – shouldn’t take you long to find it. Which one do you like best?

What have you been plodding away on? Do tell!

I’ll probably delete this in a plodding way in the morning.

Some bugs are universally hated; some bugs are universally adored. It’s not fair, but it’s the way of things. Mosquitos are in the former group and this bug is in the latter. While mosquitos are roaming around with their irritating whine looking for victims whose blood they can suck out, these lovelies are creating twinkling realms at twilight that delight us. Scientists call them Lampyridae, but we call them fireflies, lightning bugs or (my least favorite) glowworms. I have a friend who says that mosquitos came in on Satan’s back when he entered the Garden of Eden. I think fireflies were already in the garden beautifying it at the first twilight. According to one source on the internet, “They don’t bite, they have no pincers, they don’t attack, they don’t carry diseases, they are not poisonous, and they don’t even fly very fast.” The only thing that mars a peaceful evening looking out over a lawn being lit by fireflies, is the sound of the mosquitos closing in on your vulnerable flesh. Echoes of Eden, evidence of sin.

There’s a poem in there somewhere and I plan to find it. But right now I have to get ready to go to work.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

It might surprise you to learn of my kitchen help – 3 invaluable servants, one of which I’ve had on retainer almost since the beginning of our marriage. I put these ladies through their paces regularly and it shows. I think it’s time for some public acknowledgement of their steadfast service over the years. Here they are from oldest to youngest:

Helper One:

Helper One was a gift from my mother, probably in the first year of our marriage. Naturally, my mom made it, including the smocked section which to this day seems like a fantastical bit of magic to me. I don’t want to know how it’s done – it would ruin the mystique for me. I love the whole concept of aprons – garments actually designed to get dirty and greasy. It’s like kitchen armor, really. I’m a messy cook and my armor is essential. It’s PPE for my clothing. I’ve never understood the concept of a half apron – what good does that do? Helper One and I got along quite well, but then another helper came on the scene to give Helper One some badly needed time off.

Helper Two:

Helper Two is an exotic lady from the tropics, a gift from my husband after one of his many work-related trips to Hawaii. The astute among you will immediately discern Helper Two’s best feature: you can spill ANYTHING on this charming apron and it will just become part of the pattern. Capacious pockets on the front house two matching pot holders. I’m sure Helper One struggled with a little bit of bitter envy when Helper Two breezed into the kitchen with all her bold colors. Ne’er fear, I reassured her – I’ve got room in my life for two of you. And then there were three…

Helper Three:

She’s dainty! She’s floral! She has frills and feminine wiles! Helper Three was a gift from my son and daughter-in-law a few years ago. I think between the two of them we all know who actually picked this out, though. Helpers One and Two smoldered in the background when I became smitten with this addition to the kitchen. I especially appreciated Helper Three when it came time to make raspberry jams – it’s as if she was made for that very purpose. Even now if you look carefully, are you SURE those are all flowers on the apron? Could some of those red blossoms be raspberry stains? It’s ingenious and attractive all at the same time. When I wear this one, I want to twirl around the kitchen singing the song “I Feel Pretty” from West Side Story.

Even so, I’ve got room in my life for all three of these Helpers. Each one serves well in her own way and without complaint. I rely on each one and they all co-exist quite happily now. Don’t you love a happy ending?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning while wearing either Helper One, Helper Two or Helper Three.

Previously: Grave Musings 3 Oak Ridge Sneak Preview

I’d been in this cemetery a couple times before, but only driving through. I invited friends Lori and Teresa to join me, both cemetery enthusiasts. Lori came equipped with a list of cemetery symbols and what they mean, which was very helpful. Teresa, in spite of Google Maps trying to thwart her plans, managed to find the cemetery – amazing when you consider that Google directed her to a different cemetery on the other side of town. We got our mosquito spray on and began the meandering.

Oak Ridge was established on September 11, 1857 and occupies a 10-acre parcel of rolling hills with shady grounds and paved roads. It’s a lovely setting. The cemetery is overseen by a board of volunteers, whose services include mowing, cleaning, watering flowers and plants and general grounds-keeping, as well as keeping records and doing other administrative types of work. We met one of the board members while we were there – she had come to water some plants. Like any good board member, she tried to recruit us and answered our questions. She asked if we’d be interested in a tour if the board decided to put one together. Yes, please. She told us how much work had been involved in cleaning up downed trees from last year’s storm.

One of the younger board members wants to do a carving on the tall stump that remains.

So, what do you do when you visit a cemetery? You look at gravestones, you connect families by names, you do some math and determine ages and relationships, you take note of symbols, statues (if there are any), monuments, interesting details, epitaphs. You think about the people and the history that they represent. Sometimes you clear away grass that has encroached on a flat-lying marker. Sometimes, if you are especially dedicated, you do a little research on notable or prominent people buried there.

Oak Ridge had two lovely old stone buildings. One was a well house:

And the other one was larger and tucked under a hill – sort of like a hobbit house, Lori observed. We found out from the board member, Linda, that this used to be a holding vault, a place to store caskets in the winter until the ground softened enough in the spring to dig the graves. It’s now used to store equipment. Teresa and Lori got up close and personal, trying to see into it. Linda told us that both buildings had been broken into somewhat recently.

Among the notables at Oak Ridge are the Nutting family. Truman Nutting and his family came from New England to Minnesota in the spring of 1854. His wife died that same year in St. Anthony Falls (Minneapolis), after which Truman and his children came to Faribault. I believe Truman Nutting was one of the founders of Oak Ridge Cemetery.

Major Michael Cook is also buried here. Born in 1828 in New Jersey, he came with his parents to Faribault in 1855. He served as a state senator from 1858-1862 and it was said of him that “Honesty in him was personified.” He became part of the Minnesota Tenth company in the Civil War and lost his life on the battlefield in Nashville, Tennessee in December of 1864. “The memory of very few deceased men who ever lived in Faribault is more warmly cherished than that of Major Cook.”

We went downhill and then back up again. By this time it was decidedly warm and we were starting to feel peckish. Time for a picnic! It was while we were eating that Linda arrived and came over to chat us up.

We did a little more meandering after lunch and came across a stone that had us all puzzled as to the relationships represented.

Usually, when a man’s name and a woman’s name are across from each other on a stone, it denotes a married couple, but the age differences were kind of weird: she was 22 years older than he was. It wasn’t unthinkable, but it was out of the ordinary, especially for the time in which they were living. And then there was the woman’s name in the middle. Daughter? Granddaughter? Teresa did some research later and discovered that Rachel was mother to Oscar, who gave up bachelorhood at 61 years of age to marry 20-year-old Delta, producing a daughter, Elizabeth. Well, you just never know. If you take up cemetery visiting, be prepared to do some sleuthing.

It was so much fun having friends with me that I’m not sure now how to go on without them. How about a round of applause for my wonderful friends!

I’m trying to keep up with my watercolor journal for these visits as well:

Thanks for joining us! Next: Grave Musings 5 Rice County Poor Farm

Start at beginning: Grave Musings 1 Maple Lawn I

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Previously: Grave Musings 2 Maple Lawn II

I’ve been to another cemetery on my list, but every time I think I’ve got time to post about it, the day goes all cattywampus and the next thing you know, it’s been over a week. As excuses go, it’s not much. I comfort myself with the idea that none of you know or care about the intended frequency of my Grave Musings posts.

So here’s the sneak preview:

I went to Oak Ridge Cemetery and invited two cemetery aficionados to come with me to lend their combined expertise and enthusiasm. It’s not just me, you guys. Other people like to do this too.

So there they are, delightfully anonymous for now. Identities will be revealed (first names only) and adventures will unfold. And you will find out why they appear to be trying to get into this interesting cemetery building. Stay tuned.

Reporting for Grave Musings, I’m Lynniebee.

Next: Grave Musings 4 Oak Ridge II

Start at the beginning: Grave Musings 1 Maple Lawn I

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

WordPress always offers me a thoughtful prompt for the beginning of each blog post, which says “Share your story here…” I like to imagine the marketing meeting in which some enterprising and earnest employee said, “But what if someone starts a blog and doesn’t actually have anything to say? Shouldn’t we give something to start them off? Something that will put the wind in their authorial sails? We can’t let them just stare at a completely empty screen every time they begin a new blog post!”

Yes, we can’t let you just stare at a completely empty screen either, can we? So let me share my story with you today.

This young man used to be one of my babies. Oh, how full my heart is to see him with his own baby now. And I did not completely understand the depth to which my heart would be captured by a grandchild until this little darling came along.

The Good Book says that “Grandchildren are the crown of the aged.” She is quite the diadem, isn’t she?

I’ve gotta be honest: I’m not going to delete this in the morning.