A friend has given me permission to share the following story which she originally sent to me back in 1989. At the time, she was learning how to play the harp and had been asked by friends to play at their wedding. In her words:

…there are moments in everyone’s life which are remembered as times of triumph and times of humility. July ___, 1989, at approximately 2:55 p.m. will be recalled as a time of triumph because I summoned the courage to stay in the church after “playing” (and I use that term loosely!) my harp… The gruesome details are as follows:

I arrived at the church on Saturday almost two full hours before the wedding would begin. The humidity was playing havoc with my harp’s tuning and consequently did little to settle my nerves. I decided to set up in the back of the church so I wouldn’t have to endure so many people staring at me. Actually, without the organ muffling the sound, the harp sounded better from the back of the church – more open space, I guess.

Anyway, as the minutes ticked by I attempted to keep my pacing to a minimum because the organist kept looking my way and giving me little half-smiles of sympathy… (could it be that she sensed the outcome of this endeavor?!?). By 2:45 the church was packed – standing room only! (400 capacity.). The organist finished playing her prelude and gave me a nod.

I instantly became two separate beings – one a coherent, yet desperate, would-be harpist who knew that not finishing a musical selection – no matter how poorly it is being played – is not polite —- the other being a frantic and suddenly reluctant harpist whose hands felt like baseball gloves and was trying to convince herself that all those wrong notes didn’t sound all that bad…

Time lost all meaning for me. The only thing that mattered was my desperate search for the right notes! It could have been 30 seconds or 30 minutes later when I finally came to the conclusion that enough was enough and put an end to my debut with a flurry of fragmented chords after playing portions of two selections out of the three I had practiced. Needless to say, my own personal death would have been a welcome intrusion into the festivities.

But being made of tougher stuff than was, no doubt, noticeable to the casual observer, I continued my stay at this, the wedding event of the century, from the relative security of the cloakroom. Later, in the receiving line, the bride and groom asked me where I had been and why hadn’t I played the harp…! It was then that I realized that the full church and my position in the back corner had allowed the sound to be carried only a short distance. I suspect only the few in the back pew knew the truth! At least this is the hope which I cling to!

Sigh…of course after I returned home that day I was able to play all three pieces without a note out of place… Life can sure be funny, even when we see nothing to laugh about.

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Thank you to my friend for letting me share her story on Tuesday True Stories and giving us all a good chuckle. I’ll admit that when I read that story to my children some 15 years ago, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even get through it. Some of you may have your own stories of performances gone awry – feel free to share in the comments!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning and then go hide in the cloakroom.

I was walking in the cemetery a couple weeks ago and as I was getting close to the exit where I would turn left to go back up to our house, a social dilemma presented itself. A young woman was at that very moment walking on the sidewalk and our paths were going to coincide perfectly, meaning if I turned to the left as planned, we’d be essentially walking side by side. Does this not scream socially awkward to you? It certainly did to me. I stopped for a moment as if arrested by the sight of a perfectly ordinary leaf in the grass. I took a photo to give me a moment to think about my course of action.

If I turned to go up the hill right then, I’d still be right behind her the whole way. I could stand there for a few minutes to give her a healthy lead on me, but that still seemed too awkward. So I turned the other way and went the long way around.

Yes, there are people in this world that are that self-absorbed and socially awkward! The funny part was that I ended up running into her going the long way around, too – but it was easier since we were going different directions and just passed each other like a normal interaction. She’d have thanked me if she’d known what sacrifice I’d made to save us both from social chaos.

I’ll probably delete this embarrassing post in the morning.

Lloyd and Babette Jensen were nuts about movies. You could call them “movie aficionados.” Their whole courtship was founded, framed and finished by going to movies together, discussing movies, making life analogies based on movies, quoting from movies…you get the point. He proposed at a movie theater and when the movie was over, she said “Yes!”

They got married, had a few kids, brought a dog and a crazy parakeet into the mix and all in all, were leading a fairly decent life. But they realized one day that in all the glorious hubbub of raising children, they’d left their movies behind. This was good and right – you can’t live your life as a family the way you lived it as single people, nor would you want to. They had no regrets on that score. Babette, however, wondered aloud if they’d lost their ability to speak movie. This had been a favorite past-time during their courtship, when instead of talking to each other the way normal people do, they’d substitute movie titles and quotes to get their point across. Very nerdy.

Lloyd said, “Maybe this is as good as it gets…” Babette sighed. Lloyd repeated the comment. Babette perked up. “Hey,” she said, “I need you to stand by me.”

“Don’t make much ado about nothing, darling,” Lloyd countered.

“Listen,” Babette said earnestly, “You’re still my hometown hero, but it’s risky business raising children.”

Lloyd raised his eyebrow at this. “You don’t think this is our darkest hour, do you? You’re as pretty in pink as you ever were!”

Babette smiled coyly. “With you working 9-5 and me running a daily breakfast club, it feels like our romance is gone with the wind.

Lloyd took a moment to reply – these were deep waters, indeed. “Well, even if our house feels like a money pit and we’re tangled up, I’ve got a sixth sense that our marriage is still a national treasure.”

Babette’s eyes twinkled. “While you were sleeping, the kids were fast and furious, so I think it’s time we were trading places. Get your sneakers on and chase them down before they end up breaking away.”

“Aren’t you Little Miss Sunshine?” Lloyd was on a roll, now. “Even though it’s a dog day afternoon and I think you’re hoping I’ll get hoodwinked into this, I fear no foul play. Something’s gotta give.”

“We’ll see what remains of the day when you get back. You’re remarkably footloose for an old gringo. Go catch the big fish and return to me. Don’t tell me any true lies and you’ll find out the importance of being earnest,” Babette was throwing caution to the wind.

“Ah, my sweet little elf! As soon as I leave, I’ll be homeward bound, and when I come back, I want you to dance with me, so I can share the secret of my success. People say we’re an odd couple but you’re still my princess bride.” Lloyd gathered Babette up into his arms for a nice long kiss.

Yup, very nerdy.

Fiction Friday has been brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably give this blog post to the terminator.

God took a rainbow –
Sprinkled it on a flower –
Behold: lantana.

I’ll probably delete this when the next lantana appears in the sky.

Hello and welcome to my workshop! Last week I had started work on a fox named “Mr. Oak,” but he’s undergone a name change in the meantime (suggestion from a friend of mine – thanks, Teresa!). I phinally phinished work on him today, so allow me to present to you, Mr. Phineas Fox!

His jacket is supposed to be all one color, but I was running short of the green, so I improvised with a blue collar and a stylish woodsy-brown back. If you only took a cursory glance at his ears, please go back and gaze upon them with wonder – I thought I’d never figure out how to get them on. I finally had to abandon the instructions in the book and do it my own way. The tie around his waist looks like a bola, which gives him an edgy look. Too bad he doesn’t have a 5:00 shadow and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

That was a lot of work. I think I’m going to take a break before going on to the next one in the book, which is a hedgehog.

And here’s the next page in the Psalm series:

I hope you can tell that the round thing is a shield. I failed at getting it to look convex (or is it concave?)

I might be too tired to delete this in the morning, so I think you should do it.

I joined a small church choir in my junior year of high school at my mother’s behest when she was the choir director. Although I was a little apprehensive, I figured it might be a good experience. That first night with the choir was almost like a Garrison Keillor story come to life, only we weren’t “Luderans,” we were Methodists. Most of the choir members were over 60, a few were in their 40s and 50s and then there was me and one of the pastor’s sons, both in high school.

Continue reading “Tuesday, August 24, 2021 My Mom, the Choir Director” →

I came to sit on our balcony on this fine day, equipped with four books to cycle through (I’ve only made forays into two of them so far). Across the street, there are major “doings” going on. The house and property there were purchased by the city about four years ago and although we heard rumors about what the city might eventually do with it, nothing has happened so far except that the city uses it to dump the excess winter snows.

Continue reading “Monday, August 23, 2021 Balcony Day” →

I usually offer up a short fiction piece on Fridays, but I’m behind on fiction and ahead on true stories – the course of action here seems obvious to me.

This is not my story, but I’ve received permission to share it. I have a friend – we’ll call her Sara – and back when we were in college, she found herself the main character in a morality tale. Much to her dismay, she was unwittingly cast as the antagonist. Shall we begin?

Sara entered a bathroom on campus on a cold winter day in Minnesota. She went into one of the stalls and saw a beautiful knitted hat had been left there. It appeared that fortune had bestowed upon her a lovely gift and she promptly put it in her knapsack.

She exited the stall and was washing her hands when another student rushed in and went right to the stall she had just left. The young woman asked Sara, “Did you find a hat in here? I just left the bathroom and realized I put it down and came back right away to get it.” And at that moment, Sara was faced with a choice: she could own up to the fact that she’d taken it, or she could lie. She was embarrassed to have been caught with the goods, however, so she took the second path. “Nope – I haven’t seen it,” she said. The young woman was suspicious, asking, “Are you sure? I haven’t even been gone five minutes – it had to have been in here when you came in.” Sara, having begun with a lie had to keep it up, although this interrogation had significantly shaken her. “No, it wasn’t here – sorry! I hope you find it!” The student glared at her and they exited the bathroom together.

By this time, Sara wanted nothing to do with the hat and decided that she would wait until the girl left and then return it to the bathroom. But the girl didn’t leave. She stood there watching and waiting, so Sara had no choice but to go on her way. Her new plan was to walk around campus and circle back to the bathroom and get rid of that blasted hat. She started out and turned around, just in case. The student was following her. This was starting to take on a nightmarish quality.

Sara continued on her way, trying to effect an innocent meander so as not to arouse more suspicion, while at the same time looking for a way to dodge the dogged pursuit being given by this determined young woman. No one wants to be the mouse in a cat-and-mouse game, but here she was – definitely the mouse.

At the earliest opportunity, Sara ducked into one of the buildings on campus and quickly maneuvered her way through hallways and around to the back where she exited and then entered another building where she watched from the door. She saw the girl exit the back door of the first building and look around, clearly exasperated that her prey had vanished. The girl stood for a moment waiting and watching, but eventually gave up and went on her way.

Heaving a big sigh of relief, Sara made her way back to the bathroom as quickly as she could. The hat had become a bane and she couldn’t wait to get it out of her bag and off her conscience. No one was outside the bathroom when she got there, so she went in and carefully laid it in the stall right where she’d found it. What an ordeal! She’d never do that again, that’s for sure.

She opened the door to leave the bathroom and there stood the girl, waiting with a smirk on her face. The girl knew what Sara had done and Sara knew that she knew. Nothing was said and Sara walked away, thoroughly humiliated – a sadder, but wiser gal.

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It should be said that “Sara” gave me the freedom to tell this story with some embellishment. The basic bones of the story are accurate, but I have added some creative detail to flesh it out a bit.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless you follow me around waiting for me to do it.

In a marvelous bit of serendipity, my husband and I took a different route on our walk recently and had the pleasure of encountering a couple of enterprising young ladies (in the 8-10 age range) with a table out in their driveway by the street. We assumed it was a lemonade stand, but oh no, nothing so plebeian and ordinary for these two. They were selling items to benefit their “Fun Club.” We informed them that we hadn’t a penny on us to spend, but this was no problem for them. “We have free cups of water for you if you want!” said one of them brightly. We looked over their wares, which included a somewhat rickety book about sharks, some sticker sheets (with some of the stickers missing) and a few other items no doubt dredged from the household. As we stood chatting with them, one of them asked, “Would you like a ticket for our concert?” Just when we thought this little tableau couldn’t get any better, it rose to new heights. When we enquired about the cost of the concert, it turned out to be free. What a country! I got my ticket, which charmingly said, “Consert ticket,” on it.

“The concert is at 6:30 tonight,” the other girl said with a certain amount of pomp. Then she looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Oh, it’s 6:30 right now!” I asked what kind of concert it was going to be and she informed me that she’d be singing. It seemed like a win-win situation to stick around for the event, so we said we’d stay for it. “Well,” the singer started out confidently, “Do you have any songs you’d like to hear? I might not know it, but you can ask.” At this point, I was completely smitten with these girls and the whole experience. “How about ‘My Country ‘Tis of Thee?” I suggested. Her face brightened. “We sang that in school,” she said. And the “Consert” began.

“My country ‘tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing.”

So far so good. She had a very nice voice, but the tune was sort of random and unrecognizable.

“Land of the pilgrim’s pride
Land of sweet liberty,
Of thee I sing.”

She finished it there, having forgotten the rest of the lyrics, but she did a fine job on the spot of cobbling together a second verse from the bits that she knew. We clapped enthusiastically.

They introduced their huge dog to us – a big black mastiff Great Dane mix named “Sully.” “He’s the sweetest dog – he would never hurt you,” they both reassured us, when the dog came over to greet us. He was indeed a very friendly and laid back dog.

I asked if they wanted their concert ticket back, now that the concert was over, but they said I could keep it. “We’ll be here again tomorrow night,” they promised. As we were leaving, one of the girls called out about something else they had that cost $5.00, perhaps noticing that they hadn’t actually made any money during their encounter with us. We didn’t have any money, so we said our farewells and walked on, greatly encouraged by this old-fashioned display of ingenuity and entrepreneurial spirit.

I’ll probably delete this during the next morning “consert.”

This used to be called “Watercolor Wednesday,” but due to the lack of watercolor projects in my life at this point, I’m making an executive decision to call it “Workshop Wednesday” instead. I can do that because I don’t have to consult anybody about these things. And I like alliteration.

So, short and sweet today – more photos, fewer words. I’ve started the next felt animal in the book of patterns that I have. It’s a fox named “Mr. Oak.” Mr. Oak’s set of accessories called for little felt balls. I took a look at what JoAnn’s had to offer – big bags of garishly colored synthetic balls. Yuck. So I consulted with my friend Mr. Google and he directed me to the Guru of Craftiness – none other than Martha Stewart. I don’t want to hear your jokes about Martha – she’s a genius when it comes to making things beautiful and making beautiful things. I was able to use some of my yarn (following her instructions) to make exactly what I needed.

Here’s what Mr. Oak is supposed to look like when I’m done.

See that cute beret with the felt ball on the top? Anyway, this is how far I’ve gotten.

I made the beret but there are certain “fit” problems that I’ll have to fix.

Ha ha! It looks like a very strange chef’s hat!! I still need to add the ears to the beret as well, which seems like an odd kind of circumstance for Mr. Oak. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you – let me put my beret and ears on.” Also, Mr. Oak has a “cravat,” and I discovered when I tried to put it on that I don’t know how to tie one. Another consultation with Mr. Google will be required, I think. By next week, I hope to show a photo of the finished project.

And here’s the next one in the Psalm Project that I started back in the day.

I was definitely in Zentangle mode when I made that one. I’m getting fired up to keep going – I’ve done six already and have started roughing out the plans for Psalms 7-10. This clearly will keep me out of trouble for quite a long time. You know what they say about idle hands…

Well, so much for the promise of fewer words. Wordy people like me should never make promises like that.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but only if the sun comes up looking like a beautiful felt ball.

They met at a public speaking class in college. His introductory speech included a statement about the importance of his relationship with Jesus Christ, which made her cringe and inwardly roll her eyes. She gave a speech touting the Equal Rights Amendment; he gave a speech about waxing cross country skis. They were from two different planets. But a public speaking class has a way of binding all the participants together in a shared sense of fear at exposing your weaknesses and vulnerabilities to each other. It was a small class and by the end of it, they all more or less knew each other and rooted for each other. And then they went their separate ways.

Continue reading “Tuesday, August 17, 2021 God, The Matchmaker” →