Do you remember the story of the Three Sillies? I remember hearing or reading this one when I was young. Here’s my version of it:
A family of three, parents and son, live in a modest cottage. One day they receive an unexpected visitor and as is their custom, invite him to stay for supper. The parents send junior down to the wine cellar to get a bottle of wine to add to the table. He enters the cellar, grabs the bottle of wine and turns to leave, but notices with sudden horror that an axe had been thrust up into the wood above him and was hanging from the ceiling right over the door. He contemplates what a close escape he has had from instant death, for what if the axe had fallen on him? But now he dare not leave, for he does not know how securely the axe is implanted in the wood – any movement he makes could jar it loose! So he sits in the cellar afraid to move.
I’ve gotten far enough along in the Martin Chronicles and there’s enough time between entries that it’s probably going to be confusing to those of you who either haven’t read all the installments or have forgotten what came before. My apologies. If you are curious enough, you can either go back into my blog to find previous posts about Martin and Beulah, or you can ask me and I’ll send you the PDF’s. As a reminder, I started this story earlier in the year as an example of what an epistolary story looks like (one told through letters). I’ve come to the point where telling this story through letters is becoming limiting, so I’m planning to branch out after this and transition to using an omniscient narrator. Thanks for hanging in there with me, those of you who have, anyway. And now, here’s the next installment:
The Journal of Beulah Bartimaeus. This morning, I sent Martin Anderson an intra-office email requesting that he come to my office at his earliest convenience. I used the word “Query” in the subject line, hoping that would be sufficiently vague. He showed up almost right away, which was gratifying. After he closed the door behind him, I went right to the point. “Why did you ask me that question about the squirrel clip art on the poster for the time management seminar?” This seemed to catch him off guard – his face was smirkless and he took his time answering. Naturally, his answer was in the form of a question, “Why do you ask?” What the heck?! I thought it was a really straight-forward question that would have a straight-forward answer, but no. We were evidently going to have to do this the hard way. (Ha ha – sounds like I was planning to get out my collection of torture tools and lay them out in front of him while doing the whole villain speech.)
“Let’s just say that it was an odd question to ask in light of the materials I had just presented. I don’t know you, Mr. Anderson, but I suspect you weren’t just being flippant.” I left it at that, hoping this oblique compliment would flush out the goods.
“Why, thank you, Miss Bartimaeus – I am encouraged by your faith in my character.” Not only did the smirk return, but I was affronted by the use of the title “Miss.” Apparently this guy completely missed the Modernity Train, either that or he chose to watch it go by – I’m not sure which of those options makes him look worse.
And then, awkward, uncomfortable silence. At least it was awkward and uncomfortable for me. I wondered if he was trying to decide whether or not to take me into his confidence. Or maybe this really was just a practical joke and he was contemplating how to take it further. Meanwhile, I was fidgeting with my mechanical pencil, pressing the button to lengthen the lead piece and then pushing it back in. Nervous habit. I’ve never been good at staring contests – I always break first. I couldn’t stand it and finally blurted out, “Do you know anything about the BOII?”
But amazingly, he broke at the same time and asked me, “Have you ever heard of the Bureau of Interesting Ideas?”
We had spoken over each other, but each of us got the gist. And just like that, we went from being somewhat adversarial to being like members of a club so secret that we didn’t even know each other was on the membership roll…until now.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dear Bucky, How are you and Suzanne and the little bruiser? That’s enough small talk – time to catch you on on what’s been going on at work. I decided to go to the Time Management seminar being given by Beulah Bartimaeus and realized when I saw her that she was the HR person who interviewed me for the job. I was the only one who showed up for the seminar, so I felt kind of sorry for her. She seemed nervous and the information she presented was rather dull. Must be an awful job to have to do that kind of thing. When she asked if I had any questions, I know I probably should have shown some interest in the time management strategies she presented, but I’d only attended the seminar because of the squirrel-infested poster she put up. So that was the question I asked – why did you use squirrel clip art for the poster? Right after the words left my mouth, I realized I shouldn’t have asked – she must have thought I was just making fun of the whole seminar. She looked somewhat stricken but rallied and told me that the company that asked her to put on the seminar provided the poster for it. Very curious. I thought about asking something else, but figured I’d already cemented myself in her mind as a great dolt, so I thanked her and left. I heard her muttering something after I closed the door – no doubt an insult I deserved.
Over the next couple of days, she kept showing up in accounting to go use the copy machine. She’s probably done that before, but I never noticed. She’s one of those sort of nondescript people that you forget right after you’ve seen them. But now she was on my radar and it appeared that I was on hers. I kept catching her looking my way and then she’d turn away in embarrassment when I’d catch her. It was kind of fun, actually. Maybe she has a crush on me! Don’t laugh – stranger things have happened. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely after the last impression I made on her. I couldn’t figure out why she seemed interested in me.
This morning, I got an email from her asking me to come to her office at my earliest convenience. Believe me, by this time, “earliest convenience” was as soon as I got done reading the email. When I got into her office and closed the door, she started right off by asking me why I’d asked that question about the squirrel clip art on the poster. Directness is a quality I really admire in people, but I was still somewhat cautious about divulging the information about the BOII. What if no one else is supposed to know about their secretive correspondence with me? So I didn’t give her the direct answer she deserved – I took the indirect approach and said, “Why do you ask?” She looked quite annoyed by my non-answer. Can’t say I blamed her. She went on to say that she thought it was an odd question and then paid me the compliment, however small, of saying that she didn’t think it was because I was being flippant. I thanked her for her faith in my character, which, now that I think about it, may have come across as mocking instead of gentlemanly. There’s really no hope for me, is there?
After a brief moment of thinking through the options, I decided to go ahead and ask her if she’d ever heard of the Bureau of Interesting Ideas. At the exact same time, she asked if I knew anything about the BOII. As they say, the plot thickens!
I hate to leave you hanging with that surprising revelation, but I need to get going. More details to come and all that. Love, Martin
As a final note, I’ve always been fond of the idea of being able to look at events from the different perspectives of the characters involved. This installment allowed me to explore that with Martin and Beulah’s telling of the same story from their own viewpoints.
This has been Fiction Friday with your host, Lynniebeemuseoday.
I’ll probably do the thing that I always talk about, at the time that I unusually mention. Better not divulge any more detail than that.
We are becalmed On these windless days Like hapless boats upon the seas We wait for a breeze
The dew’s embalmed, Suspended in a haze While the highest leafy boughs of trees Catch the only breeze
Wind chimes are silent The heat has us ablaze Humidity brings us to our knees Come along, fresh breeze
Ah, LORD God, Your church seems becalmed Suspended in a haze She sits unmoving upon the seas, Spurning Your Holy breeze
She is silent – While truths are set ablaze The world and culture she seeks to please – ‘Tis a stagnant breeze.
Yet, not all’re embalmed The faithful church still obeys O unquenched Spirit, bring us to our knees Move us with Thy breeze.
This has been Thursday Verse Day with Lynniebeemuseoday. Today is a beautiful, breezy day, but I promise you that when I wrote this poem, you could hardly move through the oppressively hot and windless humidity. Think about those kinds of days as you read this.
I’ll probably sail off toward the Seas of Deletion in the morning.
Back in 2014 I had an idea, an artsy idea. These kinds of ideas occur on a regular basis and are usually beyond the scope of my skills. But this one seemed doable, so I started what I was sure would be an epic journey. Oh, you want to know what it was? Here ya go: I planned do a page of artwork for each Psalm in the psalter. I didn’t want to bite off more than I could chew, so my idea was to make each one somewhat simple, containing the following elements: 1. The word “Psalm” and the number, 2. The Latin phrase at the beginning of each one (we have those in our Book of Common Prayer) 3. The English translation of the Latin phrase (usually part of the first verse), 4. One or two simple illustrations inspired by the psalm, 5. And maybe a verse (or two).
Like that. It seemed reasonable to do one per week. It took me seven months to do six of them and I haven’t returned to this project since May of 2015. Somewhere along the line the sheer number of Psalms involved made it all so unmanageable. As you may know, there are 150 Psalms. In my original plan, it would have taken me 150 weeks, or around 3 years to finish. And then I couldn’t even do one per month, so I gave up.
But now I have more time and I’d like to pick it up again, even if I never finish it. I hear the echo of Winston Churchill saying “Nevah, nevah, nevah give up!” It’s called perseverance. Cheer me on, would you? I’ll share them as I go.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless it’s another muggy day.
Back in 2015 I went to New York City with my daughter, two sisters, a brother and a brother-in-law. We’d gone for a Celebration of Life for my aunt who had recently died. One evening found us in Brooklyn for a meal at my uncle’s place and afterward, the six of us went to the subway station to get a subway back to Manhattan where we were staying.
As we waited for the next train back, a couple of men joined us, who looked to be in their early 30’s. One of them spoke loudly and expansively, saying “What’s everybody’s story tonight? Everybody’s got a story, right? Why are we all here in Brooklyn?” Silence from the Minnesota contingent. He looked a little sauced, but harmless. Undaunted, he went on. “Okay, I’ll go first. A buddy of mine just opened a bar so I’ve been there for the last couple of hours. How about you guys? What brought you to Brooklyn? What are you doing here?” He had a very good-natured aspect about him; I suppose you’d call him a friendly drunk.
Corn fields are full of mystery. When the wind picks up, corn fields are definitely hiding something, with all that rustling and whispering. I’d rather walk through a graveyard at night than a corn field, but maybe I’ve seen too many movies. Actually, the only movie that completely freaked me out about corn fields was “Signs.” When I saw a trailer for that movie, I knew it wasn’t the movie for me, but I got outvoted on Family Movie Night. It ended up being my favorite movie of that year. Every time I tried to explain to people why it meant so much to me, I got choked up. If you see the trailer, you’ll think it’s a cheesy movie about an alien invasion. But it’s not – it’s about one man’s loss of faith and how he has gone from being angry and bitter against God to the worst state of all: indifference. It’s about the moment when he recognizes that God has been there all along and that He has a purpose in everything.
But the corn field part – that was just creepy. We used to live out in the country when our kids were little and we were sometimes surrounded by corn fields. When the corn was high, I was on alert to make sure that none of our kids wandered in and got lost. It seemed to happen every year to some little kid – they would enter the corn fields and become disoriented. You can lose all sense of direction within minutes and every corn stalk looks just like another. One time when we were finishing up supper, we noticed that one of the twins had slipped away from the table – he was only 2-3 years old at the time. We ran outside and called his name, looking toward the vast corn forest and praying that he hadn’t gone there. I went back in the house to get something and there he was – he had fallen asleep during supper and we hadn’t seen him lying down on the bench at the table.
But I’ll tell you something with more than a kernel of truth, if you’ll lend me an ear. Freshly picked new sweet corn, boiled, buttered and salted, is indescribably good. As you move your teeth down row after row, smearing your face with butter as you go, you need to thank God for this summer gift. O taste and see that the Lord is good!
This has been Monday Meanderings and Musings with Lynniebeemuseoday.
If the corn field ever stops with its rustling and whisperings, I’ll consider deleting this.
Freddy’s 8th birthday was coming up and it couldn’t come soon enough. For one thing, since Matty’s birthday wasn’t for another four months, Freddy would be two years older than him for awhile. He enjoyed having this extra boost in age difference. If anyone asked him, he’d be able to say, “I’m 8 years old and my little brother is 6.” Even though he thought this was a very important advantage, Matty didn’t seem to care one way or another, which took a little bit of the fun out of it.
It might be kind of hard to read my teeny tiny writing if you’re looking at this on a phone.
This was an experiment using watercolor pencils and a paintbrush with a water reservoir. In other words, I didn’t feel like getting off the couch. I think I’ll have to try it again using regular paint and paintbrushes, but at least I got a haiku out of it.
Did you ever play marbles when you were a child? I did! We used to make a circle with string, put all the marbles in the circle and then try to knock them out of the circle with a larger marble, which we called a shooter.
I’ll probably knock this post right out of the circle in the morning with a blog post shooter. Bam!
Oh what a tangled web we weave When first we practice to deceive…
When my husband and I were newlyweds, we joined a progressive dinner group at our church to get to know more people. We were assigned to bring dessert to the first gathering. Since we both worked full-time and I wasn’t much of a cook (you can see me building up to justifying something, can’t you?), I bought a couple of Mrs. Smith’s frozen pies and baked them.
Soul-Strengthening Hymns: “If thou but trust in God to guide thee And hope in Him through all thy ways, He’ll give thee strength, whate’er betide thee And bear thee through the evil days. Who trusts in God’s unchanging love Builds on the rock that naught can move.”
Lynniebeemuseoday 