I watched a show recently in which one of the characters was trying to get in shape to meet an old flame. The actor was about 50 years old at the time. In a scene in which he was slowly and painfully doing successive sit-ups, the sweat was pouring from his brow and I’m willing to bet that the sweat was real.

Remember sit-ups? Remember having abdominal muscles? I got to thinking about whether or not I’d still be able to do a sit-up. I couldn’t. Then I got to thinking maybe it would be good for me to get reacquainted with those abdominal muscles. You never know when a sit-up might be required to do something important, like get up off the floor.

You hear about older people getting to the point where they can’t get up off the floor when they fall. It’s happened to my mother several times. First of all, there’s the problem of falling. Do we just lose our balance as we get older? Then there’s the inability to get up. I’m not sure how you lose that ability, but I don’t want it to happen to me, so I’ve started working at trying to do a basic sit-up. Just one. I haven’t had success yet, but I think I’m getting closer. The muscles that have been dormant, lo these many years, are going to get put back into action! I’ll let you know when they’ve finally shown up again, ready for duty.

I’ll probably put my blog post on a backyard swing in the morning and let it go ‘round and ‘round.

When I was quite young, I used to tell my mom about Lynnieland. In my imagination, this was the land where all pre-born people resided until it was their time to be born. When their time came, they left Lynnieland by little chutes that brought them into their home on earth. Everyone in Lynnieland was named Lynn (of course), but only the best people retained the name Lynn after they were born (and the runner-ups got to have it as a middle name). It gets even better, for there was only one Queen of Lynnieland and guess who that was? Never let it be said that I didn’t have very grand delusions of grandeur. I imagine my mother chuckled to herself over this display of childish self-importance. Or perhaps she prayed that I’d grow out of it, which of course I did.

I couldn’t help think back to that story when we drove through the town of Lynn while we were on our Friendship Tour.

But it gets even better, for in that little town of Lynn, there’s a church for Lynn’s Friends…or something like that. 😉

Yes, here’s the place where all of you, my friends, can gather so we can worship our Lord together. For there is no Queen in Lynn, just the same King who rules in righteousness over all realms and all peoples. And that’s no delusion, that’s grandeur.

I’ll probably send this blog post down the chute in the morning.

Mr. Chive noticed that Miss Rhubarb arrived in the garden around the same time he did. “Why, we could make a wonderful couple,” he thought. He took note of her lush green foliage and slim pink gams and approved of everything he saw. It was time to make his move.

He called out, “Hey, beautiful! How about contriving to spend time chiving with me? I see us pairing together well in jams, jellies, syrups, and maybe even cobblers. What do you say?”

Miss Rhubarb gasped with horror at this inappropriate suggestion and slapped every one of his slim green shoots before turning coldly away. “And don’t ever speak to me again!” She said as she left.

And that, folks, is how I feel about the prospect of finding a way to pair rhubarb and chives in the kitchen. They shouldn’t even be speaking to each other, much less planning a wedding. *shudder*

I’ll probably delete this in the morning if I’m not still reeling from the shock of Mr. Chive’s proposal to Miss Rhubarb.

Those are the latest in my continuing flash card series for our granddaughter. The internet is a deep treasure trove filled with simple drawings that even I can copy. I’m amazed at how many people just throw their stuff out there, apparently quite happy to let me copy their work. Unless they’re not happy about it and I receive legal repercussions…nah, that’s just paranoid. Right? It’s not like I’m selling these. Right?

I think that’s the first time I’ve used what seems like click bait in my blog title. I’m expecting my blog readership to spike as crowds of formerly uninterested people jump in to find out just how simple drawings can lead to paranoia. No doubt, they will one and all leave with a sense of great disappointment, wiping the blog dust off of their feet as they go.

I can’t say I blame them.

I’ll sweep up the blog dust from this post tomorrow morning.

The Ark. You know it as Noah’s Ark. It’s presented in children’s books as a cute little wooden vessel with giraffes and elephants poking their heads out of the top and a little rainbow overhead. Try to forget all of that when you go to see the Ark Encounter in Kentucky.

Have you ever thought about the logistical nightmare of building a boat that needed to hold 8 people and lots of animal pairs for a year? This isn’t a kid’s story, it’s real life, or it was for Noah and his family. The people who built the life-sized ark replica in Kentucky did their homework, figuring out just how big the ark really was, what size and shape made the most sense, how many different kinds of animals needed to be on board, how they would be housed, fed, watered and had their waste taken care of, etc. We tend to think that people of ancient times weren’t nearly as smart as we are, but I think sometimes the opposite is true: we’re not nearly as smart as they were.

I’m not going to give a lot of details about the Ark Encounter, but definitely recommend it as an amazing experience.

If you’ve been to the Ark also, let me know what you thought!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning – wait, is that rain I hear?

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” Genesis 1:26

There is a creeping thing that creeps on the earth that infiltrates our domicile every year. It’s small, it’s shiny, it’s round, it’s orange with black spots. By now, all my fellow Minnesotans have guessed who the culprit is.

Yes, it’s the Asian beetle, evil twin of the genteel lady bug. To quote Dr. Seuss,
“I do not like them, Sam I am.
I would not like them here or there,
I would not like them anywhere.”

And to add my own verse,
“I do not like them in my house,
I do not like them on my blouse,
I do not like them on the sill,
I see them and I want to kill.”

In the spirit of the dominion mandate, I have placed our canister vacuum on semi-permanent standby next to the bathroom, where they always seem to congregate. As soon as I see one – whoosh! In they go! I used to put tape over the end of the vacuum tube just in case they didn’t perish and decided to make their way out again, but over time, I realized that this extra precaution was a bit silly.

One day recently I whooshed six of them out of existence in one fell swoop. It was a good day.

I might have to whoosh this blog post out of existence in the morning.

My dad taught my younger sister a funny little comedy routine that she recorded as part of our family nights when she was about 8 years old. He would make a statement and my sister would say, “That’s good!” And then he’d follow up with a negative statement about the same topic, to which she’d reply “That’s bad.” It went on for quite some time and was very amusing. I’ll show you how it goes with my own real-life experience.

We have a wedding in the family coming up in June; ergo I am looking for a dress to wear.
That’s good!

I really dislike going shopping for clothing.
That’s bad.

I could try online shopping which would eliminate all the driving around, garish lights in the try-on rooms, intrusive salespeople, etc.
That’s good!

But it’s so hard to find a style that I like at an affordable price!
That’s bad.

I saw an ad on Instagram for a dress that would be perfect – only $35!
That’s good!

I went to the website and found several styles that I really liked, but the name of the company was weird and there were no reviews.
That’s bad.

I decided that the prices were so reasonable that even if it turned out badly, I wouldn’t be out much. I put two dresses in the shopping cart.
That’s good!

But then I did some online research on the company just in case. It seemed that it might be a scam company.
That’s bad.

Another ad appeared on Instagram with similar style dresses at reasonable prices!
That’s good!

Wait a minute – did I say “similar?” I began seeing multiple ads, each from a different company with a weird name, often showing the exact same dresses.
That’s bad.

But I really love these dresses!
That’s good!

I decided to start taking photos of each ad and write down the name of the company. Instagram now had my number and the ads began to multiply in my feed, all with the mostly the same exact dresses.
That’s bad.

But I really love these dresses!
That’s good!

At last count, I had saved ads from 21 weirdly-named different companies, all showing the same wonderful dresses, all with the tagline “Tailored for the mature woman of all ages.” Sometimes it read “Tailored for the mature woman of ages.” 😆 On the websites, each company boasted of being a global company. Most of them had no reviews. If I looked at a dress, I got a message saying something like “200 other shoppers are looking at this dress!” My son took a look and proclaimed that the photos in the ads were faked.
That’s Bad, BAD, BAD!!!

So, we have a wedding in the family in June and I’m looking for a dress to wear, tailored for a mature woman of ages.
That’s good…

I might not delete this in the morning. That’s good!
But on the other hand, I might. That’s bad!

I’ve watched enough Perry Mason now to get a real feel for courtroom etiquette – at least the television version of it. Perry’s hapless “adversary” is the district attorney, Hamilton Burger. That poor guy has never won a case against Perry. He’s got some pizazz about him though. One of my favorite lines of his is when he objects to a question that Perry has asked of a witness. “Your Honor, I object! That question is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!” It’s never just one of those things – it is always all three. Most of us would be gobsmacked by getting that trio of words slung at us on a regular basis, but Perry just keeps on plugging away and the next thing you know, the real murderer has confessed and Burger has lost his case.

I think there are any number of situations in which you could toss off that phrase and add entertainment value to your whole day.

“I don’t like the food you made for supper.”
”Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!”

“Someone said it’s going to snow tomorrow.”
“Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!”

“He started it!”
”Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!”

“You wouldn’t believe what I heard so-and-so say.”
”Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!”

Good old Hamilton Burger. He’s very long-suffering in his job, but to give him credit, he always says it’s not about winning a case, it’s about seeing justice served. And in my book, that’s competent, relevant and material!

You know what I’m going to have to say if someone tells me to delete this blog post…

How were your Easter celebrations? We went to a sunrise service that started at 6:00 a.m. when it was still dark. Just as we were getting ready to start communion, the sun rose and was shining right through the stained glass window showing the Ark of the Covenant. It was quite lovely. I didn’t get a photo, of course, but I have a photo that I took last year after the service of the sun pouring through one of the windows. Whoever thought up stained glass windows was brilliant.

In certain church traditions, we exchange what is known as the Paschal Greeting on Easter morning:
“He is risen!”
”He is risen, indeed! Alleluia!”

You might be wondering, as I often have, why we don’t say, “He has risen,” which sounds more grammatically correct to our modern ears. I did a little bit of nosing about on the internet and discovered that it has to do with the 17th century grammar of the King James Bible.

If you were to do this greeting among certain Orthodox churches, it might be accompanied by 3 kisses on the cheek. We don’t go to a kissing church, but that was something else I discovered while doing some idle research.

Does it make any difference whether or not Jesus Christ actually rose from the dead? Of course it does! Our pastor reminded us yesterday of Paul’s words in his letter to the Corinthians. “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins…if we have believed in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15:17, 19)

He is risen!
He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

If I delete this post in the morning, you can be assured, it will not rise again.

The frosted wren is a winter bird
It loses its rime in the summer
The frosted wren has a yen for the cold
In the summer, its glimmer is glummer.

You cannot catch the frosted wren
You must not touch its feathers
For the frosted wren will freeze your bones
And winterize all your weathers.

When the frosted wren alights on your deck
‘Tis a rare sight of wintry glory.
For the Father of Frost made this sparkly bird
A transient denizen of His story

Many thanks to my friend Barb for sending me that delightful photo of the rare Frosted Wren, thus inspiring a poem.

I’ll probably melt this Frosted Blog Post in the morning.

When I was a child, I watched a short French film called “The Red Balloon.” The plot, if you can call it that, involved a beautiful round red balloon that began following a little boy. It knocked on his bedroom window when he went inside and then tried to follow him into the school, causing such a large distraction for all the students that both the boy and the balloon got temporarily expelled. There was very little dialogue, but plenty of sounds: running feet on cobblestone streets, children playing and shouting, etc. After school the other children tried to get the balloon away from the boy and chased them around the town relentlessly. Finally, they cornered the balloon, tied it down, and threw rocks at it until it punctured and “died.” The little boy wept, but at the same time, all the balloons in Paris made their way to him, coalescing into such a huge group that when he grabbed ahold of all the strings, they carried him away up into the sky. The end.

I loved that little film so much that my husband ended up buying me a copy of it early in our marriage. Our children universally hated it, and although that surprised me initially, I can understand why. In a way, it’s really a movie about death and resurrection. The death part comes as a shock, since the balloon seems very much alive, and the feral cruelty of the children is distressing. What appealed to me as a child was the whimsical friendship that sprung up between the boy and his balloon and then the fantastical scene at the end when all the balloons come to take him away. The narrative arc goes from whimsical to tragic and then to joyful triumph in a way that I always found satisfying.

Our son-in-law just got a job at a fairly new job board company called Red Balloon, which got me thinking again about that film. I wanted to find a connection between my Red Balloon movie and the name of the company, but alas, there was none.

Did any of you see that film? And if so, what were your impressions?

This blog post might meet with a cruel fate at the hands of children in the morning.