This teddy bear is unique, so unique that you’d never find another one just like it anywhere. My mom passed away a few months ago and we just had our first Christmas without her. We went to my sister’s house, as usual, and had a fabulous meal, also as usual. After the meal, my sister, Sarah, and my niece, Grace, requested that I read a short announcement to everyone. I was immediately suspicious that it might have something to do with Mom. “Is this going to make me cry?” I asked. “No, you’ll be fine,” called my brother-in-law from another room. Okay then!
The announcement concerned a project that Grace had been working on for the last couple of months. She and Sarah had picked out some of my mom’s most well-known blouses and house dresses and then Grace made a teddy bear out of each one to give out to family members. I did, in fact, get a little wobbly during the reading of the announcement, but made it through.
When we went to go see these wondrous bears, we found out that there were even more thoughtful elements to this project than we knew. Each teddy bear had a ribbon with a musical staff on it around its neck, a nod to my mom’s love of music. Mom had left behind an assortment of brooches and each bear was wearing one of the those. Some bears were wearing necklaces that went with the blouse or dress that the bear was made out of. But the crowning touch was that Sarah and Grace had found photos of Mom wearing each particular blouse or dress and had put a miniature of that photo inside a locket pin for the matching bear.
Sarah, me and Charlotte (sisters)
The emotions were high, I’ll tell you, especially when hugging that bear wearing the familiar clothing of one I miss so much. Honestly, I’m getting all choked up again just writing about it. I absolutely treasure my Mom Bear, so I want to say a very public thank you to Sarah and Grace for the time, effort, creativity and thoughtfulness that went into making each one.
Grace
Also, thank you to those of you who responded to my post yesterday – I felt quite encouraged! For the time being, I’ll continue posting…and threatening to delete each post in the morning. 😀
Happy New Year! I’ve been pondering whether or not to continue with this blog. I’d sure love to hear about it if you’ve found the content valuable enough that you’d miss it if it went away.
I started Lynniebeemuseoday in 2018 as a continuation from my previous blog (Further Up and Further In) with the intent of writing more often using a wider breadth of genres (true story, fiction, children’s fiction, poetry, musings, art and craft adventures, etc.). One of my 2024 goals will be to take some of the things I wrote and attempt to get them published in some fashion.
I’ve enjoyed having this connection with you, especially those of you who took the time to comment and respond, which makes all this blog posting worthwhile. I was often surprised by what emerged the times when I sat down to write without any real idea ahead of time what I was going to say. The discipline of daily writing was really good for me, and if you were blessed by some of what came forth, all the better.
It’s not a question of whether or not I’ll continue writing. Writers must write! Would you like for me to continue sharing my writing, photography and art with you?
The chickadee sings Like all birds do Different notes tell just one story Listen, listen With ears of faith: “To God alone be the glory.”
(Note: we took this hike in September; I kept forgetting to post it.)
This marks our 68th and final hike through the Minnesota State Parks and State Recreation Areas. We decided to allow ourselves the luxury of staying in comfortable lodging the night before so we stayed in Detroit Lakes, rather than camping at the park. This 6.2 mile hike at Maplewood State Park is one of only four Hiking Club hikes that are that long. We decided to leave it for last and to do it in the fall, since the Hiking Club pamphlet mentioned it was especially impressive at this time of year.
As we drove along toward the park in the morning, I remarked that if it was a nice level path, the hike would be very pleasant. However, as we got close to Maplewood, we were driving up and down lots of little hills, so I gave up that illusion. Still, it was a beautiful day, mostly sunny and only 60 degrees when we got started at 9:45 a.m.
Right from the get-go, the trail south was hilly, taking us up and down through the autumny forested area. The sumac was at its height of glory all through the park. We saw horse tracks, a sign of things to come. It wasn’t long before we were traipsing through an area with small lakes on either side of us: Cataract Lake on the right (I think) and farther up, Grass Lake on the left.
We were keeping up a fairly good pace, in spite of my frequent stops to take photos. The steady up and down progression was beginning to take a toll, however and by the time we’d been hiking for two puny miles, I was feeling fairly done in. In spite of that, when I saw that the trail ahead suddenly went straight uphill, I thought to myself “Bring it on.” It was still early in the hike, so I could afford this type of steely determination. When we got right up to it though, there was a fork in the road and our trail went off to the left of the hill. Inner celebrations were going on until it appeared that there was no escaping the upward climb. We had a couple switchbacks on that trail, even!
Blue jays were calling “here! here!” in their raucous way, while steady breezes blew through the trees producing that wonderful shushing sound of the swaying leaves and branches. I had opted not to wear my hat on this hike because it had felt oppressively hot on the last hike, so I was able to enjoy the feeling of the wind cooling the sweat on the back of my neck. We hadn’t seen any horses yet, but the evidence of their presence was on every trail and we had to walk nimbly to avoid the piles with our feet and hiking poles. (I’m giving you the full sensory experience here to feed your imaginations as you walk along with us vicariously.) I entertained the idea of a video game in which you are speeding along the trail and have to maneuver constantly to avoid the horse hockey. If you hit one, you start back at the beginning.
We stopped at an empty campsite to rest and have a Clif bar. It was a nice respite. There was even an outhouse there, which I immediately rejected as an option (no matter what!), but logic eventually prevailed and I had to make use of it before going on. If I hadn’t, I would never have seen the amusing sign on the inside of it warning people not to put diapers, sanitary items or garbage in the pit because it required the park staff to go in and remove those items. The warning ended with the words, “…and you’re not that cruel.” It made me chuckle.
Really?
We noticed a few more blue asters here and there, still straggling along when most of the other flowers were gone. Kris decided to make up a new saying, “It ain’t over until the blue aster sheds its petals.” Of course right after that we saw some false sunflowers looking fresh and new on the scene, giving the blue asters a run for their money. That’s really the name of the flower, too. How would you like to be known as a false something? It’s also known as “oxeye sunflower,” or even more academically, as heliopsis helianthoides. No matter – its most common name identifies it as what it is not. That’s the way it goes.
The false sunflower
We came to Beers Lake, a lake we’d be hiking along for quite awhile and where the path angled back northward. The trail came right up to the lake at one point and we refreshed ourselves with the view before going on.
The trails were very narrow sometimes. We saw another hiking couple coming toward us and had to step off the path just to make room for them. “It’s a one-way path!” one of them said cheerfully as they went by. I was reminded of the north-going Zax and the south-going Zax in the Dr. Seuss book. Fortunately, we were a lot less stubborn than the Zaxes and were happy to step aside.
The trail would lead us between Beers Lake and the much smaller Bass Lake. I was trying to set aside my growing sense of weariness as we walked along. Every once in a while, I’d fish my phone out of my pocket to see how far we’d come, which was probably a mistake since it was never as far as I hoped. I began rehearsing some of my favorite Bible verses for hiking, the ones that provide just the right lift and encouragement. Chief among them is one of the first Bible verses I ever memorized, Isaiah 40:31. “But those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength. They will mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not grow weary; they shall walk and not faint.” It doesn’t get much better than that when you need something to sustain you on the trail. I first heard that verse in the movie “Chariots of Fire,” and it impressed me enough that when I became a Christian, that one made it to the top of the list for verses to memorize.
For a nice change of scenery, a few horseback riders came ambling toward us. They stopped abruptly in the trail as if waiting for us to go by. When we approached, one of the women told us that her horse had heard the sound of my hiking poles and seemed to be a little uneasy. She asked if I’d be willing to let him smell them. Of course! I’m always willing to help a horse in need of hiking pole acclimation. In return, I asked if I could take a photo of her handsome horse. It was a fair trade, don’t you think? He had netting over his face that his rider said was to keep him from getting annoyed by bugs. The other two horses went without the bug screens and were no doubt silently mocking their pampered friend.
We pressed on. There were lots of different types of scenery that the trail had led us through: woods, lakeside, meadows…and now as the trail came back to the woods, Kris remarked that we were “heading back into Mirkwood!” The constant horse piles prompted him to take on the persona of Sam Gamgee, saying, “Mr. Frodo, they’re have been some Black Riders here.” I commented that Tolkien never described what the Black Riders left on the trail.
Once we left Beers Lake behind, it looked like we only had about 1.5 miles left. Only. There’s a big difference between the first 1.5 miles and the last, particularly when the road has been long and hilly. We passed a couple more groups of horseback riders, both of which commented on what a bonny day it was for a hike. “Yes, it sure is!” I’d reply, sweat pouring down my brow. I wasn’t just saying it either – it had gotten warmer, but it was a champion fall day, brilliant with color and sunshine.
We got to talking about how fitting it was to have our last hike be a really challenging one. It would have seemed anticlimactic to do a piddling 1-mile easy hike for the final push. It must be said that as we walked the last mile at Maplewood, even Kris was feeling the fatigue. Good gracious but this was a long 6.2 miles! One last hill and we were done. I checked the Strava app and it informed me that we’d gone 6.7 miles. I had forgotten to start it right away, so I’m willing to believe that it was more like 7 miles.
At the end of our first hike, our son Sam was with us and took a photo so we didn’t have to rely on doing a selfie. I really wanted to have someone take a photo of us at the end of our last one and had even worn the same shirt as on our first hike to lend a pleasing symmetry to the experience. When we got back to the lot, we found someone willing to record this auspicious occasion.
In retrospect, I think I can divide this hike into three portions: The Fellowship of the Trail, The Two Lakes, and the Return of the Horses. LOTR peeps ought to be able to appreciate that. And who, then, is the Lord of the Trails? King Jesus.
Knee score: a solid 10 out of 10, even with the hiking poles. Uffda! My phone tells me we did the equivalent of 34 slights of stairs.
This might be my last post of the year, depending on how busy things are. Will it be deleted in the morning? Stay tuned!
I lay awake last night for awhile after closing my book and turning the light off. Time passed and I began to hear strange noises. I realized that I was hearing excited and almost feral sounds of our cat, Luna, out in the hallway. And I knew, I knew what she was saying as clearly as if she spoke my own language.
“Hear me,” she yowled, “I have done my hunting and killed my prey. A mouse can never escape me – I will always find it. I am cunning! I am stealthy! I am the Deadly Hunter! Come, see what I have done. I bring this tribute to you as your loyal servant. Come out and see!”
But I ignored her, not wishing to step out into a dark hallway which my imagination had now populated with a host of dead mouse bodies. After a time, silence took back the night and I fell asleep.
But I awakened early and had to step out into that dark hallway anyway, at 5:30 a.m. I turned my phone light on and saw Luna’s trophy, her fine tribute. “You have done well, Luna,” I commended her silently as I walked past, giving wide berth to the carcass (which I left for my good husband to take care of later).
The Deadly Hunter A hunter named Luna By the light of the moon-a Crept through the house In search of a mouse. Her cunning was stunning! She was healthy and stealthy! With one pounce and a bite, She proved her Great Might. ”Come see what I’ve done – The battle is won!”
Well, it was breaking news for me, anyway. I just learned that a family of otters is called a “Romp.” And I’m completely and utterly charmed by that fact.
An otter ought ‘ter stick to his Romp, Or he might get his bottom whomped.
This is another example of speed poetry. You write it fast and make a general plea for low expectations.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning while thinking about a Romp of Otters.
We’re easing slowly into the season this year. I think I’m in denial that Christmas is only 21 days away. That’s only three weeks. And we haven’t started shopping yet, either. Living on the edge! (Yep, the inner panic is starting to kick in.)
But we finally bought our tree and put it up, so that counts for something. I’ll put ornaments on it later this week (see above about easing in slowly).
And last night we celebrated the first Sunday of Advent with homemade eggnog. I got the recipe out of my ancient Better Homes and Garden cookbook and surprisingly, it called for raw eggs and no heat. We survived, but I think I’ll look for a better recipe.
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned.
Happy Monday!
I’ll probably throw this into the eggnog pot in the morning.
Some of you may recall that although I enjoy watercolor painting, I am often sadly unmotivated. Some people do the artsy things because they just have to, but that (apparently) isn’t the way I’m built. However, if I’ve promised to do a painting for someone, I can get it done. Thus was born what I called the “Lazy Artist Initiative.” I wish I’d chosen another word besides “Lazy,” – perhaps “Inactive,” or “Differently Motivated” – something like that. Whatever.
Here’s the latest painting I did for a friend who signed up to help me get motivated to paint.
It’s a copy of a watercolor painting I saw on Pinterest, but I added the Bible verse. Most of what I paint is a copy of what someone else did, but it’s a goal of mine to start doing more original artwork.
If you, too, would like to receive one of my little paintings, let me know in the comments. The only qualification is that you have to be someone I actually know. It’s a nice extra if you’ve subscribed to my blog, but not necessary. There’s no guarantee as to how long it will take me to do it – sort of depends on what other kinds of things are going on in my life – but I WILL get it done. Really!
That’s it for today! I might be too lazy to delete this in the morning.
When I walk, I think. I see things, I hear things, I muse about things, I wonder about things, I write things. In fact, I’m always writing, telling an inward story, a narrative, that sometimes emerges onto a computer screen or on paper.
The sight of so many withered leaves this morning recalled to my mind one of the first verses I ever memorized: Isaiah 64:6. “For all of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment; and all of us wither like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.” What a poetic image! A withered leaf hanging on a branch gets swept away by the wind, the same way our iniquities sweep us away. I think I memorized that verse to remind me of the universality of sin, and the futility of righteous deeds in accomplishing salvation for anyone. The only way to be cleaned up is in Christ. Filthy garments and withered leaves create quite a vivid picture in the mind, don’t they?
So, some fairly lofty thoughts going on there for a while as I walked in my heaviest winter coat with a scarf and warm hat to protect against the bitter cold. I often find winter walks more exhilarating than summer walks. I took a few photos of the things that caught my eye: church bells, a circle of Christmas bulbs that came up with the cold weather, the road ahead.
On my favorite part of the walk, a protected path that meanders by the cemetery, the regular sound of traffic was replaced by dull tappings of woodpeckers, a sharp conversation between two blue jays, a cheerful chickadee, a distant chain saw and the steady sound of my own footsteps. And I think to myself, what a wonderful God.
Thanks for joining me.
I’ll probably run a chain saw through this post in the morning.
One of the cheeriest parts of the Christmas season is all the Christmas lights and decorations that go up outside. The darkness of our days lengthens, but the dark nights are made lovely with a grand variety of colorful light displays. We used to walk around our neighborhood on these cold, dark nights with our children and rate the different displays. The rating system was from 1 to 10. The light display at our house received a 1 and all the other houses received scores that were relative to that. I wish I had a photo of the display we had for years and years, so you could see why ours was only rated a 1. Basically we used to put lights only on our balcony – some that went around the sides and top, and on the railing we had the kinds of lights that trail down like icicles. Our kids used to call it “The Gaping Maw.” My husband has bumped up our display since then and now drapes lights around most of the bushes in front of our house, as well as giving the balcony a better look.
So why do we all do this at Christmas time? Because it’s pretty? Nope. Because it makes us happy? Nope. Because we need to keep up with what the neighbors are doing? Definitely nope.
“The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; Those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them.”
“…that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.”
Every single house with its Christmas lights ablaze is proclaiming the gospel of Christ, the One who made light, the One who is light, the One who saves us out of the darkness of our sin into His marvelous light. All our Christmas lights at night are a loud hallelujah to Jesus.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning with a hallelujah!
I’m a big fan of whimsical poetry, both reading it and writing it. It doesn’t add much to the literature landscape, but it can bring a smile. Here’s one I wrote for my granddaughter.
The Leopard Did God make the leopard first, Or did He make the cat? One is big and spotted, The other small and fat.
Don’t go near the leopard, He’ll hurt you with his claws. But the cat will purr in your lap And knead you with her paws.
Lynniebeemuseoday 