Years ago during his retirement years, my father took a class called “Swamp, Bog, Marsh and Fen.” At the time, I could not even imagine why anyone would want to study something so horribly dull. Good grief! I put it in the same category as his enjoyment of whole wheat bread (shudder) and marmalade (ugh).

Never doubt that the Lord has a sense of humor, folks. Here I am in my mid-60’s and I absolutely love whole wheat bread and marmalade. And now, on the brink of writing a children’s book about a bog lemming, I found myself yesterday doing some good old-fashioned research into the difference between…you guessed it: swamps, bogs, marshes and fens. I was not nearly curious enough about the world when I was younger, nor about the world’s Maker.

Naturally, I wrote a poem, which might appear in the book. I wanted to keep it simple so I left scads of stuff out, but hopefully, the distinctions are made plain enough.

A swamp, my friend, has slow moving waters,
Where trees grow, near rivers or lakes.
The water stays still in the mellow marsh,
Non-woody plants feed the drakes.
A fen is a mystery, it’s almost a bog,
It’s groundwater seeping through clay.
But the peat-filled bog is dependent on rain
And water collects there to stay.

Oh, Dad, Dad, Dad…I’m sorry I scorned your interest in this big, beautiful world. Just think of the conversations we could have had if I’d woken up earlier.

Dad would have been 97 today if he were still alive, so it seems fitting to tell this story today.

I’ll probably swamp this in the morning.

I’m still doing the drawing lessons from the book I got for Christmas (50 Ways to Draw Your Beautiful Ordinary Life) at a pace of one per week. I usually just draw the example that’s in the book, but I drew our own table and one chair for that assignment.

I don’t know about you guys, but my beautiful ordinary life doesn’t include a wood burning stove or a round bookcase. In fact, having a round bookcase doesn’t appeal to me at all. The author’s bookcase is more for decor than for books. Bah! If you want to see what a real bookcase is for, come to our house.

I’m planning to write out a quote and thought it might be nice to make a watercolor border for it:

I promised you a seahorse and here it is:

I wish I could take credit for this, but it’s actually a puzzle that my sister gave me that I finally finished. Isn’t it lovely? I’m not sure what to do with it next – maybe I’ll glue it together and hang it somewhere.

I’ll be chucking this into the blog-burning stove in the morning.

You won’t understand the title unless you know some Seals and Crofts. I always liked that particular phrase and use it occasionally if the situation calls for it. In this case, it does. And just who is this oddity? None other than me.

I’ve been continuing to sort through some of my Mom’s stuff and came across a hilarious note that I wrote to my dad with instructions about waking me up and further instructions having to do with my two younger sisters. So far, so good.

But oh my goodness – what an oddball I was! I’m not sure how old I was when I wrote this, but I’m guessing maybe 8th or 9th grade. I was definitely infected by the spirit of the age. See for yourself:

Dad baby,
Please wake me up at 6:30 before you split. Also, that cat named Sarah. But not the little freak (Charlotte).
Thanks, baby!
Love,
Lynn

No wonder my Mom saved it. I imagine she and Dad had quite a laugh over that one.

This blog post will self-destruct in 10…9…8…

What a winter we’ve had! I buy a snow candle every year that I light whenever it snows for as long as it’s snowing (unless we’re asleep). Most years I use it so much I have to buy another, but this year’s candle has gotten very little exercise. I rejoiced to see a little snow last week and the candle rejoiced as well.

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Makes you want to sing, doesn’t it? Or at least, break out with some apt Bible verses.

“Come now and let us reason together,” says the Lord.
Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.
Though they are red like crimson, they shall be like wool.
Isaiah 1:18

I went for a walk recently and came across a curiosity on the ground. See what you think.

It looks like a wee ghostly beaver with its entrails coming out, but I suppose it’s probably something rather more prosaic like dryer lint. If I had been a better citizen I would have picked it up and thrown it away instead of merely taking a photo of it.

Do you ever get tired of seeing sunsets? I don’t. Here’s another one to add to your collection. You’re welcome.

And with that, I bid you adieu. I’ll probably do the usual in the morning.

Ever since meeting a bog lemming last year, I have wanted to make one a character in a story. Allow me to introduce to you Saul, the Bog Lemming. He is most anxious that you know he is one of the Northern Bog Lemmings, not of the Southern Bog Lemming clan. They look a lot alike, but an SBL would simply perish in the north, not being hardy enough to withstand the cold winters. Saul and his ilk would not enjoy being in the south either. Better that the twain should never meet.

Saul has not yet told me his story, so all I have for you today is some rough sketches that I made from photos of BL’s on the internet. This is quite handy since BL’s don’t live in my neighborhood and I’d have to travel a long way to hunt one down just to take photos for sketching purposes. Anyway, I suspect that Saul has all sorts of splendid adventures to recount and I will faithfully relay them to you in good time.

In the meantime, please let us all acknowledge that bog lemmings are mighty cute.

This blog lemming will perish in the morning.

After my mom died, we came into possession of one of her Bose CD players. It came with a CD to demonstrate the clarity of the sound produced by the system, an experience meant to give you the feeling of being in the auditorium with a live orchestra in front of you, all around you. You are directed to crank the volume up to 80 to 85 and let ‘er rip.

I put it in this morning and was swept away. I almost didn’t move for the entirety of the 15 minute CD, which featured everything from the barnyard sounds of the early morning to selections from orchestral pieces. I can’t count how many times I was moved almost to tears by the sheer beauty of this delightful sensory experience.

I was looking out of our window while listening, watching the construction workers on the roof of the apartment building going up across the street. With the backdrop of Debussey’s “Clair de Lune,” Saint-Saens’ Aquarium from “Carnival of the Animals,” and Puccini’s Nessus Dorma from “Turandot,” the movements of the roof workers became a well-orchestrated ballet. They were flinging black roofing materials off the top that floated down in musical precision. One piece was more like an elongated black ribbon that twirled and soared upward, like a little Nureyev of the sky, before finally coming to rest,

The rising sun illuminated the neon green and yellow vests that the crew was wearing, making them look almost iridescent against the backdrop of the gray clouds behind them. They were in constant motion, a little hive of balletic action. At the very end of the last selection when the violins were coming to a high crescendo of sorts, I watched one man climb to the very highest spot on the roof and stand there, his own enactment of a crescendo.

I don’t think I will ever look at construction workers the same way again.

“Music is a fair and glorious gift of God.
I am strongly persuaded that after theology,
there is no art which can be placed on the level of music.”
Martin Luther

I’ll probably Debussey this in the morning.

Instead of looking at some of my half-baked artistic efforts, this week, I’d like to turn your attention to some of the work that the Lord has done. This is the handiwork upon which all other handiwork is based.

Those are some of the photos I took at the Arboretum. More to come another time! I think I’ll give a serious effort in trying to paint a couple of those.

God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good.
And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.
Genesis 1:31

Quiz time: does anyone remember what my parting line in the blog is based upon? I like to remind people everyone once in a while why I say (in so many words) “I’ll probably delete this in the morning” at the end of every post.

My Grandpa Red was born in April of 1898. By the time I knew him, he was in his 60’s with graying hair that only gave a hint of once being auburn, and a face that had seen a lot of weather. He passed away in 1973 and it wasn’t until many years later that I came across this story he wrote about an incident from his youth. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The sounds of mother getting breakfast ready always awakened me and I used to go outside to enjoy the dawn with its thousands of bird calls. The sun came up like a huge egg yolk popping over the horizon and heralding a new adventure. Father was away with our team working on the road which made it necessary for our neighbors, the Dickmans, to come over with their team and move us.

It was customary in those days to use a hay rack for moving because it had a spacious platform and all of the household goods could be taken in one load. When Mrs. Dickman arrived with their old, flea-bitten grays pulling the hay rack, she explained that Mr. Dickman was sick abed. I knew she would want to go in and talk to mother, so I climbed on top to hold the team. Mrs. Dickman proceeded to get down to the ground over the back of the rack.

When hauling hay, a long pole was used as a binder to keep the hay from blowing away or falling off. This pole was lying on the bottom of the rack and protruded past the back of the wagon about six feet. In sliding down, Mrs. Dickman’s skirt got caught on one of those poles and it was pulled right up over her head. She was completely helpless now because her arms and head were entirely covered by the skirt. Mrs. Dickman wasn’t very tall so her toes didn’t quite reach the ground. When I saw the predicament she was in, I tied the reins to the standard and went back to give her some assistance.

Right here I want to mention that, for being a woman past the half century mark, she hadn’t lost any of her allure. When I got there, she was saying something but with her head confined it was just a mumble. I jumped down and put my left arm around her and my shoulder where it would do the most good. Then I straightened up, unhooked her skirt, and then lowered her to the ground. When she had her skirt in place and stood facing me, I wanted to laugh, but managed to keep my face straight and serious. At first her face was red as a beet, but when she finally got her composure, she said, “Well, that was the first shot,” as if to say that before the day was over, there would be more.

Oh yes, the kind of flour the Dickmans used was plain to be seen because across the back of her underwear were the words “EVENTUALLY, WHY NOT NOW?”

I’ll eventually delete this…why not now?

When I was growing up, my mom used to make a cheese soufflé every so often. In the realm of meals, it was pretty exciting since as soon as it was done she’d carry it swiftly and carefully to the table so we could see it in all its poofy glory before it fell. It had a melt-in-your-mouth smooth cheesy taste; all my memories of those soufflés are fond ones.

When the topic came up recently with my husband and one of our sons, I was surprised to realize that I’d never made a soufflé for my own family. Some things just fall through the cracks, I guess. I set about to rectify this grave error immediately and served one to celebrate my husband’s birthday. It was just as I had remembered it with its soft pillowy cheesiness. The present faded momentarily and I was back in the dining room of my childhood, sitting in my usual place at the table watching my dad dish it up. The nostalgia was heavy and sweet.

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

We went to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum recently and I took lots of photos, so many photos. Most of them were of the flowers and such, but my favorite shot by far was the one I took of my father-in-law, Art. I felt inspired to write a poem for him to go with it, so here they both are.

In nineteen hundred and twenty-eight
Amid the Great Depression
A boy was born on a January date
And made a Great Impression.

Ole was his father’s name,
Clara was his mother.
Seven sisters he could claim,
But he only had one brother

He did odd jobs at an early age
Weeding celery, carrying papers,
At the railroad later he earned his wage
Doing gandy dancing capers.

At Bridgeman’s, dishes he was bussing,
At the Orpheum Theater, he ushed.
He did some boxing (without any cussing)
And in general, he never rushed.

After high school, in the Navy he served
Then went to broadcasting school
Next on his list, Marine Corps Reserve,
Where he was nobody’s fool.

First came love, then came marriage
When to Armie, he proposed.
Four children took turns in that baby carriage
And for photos they all posed.

He DJ’d at a radio station
And served on the Centennial Commission
The GOP was another occupation,
He even sold Hondas on commission.

The kids grew up, left home, got married –
And “Grandpa” was soon his new role
Ten more babies he held and carried
And their laughter filled up his soul.

He retired from Honda, but went on working
For the Vikings and the Twins
Like always, he did his job well, never shirking,
Watching many losses and wins.

There were joys and there were sorrows;
His wife and son passed away.
But looking forward to better tomorrows
He quietly went on his way.

At ninety-six, he’s still much adored
For his kind and generous heart
And as a family, we all thank the Lord
For this wonderful man named Art.

So this one’s for you, Art! Love you!

In the morning, I’m not deleting.

I saw a great tutorial on Pinterest that showed the most elegant way to paint leaves using a simple maneuver with the paintbrush. I set about eagerly to give it a try, thinking I would make a lovely leaf corner border for a quote that I wanted to write out. I did a couple practice ones and let fly.

Not pleased with the result, I started doing more practice leaves. The more I did, the less they looked like leaves, and the more they looked like the kind of stuff I used to see through the microscope in biology class. I like the color combination, though. Back to the drawing board.

Here’s one that turned out better, from a few months ago.

I’ll be de-leafing this is the morning.