My older sister died in 1987, nearly 40 years ago now. Last summer, my brother-in-law was cleaning out his basement and when he came across her collection of shells, he asked if I wanted them. “Sure!” In my mind, this was a small shoebox-sized collection. When I picked them up a couple months later, he gave me two largish boxes. So now I have shells. Lots and lots of shells. So many shells.
For now, they’re residing on a bed that doesn’t get used, but I can’t keep them there forever. I understand why my sister collected them. They’re gorgeous.
If you ask a scientist how shells are created, you’ll get a very tidy explanation about how mollusks make shells using specialized cells in the outermost layer of tissue on their bodies, called a mantle. Keep reading and you’ll be delving into a complex world of specialized cells, secretions, proteins and minerals like calcium carbonate. So yes, the usual soulless but accurate compilation of information. I’m reminded of what C.S. Lewis wrote in the book Voyage of the Dawn Treader when the travelers meet an old man named Ramandu. He tells them he used to be a star, which prompts Eustace to say “In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas.” To which Ramandu replies, “Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of…”
So what are shells? When the Lord made mollusks, He looked upon their soft bodies and gave them a way to protect their vulnerable flesh. Even the most mundane shells are marvelous works from the Great Artist’s workshop. He did not build slums for them, but masterpieces of beautiful architecture. Because that who He is. That’s what He does.
(Technically, the starfish isn’t a shell. It’s not a fish either. Some scientists prefer the name “sea star,” which brings us nicely back to the discussion of stars. But all that is neither here nor there. It’s part of the collection -that’s what’s important.)
I am pondering what to do with this largess of shells. Display them? Sell them? Paint them? Use them in craft projects? Give them away? What would you do?
This blog mollusk will not survive without a protective shell.
One of my sons gave me a book for Christmas called “The Bible of Illuminated Letters.” Even though the instructions call for all sorts of hoopla that I’ll probably never do (like mixing your own colors and using gold leaf), it’s a very appealing art form, so I decided to give it a try when I sent him a thank-you note.
The “T” was from the Celtic chapter of the book; there are lots of others to choose from but I decided to start with the easiest.
“Illuminate” means “to make something visible or bright by shining light on it.” The earliest forms of illuminated manuscripts were for religious use in the monasteries of medieval Europe. How fitting to illuminate the words of Him who is our light.
And there will no longer be night; they have no need for lamplight or sunlight, because the Lord God will illumine them; and they will reign forever and ever. Revelation 22:5
You know what’s going to happen to this post in the morning…
I can’t remember when I started biting my nails, but photos indicate that it started early. Why does one do this? Those of you who have never bitten your nails probably recoil at the thought. It’s kind of a weird habit when you think about it. Which you shouldn’t. My mom applied some nasty tasting stuff to my nails to get me to quit, but I just got used to the taste and kept right on with it.
When I got engaged, my husband-to-be expressed a desire have me pick out an engagement ring. “Oh, I don’t want an engagement ring,” I said, “It’ll draw attention to my hands.” Those unsightly nail-bitten hands! He ignored this bit of vanity and I quit biting my nails for a while to make them more worthy of the ring. But old habits die hard and over the years I’ve returned to it off and on.
I had an insight recently that if I made my nails pretty, I wouldn’t be nearly so tempted to bite them. I purchased a nice color of nail polish and one morning before church I did the deed, looking forward to the no-doubt elegant looking nails I’d be sporting. The result looked like I’d commandeered the nearest 5-year-old to do it for me and unfortunately I didn’t have time to undo it. Also, I had deceived myself as to the length of my nails, a deception that was completely undone when they were covered with dark red polish.
I laughed so hard! Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. But I haven’t given up yet.
On to the topic of inflation. I’ve been detecting a disturbing kind of inflation, one that can’t be detected when you buy groceries or gas. Here’s part of a discussion I was listening to:
Man #1, upon hearing something he agreed with: “Oh, a hundred percent!” Man #2, after more discussion and hearing something he agreed with as well: “Yes! A thousand percent!” Man #1, a couple minutes later in the discussion: “I agree, one million percent!”
Friends, what is happening here? Can’t we be satisfied with one hundred percent anymore? And if that’s not enough, we are suddenly needing to be “beyond grateful” and “beyond excited.” Why? What happens when “beyond grateful” is no longer grateful enough?
This is an inflation you can do something about. Don’t let it happen to you.
Musings have been brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.
I one-hundred-percent (but no more) plan on deleting this in the morning.
Some of my long-suffering followers have noted that I’ve been awfully slow in finishing the story about Figgy the Intrepid Frog. If it were just the writing process, I’d have finished it long ago, but the story itself emerged when I started making a set of felt animals from a book called “Little Travelers” by Simone Gooding. The last animal in the book (and the last chapter of the story) is a matronly little squirrel named Mrs. Twig. I started Twig last April and didn’t even know then if it was Mr. or Mrs. Twig, but things have settled themselves out nicely since then.
I burst out of the 2024 gate with a great deal of zeal for finishing projects and conquering the Beast of Procrastination in my life. Meet Mrs. Twig!
There are a few more elements to her ensemble (a picnic blanket and a basket of acorns) which I intend to whip out speedily – yes, speedily! You heard it here first. And when she’s done, the story’s end shall come.
I have a lot of bookmarks, more than I can possibly use at one time (even though I usually have half a dozen or so books going at once). I like rotating them in and out of use so that I can enjoy each of them. I’m an Equal Opportunity Bookmark User, an EOBU.
One of my sons once gave me a mug that says “Bookmarks are for quitters” on the side of it. Ha ha! There have definitely been times when I’ve been so caught up in a book that I couldn’t put it down and finished it in the wee hours of the morning. That was when I was younger and could get away with such foolishness. It doesn’t happen very often anymore, so I guess I’m a quitter.
I came across an old bookmark recently that had somehow left the rotation and gotten itself all entangled in my box of stationery cards. Great was my joy in being reunited with it! I immediately put it to use, marking my place in the book The Great Divorce, which I’ll be reading through with all the young women in our family.
My daughter Ruth made this for me when she was probably about 5 years old. Wishing to express one aspect of our affectionate feeling for one another, she wrote on it, “FERENS.” Not bad for a five-year-old who just knew her letters and and was learning how to write things out phonetically. How it warmed my heart to know that she thought of us as “friends.” And how it warms my heart to know that after all these years and with all the distance between us, we are still “FERENS.”
I’ll probably delete this ferendly post in the morning.
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.
Lynniebeemuseoday 