You’ve probably always wondered, as I have, where old canoes go when they’re past their prime. Old stallions get put out to pasture; old canoes get made into large planters. This is the way.

Continue reading “Monday, October 7, 2024 What I Saw Plus Pithy Thoughts” →

I wrote this poem back in April of 1989. Somewhere along the line I had gotten the impression, or had been told, that news programs were based on the acronym NEWS: North, East, West and South. It feels like an urban legend now, but that was the place from which I started when writing this.

Mad men
Have inherited the world.
Child haters,
Love quenchers…

North, East, West and South,
Invaders of hope
Whose words and pictures
Speak so briskly
And dispassionately
Of the world’s skin of leprosy.

Yet Jesus caressed this earth –
North, East, West and South –
And touched the untouchable
With His compassionate hands.
Why?
Profound, unalterable, inexplicable
Love.
April, 1989

I’ll probably delete this when sunbeams escape from the clouds in the morning.

There’s a general tidal movement to the workshop here, an ebb and flow. Sometimes I’m filled with inspiration, like Bezalel in the days of Exodus, with a heart stirred to do creative work. Alas, other times I am more like the sluggard of Proverbial fame: go to the ant, O sluggard.

I finally finished the poinciana project, a sluggish work indeed, and sent it off to my long-suffering friend Sue who had waited patiently for it.

Continue reading “Wednesday, October 2, 2024 The Workshop: Ebb and Flow” →

I only used the bathrooms at my junior high school once. You read that right: only once. The first time I used the bathroom there, I entered and right away knew that this was a bad place. Girls were standing around smoking and looking menacing. One of them asked me if I had any money and when I said no, she frisked me. That was the end of that. I developed a bladder of steel and refused to go in one of those places again. It might have been a better investment for me to develop a backbone, but such was not my way.

The only time this backfired on me was when I was with a group that went to the Mille Lacs Lake Indian Reservation on a day trip. It was a long drive on a school bus and when we got there, we were shown around the place and given lunch. I found a baby turtle by the lake and put it in a plastic container to bring home. Just before the buses were to leave to go back to school, I realized I was feeling nature’s call, so I went to find a bathroom. It was crowded with girls and in a foolish moment of fear, I decided to wait and go later.

The ride home was two or three hours of agony. All I could think of was how badly I had to go. We finally pulled up at the school – relief was in sight! It was after school had been let out, so I knew the bathrooms there would be empty. I ran up to the door and it was locked. Nooooooooo!!!!!

The walk home was a mile and I knew I’d never make it, so I found a largish bush, set the turtle down, snuck behind the bush (hoping it was giving me good enough cover) and relieved myself. By this time I was sick to death of that turtle; it represented the whole last three hours of misery. I left it in the container behind the bush and walked home.

When my brother and his friends found out I had left a turtle there, they were appalled at my thoughtlessness and insisted that we go back and get it. They had a point. Now that I was home and in a better frame of mind, it seemed like I’d just compounded one foolish decision with another, so back we went. I gave the little beastie to a neighbor boy who kept it for a long time and it became HUGE living the good life there.

What a storied life that turtle led! Imagine the story it would have told: the abduction at the lake, the little plastic prison and a long jolting ride, abandonment under a bush, during which hunger pangs no doubt presented themselves, and then a rescue bringing long life and everlasting food. It’s a better story than the one I’ve told, isn’t it?

I’ll probably leave this post under a bush in the morning.

I can’t seem to resist taking a picture when sitting by a campfire. There’s something about the experience that I want to capture and remember, but for which a photo is a poor substitute. I do it anyway.

When I was a brand new Christian, one of the songs that was popular at the time went like this:

It only takes a spark to get a fire going
And soon all those around can warm up in its glowing.
That’s how it is with God’s love,
Once you’ve experienced it,
You spread His love to everyone;
You want to pass it on.

To be honest, I found it a little cringy and kinda sappy, but enjoyed singing it with others. It’s the kind of song that takes up residence in your head and refuses to leave. All these years later, it’s still there in a dusty place in the attic like a family relic. And now that I’ve taken it out and dusted it off, it’s not so bad. It’s a very earnest expression of that desire to share God’s love, a desire I remember so well as a new Christian. I haven’t lost that desire in all these years, either.

When we were engaged, I started going to church with my fiancé (now my husband). If we weren’t sitting too close to anyone, he would sometimes lean over, take whatever hymn we were singing, and squeeze the lyrics of “It Only Takes a Spark” into it, which never failed to give me the giggles. Yes, we were young once.

People used to like to tell ghost stories or creepy stories about escaped convicts around a campfire – I wonder if that’s still a thing. Ugh. Definitely not for me. I just enjoy sitting at a campfire, feeling all the campfire vibes, and moving my chair occasionally when the smoke begins to come right into my face. We used to do s’mores, but there comes an time when a large sticky gooey marshmallow loses its appeal. That time has come.

What do you like about campfires?

It only takes a spark to get a blog post burning….

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Funny faces
Blurry faces
Half out of the screen

Train tracks
Click clacks
Yellow, blue and green

Animal friends
Book ends
Long distance reading

FaceTime
FunTime
Grandchildren greeting

That’s how FaceTime with Grandma goes. So much fun!

Funny blog, blurry blog, deleting off the screen…

I was in a parking lot the other day and saw a car with the word “Rogue” on it. The next car was identified as “Rebel.” I think we need to pay more attention to what’s going on in the car world.

I saw a sunset dandelion on fire tonight. Yes, all those words are in the order I intended them to be.

My legs were so long at sunset that I went out to take a walk and didn’t need to.

Continuing with the sunset theme, everything looks better when lit by the disappearing sun.

I guess that’s about all I have to say today. Good night, friends.

I’ll probably go rogue (or rebel) in the morning with this post.

Ely, Minnesota, is one of the gateways to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Canoe and kayak outfitters abound! Our purpose in going up there, however, was not to do some canoeing, but to give our camper trailer a longer outing and visit either the International Wolf Center or the North American Bear Center, or both. They are evidently proud of their wolf and bear population up there in Ely. I wonder how big a mammal you have to be to get your own center. Is there a National Marmot Center, for example? Marmots are kinda cute – I’d probably go to their center if someone decided to give them one.

Continue reading “Tuesday, September 24, 2024. Minnesota Meanderings September 2024: The North American Bear Center” →

It has become my habit to spend part of Sunday afternoons sitting on our bench in the flower garden, usually with a book and my phone. The sun is in the west by the time I’m out there, giving a warm embrace to the left side of my face. As I read, I’m hearing the nearly constant drone of bees. I lift my eyes frequently to see them visiting the flowers in front of me. Oh, how busy they are while I sit idly on my bench, reading a book as they are doing the most urgent work of their lives. Bravo to the bees! Lots of butterflies are going to and fro as well – mostly white ones, but occasionally a monarch shows up with class and dignity. The hummingbirds, too, are doing their best to drink up everything they can as fast as they can. They all know these days are coming to an end.

Continue reading “Monday, September 23, 2024 The Profundity of a Flower Garden” →

We continue to listen to the audiobook version The Lord of the Rings, wonderfully read by Andy Serkis (the actor who played Gollum). We are nearing the end of The Two Towers and I am still taking notes and make sketches as we go along. It helps me to concentrate and keep my mind from drifting, as it is wont to do. LOTR fans will perhaps enjoy the following photos of my notes. The rest of you will scratch your heads in great puzzlement over it all. Bless you, either way.

Continue reading “Wednesday, September 18, 2024 Notes and Sketches” →

It all started in Mrs. Budge’s class in first grade. Behind Mrs. B’s back, we called her Mrs. “Fudge” and thought we were the cleverest, most witty people around. One day I helpfully pointed out to Mrs. Budge that her slip was showing and she made me go sit by myself with my head down on my arms on the desk top as penance. Doesn’t that seem like an odd thing for a teacher of first graders to do? Anyway, Mrs. Budge put up large cards with words on them all around the room and taught us to read using the see-say method, rather than phonics. It’s a terrible way to teach a child to read, but there’s no denying that I did, in fact, learn how to read. Those mysterious black marks in books started to become letters and words and I grabbed hold of this new knowledge with gusto.

My parents gave me the book Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss and I was so enthralled with it that I brought it to school to show off. During recess I set it down and forgot about it. When I tried to find it later, it was gone, which grieved my little heart. Months later it turned up in a window well – happy ending!

As I progressed as a reader, Mom had me practice at home by reading aloud to her. The first book was The Little Lame Prince by Dinah Craik. It was slow going because I was still at the “sounding-words-out” stage, but the sheer love of story propelled me along. I remember reading that to her as she was driving in her little “slug bug,” the Volkswagen. It starts as a rather melancholy story, but wonderful and fantastic things eventually happen to the lame prince. Oh boy, but I loved that book. Years later I found it at a library sale and snatched it up.

Libraries became magical places for me as I began to explore the world of reading in my elementary school years. My mother had a set of Wizard of Oz books that were marvelous, all with charming illustrations by W. W. Denslow. For most people, the only thing they know about The Wizard of Oz is that it got made into a movie with Judy Garland. My mom hated that movie because it was unfaithful to the book, so now you know where I got my own strong opinions on those things. My mom also owned several books by Johanna Spyri, the author most well known for writing the book Heidi. My own children will remember how much I hated the movie production of that book with Shirley Temple. Like mother, like daughter!

My childhood was simply filled with books. I could pick up a book and become so completely engrossed in the story that the world around me almost ceased to exist. I became such a bookworm that my mother frequently had to pry me out of my reading chair to get me to go outside and play. Books shaped and influenced me as well. I read The Five Little Peppers by Margaret Sidney and was determined to become a better daughter and sibling. I read The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett and wanted to be like Dickon and become friends with animals or like Mary, learning how to cultivate a garden. I read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and wanted to be noble and faithful like Peter, Susan and Lucy and not a traitor like Edmund. I also desperately wanted to find a secret world like that, but I suppose everyone did, even C.S. Lewis. I learned about the importance of forgiveness when my 4th grade teacher read aloud to us a book called Follow My Leader. I read The Black Stallion and thought how grand it would be to have a special connection with a horse like Alec did with the Black. How very disappointed I was the first time I got to go horseback riding. We were put on plodding slow horses and never got to go faster than a trot. And unlike my romantic ideas about how wonderful an experience it would be, horseback riding was uncomfortable and jolting. I’m afraid reading books made me very much a dreamer who sometimes had a hard time adjusting to reality.

Over the years, my reading tastes have changed, for the better, I hope. I’d like to think that I’ve become a more discerning reader. I still love a good fiction story, but I also appreciate non-fiction more than I used to as a child. I consider the Bible essential reading now, but wouldn’t even have considered reading it when I was growing up. At any given time, I have about 5-6 books in progress, which would probably drive some people crazy. I usually only work on one fiction book at a time, though – the others are all non-fiction books that I’m working through more slowly.

So, Mrs. Budge, I thank you for helping me learn how to read. And I forgive you for penalizing me for pointing out that your slip was showing.

Just call me the Wizard of Blogz – this will disappear in the morning.