Friday, March 12, 2026 Short Story: Hall of Tantrums

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This another writing assignment for the class I’m taking on The Habit (Writing with Digory). The assignment was to portray characters that are seeing something they don’t have a context for and are therefore confused.

I actually wrote this story for the grands a few months ago, but shortened it for the purposes of the assignment. The main character, Frilly, is a beanie baby that is a favorite of our granddaughter’s, so she often asks me to tell her “Frilly Stories.” Now you know!

Mr. and Mrs. StrongHorse took their filly, Frilly, to the fair, along with Frilly’s baboon friend, Cheeks. They spent a pleasant morning riding the carousel, watching Mr. StrongHorse run races, getting groomed, and eating fair food.

After lunch they strolled around the fairgrounds for a little while, enjoying the sights together. As they passed one building, they heard terrible cries and screams coming from inside. Frilly and Cheeks were frightened, but Mr. StrongHorse said, “Oh, that’s just the Hall of Tantrums – there’s nothing to fear there. Would you like to go inside? We’ll stay with you, and you’ll see some things that are very interesting.” Frilly and Cheeks were as curious as you should be.

The building inside was a hallway of videos on the wall. The sounds of screaming, wailing, crying and whining were coming from all around them, but as they stopped in front of each video, the other videos silenced automatically. The first one showed a little girl sobbing hysterically, her little face red and her eyes shut tight. “NOOOOOOO!” She was screaming. “I WANTED THE YELLOW CUP, NOT THE BLUE ONE!” And she said this over and over.

“Is she hurt?” Cheeks asked with some concern.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” chuckled Mr. StrongHorse. “No, she’s upset because someone gave her some water in a cup that she didn’t want.”

Frilly and Cheeks watched in fascination. “So, she’s not hurt at all,” said Frilly, just to make sure.

“Oh, no, she’s perfectly fine!” explained Mrs. StrongHorse.

“But what difference does it make what color the cup is?” Cheeks couldn’t help asking.

“None at all! That’s what makes it sad and a little funny at the same time,” said Mr. StrongHorse.

“Let’s keep going,” said Frilly, quite interested now to see what was on the other videos.

The next one showed a little boy who had been using a crayon when it broke. His mother offered him a different one, but he threw it across the room in a fit, wailing “IT’S ALL RUINED! I CAN’T DO IT NOW!” and with that, he swept his hands across the table throwing everything on the floor. “RUINED!” And this scene played over and over as well.

Frilly and Cheeks spent a little too much time watching that one – each time the crayon broke and the boy threw a fit, they couldn’t help giggling. They started chanting “RUINED! RUINED!” until Mr. and Mrs. StrongHorse shushed them.

As they approached the next one, they heard the most awful noise – it made them want to cover their ears! Two little ponies had been told it was time to go to bed. They stomped their hoofs and shook their heads, all the while neighing and whining “IDONWANNA IDONWANNA IDONWANNA! IDONWANNA!” The noise was so annoying that the four of them moved quickly onward. Cheeks kept elbowing Frilly and whispering, “Those ponies looked a lot like you – ha ha!”

The next video was the last one in the hallway. Two young monkeys were each given a banana. The first monkey cried, “I WANTED THAT ONE! WHY DID SHE GET IT? HERS LOOKS BETTER THAN MINE! I WANT IT! I WANT IT!” And with that, he threw his perfectly good banana on the ground and stomped on it. Frilly and Cheeks were particularly interested in the way the banana squirted out of the skin when he stomped on it. Cheeks said, “Let’s watch it again- I can’t see any difference between the bananas, can you?” But there was no difference. Frilly couldn’t resist nudging Cheeks, saying, “That monkey looks a lot like you!”

They left the Hall of Tantrums and it was time to go home. Mr. and Mrs. StrongHorse trotted ahead of the two young ones, but could still hear them laughing and shouting, “RUINED!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And if this post is RUINED, it’ll be thrown on the floor in the morning.

Thursday, March 12, 2026 Dear Diary

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Dear Diary,

The alarm went off at the wrong time this morning. Technically, it’s been going off at the wrong time ever since last Sunday, the Day that We Wrenched an Hour out of our Lives.

Went to 7:00 a.m. Bible study this morning and discussed various things having to do with a few verses in John 12. We traipsed merrily around the Bible to look at related passages. My brain felt impaired, but fortunately I kept my mouth shut and didn’t advertise the fact. The sky was dark when we left home, but the sun had risen by the time we left the church.

At home we’re reading in Job and Romans now. Meaty stuff. I got to a chapter in Job where he starts rolling out the sarcasm toward his “friends,” always an entertaining part.

Spent almost four hours writing a poem inspired by the book “The Magician’s Nephew” by C.S. Lewis. The poem was a writing assignment. I filled a page of scratch paper with rhyming words, 90% of which I did not use.

Forced myself to get out of the chair (the Sticky Chair, as I often think of it) to get my body moving. Physical therapy, stationary biking, getting more steps in, working in the kitchen.

I’m staring at the clock now and it’s staring back at me accusingly. Somehow I got lured into the Sticky Chair again. The kitchen is calling me and if I don’t respond, things will go all askew in our schedule.

Foggily, Me

This. Deleted. Morning. (You know the rest)

Wednesday, March 11, 2026 The Workshop: Albrecht Durer

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For those of you just catching up, I’ve decided to spend a season imitating some of the masters of painting as a way to practice sketching and painting. I had a dream that I’d started with Albrecht Durer’s painting “Young Hare,” which made it a good place to start.

Albrecht Durer was born in Nuremberg, Germany in 1471 and died in 1528 at the age of 56. He gained an early reputation for his high quality woodcuts, and learned goldsmithing and drawing from his father. “Young Hare” was painted in watercolor and gouache in 1502. Another well-known painting by Durer is “Praying Hands.” In his later years, Durer was sympathetic to the teachings of Martin Luther. He wrote, “And God help me that I may go to Dr. Martin Luther; thus I intend to make a portrait of him with great care and engrave him on a copper plate to create a lasting memorial of the Christian man who helped me overcome so many difficulties.”

I shared last week my initial sketch and unfinished painting. This is how it turned out.

And here’s just my version:

I was particularly happy with the signature, which I also dreamed about. No one is going to mistake mine for the original (for one thing, my hare looks like it’s been on meager rations compared to Durer’s fat little buffer), but I was quite pleased with the way it turned out anyway.

Next week, I’ll be tackling this painting of George Washington by the American School:

Gulp. What was I thinking? This might be a short-lived experiment.

I’ll probably get rid of this hare-brained post in the morning.

Tuesday, March 10, 2026 Commonplace Quotes: Daylight Savings Edition

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Day three of adjusting to daylight savings time. I enjoy having the days be lighter later, but I have to work through the five stages of grieving over that missing hour.

On the plus side, I’ve had a tremendous break-through in trying to figure out how to print out a book using the “book fold” option in Microsoft Word. Since I am often an alien and stranger when it comes to journeys through the tech world, this is no small feat.

Let’s get to it, friends – the quotes for the week!

The truth has no defense
against a fool determined to believe a lie.
Mark Twain

For proof, just take a stroll through social media. There’s nothing new under the sun – this has been going on since Satan made a fool out of Eve. God’s grace is the only cure.

A seed hidden in the heart of an apple is an orchard invisible.
Welsh Proverb

And if I may paraphrase, an embryo hidden in the heart of the womb is a person invisible.

Faith is the radar that sees through the fog.
Corrie Ten Boom

There’s a lot of fog in this world. Praise God for giving us faith to see through it.

All knees shall bow to thee
All wits shall rise
And praise Him who did make
and mend our eyes.
George Herbert

Ah, I love that so much. He made our eyes and in Christ, He mends them.

It must be a great disappointment to God
if we are not dazzled
at least ten times a day.
Mary Oliver

Don’t disappoint God today.

If you’re not dazzled by this post, out it goes in the morning.

Monday, March 9, 2026 Missing Piece of the Puzzle

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Sometimes you get to the end of the jigsaw puzzle you’re working on, and find out that there’s a piece missing. While this isn’t nearly as catastrophic as reading a book and finding out that a page is missing, it’s still somewhat anticlimactic. The whole puzzle experience has been moving toward putting in that last piece, the moment of triumph!

I had borrowed this from friend Lori who had notated on the box cover where the missing piece was, so it wasn’t a cruel surprise. In case you can’t see it, the missing piece is in the red hat in the cat in the middle at the top.

Here’s what I discovered some years ago: you (yes, you!) can make your own puzzle piece to replace the lost one. Here’s what I do.

I put paper under the puzzle and pencil in the edges of the piece on it.

Then I glue the paper onto some cardboard that’s more or less the same size depth as the puzzle pieces:

When the glue is dry, I cut the piece out. This is actually not very easy – wish I could find a better way to do it. Then I make sure it fits:

Yay, it fits! After this I do my best to match the colors of the missing piece. I usually use colored pencils, but this time I wish I had used markers – it might have turned out better.

So, it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing, right?

This has been “Unusual Crafting with Lynniebee.”

The missing piece of this post will get fixed in the morning. Or not.

Friday, March 6, 2026 Twelve Years

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Our writing assignment last week was to take a familiar story and write it from a different perspective. I struggled the whole week to come up with something, but eventually settled on the following. See Luke 8:40-56 for the inerrant version.

What was it like to be healthy, to be whole, to be accepted into society, to be clean? Mahlah could not remember anymore, it had been so long. The flow of blood that started twelve years ago had changed everything. She’d spent all that she had on physicians. They took her money and gave her medicines, but nothing changed. Friends and family gradually began to stay away, as if being with her would transfer her condition to them. Mahlah did not understand why the good God had appointed her to bear this affliction, but she knew He was a faithful God. She cried out to Him day and night to come and heal her, to lift this curse from her. At times, it was hard not to sink into despair, but the psalms were her comfort and hope. “Wait on the LORD; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the LORD!” So she waited in hope.

The year Mahlah’s affliction began, Jairus and his wife had a child after many long years of waiting. Mahlah rejoiced with the rest of their village as the new parents showed off their tiny daughter, the only child that was given to them as it turned out. Mahlah felt that in some strange way their lives were bound together, as from a distance she watched the girl, Tabitha, growing up. “Tabitha is four years old now and I have been four years in this wilderness,” she would say to herself. Seeing the girl full of health and vitality was somehow a balm to her own soul. And in this way twelve years had gone by.

A multitude had gathered this day because Jesus had returned. Mahlah had heard of Jesus – who had not? There were stories of him performing miracles of healing. Many speculated that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, the promised One! Others were saying he was from the devil, but Mahlah had thought, “Why would the devil bring healing?” Normally Mahlah would stay on the fringes of any crowd, fearful of being recognized as unclean and sent away. But today her heart was lifted up in hope; she believed this man Jesus could heal her and she was determined to ask him.

Before she could make her way to him, a voice rang out, a voice of desperation. Even from where she was, Mahlah saw Jairus sink at Jesus’s feet. The crowd fell silent as Jairus begged Jesus to come to his house where his daughter was dying. Tabitha, dying! It cannot be! Mahlah was stunned by this news and watched as Jesus began to make his way to the house of Jairus. Mahlah could hardly see him now as the crowd hemmed him in on every side. “I will not stop him from going to Tabitha,” thought Mahlah, “It is enough if I can touch the hem of his garment as he goes by.” She pushed her way through to his side and while she still had the courage, she touched his robe at the very edge. Immediately she knew her flow of blood stopped; she had been made whole. With joy, she turned to push her way out of the crowd.

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked. Mahlah wanted to hide. “Somebody touched me, for I perceived power going out from me,” he continued and as he scanned the crowd, he caught her eye. For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people there. He knew it was her and she could see that there was no hiding from him, as if anyone could. She trembled and fell down before him, telling him why she had touched him and how she had been healed.

“Daughter, be of good cheer; your faith has made you well. Go in peace,” Jesus said. Just as Mahlah was marveling at this tremendous blessing, this gift of love, someone came to Jairus to tell him not to trouble the Teacher any longer, for his daughter was dead. Mahlah felt all her joy bleed back into sorrow as she thought of the delay she had caused Jesus. At that moment she would have gladly traded her healing to give Tabitha back her life. She looked back up into Jesus’s eyes, but his focus now was on Jairus.

“Do not be afraid,” he told Jairus, “only believe, and she will be made well.” With that Jesus resumed his walk toward Jairus’s house, the crowd still following. But Mahlah had heard everything she needed to hear. She did not need to follow the crowd to know that she would see Tabitha again, alive, whole and happy. Mahlah’s twelve years of affliction had ended, and Tabitha’s twelve years of life would be made new.

I’ll probably procrastinate and struggle to delete this in the morning.

Thursday, March 5, 2026 Banner Day!

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I went out on a short walk today, the first one I’ve taken outside since the knee replacement surgery. I’ve been out walking at the grocery store, but that doesn’t count.

I went to visit a neighbor who had her knee replacement surgery a month before mine and has had a very hard time of it in recovery. It was a good reminder for me to be praying for her. We both agreed that we had not yet gotten to the point of being glad we’d had the surgery, but assumed that in one year’s time, we’ll feel that way.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for,
the conviction of things not seen.
Hebrews 11:1

It felt good to get outside on this relatively warm day in March. Can spring be far behind?

I’ll probably replace this in the morning.

Wednesday, March 4, 2026 The Workshop: Boat and Bunny

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Greetings, my good and faithful readers. Sometimes I wonder why you stick with me; I often dole out very meager fare. But here you are, once again, making your way through another of my meandering blog posts. If there was a medal that I could give out to you, I would.

Let’s meander over to the workshop now. I wanted to paint a lake scene with a canoe in it for my husband for his birthday. Secondly (which I can say, even though I neglected to say “firstly”), I wanted to paint from a photo, rather than copying someone else’s watercolor painting. I went to the internet and called for aid, and the internet answered. Thank you, Mr. Internet. And of course, ultimately, thanks be to God for making this beautiful world in which we find lakes, forests, mountains and red canoes.

Meanwhile, I’m still working on the first painting from my Great Idea of last week: Albrecht Durer’s rabbit. The Great Idea

I’ve learned from watching the portrait show how important the first sketch is for settling the outline and getting the right proportions. I still need practice doing that, obviously, but I’m not one to start all over. Press on and all that.

As I said, in progress! Hopefully it will be done by next week.

Forgetting what lies behind and pressing on toward what lies ahead, I will delete this in the morning.

Tuesday, March 3, 2026 Commonplace Quotes: Blood Moon Edition

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I went out at sunset in search of the blood moon. Alas, I had not done my research. It was actually supposed to be visible this morning. That’s the bad news. The “good” news is that it was too cloudy here to see it this morning anyway.

Here are a few quotes for you to ponder with me.

Sooner or later,
everyone sits down to a
banquet of consequences.
Robert Louis Stevenson

Have you had one of those banquets lately?

Nothing touches our lives but it is God Himself speaking. Do we discern His hand or only mere occurrence? Get into the habit of saying, “Speak, Lord,” and life will become a romance. Every time circumstances press, say “Speak, Lord,” and make time to listen.
Oswald Chambers

Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.

Worry often gives a small thing a great shadow.
Swedish Proverb

Isn’t it the truth?

Three can keep a secret
if two of them are dead.
Benjamin Franklin

Ha ha! That’s very droll.

The world is full of poems,
but you have to be quiet to hear them.
Mary Oliver

I love that so much. Here’s a poem for you, but make sure you’re quiet enough to hear it:

I’ll be deleting this by the light of the Blog Moon in the morning.

Monday, March 2, 2026 The Annual Ritual

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The month of March is upon us, which means that I can at last put a halt to my insufficient efforts to keep the poinsettia alive. It’s time to set it free out in the wild.

Our compost heap may not look exactly like “free out in the wild,” but it’s all relative. The plant has been freed from the shackles of the green plastic pot. It has gone from our tame and dull home to a place where birds might alight next to it (or even on it!) or some little critter might scamper around its leaves. Like I said, free and wild.

I look forward to this ritual every year. The poinsettia had company this year: a dozen Valentine roses that had gasped their last breath and diminished into themselves.

And now, a bonus photo for you:

Sunrise through the trees! Looks positively molten, doesn’t it? The photo didn’t turn out the way I expected, but I ended up liking it anyway.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning after it has gasped its last breath.

Friday, February 27, 2026 You Saw What?

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I’m taking a writing class for the first time since my college days. There are actual writing assignments, which aren’t graded but are peer reviewed. The first assignment was to write a short (600 word) crowd scene in which there is action and dialogue. I spent two days panicking about this assignment, drawing a complete blank and wondering why I ever thought I could write anything at all. Eventually an idea struggled its way through my wall of panic and I was able to submit something. Phew! It’s weird being “in school” again. Anyway, here it is for your perusal.

Martin and Beulah hopped on the crowded shuttle bus at Zion National Park at the last moment, squeezing their way toward the back where there was just enough room for the two of them to stand, holding onto some straps. The bus had barely gotten moving again when they heard a commotion somewhere near the front of the bus.

“I saw him! I saw Bigfoot!” shouted a woman they couldn’t see.

“Yeah, right,” said the man behind Martin. He was wearing a Disney shirt.

“Look! There!” she cried again.

Everyone had their phones out, trying to figure out which way to point them, just in case. A lot of jostling ensued, accompanied by excited voices as people tried to get closer to the windows.

“Did anyone see which way she was pointing?” said a large man not far from Beulah, swiveling his Nikon camera this way and that.

“Get that camera out of my face!” The woman next to him jabbed him in the shoulder with her finger.

“I thought I saw something moving just behind those trees,” offered up a fellow with a man bun, getting caught up in the moment.

“We wanna see Bigfoot!” whined a couple little kids farther up. “Bigfoot! Bigfoot!”

“How stupid can you get,” muttered Disney, “Bigfoot is not real. Everybody with half a brain knows that.”

Martin had decided to stay put, but he could see Beulah trying to edge her way forward, taking photos of the people, rather than looking out the windows.

Meanwhile, Nikon was determined to get his award-winning shot, pushing his way toward where he hoped the action was.

“Ouch, you stepped on my foot, you oaf!” Finger Jabber was really annoyed now.

“BIGFOOT! BIGFOOT!” the kids continued their chanting, while somebody, presumably their mother, was saying, “Let’s use our indoor voices, children. No need to shout.” This had no effect.

Man Bun was saying to anyone who would listen, “I read an interesting article about Sasquatch recently…” perhaps hoping to be established as an expert on the topic.

The bus driver tried to calm the crowd down by speaking into the PA system. “Folks, you’re going to have to stay in your seats or stay standing where you are. We’ll be at the first stop in just a few minutes.” This also had no effect.

Martin caught a glimpse of Beulah looking absolutely delighted with the whole chaotic scene.

Disney kept grumbling, mostly inaudibly, but Martin heard the word “Idiots,” a few times, accompanied by a shaking of his head.

Almost everyone was looking out a window on either side of the bus by now, with much finger pointing and photo taking going on. Half a dozen people could be heard to say that they were sure they’d gotten a photo of something that could have been Bigfoot.

At last the bus driver pulled over to the first stop, calling out “Court of the Patriarchs!” The last time Martin and Beulah had visited Zion, nobody had gotten out at this stop except them, making them feel like chumps. This time, however, almost everybody got off, still excitedly talking about which way they’d need to go to find their quarry. Nikon appeared to be in the lead. As the bus doors closed, Martin and Beulah could still hear “BIGFOOT! BIGFOOT!” To Martin’s surprise, even Disney was out there following the crowd.

Martin and Beulah sat down in the empty bus, Beulah with a happy sigh. “I don’t think our vacation experience can get much better than that,” she said. “Want to see my photos?”

Yes, he did.

Actual Court of the Patriarchs, but no Bigfoot, sadly

I’ll probably be deleting this Blogfoot in the morning.