Mental meanderings ahead.

I made an angelfood cake recently and realized how very set I am in my ways. In 2014 (or so) I started using a lovely blue wine bottle to set my angelfood cake on upside down when it was done baking. This has become THE bottle, the only bottle I’ll use for this exalted purpose. I could at any time get rid of that one and use the next empty wine bottle that comes around or use one of the two or three others I have kept for no other purpose except that I liked them. (Mini-hoarding – no judging please.) But no, it has to be that one. We are all such creatures of habit, aren’t we? There’s nothing really wrong with that – we wear our habits like comfortable bathrobes. The danger is in having these habits set like concrete in our lives. My favorite story about that is what happened to my mom when she joined the University of Minnesota chorus in the 1970’s. She came to the first rehearsal on a Tuesday night and, as was her custom, arrived plenty early and was the first one there with a sea of empty seats to choose from. It was in a huge lecture hall with seating for over 300 people, so she found out where the alto section was and picked a random seat. A few minutes later, a second lady came to the alto section and told Mom that she was in her seat. Ha ha! That’s probably a little too set in your ways. It’s sort of like what happens when you get overly attached to the pew you sit in at church. Mom got up and moved for her and they later became good friends.

Next topic, pipe cleaners. I need a couple pipe cleaners for the little rabbit I’m going to be making and mentioned offhand to my husband that I wished I didn’t have to buy a whole package of them. He inquired, “You only need two?” Yes, just two. He disappeared for a moment and returned with two pipe cleaners. What? Somehow it had never dawned on me that pipe cleaners have any purpose other than for use in crafts. He had some for cleaning out his tobacco smoking pipe. Yes, pipe cleaners are for cleaning out pipes, fancy that. I bet you all knew that already though.

I’ll probably be deleting this in the morning as is my habit.

This is today:

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Brought to you by March in Minnesota.

This Lynnieebeemuseoday Blog Post is overcast and rainy and will be deleted in the morning. In the meantime, get your umbrella out.

To give you relief from my often wordy posts, I’ll just share photos of some things going on in my workshop. Words will be used to describe them, but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

This unattractive cardboard box is the current repository for all the Little Travelers. I think they deserve better, but haven’t come up with anything. Should I commission hubby to make a nice wooden box? Should I use the toy box from his childhood? (photo below). Buy a nice plastic see-through bin? I think you can tell from the look on Colonel Purslane’s face that he is pleading for better quarters.

This blog post will expire in 24 hours.

If you want to start at the beginning of this series:
Adventures Part 1

What’s one thing that children do constantly? They ask questions. Questions, questions and more questions. It’s a wonderful stage of life, even though it sometimes proves wearying for the parents.

Similarly, as a “newborn” Christian, I had questions, so many questions. Here’s a sampling of some questions and concerns that I wrote down to ask my friend Jodie about when I was less than two months into this adventure:

What does “God’s love is perfected in us” mean?

Why do I have a difficult time with Pastor Erickson’s statement “we are here solely to glorify God? What exactly does he mean? What are ways I glorify God?

Does God intend for us to feel so guilty for all our daily imperfections? What part do guilt feelings play in the life of a Christian?

Is my holding back and hesitancy a normal thing to be experiencing still? I find myself with doubts and worrying what others (non-Christians) will think of my behavior. If I have doubts, I cannot be sincere. I don’t want to indulge in trite Christian phrases as of yet that don’t carry full meaning for me.

I am afraid to be sure. Being sure means pressure to me, pressure to be the perfect Christian, to save everyone I meet. Being sure means being unable to be sensitive to the unsureness of non-Christians. Yet, if I am unsure, what am I communicating to non-Christians about Christianity? I guess I am still afraid to be a fanatic. I am afraid that I am drawn more to the “romantic” ideal of true and fervent dedication to something (anything!) than I am drawn to glorify God.

I am expecting myself to teach a new language to other people when I am still learning the alphabet.

I don’t really understand the Holy Spirit at all.

Does praying in front of people ever get easier? Can you learn how to do this better? I lose my concentration on God and begin to concentrate on sounding good in front of the person I am with.

Do we pray to Christ ever? What exactly is our relationship to Christ, to God the Father, to the Holy Spirit? Do other people have these relationships straight in their minds or are we all confused?

I have a hard time being humble about any gifts I have. Yet wouldn’t God want me to feel good about the gifts he’s given me? How do you reconcile basking in praise of your gifts with trying to be an example of humility and giving God all the credit? I like to feel good about the things I do well – is this feeling wrong?

What does the Bible say about pre-marital sex?

What about discrepancies between Old and New Testament?

What about people for whom the Bible is just “propaganda”?

What about casual dating (dating without intent to commit)?

I was definitely giving Jodie a run for her money. I don’t remember all the answers to these questions, but I do remember her patience and her continual reliance on the Scriptures to seek out the answers. She encouraged me to start memorizing Bible verses and I was off and running. She prayed with me and for me. I can’t imagine what my early life as a Christian would have been like without having someone right there to go to for questions and encouragement, a true God-send.

Jodie and I are still friends, although we don’t see each other very much now. She just turned 60, so I’m offering up a slightly belated “Happy Birthday, dear friend and mentor. I thank God for you!”

Will I delete this in the morning? So many questions!

Next up:
Adventures Part 5

Just to clear up any confusion, this is NOT about the festal shouts of egg whites, although that is certainly an intriguing topic. Perhaps another day… No, these are two separate topics that come straight from the Holy Writ.

We read through a psalm every morning in the Book of Common Prayer and I have placed a special marker on Psalm 89:15.

Happy are the people who know the festal shout!
They walk, O LORD, in the light of your presence.

In my New King’s Jame Version Bible, the phrase is “joyful sound,” which is plenty appealing, but there’s something extra jazzy going on with the idea of the “festal shout.” I not only want to know what the festal shout is, I’m a festal shout kind of gal. If I knew the festal shout, I would be shouting it at the feast, at the appropriate time, of course. I’ve been contemplating to what this phrase might refer. My best hypothesis is that it is the Shema: “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one!” (from Deuteronomy 6:4. Shema is the Hebrew word for “hear”). I delight to think of everyone shouting this together at the next fellowship feast, although perhaps this isn’t to be shouted at just any feast. My Bible notes say that the Shema was recited every morning and evening by the Jews of the Old Testament. I’m open to other ideas; please share with me any wisdom of the festal shout variety that you have.

Onward to egg whites. Remember the Dark Ages when we were told that eggs were evil? Yes, those days, when cholesterol was a bad word and egg yolks were sent in shame to the dietary dungeon. During those dreary days, restaurants did their best to kowtow to the Dietary Powers That Be and promptly put “egg white omelets” or “scrambled egg whites” on their menus. For all I know this may still be a thing in places where people are living in unenlightened misery. If you should happen upon those items on a restaurant menu, I give you permission to quote from the Book of Job:

Is there any taste in the white of an egg?
My soul refuses to touch them;
They are loathsome food to me. (Job 6:6b-7)

You couldn’t pull the wool over Job’s eyes and we should be just as discerning as he was in these matters.

And now we come to the audience participation segment. I have 5 egg whites leftover from recipes that called for egg yolks. What should I do with them? I know some of you jokesters will immediately suggest an egg white omelet, but beware: you will be cast into the Lynniebeemuseoday Blog Dungeon.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning with a blog postal shout.

While I’m giving my arm a break, I thought it would be fun to share some old posts from my previous blog (Further Up and Further In) or older posts from this one. Here’s one first published on April 21, 2017. Still true.

Remember when bobbleheads became a thing? I’m trying to imagine the first person pitching that as a product. I would definitely have been the one at the table shaking my head saying, “It’ll never sell.” That’s why I’m not invited to those types of meetings. Someone else gave the go-ahead and pretty soon, bobbleheads abounded while everyone tried to ride the tide of this weird trend for as long as it would last. Even Martin Luther had a bobblehead! [a funny aside – every time I try to type the word “bobblehead,” it comes out as “booblehead,” which I then have to erase and fix. Tee hee.] Thanks to our having a good connection with the Minnesota Twins, we ended up with quite a few Twins’ bobbleheads. Somehow Pete became the Keeper of the Bobbleheads and then in a bloodless coup, he also became the de facto owner of them. This is, I think, an oldest child thing – there’s probably even something biblical about it, or at least he’d like to think so. My favorite of his collection is the Hermann the German bobblehead. Three cheers for New Ulm!

And now, the stunning revelation: in a strange turn of events, I’ve become a bobblehead myself. Yes, it’s true. This is a consequence of not always hearing what people are saying to me, especially in loud places like restaurants. The bobble is a handy maneuver which allows you to give the impression that you heard what was said and are definitely tracking the conversation. Here’s how it works:

Other person: The other day I mumble mumble and it is so mumble mumble in the morning…(and so on)
Me: Bobble, bobble.

If the person is smiling and generally looking pleased with the world, I’ll accompany the bobble with a smile. If they look worried, the bobble will take on a concerned-looking aspect. The only time the bobble doesn’t work, and those of you who are clever will have already figured this part out, is when the other person asks an actual question requiring words as a response. It may surprise you to learn that many questions don’t require words as a response, for example:

Other person: Mumble, mumble, mumblety mumble…do you know what I mean?
Me: bobble, bobble.
Other person (perfectly satisfied): mumble more mumble…

If someone looks rather aghast or confused after I’ve issued a non-committal bobble, this is my cue that I’ve completely missed something important and, well, bobbled it.

On that note, I’ll just be bobble, bobble, bobbling along.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.
Matthew 11:15

I’ll probably…what’s that you say?

I haven’t abandoned the blog, my friends. I’m not even playing hooky. I’m taking a tendinitis break. Every once in a while I overdo things and have to give my poor arm a break. I’ll be back!

I’ll probably…ouch!

I beg your pardon –
Did you say “fat?”
I’m pleasingly plump
Don’t forget that!

The seeds that I eat
Fill me with verve
So don’t call me fat
(Of all the nerve!)

I’m with the Mrs. Cardinal on this one.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning with plenty of verve. Look it up.

I think it’s amazing how patterns work. You start with scraps of fabric and felt, do some cutting and sewing, and voila! You have cats and mice. These were gifts for our sweet little granddaughter’s third birthday.

I learned to sew in seventh grade and although I thought I’d never return to it after making that repulsive one-seamed skirt, here I am all these years later still using that skill. My seventh grade teacher didn’t teach me nearly as much about sewing as my Mom did, however.

Where did you learn to sew? Do you still do any sewing? Do tell!

I’ll probably rip the seams out of this blog post in the morning.

Sometimes I open up the blog and stare at the screen, willing the words to appear. I like words. I’m what you might call a “wordy” person. If you ask me a simple “yes” or “no” question, I might just go the distance and give you all the reasons behind that simple “yes” or “no.”

But this is a “nada” day. Please tell me that you have days like that.

Well, since the words are hiding, I’ll just share a little montage of photos I took the other day from our kitchen window.

Nada Nada Nada in the morning.

Synopsis of the story thus far: Our frog hero, Fig Newton, met a little girl on the river named Lucy, who knitted him a scarf, made him a sailor’s hat, made him a little boat and reluctantly said goodbye to him so he could go see the world. Along the way, Fig was thinking through his trip when he ran across a bear carrying another girl. The bear was Grimpus Leatherfoot and the girl, Miss Agra Glendalough. They decided to travel along with him, walking by the riverside since his boat was too small for them. He spent some time thinking about what he’d want to do and see before returning home. While Agra and Grimpus were out exploring, Fig was singing in the boat by himself and was accosted by a fox named Phineas who stole his boat, leaving Figgy sitting on the riverbank, bereft. When Grimpus and Agra returned, Fig indulged in some self-pity, receiving a much needed rebuke from Miss Agra. Suitably chastened and in better spirits, he told them of the theft. Grimpus recognized the thief as Phineas Fox and recommended that they give chase immediately. They ran off in the direction of the river, but Grimpus ran so fast that all the bumping up and down made Agra sick, so they took a break. As they were taking stock of their situation, they were joined by Colonel Purslane, a hedgehog of some renown in the forest. (See Parts 1-7 if you want to know more).

Fig Newton Part 1
Fig Newton Part 2
Fig Newton Part 3
Fig Newton Part 4
Fig Newton Part 5
Fig Newton Part 6
Fig Newton Part 7

“Let me learn your names, first. I already know Mr. Grimpus Leatherfoot,” said the Colonel. Once satisfied on that score, he bade Miss Agra to tell him what had them all in such distress. Figgy felt that it was really his story to tell, but kept quiet, not wanting to waste more time. Agra summed up their plight quickly and efficiently. The colonel nodded along as she spoke and when she was done, he said, “So, Phineas Fox is up to his old tricks again! Give me a moment to think this through.” He got out of the sleigh and paced around slowly while thinking out loud.

“What we need is to consult with the one creature in this forest that always knows what is going on with everyone. As a source of information, he is unparalleled. Now, the only question is, how do we find him without delay?”

He stopped pacing and looked around, realizing that this small group of travelers were depending on his plan of action. Grimpus said, “Colonel, we are ready to look for this helpful fellow. Who is he?”
“We are looking for Clive, the snail,” the Colonel answered. This was really too much for Fig.

“A snail?!? We’re going to be depending on a SNAIL, when time is of the essence to catch Phineas Fox and retrieve the Lucky Lucy?” Poor Figgy. He really hadn’t learned his lesson yet.

“Tell me, Mr. Frog,” Colonel Purslane said frostily, “Do you know anything at all about Phineas Fox? Do you know where he lives? Do you have any idea why he needed your boat? Do you think you can figure out where he’s headed? If you want to continue running blindly without any information or strategy, I will not stop you!”

There was a moment’s awkward silence. Fig Newton was impulsive and impatient, but he was not, in the end, a complete fool. “I beg your pardon, Colonel. Just ignore me. Please do not abandon our quest because of my big mouth.” And just like that, Fig Newton remembered a song that his mother used to sing:

When words are many,
Sin is not lacking
Set a guard, O Figgy
Over your mouth.

‘Tis well to be silent
Instead of yakking
Think first, O Figgy
Before opening your mouth.

Colonel Purslane clapped his paws together and said, “I know just where Clive will be right now. At this time of day, he has finished his rounds and will be taking a rest at his home, The Last Mailbox. Agra, you come into my sleigh and I’ll lead the way!” To Fig’s relief, it appeared his indiscretion was already forgotten.

Agra was much happier riding in the sleigh, while Fig Newton and Grimpus loped along behind them. It wasn’t long before they came to a small clearing and saw a mailbox on the ground with the door flap down. The sign next to it said in big letters “CLIVE CAN DELIVER!” Seated on the door flap was a handsome snail wearing glasses and reading a book. As they came to a stop in front of him, he set the book down and seeing Colonel Purslane, he called out cheerfully, “Good day, Purslane! What can I do for you and your companions, my fine fellow?”

Fig Newton looked him over and was filled with admiration. He was obviously a learned creature, and everything about him cried out, “Can do!” They had come to the right place.

Stayed tuned for the next chapter. Good old Fig Newton – he’s a lovable froggie.
Fig Newton Part 9

If you can tell me what book Clive had been reading, this post will be saved from destruction.