Early on in our Italy experience some years ago, we found ourselves at the Milano Centrale train station, which was huge, hot, crowded and confusing – but quite a work of art!

We decided to get some food before going on to our destination. There were shops and little places to eat all over the station, so we chose a place called “Bistrot Centrale,” which appeared to be a cafeteria style place with many little stations. We looked over the menu posted at the entrance and while Kris wanted a sandwich of some sort, the Caesar salad with chicken looked really good to me. Simple, right?

I approached the counter and said, “Vorrai un Caesar Salad e un croissant simplice, per favore.” I thought I was doing pretty well with the language, but the woman looked vaguely exasperated and did not appear to speak English. She pointed away from her counter when I asked again about the Caesar salad, so I got the idea that I couldn’t get a salad from her. Kris decided to get a sandwich and my croissant from the sandwich lady and I went down to the other end to enquire about the salad, although none of the stations had a sign saying “Insalata.”

I approached another counter somewhat nervously and discovered that the young man there spoke some English – hallelujah! I asked again about the Caesar salad and he assured me I had come to the right place. He beckoned me down to the end of the counter and indicated that one bowl had the basics (lettuce, tomatoes) and I could choose from the other bowls to build my own salad. Visions of a Caesar salad began to dissipate as I looked over the choices. He indicated that I could choose one meat (of 3) and either olives or walnuts. None of the meats were recognizable, so I asked him what they were. “Octopus, swordfish and ________.” I didn’t recognize the last word, but it looked like sardines. PASS. “Could I have olives AND nuts if I skip the meat?” I also chose edamame and corn. We found a place to sit and enjoyed the meal, but I never did understand why I couldn’t order a food item that was on the menu. Just one of the hazards of doing business in a foreign country, I guess.

We still had about an hour to kill before our train departed and there were 3 levels to explore. First we needed to find a bathroom – how hard can that be in a huge public place like this? We looked for obvious signs (the universal bathroom sign), but didn’t see any, so we went to a display that showed a schematic for each floor. Finally we spotted one on our floor and went off to find it. Dead end – it wasn’t where we thought it would be. In desperation, we went back to the Bistrot Centrale, and while Kris wandered through the place looking for a sign, I stopped and asked the woman at the front cash register. She was very friendly and proceeded to give me instructions in a mixture of Italian and English.

She pointed down toward the end of the restaurant and said something about stairs. Then she said “48A” and made sure I understood it by holding up 4 fingers, then 8 fingers and then made an “A” with her fingers. Oh boy, this was sounding rather complicated. Then she said something about “3.” When she finished, she asked me if I’d understood everything. I had no idea what she was talking about, but figured if I told her “no,” she’d just start up with the same inscrutable instructions. I assured her confidently that I understood and went in the direction she had indicated.

Kris hadn’t been successful yet, so I told him I’d gotten the scoop, hoping it would make sense as we went along. Sure enough, we found an elevator and stairs. We got on the elevator and went to the 3rd floor, figuring that must have been the “3.” We went down a hallway and found a door leading to bathrooms, both of which were locked and had a keypad. “Oh, it’s a code!! – press 48A!” Sure enough, that got us in. This felt like a major victory, I’ll tell you.

This has been Tuesday True Stories with Lynniebeemuseoday. Another true story is that we studied Italian for months before going on this trip and I don’t remember any of it now, except “ciao!”

I’ll probably delete this when the sun comes up in Italy.

Previous: Grave Musings 9 Chasing the Sea Wing

Years ago, my daughter Ruth and I decided to go exploring in the area around our house, so we drove off and took random turns, ending up on a gravel road in the country that wound around through corn fields and past old farms. At a lonely crossroads, we found a small cemetery, well-tended, but looking a little neglected nonetheless. We got out and wandered for a bit, took some photos, and went on our way.

I tucked it away in my mind as a place to which I’d like to return and it went on my list of local cemeteries last year when I decided to try to visit all the cemeteries in our town and surrounding countryside. My ambitious schedule was to visit 20 cemeteries in one summer. I made it to three.

A few weeks ago my niece was coming down for a visit and and I had a fun idea to do a cemetery scavenger hunt with her at Denison Cemetery where Ruth and I had gone before. Don’t worry, she’s used to my strange ideas of fun and is a pretty good sport about it.

I did a little research before she arrived, but didn’t come up with much, other than finding a list of those buried there and the dates. I looked it over, did some speculating and deducing and came up with the following scavenger hunt list:

1. First burial: Denison Baby Girl, March 6, 1853, daughter of James and Mary.
2. Last burial: Elberta Nichols Denison 1906-1988.
3. Possible founders of the cemetery: James Denison and Mary McEachran Denison. Did they start the cemetery to have a place to bury their infant daughter?
4. Interesting deaths noted: Shirlie Tripp Fulton – drowned; Andreas Swanson – killed by horses.
5. Eddie Castle 1878 -1883. Only five years old when he died. Probably not all that unusual, but I was drawn to his name and age.

It all looked so easy on paper, but in reality, when we got there we realized that a lot of the gravestones were so old you couldn’t read what was on them anymore. We found a few on our list, but mostly just wandered around taking photos and noting interesting epitaphs.

Scavenger List #1. We didn’t find Baby Girl Denison, who died in 1853, but we found her older brother. Does that name look like “Lurton D” to you? I’ve never heard of that name. He would have been born before his baby sister, but died On August 28, 1862 when he was 16 years and 17 days. How sad for James and Mary, the parents, but they had hope of seeing Lurton again. The poem below reads:
“We’ll meet again when storms are o’er,
The ills of life are past
Where trials rend the heart no more,
We’ll meet, we’ll meet at last.”

Lurton died during the Civil War – is it possible he joined up without his parents’ permission and died in battle? You’d think that would have been noted. Still the Civil War would certainly have been a dark storm and trial hanging over the whole country at the time.

Scavenger List #2. Elberta Nichols Denison.

We noted that that there were later burials than hers, so I guess the list I had looked over was not up to date.

Scavenger List #3. Possible founders James and Mary Denison.

James married an older woman! I wonder how common that was? If I’ve done my math right, Mary McEachran was born around March 19, 1812, so she was 8 years old when James was born. There were lots of Denisons in the cemetery, so if James and Mary weren’t the founders, there were plenty of other candidates. My money’s on them, though.

Scavenger List #4 Shirlie Tripp Fulson and Andreas Swanson.

Shirlie was only 13 years old when she drowned. What a blow for her parents and family! We couldn’t find the gravestone for Andreas Swanson who was killed by horses at 87 years of age in 1911. We also never found the gravestone for Eddie Castle, the little 5 year old boy who died in 1883.

Our house was built by a Spitzack – it’s a common name around here. I was intrigued by the DIY nature of the engraving on his stone. It sort of looks like the Spitzacks couldn’t afford to pay a marker company to do the engraving, doesn’t it? There were two Spitzacks side by side, both of them with these home-made looking engravings. Neither of them had death dates either. Benhart’s says 1908 – 19___. Hmmm. Seems unlikely Benhart is still with us.

Note that the tree on Flora’s stone is similar to the one above on Lurton’s. I did a little research and believe these are weeping willow trees, which of course suggest grief and sorrow. However, “the weeping willow is also associated with the gospel of Christ, because the tree will flourish and remain whole no matter how many branches are cut off.” (Source: Stories in Stone by Douglas Keister)

When you enter a cemetery, you enter a little village where the residents can only tell you so much, just the essential bits of data that can be scraped onto stone. And as the years go by, those voices fade.

Thanks for joining me for another cemetery ramble.

Start at the beginning: Grave Musings 1 Maple Lawn I

Next: Grave Musings 11: The Forgotten Cemetery

I’ll probably delete this in the morning when stones speak in quiet places.

“Ah, this is the life,” Figgy thought to himself as he drifted along the river close to the shore in the Lucky Lucy. Miss Agra and Grimpus Leatherfoot were still keeping company with him, but since the boat wasn’t large enough for them all, the two of them walked alongside the river bank, occasionally disappearing into the woods to forage for nuts and berries. Agra had brought along a nice tent that Grimpus carried for her. It was getting toward fall and the weather was perfect – just a touch of crisp in the morning. So Agra slept in the tent, Grimpus slept wherever it is that bears sleep (do they sleep? Sometimes Fig and she conferred on this topic and agreed that they’d never actually caught him at it) and Figgy preferred to sleep in the boat.

On this particular day, Agra and Grimpus had gone off exploring and Fig was enjoying the steady musical buzzing of the cicadas. In fact, he was singing along with them, not that they could tell. It was a rousing old ditty that was a favorite of frog mothers to sing to their tadpoles, called “You’ll be Jumping Soon.” It went like this:

Oh dear little tadpoles
With your wriggling tails
And your stubby growths
That will turn into toes

Keep eating the algae
And the duckweed, too
And before you know it,
You’ll be jumping soon.

Just look at your papa
How high he can jump
But he started like you
With nary a stump

Keep eating bug larvae
And green mosses, too
And before you know it,
You’ll be jumping soon.

Fig was quite pleased at how well the tune went with the bass notes laid down by the cicadas. He was getting ready to launch into another rendition of it, when he detected a rhythmical “whump, whump, whump…” sound that puzzled him. Before he even had a chance to investigate, something hit him in the head and knocked him right out of the boat!

He came up sputtering and was shocked to see a fox gathering up out of the water a sash with two large balls on the ends, and calmly getting into his boat and shoving off with the oars.

“Wait! You can’t take my boat!” Fig cried out in dismay. The fox tied his sash around his waist and turned to face him. “Allow me to introduce myself – I am Phineas Fox, and although I sincerely regret relieving you of your handsome boat, I am in need of it.” A nice little speech, indeed, for a thief! Fig swam furiously to catch up to the boat with the intention of jumping in to re-take it, but as soon as he got close, he was rewarded with a clap on the head from one of his own traitorous oars. He reeled back, somewhat stunned and clambered up on the bank, watching his beloved Lucky Lucy being rowed away with admirable speed.

“Oh, by the way,” Phineas Fox called out, his voice getting harder to hear as he started to disappear from view around the next bend, “your singing was top notch! I quite enjoyed the concert! Ne’er fear – I’ll return your fine boat to you when I’m done with it!”

And with that he was gone. And Fig Newton sat on the side of the river, bereft.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh, that dastardly Phineas Fox and his bola!

This has been Fiction Friday with Lynniebeemuseoday.

Fig Newton Part 1
Fig Newton Part 2
Fig Newton Part 3
Fig Newton Part 6

When I get over the shock of Fig Newton losing the Lucky Lucy, I’ll probably delete this post.

The chickadee had
An unintended meeting
With a pane of glass

The saddest part of the story was that when I got up to look out the window to see what had caused the “thunk” sound, I looked down and saw a little live chickadee sitting next to the body of the unfortunate one, almost as if it were waiting for the dead chickadee to rise up and fly away. It was strangely poignant.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, eagerly awaiting the flight of the chickadee.

I don’t feel like doing anything today, but decided that’s probably the best time to push a little harder. Not a LOT harder – just a little harder. So I forced myself to pick up an old art folder of mine and look through it for something to post today. I think you’ll all be glad that I did, for I came across an artistic monstrosity that clearly should have gone in the old circular file, but which nevertheless back in the day, I decided must be kept.

If I were to entitle this, it would have to be something like “colonoscopy test results.” Good grief!

I hope you found that suitably enriching. Going the extra mile after that, I colored in the next page of the Psalms Project.

And there you have it, a blog post with artistic highs and lows and all with a bare minimum of effort. Time for a nap!

I need to find a circular file in which to “save” this post – I’ll probably do that after my nap.

A friend has given me permission to share the following story which she originally sent to me back in 1989. At the time, she was learning how to play the harp and had been asked by friends to play at their wedding. In her words:

…there are moments in everyone’s life which are remembered as times of triumph and times of humility. July ___, 1989, at approximately 2:55 p.m. will be recalled as a time of triumph because I summoned the courage to stay in the church after “playing” (and I use that term loosely!) my harp… The gruesome details are as follows:

I arrived at the church on Saturday almost two full hours before the wedding would begin. The humidity was playing havoc with my harp’s tuning and consequently did little to settle my nerves. I decided to set up in the back of the church so I wouldn’t have to endure so many people staring at me. Actually, without the organ muffling the sound, the harp sounded better from the back of the church – more open space, I guess.

Anyway, as the minutes ticked by I attempted to keep my pacing to a minimum because the organist kept looking my way and giving me little half-smiles of sympathy… (could it be that she sensed the outcome of this endeavor?!?). By 2:45 the church was packed – standing room only! (400 capacity.). The organist finished playing her prelude and gave me a nod.

I instantly became two separate beings – one a coherent, yet desperate, would-be harpist who knew that not finishing a musical selection – no matter how poorly it is being played – is not polite —- the other being a frantic and suddenly reluctant harpist whose hands felt like baseball gloves and was trying to convince herself that all those wrong notes didn’t sound all that bad…

Time lost all meaning for me. The only thing that mattered was my desperate search for the right notes! It could have been 30 seconds or 30 minutes later when I finally came to the conclusion that enough was enough and put an end to my debut with a flurry of fragmented chords after playing portions of two selections out of the three I had practiced. Needless to say, my own personal death would have been a welcome intrusion into the festivities.

But being made of tougher stuff than was, no doubt, noticeable to the casual observer, I continued my stay at this, the wedding event of the century, from the relative security of the cloakroom. Later, in the receiving line, the bride and groom asked me where I had been and why hadn’t I played the harp…! It was then that I realized that the full church and my position in the back corner had allowed the sound to be carried only a short distance. I suspect only the few in the back pew knew the truth! At least this is the hope which I cling to!

Sigh…of course after I returned home that day I was able to play all three pieces without a note out of place… Life can sure be funny, even when we see nothing to laugh about.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thank you to my friend for letting me share her story on Tuesday True Stories and giving us all a good chuckle. I’ll admit that when I read that story to my children some 15 years ago, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even get through it. Some of you may have your own stories of performances gone awry – feel free to share in the comments!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning and then go hide in the cloakroom.

I was walking in the cemetery a couple weeks ago and as I was getting close to the exit where I would turn left to go back up to our house, a social dilemma presented itself. A young woman was at that very moment walking on the sidewalk and our paths were going to coincide perfectly, meaning if I turned to the left as planned, we’d be essentially walking side by side. Does this not scream socially awkward to you? It certainly did to me. I stopped for a moment as if arrested by the sight of a perfectly ordinary leaf in the grass. I took a photo to give me a moment to think about my course of action.

If I turned to go up the hill right then, I’d still be right behind her the whole way. I could stand there for a few minutes to give her a healthy lead on me, but that still seemed too awkward. So I turned the other way and went the long way around.

Yes, there are people in this world that are that self-absorbed and socially awkward! The funny part was that I ended up running into her going the long way around, too – but it was easier since we were going different directions and just passed each other like a normal interaction. She’d have thanked me if she’d known what sacrifice I’d made to save us both from social chaos.

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

Lloyd and Babette Jensen were nuts about movies. You could call them “movie aficionados.” Their whole courtship was founded, framed and finished by going to movies together, discussing movies, making life analogies based on movies, quoting from movies…you get the point. He proposed at a movie theater and when the movie was over, she said “Yes!”

They got married, had a few kids, brought a dog and a crazy parakeet into the mix and all in all, were leading a fairly decent life. But they realized one day that in all the glorious hubbub of raising children, they’d left their movies behind. This was good and right – you can’t live your life as a family the way you lived it as single people, nor would you want to. They had no regrets on that score. Babette, however, wondered aloud if they’d lost their ability to speak movie. This had been a favorite past-time during their courtship, when instead of talking to each other the way normal people do, they’d substitute movie titles and quotes to get their point across. Very nerdy.

Lloyd said, “Maybe this is as good as it gets…” Babette sighed. Lloyd repeated the comment. Babette perked up. “Hey,” she said, “I need you to stand by me.”

“Don’t make much ado about nothing, darling,” Lloyd countered.

“Listen,” Babette said earnestly, “You’re still my hometown hero, but it’s risky business raising children.”

Lloyd raised his eyebrow at this. “You don’t think this is our darkest hour, do you? You’re as pretty in pink as you ever were!”

Babette smiled coyly. “With you working 9-5 and me running a daily breakfast club, it feels like our romance is gone with the wind.

Lloyd took a moment to reply – these were deep waters, indeed. “Well, even if our house feels like a money pit and we’re tangled up, I’ve got a sixth sense that our marriage is still a national treasure.”

Babette’s eyes twinkled. “While you were sleeping, the kids were fast and furious, so I think it’s time we were trading places. Get your sneakers on and chase them down before they end up breaking away.”

“Aren’t you Little Miss Sunshine?” Lloyd was on a roll, now. “Even though it’s a dog day afternoon and I think you’re hoping I’ll get hoodwinked into this, I fear no foul play. Something’s gotta give.”

“We’ll see what remains of the day when you get back. You’re remarkably footloose for an old gringo. Go catch the big fish and return to me. Don’t tell me any true lies and you’ll find out the importance of being earnest,” Babette was throwing caution to the wind.

“Ah, my sweet little elf! As soon as I leave, I’ll be homeward bound, and when I come back, I want you to dance with me, so I can share the secret of my success. People say we’re an odd couple but you’re still my princess bride.” Lloyd gathered Babette up into his arms for a nice long kiss.

Yup, very nerdy.

Fiction Friday has been brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably give this blog post to the terminator.

God took a rainbow –
Sprinkled it on a flower –
Behold: lantana.

I’ll probably delete this when the next lantana appears in the sky.

Hello and welcome to my workshop! Last week I had started work on a fox named “Mr. Oak,” but he’s undergone a name change in the meantime (suggestion from a friend of mine – thanks, Teresa!). I phinally phinished work on him today, so allow me to present to you, Mr. Phineas Fox!

His jacket is supposed to be all one color, but I was running short of the green, so I improvised with a blue collar and a stylish woodsy-brown back. If you only took a cursory glance at his ears, please go back and gaze upon them with wonder – I thought I’d never figure out how to get them on. I finally had to abandon the instructions in the book and do it my own way. The tie around his waist looks like a bola, which gives him an edgy look. Too bad he doesn’t have a 5:00 shadow and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

That was a lot of work. I think I’m going to take a break before going on to the next one in the book, which is a hedgehog.

And here’s the next page in the Psalm series:

I hope you can tell that the round thing is a shield. I failed at getting it to look convex (or is it concave?)

I might be too tired to delete this in the morning, so I think you should do it.

I joined a small church choir in my junior year of high school at my mother’s behest when she was the choir director. Although I was a little apprehensive, I figured it might be a good experience. That first night with the choir was almost like a Garrison Keillor story come to life, only we weren’t “Luderans,” we were Methodists. Most of the choir members were over 60, a few were in their 40s and 50s and then there was me and one of the pastor’s sons, both in high school.

Continue reading “Tuesday, August 24, 2021 My Mom, the Choir Director” →