Lesson 15 of the Watercolor Travel to Italy book is hot off the press. I finished the second one only moments ago and it’s still taped down to my table. Venice is the capital of northern Italy’s Veneto region and as you probably know, there are no roads, only canals. Have any of you ever been there? Although we went to Italy in 2016, we didn’t get to Venice, so this painting is my closest experience with the place.

I decided to quit posting the entire page of the artists’ instructions – seemed like it was probably a violation of some sort of copyright, or at the very least giving away something they are trying to sell. I’ve been going back and deleting the ones I’ve already posted.

These are definitely getting harder, but I’m also getting a little more loose with the whole process and less likely to worry if my attempts don’t rise to the original. It’s really valuable experience just to try it.

I decided to try for bolder and darker colors on the second attempt. Also, you can see the tape on this one. I use fancy washi tape just because I like it. It has no special properties for use with watercolors.

I peeked ahead and noticed that the very last lesson in the instruction book has NO instructions! It will feel like a final exam. Hope I’m ready!

I’ll probably washi tape this in the morning.

Sometime during my senior year of high school I decided to take a bus downtown by myself to watch a Woody Allen movie – I think it was “Sleeper.” I was trying out my sense of independence, flapping my wings a little. Being somewhat thrifty, I brought only enough money for the bus trip and the movie. When I got on the bus, I mishandled my coins and accidentally threw in part of the money for the return trip as well. I wasn’t going to let this ruin my Grand Day Out, so throwing caution to the wind, I went to the movie anyway, thinking that I’d figure it all out afterward.

What a colossally stupid decision that was.

I hated the movie and spent the whole time obsessing about how I was going to get back home. I had gotten my senior photos taken at a studio that wasn’t too far from the movie theater, so I concocted a little plan in which I would go to the studio, capitalize on my having been there recently, and ask for some change. This all made perfect sense in the darkness of the movie theater, but in the cold light of day outside the theater after the movie was over, it was ludicrous. There was absolutely NO WAY I was going to go over there and ask for money.

However, the alternative was even worse. I realized with a sickening feeling in my stomach that I’d have to ask people at the bus stop for money. All I needed was a quarter, but it seemed like I’d be asking for the moon. So there I was at a busy bus stop on Hennepin Avenue, eyeing the crowd to see if there was anybody I wouldn’t be afraid to approach. I saw a middle-aged woman who looked harmless, so I approached her with my sad story. She moved away uncomfortably as I started to speak and I knew the quarter would not be coming from her. I asked someone else who responded in the negative. Oh dear. By this time, I was feeling as if I were a leper.

I spotted a fellow who looked rather down-and-out himself, but figured I had nothing to lose. “Excuse me, but I don’t have enough money for the bus ride home. Could I borrow a quarter?” He gave me a sardonic smile and said, “Oh, are you planning to pay me back?” Shamefacedly, I admitted that I would not be able to do so. He fished a quarter out of his pockets and gave it to me and I was so grateful I could have kissed him on the cheek! I thanked him profusely and was on my merry way. It was a profoundly humbling experience, having to beg for money and it was not lost on me that the person who seemed least likely to have money to give away was the one who helped me out.

That’s the truth!

This has been True Stories with Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless I don’t have the money for it. May I borrow a quarter?

There was an old ditty that went:
Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it.
Let’s do it – let’s fall in love!

We can certainly add Japanese beetles to the refrain. They have returned to our domain and seem to be always paired together, attached at the hip, so to speak.

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I don’t like the idea of them working so hard on making more of themselves to bedevil us and our apple trees. It’s almost worse that they’re such beautiful bugs. I’m reminded of the movie “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,” in which Howard Keel (as Adam) breaks into joyful song as he considers going into town to find a bride. He sings, “Bless her beautiful hide, wherever she may be.” Well, the Japanese beetles definitely have a beautiful hide, but the song I’m singing is a little different: “Curse their beautiful hides, upon our apple tree.”

But even as I write that, I am chastened to think of cursing that which the good Lord has put in our yard for a purpose. I read a beautiful poem recently that had a repeated refrain of “Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them…” Corrie Ten Boom used to tell the story of when she and her sister Betsie were in the German concentration camps. Their barracks was plagued with lice and Corrie complained about them bitterly. But Betsie was made of better stuff and insisted that they should thank God for the lice, for He has a purpose in everything. Sure enough, the guards hated the lice too and refused to go into their barracks, leaving them free to have Bible studies, makeshift church services and freedom from harassment.

So perhaps I don’t need to complain about these beetles and curse them, but there’s still such a thing as taking dominion. The battle lines have been drawn and we will still defend our homeland. My husband put out a little competing pheromone to entice the beetles away from their lovers, as well as spraying the little devils on our leaves.

The war has begun.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning after checking the battle statistics of the day.

From the journal of Beulah Bartimaeus

I got a phone message from Bella today. She reminded me that Mom’s birthday is coming up. She and Birdy are planning a party and want me to be there. I know I should call her back, but the whole idea fills me with trepidation, so I’m resorting to avoidance, as usual. And now I feel guilty, too. It’s a delightful combination. I thought I’d never get out of that house and I’m in no hurry to go back. Bella and Birdy don’t really know what it was like all those years after Dad died, since they were both in college when it happened. I wish she hadn’t called. I wish they’d leave me alone. I wish, I wish, I wish… That kind of sums it all up – useless wishings and bottomless guilt. Sigh.

On a more interesting note, I’ve been keeping an eye on “Mr. Smirk” since the time management seminar last week. I was irritated that he asked that question about the squirrels on the poster, but afterwards I realized that he might know something about the mysterious BOII. He seems like a very smart man, too smart to ask stupid questions. It turns out that it’s not very easy to watch someone surreptitiously. I’ve been casually sauntering into the accounting department with some little copy jobs to do so I can sneak a look at his desk and Every Single Time, he’s caught me glancing his way. I’m horrified that he might think I have a crush on him, but I’ve been hoping to come in at a time when he’s away from his desk so I can go over there and snoop around a little. After it happened three times, I gave up – too obvious. I waited around after work a couple days ago and went to his desk after he left, but that sneaky, suspicious man keeps his desk locked up and leaves nothing out. It might be time for a more direct approach. Tomorrow I’m just going to request that he stop in at HR and then I’ll ask him why he was interested in the clip art on the poster. It’s time to wipe that smirk off his face and put it on mine. Ha ha ha! – that’s my villainous laugh since I’m feeling very diabolical.

Mr. Peabody sent around one his tiresome company emails with the usual corporate speak about what a great company we have, the importance of the work we do, blah, blah, blah. The worst part was that he’s planning to have another one of his “bidness” meetings next week – attendance compulsory by everyone as usual. He actually pronounces the word “business” like that – it’s hard to keep a straight face. Anyway, these meetings are STATBO and one comes out of them with a crushing sense that it was a colossal waste of time. At least he only does it once a quarter or so. He’s not on site very often and he really must be good at managing the company, but you sure can’t tell by the way he runs meetings.

Side note: I think Dad would be pleased to know that I still use one of the acronyms that he made up: STATBO (So Tedious As To Be Offensive). It was his personal best, I think.
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I know it’s been awhile since I continued The Martin Chronicles (of which Beulah’s Journal is a part), but I’ve been doing some work on writing plot elements and thinking through the story. It’s a good discipline for me, since I tend to prefer writing short pieces that don’t require a lot of planning or research. If you haven’t read previous installments, there might be some links below this blog post that bring you to them.

I’ll probably delete this…but really, it’s none of your bidness whether I do or not!

There’s a competition in the garden
The catwalk of the flowers
They lift their colorful showy heads
As they while away the hours

The Iris thinks she has the best dress
The Poppies blush bright orange
The Pansies call out “Look at me!”
And the Dahlias rearrange

But the lowly little potato flowers
Are of the humbler kind
You may just walk right by them,
As they murmur, “never mind”

While the popular flowers are preening
and showing off their stuff
The potato is doing some very deep work
Starchy, dirty and rough

When the iris’s dress is all dried up
And the poppy’s blush has died,
The potatoes rise up in victory
For lo, they become french fried!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, my sweet potato flowers. ❤️

Last week I asked for suggestions for watercolor painting ideas and friend Julie came up with several, one of which was to paint from photographs that I’ve taken. Challenge accepted!

The Watercolor Travel to Italy workbook helped me in my approach to these two projects – I tried to paint with a looser interpretation of what I was seeing. I like how the blackbird turned out better than the reflection. Couldn’t resist working in a haiku for the RW blackbird.

Thanks for the inspiration, Julie!

And here’s what happened last weekend:

This is my much-abused craft table, the top of which hasn’t been seen since we moved here in 2005. It would have been helpful to show you a “before” picture so you could appreciate the difference, but I didn’t think of that. Have you ever cleaned an area and made a promise to yourself that you were going to keep it cleaned? I am Very Determined to keep clutter off this table, so I can use it for something besides painting. I’m getting excited about sewing some more felt animals for Grandma’s Toy Box. ❤️

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but will admit that I’m not Very Determined about it.

Subtitled: The Fish That I Killed. Here’s how it happened. My oldest brother (we’ll call him Bro One) was studying geology at the U of M and got an amazing opportunity to work at a jade mine in Casper, Wyoming, over the summer. At that time, he had the basement bedroom and I was still in high school. As the fourth out of six children, I was next in line for having my own room, so I was thrilled to find out that I was going to get his room for the summer. The “catch” was that I was also going to be responsible for taking care of his fish while he was away. He explained to me that they would need daily feeding and showed me how much food to give them. I’m guessing that there were about 40 or so tropical fish in the tank. I asked him if the tank would need cleaning or if the water would need to be replaced. He assured me that it would not, which filled me with relief. It sounded like a pretty easy deal and I started out with confidence.

About three weeks into the gig, I noticed that the water in the tank was getting less clear and seemed kind of dirty. I was a little worried about it, so I consulted my second oldest brother, Bro Two, who assured me that it was no big deal. And then the fish started going belly up. Not a lot at first – the disaster started small. I found the first one, got it out with the net and flushed it down the toilet. This was disquieting, but I hoped it was an isolated incident. A couple days later, another one floated to the top. This time, I observed that there were several more fish in the tank that were looking decidedly unwell and a little shaky in their swimming maneuvers. Bro Two proved to be a useless consultant (sorry, Bro Two, but it’s true) as he was mystified by why they were dying and had no advice for me except to keep fishing them out and flushing them.

As the weeks dragged on, the death toll kept rising and the water got murkier and murkier. I began to be oppressed and burdened in spirit by this turn of events, imagining Bro One’s great anger and disappointment when he got back (“you had one job!”). The fish started haunting my subconscious and I was almost nightly visited with vague and disturbing dreams about dead fish floating in the water, their beastly little white stomachs the only thing visible in the dark water. By the time Bro One came home, I couldn’t see to the back of the tank anymore and had no idea if there were even any fish left living in that death trap. I dreaded having to tell him how badly I had failed him, but it turned out that his attachment to the fish was a great deal less than what I had imagined. “Oh,” he said casually, “I should have figured that might happen if the water wasn’t kept clean.” I really could have wrung his neck at that point, having spent a good portion of the summer obsessing about those dumb fish.

You’d think that experience would have turned me away from the whole fish aquarium experience for life, but one of the science curricula we used with the kids had a unit in which you were supposed to raise guppies. Seemed easy enough, so we bought a few, bought the tank, the filter, the gravel, and one little suckermouth catfish to clean the sides of the tank. The guppies immediately started dying off. I am an inveterate fish killer, I guess. I called the pet store lady and she said, “You’re not putting shells in the water, are you?” It turns out that’s a bad idea and I wondered why this important detail wasn’t given to all new fish owners. Once we got that cleared away, we saw an improvement in the life expectancy of our little fish community, but those guppies were still more fragile than I thought they’d be. Eventually, we had no fish except the stalwart and faithful catfish, which I sold back to the pet store.

This has been True Stories with Lynniebeemuseoday. I hope you won’t have nightmares about dead fish now.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, especially if it’s gone belly up.

Our financial consultant has neatly summed up the three phases of life once the kids are grown and out of the house: The Go-Go Years, The Slow-Go Years and the No-Go Years. I’m pleased to report that right now we’re in that first phase, the Go-Go Years. Everybody’s circumstances are a little different, but in general these are the years in which you still have the energy and resources to go places, visit people and stay fairly active. By the time you get to the Slow-Go years, you may have more physical limitations and it’s harder to get around. And if you live long enough, you will find yourself in the No-Go years in which you can’t drive, it’s hard to move from the couch to the kitchen, and anybody that wants to see you pretty much has to come to you instead of the other way around. I have made a helpful diagram for you.

It’s also when we embark upon these phases of life that certain Bible verses begin to leap out at you that you were happily blind to before.

Therefore, we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day.
2 Corinthians 4:16

Oh, the aches and pains of that outward perishing! The knees that groan, the back that goes out, the struggle to get in and out of a chair, the longer and longer recovery times from illness and injury, the awareness of muscles getting weaker, the mind losing its sharpness, the inability to kneel or sit on the floor… You’ve probably got your own list.

Yet, the inward man is being renewed day by day.

Solomon wrote metaphorically about the No-Go Years: “Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come, and the years draw near when you say, ‘I have no pleasure in them…’ In the day when the keepers of the house tremble [bones and muscles], and the strong men bow down [the stooped look of the old man]; when the grinders cease because they are few [teeth], and those that look through the windows grow dim [eyes].” Ecclesiastes 12:1,3-4.

And yet…and yet – the inward man is being renewed day by day.

Renewed for what? Listen to this: “But those who wait on the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31 For those who are in Christ, the No-Go Years will be followed by the Ever-Go Years, which will never cease and in which we will have renewed strength, bodily strength.

The inward man will have a new imperishable outward man, and “we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.”

Can I get an “Amen!”

I’ll probably delete this in the morning while I’m on the go-go.

Six-year-old Anna Ovedia stood on the dock with her parents and younger sister Pauline. How could they leave their home? Why must they leave their home? This land of Norway with its icy fjords, sharp, high mountains, snowy winters and short sunny summers was all she’d ever known. She looked up at her mother and held her hand tightly, fearful of all the noise and the crowd waiting to get on the boat, the shouting of the sailors, so many things going on at once. Mama had told her they were going to America, a place where they would find farmland and have sheep and cows and it would be a wonderful life. More wonderful than what they were leaving? She already missed Sirri, their cat. What a comfort it would be to be holding Sirri right now. Papa said they were going on an adventure. But Anna didn’t like adventure that took her away from her home. She would try to be brave.

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Anna Ovedia is my grandmother, or should I say “was” my grandmother. She passed away over 25 years ago now. She was born in 1900 in Norway, where she lived until her family emigrated to the United States in August of 1906. For years I have wanted to write a fiction version of her story, sort of like Laura Ingalls Wilder did about her own life. The challenges are that my grandmother didn’t talk about her past very much and there are very few photos of her younger years. Her mother died when Annie was 14 and she, along with her 4 younger brothers and sisters were taken from their father and put into the Owatonna State School. Some years ago I was able to get all the documents from that period in her life. I still remember the day that packet of information came in the mail. I sat and read it and couldn’t put it down, even to make lunch for the kids (“you’re on your own!”).

This is the first, very short installment. I’d like to keep going with it and will need to start sorting through all the documents and genealogical information I got from my Mom, who did a lot of family history research back in the day. I’m wondering if I should change her name or try to disguise her identity in some way if I’m going to publish this fictionalized story of her life on a public blog. Thoughts?

By the way, they really did have a cat named “Sirri” back in Norway.

I’ll probably delete this in the morgen.

A ghost appeared in my garden
Astir in the raspberry patch
Gossamer light, it moved out of sight-
Fragile yet firm, a spectral worm-
Astir in the raspberry patch.

Oh, the courage it took to grasp it
Right there in the raspberry patch
By the tail I took it, I held it and shook it
A marvelous skin, slippery as sin
Right there in the raspberry patch

When the Lord comes to take us yonder
Beyond this old raspberry patch
We’ll shrug off our sin like a slippery skin
We’ll leave it behind like an old orange rind-
It’s a whole new raspberry patch!

And there you have it – Thursday Thoughts. I’m tempted to commit to writing a poem for every Thursday post, but then what would I call it to keep the alliteration? Maybe I should go for a rhyme, like Thursday Verseday. I’m not sure why these things matter to me. Poetical thoughts are still thoughts, right?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning after tallying up the votes for Thursday Thoughts versus Thursday Verseday. You can make a difference!

We’re traveling to Castelletto di Brenzone today in our Watercolor Travel to Italy adventures – Lesson 14.

Look at all the pretty boats! That was my first thought. Then I started trying to paint the pretty boats and kept losing track of which boat was which – that group in the back sort of melded together. The masking-on of the boat names was well nigh impossible – that stuff goes on very globbily, if I may make up a word. The letters for the first attempt didn’t look so great when I removed the masking, so I decided to write them on with a black marker when it was dry. Big mistake. The names are now screaming their way across the side of the boat in a very unnatural way: LOBIA!!! OLIVIA!!!

I didn’t do any masking on the second attempt, but used a combination of gouache and regular watercolors to paint the names over the boat color. Works for me. Now that I look at the second one, I wished I’d darkened up the ropes tying the boats to the pier. But enough of my critical analysis. All you really should be thinking about when you look at it is: “Look at all the pretty boats!”

That’s a wrap for Watercolor Wednesday. How about one of you giving me a painting challenge for next week? (Keep it simple!)

I’ll globbily delete this in the morning.