Friday, September 18, 2026 Trouble in Paradise

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Young Mr. Jones was perplexed. Just two months ago, he’d married the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Though they hadn’t known one another long, it was clear they were meant for each other. They said their vows, looked upon one another with love, and started their new lives together. Now it seemed as though nothing he did or said could please his young bride. She seemed to think him incapable of the simplest things. She argued with him at every turn. If he said left, she said right. If he said up, she said down. She was particularly upset if he left any item of clothing on the floor. He tried to remember this, but if his thoughts were preoccupied with something, it wasn’t always on his mind to make sure his socks made it into the clothes hamper. Lately, if she saw something of his on the floor, she would roll her eyes, and pick it up with a grim set to her mouth. He got up in the morning before she did and made sure to greet her cheerfully every morning when she got up. For this, he either got a dirty look or no response. And if all that wasn’t enough, he’d be begun to notice a strange leak in the house, just a little dripping here and there. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from and he could never actually spot water on the ceiling. Nevertheless, it had to be coming from somewhere. When he asked his wife if she was feeling it, she gave an irritable sigh and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things.”

Young Mrs. Jones was irritated. She had thought Mr. Jones to be the perfect man until she started living with him. Good grief, he couldn’t even pick his clothes up off the floor! Did he think she was his maid? Wasn’t it enough that she did all the cooking? He didn’t make any allowances for the fact that she had times of the month when she was moody. She couldn’t help that! He also seemed to think that she should start her day as cheerfully as he did. Cheerful?! When she hadn’t had her coffee yet? Well, she loved him, but he was turning out to be an awful lot of work. He was continually making little mistakes that she had to correct. How he had ever been able to drive someplace before she came along was a mystery to her. She wasn’t being argumentative; he just needed guidance. She sighed as she thought about his latest preoccupation. He had begun talking as if there was water dripping from their ceiling. She’d never felt any such thing so she discounted it, but there was no doubt he was beginning to look a little moist around the edges.

Young Mr. Jones was confused. He had thought married life was going to be a joy, and that they’d face difficulties together. When they were engaged, people had joked about how they’d regret getting married, saying “It’s not too late to back out!” but he and his fiancé laughed that off. Two people who loved one another as much as they did would never feel that way. How quickly things had changed. He was a fairly mild mannered fellow, but even his patience was wearing thin when they were in the car together. From her perspective, every maneuver he made needed her input. Well, he loved her and wanted to please her, so he would see this through. The dripping seemed to be getting worse, however, so he decided to go up in the attic to see if he could spot any problems from up there. Lo and behold, he found a corner of the attic where there was no dripping whatsoever. What a relief! He took to going up there more often just to be in a dry place. He furnished it with a plump armchair and a lamp, and brought up his books.

Young Mrs. Jones was incensed. She noticed that Mr. Jones seemed to disappear entirely for long stretches of time when he was supposed to be home. She thought perhaps he was out running errands, but when she looked in the garage, his car was there. Perhaps he was puttering in the back yard? But no. Was he going out for walks? If so, why didn’t he say something when he left? She was busy with the unending tasks of cleaning and cooking, as well as the amount of time it took for her to get caught up with important discussions on social media. She had created an Instagram account called “Keeping the Home,” where she put photos from her immaculately decorated home, and she curated discussions about the newlywed life for young wives. It turned out she wasn’t the only one experiencing a bit of “shock” after the wedding. She felt proud of her attempts to provide a safe place where they could all support one another. These things kept her so busy that she didn’t noticed her husband’s absence at first. But really! Where was he when she needed him to do something around the house? He always showed up for meals and disappeared again after doing the clean up. (They had agreed, upon her recommendation, that since she was doing all the cooking, he should do all the clean up.) Last night, she decided to follow him, and what did she find but that he had created his own little nook up in the attic! The selfishness of the man! Well, at least now she knew where to go when she had jobs for him to do.

Young Mr. Jones was in a pickle. He’d been found out! Cornered! That had been an unpleasant scene. He supposed he shouldn’t have been “hiding” from his wife. He tried to explain that he was just trying to stay dry, but that seemed to make her even more angry. Worst of all, as soon as she’d found his little corner, the attic had sprung a leak of some sort and the dripping started up even there. He’d better give some serious thought to the situation. He sat down on his formerly comfortable armchair, but sprang up again when he realized it was a little damp. This was untenable! He’d have to straighten Mrs. Jones out with some plain talk, appealing to her love for him. He’d gone downstairs with firm resolve, but without losing his temper. He got Mrs. Jone’s attention, which was not very easy. She was looking at her tablet and typing something that seemed vitally important to her. “Yes?” she finally answered, looking peeved. He laid it all out, telling her the ways things would have to change between them if their marriage was going to succeed. She did not take this well. “You’ve got some nerve! I bend over backwards continually to make life better for you and this is the thanks I get? I’m a forgiving woman, so we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened.” And with that, she went back to her device, tsking to herself as she continued typing.

Young Mrs. Jones was actually pleased to have more fodder for her latest post for young wives. This latest incident with her husband would fit right in with her remarks about the need for wives to be understanding and forgiving when their husbands blundered and ran roughshod over their feelings. It was late when she went to bed and she didn’t notice that Mr. Jones was not in the bed. She got up in the morning and was vaguely aware that Mr. Jones wasn’t there with his irritatingly cheerful greeting. “Well, at least he’s stopped that nonsense,” she said to herself. She had a nice leisurely time drinking her coffee and it wasn’t until she got up to put her coffee cup on the counter that she noticed a note that Mr. Jones had left for her, no doubt an apology for his rude behavior from the night before. She picked it up and read

“To my wife,
I can’t live with you. I have gone to the wilderness to be by myself. Don’t try to find me.
Your husband, Mr. Jones”

“Of all the NERVE!” Mrs. Jones yelled to no one. She paced angrily around the kitchen for a few minutes, but soon calmed down. Life might actually be easier for her without him around. She felt certain that her online community of young wives would be sympathetic and gather around (metaphorically) to comfort her in her hour of need. She sat down and began a new post for her account.

“…the contentions of a wife are a continual dripping.” Proverbs 19:11b

“A continual dripping on a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike; whoever restrains her restrains the wind and grasps oil with his right hand.” Proverbs 27:15-16

“Better to dwell in a corner of a housetop, than in a house shared with a contentious woman.” Proverbs 21:9

“Better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and angry woman.” Proverbs 21:19

Better to delete the post in the morning than to keep it.

Wednesday, September 16, 2026 Fashion Rules and Striped Ground Squirrels

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These two things have no point of intersection, by the way, in case you were hoping for an essay in which the fashion rules of striped ground squirrels was in the offing.

First, fashion rules. On some level, it seems like one should be aware of these things, but I have remained embarrassingly unaware. About 10 years ago, someone let slip to me that we are not supposed to wear white before Memorial Day and after Labor Day. I feel a little haunted by that revelation. In my ignorance I could wear white whenever I felt like it, but now, having received the Law of Wearing White, I am aware of and accountable for this Fashion Sin. Today someone told me that she wouldn’t be able to wear neon green very much longer because of the time of year. Okay, not that I’ve ever had neon green in my wardrobe, but what’s that about? She also told me that the Law of Wearing White includes white shoes. What?!? Please don’t tell me anymore.

Now for the striped ground squirrel, my latest postcard painted from a photograph I took a month ago.

I call him “Stripey Guy.”

If there’s a fashion rule about deleting blog posts, I don’t want to know about it, because I’m used to doing it in the morning.

Monday, September 14, 2026 Dream Job

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A couple months ago I read a little snippet in World Magazine about the importance of our local historical societies. It impressed me enough that I contacted our local HS and asked if they could use a volunteer. It turned out they needed someone to help with research projects so I said, “Sign me up!” Or something to that effect.

I drove over and was greeted with this delightful tableau, which I felt was a sign of good things to come.

After meeting the director and the woman in charge of research, I got a tour of the research room, which looks something like organized chaos. One wall is packed solid with research books of various kinds, some of them quite old. There are city directories from the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, plat books, old yearbooks, memoirs, history books, state, county and city records of interest, etc. Another wall is half covered with file cabinets. A table in the middle of the room is comfortably rumpled with paper, pencils, foodstuffs and the occasional file, out of place.

I also found out that there was a company back in the day that made upright grand pianos! Isn’t that odd? They were apparently almost impossible to tune and not very handy, so the not very many were made.

When I report for research duty (currently volunteering about 4 hours per week, two hours at a time), the head of research hands me a piece of paper on which she’s jotted some notes after taking calls with requests for research, either on families, businesses or even sometimes some land. There’s an old computer that I use to access an online database, as well as an index of all the subjects found in the files. Once I’ve got my assignment, I’m off and running!

I find it completely engrossing. The two hours get gobbled up so quickly that I’m almost sad it’s time to go. Dream job!

So that’s what I’ve been up to – a little busier than usual, but loving it.

What have you been up to? Do tell!

I’ll probably delete this in an historical way in the morning.

Wednesday, September 9, 2026 The Workshop: Bee and Bunny

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Hello, friends! I have a question: didn’t summer just start? I turned my head for just a moment and it sped past in a blur. We’ve had a busy summer in all the best ways and I am, as always, ready for the beautiful days of autumn to be upon us.

The workshop has been a bit barren. Lots happens in my head, but I have little to show for it, except for this sweet little bunny:

And progress on the Paint-By-Number Bee:

I started the PBN Bee in January before my surgery and it has lain fallow until recently. I want to finish it before Christmas, since it was a Christmas gift.

Bee and Bunny
Are awfully funny.
Bunny and Bee
Are friends, you see.

Bee gives Bunny
All the best honey
And Bunny gives Bee
Her best willow tea.

Honey in tea
Bunny and Bee
All go together
Most happily!

Until I wrote the first line, I didn’t even know a poem was on its way, and *whoosh* there it was! I call that a kind Providence.

The blog by me
Will have to be
Deleted in the morning
Most happily!

Tuesday, September 1, 2026 The Death of the Petunias

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Here lie the pitiful potted petunias that started life with such sparkle and optimism in May. ‘Tis no fault of their own that they have suffered an early demise.

I find it a joyful prospect to keep them watered in May and June. When July comes, I am slowing down in my enthusiasm. I might let a day slip by and get to the watering later in the afternoon, rather than in the morning. The petunias sense my lack of commitment and feel it keenly. Once or twice I might accidentally forget altogether and run out in the morning with water and abject apologies. But they know. They know my fickle heart.

By August, the petunias are becoming a weight on my soul. “What? You need water AGAIN?” I drag my feet and bring the watering cans to the hoses for refills. “Didn’t I just water you guys?” Even with consistent watering, they are showing their age. The bloom of youth is gone. They know it. I know it.

I usually rally and make sure they don’t die off until late September when it becomes more in the natural scheme of things. But a few days ago, I skipped a whole day of watering. The thought came unbidden: “I could just quit.” Okay, maybe it was bidden. Another day went by. “I should water them, shouldn’t I? What kind of person lets their flowers just die of thirst?” Another day. And another day. I guess I am that kind of person. I’m not proud of it, but the deed is done.

Here lie the dried-up petunias,
Dead before their time.
I confess that I did ruin ya,
Then I made a bad rhyme.

But just to cheer you up, there’s still lots of pizazz in the perennial garden where the flowers aren’t dependent on me. And the beetles are enjoying themselves a bit too much!

Here lies the dried up blog post
I’ll finish it off in the morning,
It’ll be just like dried up toast
Gone without much warning.

Monday, August 31, 2026 The Polite Puffin Begins His Story

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I am a puffin and I have orange feet. This is my story.

I was born with orange feet, as were all my friends and relations. We were endowed with orange feet by our Creator, the Puffin Maker. I happen to think that we are an extremely attractive group, and it’s not just our beautiful orange feet. Take a look at my beak. I don’t like to boast, but I will if you insist. You do? Let the record show that you insisted that I boast, in spite of the fact that I initially demurred. About my beak: it’s a delightful swirl of orange, yellow and black. And let’s not forget the yellow-orange splotch where the beak starts. “What’s that for?”I hear you asking. I’m not sure, but I’m open to suggestions.

It may surprise you to learn – lean in closer now; I’m about to reveal something shocking. As I was saying – pay attention, please – our beaks are actually a rather dull gray color in the winter! In the spring, quite when we are least expecting it, our beaks burst into color like a sunrise over the ocean. It’s a time of laughter and song among us, a sign that romance is blooming over the horizon, just like the sun. And with that enticing bit of foreshadowing, the first chapter of my memoir has come to a close.

Oh, you want to know my name? In puffin language, it would be “bra-ha-whir-whor-orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” It might be easiest if you call me Rufus. Rufus, the Polite Puffin.

It’s me now – Lynniebee – to tell you that I might be deleting this orange-footed post in the morning.

Tuesday, August 18, 2026 Family Meetings

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Amongst my mother’s things I found a couple old notebooks which contained the minutes from our family meetings between June 1964 and October 1971. Talk about buried treasure! I typed them up and sent them out to my siblings so they could join me in this walk down memory lane.

My father was the president, Mom was vice-president, and our oldest sister, Leslie, was the secretary. She would have been almost 11 at the beginning, and 18 years old by the time we had our last meeting. The meetings were fairly sporadic, although I think the goal was to meet every month. Everybody in the family attended.

The purpose was to allow for family discussions about chores, allowance, TV privileges, vacation ideas, general complaints, family plans, etc. Some things were voted upon; other things were decided by parental decree. The secretary formed her own version of shorthand to communicate the essentials. The minutes give a charming glimpse into our family life, at least I find it charming.

Below are some sample entries (not complete minutes) to give you an idea of our family culture.

June 18, 1964.
We had a subject on the use of the basement. Mom and Dad want us kids to ask them before we go down. They decided the number of how many should be down. The limit was four. No arguments are to be had. Private discussions.

September 1, 1964.
We had a subject on jobs for the winter. After supper Lynn will take out chairs, others alternate three jobs: Dishes, wiping dishes, and sweeping. We alternate day by day.

School supplies. On first day come home. Tell what need, then buy.

October 23, 1965.
We had the Secretary’s report. We had Treasurer’s report. No allowance if jobs aren’t right, or if there is too much static. There was old business.

Halloween costumes:
1. Paul = bum
2. David = hobo
3. Lynn = clown
4. Sarah = pirate
5. Leslie = undecided.

September 3, 1966
The meeting was called to order by the president. Minutes were corrected. Treasury was approved. New allowances:
1. Lynn – 20 cents
2. David – 40 cents
3. Paul – 50 cents
4. Leslie – 60 cents
No grum. or gr. with mo. regular jobs. Lynn helps more in kitchen.

Television
1. Preview weeks 3-17 of September
2. One show a week per person
3. Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays
4. Right attitude
5. You can watch when you’re sick at home.

November 11, 1966.
The meeting was called to order by the president. Secretaries report was approved. Treasurers report was approved.

Each child plans a family night.

Xmas – give small presents to each member of the family.

Family plans – skiing, sledding, public library, field trips, natural history museum, Swedish institute, art museum.

April 2, 1967
The formalities of the meeting were satisfactory.
O.B.
Didn’t go to library.
N.B.
D.B. wants to go to the library.
Le.B. had a complaint. It was overruled.

January 7, 1968
Secretary and Treasurer’s reports given and corrected as needed.
Complaint Session.
Daddy – kids be more polite to each other.
Lynn – Sarah doesn’t help too much with the sweeping.
David – Sarah kicks too much.

Meeting was adjourned. It was followed by a session of games and charades, after which it deteriorated.

June 9, 1968.
Old Business. Can’t go to N. Y. Because Aunt Betty’s family is moving in June instead of August. Present plan for summer vacation is: Park Rapids, then Duluth, camp along the way. St. Croix. Mabel Lake.

Summer routine.
More consideration for house, more help, less grumpy.
Meal time – regular assignments for every meal we have together. Be responsible for your place. Put milk away, etc..
No big fusses about extra jobs. Trading on individual stuff. Careful of lights and water. Try to keep fighting down. Be considerate! (Or else!)

October 17, 1971
New business:
Mom wants us to join in the picking-up project. Also in putting-down project (a corollary of previous project.)

Sarah wants family night Sunday night. We amended it to 4–7 and made it optional. “Let’s be flexible.”

Meeting adjourned against strenuous protest.

And that was the way our last meeting ended, “against strenuous protest,” a phrase which makes me laugh. One wonders what the protest was about. Or why we didn’t have any more meetings after that. I love that my parents made that a part of our family life for a time. We had a lot of fun together as a family, in spite of the occasional bickering and fighting.

Dad used this gavel at our meetings;
he made it in high school.

I will have to delete this in the morning against strenuous protest!

Monday, August 10, 2026 There, and There Again

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We finished hiking all of Minnesota’s state parks back in September of 2023. Has it been almost three years already? As it turns out, we finished just in time, with various joints and limbs showing their age now (mine, not my husband’s – he’s still a spring chicken as far as I’m concerned).

One of the parks that we felt calling us back was Glendalough. Glendalough State Park Hike 2021 We had hiked it in 2021 and could see bikers whizzing around on the part of our trail that met up with the paved biking trail. “Let’s come back here and do the biking trail!” one of us said. And the other agreed. It would also give us a chance to try e-bikes again. I had not been impressed with my first outing on one of those a couple years ago in Flagstaff, AZ. Renting e-bikes in Flagstaff 2024

The last park of our five-year adventure was Maplewood State Park, which is not far from Glendalough. Maplewood State Park Hike 2023 We had our camper with us this time and with no places for RV’s at Glendalough, we planted ourselves last week at Maplewood, another beautiful park. Here are just a few photos from our camping trip.

Here we are again, three years later!
We’re standing in the same place as when we finished the Maplewood hike in 2023, our last photo.
Our campsite was fairly close to Grass Lake.
What’s a camping trip without a campfire? We indulged in a campfire all three nights. Ahh…
On day two, we drove to Lida Lake which is in Maplewood State Park. I tried my hand at plein air painting. Had to use a shell to hold the water because I forgot to bring a cup.
The scene in front of me
The painting, with some artistic license.
Day 3: Back to Glendalough after six years. I loved their cattail sign.
There they are – the Townie Go e-bikes we used. It was a wonderful experience! I’m glad we gave e-bikes another chance. These were lighter and simpler to use.
And to cap it off, a striped gopher that we saw after the bike ride.

We also met old friends at the park for a cookout over the campfire: hot dogs, various fruits, chips and salads plus…you guessed it: S’mores! My family made them differently than everyone else when I was growing up, a fact I did not know until my late teens. We made ours with peanut butter on saltines, topped with a marshmallow, which we popped into a broiler. Fabulous! I love the salty sweet combo. Our friends brought some dark chocolate, which I have to admit improved the experience. Yum! No photos though – our hands were too sticky for handling cameras.

I’m going to have to delete this post with sticky fingers in the morning.

Thursday, July 30, 2026 The Dollhouse

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When I was young, my mother and her dad, my grandfather, worked secretly to make a large dollhouse for us kids for a Christmas gift. Mom bought some very special doll furniture for it, but soon realized that we were just going to break it all, so she boxed it up and put it in her closet. I don’t think at the time we appreciated what a grand edifice it was, but I hope that we played with the dollhouse enough to give my mom and grandpa true satisfaction after having spent so many hours of loving labor over it.

I’m the last one on the right

Fast forward about 30 years. After four boy babies, we finally had a girl! I called my mom and dad almost immediately and asked them, “Do you still have that dollhouse?“ When the answer was yes, I claimed it. It had to be extricated from the storage area under the basement stairs. Dad had removed and discarded the four stately columns in front of the house in order to make it fit in the storage area, much to my mother’s dismay. I claimed the special boxed up furniture, too. In my childhood it had seemed a great injustice to have those items unavailable. I let my children play with them, and guess what? They broke a few pieces. Oh well.

It was a bit of a fixer-upper. The roof was gone (also removed to make room for storage). My husband made a new roof and I cut up little pieces of sandpaper and stapled them on for roofing tiles. The kitchen and bathroom linoleum were in bad shape so I took those out and replace them with new shelf paper. Several of the doors were hanging off their hinges (they still are). My husband bought new lights for each room and set it up so we could plug it in and turn them on. I repainted the house and opened it for business.

Fast forward another 30 years. The dollhouse is in our basement. It is quite large and I don’t know if any of our children will have room for it. When we have families over with children, which we do fairly regularly, I like to show off the dollhouse and let children play with it. The last family we had here had a lot of young children, and we left them completely unsupervised with it. When I looked at it a couple weeks later, everything was higgledy-piggledy. I couldn’t even find the dolls! That was over a month ago.

Today, I went down the basement to do something that had nothing to do with the dollhouse. Straightening up the dollhouse was not on my to-do list. Nevertheless, when the spirit moves, one must move with it. I spent over an hour taking everything out and putting it back in its proper place. I have always taken the world of dolls very seriously. It didn’t sit well with me when the missing dolls showed up crammed into one of the closets.

I wonder now if children have forgotten to play with something like this. Do they need a little guidance? I like to think of them moving the dolls around the house in a purposeful way, like setting them down at the dining room table to eat, and putting their food on the table for them. After supper, the family could sit in the living room while dad reads the Bible. Perhaps mother could play the piano. Grandpa and grandma would sit in their comfortable chairs by the fireplace and read the newspaper.

The dining room. There’s even artwork on the wall!
The kitchen. I love those 1960’s chairs.
Leslie’s room. I would have loved to have a vanity like that.
Andrew’s room. Someone needs to control his hair.
The living room where Mom and Dad are sitting, while he reads from the Bible.
The library!
Grandpa and Grandma’s room. Don’t they look cozy with their newspapers?
The bathroom – very posh.

The next time we have a family over, I will continue to welcome the children to play in the dollhouse. But I might stick around for a while to show them how it’s done, to spark their imaginations as they play with this little family in their little house.

I’ll have to resist the temptation to be too controlling; I already feel the impulse welling up in me.

I’m going to have to straighten this post up in the morning.