The world outside is sweltering and I am happy to sit in the Sticky Chair with a fan blowing cool air in my general vicinity. Our family didn’t have air conditioning of any kind when I was growing up. We had a box fan in the living room and an oscillating fan up in the bedroom I shared with my sisters. I slept in the top bunk, where I would feel periodic air from the fan cooling my face. When the pillow got hot, I would turn it over to start afresh on the cool side. Sometimes my siblings and I would get into little scraps over people hogging the space in front of the box fan downstairs.
We went outside a lot in spite of the heat, probably because there wasn’t any significant relief from it in the house. My dad, who had summers off because he was a teacher, would take us to the nearby lake for a swim to cool us off. We would be wilting from the heat in the car on the way over, but once we ran into the lake, the air felt cool again. My dad would swim laps on the other side of the rope while we played water games on our side. We opened our eyes under water all the time, which I don’t think I’d do now. One game involved us all going underwater and one of us would try to say something. We’d come bursting out of the water shrieking with laughter over how funny it sounded, trying to guess what was said. Sometimes my older brothers would go underwater, let one of us younger kids step on their shoulders and then they’d jump up and throw us off. “Again! Again!” we’d cry. And they’d do it again. At last, it would be time to go home. We’d shiver from the cold and welcome the warmth of the car. Our fingers would be all pruny and our appetites would be sharp. Supper would be waiting in the back porch, so we’d sometimes stay in our suits and sit on towels while we ate.
We had no idea that we were making such rich memories.
In my mind, we had lots of photos of us going swimming, but I couldn’t find any. Here’s the swimming crew on a Sunday morning dressed for church. I’m in the front on the right. Littlest sister wasn’t born yet.
I’ll probably delete this with pruny fingers in the morning.
During a FaceTime chat today with our granddaughter (6) and grandson (4), my granddaughter suggested I tell a regular story, like “Jack and the Beanstalk,” but using stuff from around our house for the characters and scenery. I’m in!
Here we have Jack and his mother:
Jack is on the left, in case you weren’t sure.
Having been told to go sell the cow for money to buy food, Jack ended up selling it to a peddler for 5 magic beans.
The peddler is on the left. She ended up riding the cow after the purchase.
Jack’s mother wasn’t too happy about the beans and threw them out the window onto the ground. She harangued Jack for a bit and went to bed in a huff.
As you know, a beanstalk grew from those beans (you’ll see that later). Jack went up the beanstalk. He fell from halfway up which was unfortunate, but he clambered back up and again and found the goose who laid the golden egg.
The goose is on the left. The golden egg is next to her in a nest.
The elements of the story were getting somewhat hazy to me, but I managed to remember the “Fe Fi Fo Fum” bit and employed that a couple times with the accompanying line, “I smell the blood of an Englishman!” My granddaughter laughed and said, “That’s just what my Dad used to say!”
I asked for help from the audience, having forgotten how Jack got out of his predicament, but no help was forthcoming. It occurred to me that a hatchet was involved. I had no hatchet, so the goose had to donate her nest to play the part of the hatchet. Jack climbed back down with the golden egg and cut the beanstalk down just in time. The giant fell with it and was killed. I’m not sure what happened to the goose, but I like to think she came down with Jack.
The giant is on the left of the beanstalk, having met his end.
Jack’s mother, who had originally been quite upset about the purchase of the magic beans, was thrilled to get the golden egg. We decided that Jack’s father was at work and missed the whole thing.
THE END.
That’s how our lamp ended up on the floor. I guess I should pick it up, along with the beans.
I’ll probably hack this post down with a fake hatchet in the morning.
Many years ago we bought a reproduction of the 1828 Noah Webster American Dictionary of the English Language. We take dictionaries for granted nowadays, but it was quite a monumental project for Mr. Webster. He really wanted to make a dictionary “suited to the people of the United States.” He referred to it as a “work which shall be a guide to the youth of the United States.” He sought to rescue our language from “sciolists” (I had to look this up in his dictionary. It means “One who knows little, or who knows many things superficially; a smatterer.”) and to redeem our language from corruption.
Near the end of the preface, he said, “I present it to my fellow citizens…with my ardent wishes for their improvement and their happiness; and for the continued increase of the wealth, the learning, the moral and religious elevation of character, and the glory of my country.”
He also wrote “To that great and benevolent Being…I would present the tribute of my most grateful acknowledgments. And if the talent which he entrusted to my care, has not been put to the most profitable use in his service, I hope it has not been ‘kept laid up in a napkin,’ and that any misapplication of it may be graciously forgiven.”
After reading those words, I’m quite ashamed that up until this point I have not availed myself of Noah Webster’s great work very often. This lovely book has been used more often to press flowers than anything else.
My husband and I have been talking about reading through it, picking out words that are unfamiliar and adding them to our vocabulary. Maybe the word “skimming” should be used instead of “reading.” For fun I started looking through the “A’s” and stopped at the word “abature: grass beaten or trampled down by a stag in passing.” Now there’s a word your average person doesn’t get a chance to use very often. Here’s my attempt: “I saw a stag in the distance and in attempting to follow it, I looked for the abature left by its trampling.” I wonder if you could use the same word if it was a cow, horse or elephant doing the trampling?
I illustrated it. It seemed like the right thing to do.
This blog is produced by a sciolist and ought to be deleted (or trampled on by a stag) in the morning.
We like to talk about the weather, don’t we? If you go to the grocery store, the cashier might ask, “Is it hot enough for you?” Or mid-winter, you’ll get the opposite question: “Is it cold enough for you?” If you say, “No,” you’ll be throwing a huge wrench into the normal machinery of polite society, so you’d better stick with the script you’ve been given. The correct answers are:
“It’s beastly hot, isn’t it?” Or
“I heard that it’s 20 below zero with wind chill!”
Something along those lines.
Here in Minnesota we’re experiencing a heat wave. I can’t say “The Mother of all Heat Waves,” because it’s been worse. This is perhaps “The Oldest Child of the Mother of all Heat Waves.” And if you live here, say it with me: “It’s not the heat, it’s the _____________”. If you couldn’t fill that in with the word “humidity,” you need to turn in your Midwest card. You haven’t been here long enough to deserve one.
When we have weather extremes, I look at the weather app more often. Is this like picking a scab? I’m not sure, but I like to know in advance JUST HOW HOT it will get. Guess what I’ve discovered? The Weather Man has become positively poetic with his pithy reports!
Now listen, I don’t want any of you to tell me that this is a product of AI. I just don’t want to hear it. I have concocted a perfectly wonderful story in my mind about the Weather Man (or woman, if you prefer), sitting at his desk, determined to elevate the weather reports with lyrical, whimsical prose. And why not? I applaud you, Weather Man. Carry on.
One last thing about these muggy days. It’s time for me to resurrect the poem I wrote about the inventor of air conditioning, Willis Carrier.
Thank God for Willis Carrier Who made our lives much merrier. He packaged cold air in a box – Better than gold in old Fort Knox. Next time you turn on your AC Thank God for brilliant Willis C.
Yes, indeed. Thank you, Lord!
This post will faint from heat exposure in the morning.
I am reading a book called Reclaiming Quiet by Sarah Clarkson. The subtitle is “Cultivating a Life of Holy Attention.“ She’s a good writer and I have felt quite bathed in the beauty of her observations about what it means to seek and find God in the quiet moments. Our busy lives don’t always lend themselves to moments of silence, the way we usually think of what it means to have quiet. We have to redefine what quiet means, and make a way to find it all through our busy days.
I just read a section in which she was talking about the way we tend to mediate all our experiences through our phone cameras. She said “When I mediate the whole of my experience through my camera, whipping it out at every hint of intense or immersive experience, I’m ending the very thing I set out to record. I am jolted back to a place where I’m standing apart from the thing I want to capture. I’m no longer in the grace of the beauty I have recorded.“
I know exactly what she means. I have been enamored with cameras and photography for a long time, but there have been times when I realized I could either watch and enjoy the thing that was happening or I could take photos of it. I could not do both. This is why we hire wedding photographers so we can enjoy the wedding without having to look through a lens. And yet, how wonderful it is to have the memory-provoking photos afterward.
I always take my Nikon camera out with me to the garden bench swing. There’s not a lot new that I see from year to year, but I still take photos. I am entranced by what I see and I want to capture it. Everything in a garden points to the Gardener and I practically swoon over His artistry. But flowers aren’t people; taking photos of them doesn’t detract one bit from my immersion in the beauty.
I was inspired to write a poem based on three postcards I bought last year. The artist is Sarah Angst (should I comment on her last name? I want to. Okay, I won’t.)
The hedgehog slowly ambled Through grass, amid the flowers Where mushrooms, red and white Seemed as tall as towers.
He strolled and as he pondered, He looked from side to side. “My kingdom is amazing – So big and vast and wide!”
The moose was prone to wander In woods or through a swamp, ’cross ponds and cheerful rivers He’d loudly stomp and clomp.
He gazed out o’er a valley Across the mountain side “My kingdom is a wonder – So big and vast and wide!”
The crow, his wings a-flutter Would fly from tree to tree, His clucking and his cawing Rang out most joyfully
When soaring through the sky He saw no room for pride. “God’s Kingdom never ends – So big and vast and wide!”
I love the bold and colorful artwork!
This blog post must come to an end, so small and puny and narrow.
That’s not supposed to be a deep philosophical title. I literally don’t have much time for a blog post today, but I’d like to leave you with a little something, no matter how small and random. So I’m going to choose one of my smallified photos that is languishing in the file and pair it with a smallified poem.
A photo of my signature apple pie cinnamon rolls
And the poem:
When it rains No one complains Except Cinderella Who has no umbrella.
If you check the small print, you’ll see that I NEVER SAID that the photo and the poem would actually have anything to do with each other. I merely said I would pair them together. I believe I’ve lived up to my part of the bargain. Your part is to tolerate my quirkiness and stay on as a faithful reader.
Voila! And in the morning, this post will disappear with a “poof!”
I brought my “big” camera, the Nikon with the zoom lens, and walked around with my camera eyes on. Here are a few things I saw.
You should know by now that a good reflection is always going to catch my eye.
Who knew that gas cans could present such a lovely, colorful image?
If you look at this with a bit of whimsy, it looks like the skull is all agog with its mouth hanging open, saying “Wow!” Can you see it?
This doe came around while I was sitting outside the camper reading. She came again the next morning while I was still inside the camper, two fawns in tow. Sadly, I couldn’t get a photo from inside. I know they’re mangy, I know they eat up my flowers, I know all that… but they’re still beautiful, aren’t they? It was a hushed and holy moment, she and I just looking at each other. Then she crashed through the greenery and disappeared.
Summer vibes, right there, with a camper relaxing on an inner tube and all the life jackets in the foreground. It’s a happy photo all around.
Break time for one of the cooks.
Break time for one of the birds.
Lakeside vessels, waiting to be boarded.
A rather distressingly bad photo of the regal bald eagle. That eagle deserved better, but my camera’s not THAT great. I would’ve needed a much longer zoom lens. And the eagle steadfastly refused to come and perch closer to me.
This butterfly posed for me quite nicely. The eagle could take some lessons from it.
Black squirrels! I saw one that was inky black, but that little buffer didn’t stick around long enough for a photo. How can I enjoy the plain old gray squirrels that inhabit our yard anymore when I know that this exotic breed exists? I suppose they make just as much mischief as ours do.
The sign we pass on our way out of camp. “Be strong and show thyself a man.” That’s the kind of camp you want to send your boys to.
I’ll probably feed this to a black squirrel in the morning.
It’s our last day at camp today. My husband will be busy with projects until the last moment, but the week turned out quite differently for me than the one I anticipated. Instead of slaving away in the kitchen, I’ve had a lot of free time, most of which I’ve spent sitting down. Yes, the word you’re thinking of is “sedentary.” The most active I get is often when I walk from our camper to the dining hall for a meal. Or sometimes I walk over to the lake and sit, enjoying the breeze.
I actually went for a real walk today, though, down the dirt road leaving camp and out on the paved road leading to the highway. It was very “yoo-meed,” which is French for “humid.” It was the most mileage I’ve put on the new knee in one go since I got it: 1.75 miles. Seems paltry, but it’s not.
Our camper has AC, for which we are very thankful. Even so, most of the time I sit outside, acclimating myself to the temperature while I read through books, pencil in hand. I like to underline as I go, making occasional remarks or inserting a heart or smiley face.
I’ve also continued to do some painting, trying to get the most out of my limited palette. Two more tiny art paintings have emerged (copied from Pinterest) with my signature droll commentary on them. I even wrote a tiny poem to go with one of the tiny paintings!
My sister gave me some postcards made of blank watercolor paper; I threw those in with my little bag of wc supplies and now unveil for you three of them that I did this week. Perhaps one of these will make its way to your mailbox – you never know!
That last one of the bike is what happens when I decide to go wild and paint something that is right in front of me, rather than copying something on Pinterest. Think of it as a primitive Grandma Moses painting to make it seem better than it is.
I made a discovery last night that completely derailed me: you can now make collages on Pinterest! Suddenly nothing else mattered. I kept making more and saying to myself, “This is my last one.” Here’s my last one (for now):
Isn’t it charming? I am stupidly excited about these, even though they serve absolutely no purpose. An intervention might be needed.
Thank you for coming along with me this week, and my apologies for not having more interesting fare to dish up for you. Don’t give up on me!
I’ll probably collage this whole thing in the morning.
I reported for duty in the kitchen at noon yesterday, not sure what to expect of the day. What will it be like to work with these young men? How will they feel about having a stranger enter into the comfortable rituals of the kitchen that they’ve already established? An older woman, no less! Will my presence be a restraining one? I hoped not.
Caleb greeted me, letting me know that with a cap on my head, shoes on my feet, and a shirt with short sleeves, I was fully outfitted for the day. He fetched me an apron, told me where to wash my hands and instructed me to put on a pair of plastic gloves. He set me to work on filling bowls with CCP, kitchen lingo for Celery, Carrots and Pickles, items that are put out for both lunch and supper. I also filled peanut butter bowls. The presence of fresh bread, peanut butter, and jelly on the table has been a real treat for me. I love PBJ sandwiches! But I hardly ever eat them. I’ve indulged myself this week by making a half PBJ to eat with lunch and supper. Even having three meals a day is a bit of an indulgence, since we’ve gotten into the habit at home of eating just two.
In the absence of young head cook Daniel (17), Josh (18) was in charge of the kitchen. We worked on putting mayo, turkey and cheese into buns that had been soaked briefly in melted butter. The sandwiches were to be baked in the oven. A controversy arose when a couple of the younger table waiters discovered that the plan was to put mustard and onions in the sandwiches as well. Objections were voiced, along with the suggestion that we put those things out on the tables for people to add if they so desired. “Not everyone likes mustard and onions,” said one fellow sensibly. The decision rested with Josh, who assumed the mantle of leadership by deciding to put the questionable items out separately. Well done!
It was a relaxed atmosphere in the kitchen. We chatted easily and joked with each other. Caleb was playing some classic rock as a playlist for our work, while Grisha, when he wasn’t helping, watched something on his phone. Lunch (1:15 p.m.) came and went: the sandwiches, in all their buttery glory, were tremendous! Josh told me to come back at 4:00 to help prep for supper: pizza and caesar salad.
By the time I came back at 4:00, I was feeling less like a complete newbie; plus I was really enjoying the company of these young guys. They are all friendly and easy going – not a sour note in the whole song. Supper was at 6:30, so we had plenty of time to work on getting the pizzas ready to bake and cutting up lettuce for the salad. Josh sauced the pizza crusts, Grisha sprinkled them with shredded mozzarella, and Caleb and I added the pepperoni. Caleb took some artistic liberties in making one pizza look like it had eyes and a nose. This is just the kind of quirkiness that I appreciate.
During a lull in the prep time, Caleb and Grisha folded and sorted the kitchen laundry (towels, washcloths, aprons and such), while Josh and I talked about all sorts of things. Both his father and grandfather were involved at this camp back in the day. His grandfather even helped build some of the original cabins. Quite a legacy! I asked Josh what kind of spiritual impact the camp had had on him. He’d started as a camper at age 10. He was open about not really grasping the gospel of Jesus Christ for himself until he got more involved in leadership at the camp. Telling those Christian stories to others really put it on his own heart and made all the difference.
Just before serving supper, while I was getting the caesar salads ready, Daniel appeared at my elbow, having returned from his meeting. “Thanks so much for helping out,” he said, adding, “You’re doing a great job!” That’s the gift of encouragement, right there.
I’m glad I had the opportunity to be of service in the kitchen for a day. We pray regularly for this camp and have a list of the staff, but until this week they’ve just been names. I’m grateful to be able to pray now with faces attached to those names, and with a deeper appreciation for what this camp means to the boys and young men who come here. One of the camp t-shirts reads “Camp ____________, where God hangs out with the guys.” Yes, indeed!
L to R: Daniel (standing), Caleb, Josh and Grisha
I’ll probably CCP this in the morning. Gotta use the lingo!
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