A PUZZLED MIND – SHORT STORY

My short story for the week is just a snippet of an eventual novel that might be published someday. This section describes one of the characters who has adapted to her life of abuse by relying on multiple personalities she’s created in her mind. These imaginary characters come to life when she needs them for her survival. Her name is Linnie.

Linnie Dugan and her mother, Dorothy, had a long, troubled history.  She was never sure how old she was since they never celebrated any family member’s birthday, except for Dorothy.  When she was a young child, Linnie found ways to escape from her mother and her treacherous treatment.  She’d assume the characteristics of a tough, young man named Tommie.  He was her hero, and allowed her to retreat into a different world for a short time. During those episodes, Dorothy claimed her daughter was acting out and needed to be punished for her disorderly behavior.

Each situation that concerned Linnie and her overbearing mother turned into a battle. So, to say, “there was no love lost between them was an understatement.” The skirmishes continued on a daily basis.

Dorothy was the church organist and carried her own demons, which might have explained her chaotic mind and outlandish behavior.  Music became her refuge and eventually led to an affair with the choir director.  It seemed so right at the time.  The man was single.  He had no ties.  No one would ever suspect that their extended choir practice time would in fact become a rendezvous for the two.  Her husband was known to the entire town as the local drunk and wouldn’t have a clue anyway. 

While Dorothy was living a secret life, her daughter was finding her own way.  Even though she never was found to be guilty of any wrong doing, she was accused by most fellows in town to be a floozy and an easy mark.  It was during those times that Linnie called on one of her imaginary friends to intercede on her behalf.  She had become known as quite a wild cat in her short existence.  Whenever anything went wrong in town, Linnie was almost always held responsible.  Her mother never came to her defense, but instead referred to her as a difficult child. The collision course they were on together would soon end, leaving Linnie to fend for herself even more.  When things were finally on an even keel, Linnie found some actual friends at school.  Two other girls had recently enrolled in the high school.  Both of them had their own baggage, but Linnie became a sort of lifeline for both of them.

After graduation, one of the girls, Ellie, who was betrothed to a rich farmer in the area had her life all planned out for her.  Theirs was a different set of circumstances as well.  Ellie was purchased as a mail order bride from a French man in Canada who had plenty of daughters to get rid of.  Ernest wanted his wife to be educated.  After graduation they were married.

The reception was attended by everyone in town, including the Dugans.  Dorothy and her reunited husband, Frank, showed up and this time she was the one who got drunk.  She was so drunk that he had to carry her home.  Linnie came home later to find her mother at the foot of the basement stairs – dead.

Frank tried to explain that what happened was an accident, but confessed that no one would ever believe him.  He might even be facing a murder charge.  Linnie helped him retrieve the body, carry it up the stars and dig a grave for her in the woods behind the barn.  All the time, Dorothy’s glazed, dark eyes were staring directly in to Linnie’s – an image that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She didn’t regret losing her mother, but she never got over the thought that her father might have actually pushed her down those steps.

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GLORIOUS MORNING . . .

ORIGINAL ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

This has been a week of glorious summer days. The humidity and dew points are perfect, Clouds are sparse and there’s plenty of sunshine. God blesses each day no matter what the weather, but it’s extra special when we can get outside and enjoy them. This painting is done with oil pastels – a medium consisting of powdered pigment combined with oil and wax. It is a challenging process originating in Japan. It is applied, then worked with a brush and placed under glass to preserve it. Much like watercolor, it must be treated before preservation for the life of the painting. Soft effects are achieved with pastels and create some lovely images. They can also be quite messy.

God paints beautiful landscapes with His mighty hand and captures the light, shadows and contrast beyond the brush of man. He does this as one of the gifts He bestows on us. With a national holiday weekend coming up, get out and enjoy the beauty.

Morning can hold such glorious hope, a wonder to behold,

The birds give voice to each new day, with songs of love untold,

The air is clean, the sky is blue, the sun peeks from below,

The eastern clouds, encased in gold, a gift more than we know,

The dawning of the day gives way, and opens up the sky,

Behold His wondrous majesty, His love will never die.

“I rise before dawn and cry for help; I hope in your words.” Psalm 119:147

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STROLLING ON A CITY STREET . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

Watercolor pencils give a different look to the sketchbook. They are studies for future paintings – the time of day – shadows/light/contrast/ motion/value/environment and much more. The pencil strokes exhibit motion and will be reproduced in a finished masterpiece. Paul would often do studies like this for teaching purposes. I learned so much just from listening to him talk about nature and his love for the outdoors. He was a Renaissance man in the true sense of the word.

A couple days ago, I viewed a video we made together during COVID. We did this project for the theatre I’m involved in, to reach out to the community for awareness that you can still have fun even when the world is closed for a while. It was a spin-off of a TV cooking show and totally unprofessional, but a great reminder of the humor we shared along with a lifetime of memories. Each day sparks a memory – an experience – a collaboration – things we did to make each other happy. I’m glad these times far overshadow the difficult memories. Day by day!

Summer memories fill my mind when snow is on the ground,

I think of hot and humid days, with masses all around,

They walk and jog and sometimes sit, and take the beauty in,

The lake displays boats great and small and people there to swim.

Skies filled with voluminous clouds, gathering for the storm,

Still people enjoy each other, it won’t affect their form,

Not prepared with an umbrella, a few drops start to fall,

The skies break open with thunder, lightening like fingers crawl.

They scatter like ants in distress, looking for some relief,

Plastic ponchos worn by a few, they hope the storm is brief,

Soon clouds pass by and sun returns, it really wasn’t bad,

In fact, it far outshines a week in winter wonderland.

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CAN’T SEE THE FOREST FOR THE TREES . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

This painting gives a sense of beauty yet, what lies behind the trees? So often we can’t see the real majesty of that forest until we get inside and explore. Today, begin by thanking Jesus for another opportunity to share God with someone. They need Him as much as we do.

Our vision becomes clouded and sometimes we just don’t see,

That there’s so much more out there, then one lonely little tree,

The world is full of magic light, of power in every deed.

But our eyes become unfocused, we cannot intercede.

Our days become so busy that we often miss the boat,

Get out of bed, get dressed and fed, forget to wear a coat,

We put on shoes that hardly match and socks – one short, one tall,

We speed to our destination at someone’s beckon call.

We need to take a little time to look around our space,

Enjoying things we rarely see because of the rat race,

It only takes a moment –  look beyond that single tree,

The vastness of a forest stands for every eye to see.

Grasp hold of all that’s out there, gaze beyond periphery,

God sculpted every mount and hill, created every tree,

The waters He laid carefully to nourish every seed,

His love apparent everywhere, He gives us all we need.

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A SUMMER PLACE . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

This watercolor was painted on the spot. Not sure if it’s a river or lake. I love the use of many colors and swift, magical brush strokes. Summer is slowly coming to its ebb and flow. Our lives do the same, going through the seasons one by one – appreciating God’s many gifts to us. Start this week by thanking Jesus for another day.

The edge of a bluff lined river – a glassy reflection glistens and bounces onto a hill.  The light touches the edges of trees and buildings in the distance, creating patterns dancing from one place to another .  The deep crevices fill with darkness.  The sky is magnificently dotted with wispy clouds interlaced with mauve, crimson and blue.  A path of towering pines shades the heat of the sun,

Looking out at the beauty of God’s perfect creation,

Breathing in the sweet, fresh air,

Hearing the sounds of rushing water,

And birds singing their little hearts out,

Fills your life with contentment.

This little morsel of peace is just a speck in the scheme of things.  How long we’ve waited for the glory of these summer days.  They are so few and fleeting.  Soon the leaves will turn to red and gold and then fall.  Like our lives. We wither and die.

The moments of joy we experience on this planet are nothing compared to what waits for us after the winter of our dying breath.  Once again spring returns and we’re blessed with new life when we know God.  The glory never ends.

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GIRDERS & FACTORY SILOS . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

These two watercolor sketches were painted when we lived in Northeast Minneapolis. Paul found beauty in everything, even the structures that filled the cityscapes. There is a certain charm to paintings like this – a bit of nostalgia – a different world from what we now enjoy.  When I wrote this poem, it was a day in which I ventured into the city to visit a dear friend from my past.  A man who left an indelible mark on me when I returned to college.  This professor taught me not to be afraid of taking risks – to have confidence in my abilities – to think positively. We all have those in our lives who seem to point out our strengths to us.

City within a darkened world, has beauty all its own,

The wires that lace throughout the space, the litter lying there,

The sounds of box cars hooking up, a place where crime is sown,

Where homeless search the garbage cans, to find a snack to share.

Where vagrants sleep while raccoons watch, to find their own sweet snack,

To dine on other’s leftovers, seems common to them both,

The train rails screech as cars are joined, they thunder and they crack,

The large, abandoned buildings stand, as sentries without growth.

Still skies above are clear and bright, towering over the scene as they dance,

They fill with clouds of discontent, soon darkness falls again,

Some stay awake throughout the night just waiting for a chance,

To try again to make a life, they jump a moving train.

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ARE YOU HIDING?

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

Today’s painting was done at the Hudson Plein Air Event at the Seasons Gallery in 2017. This year two of Paul’s paintings are on exhibit until the end of August. This one depicts a lovely home surrounded by a beautiful garden. There are times when the beauty of those places outshines what lies within. I’m sure the house is just as lovely.

We could look at our physical selves in the same way. We try to conform with current fashion trends. We apply skin care products to make the years disappear. We get a makeover. Then we hide our true self behind all those trappings. God created us each with different gifts. Each one of us is unique, no matter what we look like. We are greatly loved by Him.

It’s time to evaluate who you are.

God created you and knew you before you were born.

He watched you become a human being with a heart and soul.

Through His living water, He gave you a new birth that would cover you throughout your life.

Through His suffering and death on a cross, you are redeemed.

Your life will never end, even when you die.

You are strong and courageous.

You have a free will.

You have a forever friend who will never leave you.

God endowed you with so many gifts that are just waiting to be opened.

You may find them through training or discovery.

Use those gifts to praise God, to lift Him up, to get in touch with Him.

With God, all things are possible.

Even those that you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve.

You are a child of God!

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AUGUST ENDINGS . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

One more for today. August brings thoughts of the end of summer. The great American Get Together is now underway. The State Fair always signals the change of a season. Solomon in all his glory, talked about the seasons and how each one served a purpose – a time to reap and a time to sow. Days pass quicker when we grow older. Our datebooks are filled with doctor appointments, dental, orthopedics, neurologists, urologists, and any other kind of ologist you can think of. We’re also trying to keep track of time, but often have to ask what day it is. It isn’t necessarily because we’re addled. It’s simply because our brains have gone beyond the expiration date.

Summer is one of our shorter seasons, but we try hard to pack as much into those three months as possible. Take a little time to sit back and enjoy the change. Soon the landscape will be filled with glorious colors and crisp, fresh air. Until then just breathe.

Summer days are quickly fleeting,  Soon the air will shift and blow,

Heat gives way to colder weather, and we’ll see the white of snow,

While we wallow in the beauty of these last remaining days,

We can store up tons of memories in the morning misty haze,

As the flower’s breath is shortened, as the days have lost their length,

Soak in every single second, of the sun’s most glorious strength.

As the blooms arrayed in glory, soon will wither and will die,

Life is short but doesn’t waiver, when you’re in the Master’s eye,

He will carry us through seasons, beyond death we will endure.

Death has no dominion oe’r us, our redemption is assured.

Posted in aging, Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, wisdom | 2 Comments

FREAKY, FUNNY FRIDAY – LIVING IN A FUNERAL HOME . . .

In looking for an image to match the title of this post I came across this cartoon about Humpty Dumpty. It really has nothing to do with living in a funeral home, but I thought it was funny. Living in a funeral home is kind of an oxymoron, but there are many families that do so. In fact, many are dying to get in there. But seriously folks, even though this has been a rough year for me so far, I like to think that I’ve maintained my sense of humor. The continuity of this story is going to be interrupted by a virtual doctor’s visit, so if I go in one than more direction, please understand.

As most of you know, my husband passed away on January 1, 2025. He was ill for a long time, but enjoyed a wonderful life, a great family and friends beyond measure. So, I’ve been keeping a virtual record of some of his paintings along with poetry I’ve written. The time of mourning has been filled with activities to keep my mind alert and functioning. For the past month or so, I’ve been pretty inactive, thus I’ve had more time to think and remember. There are so many funny stories pertaining to the life of Paul Boecher. The one that stands out was his ability to laugh and make other people laugh. He was born into a fairly well to do family. His dad was a funeral director and the family lived in the upstairs living quarters. Thus that combination made way for hilarious stories that live on and probably will for a long time.

When we were first dating, I would have the pleasure of viewing one of their latest customers, to see what a good job his dad did in his work. This didn’t impress me in the least, but we managed to spend a lifetime together in spite of it. He would talk about how he and his sister would play hide and seek in the mortuary when it wasn’t being used for a funeral. There were countless places to hide. Empty caskets, the embalming room, the organ room. Yes, there was an organ room, but it wasn’t filled with human organs, just the one that was played during a funeral. The basement of this humongous house was used to store folding chairs which would be handed up through a trap door leading to one of the areas used for seating. It also was a playground for Paul and his sister, Jeanne.

Many parties were held in that spacious area during our high school years. When it wasn’t being used for that purpose, a biology lab was established in the laundry room. Mice and snakes were stored in the window well. Paul was required to feed these critters and not to forget to close the window after doing so. One day, while a funeral was in progress, he forgot. Snakes slithered into the “smoking room” where a group of women were chatting. That ended the biology lab. It went on to become a science lab, where the use of certain chemicals could have easily blown up the entire business.

It’s a good thing Paul didn’t go into the funeral business. No one would’ve taken him seriously. His parents saw his talents led to a different area of study, which took him to the University of Illinois and the Chicago Art Institute. There a whole new adventure transpired.

BTW I had my virtual appointment. I have bronchitis and need antibiotics and prednisone. I was on the same regimen almost six months ago. Should be better soon.

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THROUGH MY WINDOW . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

One year ago today, I decided to write the following poem because it was Poet’s Day. I’m repeating it today for TBT and adding a watercolor painting of a lovely sunflower that often blooms at this time of year. It was the last home we looked at after viewing at least 200 more. Paul actually got down on his knees when we finished the tour. I’m not sure if it was a sense of relief to finally find the right one -or if his knees gave out – or most likely he was thanking God for making this particular house available to us. The house was built in 1885. It needed repairs, much like we did. We were made for each other.

Two years ago, we were looking at senior living housing. The cost was prohibitive, so we put that idea on hold. When we sat down to look at our options. We had equity in our home, but certainly not enough to keep us going for the years to come. Our current house payment was way below what it would cost us to move. Weighing the pros and cons, we decided to remain in our current living space for a while.

We were able to manage until he passed away in January of this year. I could still work on my garden and Paul could continue painting in his little outdoor studio. We spent the last year of his life filling every second of every waking hour together. We’d take little road trips to enjoy the beauty of nature only a few miles from home. We’d stop at roadside diners and have lunch or pack a picnic lunch to share in a wooded area. We’d stretch our legs as much as we could and talked about memories shared in a lifetime together.

As I look out the window that greets me each day, I am truly blessed and thankful. My grandson, who was born in Minnesota and loved his “hometown,” decided to move in with me. He loved the place he grew up in and wanted to return to find employment here. I know Paul would be happy about this arrangement. He’d probably say something like, “See, God’s got this.” I am not alone. I feel safe. I am happy.

A journey through a crystal pane of light and glorious sun,

Separated by a wall that’s conceived within my mind,

A longing leads my heart into a place where I can run,

A place to hide, to bear my soul, a place I’ll never find.

I wander through this wilderness, surrounded by my fears,

I close the world outside my door and let no others in,

The days go by and swiftly ebb, though dreams may dry my tears,

I will not capture peace until the Lord comes back again.

In His magnificent glory, He’ll cut right through the clouds,

His angels will encircle Him, the saints are at His side,

They sing their loud alleluias and shout His name out loud,

My fears will melt, my heart will soar, with Him I’ll now abide.

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THE HOOD . . .

ART & FICTION BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

Everything Paul painted came with a story. That’s why we were so compatible. He would create lovely works in which only the subject matter would stir the imagination. I would find several possibilities for stories or poetry to go along with them. When I first saw this painting, my thoughts went to the urban dictionary definition of the word, HOOD. It is likened to a ghetto or a location where thieves and thugs hung out. It could also refer to some kind of covering for the head which was attached to a sweatshirt or jacket. The possibilities are endless for a setting like this, but this is my interpretation for today

It was a serene place, with silence broken only by the sound of a bird or an insect humming. Filled with leaves as a headdress, the trees almost talked as you walked through the stillness. If only they could talk, it would be interesting to know what they had to say. How many others came to this place with tears in their eyes? The sound of laughter could be heard too. Some would sit on this bench and converse for a while. Others would take a brief rest from a run. It was a refuge for her.

The word “HOOD” was printed on the top of the bench. A robin sat on the edge, catching his breath and thinking about his next stop. A couple walked hand in hand through the expanse, thinking about nothing but each other. An elderly woman came next, clutching her purse taking care with each step she took. It was an everyday part of her routine. She’d rise with the morning sun and thank Jesus for another day. Then she’d hobble to her bathroom, run a brush through her thick hair, brush her few remaining teeth and wash her face. She was a creature of habit. Every morning was the same. Each day was becoming so.

Time has a way of catching up with us as we age. There are times when there are never enough hours in a day. There are days that seem to fly by and ignore the numbers on a calendar. Days you can’t remember what day it is. The woman’s daily ritual always would include this place unless torrents of rain were falling or the frigid winter kept her inside. It was her place to talk with God, to plan her day, to pray. The prayers seemed to focus on her future, what was left of it and how she would survive without him. They’d spent a lifetime together. They met when very young. It was quite a while since he went to heaven, but her heart still yearned for his touch, his laughter, his crazy sense of humor. The deep sting of her loss remained in her heart, but each day became a little easier.

A gardener was tending the flowers and busily pulling weeds. He grabbed his broom and began to sweep in her direction. He had become a new friend as she sat there each day. They chatted for a while. He asked how she was doing. She told him that things were okay. They exchanged a few words as he continued to work. Memories began to fill her mind and escaped through her tears.

The gardener couldn’t help but notice. He sat beside her, took her hand and said,

“It’s going to get better, trust me. I’ve experienced a loss such as yours. We all have to face death someday – even you and me.” He handed her his handkerchief. She composed herself saying,

“I know you’re right. I’ve come to grips with that. I know that the day will come when I can join him.” She began to return the handkerchief, realizing it wasn’t the right thing to do. “I’ll wash it and bring it back tomorrow, if you like.”

“You can keep it.” He continued to sweep. “If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll be here tomorrow too.” She nodded her head as he swept the weeds and clippings in a bucket. “Have a good day, Mrs. Hood.”

The words were enough. She grabbed her purse and went home. She wouldn’t return the next day. Time stopped.

Posted in ART & FICTION BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER, grief, Inspiration, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

WILDLIFE TOUR . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

Life is constant motion,

A dance to the beat of a certain drum,

Paul loved doing watercolor paintings, because to him it was much like sketching. As with any medium, this particular one needs to be worked quickly, to catch the light, to find the negative spaces, to fill in the shadows for contrast. We also loved taking drives through the natural space of Sherburne Wildlife Refuge. It was not likely that we would see any deer, bear or wolves, but the waterfowl were in abundance. The swampy areas – the spots that had been burned on purpose to manage the land and create new growth – the ponds and lakes that beckoned geese, trumpeter swans, sandhill cranes, eagles, pelicans and an abundance of various ducks. All of this cut through a natural area that was not only a sanctuary, but a place to come and see. Traffic moves slowly and may come to a complete stop as folks get out of their cars to get a closer look or to take photographs.

Day to day living can entrap us. We feel smothered by the work of the day or the tension created by it. We need a place to change our perspective and to chill out. A simple drive in nature can soothe our souls. You don’t even have to take a long drive to get there. Make time this week to explore the beauty that God has blessed us with and thank Jesus for another day.

Hearts racing through life,

Never time to relax,

To contemplate,

To enjoy the motion itself,

Nature is filled with it too,

As the wind swirls endlessly through the forest,

As the wildlife scurry to gather food,

As the sounds of life explode all around,

Whispers from the Creator,

To stop for a moment,

To listen,

To watch,

To feel,

The rhythm of life,

To become enshrouded with it,

To live.

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HEIGHTS UNKNOWN . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

Oh, to reach the heights of heaven. To travel through space and beyond. This has been a goal set by man many centuries ago. In the time of DaVinci and Michelangelo men were looking for ways to soar like the birds – to reach the places only known to God. We have slowly traveled through this realm. What took God only seconds to create, we have failed to achieve. So far, the only way to see heaven in all its majesty and glory is to die.

Death is impending for every living thing. Eternal life has been the pursuit of man since the beginning of time. There is only one way to conquer death, and we play no part in it. Jesus came to earth to conquer death and take away sin. Those who believe this, will surely see heaven. Man will continue to take baby steps but will never be able to compete with God.

That first glimmer of light at dawn – when God kisses the mountain tops,

Waking the life from pleasant sleep, refreshing with morning dew drops,

The stillness of morning’s first light, explodes like a heavenly sight,

The sky turns to a glorious blue , as daylight replaces the night.

Reflections of His perfect world, are seen in that early sunrise,

Creation sings at His command, becoming a sight for the eyes,

He captures the light of the sun, brings warmth to the earth with His breath,

He fulfills every earthly need, He protects us even in death.

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CONFERRING WITH THE FLOWERS . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

One of my favorite movies is “The Wizard of Oz.” I loved how the beginning started out in black and white. Clouds filled the air as the approaching cyclone was seen on the horizon. The wind swirled as trees, cows and other debris were ripped from the ground. The Wicked Witch blew through on her broom as Dorothy and Toto clung to each other in fear. When the storm is over, the scene turns into technicolor. Opening up a place that to Dorothy depicts a place not in Kansas anymore.

We are faced with the possibility of storms every day of our lives. In fact, I believe one is anticipated for today. The beautiful flowers of summer have taken a beating with an excessive amount of rain this month. Many were in full bloom a week ago are now struggling to hold up their heads. When the sun returns, we’ll see an abundance of brilliant color again. Those same blooms are preparing for their final curtain call before autumn arrives.

Things may seem black and white some days. Clouds cover the sun, causing darkness to fall during daylight. Some get depressed on days like this. Some relax and read. Some enjoy the sound of raindrops on the roof. Whatever you feel like when a storm approaches, you can be sure that the technicolor will show its face again. God is good in all kinds of weather.

A bouquet of vibrant colors, slowly fading in the hand,

Picked fresh this very morning, plucked from the moistened land,

Our lives are like those flowers – they slowly wilt and die,

We want to intercede somehow, but no matter how we try,

Our days on earth are numbered and our lives will surely end,

But even through our darkest days, we know we have a friend,

Our loving Savior, Jesus, shed precious blood for me,

He gave His life to save me and set my spirit free,

Life never ends with Jesus, His love endures the ages,

His Word sustains me every day within its splendid pages.

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SKETCHBOOK STUDIES . . .

ART & INSPIRATION FROM PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

It started when he was a young lad, spending his summers at the lake.  He met an old Native American who was building a log cabin from scratch.  Each log was perfectly hewn. Paul pitched right in to help, but more so to learn all he could about outdoor life.  The native was eager to teach – how to whittle interesting creatures out of sticks – how to build a campfire, unlike the white man who builds a large fire and has to sit far from it – how to dig deep into the ground and build a natural refrigerator and many survival skills. This early exposure to nature helped shape Paul as a lover of the outdoors and a student of God’s creation. He used what he learned in his art. Most of his work is done in the multitude of grandiose locations provided by our God.

Paul was a diligent student of this world throughout his life. He would go on to teach his own son and grandsons the splendor within the world through his art as well as his many stories. A painting would often result from the many sketches of various plant life, animals, insects and terrains. Those sketches would be the studies for a future masterpiece. An artist needs to know their subject. When we really get close to the subject – touch, smell, see, taste and hear it – we enliven the senses to the glory that transfers onto a canvas. We can never really capture the true beauty, but certainly Paul knew his subject.

As I venture through the remainder of my own life, I am blessed to have this treasure of his art to remind me of Paul’s love of nature and especially his love for our God.

“Ask the beasts and they will teach you; the birds of the heavens and they will tell you; or the bushes of the earth and they will teach you; and the fish of the sea will declare to you. Who among these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this? In His hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind.” Job 12:7-10

Posted in art & inspiration from the Boechers, Nature, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

FREAKY, FUNNY FRIDAY – I FELL ASLEEP AT THE MOVIES . . .

It’s time for my Freaky, Funny Friday post. You might consider this another true confession on my part. For some reason, my life tends to create funny situations without my even trying. The following is a story along with a poem that came to be after we attended the screening of “Lincoln,” with three grandkids. Those seats in the theatres today are like begging us to take a nap. The smells wafting from the snack bar, also turn the senses up to the max. I opted for some Mentos chocolate. I love movie theatre popcorn too but wanted to change things up a bit that day. That and the fact that my dentures don’t like popcorn much. Those factored into my dozing off during this highly powerful story of war, power, politics and tragedy.

It took about five minutes for the credits to roll across the screen. I recall seeing a few scenes of the Civil War taking place and bodies of the fallen lining the streets of some Southern town. Cannons boomed, guns fired, men screamed in pain and the screen exploded into mass chaos as I nodded off to dreamland. Not sure if it was the heated recliner or the fact that I was exhausted. Somehow, something triggered my immediate slumber. I may have woken up for a few of the scenes with Mary Todd Lincoln. Loved the costuming and the reality of the characters coming to life for just a moment. Then it was off to the neverland again.

When I finally woke from my slumber, I realized that I had slept during most of the movie. My grandchildren were quick to remind me. I put on my orange jacket and was ready to step out of the theatre. but realized that the box of Mentos had melted and was stuck to my jacket. The chocolate had created interesting little features on my coat. I looked like a Jack-o-lantern, with squished chocolate blobs all over. I didn’t feel too bad about missing the movie, but I sure wished I hadn’t fallen asleep on my Mentos.

I once went to a picture show,

With popcorn, treats and drink in tow,

Reclined in leather seat was I,

I thought I’d died and closed one eye,

The dreams of sleep soon overtook,

I fell asleep, felt like a schnook,

Around me bombs were falling fast,

I was part of a movie cast.

Guns were firing and blood ran red,

I realized I wasn’t in my bed,

When woken by a gentle nudge,

I reached around to find my fudge,

Melted into my jacket there,

Because of that infernal chair.

Posted in Humor, Poetry by Kathy Boecher, Uncategorized, writing | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

LOOKING BACK AT THIS WEEK . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

The days seem to fly by when you get to be my age. Many run right into each other. How do you make the most of every last moment of your life? We can choose to stay busy. We can fill time with activities that help others through volunteer work. We might be fit enough to take a long walk in nature. We could spend more time in Bible study. We could slow down, like everyone says we should. We could wait to die. All of these options have run through my mind during the past several months. I have been blessed beyond measure because of a merciful God who looks beyond my faults and sees His only Son, Jesus. The perfect, sinless, Jesus, who took on the sins of the world.

Make each day a new one. Expect it to be imperfect. Smooth sailing doesn’t survive on dry land. Look back at the week which has now melted into the past. Every day is like a fresh start for each of us. Turn the trials you faced into blessings by seeing only the good that came from them. Friday is just another day, but it can be the beginning rather than the end.

As the morning light arises, on a valley green sublime,

Sun light kisses trees and branches, balancing the sands of time,

Though through danger I will wander, snares are set at every turn,

God is there to guard my footsteps, leading me to where I yearn,

Peaceful, green and tranquil landscapes, skies are filled with golden light,

Yet the heat from summer sunshine, hasn’t risen to full height,

Listening as He sits with me, as my heart to Him I spill,

Understanding all I ask for, promises to do His will,

When at last my days are finished, I will walk on streets of gold,

No more tears, no pain or sorrow, only peace and love untold,

The darkness of an evil world, purged with grace from God alone,

I’ll walk in valleys green with life, for heaven will be my home.

Posted in aging, Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, Uncategorized, wisdom | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

EACH PASSING DAY . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

There's nothing like a day on the water to soothe a troubled heart or get in tune with God. Whether it means sailing a boat, going fishing, tanning on the beach, dangling your feet in the refreshment of it or going swimming - it's going to be a good day when you experience it. This watercolor shows the love Paul had for being on a lake. There are times when we just want to escape this life of problems and worry. It's so easy to set aside some time to do just that. Our lifespan is too short to deprive ourselves from the beauty of God's handiwork. Even when you think your time is too full of work, trials, hopelessness, too much busy, make time for just you and God.

When I grow weary from the weight of life,

When every step becomes a heavy strife,

There’s no relief, no respite for my load,

The path is full of obstacles untold,

Each pothole, crag and deep embedded crack,

Becomes too much for this old, weary back,

But God is there at every twist and turn,

To lift me up when heavy troubles churn,

To take the weight and soften every sting,

To wash away my tears and make me sing,

He’s with me everywhere I go,

Because my Jesus loves me, this I know!

Posted in aging, Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, God time, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF ME . . . A SHORT STORY

Picture this – an 83 year old woman bent on getting a long overdue task done – drives to the DMV to have her tabs renewed and the title put into her name. Since she doesn’t have a bill for them, she takes along the title and a death certificate just in case. She arrives at the license center, immediately finds a parking place and walks in expecting smooth sailing. Not so. She is met by a bazillion others who have the same thing on their mind. Well, at least there’s someone to ask her why she was there. The clerk gazed at the paperwork and noted that there was still a lien on the vehicle. So she cheerfully said, “You need to get a copy of the lien release from your bank before we can change the title over to you.”

Back she goes to her car. It’s beginning to get humid and a lot hotter. She takes a whiff of her inhaler and proceeds to the bank. By the time she gets there, the dewpoint has become tropical and she wheezes when she opens the car door.
She’s told to sit and wait for a banker to help. At that point she begins to cough. The banker arrives in the middle of the outburst and leads her to his office, asking if she’d like some water. Such a nice young man. It doesn’t take too long for her to obtain the right documentation. She decides to stop at Costco on the way back to the license center. There are maybe a trillion people there. She grabs a cart and heads for the liquor section, purchases a bottle of Irish Creme and goes to the grocery section. She seriously thinks about opening the bottle and taking a quick sip, but refrains. This trip becomes another distraction lasting about an hour. She decides on a different license center, thinking it will be less crowded. Not so.

She’s met by a familiar face at the main door. It’s a friend, so there’s an exchange of conversation. Then into the center, where she sees people sitting in the area outside the door, realizing this place is just as busy as the last. She gets a ticket and sits down to wait – for another hour. During the two hour span before getting here, she has not had the opportunity to use the restroom. Not good for an 83 year old woman. She continues to wait, crossing her legs tightly together.

She continues to think positive thoughts and watches people as she crosses her legs even tighter. She thought up a joke about getting tan. When you’re older, you don’t get tan. Your body simply becomes a giant liver spot. At least this time was being well spent on creativity.

A woman sitting next to her mentioned she was on the same quest. She said she was amazed that a woman of such advanced years was capable of taking care of this, rather than having someone else do it. At last her number was called. It took about five minutes to wiggle her way out of the chair and stand up. Her knees and hips have been screaming at her all day, but she presses on. There’s something about the persistence and perseverance of older women. I might scare you if I reveal just how strong they are.

Posted in aging, generations, Humor, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 17 Comments

BEAUTIFUL CREATION . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER ©

Today’s art is a watercolor pencil sketch, with so much amazing detail. The eyes are focused on us as we watch him. Paul created art that was so often connected to a story. He moved around a lot when he made art. One friend commented that his brush seemed to move faster than his brain. You can see a lot of motion in this piece. Just like our lives are filled with movement and energy, this Big Horn Sheep looks like he’s ready to jump off the page. All of God’s creatures, great and small, require vim and vigor – including us.

A lump of clay – no life – unanimated – uninspired,

Left to the hands of the Potter.

He pushes and prods with the strength of His hands

He manipulates with the tenderness of His fingers

And creates something recognizable.

He chisels details – two eyes, a nose, a mouth.

A human form, with flesh and blood.

He breathes life into newly formed nostrils with His own exhalation ,

Then He sets it aside – letting His handiwork rest for a while.

Alone – no life – unanimated – uninspired.

The creation is led by its own desires and passions.

It wanders aimlessly through its unknown existence.

Without the Creator, it cannot think clearly. Its mind is controlled by its form.

Crashing , tumbling, falling deeper into a pit of nothingness – alone and out of control.

Because it has not yet been exposed to the Light.

The Potter searches for His creation – never stopping until it is found.

He takes it into His loving hands.   He brings it closer to the Light.

He refines – turns – remolds – inspires.  He erases the blemishes,

Polishes and finishes.

This time the Creation experiences the Light. It feels the warmth of it. It bends to the touch.

Through the Potter’s loving touch the clay has now experienced real life.

Posted in Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, creation, life after death | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments