Memoirs – Page 3 – The Hermits' Rest

Georgia on My Mind

Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

I’m lucky to have had many wonderful teachers throughout my life, many of whom are also friends. That’s a privilege. I’m interrupting my travelogue of state park visits to once again mention my most influential teacher (because I’m pretty sure I’ve gushed about this before), Georgia.

I’m not splashing pictures of her in this post. She knows who she is.

She taught me syntax and pragmatics (among other things) in graduate school in Illinois. The academic stuff was great—the staff at that school really made my favorite topics interesting. But it turned out that I didn’t have what it takes to be a linguistics professor after all (though I loved teaching it).

Me in the 1980s when I was mentally unstable.

How convenient it was for me that I learned ideas and skills I’d use for my whole life from Georgia’s examples. Her examples as an instructor, editor, spouse, parent, political activist, and critical thinker are with me every day. For example, I learned to write, proofread, and edit after reading her corrections on my work. Thanks for the career skills, Georgia!

How she raised her children greatly influenced my own parenting, since I lacked a sane role model in the mother department. I admire her children so much today!

The most important thing she taught me, though, was to accept others as they are. She knew me in my worst years, when I made one bad decision after another, and thought more with my hormones than my brain. Georgia was still kind and gracious to me and still is today. That in itself is one of the greatest lessons she imparted, that people don’t have to be perfect to be loved.

This guy and I are still teaching each other that lesson.

Enough mushiness on that topic, except to say that we are all taught by so many people and teach others as well. Let’s try to teach positive lessons!

Now I Can See Those Dang Birds

One thing Lee and I did in Austin yesterday was get a zoom lens for our Cannon camera. It goes 150-500, and is pretty big but not ridiculous. We went to Precision Camera, a store I’ve patronized off and on since I moved here. I am glad they sell used equipment. New stuff is pricey.

The first time I went to Precision Camera it was a much smaller store near the current one. I went with Mary Jo, the school librarian at my kids’ school, to get a digital camera so I could put photos on the school website. We got the best we could get in 1998, since it was a new school and we had funds. This fine camera could take ten pictures on its memory card. Then you’d have to slowly download to a PC to clear out space. Getting even one photo per class was tedious (plus no photos of children’s faces—we had already figured that out).

I’m pretty sure this was it. You can get your own here.

I digress. The current equipment we now have holds lots more photos, and we download them via the camera’s wifi, which even our mid-level Canon camera has. So see, some things are better now. My goal is to get photos of birds that will look good enough to ID on iNaturalist. I have no illusions of becoming an art photographer at this point in my life.

New lens triumphantly produced an identifiable White-crowned Sparrow.

Today was not a great day to try the new lens out, since it was misty and drizzly all day. The temperature only varied by 6° all day!

Even though it was a gray day, I took many bird photos, some with the phone, which also has a good zoom but not as many pixels. I wanted to compare.

The lens is heavy, so I’ll have to build arm strength. It has stabilizers, which is quite useful for shaky arms.

Luckily, whatever this thing is didn’t move.

Mostly I practiced taking pictures of our Great Egret as it preened its damp feathers. It’s great to be able to see it up close.

On a sunny day I could do more, but I enjoyed trying different modes. I’m nowhere near able to manually manipulate settings. I’ll get there.

I look forward to seeing what I can do around the ranch. I get plenty of bird variety here! Maybe I can get better photos out camping, too. Identifiable ones will suffice. I’ll leave you with a few of my experiments.

Cute Birds and Bittersweet Memories

It was the best day in a long time for bird watching. Between my observations and the Merlin Bird ID, 51 species were found on our property. That’s pretty exciting for me. But more exciting was how entertained I was by all that I saw. Yes, I’m easily entertained. You knew that.

I swear this little White-crowned Sparrow looks like an egg with a tiny head on it.

I saw a beautiful Harrier swooping over the fields late this afternoon when working with Apache the Wonder Steed. We both watched.

Then right at sunset, while I was watching and listening to the sparrows (Harris’s, White-throated, Chipping, Song, and White-crowned) as they rustled through the leaves looking for bird stuff, something flew by. It was the Great Horned Owl heading to a tree. Thirty seconds later, it hit the ground. I guess it got a mouse. Spectacular.

I didn’t like that. What if the owl was after us cute songbirds? Circle of Life, yeah yeah.

That really helped me get through a hard day. It’s now six years since I heard from my son. He was a great kid. I hope he’s enjoying life. I think he is, and that’s good. I just miss this little charmer.

33 years and 8 months ago, 4 generations.

As the two older generations in that photo are no longer here to talk to, I’m the older generation now. My cousin Jan and I have been talking about that, since her dad, a good friend of my dad’s, passed a way a couple of days ago. We’re the elders. That feels so strange.

Three generations, me, Mom, and Aunt Belle, my grandmother’s twin. I was a senior in high school.

I hope I can stay in contact with the generation after me. Maybe someday my son, but if not, it’s his decision and I respect it. And I’m fine. I just allow myself one day a year to mourn the loss that I really don’t understand. Grief is always lurking.

My parents and me in 1958. I knew they loved me, even if none of us were perfect. Dad was 27. Mom was 36.

Once again, I ask you to stick close to your loved ones, your friends who support you, and your community. We need each other.

Wossamotta U?

What’s your favorite cartoon?

Since I was young I just loved the Rocky & Bullwinkle Show. It probably started me down the road to my love of puns. Every single segment just cracked me up, even when I had to ask my parents about some of the humor.

Jay Ward, the creator of this weirdly wonderful cartoon show, was a genius. I had many serious scholars of his work as friends during my academic years, so I may have overdosed on the reruns and analysis, but I still chuckle if I see a clip. If you are young, look it up and read about it in the article linked above. Then binge on Moose and Squirrel, Boris and Natasha, Mr. Peabody, and Dudley Do-Right.

I’m still thinking about things and issues, but more kindnesses from neighbors and some pleasant weather helped a lot today. I got things done that are hard for a person whose brain is not firing on all cylinders.

Still, the three days of much-needed rain put me way behind on bur removal, with only Apache done. I’ll try to get someone else in the herd done before my lesson tomorrow—since the horses finally have a round bale again, they won’t be so invested in getting tidbits of grass from between cocklebur plants.

An Ancestral Home

Do you have a favorite place you have visited? Where is it?

There are a few places I would call “favorite” of the relatively small number of locations I’ve visited. I wrote about one, the springs at the head of the San Marcos River, in October. Like my other favorite spots, this resonated with me, like I was meant to be there, or attached in some way I don’t understand.

Often such places contain oak trees or springs/wells

Today I’ll tell you about another place where I felt an overwhelming sense of connection. I’ve only been there once, when my sons were very young. We had spent some time in England while the kids’ dad worked, then we visited members of his family and other friends. The time had come, however, to go to Ireland to see the boys’ grandparents and other kin.

We had a rental car, so we intended to take the ferry to Dublin, which was extra conveniently located near the grandparents’ home on Dublin Bay in Clontarf. I doubt you give a fig about these details, but in case my mind is going, I’m writing them down.

This isn’t exactly where they lived, but this was the view of the harbor.

To get to the ferry we had to drive through Wales, one of the most ruggedly beautiful places I’ve ever been (outside of quarries, mines, and such). After oohing and aahing at little trains and slate roofs, we crossed over into Anglesey Island, to catch the big car ferry out of Holyhead.

Here is where you get proof that my previous husband is a good guy. We didn’t go on the zippy motorway. No, we went all around this amazing bit of land that’s just crawling with my favorites: standing stones, stone circles, and holy wells. It would have been more fun if there weren’t a gale wind blowing so hard that waves went over the road occasionally. There were even places where streams or creeks crossed the road. The kids liked that.

I made that poor man stop at many of these. Neolithic wonders. From Pexels.

At one point, on the east coast, there was a sign saying something about ancient dwellings. It was a place called Din Lligwy and it’s one of the oldest ruins of ancient dwellings in the islands off of Europe. There are very early Roman ruins and evidence of people living there long before Romans showed up.

These photos are from this lovely article.

I got out of the car and asked for ten minutes or so to see it. Rain was falling. Waves were crashing, and a bitter wind blew. I barely noticed. I stood there amid the foundations of the homes that were beside workshops and barns. I felt as if I could see my foremothers tending fires, nursing their babies, and creating homes, just like I was doing with my little family. This place felt like a home to me.

Of course I ran back to the car all wet and jibbering, but my ex was used to me and my ancient landmarks, and the boys liked my stories. I’ll never forget the short time I stood looking at the Irish Sea during a storm, like so many other mothers had before.

By the way, the weather did not improve and we all got very sick on the ferry. But it was an adventure!

Committed to Telling People What They Mean to Me.

This afternoon, Lee, our friend Martha, and I drove back to our old haunt, Live Oak Unitarian Universalist Church in Cedar Park. Due to some PTSD (at least on my part), it doesn’t happen often. But there we were, right where we used to be.

And there I was, doing what I used to do, singing with Bill. He asked me to join him, so I tried to remember how to sing.

A dear friend, Esther, passed away recently, and the Celebration of Life was today. This couple was a role model for our marriage, support when Lee’s dad was ill. I sang in the church choir for many years with Jim, and he brought me fish and game from time to time (I loved threatening to make squirrel stew from his bounty). He hated squirrels as much as Anita does.

As I listened to Jim share the touching story of their long and loving marriage, followed by funny and moving stories about Esther from their children and more, it occurred to me how Esther would have enjoyed the evening. Gee, most of the family are professional writers, so anyone would have enjoyed it.

My choir and women’s group friends with Jim.

What sparked in me was a desire to let all my old friends I saw at the service know how much I appreciated them and their contributions to my life. I did a lot of extra-hard hugging of my women’s group buddies and former choir friends. And a few people were probably a bit embarrassed to hear me tell them how much they mean to me. I was sorry a couple of people had to leave early. I’d have blubbered even more.

I blubbered at Ricky because he called me “Sue-Nanna,” which is what he always called me. Then we talked about football and golf.

But, in these uncertain times, I don’t know when I’ll see some of these kind and loving souls again. If I didn’t tell them now, when would I? I just looked into their faces and wanted to savor every moment.

I see them on Facebook all the time, but their in-person faces. Ahhh.

Please, if you get a chance to see people you care deeply about, tell them. Show them. It won’t hurt to tell them multiple times. It helps counteract some of the negativity. I’m glad Lee, Martha, and I got to do it.

I’m committed to telling everyone I see that I care about how much they mean to me now, while I can.

Ring of Fire

What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever found (and kept)?

I wish I was at home where I could photograph it, but I found a very cool item in about 1977 when I was a college freshman at the University of Florida.

My roommate, boyfriend, and I were walking to the oldest dorms on campus, which were surrounded by huge camellia trees (too big to be shrubs). It had recently rained very hard, so the ground was moist and musty. I went to look at a camellia blossom in the ground and saw what appeared to be the round top to a soda can.

I kicked it around a bit, and it came up as a big lump. My roommate said I should clean it off, so I did my best, as it was all muddy. It became clear that the object was a ring!

We didn’t think it looked like much. Still, we took it back to our room and washed it. There was an oval, milky white stone in a setting that looked like flower petals. It was dark with age. But we shined it, and lo! It was 18 carat gold! We then realized the stone was an opal.

Plus it fit! We figured it had been lost years ago and only resurfaced after the hard rain washed soil away. Our guess was confirmed when Mom and I had the ring cleaned and looked at by a jeweler, who remarked that the setting was very unusual and said I shouldn’t try to replace the stone.

I’ve had the ring for nearly 50 years now! I do wear it on occasion.

I Hope We Can Learn from History

What major historical events do you remember?

I’m not ancient, but I was born in scary times. I remember the nightmares I had after the “duck and cover” drills that would not have saved my elementary school friends from an atomic bomb.

I remember the President getting assassinated and watching his funeral on black-and-white television. I liked the white horses.

I remember Walter Cronkite solemnly reciting war casualties and my parents’ friends crying over their young sons forced to be in that war.

I remember some years of hope, when I thought people were getting less racist, women were getting the same rights as men, and my gay friends were able to come out of the closet.

I was on a plane when the 9/11 horrors happened.

I noticed when Vladimir Putin was elected and quickly became dictator. It reminded of a time before my birth when a candidate in Germany stirred up the disaffected and angry populace to win his race, then immediately put his opponents in concentration camps. Then came the immigrants, the gays, the non-Christians.

I hope I won’t remember a time when history repeats itself. Again. More scary times.

We’ll see. Two weeks from now a choice will be made. Pray for peace and that cool heads prevail.

Book Report: Wild Old Woman

Once again, my friend Ann thrusted a book at me and said she knew I’d like it. She’s very good at selecting reading material for me. Ann said there was a part in it about Burning Man, did I know anything about it?

It was hard to find a usable photo of burning man. This is a temple. From Pexels

Well, yes, I know people whose adult children go, and my jewelry friend got married there. And I get the concept, but never had an urge to go. Too much sand and too many drugs for me. I really hate sand and wind combined. It gets everywhere. And most of my life I avoided psychedelic drugs. I was afraid of messing up the only brain I had.

But, that’s neither here nor there. The book Ann gave me was Wild Old Woman, by Joan Maloof, a great writer about trees and nature. This memoir, more about love, sex, spirituality, and adventure, was self published this past summer.

And yes, indeed, this was a memoir that resonated with this weird old Suna woman as I’m sure it did with Ann. Bonus: I learned a lot about Burning Man, among other places. I don’t plan to go, but Maloof sure learned a lot there.

Sometimes memoirs are interesting because the writer does fascinating things or meets famous people. This one intrigued me because Maloof experienced many life changes and spiritual insights, and she reacted just like I would, for better or worse. That felt a little weird. I appreciated her honesty and openness. She’s a real, fallible human with many strengths, but who likes to examine her failings as endlessly as I do.

One of the best parts of the wild old woman’s tale (she is a couple of years older than me) comes after the narrative ends and Maloof finishes her dream journey to Bhutan. She provides two “meta” chapters that outline how the book took shape, was reviewed, and was published. I just loved how this section provides insight, especially into what’s not in the book and why.

I learned something in this section that gave me a useful new understanding about a certain kind of very frustrating relationship, one I have experienced as well. This relationship is with a man who keeps pushing her away and pulling her back, while her brain recognizes the pattern but her heart understands why he acts the way he does. It’s called a trauma bond. Here’s what she discovered:

I learned that it was more of a one-way thing. Someone alternates being kind with being unkind, and the bondee sticks around waiting for the next dose of kindness-sugar. P. 199

That explains an extremely embarrassing relationship I was enmeshed in when I was much younger. I knew the guy had issues and was toying with me, but I kept coming back, hoping for more kindness.

Maloof pointed out that her research said that the only way to get out of a trauma bond relationship is to completely cut it off. And I did that. I was in contact once more when I was older, and the person started right back in with the poor me, everyone is out to get me stories. I didn’t reply.

I’m just happy to know there’s a better word for what I went through for a few years than pathological obsession. I feel closer to closure over this regrettable and embarrassing period of my life. It’s hard to admit I could be so gullible, but I was young and inexperienced. I have worked years to forgive myself. I mostly have done so.

Sadly (in my mind) Maloof is still going through the push and pull, though distanced. Maybe it’s okay. On the other hand, she’s still living alone and free, running her wonderful nonprofit to save trees. We all have things to work on, even us chronic meditators.

Not a Good Deja Vu

Once upon a time I was in charge of a large flock of chickens that the owners were no longer interested in taking care of. Their coop had a door, but an animal had broken the screening. Let’s just say soon I had a small flock of chickens. Then I had one. Big Red hung on for a few more years.

I got a much sturdier coop and kept a few more chickens. I was down to six most of this year, then something got Bertie Lee. Then Blondie.

When I had seven. We lost the gray one last year.

Last night something got almost everyone else by coming in through their door and getting them while roosting. My fault. The hens liked to free range so I didn’t lock the door to their run. If the dang bobcat wanted them so bad, why didn’t he take them? Or maybe it was a raccoon. Or any other of the many predators we have.

I’ll really miss Buttercup. She and Bertie Lee were the friendliest ones I ever had.

I’m glad we didn’t have an attack like this for four years! But today was bad and made me cry. I’d had these hens a long time. But one is here still, poor Bianca, who can’t take the heat. It’s hard to be a lone chicken like Big Red was. She bonded with Sara’s horses. Either Bianca will do that or the predator will come back.

Circle of life. Blah blah.

If I get more chickens it will be in the fall, when it is cooler. In the meantime I’ll clean the henhouse out really well. Sigh. This past week has been rough.

At least the horses are okay. Apache seemed off yesterday but today he ate his food and took his meds like a champ. And Drew did all his exercises right, paying attention to me, his leader.

Thanks for being a good guy, Droodles. You were even good for your shot.

As icing on the cake, we are sleeping in the RV because our upstairs air conditioner has broken and won’t get fixed until Monday. Oh course, now is the time the bedroom slide decides to not extend so I can’t make the bed. Sigh again.

I’m doing a lot of deep breathing and trying to be kind to myself. I’d hoped to have lunch with friends today to cheer me up, but just one friend made it. I enjoyed a Negra Modelo in honor of Buttercup, Henley, and Billie Idyll and was consoled by Phyllis. I’m grateful to her and all my sympathetic Facebook buddies.

We can get through this stuff together (this means YOU, too, members of my household).