One of the odder things I do in my job is record myself talking about software. It’s nice and low-tech, using a fairly nice headset and inexpensive recording software (Audacity). I’m not making a fancy podcast or recording music, so this works fine.
I listened to her all afternoon.
Of course, I have to edit the recordings, which requires a lot of listening to myself talk. I’ve gotten good at just pausing when I mess up and starting again at the previous place where I paused, so no one can tell I edited the recording. You have to use the same pitch and volume to do a good job. Sometimes I don’t.
Just like sometimes my photos are dang blurry.
Over the years I’ve trained myself not to gasp before I talk, not to make clicking sounds between words, to put ending consonants at the ends of words without sounding overly precise, and to vary my pitch so people won’t fall asleep. Doing it right the first time makes the process much less tedious.
My friend Melissa taught me all that.
I write out a script, so I won’t forget important details, but do my best to write words I can say naturally. My love of parenthetical expressions doesn’t get to come out much in the scripts. And I keep my sentences fairly short, as much as I can with talking about computers.
The best outcome of recording training videos is that I’ve become comfortable with the sound of my own voice. Like many people, I used to cringe at recordings of myself, because it didn’t sound like my voice does in my head when I’m talking. But now I think I sound fine. It’s sorta southern, but just a bit, not like my informal voice. I’d probably cringe to hear a recording of me telling a story like I did tonight at the Master Naturalist Meeting.
My fancy recording voice is like my shadow self. It’s very bland.
The only reason I wrote this blog entry is that it’s what was passing through my mind as I was about to fall asleep from another busy day. I guess I dragged whoever reads this through my sleepy thoughts.
Drew wanted me to write about his new browband. And that his head is healing fine.
What’s a topic or issue about which you’ve changed your mind?
I was going to be flip and answer this one with “golf.” I thought it was boring and elitist when I was young, and getting my head cracked open by a golf club in bad ole 8th grade didn’t help (when I mentioned this earlier I forgot to add that as I stumbled my way alone and bleeding to the school nurse, I rubbed blood all over the exterior of Plantation Middle School, to express my disgust with my situation. They never did golf again in middle school PE. However, I’ve come to enjoy watching golf on television and have fun at Top Golf.
No golf photos, but here’s a painted lady.
My more serious answer is that I’ve changed my mind about Christianity. I have gradually come to realize that I am not fond of institutional religion in general, not just Christianity. Also, I realized that what upsets me most about certain Christian sects is how bizarrely they’ve distorted the message of peace, kindness, and caring that the historical Christ preached into a war-mongering, cruel, and disdainful way of enforcing power over the masses in favor of a privileged few.
Snow on the prairie looking elegant.
It turns out that there are Christians with whom I agree very much and whose ideas I’m happy to incorporate into my life, along with wise people from other traditions. So, I am still quite unimpressed with many versions of Christianity, but I’m very comfortable with the teachings of Christ (not Paul’s version).
A bee I’d never seen before. ID not confirmed.
Enough of that. Huzzah! Today was the day! Pleasant weather arrived! I even had to wear a sweatshirt getting Drew ready to go to a horse clinic. I just basked all day and couldn’t make myself stay inside even after I got home. I wandered around taking pictures for the pollinator BioBlitz that’s going on.
Texas nightshade (Solanum triquetrum) is a pretty plant that only grows in one spot on our property.
The nice weather made the clinic lots of fun, even though Drew was not on his best behavior much of the time, because he was very distracted by a beautiful mare (I don’t know what makes a mare beautiful to a hormonal gelding, but she is very pretty.
I love her. What a butt!
Eventually he settled down, but not after I had to trot him in a circle so many times I was getting dizzy. He was distracted. Once we switched to obstacles, he did better. We jumped! And we went around a corner backwards. There were challenges due to my lack of skill, but I got through the day.
I’ve got my eye on her.
It was funny that all three horses in my group were gray. Drew’s the tiny one that doesn’t cost tens of thousands of dollars. But he is just fine.
Brilliantly, we separated Drew from Luna for the photo.
Hanging out with the horse gang again was just great. I’m glad summer is over so we can have fun and learn more. There’s lots to learn!
Sara got this picture of Drew not grasping the concept of sharing space with Aragorn.
I have a healthy amount of Imposter Syndrome going on, stemming mainly from feeling so horribly untalented at what I went to grad school for, even though I loved it. But mostly I’ve been able to blend in, make conversation, or at least get by in whatever situation I get thrown in.
It’s because I meditate.
I admit I felt uncomfortable during the years we were studying real estate renovations and investment, especially when we got labeled as “big investors” and getting invited to special receptions and events (like a sky box at a football game—I couldn’t do rich people small talk so I sat in the seats and watched the game. I’m good at football watching. I grew up working class or barely middle class, so I missed out on rich people issues and topics. They talked a lot about taxes when just a year or two before mine were easily done by Turbo Tax.
Now, though, I understand horse expenses.
But the time I felt most out of place was the 1971-72 school year, when I was removed from a junior high school where I fit in, had my advanced classes, and was popular among the smart hippie kids. I was placed in a new town, which was a kinda snobby suburb. That was ok. But the school was an “open classroom.” Three grades, 6-8, were all in a giant room with lockers delineating learning areas. Black kids were bussed in from miles away and not thrilled about it. All abilities were in the same classroom, which was supposed to be just fine for learners and teachers, because we were supposed to teach ourselves, each at our own pace.
It was hell. Science class was good, because we all learned at the same time, mainly how to hurt each other with lab equipment. Much of the year, the white kids would have nothing to do with a hippie kid. The black girls were more friendly. Eventually I had friends.
But this whole system was chaos. By halfway through the year I’d finished English and social studies, so three of us would go to the open air library and crawl under a table to read plays to each other. Shakespeare was quite naughty, we thought. Probably it’s banned today.
But I couldn’t teach myself algebra, even with a friend trying with me. She was brilliant. But we needed a teacher, and Mr. Schecter had no interest in teaching, just grading papers. So my friend and I crocheted purses. Hmm. I did a lot of extra-curricular stuff.
Anyway, that was the year I fainted in volleyball and took a golf club to my head. Only chorus was fun. Made lifelong friends there!
I was a square peg in that giant round hole of a school building. I lost a year of math, too. I had to do Algebra I again, so I was behind many of my friends.
I had no deep pool to hide in.
I’m sure I drove my parents up a wall, as we used to say, that year. I felt like a complete misfit, but these memories reminded me there was plenty of fun. Change was just hard for an adolescent with severe anxiety. I didn’t even know what anxiety was. I was just “too sensitive.”
I’m glad I have my circle of human and animal friends to support me now!
Oh, gee. No idea how to answer this. Hmm. It’s a lot easier to think of traits I’d like to improve on.
Ok. I declare my favorite trait about myself is my curiosity. I’m curious about nature, people, ideas. That leads to knowledge, which leads to growth, which makes life a positive experience.
Here’s a very curious-looking insect. it’s the nymph of Trichopepla semivittata, whatever that is. A scientist told me.
I’m sorta glad we had to cancel our camping trip this weekend. I’ve enjoyed working with the horses a lot since it’s no longer unbearably hot just before sunset.
Blue dasher dragonfly that got trapped in the tack room.
I’m taking Apache back to basics, so no riding, just long walks. Yesterday we walked all the way down the road, where he couldn’t see any other horses. He was just fine. He just has trouble being ridden alone. That’s frustrating, but I’m following Tarrin’s plan and we’ll see how it works out.
I’m a nervous horsie.
Drew, on the other hand, is settling down so well. After we had a nice, calm walk at training last week, I decided maybe HE would be the horse I can ride around the property and enjoy. Sure enough, this evening we went all over the field in front of the house with no stress whatsoever. I’m going to try some other places tomorrow. I’m pleased.
What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?
As a Euro-American white person, I’ve been learning a lot about the negative aspects of my ancestors. There’s a lot to tell, and I’m pleased that it’s not being swept under the rug anymore. But there are things to treasure, things to puzzle over, and things to horrify you no matter where your ancestors originated. That’s because people are talented, complex, and often cruel. Everywhere and throughout history.
So, today I’ve been thinking of my ancestry and what parts I’m proud of.
Oh look, Harvest Moon. slightly bigger than last night.
Most of my ancestors on my paternal line came from England. The Kendall family is very old, but I’m most proud of how the first father and son to come over in the 1600s took their indentured servitude and used it to do very well once they were free. That’s the Early American Dream. Then they fought on the winning side of the War of Independence and headed south. Then they lost the next big war and ended up sharecroppers living right along with former enslaved people. I also like that those folks came here to be able to feed themselves, not to foist weird religious beliefs on others.
I wonder if any of them were fascinated by tiny hover flies?
Now, on my grandmother’s side there were some French Huguenots. They were among the many religious fanatics to come to the US to escape persecution and promote their cause. The other bunch on that side were Scots-Irish. Yep. Getting away from religious stuff. Well, that and famines. They all ended up nice, Appalachians, some who did well and some who didn’t. Typical American white immigrant story.
Maybe some were herbalists and inspired my love for wildflowers.
I do love the folk tales, wisdom, and pre-Christian spiritual traditions of Great Britain and Ireland. They tie me to a much more distant past. And yes, I realize those people could be cruel as well as kind, just like the Romans and all that.
I was fascinated by the sun on flowers this morning.
I’ve written a lot about my mom’s ancestors being brought to Florida from Menorca to be slaves on sugar cane or rice plantations. It’s a fascinating little tale, and I’m really proud of the Canova folks for escaping and hanging out with the Native Americans until they could come back and become prosperous business owners in St. Augustine. Those were some strong Mediterranean people.
Strong as a tie vine!
My maternal grandfather was Swedish. I like that his ancestors stayed together in the same villages for many generations. I’ve never experienced a community with such deep roots. Still, the Andersons finally headed out in the very early 1900s, again because they were hungry. Most of them went to Minnesota, but my grandfather was an adventurous guy. He left there to work on the Panama Canal as a surveyor and ended up in Florida, where I’m sure he seemed quite exotic on his fancy white horse. (Maybe he’s where my horse-loving genes came from.)
A horse and donkey I love.
I guess I’m proud that my ancestors took big risks and got through hardship. No doubt we’re all descendants of the people who survived the risks and danger long enough to reproduce, huh?
Back then, they didn’t even have bad county roads to travel on.
And when you look at what they went through, the persecution, the ignorance, the huge changes, you can get some perspective to use on today’s challenges. Humans have never had it easy, and never has there been a time or culture without suffering and joy. I’m sure you already knew that.
I just like the swoopy lines in this one. Those are starlings, also European immigrants.
In summary, I don’t think my heritage is better or worse than anyone else’s. I’d like to think I’ve learned from some of their mistakes, and can benefit from some of their contributions to the world.
Now let us ponder the shoe on a fence post. It’s always there if someone needs it!
My life has always been filled with music. I started “training” my voice trying to imitate Julie Andrews before I started school. We only had one album, Mary Poppins. I sang in choir from 6th grade through high school (where it was chorus, because I guess choir is for church).
I was not the greatest singer, but I was very helpful in choruses, because I could read music (2 years of piano lessons, which I sucked at), I was loud, and I could sing any part but bass, thanks to my range. And I loved harmony, oh so much.
You can see why I sang tenor. Not a lot of dudes.
I also was crazed for folk and rock music, so I kept on singing with Linda Ronstadt and her cohorts. I liked music that was complex but clean, whether classical or rock opera (mmm, Quadrophenia…want me to sing the whole thing?)
High school singing. My brother is at left.
I didn’t sing for many years after high school, due to hard feelings with my music teacher. I don’t remember what it was about. But I sang informally with friends and wished I didn’t have such fat, stubby non-guitar-suited fingers. Listening was always part of life. I wish I had my albums.
I loved to sing. This is our folk group with Eddie Collins added.
I started a second round of singing in my late thirties through 50s. I learned a lot singing in the choir at the Unitarian Universalist church we attended. Our choir director was a great teacher and extremely patient with the motley crew who showed up. It ranged from professionals to first-time singers. It was a lot of fun, and a great outlet for my soul. Harmony is just the best.
Church choir, maybe the concert when my voice quit.
I also worked with the church-sponsored folk music coffeehouse. I met many wonderful Americana artists who are still my friends. For a few years, my dear friend Jeff, a great musician, lived with me and the boys. We had CDs recorded at our house!
Our friend Jeff Tveraas
I think that was great education for my kids, especially the one that became a professional musician. During those years we all heard a lot of live music!
Jeff entertaining a crowd
At some point two of my friends from church and I started learning songs and playing together. Both Bill and Austin sang well and were (are) great guitar players. It was fulfilling to work out harmonies and figure out what songs worked best for our voices. We didn’t perform in public much but it was great fun when we did.
Our band, plus Lee
Later, we joined our church band, and the opportunity to make music with my kids and husband was very special. We ended up doing songs that weren’t suited to me, but I kept trying until we moved to the ranch.
The church band. I’m a-singin’
Probably the most musical fun I ever had was singing with two different choruses in Austin. I got to learn hard choral music and sing with people who were much better singers than me. It was like being the smartest person in high school only to discover you are average in college. Or in my case, grad school. I loved learning the difficult pieces and learning from others!
I can’t forget 6 years as a band mom following my kids around. That counts as music (this is the Cameron band years ago).
My singing stopped abruptly when I damaged my vocal cords singing the highest parts in Judas Maccabaeus. It was fun until I realized I’d list B, C, and D above middle C. That messed up most songs. I was the only second soprano in our church Christmas program and when I tried to sing, nothing came out. I was very embarrassed.
My friends Jim and Sherry, folks I met during the coffeehouse years.
Luckily, I have a very musical family, so for a few more years I got to enjoy Lee and my sons playing. We’d have jams on holidays, and Declan would play his rock songs and classical guitar for me. I truly enjoyed that.
This is my son in a band called Sherry. He’s still in bands with some of these folks.
But. Sigh. Lee’s hands have stopped working. He has pretty bad arthritis. That’s so hard for a lifelong bass player. He played since he was a teen, toured with bands, and worked in radio. He still listens a lot.
This early band Declan was in has folks who’ve moved on to do great things.
I don’t. I probably will eventually, but much of my favorite music makes me sad. I’ve lost my mandolin playing son, and I don’t get to hear Declan anymore. The last time I heard him play guitar was two years ago, when he was playing the Moonlight Sonata and my sister staged a big fall to bring the attention back to her. Unpleasantness ensued. That’s the last time I ever saw her, as she left town the next day and has officially “disowned” me.
Classical guitar time
Declan has never played for us again.
Geez. This took a sad turn. I don’t dwell on this stuff or sit around wondering what’s so awful about me that relatives are fleeing in droves. Stuff just happens. I’ll keep trying to be a good person and not worry about people who have problems with me and don’t want to work it out. What else can you do?
Declan still plays, though. This is Big Dallas.
I’m glad I’ve had so much music in my life. I know I’d be much different if I hadn’t learned so much about music and made so many wonderful music friends. It’s a treasured part of my life.
Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.
If I had known when I was younger that all the people I thought were just happily swimming through life were actually like me, confused, vulnerable, wounded, and misunderstood. (Insert other common issues here.)
I’m misunderstood. I’m not being friendly just so I can get hoof trimmings.
I didn’t really figure out that my perceived flaws and imperfections were shared by many of those folks I thought were so happy until I was well into adulthood, maybe 15 years ago. I’m glad I had a helpful therapist!
Here are beautiful golden rain lilies for all of you.
For example, when I asked my friend Anita to answer some interview questions to respond to another blog prompt, one of the women we went to high school with, who we thought was perky and popular and carefree at the time, wrote about how much we had in common in our teen years. If only we’d known back then!
Not everything is as it seems. This stuff came off Apache’s feet. Thanks, Sara!
So remember, friends, you aren’t alone. Take time to look past your stereotypes and you might find fascinating friends you can heal with.
For a person with anxiety, I’m relaxed much of the time. That’s because I’ve had decades of practice finding ways to relax both my body and my mind. Here’s what I do.
Meditation: my goodness have I meditated a lot in my lifetime, probably years if you add it all up. I started so long ago that it was called TM, or transcendental meditation. I read a lot of books on it, though I never took a class. It was really helpful during my teen years.
There’s a Buddha in here somewhere
Eventually I learned yoga, too, and did a lot of meditation in my spiritual activities. That Starhawk lady had a lot of fun guided meditations that let me help others meditate. I really grew to treasure my time breathing and centering as it became part of my spiritual practice and as I learned more Buddhist teachings. There are so many ways to meditate that I never get bored.
Anyway, it’s relaxing, too.
Knitting: I’ve knitted to relax even longer than I’ve meditated. I learned that from my female relatives, who all seemed to pick up their knitting or crocheting when things got tense.
The repetition and tactile pleasure of handcrafts is soothing both physically and mentally. I especially enjoy it when it’s just complicated enough to keep negative thoughts at bay.
This project isn’t hard, just bulky.
And when truly stressed, knitting can keep me from opening my mouth and making a fool out of myself. I still remember the sock I worked on the day I was told my services were no longer needed at the nonprofit organization. I sat in my office that day and knitted furiously. That sock (it was yellow and blue, as I recall) would not fit onto my foot. For once I didn’t knit too loosely!
I’m just full of stories, huh.
Reading: No doubt many of us read to relax. These days I find fiction fun but not relaxing. I get too involved. I much prefer nonfiction or magazines.
I used to be more organized I’m getting used to Kindle reading
Geez, I love magazines. I love learning about things I’d never thought of before, and I can lose myself in the photography, from home interiors to nature to fast cars and of course to pretty horses.
Some magazines. And books.
Pets: all my pets relax me. Okay, sometimes they add to stress, but mostly being with warm, entertaining nonhumans is a great way to relax. Stroking a happy doggy has to add endorphins. I have watched the chickens pecking, clucking, and slurping their water for long stretches of time, too.
Happy and relaxed doggies
I have to admit I spend even more time just hanging around with Fiona and the horses. They are so friendly and trusting. We hang out a lot, with them napping and me stroking their necks. Ahhh.
Am I? I just don’t think I’m a grudge kind of person and I don’t think I ever was. Especially nowadays, when it’s become abundantly clear that everyone is a bit of a mess and capable of treating people poorly. Me too. So I cut the people around me a lot of slack.
I pondered this at lunch at a local park while watching blue-gray gnatcatchers flit around.
I have been angry at a couple of people and one institution (which is what comes closest to a grudge) who truly treated me badly. But for the ones I think of right off the bat, I know they thought/think their actions were the right thing to do. One I hear is now ashamed at what they said to and about me and my family. I feel no need to get back at them or make them feel worse.
Still, I’m not going to put myself in the position of allowing them to mistreat me again. I think the best thing to do in these situations is to put them out of my mind. Bearing a grudge entails thinking about the offending party too much to make me comfortable. It takes a while but it’s possible to let things go. I prefer to let the past be past, not consume myself with worrying about the future, and treasure today—the good and challenging parts.
Good parts of a day always include plants
I have to say that occasionally an old institutional grudge comes back, hard as I’ve tried to banish the word “chaordic” from my mind. The people in that organization are still among some of the most vindictive, self righteous, and divisive bunch of women I’ve ever seen (and others are among the kindest and most loyal friends on earth). Anyway, the little fringe alumnae group I still help out with has come under attack (of course by unknown parties). I could feel the bile rising in my gut. I was, as they say, triggered. I asked myself why the hell I let myself get talked into being involved again, even a little. I did NOT heed my own advice to walk away.
Not good.
I guess this is a good opportunity to test my ability to concentrate on the good and put the triggering behaviors out of my mind. Let’s see how I do.
We can all learn from mistakes and acknowledge when we were wrong. Sometimes grudges end that way.
Other times, like with the relative currently trying to cause me pain, we can realize people are unable to change, and simply let them go. You can’t hold a grudge if you no longer care.
I guess my institutional grudges keep popping back up because I can’t stop caring about the good people involved. This goes for my deep disappointment in my old church. Hmm. Maybe I figured something out!
I didn’t even need a giant slab of limestone to ponder this on!
Thanks to the blog prompt folks for making me think this through.
Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.
I haven’t traveled all that much. My parents could not afford it, and neither could I when I was younger and living on grad student pay. I got to drive to conferences, and when I got a job, did get to see California and Boston for conferences. Most of my travel to this day has been for conferences, mostly work related, so light on sightseeing.
However. I lucked out travel-wise by marrying a European person, though, so in the 14 years we were married I got to see Ireland, England, and the furthest place I’ve ever been, Switzerland.
So here’s a story about the first time I went to Switzerland, a place I’ve never seen without jet lag (I’ve spent 3 days there, total).
The children’s dad had a work thing in Zurich, so we got the idea to all go so we could save one fare. I was to tote the children, ages one and 3 or a little less to Ireland, where he’d join us for a visit with the kids’ grandparents.
We arrived after the very long flight with small children and fell asleep the minute we found the hotel. We woke up in Switzerland morning, which was really early to the kids, but we had an idea to entertain them.
Train in Switzerland.
My older son was fascinated with trains at the time, like obsessed. So we went to the train station. So many “frains” as he called them. We took a delightful short ride and came back. The younger son woke up in time to see the giant Toblerone display in the station, so we had to get chocolate.
Who can resist?
I still remember the look on my older son’s face when he saw all those real live trains. It was pure wonder. He’d just say “frain” over and over like he was in paradise.
That’s all I remember of Switzerland other than being at the airport trying to fly alone with two little ones. Declan fell asleep in the customs line, where I had to drag the luggage and the kids. He wouldn’t wake up due to the jet lag, and I couldn’t lift him. But people were kind to us, and we ended up having a nice flight thanks to helpful airline staff. Irish people love children so much.
The other time I went to Switzerland was the only time I ever got Lee to fly with me anywhere. We landed in Basel and went directly to a boat. I didn’t see much!
I do want to say that though I am sad to no longer hear from the older child, I will always treasure the memories of him when he was small. He was very smart and hilarious. He talked at 9 month (said “moon” and pointed to it). He spoke long sentences way too early, which confused people, because he could be hard to understand with the interesting consonant combinations he came up with.
Our conversations, walks, playground time, and endless playing with Thomas the Tank Engine wooden railroads were among some of the best times of my life. I’ve also traveled very far from that safe, happy home.
The Hermits' Rest 