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.
Oh good, today’s blog prompt is at least easier than yesterday’s, though I can’t complain. My interview with Anita yesterday went over very well and started interesting conversations and apparently even gave some of her old friends new information. That was fun!
Now, today I’m supposed to tell you why I blog. The thing about this is that there are so many reasons that I may end up blathering away. I really enjoy blogging, though; perhaps that’s the main reason! I like writing, especially on topics that aren’t all serious like my work stuff.
Another reason I blog is that it creates a kind of community. I’ve enjoyed reading blogs since blogs were invented, and the insights into other people’s lives I’ve gotten have expanded my knowledge about different cultures and ways of thinking. I’ve found that interacting with folks in the comments is a way to make new friends. The feedback really is a lot of fun for me.
I do love to share flowers
Blogging is also a way to keep in touch with far-flung friends and family. In the last century, people wrote letters to keep up with those they care about. I was also a big letter writer when I was in my teens and twenties, which I didn’t realize until I found a huge box of letters I’d received that were obviously in response to letters I’d written. I also emailed a lot when that came around, but I no longer have time to write long emails to everyone I want to talk to. So it’s a one-way blog blast (and I just hope those folks comment on my Facebook posts of the blog to keep the communication more two way.
Do you like weeds as much as I do?
In other posts I’ve made on this topic (which I am too lazy to look up, but I remember writing) I’ve talked about how blogging can also be a way of talking to myself, but also sharing it so I can get feedback. I used to journal but when there was no potential audience, I got maudlin and to be honest, I think I lied to myself. For some reason, I’m more “truthful” if I think there may be someone around to call me on any self-indulgent or overly dramatic crap I spew forth. There, a somewhat shameful admission from me.
I should hide like Carlton
More mundane reasons I blog are so I’ll be able to check out my pictures and memories of my travels, my work with the horses, and the things we do around the ranch (which can be challenging sometimes, because sometimes I’m not sure if it’s okay for me to share what other people here do).
I can share my old but happy Hoya plant.
It’s great fun to take photos to go with blog posts, too. I’m glad that some of my friends also enjoy them. Someday I hope phone photos look forward to a time when phone photos look a bit more like photos from a good camera. However, it will still be me taking the pictures, so you get what you get.
A tiny ray of cheer. Something is still blooming.
Thanks for reading, everyone. And yes, Mary, I do think there are more than five readers. But I’d love to hear from more of you, so feel free to comment, if you can.
Interview someone — a friend, another blogger, your mother, the mailman — and write a post based on their responses.
Hmm, already I am wondering if it was a good idea to do this project where I answer the daily prompt for the month of September. I was stumped about who I could interview that wouldn’t take forever and would be somewhat interesting.
Then I realized I have lots of friends who are good writers, and that actually, everyone is interesting; So, I narrowed the list of possibilities down to who I figured could type fast and was bribable. Okay! So, I promised to pay to take Anita to the Barbie movie if she’d introduce herself to all five of you who read this blog!
And if you want to answer these same questions, you can be a blog post, too. It’s like the blog will practically write itself.
All About Anita
(In her own words)
My friend Anita
Where were you born? Did you stay there long?
Stoneham, Massachusetts. We left after 6 months because my dad’s mother died and he wanted to go back to Delaware. And probably also because I crawled out the front door of the house and into the front yard without anyone noticing for a good while. I distinctly remember doing this. The first, but certainly not the last, time I tried to run away from home.
Shortly after birth
Where were your ancestors from?
Scotland, England, Ireland. I am as White as White can be.
Any siblings?
I had an older brother who died in 2007 of brain cancer. On Mother’s Day. But before that, he spent a lot of time tickling me, holding me up to the ceiling, or hanging me over the toilet and threatening to flush me down, all of which I thought was great. He was a very cool guy with a dry sense of humor and great taste in music.
Share three good or funny memories of high school
Uhhhh, hmmm, hanging out with you in your bedroom, playing records and talking and writing; skipping class to go to the beach in Boca Raton; cutting up confetti and bringing a giant black sign with the middle finger painted on it in white to high school football games (of course, I got in some trouble for that; The Man also didn’t like the confetti much. Huh.).
Anita and me in high school. Nice hair!
Share the three things you liked least about high school.
9th grade English: My life was threatened a number of times by a classmate, and also the teacher was incredibly incompetent. A certain “friend” who thought she owned me. The snobbishness and rudeness of some of the more well-off kids toward those of us who were considered weirdos or were living in poverty.
High school friends we like.
Where did you go to college? What was your major?
East coast South Florida. My initial major was journalism, but the program at my upper-level school was garbage (and my time working at a major newspaper kinda ruined it too), so I switched to Film, which I loved and still love to this day.
What kinds of jobs have you had as an adult?
Somewhat boringly and consistently, I have been an editor in the hard sciences all of my career. I’ve also rehabbed some houses, one in keeping with local and national standards of historic preservation (it was a 200+-year-old house).
What’s your favorite kind of food?
I love Mediterranean cuisines. And Indian food. And sushi. And a good brownie hot fudge sundae.
Ready for an Italian dinner
Tell us some of your collections.
Oh my. Pez, CDs, old movie DVDs. Pueblo pottery, southwestern/turquoise jewelry, books about strange/controversial subjects, cacti, rocks/minerals, glass balls, magnets. diner memorabilia, oddball Xmas decorations, objects from Baltimore. I think that’s it, but I’ll probably think of more later.
Her collection of glass balls
What’s your spiritual path? Your philosophy?
I believe there is a creative force or energy in the universe not named God or Jesus or Allah or whatever. It is not an old bearded White dude, sitting on a throne, telling me I have to be good or I’ll go to hell and suffer for all eternity. I believe the world would be a better place if we could be our true selves, without all the worries, pain, and suffering society puts on us. I want to live in harmony with nature; I don’t always succeed, but I try. I will hug a tree, dammit.
Do you believe in true love?
I did once, but “life” had other plans for me. And that is heartbreaking to me at times.
Not her true love. But close.
Which of your past pets is or was the weirdest?
Wow, they have all been super-weird in some way. Fiesta, a cat I had with my ex-husband, was a complete lunatic, but adorable. Pickle, my current dog, has many, let’s call them, quirks.
Pickle, with my weird dog, Harvey
Introvert or extravert?
I would say both, depending on the situation and my state of mind. I am not a natural at parties/gatherings where I don’t know the people. I can be rather shy. But if I know you and I like you, I’m pretty much all in. I’m a strong believer in telling people you love them. You just never know when your last day together will be and you don’t want to miss the chance.
Partying
Favorite color?
Green green green all the day long. And then orange and yellow.
Green. Pickles.
Thanks so much! I love you too, my long-time friend.
Today, I was casting my mind back to times when I felt safe and secure. I don’t feel that way much of the time these days. Too much animosity and too much that baffles me.
Horses, sharing for once.
The one time I truly felt safe and free to be me came between middle school and high school, when my parents sent sad, mopey Suna to spend two weeks with the people who lived across the street from us in Gainesville. I had a borrowed bike and no agenda while Lila and Ralph were at work. I read, I walked, I cycled through town trying to memorize every old house and tiny lane. I pined after the boy I’d liked before I had to move away.
No one picked on me, no one put pressure on me to be more feminine, no one tried to guilt me into doing things I didn’t want to. My anxiety (which I didn’t know was anxiety at the time) went way down.
Every night after dinner, we sat in their little living room with their two Basenjis. Ralph read and Lila and I knitted (I may have crocheted). I remember feeling so peaceful with this happy older couple enjoying each other’s company. At that time, the idea came to me that my happy times might be like that.
As I’ve looked and looked for peace and safety, I have always felt safest in my home with my partner, occupying my hands with a craft. This evening, for example, I felt a wave of calm and contentment as I watched yet another square of my blanket complete. I’m continuing Lila’s tradition of just sitting and knitting in peace and safety. (Even if it’s fleeting)
Plus, I had a sweet glimmer today, as I floated in the pool after horse time. I felt something in my arm, opened my eyes, and came face to face with another of our ubiquitous damselflies. They love the pool. This one was so pale as to appear ghostly gray. She ended up on my watch, and as the wind blew us around, she came between me and the afternoon sun. Her little wings just glowed. That was a glimmer.
I looked at her. She looked at me. Photo by MacroGrant.
I was disappointed in the moon tonight, since the full, blue super moon’s rise was behind a bank of clouds. Around 9 pm we went back out to enjoy its intense glow. None of the photos came out well, but my mind captured it!
Phone camera didn’t do well.
As a bonus, I saw this year’s resident Gulf Coast Toad on the front porch as I headed inside. At first she was flattened so much that she looked like cow poop. She sat up, and from that perspective she was shaped like an ostrich egg. I guess she’s found plenty to eat during the drought. I’m glad for the big gal!
The Hermits' Rest 