The past month and a half have flown by in a blur. Since we returned from North Carolina in August, I have worked night and day on this house knowing that the permit would expire while we were gone in October. I’ve hit it early, usually before daylight, and stopped only for scheduled classes or meetings and then hit it again until I was the only one hitting. I’ve missed many social opportunities and pulled my blog, more times than not, from past compositions just so I wouldn’t be one of those disappearing bloggers. I’m going to add a remodel photo album soon that shows the process. We still have some superficial changes to the old part which we will make in good time.
Last night I used the clay room for the first time. I put myself on the wheel and slapped a lump of gooey clay onto the turntable. Though it was a demonstration, it was also a renewal. I haven’t thrown for over a year, but because I am a teacher and have done this many times before, I found myself talking my way through it so that each step would be clear and make sense, I engaged my conscious mind only enough to be sure that I could be followed when the next person –who had never thrown before last night- would know what to do or maybe what not to do. Throwing clay is a very sub-conscious act. It has a releasing effect on the tensions of the body and soul.
When the piece was lifted from the wheel to the bat and the turntable was cleaned and ready for a student, I rose from the table feeling interrupted, but good. As the student took on her first grapefruit sized ball of soft clay, I shifted back to teacher mode and hovered over her. She did well and only needed my interference for a couple of short moments. At first she was nervous and tentative, then slowly, she stuck her hands right into that spinning glop and I reduced my help to squeezing water from the sponge over her hands and clay while she worked. Then eventually I backed off even that and told her to wrap it up or her clay would take on water. She finished quickly and we cut the piece off the wheel and onto a bat. She stopped and exhaled slowly trying to explain how hypnotic the whole thing was. I smiled.
Sitting in the sunroom this morning, fighting the kitten off my breakfast and discussing the mysteries of faith with my husband, I found the new space, as I have since I introduced the first two chairs there, a natural, inviting place. Though I recognize it’s newness, it feels familiar, inspiring, comforting.
I’ve made my share of “home improvement?” jokes as have my friends. It’s taken us almost one year to complete from the days of the monoveg in the front to the final signing one week ago today. One friend referred to it as the longest running sit com in history. Another called it “The Extreme Home Makeover – Woodall Edition” and quipped that it came on at 2AM between two infomercials just before the signal thingy came on. We who have been up early in the morning knew she has no clue about modern television. But she had a clue about our makeover.
Yet standing there last night laughing and talking as people left, enjoying the dying fire just off my studio porch, I remembered that there was one ball of clay left from the evenings efforts waiting to be thrown. Feeling a little mellow and totally comfortable, proud and pleased with the space that I’ve maneuvered around for a year, I realized that it really was home improvement. And while I still want some time, it will be okay when we decide to improve our home again.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Elementary . .
(The picture is one created by a 5 year old who currently takes private lessons from me.)
Teaching elementary art came from nowhere.
I was happily teaching High School Art in a town several miles from my home. Each day, I’d load up my best intention, whatever supplies I’d procured, my heart, my brain and my vast creative energy and drive it down the highway singing, praying, planning. Sometime between 5 and 9PM, after meetings, ball games, projects and preparation for the next day, I’d drag my worn out body, mind and spirit humorlessly into the car and take myself home until the next morning. On weekends, I graded papers and wrote or updated the next week’s or month’s lesson plans.
My husband was quietly raising our daughter when it all lost sensibility. A car wreck, physical therapy, disagreement with my principal, and, oh yeah, my teen-age daughter’s raising inspired my resignation. There was an opening in my own city for an art teacher. After the resigning, cleaning out, coming home thing was over, I got a sorry, but no thanks letter. No problem, several High Schools were hiring. But they weren’t hiring me.
Then 2 weeks before school started, I was called in for an interview. It was for an Elementary Art position. I was about to become an itinerant teacher. I had 3 schools, 43 classes in all, teaching Kindergarten through sixth grade. I felt like a traveling salesman. Not only that, but I had no clue about elementary children.
I’d had children who went through the elementary age thing – 5 of them. I was educated and certified to teach Kindergarten through grade 12. But somehow when placed in a room with 20 to 25 elementary children for 30 minute intervals all day 5 days a week, I knew I was clueless. We’re talking art teacher here. Paint, glue, scissors, markers, clay and pencils – oh yes, the pencils.
Quickly, I learned the teacher dodge. When a student as tall as my pelvic bone came running excitedly toward me, arms stretched out, screaming my name, I learned just as they reached me to shift quickly to the side so the darling hit my hip with her brick like skull. I learned that when I taught a first grader to use sissors, he would probably cut up something valuable like his new sweater. I learned that when a kindergartener says “I gotta go,” there'll be a puddle if it doesn’t fit my timeframe. I learned not to give full glue bottles to a group of 11 year olds. I learned not to leave the unfinished Christmas card entries with the classroom teacher for completion beacause she will come up with copious amounts of glitter. I learned that Puerto Ricans don’t distinguish between “Crap!” and uumm, -crap. I learned to take nothing for granted.
Those two years in elementary art make up a funny, fuzzy time in my career. Each of the afore mentioned events has its own silly long winded story. My personal art consisted of examples created for my young students: simplified drawings, paintings and sculptures in bold childlike color schemes. Looking back, I wonder who was doing the teaching and who was learning? Who was guiding and who was developing?
Monday, September 25, 2006
Carolyn and the Joker
Carolyn was an advanced art student who had come up with a theme for her semester’s work. She would do jesters, clowns. When she started clay, nothing seemed to work right so she postponed it until clay was the only project she had left. Finally inspiration struck and she began a large curled joker card. I watched it take form as she worked to complete it on time. It had to be finished, dried, fired and glazed before the fall semester’s eminent end. It was almost finished so she left it out on the table covered in a piece of canvas cloth to leather up so she could complete the fine details the next day.
A boy came into the art room the next morning enraged at what he felt was a total injustice and, before I could stop him, slammed his fist down on a piece of canvas cloth lying on the clay cabinet. You guessed it: Carolyn’s Joker. I railed on the student and revealed his handiwork. He felt bad but could do nothing.
When Carolyn came in to class I knew he had already told her. She walked over, pulled back the cloth and looked at it with tears in her eyes. She sat down and stared at it. I left her alone for the period. At the end of the day, she walked in to my room and asked if she could stay and work a little on her clay. I agreed.
She went to work with a vengeance. Channeling all the frustration and disappointment that she had for her crushed piece into creativity, she began again. After about 15 minutes, she began to chatter about how her plans had improved. She worked with a zeal seldom seen in high school students. Two days later, her new and improved piece was on the drying rack. That spring Carolyn’s “Joker” won first place, overall, in the local art show.
A boy came into the art room the next morning enraged at what he felt was a total injustice and, before I could stop him, slammed his fist down on a piece of canvas cloth lying on the clay cabinet. You guessed it: Carolyn’s Joker. I railed on the student and revealed his handiwork. He felt bad but could do nothing.
When Carolyn came in to class I knew he had already told her. She walked over, pulled back the cloth and looked at it with tears in her eyes. She sat down and stared at it. I left her alone for the period. At the end of the day, she walked in to my room and asked if she could stay and work a little on her clay. I agreed.
She went to work with a vengeance. Channeling all the frustration and disappointment that she had for her crushed piece into creativity, she began again. After about 15 minutes, she began to chatter about how her plans had improved. She worked with a zeal seldom seen in high school students. Two days later, her new and improved piece was on the drying rack. That spring Carolyn’s “Joker” won first place, overall, in the local art show.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Search for a Suitable Name FE
The search for a suitable name has ended. Meet Hobbs. %^/ He's already a member of the household and he now has a bonifide name. :]
I decided that Hobbs will have sufficient dignity if he outgrows the creative ornery streak which links him in our minds to Calvin. Besides it's a name Louis likes. We don't know if he answers to it yet or not. We've been gone for a couple days, and if we move or speak at all he's on top of us. ; } The only other name I really liked was Hannibal, and that is a reference to an ancient tyranical diety.
I'm not sure why the following event brought out the name, but it did.
Thursday evening while doing clay, a lady working in my studio kept saying "oh, let him stay." I told her I didn't let him stay in my studio, because I have a couple of students during the week that have cat allergies. He was undoing her shoelaces and she was laughing and moving her feet about to tease him. Then he grabbed her ankle and began to gnaw on it. ):O She said "No you can't do that," but he was convinced she wanted him to stay no matter what and kept chewing her leg. I caught him and put him in the living room and closed the door to the study/studio area. Wide eyed she expressed surprise that something so cute could be so determined to cause pain. I wasn't surprised.
Later, I went in to turn on the fan to bring a little fresh air into the room and as soon as I opened the door, he raced into the studio and, could you guess, grabbed the lady's ankle again and began trying to rip her flesh off the bone. I caught him quickly and put him in the sunroom this time to spend the rest of the evening alone - in exile.
She didn't suggest I bring him back.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Entry for September 22, 2006
Yeah. It's over. It's ours. We can do as we please again! Yippee! Hooray!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
It's Only Clay
It’s only Clay!
The best clay pieces are a result of pushing the clay as far as its nature will allow. A good potter knows when to push and when to say enough.
The only way to understand clay is to get your hands dirty.
If you don’t spend time with a lump of clay, it will have no character or strength.
Clay has stages of development; the key is knowing what part of the design is optimal to which stage.
Clay doesn’t hurry.
The prettiest pieces I’ve made are the least useful.
Its only Clay!
When the clay breaks or falls in, you fix it or start over. Screaming and such seems appropriate, but then you have to go on.
Most things can be fixed.
Clay is nobody’s fault!
To make pottery and loose it to fire or weakness is still better than to have never loved at all.
Some clays can’t take a hot fire without becoming warped.
Some clays will do whatever you want, while others have a mind of their own.
The best clay pieces are a result of pushing the clay as far as its nature will allow. A good potter knows when to push and when to say enough.
The only way to understand clay is to get your hands dirty.
If you don’t spend time with a lump of clay, it will have no character or strength.
Clay has stages of development; the key is knowing what part of the design is optimal to which stage.
Clay doesn’t hurry.
The prettiest pieces I’ve made are the least useful.
Its only Clay!
When the clay breaks or falls in, you fix it or start over. Screaming and such seems appropriate, but then you have to go on.
Most things can be fixed.
Clay is nobody’s fault!
To make pottery and loose it to fire or weakness is still better than to have never loved at all.
Some clays can’t take a hot fire without becoming warped.
Some clays will do whatever you want, while others have a mind of their own.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Only Clay
When I was going to college, I brought a lump of clay home to work on over the weekend. I had an idea and wanted to make it take form before it went away. Throughout the weekend I worked, shaped, altered, examined, adjusted, until I had it just the way I had envisioned it. It was really a grand piece. It was extremely abstract, resembling tangled water pipes or ice skaters or something in-between. I called it briefly “The Ice Dancer.” When finished, I wrapped the clay, now well-past-leather) in paper and supported it on all sides for the ride back to the University. I was ecstatic.
When I got to the clay room, I unwrapped it, set it on the table and admired it for a moment before picking it up to take it to the drying shelf. Then in my hands, without warning, without reason, it broke. It didn’t just break apart; it disintegrated. It lay in a lifeless, formless pile of dirt on the floor. I stood stunned for a moment and then wailed loud and long.
From the second floor of the building I heard my instructor’s voice. He understood the wail without seeing the occurrence. “It’s only clay,” he yelled down.
His insensitivity to my loss infuriated me. Finally, I gained enough strength to cry back, “But it was my clay.”
Just loud enough to make out I heard him reply. “Maybe not.”
The picture is of my studio porch wall. The relief is one that blew apart in the kiln. I was going to scatter the pieces in one of my little gardens and as I lay them out, they all fit together so I fixed it -sort of and mounted it in my stucco wall. I still have to paint and age the stucco and paint the trim and ceiling.
As soon as
I have a section of rock about 1 foot by 7 feet and a section of stucco about 18 inches square. I also have a small kneewall to build to resolve a potential water issue and some painting and sealing. It's raining lightly, but on the radar, it looks like this is the last band of rain for this go 'round. I can seal and paint on the studio porch when the stucco dries completely seeing that it's all covered, but the rock has to be done when it's dry. Louis finished all the soffits and trim and it looks great. Now I must complete the surfaces. We hope to have it inspected by Friday afternoon. That would be a good thing.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Search for a Suitable Name Cont.
Why is it so hard to name the cat? He's already wiggled, jumped, batted, chewed and purred his way into our hearts. Little Cat isn't a suitable name at all. There seems to be an acceptance window here that we may be exausting.
If he were grey, I'd name him shadow, for he certainly is attached to me at the feet. Everywhere I go he follows, sometimes charging ahead if he can guess correctly. But he never gets far enough ahead that he can't turn around and bat at my feet and trip me up. I've stepped on him a couple dozen times already but never hard enough to really injure him - until Tuesday. He cried repeatedly and ran to hide under the buffet where he continued to complain for awhile. Eventually he made his way out again as a wiser, more cautious, yet no less clingy kitten.
As stomach problems sent me flying into the bathroom with a hasty push on the door to keep the room to myself, he flew down the hall like a toddler, pressing himself against the door until he knocked it open enough to join me. Like a toddler, "Go away" means nothing. If I sit down for a moment anywhere but the dining table, he's in my lap unless he's in Louis' lap biting and licking and rubbing and purring. Yet somehow shadow seems all wrong for a yellow cat.
It somehow surfaced that foot fungus tends to yellow and clings to the feet as well. But that's a bad name for a cat.
If he were grey, I'd name him shadow, for he certainly is attached to me at the feet. Everywhere I go he follows, sometimes charging ahead if he can guess correctly. But he never gets far enough ahead that he can't turn around and bat at my feet and trip me up. I've stepped on him a couple dozen times already but never hard enough to really injure him - until Tuesday. He cried repeatedly and ran to hide under the buffet where he continued to complain for awhile. Eventually he made his way out again as a wiser, more cautious, yet no less clingy kitten.
As stomach problems sent me flying into the bathroom with a hasty push on the door to keep the room to myself, he flew down the hall like a toddler, pressing himself against the door until he knocked it open enough to join me. Like a toddler, "Go away" means nothing. If I sit down for a moment anywhere but the dining table, he's in my lap unless he's in Louis' lap biting and licking and rubbing and purring. Yet somehow shadow seems all wrong for a yellow cat.
It somehow surfaced that foot fungus tends to yellow and clings to the feet as well. But that's a bad name for a cat.
Home Improvement?
My plan was to wake early, get everything ready, and head to the store for glue all or a reasonable substitute so I could get back busy on the stucco job. I have the sunporch and front done and lack only the studio porch to be "free".
I had some other things I needed -cat dish that he can't carry all over the house, paint, something suitable for my standing rolls and rulers in the studio - so I thought I'd just buy a couple quarts of glue from the Supercenter until Lowes got some gallons back in. After a few minutes of looking for an employee, I learned that they don't carry anything but the little project size of white polymer glue anymore. "We have contact cement and liquid nails."
As I headed for the car after getting the other items I thought I'd just go home, but I realized I can't do any more stucco until I get the glue. So I headed to Home Depot the "We can find it; you can help," people. The helpful guy tried to convince me wood glue was the same thing. No, it's not. "I'm sorry, we can't help."
I headed over to Sutherland. This nice man came right to my aid. "Well, there's carpenter glue." Looks like there's a space for glue-all, but no glue. "This isn't my department. The paint guy will know. I don't see him right now. We have these little bottles." I need LOTS of glue. "Well the paint guy is around here somewhere. He's wearing a red shirt and shorts." I smiled as sincerely as I could and headed out.
Yeagers is on the way home, so I pulled in. Low and behold among their tight, cluttered isles is Elmer's Glue All in gallons and beside it sits Elmers Masonry Glue in gallons. After reading both labels, I decide to stick with what I know and buy 2 gallons of Glue-All, all they had for now. Squealing "Yea - -" I hurry to my car.
I got the car unloaded by 11:30. I have a class at 3. I fed the little nameless cat climbing my leg, put away the groceries and scarfed a little food. It's noon. I'm beginning to feel cornered, claustrophobic. By the time I change clothes and make up the muck I might not have enough time to spread it before I must get ready for my class. I head for the back porch and see the cleaning job I began yesterday in my studio. Sigh. I put together the frame I bought to hold the stuff I piled on the tables. It's close to 1 PM.
I had a plan. Really I did. It was not my intention to blow a whole morning. This is home improvement!?
I had some other things I needed -cat dish that he can't carry all over the house, paint, something suitable for my standing rolls and rulers in the studio - so I thought I'd just buy a couple quarts of glue from the Supercenter until Lowes got some gallons back in. After a few minutes of looking for an employee, I learned that they don't carry anything but the little project size of white polymer glue anymore. "We have contact cement and liquid nails."
As I headed for the car after getting the other items I thought I'd just go home, but I realized I can't do any more stucco until I get the glue. So I headed to Home Depot the "We can find it; you can help," people. The helpful guy tried to convince me wood glue was the same thing. No, it's not. "I'm sorry, we can't help."
I headed over to Sutherland. This nice man came right to my aid. "Well, there's carpenter glue." Looks like there's a space for glue-all, but no glue. "This isn't my department. The paint guy will know. I don't see him right now. We have these little bottles." I need LOTS of glue. "Well the paint guy is around here somewhere. He's wearing a red shirt and shorts." I smiled as sincerely as I could and headed out.
Yeagers is on the way home, so I pulled in. Low and behold among their tight, cluttered isles is Elmer's Glue All in gallons and beside it sits Elmers Masonry Glue in gallons. After reading both labels, I decide to stick with what I know and buy 2 gallons of Glue-All, all they had for now. Squealing "Yea - -" I hurry to my car.
I got the car unloaded by 11:30. I have a class at 3. I fed the little nameless cat climbing my leg, put away the groceries and scarfed a little food. It's noon. I'm beginning to feel cornered, claustrophobic. By the time I change clothes and make up the muck I might not have enough time to spread it before I must get ready for my class. I head for the back porch and see the cleaning job I began yesterday in my studio. Sigh. I put together the frame I bought to hold the stuff I piled on the tables. It's close to 1 PM.
I had a plan. Really I did. It was not my intention to blow a whole morning. This is home improvement!?
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
to an awesome guy
I am married to an awesome guy.
Last Valentines Day he came in after his post work shower to find me slaving over a graphic job in my studio. "Do you have time to stop for a while?"
I growled that the job had grown and the person was coming later that evening to pick it up. Kindly, he said "What can I do?" and got to work helping me.
Later, after the person told me she'd forgotten that this was Valentines Day and she'd just get it tomorrow, I learned that Louis had bought tickets to a special dinner for us. He was kind about it as I ranted. I felt horrible - on all counts. I sat by my computer feeling sad, ashamed, frustrated, tired and began to write. I thought I'd share it here.
While I serve others, you come up short
as I neglect so many things
But you are always a good sport
and take with patience what life brings.
I love you so and never mean
to slight, ignore or turn away
And still I take on more it seems
Each time we face a special day.
So thank you for the grace you give
While I complete just one more thing
And in the future as we live
Perhaps some joy for you I’ll bring
So for today, I work and wish
That I was freer for some task-
Brownies, meatloaf, chocolate gifts-
To give you more while less I ask.
The picture was taken in North Carolina by one of my daughters. I cropped it.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Kingly names for a cutie
There are kings I would not name my cat after for a variety of reasons.
Alexander - between the dying young thing and the rabbit, no.
Ceasar - he was an emporer. He was a substance abuser who tried to say his seisures were devine trances. Anyway, it fits a dog better.
David - for the sake of honor, no.
Ahab - coward, unmanly, wicked, no.
Soloman - the cat is smart, but wise? I hope to have a name before I know.
Caligula - hard to say and a despicable, cruel character.
Peter the Great - just not a cat name.
George - - - - - no!
I would consider Hamurabi, Abimelek, Ivan, Asherbanipal.
Shirkhan is another thought -tiger speaking.
I just can't make up my mind.
Alexander - between the dying young thing and the rabbit, no.
Ceasar - he was an emporer. He was a substance abuser who tried to say his seisures were devine trances. Anyway, it fits a dog better.
David - for the sake of honor, no.
Ahab - coward, unmanly, wicked, no.
Soloman - the cat is smart, but wise? I hope to have a name before I know.
Caligula - hard to say and a despicable, cruel character.
Peter the Great - just not a cat name.
George - - - - - no!
I would consider Hamurabi, Abimelek, Ivan, Asherbanipal.
Shirkhan is another thought -tiger speaking.
I just can't make up my mind.
Saturday, September 9, 2006
Search for a Suitable Name
I got a kitten a week ago Wednesday. We haven’t named him yet. I thought about Simba because of the whole yellow kitten playful sassy thing: “I just can’t wait to be King.” Eh! Maybe not. It’s really cute. My 21 year old said it fit him, but not me.
I’ve never been one to pick pet type names for my animals. I’d never name a cat fluffy even if it was the fluffiest cat in the world. I’d never name a dog spot or duke. My last cat was named Dustin and was called Dusty all his life. People thought it was because his long hair carried dust. I’m not that shallow, though as a kitten he did have a grey spot atop his head that seemed like dirt of some kind.
We toyed with the name “Spud.” The kitty loves laying on the couch and watching TV. But Spud seemed more of a dogs name or something you’d call your brother when you weren’t convinced he had proper parentage. Tater was related, but seemed too country cute. I don’t care for country style, so I haven’t really given it a chance.
Louis flips cereal at him and he chases it and eats it, I haven’t ruled out Cheerio, but it reminds me of when I named my Dog 'Phizgig' because of her resemblance to a creature in a movie “The Dark Crystal.” My grandchildren called her “Biscuit” and everyone said “How cute, does she like biscuits or is it because of her size.” I’m thinking “Who would name a dog Bisquit?” But then, my friend named hers Muffin.
Boomer: short for boomerang, seems somewhat appropriate. But it’s so localized. Most yellow cats I’ve known are energetic, inquisitive kittens but mellow extremely upon adulthood. So while he bounds back when you throw him now (off the couch, off the table, off the bed, out of the room), he probably won’t be so inclined when he’s mature (fat).
So I listen to myself and watch the crazy little thing and think, ‘How long will we say “Little Cat, commeer”?’
A visitor to my studio this week told Louis we should call him “Taco.” Taco? I turned my head to cough politely as my eyes and nostrils flared and almost coughed up a hairball.
The whole "king" thing still has me intrigued. Elvis? Louie? (Not there!) Henry? Hannibal? Nabopilasser? Ludwig? (Yeah: hey Lude cat.) Ferdinand? That’s not a bad one but how do you shorten it. (Here Ferdi, Ferdi) Sargon the Great seems cool, but then there is a close resemblance to the bad guys in Lord of the Rings. Of course, Sargon’s related identity might be good. Nimrod. “Nim witt” “Hot rod” I could do this if I knew he’d make it to “mighty hunter” stage. He does toss and chase the play mice with rattles inside.
Sigh! "Here, here, Little Cat."
I’ve never been one to pick pet type names for my animals. I’d never name a cat fluffy even if it was the fluffiest cat in the world. I’d never name a dog spot or duke. My last cat was named Dustin and was called Dusty all his life. People thought it was because his long hair carried dust. I’m not that shallow, though as a kitten he did have a grey spot atop his head that seemed like dirt of some kind.
We toyed with the name “Spud.” The kitty loves laying on the couch and watching TV. But Spud seemed more of a dogs name or something you’d call your brother when you weren’t convinced he had proper parentage. Tater was related, but seemed too country cute. I don’t care for country style, so I haven’t really given it a chance.
Louis flips cereal at him and he chases it and eats it, I haven’t ruled out Cheerio, but it reminds me of when I named my Dog 'Phizgig' because of her resemblance to a creature in a movie “The Dark Crystal.” My grandchildren called her “Biscuit” and everyone said “How cute, does she like biscuits or is it because of her size.” I’m thinking “Who would name a dog Bisquit?” But then, my friend named hers Muffin.
Boomer: short for boomerang, seems somewhat appropriate. But it’s so localized. Most yellow cats I’ve known are energetic, inquisitive kittens but mellow extremely upon adulthood. So while he bounds back when you throw him now (off the couch, off the table, off the bed, out of the room), he probably won’t be so inclined when he’s mature (fat).
So I listen to myself and watch the crazy little thing and think, ‘How long will we say “Little Cat, commeer”?’
A visitor to my studio this week told Louis we should call him “Taco.” Taco? I turned my head to cough politely as my eyes and nostrils flared and almost coughed up a hairball.
The whole "king" thing still has me intrigued. Elvis? Louie? (Not there!) Henry? Hannibal? Nabopilasser? Ludwig? (Yeah: hey Lude cat.) Ferdinand? That’s not a bad one but how do you shorten it. (Here Ferdi, Ferdi) Sargon the Great seems cool, but then there is a close resemblance to the bad guys in Lord of the Rings. Of course, Sargon’s related identity might be good. Nimrod. “Nim witt” “Hot rod” I could do this if I knew he’d make it to “mighty hunter” stage. He does toss and chase the play mice with rattles inside.
Sigh! "Here, here, Little Cat."
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Let it happen
Most times it's hard for me to change. I have my set of ideas and experiences and they're great as they are, but often I find myself trying to put the present into yesterday's jars. It doesn't fit.
We planned to go to the lake as we often do, but there were so many obstacles. Friday night meeting, Saturday ball game, responsibilities at church Sunday morning. It looked like we'd be running back and forth all weekend. But we went ahead with the plans thinking "We can do it."
Finally Rhonda, whose family was going with us and who had her own set of complications, said "I just don't see it working," so we traded Friday through Monday bumping around at the lake for Sunday and Monday at the river, a cave and a hike to a place called "Glory Hole."
We got to the Buffalo National River, where we camped, later than we hoped. Visitors, phone calls, building a cat cage all took time. When we got there it was time to fix supper, put the babies to bed and go to the cave. I skipped the cave due to sore joints and a little stomach upset. Gas in the forest is not much of an issue, gas in a cave? No. So after a little clean up, I took my kitten and Jacob whose lack of body mass won't allow him to cave much and went to my tent. The kitten was so glad to be out of the cage, he entertained us mightily. I dosed off with Jacob and the kitten playing happily. I awakened breifly when the others got back from the cave and helped secure the site.
I woke before dawn. The cavers got back 2ish and were not appreciative of the event. I made coffee, a fire and pancake batter. The kids began to wake up and come out of their tents. The younger kids had gone to bed 8:30 - 9ish and weren't real tired.
We were supposed to be packed and out by 11. It wasn't going to happen. Finally Louis stumbled out of our tent. The babies began awakening and Rhonda appeared. The middle group of kids had begun breakfast, helping the young ones with hot cakes, bacon and syrup. We got it cleaned up and were out about 12:30. Phil made arrangements with Ranger Billy.
I've always heard of Glory Hole and thought someday I'd go there. Well, this was the day. After a 40 minute drive, we ate lunch at the trail head and headed out in a variety of groups. Sarah and her friend were at the front as were Cody and Daniel. If I'd known what was there and how quickly they'd reach it, I'd have been concerned. Ignorance is bliss.
Not too far into the hike, I began seeing the mushrooms. Colors and shapes I'd never seen before were all so conveniently placed along the path. I took up disk after disk of pictures. I even took a few of my people! Jacob and Jessica were happy to hunt the sides of the trail for specie we might miss.
I've wanted to try a technique I've seen on another page and so I took several of what I hoped would become stereo pictures. I came up with 5 sets that worked out of 7 tries. Eventually we caught up to Rhonda and Hannah doing the same thing: photographing the mushrooms just up trail from the main attraction.
Glory Hole is a large funnel cut in the rock. It had no water running through it that day, but you could see the force the water had held through time. I took one stereo set there and am pleased with the result. Then we took the trail to the bottom. Looking up was almost as awesome. We've discussed going back during the high color and in the spring when the water would be running.
Once more, the familiar was replaced with an awesome present. New things always surprise you if you let them happen.
We planned to go to the lake as we often do, but there were so many obstacles. Friday night meeting, Saturday ball game, responsibilities at church Sunday morning. It looked like we'd be running back and forth all weekend. But we went ahead with the plans thinking "We can do it."
Finally Rhonda, whose family was going with us and who had her own set of complications, said "I just don't see it working," so we traded Friday through Monday bumping around at the lake for Sunday and Monday at the river, a cave and a hike to a place called "Glory Hole."
We got to the Buffalo National River, where we camped, later than we hoped. Visitors, phone calls, building a cat cage all took time. When we got there it was time to fix supper, put the babies to bed and go to the cave. I skipped the cave due to sore joints and a little stomach upset. Gas in the forest is not much of an issue, gas in a cave? No. So after a little clean up, I took my kitten and Jacob whose lack of body mass won't allow him to cave much and went to my tent. The kitten was so glad to be out of the cage, he entertained us mightily. I dosed off with Jacob and the kitten playing happily. I awakened breifly when the others got back from the cave and helped secure the site.
I woke before dawn. The cavers got back 2ish and were not appreciative of the event. I made coffee, a fire and pancake batter. The kids began to wake up and come out of their tents. The younger kids had gone to bed 8:30 - 9ish and weren't real tired.
We were supposed to be packed and out by 11. It wasn't going to happen. Finally Louis stumbled out of our tent. The babies began awakening and Rhonda appeared. The middle group of kids had begun breakfast, helping the young ones with hot cakes, bacon and syrup. We got it cleaned up and were out about 12:30. Phil made arrangements with Ranger Billy.
I've always heard of Glory Hole and thought someday I'd go there. Well, this was the day. After a 40 minute drive, we ate lunch at the trail head and headed out in a variety of groups. Sarah and her friend were at the front as were Cody and Daniel. If I'd known what was there and how quickly they'd reach it, I'd have been concerned. Ignorance is bliss.
Not too far into the hike, I began seeing the mushrooms. Colors and shapes I'd never seen before were all so conveniently placed along the path. I took up disk after disk of pictures. I even took a few of my people! Jacob and Jessica were happy to hunt the sides of the trail for specie we might miss.
I've wanted to try a technique I've seen on another page and so I took several of what I hoped would become stereo pictures. I came up with 5 sets that worked out of 7 tries. Eventually we caught up to Rhonda and Hannah doing the same thing: photographing the mushrooms just up trail from the main attraction.
Glory Hole is a large funnel cut in the rock. It had no water running through it that day, but you could see the force the water had held through time. I took one stereo set there and am pleased with the result. Then we took the trail to the bottom. Looking up was almost as awesome. We've discussed going back during the high color and in the spring when the water would be running.
Once more, the familiar was replaced with an awesome present. New things always surprise you if you let them happen.
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