No, I'm not choking her. She's on a flexi-leash.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Blu Hors Matine euthanized last month
Every few months I check in on Blu Hors Matine, a favorite dressage horse of mine (as well as a favorite of thousands of others).
Today I stumbled across the bad news that she had been injured in the field and was put down.
After an injury slipping off a trailer, she never reached competition soundness again, and was retired to be a brood mare. It doesn't sound like they know how she injured herself in the field.
Sadly, the quality of the video isn't as good as the one that used to be posted. It's so seldom you see a horse that really seems to enjoy being worked. She was a delight to watch.
Today I stumbled across the bad news that she had been injured in the field and was put down.
After an injury slipping off a trailer, she never reached competition soundness again, and was retired to be a brood mare. It doesn't sound like they know how she injured herself in the field.
Sadly, the quality of the video isn't as good as the one that used to be posted. It's so seldom you see a horse that really seems to enjoy being worked. She was a delight to watch.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Happy Valentine's Day to me, and you, and you....
I understand that some people don't like Valentine's Day. I liked it quite a bit once I was free from the elementary school "you-have-to-give-everyone-a-card-but-you-give-the-homely-cards-to-the-unpopular-people" cruelty aspect of the Big Red Day. Once you grew up enough to be allowed to have real friends instead of popularity-contest friends (were you one of those people who really actually kind of liked the girl with greasy hair and bad glasses, and were ashamed that you didn't dare to show it too much around other people?)---after those days passed away, I found Valentine's Day to be quite fun. Luckily for me (now) my previous-other-half professed not to like Valentine's Day (like many people). Therefore, I'm not wistfully staring at red roses and hearts wishing there was someone to give me some.
What I miss the most about Valentine's Day are the cheap boxes of cards that had puppies and kittens and flowers on them, instead of trademarked cartoon and movie characters.
Anyway, I planned to use Valentine's Day as an excuse to go to my local florist. It's one of the local businesses I never go to because I never buy flowers. This seemed like a good excuse. There was a big sign that they had Valentine's roses by the dozen for a $15.99, so I pulled in.
But when I walked inside, what did I find but purple carnations. In FOUR different shades.
So guess what I got.
Happy Valentine's Day, all around. Here's to silliness.
Post note: OK, now I can reveal that I also Teleflora'd flowers to my mom. I'm not ENTIRELY flower selfish!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Reflection on being snowbound
There is only one thing worse than having to listen to Toyota apologize over and over and over on the radio, and that's listening to a woman sing "If you're happy with your Honda clap your hands."
Monday, February 8, 2010
Craigslist
Craiglist really has revolutionized the home space for people with are broke. I won't call myself poverty stricken, although things are tight. But I do recall when I got my first apartment, and I cruised the streets on garbage night. If you saw a couch--any couch--and you needed a couch, you took it, unless it had been rained on. When you found a better couch, you took that one, and put your current couch on the curb for someone else to take. There were no choices. You were destined to a period in your life where everything you owned was someone else's trash.
Does this bring back memories for anyone who is reading?
Craigslist gives people a choice. Granted, some people are asking what the furniture is worth, which puts it out of the reach of a person on a tight budget. But quite often there are folks who just want stuff to go away. If you are very very patient, and keep your eyes open, instead of being stuck with the couch at the side of the road, you can pick a couch you like.
(Nonetheless, if you are living on ramen noodles, even a $20 couch is $20 too much. That's what Freecycle helps with).
There are a couple of things I've always wanted but that I've written off as being out of my price range---forever. I simply will not spend the money on them, no matter how they strike my fancy.
When I saw one of them on Craigslist today for $25 I had to look three times, absolutely certain the price was wrong.
You do not buy a redwood burl slab coffee table with a driftwood base for $25 unless it has Elvis painted on the top.
Unless there is a couple moving to Georgia who just wants everything to go away.
And it turns out the gentleman had rented my house back in the mid-80s when he was building the beautiful log cabin he now had for sale.
I didn't think to ask him if this table had been here before.
Does this bring back memories for anyone who is reading?
Craigslist gives people a choice. Granted, some people are asking what the furniture is worth, which puts it out of the reach of a person on a tight budget. But quite often there are folks who just want stuff to go away. If you are very very patient, and keep your eyes open, instead of being stuck with the couch at the side of the road, you can pick a couch you like.
(Nonetheless, if you are living on ramen noodles, even a $20 couch is $20 too much. That's what Freecycle helps with).
There are a couple of things I've always wanted but that I've written off as being out of my price range---forever. I simply will not spend the money on them, no matter how they strike my fancy.
When I saw one of them on Craigslist today for $25 I had to look three times, absolutely certain the price was wrong.
You do not buy a redwood burl slab coffee table with a driftwood base for $25 unless it has Elvis painted on the top.
Unless there is a couple moving to Georgia who just wants everything to go away.
And it turns out the gentleman had rented my house back in the mid-80s when he was building the beautiful log cabin he now had for sale.
I didn't think to ask him if this table had been here before.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Happy Single Woman's Radio Station
I'm going to start a radio station that doesn't play any "Oh gosh I'm in love" or "Oh gosh I WANNA be in love" or "damn, he's/she's done me wrong" or "aren't children the TOTAL point of life" songs.
I listen to country music. I started this habit about eight years ago when I was trying to stay awake on long drives, because, hey, you can understand the words, and you can also sing along. Unfortunately, 85% of the songs fall into the above categories.
Nowadays, I'm turning it off and going back to modern rock precisely because I can't understand the words on rock songs.
Sadly, my public radio station is fuzzy, or I would listen to that.
I listen to country music. I started this habit about eight years ago when I was trying to stay awake on long drives, because, hey, you can understand the words, and you can also sing along. Unfortunately, 85% of the songs fall into the above categories.
Nowadays, I'm turning it off and going back to modern rock precisely because I can't understand the words on rock songs.
Sadly, my public radio station is fuzzy, or I would listen to that.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
If I get in bed first....
It's not such a big problem. Only two cats are allowed to sleep with me: Ditz behind my knees, and Ivan at my chest. But the problem is, what if they all get there first?
That's when you break out the treats and make them think it was their idea to get down.
That's when you break out the treats and make them think it was their idea to get down.
Monday, January 18, 2010
When I wake up melancholy
It doesn't happen often, I suppose, but I'm sure it happens to all of us. When you wake up in the morning, you sometimes wake up tired, you sometimes wake up dreading work, you sometimes wake up looking forward to the day, or pleased that it's the weekend.
And sometimes you wake up sad.
Yeah, it's probably just hormones, but nonetheless you've got to live with it. You can give in to it, and mope about all day, being unproductive and making everyone else miserable, too. You end up asleep on the couch for half the day, then wake up angry with yourself for having wasted a whole day. Or you can declare war on it, go out with friends or go shopping, do something aggressively "fun" to derail the sad start of your day, and attempt to end the day happy, or at least sort of manically and hilariously unbalanced.
Or you can take advantage of the fact that you are feeling low and address all those mundane tasks that are wasted on happiness anyway.
I brewed a large pot of coffee.
I lit the candles in the house. For some reason, candles always make me content.
I then set to work covering up the last of the yellow in the kitchen and the hallway to the bathroom and stairs. I was surprised at how relieved I felt when it was finally erased. I started some laundry, stripped my bed, and wandered around the kitchen with a paint brush, looking for thin spots.
The sun came pouring in around noon. Bear was in and out. We did the "mouse dance" at the door more than once.
I picked away at work email.
It was tempting to just stay inside and continue to drudge away at indoor tasks but the bird feeders were empty again and the recycling needed to go out. Also, we all know the best thing to do when you are down-and-out, although sometimes it takes a boot in the ass to get a going.
A walk. Poor Molly has been neglected.
It wasn't a long walk. The snow and ice is melting, so it was pretty slippery going. At least Molly got to bounce around and stick her head in the snow. I got to feel the sun and listen to the creeks roar. When you are feeling out-of-sorts, unpleasant tasks sort of roll right off you, so I grabbed the shovel and took care of the "when the snow melts it becomes apparent you own a dog" issue near the porch.
Sadness is also best treated with tea (mint) and the newspaper (delivered daily). And creativity. In celebration of the working fan (and it does move the air perfectly! It's 76 degrees in her now instead of 68), I grabbed my last piece of FIMO clay and made a pull-chain kitty.
I then went through my cupboards and the refrigerator for all those leftover Christmas cooking items (nuts, dried fruit, etc.) that had or were about to go bad, or at least become stale. I scattered dates, cranberries, and walnuts around for the deer. I took the remaining pecans and attempted to make maple sugar pecans in the oven, but they were still too stale, so the deer got those, too.
I took care of the cats in the cat facility (sunshine! it sure cheers the place up!), hauled wood, and broke open an old paint can to paint a section of wainscoting near the bathroom that somehow has been missed for almost ten years.
It's amazing what we tolerate in the name of "I'll do it someday." Well, it's done.
Basically I pushed the day away one hour at a time (even scattering ashes on the driveway well after dark just to have one more thing done).
If you are going to be bummed, it should at least serve some purpose.
And here it is, after a night's sleep, the next day, and I did NOT wake up sad.
There you go. Just one day at a time.
Do you have any tricks for dealing with a case of the blahs?
And sometimes you wake up sad.
Yeah, it's probably just hormones, but nonetheless you've got to live with it. You can give in to it, and mope about all day, being unproductive and making everyone else miserable, too. You end up asleep on the couch for half the day, then wake up angry with yourself for having wasted a whole day. Or you can declare war on it, go out with friends or go shopping, do something aggressively "fun" to derail the sad start of your day, and attempt to end the day happy, or at least sort of manically and hilariously unbalanced.
Or you can take advantage of the fact that you are feeling low and address all those mundane tasks that are wasted on happiness anyway.
I brewed a large pot of coffee.
I lit the candles in the house. For some reason, candles always make me content.
I then set to work covering up the last of the yellow in the kitchen and the hallway to the bathroom and stairs. I was surprised at how relieved I felt when it was finally erased. I started some laundry, stripped my bed, and wandered around the kitchen with a paint brush, looking for thin spots.
The sun came pouring in around noon. Bear was in and out. We did the "mouse dance" at the door more than once.
I picked away at work email.
It was tempting to just stay inside and continue to drudge away at indoor tasks but the bird feeders were empty again and the recycling needed to go out. Also, we all know the best thing to do when you are down-and-out, although sometimes it takes a boot in the ass to get a going.
A walk. Poor Molly has been neglected.
It wasn't a long walk. The snow and ice is melting, so it was pretty slippery going. At least Molly got to bounce around and stick her head in the snow. I got to feel the sun and listen to the creeks roar. When you are feeling out-of-sorts, unpleasant tasks sort of roll right off you, so I grabbed the shovel and took care of the "when the snow melts it becomes apparent you own a dog" issue near the porch.
Sadness is also best treated with tea (mint) and the newspaper (delivered daily). And creativity. In celebration of the working fan (and it does move the air perfectly! It's 76 degrees in her now instead of 68), I grabbed my last piece of FIMO clay and made a pull-chain kitty.
I then went through my cupboards and the refrigerator for all those leftover Christmas cooking items (nuts, dried fruit, etc.) that had or were about to go bad, or at least become stale. I scattered dates, cranberries, and walnuts around for the deer. I took the remaining pecans and attempted to make maple sugar pecans in the oven, but they were still too stale, so the deer got those, too.
I took care of the cats in the cat facility (sunshine! it sure cheers the place up!), hauled wood, and broke open an old paint can to paint a section of wainscoting near the bathroom that somehow has been missed for almost ten years.
It's amazing what we tolerate in the name of "I'll do it someday." Well, it's done.
Basically I pushed the day away one hour at a time (even scattering ashes on the driveway well after dark just to have one more thing done).
If you are going to be bummed, it should at least serve some purpose.
And here it is, after a night's sleep, the next day, and I did NOT wake up sad.
There you go. Just one day at a time.
Do you have any tricks for dealing with a case of the blahs?
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Fan, continued, and local boys in longjohns
9:41 am - The coffee is brewed, and the blanket-covered chair attests to the fact that yes, at 3:15 am a 20-something young man did in fact show up on my porch in ratty longjohns and workboots, apologizing profusely and begging to use the phone. He made the call on the porch while I got my gun and the blanket. I'm still wondering what that was all about.
9:42: I now own a wire-stripper and know how to use it.
10:05: Do I stuff all these wires through the hole back up into the box, or just leave them in the body of the fan? I guess this is why they have on here "If you are unfamiliar with wiring, you should use a qualified electrician."
10:16: It would appear to me that when I lift this fan to screw it to the ceiling plate, it is going to come unhooked from the support hook, and I'm going to be holding the fan up with one hand?
10:20: I was right, and I dropped a screw. These tiny things are really the only thing holding that up there? Who designs these things? I hope the screws are made out of titanium or something.
10:24: I dropped a screw again, this time inside the fan. Which mean I must disconnect all the wires, take it down, and shake the screw out. I believe this is where other people start drinking again. Thank goodness for coffee and blogs.
11:04: Hey, pretty! I could wimp out now and not install the light...
11:40: OK, enjoy this photo before I blow it up when I turn the power back on:
11:42: It works! It works! It works!
The kittens find it fascinating. The adult cats could care less.
There. Now my long-suffering family and friends no longer have to hear about the damned fan, and I have more space in my closet!
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Installing the fan from hell.
This is the ceiling fan that has lived in my closet for four years. It's intended for the den, so that all the heat from the woodstove doesn't sit up by the ceiling. My ex attempted to install it many moons ago, when I wasn't home (he had installed the other fans in our house). For some reason he aborted the venture and said something about needing a new ceiling plate because this one was bent.
2:15 - Ventured into scary spider basement, located breaker for ceiling outlet in the den, and turned it off. Whoo hoo! Got the right one the first try!
2:20 - Banged out the dents in fan ceiling plate with hammer. I'm assuming that shortly I will discover what problem Mark ran into that resulted in these dents.
2:30 - My ladder is too short. Go out the barn for the 6' ladder. On the way, I am thoroughly scolded by chickadees who point out the feeders have been empty for TWO WHOLE DAYS! Grab the feeders as I go to the barn. Discover two pigeons in the barn ($#%#!!!) who frantically fly about when I enter. As I fill the feeders from the garbage can in the old chicken coops, pigeons freak and white stuff comes splattering down. I scream a stream of swear words, including the "F" word, until I realize the white stuff is just snow. I can't find the ladder. I leave the barn, warning the pigeons they will soon be owl food if they don't move out before nightfall.
2:40 - Where the hell is the ladder?
2:45 - Walk around my house, thinking maybe I used the ladder when I painted the house this summer? I do this in Crocs, no less. Stupid!
2:46 - WHERE THE HELL IS THE LADDER!!!!
2:59 - After checking the barn again, walking around the house again (with proper shoes on) I admit I am unable to locate either of the two six foot wooden ladders I should own. I close my eyes, count to ten, and tell myself that my ex would not possibly have taken them both. I'm sure I'll find at least one. I always do this--put something somewhere odd. It was not stolen, because if anyone stole the 6' ladder, the would have taken my extension ladders as well. I venture into the spider basement for the 4'ladder so covered with dead spiders that I have not touched it for four years. Ugh!!!!!
3:00 - Are you tired of hearing about ladders yet? Well, how do you think I feel!!!!
3:01 - Why isn't the washer working? Oh, look, the den light breaker also apparently controls the outlets in the bathroom. Now, doesn't that make sense? Not.
3:05 - Suffer my first injury, a tiny cut on my ring finger, grabbing the spider ladder as I descend. Get a band-aid.
3:17 - Discover the brass screwheads are completely stripped. Hmmm...we get closer to the source of my ex's previous frustration. Do I have anymore brass screws anywhere? Do they have to be brass?
3:27 - Found two really long screws. They aren't brass. Is this whole thing really held up by just two screws? That's scary. What happens if you add more? Totally creeped out, I do find two long brass screws, but add two more small brass ones.
4:10 -
"Now you are ready to wire the fan." (shivers) I am still totally perplexed by the bent plate and stripped screws. Maybe his power screwdriver was slipping? Oh well! I'm using a regular hand screwdriver and while it took some sweat, the screws went in. There were already pilot holes drilled in the support beam that Mark had already installed.
4:28 - It's hanging up there and I'm reading the wiring chart. I think I have it down. Now I know why guys get to a certain point in their house improvements and start drinking. Luckily I have no alcohol in the house.
4:37 - The kittens are awake and appear very nervous.
4:48 - I don't own a wire-stripper, and it is too dark for me to use the jack knife. So I guess this is it for tonight. I'll stop at Home Depot when I go into Ithaca tonight to see Nancy's concert. Luckily one wall outlet works so I have a single light, and my computer is plugged into the kitchen anyway. The wash will just have to sit in the washer until tomorrow.
4:50 - I have found a lite beer in my fridge.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Three day weekend coming up...
...and so much to do.
Here's the opal kitchen:
Here's the previous cheerful version.
I'll finish it up this weekend, which means painting the ceiling. Groan.
Here's the opal kitchen:
Here's the previous cheerful version.
I'll finish it up this weekend, which means painting the ceiling. Groan.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Painting over more memories
So, I'm finally painting the kitchen.
For those of you who know me in an other-than-internet manner, you'll know that the kitchen is sunny yellow. A yellow that, like the dark green of the den, Mark picked out. It's actually a yellow that suits the room, just as the dark green suits the den. He even wanted a brighter shade (that probably would have been fine) but a yellow titled "Beach Ball" frightened me a bit.
With ivory wainscoting, it's quite nice. But it's also quite dirty. And back when I was in the "every memory of the man must go" stage, I bought two gallons of pale yellow paint, called "opal cream," with plans to keep the yellow theme, but go far lighter.
I was going to paint the den copper, but finally came to my senses. The room was beautiful in dark green, and to destroy beauty just because you didn't want to think of the person who made the decision...well, that was just plain stupid. Instead I moved the furniture, made it my winter bedroom/office, got my cushy furniture, and enjoyed the hunter green in a way I never had before.
The kitchen...well, the kitchen deserved the same. Yellow was good for it. When Mark would actually say what he wanted, his instincts were damned good. I should have gone just a shade lighter instead of trying to "unyellow" it by choosing the palest option I could find.
Today I decided I couldn't let winter slide away without completing every already-paid-for home improvement on my list (and the paint was paid for), so I pulled out the gallons and popped open a top.
Hmmmm.....Opal Cream is exactly that--opal. It ain't yellow. It's, well, hand-churned butter color. Very pretty. But not yellow.
I started painting, and I stopped. The room really would have looked better yellow.
But here was $60 worth of opal paint.
I kept painting.
It is a beautiful color. A quiet, warm color. It is a grown-up, adult color. The yellow was young and cheerful.
I just am not young and cheerful anymore. Cheerful is not in my vocabulary of integrity any longer, although I can fake it fairly well.
As I painted over my cheerful yellow walls with my quiet mature opal paint, it became easier to remind myself that in two years the walls would be need to be repainted anyway, and if I were a cheerful yellow person at that time, there was no reason the kitchen couldn't become yellow again.
Paint is a wonderful thing.
The other problem with choosing pale paint is that all other surfaces also need to be redeemed. The ceiling...ick. The woodwork now looks dull. As I painted the walls, I looked at the stained wainscoting and thought "I just painted this! How can it be so filthy!"
The I realized I had last painted it when Mark said he was leaving and I thought I was going to sell the house. And that, my friends, was 1.75 years ago.
wtf?
I've been alone here for almost two years?
The fuel oil man came, filled the tank, and handed me my $800.00 fuel bill. I sat down and looked at it. I've been paying the bills, taking out the recycling, mowing the lawn, fixing the house, stacking the wood, picking away at the paint on the outside of my big red farmhouse for almost two years?
Huh.
It occurs to me, though the bank account is low, that I am rich. Very rich. I look up, and that opal paint looks better and better. I'm look forward to spring when I'll see the grass ripple back into green and I can tackle the gardens again and paint the final peaks on the house.
The yellow was all a lie anyway. He hated these walls, hated this house, hated this farm, and hated me.
Good riddance.
Post Note: Morning, the next day. LOL! Just a little baggage, Susan? And I wasn't blogging while drinking wine, either. Too expensive anymore. :)
For those of you who know me in an other-than-internet manner, you'll know that the kitchen is sunny yellow. A yellow that, like the dark green of the den, Mark picked out. It's actually a yellow that suits the room, just as the dark green suits the den. He even wanted a brighter shade (that probably would have been fine) but a yellow titled "Beach Ball" frightened me a bit.
With ivory wainscoting, it's quite nice. But it's also quite dirty. And back when I was in the "every memory of the man must go" stage, I bought two gallons of pale yellow paint, called "opal cream," with plans to keep the yellow theme, but go far lighter.
I was going to paint the den copper, but finally came to my senses. The room was beautiful in dark green, and to destroy beauty just because you didn't want to think of the person who made the decision...well, that was just plain stupid. Instead I moved the furniture, made it my winter bedroom/office, got my cushy furniture, and enjoyed the hunter green in a way I never had before.
The kitchen...well, the kitchen deserved the same. Yellow was good for it. When Mark would actually say what he wanted, his instincts were damned good. I should have gone just a shade lighter instead of trying to "unyellow" it by choosing the palest option I could find.
Today I decided I couldn't let winter slide away without completing every already-paid-for home improvement on my list (and the paint was paid for), so I pulled out the gallons and popped open a top.
Hmmmm.....Opal Cream is exactly that--opal. It ain't yellow. It's, well, hand-churned butter color. Very pretty. But not yellow.
I started painting, and I stopped. The room really would have looked better yellow.
But here was $60 worth of opal paint.
I kept painting.
It is a beautiful color. A quiet, warm color. It is a grown-up, adult color. The yellow was young and cheerful.
I just am not young and cheerful anymore. Cheerful is not in my vocabulary of integrity any longer, although I can fake it fairly well.
As I painted over my cheerful yellow walls with my quiet mature opal paint, it became easier to remind myself that in two years the walls would be need to be repainted anyway, and if I were a cheerful yellow person at that time, there was no reason the kitchen couldn't become yellow again.
Paint is a wonderful thing.
The other problem with choosing pale paint is that all other surfaces also need to be redeemed. The ceiling...ick. The woodwork now looks dull. As I painted the walls, I looked at the stained wainscoting and thought "I just painted this! How can it be so filthy!"
The I realized I had last painted it when Mark said he was leaving and I thought I was going to sell the house. And that, my friends, was 1.75 years ago.
wtf?
I've been alone here for almost two years?
The fuel oil man came, filled the tank, and handed me my $800.00 fuel bill. I sat down and looked at it. I've been paying the bills, taking out the recycling, mowing the lawn, fixing the house, stacking the wood, picking away at the paint on the outside of my big red farmhouse for almost two years?
Huh.
It occurs to me, though the bank account is low, that I am rich. Very rich. I look up, and that opal paint looks better and better. I'm look forward to spring when I'll see the grass ripple back into green and I can tackle the gardens again and paint the final peaks on the house.
The yellow was all a lie anyway. He hated these walls, hated this house, hated this farm, and hated me.
Good riddance.
Post Note: Morning, the next day. LOL! Just a little baggage, Susan? And I wasn't blogging while drinking wine, either. Too expensive anymore. :)
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Another one of those weekends.
You know, the ones where you vow to "get organized," "finish tasks," "organize the house...."
Blah, blah, blah.
This morning I actually did get my butt moving at 5:30 am. However, that was only because I fell asleep in my clothes at 12:30 am with the radio on. I forced myself to crawl off the bed as the early morning DJ launched into a phone interview with Governor Patterson. The DJ started out comparing the governor's entrance for the State of the State address to something that had to do with football (I think? I was half asleep...) and the governor responded with something like "I don't mean to be disrespectful..."
By all means, be disrespectful! Be disrespectful! I turned the radio to another station--not because I couldn't stand to listen to a politician--but because I couldn't endure the questions our media tend to pitch their way.
So by 7:00 am I'd been out to the cats, dragged some more things out of the pantry to Craigslist (baskets, cookie tins, etc.), fed the birds, and put a very belated Christmas card containing a gas card in the mailbox for my neglected postal person.
To do list for the weekend:
Finish cleaning the pantry
Take down the Christmas decorations
Fix up a sleeping box in the barn for the cat someone dumped here last week
Go to Ithaca to feed the Fast Food Ferals and South Hill cats (done)
Clean the house
Bring in wood (done, but always continuing)
Looking at the flakes coming down...shovel snow. (done)
Go the post office and renew my PO Boxes (work, and Wildrun)(done)
Update my Petfinder account
Put in another round of advertisements to find homes for these last kittens
If I don't use it and it's in the way or taking up space -- sell it.
And as always...paperwork.
Added:
Make some more little FIMO kitties (done)
Finally get holiday present/cards to my postal person and newspaper deliverer (done)
Pack up M&T's Christmas present (done)
I'm finally getting to the point where most of the things in the house are things that have a purpose. Other than my photo albums, I've finally divested of most of the things that reminded me of married life.
I feel like I'm finally getting to the point that other people got to a decade or more earlier in their lives. Maybe not.
Yeah, maybe so.
Blah, blah, blah.
This morning I actually did get my butt moving at 5:30 am. However, that was only because I fell asleep in my clothes at 12:30 am with the radio on. I forced myself to crawl off the bed as the early morning DJ launched into a phone interview with Governor Patterson. The DJ started out comparing the governor's entrance for the State of the State address to something that had to do with football (I think? I was half asleep...) and the governor responded with something like "I don't mean to be disrespectful..."
By all means, be disrespectful! Be disrespectful! I turned the radio to another station--not because I couldn't stand to listen to a politician--but because I couldn't endure the questions our media tend to pitch their way.
So by 7:00 am I'd been out to the cats, dragged some more things out of the pantry to Craigslist (baskets, cookie tins, etc.), fed the birds, and put a very belated Christmas card containing a gas card in the mailbox for my neglected postal person.
To do list for the weekend:
Finish cleaning the pantry
Take down the Christmas decorations
Fix up a sleeping box in the barn for the cat someone dumped here last week
Go to Ithaca to feed the Fast Food Ferals and South Hill cats (done)
Clean the house
Bring in wood (done, but always continuing)
Looking at the flakes coming down...shovel snow. (done)
Go the post office and renew my PO Boxes (work, and Wildrun)(done)
Update my Petfinder account
Put in another round of advertisements to find homes for these last kittens
If I don't use it and it's in the way or taking up space -- sell it.
And as always...paperwork.
Added:
Make some more little FIMO kitties (done)
Finally get holiday present/cards to my postal person and newspaper deliverer (done)
Pack up M&T's Christmas present (done)
I'm finally getting to the point where most of the things in the house are things that have a purpose. Other than my photo albums, I've finally divested of most of the things that reminded me of married life.
I feel like I'm finally getting to the point that other people got to a decade or more earlier in their lives. Maybe not.
Yeah, maybe so.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Farewell 2009.
I wrote a post that was beginning to sound far too "me, me, me."
The delete key is a very satisfying tool.
What shall I do in 2010?
I can tell you what I have done so far. I have learned to play Auld Lang Syne. (But not that good. Maybe next year). I have also discovered that when it comes to Mardi Gras beads, old Ivan is faster than any kitten. I could learn a thing or two from that.
Boy, do I need a better camera
I finally got a good shot with a cat and a mandolin. Clearly, it would have been a better shot with a better camera, but oh well.
This is what I do when my fingers are recovering.
Snow and mandolins
Forgetting I had taken Wed and Thursday off, I had told Nate at Finger Lakes Guitar Repair that there was no hurry on the mandolin because I would never make it to Ithaca before the weekend anyway. Once I realized I was missing three full days to noodle around on it, I gave myself a V-8 bonk to the forehead.
But yesterday the phone rang and it was Nate letting me know the mandolin was finished! I said I'd be right over, but of course the cat facility sucked me in for a heavy cleaning and I was a half hour late. Luckily he was helping someone else.
Having my own crazy space (the cat facility), it's always rather fulfilling and relaxing to wander into someone else's. Finger Lakes Guitar Repair is a workshop on King Road is a warm corner full of hardcase guitars waiting for repair or pickup, a workbench, a rack for woodworking planes, another for small handtools, a computer, and countless other wonderful things I failed to register. My little Kentucky sounded and felt so much better. He straightened the neck, lowered the action, replaced the strings, and did some fretwork, handed me some pages of chords, a list of recordings, and a CD of mandolin music, AND sat me down for a 10-minute "what I wished I known when I first picked up the mandolin" session. All for fifty bucks and a set of new strings.
And he had already sent me down to Ithaca Guitar Works to pick up some proper picks and a dampit.
I cannot begin to express how much better the mandolin sounds and feels. When I looked around on the internet and saw every page yammering about proper set-up (a term I had never even heard before), I initially was skeptical about spending money on a $100 instrument. But looking further I realized a LOT of beginners were playing $100 instruments, and if they have a truss rod, there might be quite a bit that can be improved on a neglected instrument. The action on this one was so high it was eating my fingertips up. I wrote that off to me being new to playing...until I picked her up yesterday and touched the strings. What a difference.
Anyway, the mandolin is nothing special, but she's fine until she falls apart, I'm told, and by then I'll know if I'm going to keep playing, and I'll have learned a bit before even thinking about buying a better instrument. After years of picking up tinny guitars (it's no use wondering how a proper set-up would have improved those instruments since I was starving-broke back then anyway) it's nice to have a playable instrument.
Now, of course, I'm noticing the sound of a mandolin every time it crops up on the radio, and I drop everything, grab mine, and try to play along. It's amazing what you don't notice until you have reason to.
I wonder what else I'm missing in life that I just haven't noticed?
And yes, like everything else in my life, I am arranging to have a hanger on the wall so the cats can't knock the mandolin over when it's not in its case. I considered a floor stand, but quickly concluded the cats and dog would knock it flying in short order.
But yesterday the phone rang and it was Nate letting me know the mandolin was finished! I said I'd be right over, but of course the cat facility sucked me in for a heavy cleaning and I was a half hour late. Luckily he was helping someone else.
Having my own crazy space (the cat facility), it's always rather fulfilling and relaxing to wander into someone else's. Finger Lakes Guitar Repair is a workshop on King Road is a warm corner full of hardcase guitars waiting for repair or pickup, a workbench, a rack for woodworking planes, another for small handtools, a computer, and countless other wonderful things I failed to register. My little Kentucky sounded and felt so much better. He straightened the neck, lowered the action, replaced the strings, and did some fretwork, handed me some pages of chords, a list of recordings, and a CD of mandolin music, AND sat me down for a 10-minute "what I wished I known when I first picked up the mandolin" session. All for fifty bucks and a set of new strings.
And he had already sent me down to Ithaca Guitar Works to pick up some proper picks and a dampit.
I cannot begin to express how much better the mandolin sounds and feels. When I looked around on the internet and saw every page yammering about proper set-up (a term I had never even heard before), I initially was skeptical about spending money on a $100 instrument. But looking further I realized a LOT of beginners were playing $100 instruments, and if they have a truss rod, there might be quite a bit that can be improved on a neglected instrument. The action on this one was so high it was eating my fingertips up. I wrote that off to me being new to playing...until I picked her up yesterday and touched the strings. What a difference.
Anyway, the mandolin is nothing special, but she's fine until she falls apart, I'm told, and by then I'll know if I'm going to keep playing, and I'll have learned a bit before even thinking about buying a better instrument. After years of picking up tinny guitars (it's no use wondering how a proper set-up would have improved those instruments since I was starving-broke back then anyway) it's nice to have a playable instrument.
Now, of course, I'm noticing the sound of a mandolin every time it crops up on the radio, and I drop everything, grab mine, and try to play along. It's amazing what you don't notice until you have reason to.
I wonder what else I'm missing in life that I just haven't noticed?
And yes, like everything else in my life, I am arranging to have a hanger on the wall so the cats can't knock the mandolin over when it's not in its case. I considered a floor stand, but quickly concluded the cats and dog would knock it flying in short order.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Just an aside...
Frighteningly, it appears mandolin players are also internet fanatics. There are all sorts of listservs, videos, and online training pages. It's like having a beginning instructor in your den. They appear to be very big on "community" --much like the feral cat folks.
However, the last thing I need is another reason to be on a computer. :)
I'm very pleased with the mandolin. It is exactly the kind of instrument I can curl up with and play. The neck, however, is very narrow. I keep reminding myself I did this with a violin and should be able to deal with a mandolin over time, but it's hard to forget that nice, wide, guitar neck. Ah well!
I realize this mandolin probably needs to be professionally set-up. Luckily that's not a very expensive proposition.
One happy thought I stumbled across as I limped through chords and scales, was that I was relearning my childhood violin fingering. And suddenly there was a little emotional flash... "I could play violin again, down the road!"
So, while nursing my poor string-abused fingers, I punched in "violin and mandolin" and "mandolin set up ithaca" and found this sweet instrument at IthacaString.com.
Which just goes to show, I can find a connection to cats on ANY subject whatsoever.
However, the last thing I need is another reason to be on a computer. :)
I'm very pleased with the mandolin. It is exactly the kind of instrument I can curl up with and play. The neck, however, is very narrow. I keep reminding myself I did this with a violin and should be able to deal with a mandolin over time, but it's hard to forget that nice, wide, guitar neck. Ah well!
I realize this mandolin probably needs to be professionally set-up. Luckily that's not a very expensive proposition.
One happy thought I stumbled across as I limped through chords and scales, was that I was relearning my childhood violin fingering. And suddenly there was a little emotional flash... "I could play violin again, down the road!"
So, while nursing my poor string-abused fingers, I punched in "violin and mandolin" and "mandolin set up ithaca" and found this sweet instrument at IthacaString.com.
Which just goes to show, I can find a connection to cats on ANY subject whatsoever.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Mandolins and eagles...
So, I come from a musical family.
However, I myself did not inherit the "patience" gene. I played violin as a child (a beautiful instrument of my mother's), dibbled around on our baby grand (a lucky purchase made by my parents when a neighbor had to sell three pianos in a tiny village that should scarcely handle the sale of one), and I've picked up the guitar countless times.
And I've put them all down again. If you don't have patience and dedication, you aren't really a musician. You are a person who appreciates music. There's nothing wrong with that. After all, musicians need an appreciative audience!
I own a Baldwin piano, which came to me via Mark's family. Now and then I lift the lid and attempt to run through the children's pieces I used to play. She needs a tuning, and two of the keys don't play. I haven't called in a technician because I fear a couple-hundred-dollar tuning will turn into a many-hundred-dollar repair.
Yet I refuse to let her go because...well...when good pianos come into your life, it is very hard to let them go.
Lately, primarily because the music of Nickel Creek carried me through my first year here alone, I've wanted to learn the mandolin. I've considered picking up the guitar again instead since I'm already familiar with it, but I would like an instrument small enough to travel with. I had purchased a Martin Backpacker about 8 years ago for that reason, and quickly learned that they are impossible to play comfortably, especially in a classical position.
Yet I always have this silly dream of sitting on my porch, tilted back in a chair, picking away at some stringed instrument or another, on a warm sunny day.
Primarily because my not-so-affluent family somehow managed to stumble across beautiful musical instruments to grace my childhood, I am a tone snob. Really, really a tone-snob. I can't abide an instrument that sounds at all tinny, but I also refuse to spend a lot of money on an instrument I may put aside in six months. I also understand that a good instrument costs good money, and looking for a dirt-cheap good instrument is somewhat of an oxymoron, and shouldn't even be admitted aloud in musical circles.
Mandolins are already a bright-sounding instrument, so there is a very fine line between "bright" and "sounds like a dime-store ukulele" when you are in the price range I am looking at.
Last weekend, while Christmas shopping, I wandered into a store in Ithaca and was confronted by an entire wall of mandolins. Not being able to play, I asked if one could be played by someone in the store. The guy working there picked one up (warning me they were all beginner's instruments of exactly the same model), but he could scarcely get it tuned, and the sound was brash and unpleasant. I thanked him, said "no, thanks," and accepted the fact that I would never find a really-low-cost playable mandolin and perhaps I should just invest in the piano I'd been neglecting.
Even though I couldn't play it on the porch on a warm summer day.
Yesterday, I had a wonderful Christmas here at the house with my sisters and my mother. Because I am hours from everyone, it was a far-too-short visit. But even in only six hours, the shared meal, the visiting, the laughter over gifts, the reluctance to leave...well, it was one of those good jumping off days that you think "OK, maybe I should try really hard to be a better person from now on."
I'm still bundled up in a lot of anger, and I could see moments yesterday when that came through. You'd think after 16 months, it would be gone, and on the phone last night I apologized to my mom for my flashes of rudeness. Her understanding response made me cherish my family all the more.
It really was a good day.
Kind of like my experience with instruments, these starting-over moments can be too-quickly forgotten, so I try to hang onto the glow as long as I can.
I had not forgotten it this morning. I had had a good night's rest. I had a steaming cup of coffee at my elbow.
I clicked on "musical instruments" in Craigslist just for the heck of it.
There was only one post today, also from an early Saturday riser:
It was a Kentucky mandolin, and was a step up from their basic model. In other words, a pretty good little mandolin, and it was $100. That was less than the tinker toy mandolin I'd looked at the week before.
I immediately sent an email, hoping that at 7:30 am the day after Christmas, I would be one of the first fools on Craigslist.
I was.
One of the best things about Craigslist is that you are buying from real people, in their own homes. The seller in this case was a student from Green Mountain College (who had good questions about Marcellus natural gas leasing) at his parent's home in the hills of Newfield not so far from me. Their pretty little plotthound mix didn't much like the smell of me. I had no ideal plotthounds could bell out as clearly as any coonhound.
When I picked up the mandolin, I noticed there was a small crack between the fretboard and the neck, but as soon as I ran my thumb over the strings, out-of-tune and all, you could tell she had a good sound. A mandolin is tuned just like a violin, so there was an immediate memory leap. This instrument had the same depth as a decent starter violin, and she had a comfortable heft and balance.
It was a lovely trip, to meet great people, and now I have a lovely little mandolin.
Because I was up and about so early, I ran into Ithaca to feed the cats, came home over the hills, loaded up the trash, headed over other hills to the Barton transfer station, and while coming through the Catatonk Valley, I saw a large line dipping and gliding in the grey sky.
It was an eagle.
It's not many people who can sit in their beat-up old truck with a mandolin in the passenger seat and watch an eagle fly overhead.
Life is good.
However, I myself did not inherit the "patience" gene. I played violin as a child (a beautiful instrument of my mother's), dibbled around on our baby grand (a lucky purchase made by my parents when a neighbor had to sell three pianos in a tiny village that should scarcely handle the sale of one), and I've picked up the guitar countless times.
And I've put them all down again. If you don't have patience and dedication, you aren't really a musician. You are a person who appreciates music. There's nothing wrong with that. After all, musicians need an appreciative audience!
I own a Baldwin piano, which came to me via Mark's family. Now and then I lift the lid and attempt to run through the children's pieces I used to play. She needs a tuning, and two of the keys don't play. I haven't called in a technician because I fear a couple-hundred-dollar tuning will turn into a many-hundred-dollar repair.
Yet I refuse to let her go because...well...when good pianos come into your life, it is very hard to let them go.
Lately, primarily because the music of Nickel Creek carried me through my first year here alone, I've wanted to learn the mandolin. I've considered picking up the guitar again instead since I'm already familiar with it, but I would like an instrument small enough to travel with. I had purchased a Martin Backpacker about 8 years ago for that reason, and quickly learned that they are impossible to play comfortably, especially in a classical position.
Yet I always have this silly dream of sitting on my porch, tilted back in a chair, picking away at some stringed instrument or another, on a warm sunny day.
Primarily because my not-so-affluent family somehow managed to stumble across beautiful musical instruments to grace my childhood, I am a tone snob. Really, really a tone-snob. I can't abide an instrument that sounds at all tinny, but I also refuse to spend a lot of money on an instrument I may put aside in six months. I also understand that a good instrument costs good money, and looking for a dirt-cheap good instrument is somewhat of an oxymoron, and shouldn't even be admitted aloud in musical circles.
Mandolins are already a bright-sounding instrument, so there is a very fine line between "bright" and "sounds like a dime-store ukulele" when you are in the price range I am looking at.
Last weekend, while Christmas shopping, I wandered into a store in Ithaca and was confronted by an entire wall of mandolins. Not being able to play, I asked if one could be played by someone in the store. The guy working there picked one up (warning me they were all beginner's instruments of exactly the same model), but he could scarcely get it tuned, and the sound was brash and unpleasant. I thanked him, said "no, thanks," and accepted the fact that I would never find a really-low-cost playable mandolin and perhaps I should just invest in the piano I'd been neglecting.
Even though I couldn't play it on the porch on a warm summer day.
Yesterday, I had a wonderful Christmas here at the house with my sisters and my mother. Because I am hours from everyone, it was a far-too-short visit. But even in only six hours, the shared meal, the visiting, the laughter over gifts, the reluctance to leave...well, it was one of those good jumping off days that you think "OK, maybe I should try really hard to be a better person from now on."
I'm still bundled up in a lot of anger, and I could see moments yesterday when that came through. You'd think after 16 months, it would be gone, and on the phone last night I apologized to my mom for my flashes of rudeness. Her understanding response made me cherish my family all the more.
It really was a good day.
Kind of like my experience with instruments, these starting-over moments can be too-quickly forgotten, so I try to hang onto the glow as long as I can.
I had not forgotten it this morning. I had had a good night's rest. I had a steaming cup of coffee at my elbow.
I clicked on "musical instruments" in Craigslist just for the heck of it.
There was only one post today, also from an early Saturday riser:
It was a Kentucky mandolin, and was a step up from their basic model. In other words, a pretty good little mandolin, and it was $100. That was less than the tinker toy mandolin I'd looked at the week before.
I immediately sent an email, hoping that at 7:30 am the day after Christmas, I would be one of the first fools on Craigslist.
I was.
One of the best things about Craigslist is that you are buying from real people, in their own homes. The seller in this case was a student from Green Mountain College (who had good questions about Marcellus natural gas leasing) at his parent's home in the hills of Newfield not so far from me. Their pretty little plotthound mix didn't much like the smell of me. I had no ideal plotthounds could bell out as clearly as any coonhound.
When I picked up the mandolin, I noticed there was a small crack between the fretboard and the neck, but as soon as I ran my thumb over the strings, out-of-tune and all, you could tell she had a good sound. A mandolin is tuned just like a violin, so there was an immediate memory leap. This instrument had the same depth as a decent starter violin, and she had a comfortable heft and balance.
It was a lovely trip, to meet great people, and now I have a lovely little mandolin.
Because I was up and about so early, I ran into Ithaca to feed the cats, came home over the hills, loaded up the trash, headed over other hills to the Barton transfer station, and while coming through the Catatonk Valley, I saw a large line dipping and gliding in the grey sky.
It was an eagle.
It's not many people who can sit in their beat-up old truck with a mandolin in the passenger seat and watch an eagle fly overhead.
Life is good.
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