I just completed a five-page analysis paper for my Critical and Cultural Theory class (English 313, if you were wondering) that I started yesterday afternoon and worked on diligently today since 3 (with breaks for coffee). It's due tomorrow afternoon, and I feel very confident about it.
For whatever reason I always work better when pressed with an imminent deadline than when I try to do things ahead of time. I could have started this about a month ago, but I've let it sit until the last possible minute to allow for the proper amount of urgency to set in. I just waste time if I try to do stuff any sooner. That's why I'm waiting until Thanksgiving break to get started on the composition project for Music Theory; I just haven't had the inclination to start it until then. This stuff always works out. I might pull an all-nighter trying to get it done in time, but I haven't gotten a bad grade on a procrastinated assignment yet.
The only thing that doesn't apply to is piano. In that case I have a tendency toward mental breakdowns if I don't get stuff memorized/comfortably in my fingers in plenty of time.... hmm.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
I Wish I Was An Insomniac
Yeah, I know. That's kind of like saying "I wish I had cancer" or something like that. I know it's a terrible condition that plagues a lot of people and yadda yadda. But just think about it on the face of it.
If I couldn't sleep, I would have to do something else instead, like... writing my paper.
Instead of writing this, and drinking an energy drink that will probably keep me up until 4:30. Good thing I'm not doing anything important tomorrow, like, you know, accompanying people or going to class or attending a meeting or... wait.
A few years ago I took a Chem 100 class (don't laugh). One of the labs we did involved extracting the caffeine from a few different kinds of drinks (I forget what the process is called). It was pretty cool, but the amount of caffeine seemed so... insignificant, considering how much of a kick it gives you. I'd expect to see a lot more, you know? One of these days I'm just going to extract the caffeine out of a ton of coffee, then save it in a bag for times like this. Then I'll just eat a few pinches of it, and BAM. Instant wakefulness (and also probably a heart attack, but hey. You win some, you lose some).
I guess there are caffeine pills out there, too, though I've never looked for them (just fantasized). Unsurprisingly, you really can overdose on them. Though I'm not quite sure exactly what "euphoria" the kids in the news story were looking for. The closest thing to euphoria I get is a racing heartbeat after waking up with just an hour of sleep, accompanied by constant nausea and the feeling that I am about to keel over at any second.
If I couldn't sleep, I would have to do something else instead, like... writing my paper.
Instead of writing this, and drinking an energy drink that will probably keep me up until 4:30. Good thing I'm not doing anything important tomorrow, like, you know, accompanying people or going to class or attending a meeting or... wait.
A few years ago I took a Chem 100 class (don't laugh). One of the labs we did involved extracting the caffeine from a few different kinds of drinks (I forget what the process is called). It was pretty cool, but the amount of caffeine seemed so... insignificant, considering how much of a kick it gives you. I'd expect to see a lot more, you know? One of these days I'm just going to extract the caffeine out of a ton of coffee, then save it in a bag for times like this. Then I'll just eat a few pinches of it, and BAM. Instant wakefulness (and also probably a heart attack, but hey. You win some, you lose some).
I guess there are caffeine pills out there, too, though I've never looked for them (just fantasized). Unsurprisingly, you really can overdose on them. Though I'm not quite sure exactly what "euphoria" the kids in the news story were looking for. The closest thing to euphoria I get is a racing heartbeat after waking up with just an hour of sleep, accompanied by constant nausea and the feeling that I am about to keel over at any second.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Excellent news!!
No, not Obama's victory. I already told you I didn't care about that. I heard from my sister a few days ago that my mom's full-body CAT scans (to check for cancer in the rest of her body) came back, finally... and they are clean! So no other cancer, which means no terminal cancer. They still have to do an MRI of her spine to check for any others there besides the two they found already, but this already seems to narrow it down to a manageable amount. Yeah, she's still on a ton of morphine and other painkillers... but I think she's going to be okay. I'm so relieved. Thank God!!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Loose Change
English is a fascinating language. Actually, all languages are fascinating, but I'm fluent in English, so that's the one I'm going to talk about now.
No, that's not a lead-in to a discussion of politician rhetoric or speeches or anything of the sort. I hate politics. I am pretty much apathetic about this whole election thing. Yes, I voted. No, I don't really care who wins either way. Is that terrible? Maybe. I have bigger fish to fry right now.
Many, many words in the English language have multiple different meanings that depend on the context they're placed in. Take "love." It seems simple on the outset: an expression of deep affection and/or devotion for something. But do you "love" your family the same way you "love" your significant other? What about ice cream? Or hiking? Or your favorite band? Or celebrities in magazines, movies, television? Your dog? Each of these things does something a little different for you, but you describe them all as "love." I've heard the argument that this cheapens the idea of love. To add yet another perspective to it, the Bible says that "God is love." In rejoinder to that, I've heard it explained that when you do things you "love"--visiting your friends, enjoying nature, playing music--you are experiencing God. So this one simple term splits into many different contextual meanings, but in the end it boils down again to just one thing.
Let's take a slightly different example: change. That stuff you get when you pay with cash, the handful of pennies, dimes, nickels, and quarters that you throw in your purse or pocket and haphazardly throw on top of the washer before you put your jeans in a few days later. Annoying, right? Why do candy bars have to be 99 cents? Wouldn't it make more sense to round up that one cent so you wouldn't have to deal with all those practically worthless little coins?
Then there's the broader sense, and probably the first one you thought of when you read the word. Change: a shift from the old to the new, nothing you can pin down but what is experienced in the difference between past and present. An effect. Something that some people embrace and others fear. Change is good when you're stuck, but bad when you're comfortable. Good when you're itching for escape, bad when you've got everything planned out and life throws a wrench in the works. Good when you're discovering who you are, bad when you're already established and people are counting on your old identity.
How are they connected? One's tangible, one's abstract. This is a tenuous link at best, you're thinking. You get change (monetary) from an exchange of goods. Hand over a dollar bill, get a candy bar plus a penny. Same monetary value as the dollar bill, but it's changed. (See what I did there? .....sorry. Hang on) Different. What do you do with the change? Put it in your pocket, probably, and forget about it. Eventually it makes itself into a jar or a can or whatever and you save it for a rainy day, forget about how you got it. "I blew a whole dollar on that candy," you think. "I could have saved that and used it on [insert common office/school supply here] right now." But you didn't spend a whole dollar, only 99 cents. And that penny will wait, patiently, with all the other coins until you count them and put them in your bank account to be spent again, exchanged again. There's an immediate change when you first submit your dollar to the grocery store cashier, but it doesn't stop there. Eventually the penny will be changed again in another exchange, maybe for a car or a house or a leash for your dog.
Essentially, however, you can't let it weigh you down. The penny's not going to do much good in your pocket, and it's not going to buy much until you combine it with all your other spare change. By itself, it's just a germ-ridden piece of copper with a dead president's face on it. It's how you use it that makes a difference.
Maybe you're one of those people, like me, who values having at least one constant in your life. You aren't one of those people who thrives on chaos and has to do something different every day. Sure, I like to get out and do new things, meet new people, go places I've never been; but if I don't have a constant to organize everything around, some certain thing that makes me feel comfortable and is always, reliably there, then I'm suddenly floundering and panicking and have nothing to hold onto. But change, inevitably, happens regardless of your constant. It doesn't care what you hold dearest, and it definitely doesn't care about letting you stay in your comfort zone. So what do you do with it--that unexpected, 'bad' change? Sweep it under the (mental) rug and pretend it never happened? Pretend that your current circumstance is exactly like your prior circumstance (denial) or that your prior circumstance was exactly like your current, changed circumstance (also denial, I suppose, though of a different variety)? Or do you embrace it, however hard that is?
I've opted to 'bank' my change for later. By itself, it doesn't do me any good. Some things have changed, I've been hurt, but holding onto it and dwelling on it is only going to hold me back. I've chosen to let it go and learn from it, and to let it store up with those other changes that will (of course) unfold in my life.
Someday, I might even invest them in something good.
No, that's not a lead-in to a discussion of politician rhetoric or speeches or anything of the sort. I hate politics. I am pretty much apathetic about this whole election thing. Yes, I voted. No, I don't really care who wins either way. Is that terrible? Maybe. I have bigger fish to fry right now.
Many, many words in the English language have multiple different meanings that depend on the context they're placed in. Take "love." It seems simple on the outset: an expression of deep affection and/or devotion for something. But do you "love" your family the same way you "love" your significant other? What about ice cream? Or hiking? Or your favorite band? Or celebrities in magazines, movies, television? Your dog? Each of these things does something a little different for you, but you describe them all as "love." I've heard the argument that this cheapens the idea of love. To add yet another perspective to it, the Bible says that "God is love." In rejoinder to that, I've heard it explained that when you do things you "love"--visiting your friends, enjoying nature, playing music--you are experiencing God. So this one simple term splits into many different contextual meanings, but in the end it boils down again to just one thing.
Let's take a slightly different example: change. That stuff you get when you pay with cash, the handful of pennies, dimes, nickels, and quarters that you throw in your purse or pocket and haphazardly throw on top of the washer before you put your jeans in a few days later. Annoying, right? Why do candy bars have to be 99 cents? Wouldn't it make more sense to round up that one cent so you wouldn't have to deal with all those practically worthless little coins?
Then there's the broader sense, and probably the first one you thought of when you read the word. Change: a shift from the old to the new, nothing you can pin down but what is experienced in the difference between past and present. An effect. Something that some people embrace and others fear. Change is good when you're stuck, but bad when you're comfortable. Good when you're itching for escape, bad when you've got everything planned out and life throws a wrench in the works. Good when you're discovering who you are, bad when you're already established and people are counting on your old identity.
How are they connected? One's tangible, one's abstract. This is a tenuous link at best, you're thinking. You get change (monetary) from an exchange of goods. Hand over a dollar bill, get a candy bar plus a penny. Same monetary value as the dollar bill, but it's changed. (See what I did there? .....sorry. Hang on) Different. What do you do with the change? Put it in your pocket, probably, and forget about it. Eventually it makes itself into a jar or a can or whatever and you save it for a rainy day, forget about how you got it. "I blew a whole dollar on that candy," you think. "I could have saved that and used it on [insert common office/school supply here] right now." But you didn't spend a whole dollar, only 99 cents. And that penny will wait, patiently, with all the other coins until you count them and put them in your bank account to be spent again, exchanged again. There's an immediate change when you first submit your dollar to the grocery store cashier, but it doesn't stop there. Eventually the penny will be changed again in another exchange, maybe for a car or a house or a leash for your dog.
Essentially, however, you can't let it weigh you down. The penny's not going to do much good in your pocket, and it's not going to buy much until you combine it with all your other spare change. By itself, it's just a germ-ridden piece of copper with a dead president's face on it. It's how you use it that makes a difference.
Maybe you're one of those people, like me, who values having at least one constant in your life. You aren't one of those people who thrives on chaos and has to do something different every day. Sure, I like to get out and do new things, meet new people, go places I've never been; but if I don't have a constant to organize everything around, some certain thing that makes me feel comfortable and is always, reliably there, then I'm suddenly floundering and panicking and have nothing to hold onto. But change, inevitably, happens regardless of your constant. It doesn't care what you hold dearest, and it definitely doesn't care about letting you stay in your comfort zone. So what do you do with it--that unexpected, 'bad' change? Sweep it under the (mental) rug and pretend it never happened? Pretend that your current circumstance is exactly like your prior circumstance (denial) or that your prior circumstance was exactly like your current, changed circumstance (also denial, I suppose, though of a different variety)? Or do you embrace it, however hard that is?
I've opted to 'bank' my change for later. By itself, it doesn't do me any good. Some things have changed, I've been hurt, but holding onto it and dwelling on it is only going to hold me back. I've chosen to let it go and learn from it, and to let it store up with those other changes that will (of course) unfold in my life.
Someday, I might even invest them in something good.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Rain, Radiation and a Return to Normalcy (ish)
And by 'normalcy' I really mean the craziness that was last year, times ten.
My old habits are starting to fall back into place now that I've got classes sorted out and a routine more or less established. I got back from my old roommate Hannah's house around 10:30 tonight (I was there celebrating her birthday with her) and promptly made myself a cup of coffee and gathered up a few music books to head up to the PAC for some late-night practice. It was, predictably, deserted except for Dr. Jovanovic (practicing) and her husband and baby daughter (waiting around for her to finish practicing). I only lasted a couple of hours before deciding to call it a night, but the coffee I drank was enough to keep me still pretty alert, so I'm writing this while waiting for the post-caffeine crash.
It seems like every quarter here presents me with another set of challenges. It's refreshing, in a way--I'm always on my toes and kept humble by the fact that as confident as I am about a piece, I always manage to screw it up in some aspect while playing it in front of other people (friends, professors, etc). But this quarter is a particularly large step forward for me: I'm starting Accompanying class. So far I'm working with three people for sure, possibly a fourth who is still unknown. I'm also tackling the Concerto Competition and playing the first movement of Saint-Saens' Piano Concerto No. 2 in g minor (due next quarter, but I'm getting a start on it now). Add to that a pile of music to sort through and decide what's going to be worked on when over the course of this year (I need two new pieces for this quarter's jury) and remedial work on my scales and arpeggios (miserably failed at last spring's jury) and you have... a crapload of piano to fit into a few hours of practice a day. The only reason I haven't already collapsed from stress is that the sheer amount of work hasn't really sunk in yet. I give it two, three weeks before I start randomly collapsing onto the ground between classes, curling up, and shaking uncontrollably.
And that's just the first quarter of sophomore year.
In addition to the usual piano, music theory and ear training classes, I'm also taking a pretty heavy English 'critical and cultural theory' class. Not a ton of writing due for it, but there's a lot of dense reading that I have to stay caught up on so that I can at least give the impression of alert keeping-up-with-the-discussion-ness in class (despite the fact that we're all way more recalcitrant about discussing things than the prof would prefer). There are actually some interesting things I've read so far, but for the most part I'm just anxious to get back to the writing part of my major.
It also struck me today that majoring in English along with music is actually not entirely comparable to just majoring in music and taking your GUR classes, like most sane people do. That's what I always tell people, because up until now, the course load worked out like that: I take all the required music classes and one or two English classes (which, credit-wise, would otherwise coincide with taking GURs with the music stuff). Again, credit-wise, it's all the same. The laughably light Creative Writing major is only half as many credits as my music major and roughly as many credits (maybe a bit less) as the total GUR count. It's just enough to balance out my quarterly load so that I can mostly concentrate on music but still be a full-time student (13 credits this quarter).
However, this approach ignores the fact that GURs are (as I understand) 1- and 200 level classes (previously taken care of in community college when I earned my AA). Major classes, typically, are 3- and 400 level classes. The intensity of major classes is quite a bit more than lower level classes. I remember basically coasting through community college (this is neither bragging on my part, at least not intentionally, nor an insult of my community college. I really learned a lot there and value my AA education very highly. It's just that, for the most part, it wasn't THAT hard). Were I taking those classes alongside the music ones, I'd probably have about half as much stress as I do now.
But in reality, I'm taking major classes, and this one in particular is not something I can just BS my way through while devoting the better part of my attention to tackling music. I guess all I'm trying to say is that, for the first time, it's really starting to actually feel like a double major.
Fancy that. Now I kind of understand why people are impressed.
Not to make this whole thing a misery sobfest, but as if the new workload and brain-stretching wasn't enough, things aren't looking good for my family back home. My mom has been re-diagnosed with cancer, this time in her bones. She's in a lot of pain due to two tumors in her hip and lower back and on pretty high doses of morphine--which, though it keeps the pain mostly under control, also knocks her out most of the time, makes her dizzy and disoriented, gives her double vision, and essentially makes her hallucinate things that aren't there. She's started a ten-day daily treatment of radiation therapy to shrink the two tumors to get the pain under control, then they're going to do some full body scans to find out the scary truth: how far the cancer has spread to the rest of her body.
Right now it's all up the air, and scary as hell. If it's spread far--and there's no telling at this point--it could be terminal. Terminal. As in, terminally ill, as in, dealing with this for the rest of her life, having it affect everything she does, knowing that her days are numbered.
This is the mom who has been there for our family, despite battling breast cancer six or seven years ago... home schooling us, driving us 45 minutes or more to piano lessons, grocery shopping, library, horseback riding lessons, 4-H, fairs.... taking care of the animals when we were sick or gone or whatever, helping to take care of the property, turning our yard into an orchard (and before that, the untamed wilderness behind the house into a yard and garden), cooking, baking, ceaselessly working through everything to give us the kind of life that a ton of kids aren't lucky enough to have.
When I first heard that she had been re-diagnosed with cancer (just a bit after I'd gotten moved back in at school) I was... well, numb. Scared, but numb. There wasn't a lot of information to work with and I had no idea whether to be hopeful or what. Bone cancer? Well, what does that do? Can you live with it?
Then I talked to my sister last week and she dropped the t-word, and suddenly I'm terrified out of my mind. This is literally one of my biggest fears--things I can't control happening to my family, the ones I hold closest to my heart--and here I am, for all intents and purposes a million miles away. What's going to happen if it IS terminal? I can't just drop out of school. If I miss a quarter I basically have to miss a whole year because everything's sequential. But then, I'm up here for two more years after this one--and how much time does she have?
I always envisioned her being around to see her grandchildren, to bake them cookies and be the amazing grandma that every kid should have. To have her meet and approve of her future son-in-law, to be happy for me and to be there as I go through that huge part of my life. Never mind the fact that my brother just turned ten... will she see him graduate, know what he goes after in life, know what he finds as his passion and decides to pursue?
There are so many what-if's that it just... terrifies me to think there's even a possibility they could be true. I just don't even know how to deal with this.
When she had breast cancer, I was too young to really understand the seriousness of it all. My dad talked to us, at the beginning, how she had it and there wasn't really a reason for it, that the doctors thought they'd caught it early enough that they could get rid of it. I don't think it ever really entered my mind that it could come back or that it could threaten her life.
In the few days since I heard the news from my sister, my mindset has returned a bit more to normal. I'm relaxing a bit more, letting myself smile, letting myself go back to focusing on schoolwork, on me. But the thought is always there in the back of my mind.
I will admit that I almost don't want to know the results of the full-body scans. How can I let myself pursue the things that I want--skill with piano, with writing, getting a boyfriend, building friendships--with the knowledge always hanging over me that she is dying?
My old habits are starting to fall back into place now that I've got classes sorted out and a routine more or less established. I got back from my old roommate Hannah's house around 10:30 tonight (I was there celebrating her birthday with her) and promptly made myself a cup of coffee and gathered up a few music books to head up to the PAC for some late-night practice. It was, predictably, deserted except for Dr. Jovanovic (practicing) and her husband and baby daughter (waiting around for her to finish practicing). I only lasted a couple of hours before deciding to call it a night, but the coffee I drank was enough to keep me still pretty alert, so I'm writing this while waiting for the post-caffeine crash.
It seems like every quarter here presents me with another set of challenges. It's refreshing, in a way--I'm always on my toes and kept humble by the fact that as confident as I am about a piece, I always manage to screw it up in some aspect while playing it in front of other people (friends, professors, etc). But this quarter is a particularly large step forward for me: I'm starting Accompanying class. So far I'm working with three people for sure, possibly a fourth who is still unknown. I'm also tackling the Concerto Competition and playing the first movement of Saint-Saens' Piano Concerto No. 2 in g minor (due next quarter, but I'm getting a start on it now). Add to that a pile of music to sort through and decide what's going to be worked on when over the course of this year (I need two new pieces for this quarter's jury) and remedial work on my scales and arpeggios (miserably failed at last spring's jury) and you have... a crapload of piano to fit into a few hours of practice a day. The only reason I haven't already collapsed from stress is that the sheer amount of work hasn't really sunk in yet. I give it two, three weeks before I start randomly collapsing onto the ground between classes, curling up, and shaking uncontrollably.
And that's just the first quarter of sophomore year.
In addition to the usual piano, music theory and ear training classes, I'm also taking a pretty heavy English 'critical and cultural theory' class. Not a ton of writing due for it, but there's a lot of dense reading that I have to stay caught up on so that I can at least give the impression of alert keeping-up-with-the-discussion-ness in class (despite the fact that we're all way more recalcitrant about discussing things than the prof would prefer). There are actually some interesting things I've read so far, but for the most part I'm just anxious to get back to the writing part of my major.
It also struck me today that majoring in English along with music is actually not entirely comparable to just majoring in music and taking your GUR classes, like most sane people do. That's what I always tell people, because up until now, the course load worked out like that: I take all the required music classes and one or two English classes (which, credit-wise, would otherwise coincide with taking GURs with the music stuff). Again, credit-wise, it's all the same. The laughably light Creative Writing major is only half as many credits as my music major and roughly as many credits (maybe a bit less) as the total GUR count. It's just enough to balance out my quarterly load so that I can mostly concentrate on music but still be a full-time student (13 credits this quarter).
However, this approach ignores the fact that GURs are (as I understand) 1- and 200 level classes (previously taken care of in community college when I earned my AA). Major classes, typically, are 3- and 400 level classes. The intensity of major classes is quite a bit more than lower level classes. I remember basically coasting through community college (this is neither bragging on my part, at least not intentionally, nor an insult of my community college. I really learned a lot there and value my AA education very highly. It's just that, for the most part, it wasn't THAT hard). Were I taking those classes alongside the music ones, I'd probably have about half as much stress as I do now.
But in reality, I'm taking major classes, and this one in particular is not something I can just BS my way through while devoting the better part of my attention to tackling music. I guess all I'm trying to say is that, for the first time, it's really starting to actually feel like a double major.
Fancy that. Now I kind of understand why people are impressed.
Not to make this whole thing a misery sobfest, but as if the new workload and brain-stretching wasn't enough, things aren't looking good for my family back home. My mom has been re-diagnosed with cancer, this time in her bones. She's in a lot of pain due to two tumors in her hip and lower back and on pretty high doses of morphine--which, though it keeps the pain mostly under control, also knocks her out most of the time, makes her dizzy and disoriented, gives her double vision, and essentially makes her hallucinate things that aren't there. She's started a ten-day daily treatment of radiation therapy to shrink the two tumors to get the pain under control, then they're going to do some full body scans to find out the scary truth: how far the cancer has spread to the rest of her body.
Right now it's all up the air, and scary as hell. If it's spread far--and there's no telling at this point--it could be terminal. Terminal. As in, terminally ill, as in, dealing with this for the rest of her life, having it affect everything she does, knowing that her days are numbered.
This is the mom who has been there for our family, despite battling breast cancer six or seven years ago... home schooling us, driving us 45 minutes or more to piano lessons, grocery shopping, library, horseback riding lessons, 4-H, fairs.... taking care of the animals when we were sick or gone or whatever, helping to take care of the property, turning our yard into an orchard (and before that, the untamed wilderness behind the house into a yard and garden), cooking, baking, ceaselessly working through everything to give us the kind of life that a ton of kids aren't lucky enough to have.
When I first heard that she had been re-diagnosed with cancer (just a bit after I'd gotten moved back in at school) I was... well, numb. Scared, but numb. There wasn't a lot of information to work with and I had no idea whether to be hopeful or what. Bone cancer? Well, what does that do? Can you live with it?
Then I talked to my sister last week and she dropped the t-word, and suddenly I'm terrified out of my mind. This is literally one of my biggest fears--things I can't control happening to my family, the ones I hold closest to my heart--and here I am, for all intents and purposes a million miles away. What's going to happen if it IS terminal? I can't just drop out of school. If I miss a quarter I basically have to miss a whole year because everything's sequential. But then, I'm up here for two more years after this one--and how much time does she have?
I always envisioned her being around to see her grandchildren, to bake them cookies and be the amazing grandma that every kid should have. To have her meet and approve of her future son-in-law, to be happy for me and to be there as I go through that huge part of my life. Never mind the fact that my brother just turned ten... will she see him graduate, know what he goes after in life, know what he finds as his passion and decides to pursue?
There are so many what-if's that it just... terrifies me to think there's even a possibility they could be true. I just don't even know how to deal with this.
When she had breast cancer, I was too young to really understand the seriousness of it all. My dad talked to us, at the beginning, how she had it and there wasn't really a reason for it, that the doctors thought they'd caught it early enough that they could get rid of it. I don't think it ever really entered my mind that it could come back or that it could threaten her life.
In the few days since I heard the news from my sister, my mindset has returned a bit more to normal. I'm relaxing a bit more, letting myself smile, letting myself go back to focusing on schoolwork, on me. But the thought is always there in the back of my mind.
I will admit that I almost don't want to know the results of the full-body scans. How can I let myself pursue the things that I want--skill with piano, with writing, getting a boyfriend, building friendships--with the knowledge always hanging over me that she is dying?
Sunday, September 21, 2008
All's Well That Ends...
Summer's been good to me.
It's interesting to look back over all those weeks, now that I am literally on the cusp of fall. I exceeded expectations in many things, overcame problems, survived traumas and clashes, and... didn't accomplish some things (namely, perfecting--or even working on--scales and arpeggios. Oh well).
Would I be the same person I am now if I hadn't worked at camp? I don't know. I'm going into the new school year with a very different perspective than the one I had a year ago. I know what to expect, who to look for, who I'm thrilled to be seeing again. I know that I will be stretched in this coming year and I'm pumped to see how I can grow even more as a pianist, given the phenomenal amount I learned last year.
But camp taught me a lot about the person I am away from school--a teacher, leader, mentor.... things I just don't do that much during the school year. I learned that I can do them, though, and that has given me just enough courage to maybe try them this coming year. At some point I need to start teaching piano, and now seems as good a time as any.
Can I do it?
Yes.
If I hadn't worked at camp this summer, I don't think I would be able to say that.
Looking ahead, letting go of everything here isn't quite so traumatic as it was last fall. I've barely been here all summer anyway, so the last twenty days have given me just enough time to settle in a bit and get used to the routine before going back to the grindstone. I'm just going from one familiar place to another, so I'm not really having any "oh my God, I'm leaving them all behind" kind of panicky moments. I am realizing just how much crap I have, though.
Now I'm just rambling aimlessly. Time for bed.
It's interesting to look back over all those weeks, now that I am literally on the cusp of fall. I exceeded expectations in many things, overcame problems, survived traumas and clashes, and... didn't accomplish some things (namely, perfecting--or even working on--scales and arpeggios. Oh well).
Would I be the same person I am now if I hadn't worked at camp? I don't know. I'm going into the new school year with a very different perspective than the one I had a year ago. I know what to expect, who to look for, who I'm thrilled to be seeing again. I know that I will be stretched in this coming year and I'm pumped to see how I can grow even more as a pianist, given the phenomenal amount I learned last year.
But camp taught me a lot about the person I am away from school--a teacher, leader, mentor.... things I just don't do that much during the school year. I learned that I can do them, though, and that has given me just enough courage to maybe try them this coming year. At some point I need to start teaching piano, and now seems as good a time as any.
Can I do it?
Yes.
If I hadn't worked at camp this summer, I don't think I would be able to say that.
Looking ahead, letting go of everything here isn't quite so traumatic as it was last fall. I've barely been here all summer anyway, so the last twenty days have given me just enough time to settle in a bit and get used to the routine before going back to the grindstone. I'm just going from one familiar place to another, so I'm not really having any "oh my God, I'm leaving them all behind" kind of panicky moments. I am realizing just how much crap I have, though.
Now I'm just rambling aimlessly. Time for bed.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Nnnggghhh...
I've had this cold for more than a week now, and the typical cold part is starting to go away--only occasionally having to blow my nose, and my throat is fine (not scratchy like at the beginning). Except now I've got a new symptom, which is a sinus headache that hit me out of the blue last night... a stabbing pain right on the left side of my forehead. Unfortunately we didn't have any Sudafed, so I had to suffer through it until my dad brought some home and I took a dose to get rid of the remaining pain. The odd thing was that the pain sort of migrated down to the left side of my upper jaw and back again.
I was fine then until about half an hour ago this morning, when the headache came back... this time more in the region of my left cheekbone. I took some more Sudafed, but it still hasn't had an effect, and now the pain has (if anything) intensified in the region of my upper and lower jaw on the left side... definitely NOT the sinuses. So what is it?
Oh, no... the thought just hit me.... is it my wisdom teeth, overdue to be pulled?
AAAAUUUUGGGHHHH.
I was fine then until about half an hour ago this morning, when the headache came back... this time more in the region of my left cheekbone. I took some more Sudafed, but it still hasn't had an effect, and now the pain has (if anything) intensified in the region of my upper and lower jaw on the left side... definitely NOT the sinuses. So what is it?
Oh, no... the thought just hit me.... is it my wisdom teeth, overdue to be pulled?
AAAAUUUUGGGHHHH.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
One Man's Trash...
Treasures (and more) re-discovered while cleaning out my bedroom:
- One small silk-lined velvet bag full of old seashells and a few polished rocks. The opening was almost too small for my hand to fit through, but perfect for a kid's hand. I put the shells in a little cubical gift box that used to hold a candle and put it on my shelf. It looks very artsy now.
- Old handouts, homework papers, and tests from my Hiking, Physics 114, and Children's Lit classes at community college. It was crazy to look at all my math scribblings and remember how I was actually pretty good at that stuff, despite the occasional stressed times and all-nighters spent for that class. Physics was the most fun I ever had while doing math, I think. Fact: while surveying colleges (in particular U of I) I briefly entertained the notion of being a physics minor in addition to a music and English double major.
- A beaded necklace (plastic pony beads on plastic lanyard string) given to me by an odd man on a tourist steam train ride in Mossyrock, WA.
- Old 4-H record books and a plaque for one of them that never got hung up on my wall (I think because there wasn't enough room). Fact: The Kiwanis club that gave out record book awards since before I started 4-H decided, the year after I left 4-H, to stop giving out the awards because there weren't enough clubs participating. Our club was basically the only one that did record books anymore in our county.
- Flashcards from my German class at community college.
- Two prints of a sort of book cover I designed for a story I am still writing. The prints are from a couple of years ago.
- A 3-ring binder full of Beanie Baby collector's cards, c. 1999 (ages ago, right?). I actually still have a basket full of Beanie Babies. I never collected them because of the monetary value, though--just collected them because I was a kid and thought they were cute.
- Letters from past cabin-mates at summer camp when I was a camper 5 or 6 years ago.
- Half-finished scripts (written by me) of a Star Wars movie that me, my sister, and a few friends were going to make two or three years ago. We still have the costumes somewhere.
- Target "College 07" catalog. I remember looking through it and thinking I had to have at least half of the things in it in order to be fully prepared for school. I actually had a conversation with my dad along these lines, before I'd had a good look at my new room-to-be:
“What do you mean, ‘dorm shopping’?”
I stared at my dad, not having expected this question. “Well,” I started, “You know. To get stuff for my dorm.”
He gave me a funny look in return. “All you really need to get is a fridge.” By the tone of his voice, this should have been obvious, like a barren living space with a fridge was all anyone needed to create their own personal home away from home.
The mental image of the lists I’d created after a perusal of the Target catalog disintegrated as I grasped for an explanation as to why I needed so much stuff just to go to college. “Dad, they don’t give you anything except for a bed, a desk, and a closet. I need…storage. You know, bins and things. And a shoe rack and towels.”
“Don’t they give you drawers, though?”
“No.”
“I thought…”
“No, Dad. There’s no bureau or dresser drawers or anything. Just a closet. That’s why I need the bins to put my things in.” I was getting horrific ideas of mounds of clothing, jewelry, books, shoes, and makeup all accumulating in a mass of disorganization not unlike the disaster scene that was the floor of my little sister’s room.
“Maybe you’re right,” he allowed reluctantly. “I guess we could get you some storage boxes.”
“And a laundry hamper,” I put in.
“We used garbage bags for everything. Throw your dirty clothes in, and when it gets full, use it to take them down to the washer.”
“Then they’ll get smelly!” I protested.
“That’s why you close them.”
“Dad!”
*****[/end flashback sequence]
- Scribbled sci-fi story idea/fragment written.... who knows when. It eventually morphed into a story submitted in my Intro to Fiction class last winter.
- Music from Vivaldi's Cum Sancto Spiritu from U-Choir last year... not one of my favorite songs, but a catchy one. I remember that the A2's were a bit of a train wreck on learning our parts for that piece, but you couldn't even tell because of how loudly everyone else was singing.
- A huge chunk of papers from my Intro to Fiction class... mostly printouts of the stories I submitted and had peer-reviewed. I am sorry to say that Intro to Fiction was one of the least enjoyable classes I have taken yet... not because I can't take criticism (peer reviewing was actually really cool and fairly helpful), but because I was genuinely unhappy with everything I wrote for that class. Short stories are just not the medium I work best in. Poetry and novels, on the other hand...
- Lots of letters and notes to me from when I was a SALT (like a counselor/wrangler-in-training) at camp. I never realized or appreciated it then, but I was so loved and noticed by people. I just felt invisible all the time because I was quiet.
- Driving Test Score Sheet from the DOL when I went in to get my license. I scored 96 on my first (and only) try. The examiner was pretty surly, though.
- Shellfish/seaweed license from when I went geoducking last summer. It was a lot of fun, but I never got to eat any of the geoducks we found because my mom thought they were too gross to touch, let alone prepare to eat.
You decide: 
Saturday, September 6, 2008
On Some of My More Unsavory Tendancies
I am a slob.
There, it's official: the first step to recovery is acknowledging your problem. Right?
The funny thing is that I don't actually like living in a super messy environment. I'm just too lazy to do anything about it, most of the time, until it gets so absolutely terrible that I can't even function anymore. My computer desk at school last year was a good example of that. My roommate was very tidy and usually had a good couple of square feet of cleared space on her desk, even with her laptop on it. Mine, in contrast, looked clean if it had more than four inches of cleared space. It was that cluttered. Once in a while I'd clear off the excess papers, textbooks, notebooks, et cetera and revel in all the open space... and it would get cluttered up again no more than a week later.
My bedroom at home is the same way now that I've sort of moved back into it. Part of the problem is that I have my college storage things (plastic drawers, tubs) and other unusual things taking up extra space in my already somewhat cramped room. So, since we've got an uncle coming to visit in a few days and my old roommate coming to visit right after that, I'm making a concerted effort to clean things up.
That's an undertaking in itself. Since I didn't have any room to put anything anywhere (part of the reason why things get cluttered in the first place), I started going through my piles (yes, plural) to see what I could throw out. There was a remarkable number of old papers that had no use anymore that I had kept for purely sentimental reasons, or had been thrown into the pile with this mindset: "Well, it's got some importance, so I shouldn't just throw it away now. I'll hang onto it." These end up being lots of old receipts, forms, and the ten-pound file folder (really) of promotional flyers, course catalogs, scholarship forms, and more from when I was doing my extensive college search/decision making process.
I have to say that I feel better now that I've thrown that out (technically, recycled it). I remember the college search being an arduous process wrought with worry, anticipation, and (a few times) tears. Now I'm settled and completely happy where I'm at, with all of those thoughts behind me. I haven't even really stopped to wonder what life would be like if I'd gone to PLU or University of Idaho (two serious contenders) instead.
But why did I hang onto those things for so long? In addition to being a slob, I'm also a bit of a packrat. It's very difficult for me to throw away or get rid of things that I've had for a while. I think I just get too emotionally attached, as silly as that sounds. For example, take the pile of T-shirts I had next to my bureau for the longest time because I didn't have room for them. I never really wore them, yet they sat there gathering dust because in the back of my mind, I thought "Oh, I'll wear those sometime..."
My sister finally went through my room and gave them all to Goodwill. She is a rock of... something in my life. I love her to pieces.
The funny thing is that her room used to be the disaster zone that mine now is, yet when you walk into it now, it's always very picked up and clean looking. What gives?
There, it's official: the first step to recovery is acknowledging your problem. Right?
The funny thing is that I don't actually like living in a super messy environment. I'm just too lazy to do anything about it, most of the time, until it gets so absolutely terrible that I can't even function anymore. My computer desk at school last year was a good example of that. My roommate was very tidy and usually had a good couple of square feet of cleared space on her desk, even with her laptop on it. Mine, in contrast, looked clean if it had more than four inches of cleared space. It was that cluttered. Once in a while I'd clear off the excess papers, textbooks, notebooks, et cetera and revel in all the open space... and it would get cluttered up again no more than a week later.
My bedroom at home is the same way now that I've sort of moved back into it. Part of the problem is that I have my college storage things (plastic drawers, tubs) and other unusual things taking up extra space in my already somewhat cramped room. So, since we've got an uncle coming to visit in a few days and my old roommate coming to visit right after that, I'm making a concerted effort to clean things up.
That's an undertaking in itself. Since I didn't have any room to put anything anywhere (part of the reason why things get cluttered in the first place), I started going through my piles (yes, plural) to see what I could throw out. There was a remarkable number of old papers that had no use anymore that I had kept for purely sentimental reasons, or had been thrown into the pile with this mindset: "Well, it's got some importance, so I shouldn't just throw it away now. I'll hang onto it." These end up being lots of old receipts, forms, and the ten-pound file folder (really) of promotional flyers, course catalogs, scholarship forms, and more from when I was doing my extensive college search/decision making process.
I have to say that I feel better now that I've thrown that out (technically, recycled it). I remember the college search being an arduous process wrought with worry, anticipation, and (a few times) tears. Now I'm settled and completely happy where I'm at, with all of those thoughts behind me. I haven't even really stopped to wonder what life would be like if I'd gone to PLU or University of Idaho (two serious contenders) instead.
But why did I hang onto those things for so long? In addition to being a slob, I'm also a bit of a packrat. It's very difficult for me to throw away or get rid of things that I've had for a while. I think I just get too emotionally attached, as silly as that sounds. For example, take the pile of T-shirts I had next to my bureau for the longest time because I didn't have room for them. I never really wore them, yet they sat there gathering dust because in the back of my mind, I thought "Oh, I'll wear those sometime..."
My sister finally went through my room and gave them all to Goodwill. She is a rock of... something in my life. I love her to pieces.
The funny thing is that her room used to be the disaster zone that mine now is, yet when you walk into it now, it's always very picked up and clean looking. What gives?
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 10
Yesterday marked the last day of horse camp. That's it: I survived a summer of doing something I'd barely done before, and not only was I successful at it, I learned and I grew in my faith and my trust in God.
It's not over yet, though. I'm going back for one more week, doing cleaning around the campground and getting ready for one more family camp through Labor Day. September 1st marks my last day at camp, and that's when I will be home again.
This week was somewhat frustrating, and not my best week. I started it off on the wrong foot, being tired and expecting a group of high school girls I would bond with and be excited to teach. That's not what I got--they were reticent and unenthusiastic for the first few days. It was a struggle to even get them to respond to "yes or no" questions. I mean, really? It's not like I bite or something. They warmed up toward the end of the week, and we had fun, but it definitely wasn't a high point of the summer.
On the bright side, my etude is essentially memorized now. I have a lot of polish work to do on it, but it's there. I played it at Fancy Dinner Friday (even wore my strapless dress--yessss) and it wasn't perfect, but I got through it. It's helped a lot that most of the practice I've done this summer was in front of other people (all the pianos at camp are in public places). It's desensitized me a lot to that feeling of being watched, and I'm hoping that I will be able to perform even better this fall.
On Saturday we had to work until 4 in the afternoon because of a guest group that wanted trail rides, pony rides, and a hay ride. On top of dealing with that with a small staff (there are only three wranglers and Indy now left of the larger group of ranchies), one of camp's older horses, Anton, colicked badly. Colic happens when a blockage forms in a horse's intestine, causing a backup of food and/or gas in the gut and causing excruciating pain. Colicking horses bite at their sides and try to roll because of the pain in their abdomen, which doesn't help things (rolling can sometimes cause their intestines to twist up and they can't always be untwisted). Walking them out can usually help the blockage to pass, and if the colic is bad enough, a vet will pump oil into their stomach to aid matters as well. We started walking Anton from the time he came up to the ranch from the pasture at 7 am until two in the afternoon. The vet came, gave him oil, and doped him up to dull the pain; but in the hour I walked him from 1-2, he tried to roll numerous times and the painkiller had definitely worn off.
Colic surgeries cost from four to twelve thousand dollars and have only a fifty/fifty chance of recovery. Older horses like Anton, at 26, have even a smaller chance of surviving that. At 2 pm, after calling the vet about Anton's chance of walking out the colic at that point, Indy decided to have him put down. He had been a camp horse for 24 years, one of the best there were.
It was not a high note to end the summer on. But life happens; you have to keep moving on.
It's not over yet, though. I'm going back for one more week, doing cleaning around the campground and getting ready for one more family camp through Labor Day. September 1st marks my last day at camp, and that's when I will be home again.
This week was somewhat frustrating, and not my best week. I started it off on the wrong foot, being tired and expecting a group of high school girls I would bond with and be excited to teach. That's not what I got--they were reticent and unenthusiastic for the first few days. It was a struggle to even get them to respond to "yes or no" questions. I mean, really? It's not like I bite or something. They warmed up toward the end of the week, and we had fun, but it definitely wasn't a high point of the summer.
On the bright side, my etude is essentially memorized now. I have a lot of polish work to do on it, but it's there. I played it at Fancy Dinner Friday (even wore my strapless dress--yessss) and it wasn't perfect, but I got through it. It's helped a lot that most of the practice I've done this summer was in front of other people (all the pianos at camp are in public places). It's desensitized me a lot to that feeling of being watched, and I'm hoping that I will be able to perform even better this fall.
On Saturday we had to work until 4 in the afternoon because of a guest group that wanted trail rides, pony rides, and a hay ride. On top of dealing with that with a small staff (there are only three wranglers and Indy now left of the larger group of ranchies), one of camp's older horses, Anton, colicked badly. Colic happens when a blockage forms in a horse's intestine, causing a backup of food and/or gas in the gut and causing excruciating pain. Colicking horses bite at their sides and try to roll because of the pain in their abdomen, which doesn't help things (rolling can sometimes cause their intestines to twist up and they can't always be untwisted). Walking them out can usually help the blockage to pass, and if the colic is bad enough, a vet will pump oil into their stomach to aid matters as well. We started walking Anton from the time he came up to the ranch from the pasture at 7 am until two in the afternoon. The vet came, gave him oil, and doped him up to dull the pain; but in the hour I walked him from 1-2, he tried to roll numerous times and the painkiller had definitely worn off.
Colic surgeries cost from four to twelve thousand dollars and have only a fifty/fifty chance of recovery. Older horses like Anton, at 26, have even a smaller chance of surviving that. At 2 pm, after calling the vet about Anton's chance of walking out the colic at that point, Indy decided to have him put down. He had been a camp horse for 24 years, one of the best there were.
It was not a high note to end the summer on. But life happens; you have to keep moving on.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 9
Figured I would post this today instead of this weekend because... I'm going to Seattle! I've never really been, except to go to the Pacific Science Center (need to go again sometime) and to go through on my way to school. We're probably not going to do much up there except hang out in a coffee shop or two (it's Seattle--how couldn't I?) and chill at some friends' houses, but I'm looking forward to it nonetheless. A change from the ordinary is in order.
These last few days have been hot. We're talking upper 90's since Wednesday, and today and tomorrow were/will be in the 100's. Several of the horses got dehydrated (if they don't drink enough when it gets this hot, they don't feel well, and then they don't know to drink, so they get even worse) so we adjusted today's schedule to end an hour earlier than usual. Last night was Frontier Village night (sleeping under the stars) and it was really warm, as well. I stayed up for a while talking to Amp/Amanda (program director at the ranch) about life... frustrations and hopes, relationships (in her case) and would-be relationships (in mine). I also talked to another friend who will be joining the music program at my school in the fall about advising and classes. I don't think she realizes what she's in for as a music minor... I'm wishing her the best of luck with it, but I don't know if it's going to be the right fit for what she wants in her college career.
It made me think about my own seriousness about being a music/English major. When I tell people that's what I'm doing, I feel almost irresponsible. If I wanted to be in a profitable career, I would do something like engineering or teaching (public school) or something likewise that would lead to a nice, reliable paycheck. Instead, I'm doing something that will most likely put me as my own boss, deciding what I'm going to do day-to-day to pay the bills, and that may not always reward me with a proportionate amount of money to the amount of time I put into what I'm doing.
But I love doing what I'm doing right now at school... it's a lot of work, but it's so worth it for me. When I think about playing piano for the rest of my life as much as I do now, I'm not scared at all. I've been trying to get in an hour a day this week for my etude, and I'm thrilled at the progress I'm making--memorization is just flying by and it's exhilarating to think that I was responsible for that. I love making music and the process it takes to get to that point. I definitely feel that this is what I'm meant to do.
Also, I have no idea what else I would do without music. It's like imagining being an orphan. Your parents have been around since before you remember, so you can't comprehend a life without them in it. Piano is the same way for me. What would I be? A soccer player? Who knows.
Anyway. This week of campers has been fantastic. They really like me and I like them even more because of it... they are a fun bunch and they all have great attitudes. One fell off of her horse on Thursday (my first fallen camper of the summer) but was a great sport about it and, though she didn't ride for the rest of that day, she wanted to get back on the horse she fell off of today and ride her again. I was so proud of her. They are rambunctious and adorable and lovable... and they make my job easier. Though it's the end of the summer and I'm starting to feel the drag of week after hot week of standing in an arena teaching riding, this week has lifted my spirits and helped me to feel happier in general. I'm getting along with everyone... I'm laughing... I'm able to look on the bright side and not let myself become weighted down by the little troubles of the day.
Everyone got paid today and it struck me that I'll only have one paycheck left before the end of the summer. I clearly remember looking at my calendar in June and thinking that two and a half months were going to be the longest months of my life, that the weeks couldn't pass fast enough to get me back to school and back to my piano, my friends, my writing and being productive. Now it's almost over and I don't regret a thing; the lessons I've learned, friends I've made and re-made.... I can trust in ways I couldn't at the beginning of the summer, and I am incredibly empowered by that. No matter what happens at school this year, I will take that with me and remember it in the long, gloomy winter weeks when God seems far away and school seems overwhelming.
Next week: high school camp!
These last few days have been hot. We're talking upper 90's since Wednesday, and today and tomorrow were/will be in the 100's. Several of the horses got dehydrated (if they don't drink enough when it gets this hot, they don't feel well, and then they don't know to drink, so they get even worse) so we adjusted today's schedule to end an hour earlier than usual. Last night was Frontier Village night (sleeping under the stars) and it was really warm, as well. I stayed up for a while talking to Amp/Amanda (program director at the ranch) about life... frustrations and hopes, relationships (in her case) and would-be relationships (in mine). I also talked to another friend who will be joining the music program at my school in the fall about advising and classes. I don't think she realizes what she's in for as a music minor... I'm wishing her the best of luck with it, but I don't know if it's going to be the right fit for what she wants in her college career.
It made me think about my own seriousness about being a music/English major. When I tell people that's what I'm doing, I feel almost irresponsible. If I wanted to be in a profitable career, I would do something like engineering or teaching (public school) or something likewise that would lead to a nice, reliable paycheck. Instead, I'm doing something that will most likely put me as my own boss, deciding what I'm going to do day-to-day to pay the bills, and that may not always reward me with a proportionate amount of money to the amount of time I put into what I'm doing.
But I love doing what I'm doing right now at school... it's a lot of work, but it's so worth it for me. When I think about playing piano for the rest of my life as much as I do now, I'm not scared at all. I've been trying to get in an hour a day this week for my etude, and I'm thrilled at the progress I'm making--memorization is just flying by and it's exhilarating to think that I was responsible for that. I love making music and the process it takes to get to that point. I definitely feel that this is what I'm meant to do.
Also, I have no idea what else I would do without music. It's like imagining being an orphan. Your parents have been around since before you remember, so you can't comprehend a life without them in it. Piano is the same way for me. What would I be? A soccer player? Who knows.
Anyway. This week of campers has been fantastic. They really like me and I like them even more because of it... they are a fun bunch and they all have great attitudes. One fell off of her horse on Thursday (my first fallen camper of the summer) but was a great sport about it and, though she didn't ride for the rest of that day, she wanted to get back on the horse she fell off of today and ride her again. I was so proud of her. They are rambunctious and adorable and lovable... and they make my job easier. Though it's the end of the summer and I'm starting to feel the drag of week after hot week of standing in an arena teaching riding, this week has lifted my spirits and helped me to feel happier in general. I'm getting along with everyone... I'm laughing... I'm able to look on the bright side and not let myself become weighted down by the little troubles of the day.
Everyone got paid today and it struck me that I'll only have one paycheck left before the end of the summer. I clearly remember looking at my calendar in June and thinking that two and a half months were going to be the longest months of my life, that the weeks couldn't pass fast enough to get me back to school and back to my piano, my friends, my writing and being productive. Now it's almost over and I don't regret a thing; the lessons I've learned, friends I've made and re-made.... I can trust in ways I couldn't at the beginning of the summer, and I am incredibly empowered by that. No matter what happens at school this year, I will take that with me and remember it in the long, gloomy winter weeks when God seems far away and school seems overwhelming.
Next week: high school camp!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 8
This week was long... hot... wet... cold... frustrating at times... tiring toward the end because I got a cold on Thursday.... and sad at the end because Cue Ball, one of the wranglers, left to get ready for school yesterday.
I'm still working through the cold, and I just hope that I will get over it in the next day or two. I despise being sick.
Anyway, we had Discovery kids (4-6th graders) this week... "little babies," as we call them. Their attention span was SO SHORT that barn classes were frustrating and arena classes didn't make a ton of progress... but they did make some, and they did quite a bit of trot work in the arena on Friday. On the plus side, they were quite cuddly, a few in particular. That age group is just adorable and tends to bring out my 'mom' side... heh.
We performed the drill for probably the last time yesterday, since Cue Ball is gone now... we would have to practice it with 6 people instead of 7, and we probably won't have time to do that. I really enjoy doing the drill, and while our last performance of it wasn't top-notch (some of the horses were acting up), at least we didn't have any big collisions or injuries (other than Indy's leg getting banged up). Einer was pokier than ever and refused to go faster than a medium canter even though I carried a crop (like a small whip) and popped him with it enough to get any reasonable horse going faster.
On Thursday we had a free afternoon because guest trail rides were done with for the week, so Indy had us clean sheaths (don't ask... really. don't ask.) which was moderately gross... and then we got to ride the Belgians.
I don't know if I mentioned this before, but Belgians are draft horses, which means that they are large-boned, muscular horses that are very very tall. Pete, the taller of the two, is 18 hands or 72 inches--that's 6 feet--tall from the bottom of his front hoof to the top of his shoulder (or withers). For comparison, the horse I usually ride--Tye--is probably about 15 hands, or 5 feet, tall at the withers. Getting up on the Belgians was interesting (I had to lift my foot to above waist height to reach the stirrup, then hoist myself up from there) but riding them was really really cool--Jay (the one that I rode) has an awesomely smooth trot and canter. Their strides are enormous because of their sheer size, but for whatever reason, instead of having an up-and-down movement to his trot (as in most horses) it was much more side-to-side and really easy to sit.
On Saturday I went to the county fair and visited my family for the afternoon... my sister, brother and friends are all showing animals there (goats, alpacas, and sheep/goats, respectively) so I got to hang out with them for a bit and walk around the fair. I bought a couple pairs of earrings (yes... I have a hard time resisting sparkly stuff, especially when combined with dangly earrings), ate some fair food, petted some animals, viewed some exhibits, and reminisced about the old days when I showed at the fair. In the poultry barn there are usually some posters up with fair photos taken in previous years, and there was one from 2000 with me showing a chicken (I think her name was Penny) at the age of 11. What a nerdy kid I was! Bangs, hair back in a braid (it was pretty long back then too), enormous round glasses, and of course the unflattering show clothes (black jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt). Pretty awkward. I think I'm still awkward now, I just hide it better.
My sister is showing goats for the first time this year, and she won Reserve Grand, with her best friend coming in Grand Champion ahead of her. She was pretty thrilled, considering that she was going up against a lot of more experience showmen--and in the senior class too, which is all high schoolers and they get grilled pretty hard on scoring. She's a talented one for sure...
Just two more weeks of camp left now, and a week of cleaning and then Labor Day camp. Jr High girls again... should be a welcome change from the younger kids.
I'm still working through the cold, and I just hope that I will get over it in the next day or two. I despise being sick.
Anyway, we had Discovery kids (4-6th graders) this week... "little babies," as we call them. Their attention span was SO SHORT that barn classes were frustrating and arena classes didn't make a ton of progress... but they did make some, and they did quite a bit of trot work in the arena on Friday. On the plus side, they were quite cuddly, a few in particular. That age group is just adorable and tends to bring out my 'mom' side... heh.
We performed the drill for probably the last time yesterday, since Cue Ball is gone now... we would have to practice it with 6 people instead of 7, and we probably won't have time to do that. I really enjoy doing the drill, and while our last performance of it wasn't top-notch (some of the horses were acting up), at least we didn't have any big collisions or injuries (other than Indy's leg getting banged up). Einer was pokier than ever and refused to go faster than a medium canter even though I carried a crop (like a small whip) and popped him with it enough to get any reasonable horse going faster.
On Thursday we had a free afternoon because guest trail rides were done with for the week, so Indy had us clean sheaths (don't ask... really. don't ask.) which was moderately gross... and then we got to ride the Belgians.
I don't know if I mentioned this before, but Belgians are draft horses, which means that they are large-boned, muscular horses that are very very tall. Pete, the taller of the two, is 18 hands or 72 inches--that's 6 feet--tall from the bottom of his front hoof to the top of his shoulder (or withers). For comparison, the horse I usually ride--Tye--is probably about 15 hands, or 5 feet, tall at the withers. Getting up on the Belgians was interesting (I had to lift my foot to above waist height to reach the stirrup, then hoist myself up from there) but riding them was really really cool--Jay (the one that I rode) has an awesomely smooth trot and canter. Their strides are enormous because of their sheer size, but for whatever reason, instead of having an up-and-down movement to his trot (as in most horses) it was much more side-to-side and really easy to sit.
On Saturday I went to the county fair and visited my family for the afternoon... my sister, brother and friends are all showing animals there (goats, alpacas, and sheep/goats, respectively) so I got to hang out with them for a bit and walk around the fair. I bought a couple pairs of earrings (yes... I have a hard time resisting sparkly stuff, especially when combined with dangly earrings), ate some fair food, petted some animals, viewed some exhibits, and reminisced about the old days when I showed at the fair. In the poultry barn there are usually some posters up with fair photos taken in previous years, and there was one from 2000 with me showing a chicken (I think her name was Penny) at the age of 11. What a nerdy kid I was! Bangs, hair back in a braid (it was pretty long back then too), enormous round glasses, and of course the unflattering show clothes (black jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt). Pretty awkward. I think I'm still awkward now, I just hide it better.
My sister is showing goats for the first time this year, and she won Reserve Grand, with her best friend coming in Grand Champion ahead of her. She was pretty thrilled, considering that she was going up against a lot of more experience showmen--and in the senior class too, which is all high schoolers and they get grilled pretty hard on scoring. She's a talented one for sure...
Just two more weeks of camp left now, and a week of cleaning and then Labor Day camp. Jr High girls again... should be a welcome change from the younger kids.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Weeks 6 and 7
So, I did come home last weekend--but it turned out that I was too tired (read: lazy) to update the blog, so you all (whoever you may be, dear readers) got gypped for a week. But... I'm back now.
These last couple of weeks have been demanding. Our second week of jr. high girls (week 6) weren't nearly as skilled riders as the week before, which made teaching them a little harder. Also, I got pretty beat up--probably got more injuries that week than from the rest of the summer combined. On Tuesday, I was saddling one of the horse and he turned around and bit me unexpectedly... it didn't hurt that much, but it did break the skin through my sweatshirt. On Wednesday I was bridling another horse, who decided to be a jerk and wandered around behind Tye (my wrangler horse) as I was bridling him; Tye kicked at Halo (the horse I was bridling) but hit my knee instead. OUCH. Surprisingly it didn't bruise much, but it did swell up a bit in the area under my kneecap, and the joint popped for 4 or 5 days afterward whenever I walked on it. Then on Thursday, we had some time in the afternoon for an English jumping lesson (as in riding horses over jumps in an English saddle). My knee was still sore so posting (rising up and down in the saddle as your horse trots) was a bit of a chore, but I was kind of looking forward to working on my jumping skills (I'm not too bad at it, but I don't do it often at all so it's good to practice while I can). Balut (our ranch hand and an amazing rider) was teaching us. My horse, Elska, was being a jerk and not going around the corner of the arena like I wanted her to, so I was getting a little jerky with the reins. To solve this problem (with my jerky hands, not my jerky horse) Balut decided it would be a good idea to give me a cup of water to hold in each hand. That way I would hold them still (so as not to splash the water) and have better equitation (posture on a horse) overall... right? Except he failed to tell me that my hands were going all over the place and just said "Stop your horse and take these. We're going to play a game of cups. Now go over the jump."
Well. As soon as we started trotting, the water started sloshing out of my cups (of course). Unless you are used to holding cups on horseback at the trot, and additionally have a superhuman ability to keep your arms/upper body still at the trot (which is very bouncy) you ARE going to have water slosh out of your cups, especially while posting. I'm a pretty good rider, even at English (which I'm not used to), and there wasn't a thing I could do to keep the water in. That wouldn't have been a problem, except that Elska was still being a jerk, wouldn't go around the corner like I wanted her to, and now was zig-zagging all over the place because she wasn't happy about the water splashing on her. I went over the first jump and was supposed to go over the second, but by that point I was frustrated about the cups and knew they were keeping me from having good control of Elska. I dumped out the remaining tiny bit of water that was in them, stacked them together, and handed them back to Balut with a scowl that should have told him not to bother.
He smiled at me, refilled the cups, told me to shorten my reins, and try again.
Cups newly in hand, I kicked Elska around the corner--she went around it this time--and went over the first of the two jumps, water sloshing all the way. However, because my hands were half-full of cups, I couldn't hold the reins very well, which kept me from being able to effectively keep Elska from zig-zagging all over the place between the two jumps, which made me focus more on straightening her out for the second jump with the two fingers that were holding the reins, which kept me from noticing immediately that my balance was getting off. My left stirrup (the thing your foot rests in) broke just as Elska prepared to go over the second jump--went over it--and I was busy holding the cups, holding the reins, and now holding on for dear life as I overcompensated for balance on the right side and started to slip off as Elska hit the ground on the other side of the jump. She took one more stride and I was halfway off, still clutching the reins, and realizing I wasn't going to be able to climb back on at this point. I let go and hit the ground hard, tailbone first. Elska, thankfully, headed the other direction and stayed clear of me.
There was silence in the arena for a few seconds. I rolled over and got to my feet almost immediately, uttering a heavily sarcastic, "There goes Ariat, hitting the ground" and then groaning as I straightened and felt the soreness. Balut was already on his way over and asked if I was alright. "Yes," I replied as grumpily as possible, "I'm fine." The cups were crushed on the sand, and he picked them up and threw them over the fence. I stalked over to Elska and snatched her reins, fixed the broken stirrup (it just had to be reattached to the saddle) and tried to get on a little too fast. The stirrup broke again. Thoroughly pissed now, I attached it one more time, shrugged off Balut's offer to hold the saddle in place so I could get up, and climbed up (this time successfully).
"Are you alright?" he asked again.
"I'm fine," I said crankily. "Just bruised."
"Okay." He patted Elska's neck and continued with the next person to go over the jumps. I went over two or three more rounds of jumps with minimal critique from him and plenty of sympathy from Indy and the other wranglers. I was seething on the inside, angrier than I'd been in a long time. The last time I fell off a horse was two years ago, which I don't really even count because it was an intentional bail (really. There were bees on a trail, lots of trees on either side of the path, I was slipping halfway off of a bucking horse, and if I'd stayed on any longer I would have gotten a nice dose of tree trunk to the face). I wouldn't have fallen off at all that afternoon if I hadn't been dealing with those stupid cups of water. Eventually I opted to leave the arena early while the others continued jumping so that I could do some piano practice before dinner--but also because my bruised tailbone (and pride) needed some rest.
Piano has been an emotional outlet for me for a long time, and that afternoon was no different. I was pounding out my Rachmaninoff etude from earlier this year (Op. 33 in C minor) with probably a little more force than was necessary. A few people had walked through the room, and I suspected someone was in there with me for a while, listening, but I couldn't see them and tuned them out while I played. I was mentally rehearsing how I was going to be furious with Balut for a while and refuse to forgive him, or give him the cold shoulder because he wouldn't apologize, when he walked up and tapped me on the shoulder.
"Ariat?"
"Yes?" My face was perfectly calm.
"I'm sorry for making you fall off today." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to my bench, completely serious.
I took a deep breath. Every last notion of being angry with him disintegrated. "It's okay," I said. "I'm fine. I'll be okay."
"Really? You're not going to hate me forever?"
"Yeah."
We talked for a little while longer about what had happened; he admitted that the cups were probably too much at once for me to handle, his own experience with them when he had been taking jumping lessons, how he used to ride a horse that would dump him off about every day. He asked if I was willing to jump again. "Yes," I told him. "But probably not on Elska," he suggested. I agreed.
So we are okay now, which is great. Balut is a really cool guy and I'm glad we get along.
Week 7 (middlers--5-7th graders, and all girls again) went better on the bumps-and-bruises front, but was exhausting because we had guest group trail rides every afternoon, which took out most of our free time. As a compensation for that, Indy let each wrangler have a whole afternoon off for one day of the week. I spent almost two hours of my afternoon on piano practice, which felt awesome.
I taught the 1's, which was challenging because most of them had never ridden a horse before, but also really rewarding because of how much they improved over the week. They went from making amoeba-shaped "circles" with their horses on the first day, to trotting as a group (however briefly) with good balance on the last day. A couple of them also got the concept of posting down, which was really cool to see, and as a group their confidence improved immensely.
It also rained for several days of the week, which was a welcome break from the heat but unwelcome on Thursday night, which is when everyone goes out to Frontier Village (a campsite in the woods where the kids get to sleep in tipis overnight). It rained all night and was pretty cold, but still somehow heavy on mosquitos. We had half-frozen Uncrustables instead of s'mores, and a wet morning as we got the horses ready for the trailride back to the ranch on Friday morning. I don't mind the rain that much, but more sunshine would be amazing this week. I've got my fingers crossed.
Heading into week 8, we've got Discovery kids again... the little ones... but more SALTs (6 of them) plus a couple of guys who used to be SALTs and are coming out to help this week--an added blessing because we're going to have a cabin of 10 boys, the most we've had all summer. I'm looking forward to it; a fresh start, a new chance to start the week off right, a new set of kids to bond with and teach.
It's still crazy to me that it's August already. Really? Less than two months before I head back to school, and if I was in school, we would be gearing up for finals right now. I've got mixed feelings about my etude. It's getting better with every practice session, but I'm going to start memorizing now and try to have it memorized by the end of this month (a month before I'll have to play it, exactly like I try to do it for juries). I have faith that God will make it work out. The etude was my main conflict with camp, but I came to camp anyway, so it seems inevitable that the etude will come along too.
Yes, "overachiever" is my middle name. That's the way I roll, folks.
These last couple of weeks have been demanding. Our second week of jr. high girls (week 6) weren't nearly as skilled riders as the week before, which made teaching them a little harder. Also, I got pretty beat up--probably got more injuries that week than from the rest of the summer combined. On Tuesday, I was saddling one of the horse and he turned around and bit me unexpectedly... it didn't hurt that much, but it did break the skin through my sweatshirt. On Wednesday I was bridling another horse, who decided to be a jerk and wandered around behind Tye (my wrangler horse) as I was bridling him; Tye kicked at Halo (the horse I was bridling) but hit my knee instead. OUCH. Surprisingly it didn't bruise much, but it did swell up a bit in the area under my kneecap, and the joint popped for 4 or 5 days afterward whenever I walked on it. Then on Thursday, we had some time in the afternoon for an English jumping lesson (as in riding horses over jumps in an English saddle). My knee was still sore so posting (rising up and down in the saddle as your horse trots) was a bit of a chore, but I was kind of looking forward to working on my jumping skills (I'm not too bad at it, but I don't do it often at all so it's good to practice while I can). Balut (our ranch hand and an amazing rider) was teaching us. My horse, Elska, was being a jerk and not going around the corner of the arena like I wanted her to, so I was getting a little jerky with the reins. To solve this problem (with my jerky hands, not my jerky horse) Balut decided it would be a good idea to give me a cup of water to hold in each hand. That way I would hold them still (so as not to splash the water) and have better equitation (posture on a horse) overall... right? Except he failed to tell me that my hands were going all over the place and just said "Stop your horse and take these. We're going to play a game of cups. Now go over the jump."
Well. As soon as we started trotting, the water started sloshing out of my cups (of course). Unless you are used to holding cups on horseback at the trot, and additionally have a superhuman ability to keep your arms/upper body still at the trot (which is very bouncy) you ARE going to have water slosh out of your cups, especially while posting. I'm a pretty good rider, even at English (which I'm not used to), and there wasn't a thing I could do to keep the water in. That wouldn't have been a problem, except that Elska was still being a jerk, wouldn't go around the corner like I wanted her to, and now was zig-zagging all over the place because she wasn't happy about the water splashing on her. I went over the first jump and was supposed to go over the second, but by that point I was frustrated about the cups and knew they were keeping me from having good control of Elska. I dumped out the remaining tiny bit of water that was in them, stacked them together, and handed them back to Balut with a scowl that should have told him not to bother.
He smiled at me, refilled the cups, told me to shorten my reins, and try again.
Cups newly in hand, I kicked Elska around the corner--she went around it this time--and went over the first of the two jumps, water sloshing all the way. However, because my hands were half-full of cups, I couldn't hold the reins very well, which kept me from being able to effectively keep Elska from zig-zagging all over the place between the two jumps, which made me focus more on straightening her out for the second jump with the two fingers that were holding the reins, which kept me from noticing immediately that my balance was getting off. My left stirrup (the thing your foot rests in) broke just as Elska prepared to go over the second jump--went over it--and I was busy holding the cups, holding the reins, and now holding on for dear life as I overcompensated for balance on the right side and started to slip off as Elska hit the ground on the other side of the jump. She took one more stride and I was halfway off, still clutching the reins, and realizing I wasn't going to be able to climb back on at this point. I let go and hit the ground hard, tailbone first. Elska, thankfully, headed the other direction and stayed clear of me.
There was silence in the arena for a few seconds. I rolled over and got to my feet almost immediately, uttering a heavily sarcastic, "There goes Ariat, hitting the ground" and then groaning as I straightened and felt the soreness. Balut was already on his way over and asked if I was alright. "Yes," I replied as grumpily as possible, "I'm fine." The cups were crushed on the sand, and he picked them up and threw them over the fence. I stalked over to Elska and snatched her reins, fixed the broken stirrup (it just had to be reattached to the saddle) and tried to get on a little too fast. The stirrup broke again. Thoroughly pissed now, I attached it one more time, shrugged off Balut's offer to hold the saddle in place so I could get up, and climbed up (this time successfully).
"Are you alright?" he asked again.
"I'm fine," I said crankily. "Just bruised."
"Okay." He patted Elska's neck and continued with the next person to go over the jumps. I went over two or three more rounds of jumps with minimal critique from him and plenty of sympathy from Indy and the other wranglers. I was seething on the inside, angrier than I'd been in a long time. The last time I fell off a horse was two years ago, which I don't really even count because it was an intentional bail (really. There were bees on a trail, lots of trees on either side of the path, I was slipping halfway off of a bucking horse, and if I'd stayed on any longer I would have gotten a nice dose of tree trunk to the face). I wouldn't have fallen off at all that afternoon if I hadn't been dealing with those stupid cups of water. Eventually I opted to leave the arena early while the others continued jumping so that I could do some piano practice before dinner--but also because my bruised tailbone (and pride) needed some rest.
Piano has been an emotional outlet for me for a long time, and that afternoon was no different. I was pounding out my Rachmaninoff etude from earlier this year (Op. 33 in C minor) with probably a little more force than was necessary. A few people had walked through the room, and I suspected someone was in there with me for a while, listening, but I couldn't see them and tuned them out while I played. I was mentally rehearsing how I was going to be furious with Balut for a while and refuse to forgive him, or give him the cold shoulder because he wouldn't apologize, when he walked up and tapped me on the shoulder.
"Ariat?"
"Yes?" My face was perfectly calm.
"I'm sorry for making you fall off today." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to my bench, completely serious.
I took a deep breath. Every last notion of being angry with him disintegrated. "It's okay," I said. "I'm fine. I'll be okay."
"Really? You're not going to hate me forever?"
"Yeah."
We talked for a little while longer about what had happened; he admitted that the cups were probably too much at once for me to handle, his own experience with them when he had been taking jumping lessons, how he used to ride a horse that would dump him off about every day. He asked if I was willing to jump again. "Yes," I told him. "But probably not on Elska," he suggested. I agreed.
So we are okay now, which is great. Balut is a really cool guy and I'm glad we get along.
Week 7 (middlers--5-7th graders, and all girls again) went better on the bumps-and-bruises front, but was exhausting because we had guest group trail rides every afternoon, which took out most of our free time. As a compensation for that, Indy let each wrangler have a whole afternoon off for one day of the week. I spent almost two hours of my afternoon on piano practice, which felt awesome.
I taught the 1's, which was challenging because most of them had never ridden a horse before, but also really rewarding because of how much they improved over the week. They went from making amoeba-shaped "circles" with their horses on the first day, to trotting as a group (however briefly) with good balance on the last day. A couple of them also got the concept of posting down, which was really cool to see, and as a group their confidence improved immensely.
It also rained for several days of the week, which was a welcome break from the heat but unwelcome on Thursday night, which is when everyone goes out to Frontier Village (a campsite in the woods where the kids get to sleep in tipis overnight). It rained all night and was pretty cold, but still somehow heavy on mosquitos. We had half-frozen Uncrustables instead of s'mores, and a wet morning as we got the horses ready for the trailride back to the ranch on Friday morning. I don't mind the rain that much, but more sunshine would be amazing this week. I've got my fingers crossed.
Heading into week 8, we've got Discovery kids again... the little ones... but more SALTs (6 of them) plus a couple of guys who used to be SALTs and are coming out to help this week--an added blessing because we're going to have a cabin of 10 boys, the most we've had all summer. I'm looking forward to it; a fresh start, a new chance to start the week off right, a new set of kids to bond with and teach.
It's still crazy to me that it's August already. Really? Less than two months before I head back to school, and if I was in school, we would be gearing up for finals right now. I've got mixed feelings about my etude. It's getting better with every practice session, but I'm going to start memorizing now and try to have it memorized by the end of this month (a month before I'll have to play it, exactly like I try to do it for juries). I have faith that God will make it work out. The etude was my main conflict with camp, but I came to camp anyway, so it seems inevitable that the etude will come along too.
Yes, "overachiever" is my middle name. That's the way I roll, folks.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 5
This week was definitively one of the best I've had at camp so far. The girls in my riding group were fantastic... skilled riders, quick learners and great attitudes. They were a joy to teach and I learned a lot from them as well--ideas on how to teach better, ways to consider why horses do what they do, things to consider about myself and the way I view other people. And we bonded, too... they were attached to me by the end of the week and thoroughly convinced that I rocked. What a morale boost! I really loved this Jr. High-aged group because it reminded me of when I was a camper--full of the same love for horses and zest for life, but also tempered by a readiness to learn new concepts at a deeper level as well as the problems and self-doubt that affects so many girls at that age. It was like seeing a snapshot of myself at that age and seeing how I've grown since then. This is truly a crucial point of development for these girls, and I am thrilled to have an impact on their lives, even if it's only for a week.
We performed the drill for the first time since Family Camp and it went awesomely, no accidents except for a near-collision between a couple of the other horses. All of our horses seem to have the pattern memorized, which is nice... except mine (Einer) just doesn't get excited for it anymore, which means I have to do a lot to keep him up to speed and not let him get lazy. Still, it's a lot of fun and I enjoy doing it.
Yesterday I took my younger sister and our friend to see Wall-E at the theater. It was really good and INCREDIBLY cute... Pixar always manages to turn out good films and this was no exception (it helped that it totally appealed to my "romantic sap" side). I'm definitely picking up a copy once it comes out on DVD. It did push the "don't pollute our planet or else it will become a giant uninhabitable dump" message, but it was more of a background thing--a setting more than a central theme--which was really nice. The robots' personalities were totally believable and I loved the little twist at the end where Wall-E "dies" and Eve has to save him. The credits were adorable, too. Overall, a great story and I loved it.
My etude is still dragging along... I am going to see if I can beg for more practice time this next week. I basically didn't practice all of last week, and I need to do something about it while I still have a chance at memorizing it in time. The last couple of pages are still really rough and need a lot of work, so I'm hoping that I can address that this week.
Not sure if I will be able to update next weekend, as I may be either going up to Seattle and seeing Pike Place Market for the first time, or visiting my friend who will be coming home from WSU for the weekend. Should be fun no matter what!
We performed the drill for the first time since Family Camp and it went awesomely, no accidents except for a near-collision between a couple of the other horses. All of our horses seem to have the pattern memorized, which is nice... except mine (Einer) just doesn't get excited for it anymore, which means I have to do a lot to keep him up to speed and not let him get lazy. Still, it's a lot of fun and I enjoy doing it.
Yesterday I took my younger sister and our friend to see Wall-E at the theater. It was really good and INCREDIBLY cute... Pixar always manages to turn out good films and this was no exception (it helped that it totally appealed to my "romantic sap" side). I'm definitely picking up a copy once it comes out on DVD. It did push the "don't pollute our planet or else it will become a giant uninhabitable dump" message, but it was more of a background thing--a setting more than a central theme--which was really nice. The robots' personalities were totally believable and I loved the little twist at the end where Wall-E "dies" and Eve has to save him. The credits were adorable, too. Overall, a great story and I loved it.
My etude is still dragging along... I am going to see if I can beg for more practice time this next week. I basically didn't practice all of last week, and I need to do something about it while I still have a chance at memorizing it in time. The last couple of pages are still really rough and need a lot of work, so I'm hoping that I can address that this week.
Not sure if I will be able to update next weekend, as I may be either going up to Seattle and seeing Pike Place Market for the first time, or visiting my friend who will be coming home from WSU for the weekend. Should be fun no matter what!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 4
Hard to believe that I have been at camp for a whole month now. It feels like a long time, but at the same time--it doesn't. There's just one day after another after another, and right now--in the middle of it all--I'm just kind of suspended and can't see the beginning or the end of it.
The Seasoned SALTs left this morning after staying for three and a half weeks. They were all emotional and didn't want to go home. I remember being like that a couple of years ago when I was in their position, just wanting to stay for the entire summer where I knew I was safe and happy and pouring myself into God's work. At this point, most of the summer staff has also been at camp for about as long as the SALTs were--four weeks to their three and a half--but at the ranch, there's still six more weeks of campers and then Labor Day Family Camp. Three and a half weeks sounds like a long time to be at camp, but it's really just a small fraction compared to those of us who are staying through the end of August. I'm just starting to realize how long that really is--but I wish I could have the burning desire to be here that the SALTs did. Isn't it funny how that works? They can't stay longer but wish they could, even though they get paid a ridiculously small amount of money for the work they do, and I have to stay but don't have the appreciation for that fact that I probably should. I know I'm blessed to have the opportunity to work at camp this summer, but it's easy to get weighed down by all the little hardships and overlook the big picture.
This week was really difficult for me, but not because of the Discovery (4-6th graders) kids. The weather turned hot again after the cloudiness of Family Camp, I burned (again.... despite my 60 SPF sunscreen), and the heat didn't help... but mostly I was cranky and sullen because I felt alone, still, and unsupported and miserable. I actually talked to several people about it out of sheer frustration for having to deal with negative emotions (my tendency is to wallow for a little while and then make efforts to pull myself out of it in whatever way possible)... but didn't really feel any better until a few nights ago when I talked to Amp, our program director at the Ranch, for a little heart-to-heart about the situation. She ended up praying with me and talking about things I needed to do to help myself, as well as possibly using my experience with this to lead a morning devotional about staff unity--since that is what seems to be lacking among us. The next day turned out to be the best one of the week attitude-wise for me. I felt ten times better and way more cheerful than I had been since before Family Camp. Since that day it's been a bit of a roller coaster, but overall I am doing better. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to do the devotional, but I'm definitely going to do a lot of thinking about it and defining for myself what unity should look like.
My riding group was pretty good this week. I had the three boys that came to camp, but they behaved pretty well. They were all good kids, really... some vivacious, some quiet and withdrawn, some timid, some distracted, some bold. Next week are the Junior High girls... 7-9th graders. I'm looking forward to them, because you can usually do more advanced riding stuff with the older kids, rather than just walking and trotting all week. The staff also take on much more of a 'role model' position and have to be even more responsible than ever--kids are watching and observing and looking up to us, and we have to uphold that Christlike behavior always.
I should go to bed and sleep while I can. The weekends are never long enough...
The Seasoned SALTs left this morning after staying for three and a half weeks. They were all emotional and didn't want to go home. I remember being like that a couple of years ago when I was in their position, just wanting to stay for the entire summer where I knew I was safe and happy and pouring myself into God's work. At this point, most of the summer staff has also been at camp for about as long as the SALTs were--four weeks to their three and a half--but at the ranch, there's still six more weeks of campers and then Labor Day Family Camp. Three and a half weeks sounds like a long time to be at camp, but it's really just a small fraction compared to those of us who are staying through the end of August. I'm just starting to realize how long that really is--but I wish I could have the burning desire to be here that the SALTs did. Isn't it funny how that works? They can't stay longer but wish they could, even though they get paid a ridiculously small amount of money for the work they do, and I have to stay but don't have the appreciation for that fact that I probably should. I know I'm blessed to have the opportunity to work at camp this summer, but it's easy to get weighed down by all the little hardships and overlook the big picture.
This week was really difficult for me, but not because of the Discovery (4-6th graders) kids. The weather turned hot again after the cloudiness of Family Camp, I burned (again.... despite my 60 SPF sunscreen), and the heat didn't help... but mostly I was cranky and sullen because I felt alone, still, and unsupported and miserable. I actually talked to several people about it out of sheer frustration for having to deal with negative emotions (my tendency is to wallow for a little while and then make efforts to pull myself out of it in whatever way possible)... but didn't really feel any better until a few nights ago when I talked to Amp, our program director at the Ranch, for a little heart-to-heart about the situation. She ended up praying with me and talking about things I needed to do to help myself, as well as possibly using my experience with this to lead a morning devotional about staff unity--since that is what seems to be lacking among us. The next day turned out to be the best one of the week attitude-wise for me. I felt ten times better and way more cheerful than I had been since before Family Camp. Since that day it's been a bit of a roller coaster, but overall I am doing better. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to do the devotional, but I'm definitely going to do a lot of thinking about it and defining for myself what unity should look like.
My riding group was pretty good this week. I had the three boys that came to camp, but they behaved pretty well. They were all good kids, really... some vivacious, some quiet and withdrawn, some timid, some distracted, some bold. Next week are the Junior High girls... 7-9th graders. I'm looking forward to them, because you can usually do more advanced riding stuff with the older kids, rather than just walking and trotting all week. The staff also take on much more of a 'role model' position and have to be even more responsible than ever--kids are watching and observing and looking up to us, and we have to uphold that Christlike behavior always.
I should go to bed and sleep while I can. The weekends are never long enough...
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 3
Back again, safe and sound... more or less. This week was different than most of the summer for a couple of important reasons, both of which will be covered here. We came back at the usual time on Sunday afternoon and spent the day cleaning up camp in preparation for the Independence Day Family Camp that happens every year. The wranglers specifically worked on cleaning the Belgian (draft horse, those really big ones) harnesses and washing the barn and ranch truck. We had the evening off and slept in a bit the next day, which was.... staff day!
Everyone packed up their swimsuits and headed out to Lawrence Lake, which is close to camp and Yelm. It was really really nice just to have an entire day to sit around in the sun and play in the water (which was much cleaner than the lake that's on camp property). I even went inner tubing behind one of the boats that they had out there.... which was pretty much AWESOME. I also got a nice burn on my back and a little tiny bit on the backs of my legs. They are still shamefully pale. *sigh* oh well.
After that we headed into Yelm and a group of us (about 22) stopped at Safeway to buy food for the camping trip to Mt. Rainier we had planned (because we had all of Tuesday off, too). It worked out so that each of us only had to contribute $20 to cover all our expenses... then we headed up to the mountain (carpooling) and went through the Nisqually entrance to our campground at Ohanapecosh. It was GORGEOUS there and I took a million pictures, none of which I will be able to upload for a week because I left my camera at camp.... bleh. But it was really neat to see the river and hang out with a bunch of camp staff.
The next morning we had cereal for breakfast, packed everything up, and drove up to the Paradise visitor center to meet a couple of other staffers who hadn't wanted to camp, and hiked up toward Alta Vista and Pebble Creek trails. There was 11 feet of snow on the ground but it was really warm out, which was a bit weird for me but awesome at the same time. We were out there from noon until about 4:30, when we got back to the visitor center (almost sliding down the hill most of the way, it was so steep) and cooled our heels for a half hour or so. Then we piled back into the cars and headed off the mountain to Tumwater (near Yelm) and all had dinner at a pizza place.... then headed back to camp again. It was AMAZING to be out there and I was really thankful for the chance, since my family is not big on camping and I don't know a lot of people who actually plan to just head out to go camping on weekends. It really made me want to go out to Mt. Baker this winter when I'm back up in Bellingham.... anyone have space for me to come with?? :)
It was back to the usual(ish) routine on Wednesday, when Family Camp started. We wranglers did meet and greet on horseback along the road as people drove in, which they seemed to appreciate. Later in the evening we hooked the Belgians up to the hay wagon and gave hayrides, which fortunately ended just as a thunderstorm started up... and continued strong into the night and a bit the next morning. It turned out to be cloudy from that point on, which was fine by me. It wasn't that cold, just t-shirt weather and occasionally sprinkled a bit--which is perfect when you're wearing long pants and boots all day. Our routine at the ranch consisted of sending out 7 trail rides per day (thursday through saturday) and participating in the various evening activities. I like the family camp schedule a lot, actually--trail rides don't require a lot of forethought, just safety consciousness and a good idea of how to stay on schedule and still give the guests a good ride. I rode my wrangler horse, Tye, for most of my rides. He's turning out to be a great trail horse... and also my snuggle buddy. Talk about a soft (kissable :-p) nose! I will endeavor to get his picture on Facebook ASAP...
On the 4th there was a fireworks show, which was good if a little on the short side. No one got any limbs blown off (always a plus).
Then last night was the parade and Western Show, aka our big choreographed performance of the drill--freshly re-learned with Chase (last year's ranch hand) as our 8th rider (we'd learned it with just 7 people before, so this changed up some people's positions). We practiced it three or four times in the days leading up to the drill, but I was especially nervous because the day before, I had collided with Chase during one of our run-throughs. She got off with just a bruised chin, but my ankle got smashed against the saddle and side of my horse and hurt like crazy for the rest of the day. It ended up swelling a bit and now I have a good bruise there. Then, of course, later that afternoon Sequoia (another one of our horses at camp) stepped on the same foot... so my toes are nice and black . That swelled up too, once I took my boot off. So anyway, the drill was yesterday and we were all really nervous going into it. There were around 500 people standing around the arena waiting to watch this thing, the horses were all keyed up, it was getting dark out (it was about 9 pm) and we all had adrenaline surging through us. We prayed together really fast beforehand and that helped us all feel a little better--then it was pretty much right into the routine. Indy (the ranch manager) had set up the Family Camp drill so that our entrance to the ring was choreographed to the music. The first four entered at every eight beats (we used part of the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack), then a break, then the next four entered, and then we got into position and started the drill.
It turned out FANTASTICALLY. I don't know if I will be able to get a video of it, but I saw a recording and we looked so good. Nobody collided, and pretty much the worst thing that happened was that my horse Einer decided to pop up a couple of large bucks in the middle. What a rush... and I was so proud that I am finally able to do this thing that I'd always admired when I was a camper. One of the coolest parts was that Einer pretty much knows the drill now, too. Horses are a lot smarter than most people give them credit for, and some in particular are really bright. He wasn't very keyed up at all for the drill, which surprised me a bit--but he also anticipated a lot of the moves and seemed to know better when I tried to get him to move more at points. There is a part where four of us ride up along the side of the arena and, when Indy blows her whistle, rollback (turn around really fast) and canter (like a gallop but slower) in the opposite direction. It's most dramatic if you do almost a sliding stop, whip your horse around and kind of "pop" out of the turn into a canter in the other direction, but Einer now turns into the rail before Indy even whistles and is already heading in the other direction by the time she does. There were a few other times where I realized I wasn't really steering him that much and he was just doing the moves on his own. Like, "No big deal, man. I got this down." Like I said, awesome.
So the drill was a huge success... the family campers shipped out this morning and we spent the rest of the day cleaning up the lodges and cabins in their wake. Cue Ball (Emily--another wrangler) and I went into Lacey in the afternoon to do some shopping at Target... ended up getting slightly lost because I've never actually been to Lacey before, but fortunately she called a friend who went to Google and gave us directions. Then we came back for dinner and I packed up my stuff and came home.
Tomorrow we get a new group of regular horse campers--the "Discovery" kids, which are 4-6th graders. They are inevitably tiny and really too small to control most of the horses, but we teach them anyway and hope for the best. I'm going to have to figure out how to work their attention spans so that they aren't all bored to tears during barn classes. We also have to do a little more work in preparing the horses for them, because they don't always groom and saddle in the mornings like the Middlers last week did--partly because they are just little kids, but also because they are pretty slow with getting stuff done. We also are getting another batch of SALTs, which will overlap a week with the seasoned SALTs that we have right now. My little sister (her camp name is Kashi, like the cereal) will be a SALT at the ranch, too. I'm excited to have her out there with me at the same time... but it will be interesting to see if she remembers to call me by my camp name (Ariat).
Mentally, ever since Wednesday I've been feeling pretty down. I'm not sure if it's just the weather (I am reasonably sure I have a bit of Seasonal Affective Disorder and get depressed every time it gets cloudy) or moodiness about being around the other staff. For a long time when I was younger, I was a pretty shy, withdrawn kind of person and didn't try very hard to integrate myself with groups--so half the time when I SALTed at camp, I felt shut out of the group and not really included. Cry me a river, I know. Still... Camp was a second home to me, but feeling invisible a lot of the time didn't help my general self esteem. All that changed once I started school, where all of a sudden I really was part of a cohesive group of people who barely knew me, but shared my passions and wanted me to be with them. That was largely responsible for bringing me out of my shell, and according to my sister I'm now a much more bubbly person because of it.
But now I'm back at camp again, and the old insecurities are creeping back as I'm no longer in my music element and most people form little groups... without me. Yeah, some of that is just paranoia and probably not doing as much as I could to include myself. But it's nice to feel valued, which often I... don't, here. I mean, I do my job, pick up the slack for people, pitch in and help out when it's needed. But I'm not feeling the community like I think I should be. I'm just doing a job, and that's not what camp is all about. What's happening? Am I really just not that fun to be around? Hm.
Sorry to whinefest at you guys. I don't want pity, just some kind of reassurance that I'm not actually a terrible person. You know?
Mmmmkay. Enough publicly feeling sorry for myself. Time to go do some piano practice.
Or maybe art. or... some other kind of staying-up-past-my-bedtime-just-because-I-get-to-sleep-past-7-tomorrow activity.
Everyone packed up their swimsuits and headed out to Lawrence Lake, which is close to camp and Yelm. It was really really nice just to have an entire day to sit around in the sun and play in the water (which was much cleaner than the lake that's on camp property). I even went inner tubing behind one of the boats that they had out there.... which was pretty much AWESOME. I also got a nice burn on my back and a little tiny bit on the backs of my legs. They are still shamefully pale. *sigh* oh well.
After that we headed into Yelm and a group of us (about 22) stopped at Safeway to buy food for the camping trip to Mt. Rainier we had planned (because we had all of Tuesday off, too). It worked out so that each of us only had to contribute $20 to cover all our expenses... then we headed up to the mountain (carpooling) and went through the Nisqually entrance to our campground at Ohanapecosh. It was GORGEOUS there and I took a million pictures, none of which I will be able to upload for a week because I left my camera at camp.... bleh. But it was really neat to see the river and hang out with a bunch of camp staff.
The next morning we had cereal for breakfast, packed everything up, and drove up to the Paradise visitor center to meet a couple of other staffers who hadn't wanted to camp, and hiked up toward Alta Vista and Pebble Creek trails. There was 11 feet of snow on the ground but it was really warm out, which was a bit weird for me but awesome at the same time. We were out there from noon until about 4:30, when we got back to the visitor center (almost sliding down the hill most of the way, it was so steep) and cooled our heels for a half hour or so. Then we piled back into the cars and headed off the mountain to Tumwater (near Yelm) and all had dinner at a pizza place.... then headed back to camp again. It was AMAZING to be out there and I was really thankful for the chance, since my family is not big on camping and I don't know a lot of people who actually plan to just head out to go camping on weekends. It really made me want to go out to Mt. Baker this winter when I'm back up in Bellingham.... anyone have space for me to come with?? :)
It was back to the usual(ish) routine on Wednesday, when Family Camp started. We wranglers did meet and greet on horseback along the road as people drove in, which they seemed to appreciate. Later in the evening we hooked the Belgians up to the hay wagon and gave hayrides, which fortunately ended just as a thunderstorm started up... and continued strong into the night and a bit the next morning. It turned out to be cloudy from that point on, which was fine by me. It wasn't that cold, just t-shirt weather and occasionally sprinkled a bit--which is perfect when you're wearing long pants and boots all day. Our routine at the ranch consisted of sending out 7 trail rides per day (thursday through saturday) and participating in the various evening activities. I like the family camp schedule a lot, actually--trail rides don't require a lot of forethought, just safety consciousness and a good idea of how to stay on schedule and still give the guests a good ride. I rode my wrangler horse, Tye, for most of my rides. He's turning out to be a great trail horse... and also my snuggle buddy. Talk about a soft (kissable :-p) nose! I will endeavor to get his picture on Facebook ASAP...
On the 4th there was a fireworks show, which was good if a little on the short side. No one got any limbs blown off (always a plus).
Then last night was the parade and Western Show, aka our big choreographed performance of the drill--freshly re-learned with Chase (last year's ranch hand) as our 8th rider (we'd learned it with just 7 people before, so this changed up some people's positions). We practiced it three or four times in the days leading up to the drill, but I was especially nervous because the day before, I had collided with Chase during one of our run-throughs. She got off with just a bruised chin, but my ankle got smashed against the saddle and side of my horse and hurt like crazy for the rest of the day. It ended up swelling a bit and now I have a good bruise there. Then, of course, later that afternoon Sequoia (another one of our horses at camp) stepped on the same foot... so my toes are nice and black . That swelled up too, once I took my boot off. So anyway, the drill was yesterday and we were all really nervous going into it. There were around 500 people standing around the arena waiting to watch this thing, the horses were all keyed up, it was getting dark out (it was about 9 pm) and we all had adrenaline surging through us. We prayed together really fast beforehand and that helped us all feel a little better--then it was pretty much right into the routine. Indy (the ranch manager) had set up the Family Camp drill so that our entrance to the ring was choreographed to the music. The first four entered at every eight beats (we used part of the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack), then a break, then the next four entered, and then we got into position and started the drill.
It turned out FANTASTICALLY. I don't know if I will be able to get a video of it, but I saw a recording and we looked so good. Nobody collided, and pretty much the worst thing that happened was that my horse Einer decided to pop up a couple of large bucks in the middle. What a rush... and I was so proud that I am finally able to do this thing that I'd always admired when I was a camper. One of the coolest parts was that Einer pretty much knows the drill now, too. Horses are a lot smarter than most people give them credit for, and some in particular are really bright. He wasn't very keyed up at all for the drill, which surprised me a bit--but he also anticipated a lot of the moves and seemed to know better when I tried to get him to move more at points. There is a part where four of us ride up along the side of the arena and, when Indy blows her whistle, rollback (turn around really fast) and canter (like a gallop but slower) in the opposite direction. It's most dramatic if you do almost a sliding stop, whip your horse around and kind of "pop" out of the turn into a canter in the other direction, but Einer now turns into the rail before Indy even whistles and is already heading in the other direction by the time she does. There were a few other times where I realized I wasn't really steering him that much and he was just doing the moves on his own. Like, "No big deal, man. I got this down." Like I said, awesome.
So the drill was a huge success... the family campers shipped out this morning and we spent the rest of the day cleaning up the lodges and cabins in their wake. Cue Ball (Emily--another wrangler) and I went into Lacey in the afternoon to do some shopping at Target... ended up getting slightly lost because I've never actually been to Lacey before, but fortunately she called a friend who went to Google and gave us directions. Then we came back for dinner and I packed up my stuff and came home.
Tomorrow we get a new group of regular horse campers--the "Discovery" kids, which are 4-6th graders. They are inevitably tiny and really too small to control most of the horses, but we teach them anyway and hope for the best. I'm going to have to figure out how to work their attention spans so that they aren't all bored to tears during barn classes. We also have to do a little more work in preparing the horses for them, because they don't always groom and saddle in the mornings like the Middlers last week did--partly because they are just little kids, but also because they are pretty slow with getting stuff done. We also are getting another batch of SALTs, which will overlap a week with the seasoned SALTs that we have right now. My little sister (her camp name is Kashi, like the cereal) will be a SALT at the ranch, too. I'm excited to have her out there with me at the same time... but it will be interesting to see if she remembers to call me by my camp name (Ariat).
Mentally, ever since Wednesday I've been feeling pretty down. I'm not sure if it's just the weather (I am reasonably sure I have a bit of Seasonal Affective Disorder and get depressed every time it gets cloudy) or moodiness about being around the other staff. For a long time when I was younger, I was a pretty shy, withdrawn kind of person and didn't try very hard to integrate myself with groups--so half the time when I SALTed at camp, I felt shut out of the group and not really included. Cry me a river, I know. Still... Camp was a second home to me, but feeling invisible a lot of the time didn't help my general self esteem. All that changed once I started school, where all of a sudden I really was part of a cohesive group of people who barely knew me, but shared my passions and wanted me to be with them. That was largely responsible for bringing me out of my shell, and according to my sister I'm now a much more bubbly person because of it.
But now I'm back at camp again, and the old insecurities are creeping back as I'm no longer in my music element and most people form little groups... without me. Yeah, some of that is just paranoia and probably not doing as much as I could to include myself. But it's nice to feel valued, which often I... don't, here. I mean, I do my job, pick up the slack for people, pitch in and help out when it's needed. But I'm not feeling the community like I think I should be. I'm just doing a job, and that's not what camp is all about. What's happening? Am I really just not that fun to be around? Hm.
Sorry to whinefest at you guys. I don't want pity, just some kind of reassurance that I'm not actually a terrible person. You know?
Mmmmkay. Enough publicly feeling sorry for myself. Time to go do some piano practice.
Or maybe art. or... some other kind of staying-up-past-my-bedtime-just-because-I-get-to-sleep-past-7-tomorrow activity.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Diary of a Wrangler: Week 2
Man, oh man. This morning marked the end of our first week of campers at the Ranch. We survived! And by 'we,' I mean the staff and the campers alike. That makes it sound worse than it actually was... which, really, it wasn't bad at all. The worst part for me was probably getting sunburnt every other day if I slacked off on sunscreen in the slightest... I now have a stark watch tan and a lovely tank top tan that will be just amazing when I wear my strapless dress for the scholarship concert in the fall. Also, my nose is perpetually burnt... but that has gotten better since I've started wearing my leather Aussie hat that I bought a few years ago.
I haven't decided yet if this week has seemed really long or really short. When I was a camper, it always seemed to drag on forever... there were a couple of days like that this week, but for the most part everything just kind of chugged along. You get into a routine because everything is scheduled: wake up, morning devotionals, bring the horses up from the pasture, groom and saddle them, go to breakfast, get horses ready, teach classes until noon, break for lunch, one more hour-long class after lunch, kids go to bible studies and free time while we do chores or drill practice until about 3:45. Then we have a break until dinner at 5:15... then staff meeting, evening game with the kids, evening chapel, and bedtime around 10:30.
Monday was relatively uneventful for me, but the other wranglers had to deal with various mishaps including frustrated, crying kids on a trailride (horses love to eat on trails and kids don't always know how to make them stop eating) and a rider falling off of a horse on another trail ride (never a good thing). Monday was one of those days that went on forever. I ran out of things to do halfway through my arena class and the kids definitely got bored. The one boy in my riding group wouldn't stop complaining during my barn class (where it's more of a lecture type thing and I talk to the kids about various horsey subjects). All in all, it wasn't a terrible day... but it was long and hot and sticky. I had a dry throat by lunchtime from talking for three hours straight, something I'm not really used to at all.
As the week went on, however, things started looking up. I definitely started settling into my role as a wrangler and got comfortable with teaching arena classes (always my weak point when I was a SALT[Servant And Leadership Training, like a CIT]) as well as being able to pick up classes I knew little about (like driving, where you put harnesses on the horses as though you were going to have them pull a wagon... but we didn't hook up a wagon) and spend an hour teaching them. Out of the five barn classes I had to teach this week (one a day), I'd say only one or two went over really well with the kids... that is going to be my new weak area this summer, and I suspect it will take a few weeks to figure out good topics and a good way to teach them.
I haven't gotten more than a couple hours of piano practice in these last couple of weeks. That's what I was most concerned about when I was deciding whether or not to even apply to camp. Music is and has always been a huge part of my life, and I went into camp with the hope that I would be able to devote my hour and a half of daily free time to piano practice. Um... not the case in actuality. The only thing I want to do in the afternoon when I'm done working is peel off my sweaty, sticky jeans, get out of my boots and dirty socks, get into some capris and go somewhere air-conditioned where I can buy something cold to drink. The reality of the scholarship concert at the beginning of the quarter hasn't really hit me yet, and I'm already apprehensive about the wave of frantic preparation I'm going to have to do when I finish camp at the beginning of September. Unlike some people, I cannot memorize a Rachmaninoff etude in the two weeks I'll have between camp and school.
So, what can I do? I'm definitely not going to get any practice in next week, which is Independence Day Family Camp--my days will be filled with leading trail rides and getting ready for the big performance of our horseback drill. The week after that is campers again, so it will be back to a more regular schedule that might allow for practice time. My problem is that I also need some 'me' time to chillax after working all morning/afternoon, and.... while I love piano, it's not the same as flopping on my bed and resting my eyes for a while.
I think I'll just have to give the piano practice another shot. I have to get this etude down. The part I feel bad about is that I don't even have the music for the Saint-Saens concerto I'm supposed to be working on too, but two piano projects right now is impossible. So, it can wait until September.
Hopping to another topic as I untangle all the ideas and thoughts that have been going through my head these last few days: I realized yesterday while spending some free time at the waterfront that I am not a risk-taker. At all. There is a new blow-up climbing toy called the Iceberg at the waterfront: an enormous (maybe 15+ feet tall with shorter "crags" on either side) mountain thing that sits on top of the water and has handles on three sides for climbing and a long smooth side for sliding (or jumping) into the water. Hakuna (one of my fell0w wranglers) convinced me with much cajoling to climb the thing and jump off. Now, I'm not a water person (I gave up on learning how to swim after a traumatizing experience with a diving board when I was little) but I decided to give it a shot since, well, that long side WAS basically a slide and it couldn't be that bad... right? So with some struggling I started climbing up the side and reached the left-hand "crag", which serves as a tiny sort of platform for you to catch your breath before continuing on to the top part about 7 feet above it. I took one look at the water a good distance below me, another look at the top of the crag farther above me, and decided right then and there I wasn't going any farther. A kid had reached the top platform at that point and poked his head over the side to congratulate me for getting as far as I did... then, noting that I was standing (slipping) there not jumping off, asked if he could go ahead and jump off. I told him to hang on and that I was about to go anyway. It wasn't like I could just climb down at that point, which would be too lame even for me. Taking a huge breath, I counted to three, let go of the handles and slid/bounced off the edge. I swear my heart stopped for a second before I hit the water.
Yes, I really am petrified of jumping into the water. You may now ridicule me to your heart's content.
Anyway, even though I was wearing a life jacket (you can't laugh at that, everyone who went on the Iceberg had to wear a jacket) doing something I hadn't really done since I was like... 6 was a huge risk for me. Not in the sense that it was life-threatening or anything, but that I was stepping way out of my comfort zone to do this thing that I didn't even really want to do, just to say that I did. It did NOT end up being fun for me (I'm not that much of an adrenaline junkie), and my throat was sore for the rest of the evening from inhaling lake water, but it did show me how hard I work the rest of the time to keep myself in my 'comfort zone.'
Being a music and English double major is in no way a risk for me. I really felt led to develop those skills at the college level and it seemed like the logical thing to do. In a sense I was putting a lot of faith in the fact that God was leading me into these things and knew that I would do something useful with them eventually (hopefully), but at the same time it wasn't a risk at all because I have always done these things and had a hunch that I would be successful with them in college. Plus, I've always wanted to pursue them (at least music) in college. Following your life's aspiration is not a risk, at least in my case.
Going to camp was a risk--I'd never taught before and hadn't even ridden in half a year. Add to that the knowledge that it would take a lot of time out of my practice schedule, which potentially messes up my long-term piece planning for the fall, and you have a good step out of my comfort zone. But I trusted and took the position. This is where I'm supposed to be. It's going to be a lot of hard work, and I have yet to find out what the consequences will be for piano, but for right now I am in the right place, and I know I will take a lot away from this summer no matter what happens.
Okay, I'm done with ruminating now. Back to worrying about family camp for next week... lots of trail rides and, of course, preparation for our drill (eight of us cantering around the arena in formations to music--definitely dangerous and difficult and a lot of fun) which we performed for the first time today and it went great. I am reasonably confident about that. I just need to keep up my energy this week and not get exhausted... or too sunburnt...
I haven't decided yet if this week has seemed really long or really short. When I was a camper, it always seemed to drag on forever... there were a couple of days like that this week, but for the most part everything just kind of chugged along. You get into a routine because everything is scheduled: wake up, morning devotionals, bring the horses up from the pasture, groom and saddle them, go to breakfast, get horses ready, teach classes until noon, break for lunch, one more hour-long class after lunch, kids go to bible studies and free time while we do chores or drill practice until about 3:45. Then we have a break until dinner at 5:15... then staff meeting, evening game with the kids, evening chapel, and bedtime around 10:30.
Monday was relatively uneventful for me, but the other wranglers had to deal with various mishaps including frustrated, crying kids on a trailride (horses love to eat on trails and kids don't always know how to make them stop eating) and a rider falling off of a horse on another trail ride (never a good thing). Monday was one of those days that went on forever. I ran out of things to do halfway through my arena class and the kids definitely got bored. The one boy in my riding group wouldn't stop complaining during my barn class (where it's more of a lecture type thing and I talk to the kids about various horsey subjects). All in all, it wasn't a terrible day... but it was long and hot and sticky. I had a dry throat by lunchtime from talking for three hours straight, something I'm not really used to at all.
As the week went on, however, things started looking up. I definitely started settling into my role as a wrangler and got comfortable with teaching arena classes (always my weak point when I was a SALT[Servant And Leadership Training, like a CIT]) as well as being able to pick up classes I knew little about (like driving, where you put harnesses on the horses as though you were going to have them pull a wagon... but we didn't hook up a wagon) and spend an hour teaching them. Out of the five barn classes I had to teach this week (one a day), I'd say only one or two went over really well with the kids... that is going to be my new weak area this summer, and I suspect it will take a few weeks to figure out good topics and a good way to teach them.
I haven't gotten more than a couple hours of piano practice in these last couple of weeks. That's what I was most concerned about when I was deciding whether or not to even apply to camp. Music is and has always been a huge part of my life, and I went into camp with the hope that I would be able to devote my hour and a half of daily free time to piano practice. Um... not the case in actuality. The only thing I want to do in the afternoon when I'm done working is peel off my sweaty, sticky jeans, get out of my boots and dirty socks, get into some capris and go somewhere air-conditioned where I can buy something cold to drink. The reality of the scholarship concert at the beginning of the quarter hasn't really hit me yet, and I'm already apprehensive about the wave of frantic preparation I'm going to have to do when I finish camp at the beginning of September. Unlike some people, I cannot memorize a Rachmaninoff etude in the two weeks I'll have between camp and school.
So, what can I do? I'm definitely not going to get any practice in next week, which is Independence Day Family Camp--my days will be filled with leading trail rides and getting ready for the big performance of our horseback drill. The week after that is campers again, so it will be back to a more regular schedule that might allow for practice time. My problem is that I also need some 'me' time to chillax after working all morning/afternoon, and.... while I love piano, it's not the same as flopping on my bed and resting my eyes for a while.
I think I'll just have to give the piano practice another shot. I have to get this etude down. The part I feel bad about is that I don't even have the music for the Saint-Saens concerto I'm supposed to be working on too, but two piano projects right now is impossible. So, it can wait until September.
Hopping to another topic as I untangle all the ideas and thoughts that have been going through my head these last few days: I realized yesterday while spending some free time at the waterfront that I am not a risk-taker. At all. There is a new blow-up climbing toy called the Iceberg at the waterfront: an enormous (maybe 15+ feet tall with shorter "crags" on either side) mountain thing that sits on top of the water and has handles on three sides for climbing and a long smooth side for sliding (or jumping) into the water. Hakuna (one of my fell0w wranglers) convinced me with much cajoling to climb the thing and jump off. Now, I'm not a water person (I gave up on learning how to swim after a traumatizing experience with a diving board when I was little) but I decided to give it a shot since, well, that long side WAS basically a slide and it couldn't be that bad... right? So with some struggling I started climbing up the side and reached the left-hand "crag", which serves as a tiny sort of platform for you to catch your breath before continuing on to the top part about 7 feet above it. I took one look at the water a good distance below me, another look at the top of the crag farther above me, and decided right then and there I wasn't going any farther. A kid had reached the top platform at that point and poked his head over the side to congratulate me for getting as far as I did... then, noting that I was standing (slipping) there not jumping off, asked if he could go ahead and jump off. I told him to hang on and that I was about to go anyway. It wasn't like I could just climb down at that point, which would be too lame even for me. Taking a huge breath, I counted to three, let go of the handles and slid/bounced off the edge. I swear my heart stopped for a second before I hit the water.
Yes, I really am petrified of jumping into the water. You may now ridicule me to your heart's content.
Anyway, even though I was wearing a life jacket (you can't laugh at that, everyone who went on the Iceberg had to wear a jacket) doing something I hadn't really done since I was like... 6 was a huge risk for me. Not in the sense that it was life-threatening or anything, but that I was stepping way out of my comfort zone to do this thing that I didn't even really want to do, just to say that I did. It did NOT end up being fun for me (I'm not that much of an adrenaline junkie), and my throat was sore for the rest of the evening from inhaling lake water, but it did show me how hard I work the rest of the time to keep myself in my 'comfort zone.'
Being a music and English double major is in no way a risk for me. I really felt led to develop those skills at the college level and it seemed like the logical thing to do. In a sense I was putting a lot of faith in the fact that God was leading me into these things and knew that I would do something useful with them eventually (hopefully), but at the same time it wasn't a risk at all because I have always done these things and had a hunch that I would be successful with them in college. Plus, I've always wanted to pursue them (at least music) in college. Following your life's aspiration is not a risk, at least in my case.
Going to camp was a risk--I'd never taught before and hadn't even ridden in half a year. Add to that the knowledge that it would take a lot of time out of my practice schedule, which potentially messes up my long-term piece planning for the fall, and you have a good step out of my comfort zone. But I trusted and took the position. This is where I'm supposed to be. It's going to be a lot of hard work, and I have yet to find out what the consequences will be for piano, but for right now I am in the right place, and I know I will take a lot away from this summer no matter what happens.
Okay, I'm done with ruminating now. Back to worrying about family camp for next week... lots of trail rides and, of course, preparation for our drill (eight of us cantering around the arena in formations to music--definitely dangerous and difficult and a lot of fun) which we performed for the first time today and it went great. I am reasonably confident about that. I just need to keep up my energy this week and not get exhausted... or too sunburnt...
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Introduction AND Diary of a Wrangler: Week One
Time for a spiffy new blog! The last one I had was on Xanga, but infrequent posting and an overall useless experience on there prompted me to create this one. This will be a place for me to regurgitate the various thoughts running through my head, vent, voice concerns, and to relate the (hopefully) entertaining events of my life. Hey, you needed another excuse to procrastinate, right?
This summer I am working at a horse camp pretty close to where I live. This entails living at the camp during the week (room and board included in my wages) and helping to care for the horses, as well as teaching campers (who stay for a week) how to ride and developing my own horsemanship skills. I just started a week ago and am now home for my first full weekend off after staff training.
I'm definitely settling in at camp. I really was not looking forward to it before actually going, mostly because I felt so unprepared--but training has helped assuage some of those fears. I've also realized that I'm not the only staffer who feels this way, which is oddly comforting. Somehow it's better when a LOT of us are scared stiff rather than just a few. We're all in the same boat.
It's easy to count off the things that are tough about this job. Mornings are absurdly early (have to be up, showered, and ready to get horses out of the pasture by 6:45 a.m.). Nights are... earlier than my college bedtime, but still not enough for me to get a good eight hours of sleep every night. Days are either way too cold (mid-forties) or swelteringly hot (in the 80's these last few days)--and it doesn't help that we need to wear long pants and boots around the horses for most of the day. All of us wranglers are allergic in some way to the hay we have to feed the horses three times a day. I am currently about five times more sensitive to sunburn than I normally am, which has resulted in an extremely painful burn on my forearms and hands from the two or three hours in arena class I spent a few days ago.... and my nose is starting to peel. Once we get into the usual camper schedule, we will get close to an hour and a half of free time per day, plus one extra hour on one day of the week. I am a music major in college and need to memorize a Rachmaninoff Etude over the summer, which means using as much of that free time as possible to practice piano... on one of the sadly out-of-tune, antiquated (usually upright) pianos around camp.
But! Pretty much all of the camp staff get along with each other and work well together. We have SALTs now (which are like CIT's) and they are enormously useful in helping us get things done. I get to come home every weekend and do laundry and visit my family. I have a car that I love to drive. My old roommate will probably come down to visit this summer, and at some point I want to go back to Bellingham and hang out with people. And... I have a job working with horses. How cool is that?
Looking back over the last few days, I guess there hasn't been that much going on. Just lots of learning and figuring out the ropes. I've settled into my room there... know (kinda) what I'm going to do... have gotten to know the other wranglers, the counselors, the other staff that I will be seeing over the summer. I don't feel ready, per se, but somewhere in my mind there is the notion that I will struggle through somehow.
Next week will be the fun part. I will be seven days and nine kids (how many are in the riding group that I teach) wiser, with hopefully a little knowledge to carry through into the next week. I'm nervous, yeah. But I think I can do it. I was put here this summer for a reason, and I'm carrying through with that no matter what. I just need to figure out my plan...
Pray for me, please.
This summer I am working at a horse camp pretty close to where I live. This entails living at the camp during the week (room and board included in my wages) and helping to care for the horses, as well as teaching campers (who stay for a week) how to ride and developing my own horsemanship skills. I just started a week ago and am now home for my first full weekend off after staff training.
I'm definitely settling in at camp. I really was not looking forward to it before actually going, mostly because I felt so unprepared--but training has helped assuage some of those fears. I've also realized that I'm not the only staffer who feels this way, which is oddly comforting. Somehow it's better when a LOT of us are scared stiff rather than just a few. We're all in the same boat.
It's easy to count off the things that are tough about this job. Mornings are absurdly early (have to be up, showered, and ready to get horses out of the pasture by 6:45 a.m.). Nights are... earlier than my college bedtime, but still not enough for me to get a good eight hours of sleep every night. Days are either way too cold (mid-forties) or swelteringly hot (in the 80's these last few days)--and it doesn't help that we need to wear long pants and boots around the horses for most of the day. All of us wranglers are allergic in some way to the hay we have to feed the horses three times a day. I am currently about five times more sensitive to sunburn than I normally am, which has resulted in an extremely painful burn on my forearms and hands from the two or three hours in arena class I spent a few days ago.... and my nose is starting to peel. Once we get into the usual camper schedule, we will get close to an hour and a half of free time per day, plus one extra hour on one day of the week. I am a music major in college and need to memorize a Rachmaninoff Etude over the summer, which means using as much of that free time as possible to practice piano... on one of the sadly out-of-tune, antiquated (usually upright) pianos around camp.
But! Pretty much all of the camp staff get along with each other and work well together. We have SALTs now (which are like CIT's) and they are enormously useful in helping us get things done. I get to come home every weekend and do laundry and visit my family. I have a car that I love to drive. My old roommate will probably come down to visit this summer, and at some point I want to go back to Bellingham and hang out with people. And... I have a job working with horses. How cool is that?
Looking back over the last few days, I guess there hasn't been that much going on. Just lots of learning and figuring out the ropes. I've settled into my room there... know (kinda) what I'm going to do... have gotten to know the other wranglers, the counselors, the other staff that I will be seeing over the summer. I don't feel ready, per se, but somewhere in my mind there is the notion that I will struggle through somehow.
Next week will be the fun part. I will be seven days and nine kids (how many are in the riding group that I teach) wiser, with hopefully a little knowledge to carry through into the next week. I'm nervous, yeah. But I think I can do it. I was put here this summer for a reason, and I'm carrying through with that no matter what. I just need to figure out my plan...
Pray for me, please.
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