And associated panic as I try to fill gaps and mend inconsistencies in this draft of Cost of Silver before the end of the month when Self-Imposed Deadline looms.
I'm having the usual issue that what I'm writing now feels so much flatter and duller than what I wrote previously. It's some help to know that this always happens and that I haven't actually forgotten how to write evocative prose in the last month or so. Some help, but not a remedy.
And yes, still wrestling with (though it feels more like being pushed around by) body-image issues. A positive change though as I found a pair of trousers I'd put aside to the rag-bag several years ago (because they'd worn thin on the inner thigh where the bike seat rubs) and they fit perfectly, which they wouldn't have, say, two years back.
It suggested that this body isn't a shape-shifting alien or some kind of reverse-possession, but a body similar to one I had before and had forgotten about. An old friend who's been away that I can get re-acquainted with, rather than a potentially threatening stranger who needs to be propitiated with gifts of clothing and protein bars.
Odd to think that at this time last year I was stuck in an immobilizer and posting pics of my x-rays. I have full extension back, but not full compression in the right leg. I can't sit back on my heels or fully kneel, and very occasionally I get a sort of wobble to the right as if the knee wants to bend sideways. But thanks to my keeping up the calf raises and squats, my legs are otherwise much stronger than before my fall.
May was a busy month, including a trip out to Sidney Island to help build a permanent, non-portable cob oven. I'll try to do a post with pictures to liven things up a bit. The garden is threatening Nature's goddamn bounty to come, with rhubarb flourishing, raspberry canes shooting up and the apple trees getting through caterpillar season relatively unscathed. Despite our three little cherry trees, I'll be pleasantly surprised if we get any cherries this year, but I have some hope for plums and pears. In this lull before fruit starts to fall on me, I'm trying to make the most of time for writing. Wish me luck.
May was also a month of being tired and sleepy. Exercise and weight loss continue to not live up to the promises made about them, as I conked out by 9pm, slept fairly well and could barely drag myself out at 5:30 am, not to mention nodding off at 2pm for that impressive face-on-keyboard moment.
The remedy is allegedly to eat more (wait, what?) protein, like peanut butter and cheese, and to eat several small meals through the day, rather than 3 regular meals.
It seems to be working, but I don't think I'll ever accept how effing contradictory this healthy-diet business is. Eat less fat--eat more protein (but they're the same foods!). Don't snack--eat several times during the day (how is that not snacking?). It's like a series of koans you have to act out, but with no promise of enlightenment at the end.
The fatigue is my excuse for not posting. My mornings went to struggling with revision, and when I sat down at the computer in the evenings I most often found myself typing with one eye closing. This I took as a sign that I needed to go to bed. But, knock on wood, I seem to have a little more energy this week, so you may see more of me.
And how are all of you?
Showing posts with label offline life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label offline life. Show all posts
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Body image and me
I've been circling this post topic for a while, poking at it with a stick and nudging it, but not getting anywhere, and unable to put together anything else thoughtful, because this one was in the way.
So let's give it a shot to get it out of the way, if not gracefully or cogently.
On the whole, I've been pretty lucky with body image issues. Of course I have some--I'm a woman in North America--but being in the laid-back NWest Coast and being too lazy to commit to the whole beauty/diet/pursuit of perfection thing, I've mostly accepted the body and face that I've got.
During puberty I was not happy. Menarche meant lying on the bathroom floor doubled up with cramps and puking, and the awkward messiness of pads. My body went from the comfortably thin and sexless child's body, good for swimming, tree-climbing, biking, horseback riding, to one lumpy with breasts and buttocks (and not even the right kind of breasts etc., but some inferior brand).
The worst part of the body change was thighs. I was used to legs that weren't much thicker than my arms, so to sit down and see my thighs flatten out on the chair seat into these flabby sausage-things was creepy and alarming.
I've mentioned before that body-mod, especially non-con body-mod, is a major squick for me. It's probably because of my pubertal thigh trauma.
Eventually I was reconciled to the newer format, a body that wasn't athletic or beautiful, but that did what I needed it to do and didn't give me many problems.
Pregnancy, which might have been expected to freak me out even more than the thigh-thing, was actually pretty damn cool. Because of walking, martial arts and a pregnancy-fitness class, I was in good shape, and my body was, again, doing what I needed it to do. There's also a certain fascination to growing another human being in an interior lab, I gotta say. Particularly in late pregnancy, when you could actually see the bony little knees and elbows track across the front of my t-shirt.
Zooming to the present and my actual point. About a year ago I started working with weights, aiming to improve my upper body strength, which in my toddler-toting, martial-arts days wasn't bad, but had much diminished. Legs were okay because of bicycling.
Then I cracked my tibial plateau and was on crutches for a couple of months. This was good for my triceps, but left my legs all flabby and wobbly. So, physiotherapy, add leg exercises. I'd lost weight--I couldn't carry anything on crutches, and sitting in a chair was tiring--and I thought I'd try keeping on with the smaller meals and see how that went.
I managed not to be squicked about the flabby pallid calf revealed when the immobilizer came off, and the bruises were actually kind of cool (is my inner child a 9 yr old boy? maybe). But my new model thinner-and-stronger legs, those make me uneasy. I look down and they don't look like my legs. Like the old woman in the song, whose long skirts are cut off by thieves, I look down and think 'Lawks-a-mercy, this is none of I!'
My clothes don't fit. I can shimmy my trousers off without unzipping them, even trousers I really like and was comfortable with. I knew for a brief happy while what size I should buy (since the sizing of women's clothing seems to be entirely random) but not any more.
I went for decades not knowing my weight. Now I weigh myself every damn time I go into the gym. Apparently I can have self-control around food, but not around weighing myself.
I know I should feel better, more attuned to my body. Instead I feel diminished.
All of this bothers me, but has been really difficult to write about because N American culture is so weird about weight and body image that having any negative emotions around weight loss is suspect. I mean, people undergoing cancer treatment have been told that they look great because they've lost weight.
(Side-note: My mother died of cancer when I was in my teens. Yes, that probably influenced my attitudes around weight-loss and health.)
I wondered how to write about this without coming off as humble-bragging: oh look, I'm thinner but I'm all modest about it. And no, it's not entirely negative, and I don't want to go back to slow-and-steady weight gain. Eventually I guess I'll be reconciled, the same as I eventually accepted my post-pubertal thighs (which I still have. Yeah.).
But some childish part of me feels cheated by the grand promises that our culture makes about weight loss, that if only you burn enough of your body on the altar, your life will be perfect. So far my pony has not arrived.
So let's give it a shot to get it out of the way, if not gracefully or cogently.
On the whole, I've been pretty lucky with body image issues. Of course I have some--I'm a woman in North America--but being in the laid-back NWest Coast and being too lazy to commit to the whole beauty/diet/pursuit of perfection thing, I've mostly accepted the body and face that I've got.
During puberty I was not happy. Menarche meant lying on the bathroom floor doubled up with cramps and puking, and the awkward messiness of pads. My body went from the comfortably thin and sexless child's body, good for swimming, tree-climbing, biking, horseback riding, to one lumpy with breasts and buttocks (and not even the right kind of breasts etc., but some inferior brand).
The worst part of the body change was thighs. I was used to legs that weren't much thicker than my arms, so to sit down and see my thighs flatten out on the chair seat into these flabby sausage-things was creepy and alarming.
I've mentioned before that body-mod, especially non-con body-mod, is a major squick for me. It's probably because of my pubertal thigh trauma.
Eventually I was reconciled to the newer format, a body that wasn't athletic or beautiful, but that did what I needed it to do and didn't give me many problems.
Pregnancy, which might have been expected to freak me out even more than the thigh-thing, was actually pretty damn cool. Because of walking, martial arts and a pregnancy-fitness class, I was in good shape, and my body was, again, doing what I needed it to do. There's also a certain fascination to growing another human being in an interior lab, I gotta say. Particularly in late pregnancy, when you could actually see the bony little knees and elbows track across the front of my t-shirt.
Zooming to the present and my actual point. About a year ago I started working with weights, aiming to improve my upper body strength, which in my toddler-toting, martial-arts days wasn't bad, but had much diminished. Legs were okay because of bicycling.
Then I cracked my tibial plateau and was on crutches for a couple of months. This was good for my triceps, but left my legs all flabby and wobbly. So, physiotherapy, add leg exercises. I'd lost weight--I couldn't carry anything on crutches, and sitting in a chair was tiring--and I thought I'd try keeping on with the smaller meals and see how that went.
I managed not to be squicked about the flabby pallid calf revealed when the immobilizer came off, and the bruises were actually kind of cool (is my inner child a 9 yr old boy? maybe). But my new model thinner-and-stronger legs, those make me uneasy. I look down and they don't look like my legs. Like the old woman in the song, whose long skirts are cut off by thieves, I look down and think 'Lawks-a-mercy, this is none of I!'
My clothes don't fit. I can shimmy my trousers off without unzipping them, even trousers I really like and was comfortable with. I knew for a brief happy while what size I should buy (since the sizing of women's clothing seems to be entirely random) but not any more.
I went for decades not knowing my weight. Now I weigh myself every damn time I go into the gym. Apparently I can have self-control around food, but not around weighing myself.
I know I should feel better, more attuned to my body. Instead I feel diminished.
All of this bothers me, but has been really difficult to write about because N American culture is so weird about weight and body image that having any negative emotions around weight loss is suspect. I mean, people undergoing cancer treatment have been told that they look great because they've lost weight.
(Side-note: My mother died of cancer when I was in my teens. Yes, that probably influenced my attitudes around weight-loss and health.)
I wondered how to write about this without coming off as humble-bragging: oh look, I'm thinner but I'm all modest about it. And no, it's not entirely negative, and I don't want to go back to slow-and-steady weight gain. Eventually I guess I'll be reconciled, the same as I eventually accepted my post-pubertal thighs (which I still have. Yeah.).
But some childish part of me feels cheated by the grand promises that our culture makes about weight loss, that if only you burn enough of your body on the altar, your life will be perfect. So far my pony has not arrived.
Friday, November 30, 2012
girls on a road trip
I crawl out from under the heaps of apples and the much smaller heap of Nanowords to post a picture-studded side-trip. Specifically, a little about the Golden Swan event in October (this is apparently a non-chronological blog).
I've posted before about the Tournament of the Golden Swan. It's a persona-development SCA event, originally designed to encourage the more creative and less combative aspects of the Society for Creative Anachronism, or more pragmatically described, to give non-fighters something to do. This is done by testing how thoroughly entrants have researched and imagined the medieval person they present themselves as being.
Given that it's been going a fair few years, the contest has been stuck in several ways in a very SCA mindset, perhaps describable as a 1960s take on a romantic Victorian idea of the Middle Ages. As knowledge about medieval society and daily life has grown, and research within the SCA reached a higher standard, the better-researched your persona, the less likely you were to find a good fit with a contest that required an embroidered favour (an SCA tradition, not a medieval one) and expected entrants to inspire the lord who fought for them. Last year the outdated format was addressed once again, and actual changes were made.
Perhaps relatedly, there were three entrants this year, compared to none last year.
I leap ahead chronologically to show off a painting I did several years ago, for the Wild Women of Frozen Mountain. It's based on a German playing card, the Queen of Animals, and depicts a wild woman (covered in fur) with a unicorn.
It was hung up inside the hall, so I took the opportunity to get a digital pic of it.
Geez, guys, you could hem it sometime, you know?
Anyway, Joan and Rosie and I drove out Friday morning--a beautiful clear Friday morning--from Port Moody. The plan was to have enough time to stop for scenery and wineries, and this worked out nicely.
Stop on the journey. Rosie surveys the Hope Slide. It must have been too cold for the chipmunks that Deirdre and I saw and fed, because they did not appear, though we made coaxing noises.
Stretching our legs in Manning Park. High altitude and shade meant lingering frost on the grass.We did not spot the derelict cabin this trip.
We did, though, encounter this cool tree-trunk,. Is it safe to turn your back, or will it lurch after you?
Despite wineries, we arrived in good time, and set up our tent alongside Alicia and Stephen's tent. Most people were sleeping inside the hall because of the cold, but we hardy medievalists were relying on wool and down (and straw mattresses) to shield us through the night. I have a photo of the frosty grass taken early the next morning, but perhaps the point was made above. It was cold. The stars were amazing, bright white in a black black sky. Until I set off the motion-sensitive light outside the hall.
Swans at bowls, on the field behind the hall. Most of the contest is indoors, sitting and chatting in close quarters, thus not appropriate for taking photos. Outdoors it's more relaxed, and I followed the gamesters about making quick sketches. This one they posed for.
Another shot from the bowls game that meandered all about the site. It started in the field beside the hall, wandered past the bandshell, behind the mock-frontier streetfront, through the seating for the fair bbq, past the animal pens, and around to the fighting field. (There was fighting going on, with HH Gemma exclaiming 'Man fall down!' at intervals.)
A game of 9 mans morris outside Alicia's tent. Entrants need to show competence in pastimes their character would have known, as well as skills in their craft or station.
Needless to say (but I will say it anyways) Alicia kicked butt in every category. Happily, all three entrants carried it off successfully and joined the Order of the Golden Swan.
We packed up as early as we could manage the next morning and set off, managing to stop at another couple of wineries on the way back, and take our pictures with the sasquatch.
A Garbage Gobbler, an icon of my childhood travels. Joan poses with it on our way out the gate.
Then I ran away with the sasquatch and was never seen again.
I've posted before about the Tournament of the Golden Swan. It's a persona-development SCA event, originally designed to encourage the more creative and less combative aspects of the Society for Creative Anachronism, or more pragmatically described, to give non-fighters something to do. This is done by testing how thoroughly entrants have researched and imagined the medieval person they present themselves as being.
Given that it's been going a fair few years, the contest has been stuck in several ways in a very SCA mindset, perhaps describable as a 1960s take on a romantic Victorian idea of the Middle Ages. As knowledge about medieval society and daily life has grown, and research within the SCA reached a higher standard, the better-researched your persona, the less likely you were to find a good fit with a contest that required an embroidered favour (an SCA tradition, not a medieval one) and expected entrants to inspire the lord who fought for them. Last year the outdated format was addressed once again, and actual changes were made.
Perhaps relatedly, there were three entrants this year, compared to none last year.
It was hung up inside the hall, so I took the opportunity to get a digital pic of it.
Geez, guys, you could hem it sometime, you know?
Anyway, Joan and Rosie and I drove out Friday morning--a beautiful clear Friday morning--from Port Moody. The plan was to have enough time to stop for scenery and wineries, and this worked out nicely.
Despite wineries, we arrived in good time, and set up our tent alongside Alicia and Stephen's tent. Most people were sleeping inside the hall because of the cold, but we hardy medievalists were relying on wool and down (and straw mattresses) to shield us through the night. I have a photo of the frosty grass taken early the next morning, but perhaps the point was made above. It was cold. The stars were amazing, bright white in a black black sky. Until I set off the motion-sensitive light outside the hall.
Another shot from the bowls game that meandered all about the site. It started in the field beside the hall, wandered past the bandshell, behind the mock-frontier streetfront, through the seating for the fair bbq, past the animal pens, and around to the fighting field. (There was fighting going on, with HH Gemma exclaiming 'Man fall down!' at intervals.)
Needless to say (but I will say it anyways) Alicia kicked butt in every category. Happily, all three entrants carried it off successfully and joined the Order of the Golden Swan.
We packed up as early as we could manage the next morning and set off, managing to stop at another couple of wineries on the way back, and take our pictures with the sasquatch.
Monday, September 24, 2012
strike bike
Back in 1999 I made the jump from 'someone who believes unions are a good thing' to 'being involved in my union', and offered to be a picket captain. And look, here I am again, a picket captain.
Not going to get into the issues, other than that 6 years of zeroes with no inflation protection means that many of our members are making effectively less than they were 10 years ago, while admin-level people get around the zeroes with various sneaky bonuses (boni?) and 'allowances' like a 'living allowance'.
I have a living allowance. It's called my salary.
Ahem.
So okay, pictures. We picketed out Traffic and Security (hey! free parking!) all of one week, and the Admin Services Building for one day, and the Bookstore and coffeeshop for one day--that day with live music.
Lacking the physically-imposing booming-voice inspirational aspect, I settle for being cheerful and amusing on the line. Because the usual slow march is dull and hard on my recovering leg, I did a lot of free-form picketing, bopping, robot-walking, sashaying and a sort of rhythmic gymnastics / interpretive dance business with two little flags.
You can see a bit of me at .40 and .50 in this video for as long as it's up. Yes, I'm a goof, but more than one person told me it cheered her up to see me.
And I had my mascot, this sweet little Playmobil striker (no kidding, it says 'striker' on the back of her little yellow vest) who holds a stop-sign like the stop signs featured on our picket signs.
For extra added cuteness, here's the littlest (real) picketer.
The tough days were Wednesday, when I had a 6 am to 10:30 am picket shift, to the dentist for a temporary crown, napped for 2 hours, back to help at HQ, finishing with a 6pm to 10pm picket shift. Though I think it was the 4 am drive to the airport that did me in. Then Monday, 6 am to 2 pm on the line, followed by two more airport runs, one at 8 pm, the other at 11 pm.
The leg has held up remarkably well, without swelling or any more twingeing than usual. I think it's the dancing that did it.
Friday, August 31, 2012
labours of the months, 1371
Sunday, August 5, 2012
making an oven again
More extensive photos of this are on Facebook, but here's a summary of what I helped make last weekend. You may recall that our last year's Living History week's oven fell apart over the winter (sounds of weeping offstage). So we are learning from that experience and doing it better, with the help of Build Your Own Earth Oven, 3d edition. Reportedly in the 4th edition he says that making a portable oven is a bad idea, but that's what we need to make.
So! In a wooden frame that allows the oven to be moved (since we can't have a permanent oven at Fort Rodd Hill) on a layer of insulating fill, a firebrick and cob base is laid.
A sand form patted into place to be the core. This will be removed after the oven is built around it.
A layer of newspaper to make it easy to tell which is the sand form and which is the cob wall.
A layer of cob is the innermost wall of the oven.
And here's the crew watching the door being opened up at the end of the first day.
The second day. The cob layer has dried somewhat. Cracks have been covered with more cob.
Adding a doorway that the wooden door (leaning against the platform) can rest against. The doorway is built of straw ropes rolled in slip.
An insulating layer of slip and wood shavings is patted on. The sand core was pulled out at this point to allow the interior to dry more easily.
An outer layer of cob mixed with chopped straw comes next. This is where any modelling and decoration is applied. We limited ourselves to two 'ropes', similar to the decoration of last year's oven.
And here it is, smoking away with the first drying fire. Quite expressive, don't you think?
So! In a wooden frame that allows the oven to be moved (since we can't have a permanent oven at Fort Rodd Hill) on a layer of insulating fill, a firebrick and cob base is laid.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
and so on
No great changes. I'm still sleeping downstairs, the upstairs windows haven't come back yet, my leg is still in an immobilizer and I'm still crutching to and from the bathroom. The cat still thinks this is the best thing ever, unless the sun is out and she'd rather sleep in the straw-bedded garden.
I managed, by cunning use of gravity, to bend my leg nearly 90 degrees--hanging it over the edge of the bed. No further than that, though I've been gently bending and straightening each day. I've continued with weights and leg-lifts, but haven't increased my reps or anything. Calf is still flabby but the swelling around the knee has gone down a fair bit.
And after a lot of angsting about crutches and fear of falling, I'm going to try a half-day at work tomorrow morning. My supervisor has been great, finding me a non-wheeled chair so I can get up and down safely, and a footrest, and arranging for me to get in through the mailroom and service elevator so I don't have to crutch all over heck and gone. She also said I shouldn't fixate on doing a half-day but just see how I hold up with crutches and stop as soon as I'm tired.
So we'll see how tired I am tomorrow. My energy levels are still unpredictable.
Writing: The best thing about getting started with the interweaving of Storyline Two and Storyline One is that I get to revise Storyline One. I like revising, in part because it means working with something that's already written and just needs fixing.
Whether I'll still feel happy about this when I hit the Great Big Revision parts (like peeling out the reusable bits of one war and filling them in with the appropriate historical detail of another war altogether? Not sure.
However, I am telling myself to Not Worry whether the two storylines resonate or echo each other yet. That can wait. For now, just get them sliced and interleaved in rough proportion.
Oh, and I sent my application in for the 3-Day Novel Contest. Somewhat later than usual, because I dithered about whether I should go to WorldCon instead. But that would be expensive travel, hotel, and so on, and the 3-Day is only $50 plus some measure of sanity. And sanity is overrated, right?
I managed, by cunning use of gravity, to bend my leg nearly 90 degrees--hanging it over the edge of the bed. No further than that, though I've been gently bending and straightening each day. I've continued with weights and leg-lifts, but haven't increased my reps or anything. Calf is still flabby but the swelling around the knee has gone down a fair bit.
And after a lot of angsting about crutches and fear of falling, I'm going to try a half-day at work tomorrow morning. My supervisor has been great, finding me a non-wheeled chair so I can get up and down safely, and a footrest, and arranging for me to get in through the mailroom and service elevator so I don't have to crutch all over heck and gone. She also said I shouldn't fixate on doing a half-day but just see how I hold up with crutches and stop as soon as I'm tired.
So we'll see how tired I am tomorrow. My energy levels are still unpredictable.
Writing: The best thing about getting started with the interweaving of Storyline Two and Storyline One is that I get to revise Storyline One. I like revising, in part because it means working with something that's already written and just needs fixing.
Whether I'll still feel happy about this when I hit the Great Big Revision parts (like peeling out the reusable bits of one war and filling them in with the appropriate historical detail of another war altogether? Not sure.
However, I am telling myself to Not Worry whether the two storylines resonate or echo each other yet. That can wait. For now, just get them sliced and interleaved in rough proportion.
Oh, and I sent my application in for the 3-Day Novel Contest. Somewhat later than usual, because I dithered about whether I should go to WorldCon instead. But that would be expensive travel, hotel, and so on, and the 3-Day is only $50 plus some measure of sanity. And sanity is overrated, right?
Sunday, April 29, 2012
in which I do not run
Other people ran or walked or ran/walked 10 kilometres through the streets of Victoria. I drank tea at the Union Club, surrounded by leather couches and wood-panelled walls. Then I trotted down to the finish line to be a support person, with a bag of bananas and pullovers.
I tried to photograph Mark at the finish line but what with the temporary fencing and the crowds, I missed the moment. But here he is a couple of minutes after, swigging water before walking through the tents offering free juice, chocolate milk, fruit slices, yogurt, and cookies.
We had to wait a bit for the rest of our party, giving time for Mark to debrief with his personal trainer (Marie-Claude) and for me to take more photos. The TC10K doesn't attract as many novelty runners as some do, but I was somewhat gobsmacked to see the firefighter team, who ran in full gear including tanks and hoses.
There's a noticeable shift in body-type from the first wave of runners through, who tend overall to be long and lean, to the later arrivals, where you see more short thin people and more tall bulky people
Kind of heartwarming to see the families coming through together, mothers and daughters, dads and kids.
And here's Shona, completing our party triumphantly. Then we all went for second breakfast at the Union Club, where the runners had luxurious showers and changed into clothing appropriate for the setting.
I tried to photograph Mark at the finish line but what with the temporary fencing and the crowds, I missed the moment. But here he is a couple of minutes after, swigging water before walking through the tents offering free juice, chocolate milk, fruit slices, yogurt, and cookies.
There's a noticeable shift in body-type from the first wave of runners through, who tend overall to be long and lean, to the later arrivals, where you see more short thin people and more tall bulky people
Kind of heartwarming to see the families coming through together, mothers and daughters, dads and kids.
And here's Shona, completing our party triumphantly. Then we all went for second breakfast at the Union Club, where the runners had luxurious showers and changed into clothing appropriate for the setting.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
moderately eventful
Last week I was off to sunny Penticton (which it was, yes) for the Kingdom Arts & Sciences (& Bardic) Championships. A pleasant ride on the ferry, where I ensconced myself in the buffet and nibbled my way across. Picked up by Stephen, Judy, Connie and Stewart, to drive for 4 hrs or so through ...
snow,
no snow,
snow,
no snow,
to sunny Penticton.
Where I helped with judging cheese made in a gourd after a Middle Eastern recipe,
a 14th century Egyptian shadow puppet play (yes, I have video, but who knows if it will post?)
and sat in on the judging of an Elizabethan portrait miniature. (which reminds me, I need to send some parchment scraps to the painter, so she can try them out.)
More text later!
snow,
Where I helped with judging cheese made in a gourd after a Middle Eastern recipe,
More text later!
Friday, March 2, 2012
betwixting
Blogging once again from the ferry, in Active Pass just now. On my way to the Kingdom Arts & Sciences & Bardic Championships, in the Interior of BC this year. I'm sitting in the buffet section, watching thickly-forested islands rumble by while I sip coffee (with whipped cream) and nibble on cheesecake and florentine biscuits.
Some days I can taste everything intensely, so I'm taking advantage of that while it lasts.
So, let's catch up. Writey stuff first. I finally got Dread Synopsis 2.2, the tighter, leaner, yet historically expansive! outline off to my agent.
"Thank you, this synopsis looks really great. I think you've found a manageable middle ground between "small genre story" and "overwhelming historical epic"!
We'll be talking on the phone in a few days, to discuss the characters' emotional arcs which I sort of scanted in covering the events.
If that's sorted out satisfactorily, I just have to write about 75k to finish the first draft. A mere bag of shells, as a friend of mine says.
And my story is among the 9 finalists in the Friends of Merril Short Story Contest. I'm not naming the story, or linking to the contest at present, because there's another round of judging to go. We'll see what happens in a month. However, congrats to Colleen Anderson, another finalist, and best of luck to her!
No word yet on whether there will be a cage match for the last round.
Semi-writey, I was off last weekend to Seattle for Potlatch 21, and to visit with my friend Lynne. I went to panels on 'collapse novels' and 'librarians'--the book of honour was Canticle for Leibowitz--and chatted with people in the dealers room and hospitality. Somehow I acquired books, which I had meant not to do, but when a collection of ghost stories by L.M. Boston falls in my path, what am I to do?
Now I've learned about FogCon, which sounds awfully tempting, but not a lot of lead time to decide.
Lynne and I went for dinner to a Greek restaurant adjoining a bookstore, where I was only saved from further acquisitions by their system not accepting my Canadian debit card because it had no expiry date.
No, I don't get it either, but it means it's still my turn to buy dinner (just as it is for me for Nikki, but for different reasons).
And entirely non-writey, I've started weight training, 3 times a week in the mornings, with MC to make sure I do it right. Thirty-plus years I've worked at the uni, and only now do I take advantage of my free gym access for anything more than showers. I've always been a bit of a slow starter.
Some days I can taste everything intensely, so I'm taking advantage of that while it lasts.
So, let's catch up. Writey stuff first. I finally got Dread Synopsis 2.2, the tighter, leaner, yet historically expansive! outline off to my agent.
"Thank you, this synopsis looks really great. I think you've found a manageable middle ground between "small genre story" and "overwhelming historical epic"!
We'll be talking on the phone in a few days, to discuss the characters' emotional arcs which I sort of scanted in covering the events.
If that's sorted out satisfactorily, I just have to write about 75k to finish the first draft. A mere bag of shells, as a friend of mine says.
And my story is among the 9 finalists in the Friends of Merril Short Story Contest. I'm not naming the story, or linking to the contest at present, because there's another round of judging to go. We'll see what happens in a month. However, congrats to Colleen Anderson, another finalist, and best of luck to her!
No word yet on whether there will be a cage match for the last round.
Semi-writey, I was off last weekend to Seattle for Potlatch 21, and to visit with my friend Lynne. I went to panels on 'collapse novels' and 'librarians'--the book of honour was Canticle for Leibowitz--and chatted with people in the dealers room and hospitality. Somehow I acquired books, which I had meant not to do, but when a collection of ghost stories by L.M. Boston falls in my path, what am I to do?
Now I've learned about FogCon, which sounds awfully tempting, but not a lot of lead time to decide.
Lynne and I went for dinner to a Greek restaurant adjoining a bookstore, where I was only saved from further acquisitions by their system not accepting my Canadian debit card because it had no expiry date.
No, I don't get it either, but it means it's still my turn to buy dinner (just as it is for me for Nikki, but for different reasons).
And entirely non-writey, I've started weight training, 3 times a week in the mornings, with MC to make sure I do it right. Thirty-plus years I've worked at the uni, and only now do I take advantage of my free gym access for anything more than showers. I've always been a bit of a slow starter.
Monday, February 27, 2012
puppets again but different
Two Sundays in a row, this month, I was able to attend an open rehearsal sesssion of a gamelan orchestra, followed by an Indonesian lunch, followed by a workshop on Indonesian shadow puppetry, the wayang kulit.
The workshops were held at Merlin's Sun Theatre, a tiny theatre in the home of Tim Gosley, a puppeteer who worked with the Muppets, among others. He was hosting, in this case, with the demonstration and teaching done by Sutrisno Hartana, a wayang master and gamelan teacher.
I knew a little bit about wayang--I have a small shadow puppet of Hanuman--but next to nothing about gamelan music. (I hope I have enough space to put up a couple of videos, so I don't have to spread this out over two or three posts).
Gamelan
The orchestra was a mix of Sutrisno's family, from wife Anis, able to sing after recovering from throat surgery, to immensely cute preschooler son. His older daughter demonstrated dance while the younger played the bells. Other members were from the university, faculty or students (oddly, I don't recall any of them being music students, but I may have missed that in the introductions).
Gamelan orchestras are fairly informal. They may not practice together, but rely on players showing up to fill in various parts, and it seems to be loose and jazz-like, allowing improvisation.
Wayang
Wayang kulit is shadow puppetry. There are puppets in the round as well, but that wasn't up this time.
The shadow puppets are made of untanned buffalo hide, elaborately pierced, painted and gilded.
You're looking at the performer's side, here. The audience would be on the other side of the screen, seeing only the shadows.
Performances start at sundown, originally lit by lamps, and run all night. There may be one puppeteer or several, and besides the gamelan orchestra, the puppeteer provides sound effects by holding a sort of knocker between his toes and rapping it against any hard surface (like a box of puppets).
The strips of blue foam at the bottom of the screen serve for jamming the puppets' base sticks into, so that the arms can be operated more easily, or a second character manipulated. Originally banana trunk would be used (I asked).
The two fan shapes are multi-purpose. They are brought together and apart to signify the beginning of a play or scene, and can be fluttered across the screen to suggest wind, waves or fire. Fixed in place, one can stand for a palace or the forest. A character hidden in one while moving across the screen is travelling through a forest.
This pic is of the phoenix flying through a forest, with both puppets in fluttering motion.
Again, it is the puppeteer who sees the brilliant painting and gilding, and that seems the wrong way around at first.
But here's what the audience sees.
Pretty impressive anyways, and more of the colour comes through than you might guess. You see the really intricate images you can get with the thin strong buffalo hide. Both the forest and the palace details can be clearly seen, with some bonus shadows from the puppets beside, waiting their turn for action.
Throughout the demonstrations, a little crowd of students would collect on the audience side of the screen, just watching the show, and having to be chased out so they could practice the art and see how the master performed it.
This video is a demonstration of two 'clown' characters conversing, showing the characteristic brusque motions and rough or squeaking voices. Lower-class characters usually stand lower on the screen, feet below the red border that signifies the earth. If characters lower themselves so, it suggests that they're sitting down or kneeling before a superior.
The workshops were held at Merlin's Sun Theatre, a tiny theatre in the home of Tim Gosley, a puppeteer who worked with the Muppets, among others. He was hosting, in this case, with the demonstration and teaching done by Sutrisno Hartana, a wayang master and gamelan teacher.
I knew a little bit about wayang--I have a small shadow puppet of Hanuman--but next to nothing about gamelan music. (I hope I have enough space to put up a couple of videos, so I don't have to spread this out over two or three posts).
Gamelan
The orchestra was a mix of Sutrisno's family, from wife Anis, able to sing after recovering from throat surgery, to immensely cute preschooler son. His older daughter demonstrated dance while the younger played the bells. Other members were from the university, faculty or students (oddly, I don't recall any of them being music students, but I may have missed that in the introductions).Gamelan orchestras are fairly informal. They may not practice together, but rely on players showing up to fill in various parts, and it seems to be loose and jazz-like, allowing improvisation.
Wayang
The shadow puppets are made of untanned buffalo hide, elaborately pierced, painted and gilded.
You're looking at the performer's side, here. The audience would be on the other side of the screen, seeing only the shadows.
Performances start at sundown, originally lit by lamps, and run all night. There may be one puppeteer or several, and besides the gamelan orchestra, the puppeteer provides sound effects by holding a sort of knocker between his toes and rapping it against any hard surface (like a box of puppets).
The strips of blue foam at the bottom of the screen serve for jamming the puppets' base sticks into, so that the arms can be operated more easily, or a second character manipulated. Originally banana trunk would be used (I asked).
This pic is of the phoenix flying through a forest, with both puppets in fluttering motion.
But here's what the audience sees.
Pretty impressive anyways, and more of the colour comes through than you might guess. You see the really intricate images you can get with the thin strong buffalo hide. Both the forest and the palace details can be clearly seen, with some bonus shadows from the puppets beside, waiting their turn for action.
Throughout the demonstrations, a little crowd of students would collect on the audience side of the screen, just watching the show, and having to be chased out so they could practice the art and see how the master performed it.
This video is a demonstration of two 'clown' characters conversing, showing the characteristic brusque motions and rough or squeaking voices. Lower-class characters usually stand lower on the screen, feet below the red border that signifies the earth. If characters lower themselves so, it suggests that they're sitting down or kneeling before a superior.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
cider and morris dancers
Here you see the proprietor of the family-owned (and run) business, standing in front of the casks, explaining the brewing process. Their Rumrunner cider was aged in barrels that had been used for Newfoundland Screech, but the screech distillery switched to plastic barrels, which Kristen refused to use. Turns out that screech is matured in bourbon casks. So they got the empty bourbon casks, soaked them with screech, and went on from there. It tickles me to think of think of these casks going from booze to booze to booze.
The tour wasn't as visually interesting as Victoria Gin's is, because you can't go into the working area for fear of contaminating the process, and since it isn't distilling, there aren't massive steampunk-type brass and copper vats with fascinating dials and pipes.
Next is the view across the orchard, which as you can see is young yet. They also get apples from local farms, orchards, and Lifecycles (I've thought of calling them to take away the Transparents). Mark drew my attention to the degree of pruning, which he thinks I should follow. I am way too tender with pruning our apple trees (not that this is reflected in my revising of my writing, noooo....), but I have promised to be more ruthless (less ruthful?) this spring.Anyway. Nice view. We hurried inside for warmth, but the big doors were open to the balcony and winter air. Fortunately a couple of heat lamps had been provided to huddle under, and drink tickets got us generous samples of cider, which does warm the interior.
The Island Thyme Morris Dancers (the women only) performed a series of dances, with a lot of energy and enthusiasm, and I'm a bit peeved with myself that I didn't trot up to the gallery while they were doing the sword dance that ends with the wooden swords interlocked in a star, which is carried off in triumph.
See? I did get some pics of another dance, but it isn't as spiff as the sword dance figures would have looked.
I did love their musicians, who were straight out of an English or Irish pub. I bet the fellow in the flat cap is a demon darts player.
And a traditional mummers play by the Quicksbottom Morris Dancers. Nostalgia! I was able to mutter along with several speeches, from the version of the play that we performed, gosh, over twenty years ago. We didn't have a Green Man, though, and he is pretty cool. Nor did we have a hot Witch in tall black boots. Yes, I did buy cider, a bottle of the new Wassail, and another of Kings and Spies.
Closing with a fiddler in concentration.
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