I owe lots and lots of time to the blog. Thus, while munching on a sandwich that contains nearly everything in the fridge that looked edible, I'll see what I can manage to type out.
I will not attempt to regale you with the past however many months I've been absent from the cyber world. Illnesses, death, misunderstandings, and disagreements are not much of anything I want to recount at the moment.
One new thing! We tried once again to get a saltwater tank going. Once again, we failed. That's ok. I still cry over my goldfish when they die, I don't think I could handle balancing the lives of all those gorgeous little fish and starfish and corals and horseshoe crabs. Yes, I get attached. Anyway, since that fell though, I'm now trying my hand at playing the cello. If you are of the people who know me in person, you know I am lacking in the rhythm department. And apparently I'm not so good at hearing tones as I thought I was. But I'm still enjoying this adventure. Learning lots. Realizing more. Yes, I'm trying to pick up an instrument as an adult! Yes, I'm learning via book and YouTube! Yes, I know none of this is ideal, but I think that's what's adding to the fun.
The place where I got my cello is the only shop that didn't tell me my plan was crazy and try to persuade me to start with a smaller instrument. Oddly, they're as excited an I am to see if I can pull this off. It was an interesting conversation and lively introduction to the world of strings.
I can't quite get past the death grip on the bow. I'll start out with the relaxed hold and strokes, but I'm choking the life out of the bow after a few draws. I'm kind of cheating on finding the notes. Colt found an awesome tuner that lights up all pretty when I find the right note, then I mark said note with tape on the fingerboard. It is very different from the piano. My pinky needs to bulk up a bit. That's going to take time.
Practice time is usually when I'm alone. It isn't pretty just yet. But I can say I'm progressing. I played and played and played one day until my fingers went numb trying to conquer Ode to Joy to no avail. I left the cello set up in hopes of regaining feeling in my fingers so I could try again. I wasn't discouraged at that point. Then, Colt came home from work, picked up the cello for maybe the third time, and nailed Ode to Joy. I was happy to hear it come from the cello, but at the same time I was a little put out that he could play so easily. There's that thing I have about people with musical talent. I won't call it a grudge. It's straight up envy. I guess Colt caught my ice daggers. He promised to never play the cello until I'm at a more advanced stage. I've come home to find it has been used several times now. I haven't said anything, but I'm sure he's mastered even more songs by now.
The tort is back outside today after being under house arrest for a few days. Something has been hanging around in our back yard, digging holes and tearing stuff up. Of course, it comes at night and I am yet to catch it. I'm guessing it's an armadillo or skunk. I wouldn't mind the armadillo so much, but a skunk would make me uneasy. Besides the likelihood of it eating the tort, there's also the worry of rabies and getting skunked. I've moved things around and haven't seen anything that hints at an intruder lately, so Tiff is back in her roaming pen. I check up on her more often than I used to, but that's ok. She's fun to watch.
I've worked some in my notebooks as of late. I'm getting protective of my writings again, hiding them away and keeping them to myself. No idea why, but I fallen back to that. WIPs have changed, progressed, digressed, and new ones have begun to form in my head. I'm not sure I'll let this one stick around. It's darker than I like. But that might just be me after these past few months. I don't even know this guy's name yet. Only that he's a quiet wanderer, a vagabond in search of his own placement. There is something he fears, but he hasn't met it as of yet. I haven't even let him into any of the notebooks. I guess I can wait and see if he stays or moves on. He isn't giving me much to go on.