"Right Now" rolled the die for this - choices were: Wash walls (going to start washing the outside walls by hand, not enough water in tanks to use the gurney), washing living room windows, chip lantana, draw (nearly finished cloud drawing), blog or start weekly letter to Aunt Lee.
Aunt Lee. Her husband, my Uncle Ben, died in January. I wrote as soon as I heard but never received a reply. Then, at the beginning of this month, I get a letter from her. She's in an old age home in Canton, Ohio, hundreds of miles away from Grand Rapids, Lansing, where Linda lives, or Jake, wherever the hell he is (he was in North or South Carolina, then Mexico, so who knows?). I don't know the story so getting mad isn't helpful. Maybe Linda is desperately trying to get her in a home closer to her. Aunt Lee doesn't mention the kids at all. All I know is although she was trying to be brave, the letter was sad and spoke of a woman very much alone - and you can never be lonelier than when you're lonely in a crowd. So decided I would write her once a week. Can only tell her Dry Gully Road news, certainly don't want to write of my woes (not that I have any) but writing about the animals and Australiana and upbeat newsy stuff, well, it might just make her smile sometimes. I am so glad Mom and Dad never went into a home. I'm not going either. I'll die first - and that's the only way to avoid them; stay healthy, stay active, keep your marbles, then die in the night or better yet, have a little warning that I am soon to be cactus so the animals are taken care of.
That was my only fear while Richard was away. If something happened to me while he was gone and no one noticed then the animals would suffer.
So there's my death wish. Suppose Aunt Lee is tired and perhaps no longer looks at dying with a jaundiced eye. It's a long beautiful, well-deserved sleep at the end of a long busy life.
Remember reading somewhere that those who have recently died go somewhere where they get to recuperate from life's rigours. And Wayne had that wonderful dream of Mom in just such a place.
Death is no enemy. Death is called an angel with good reason. It is love that releases us from the constant, miraculous, exhilarating, beautiful but ultimately exhausting embrace of life.
Showing posts with label dice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dice. Show all posts
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Right Now I'm Almost Mindful
"Right Now" - I've just finished yoga and meditation (if you can call that mishmash of htoughts and stillness meditating) and have made the dice list. This - the blog - was number 4. So for 10 minutes I will write and see if anything of note emerges.
We went to an auction today. I bought 6 wood frames with mats (and one plastic frame) for $30. Not bad. I have many frames now so no excuse not to draw or paint. Just got another pen - what a difference a nice pen makes. How must it have been for quills and ink - or cuniform in clay tablets. Rather difficult to get a stream of consciousness going. Maybe that was a good thing. Now we, I, write any old thing without thinking it through and think it gold.
Think I'll write about speed. The speed and sloppiness of thinking, of writing, of eating, of most everything. There's a certain pride I take in doing everything quickly. I walk quickly. I think I probably talk quickly, when I do a job I do it quickly - but quickness kills mindfulness. In the rush to move from this thing to the next thing I am not present for either. (I'm finding it a real effort to slow my handwriting down but in doing so it is more legible and I make fewer mistakes). Anyway, this rushing from one thing to another colours my entire life or perhaps I should say obscures it. Without mindfulness, being fully present in the moment, I don't see it except through the veil of the next imagined (because I am already placing myself in that future) moment superimposed over the top.
It's quite clear when I stop - stopping and breathing being the key words here - to think about it. Logically or intellectually 'getting' something doesn't make it true however. And then there are distractions. I feel the need of R, who just came in looking for me, wanting me to distract him from the enormity, infinity and finality of the present.
We went to an auction today. I bought 6 wood frames with mats (and one plastic frame) for $30. Not bad. I have many frames now so no excuse not to draw or paint. Just got another pen - what a difference a nice pen makes. How must it have been for quills and ink - or cuniform in clay tablets. Rather difficult to get a stream of consciousness going. Maybe that was a good thing. Now we, I, write any old thing without thinking it through and think it gold.
Think I'll write about speed. The speed and sloppiness of thinking, of writing, of eating, of most everything. There's a certain pride I take in doing everything quickly. I walk quickly. I think I probably talk quickly, when I do a job I do it quickly - but quickness kills mindfulness. In the rush to move from this thing to the next thing I am not present for either. (I'm finding it a real effort to slow my handwriting down but in doing so it is more legible and I make fewer mistakes). Anyway, this rushing from one thing to another colours my entire life or perhaps I should say obscures it. Without mindfulness, being fully present in the moment, I don't see it except through the veil of the next imagined (because I am already placing myself in that future) moment superimposed over the top.
It's quite clear when I stop - stopping and breathing being the key words here - to think about it. Logically or intellectually 'getting' something doesn't make it true however. And then there are distractions. I feel the need of R, who just came in looking for me, wanting me to distract him from the enormity, infinity and finality of the present.
Monday, March 25, 2013
I've joined deviantArt. Will take photos of most of my work and upload it. Why not? Be nice if others see it. Have already learned something. If it's going to photograph decently will have to make my darks darker and my lights lighter. Wimpy in life, wimpy in art. Make a statement!
Severe and damaging storms yesterday. Lots of damage in Logan Ipswich area. While walking the dogs watched the back of the storm march away to the east. Don't think I would've wanted to watch the front bearing down on me. Even the back of it was huge, terrifying and beautiful. Stark clenched clouds slow exploding into cerulean blue. In the distance wet clay slabs of grey rain pressed upon the land. On the way home we were helped along by the wind being sucked into the storm. Isolated groups of clouds joined forces, became one huge front.
When I got home, after feeding everyone, looked at the radar. Scary. Angry red splotches like sores scratching across the map. All to the east of us. After dark we got a downpour, 14mm in 15 minutes. Very pleased as we needed the rain but we didn't need damage. Lost power for an hour. Read The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler by candlelight with a glass of red.
Overcome by gratitude while watching that storm. Beauty, incredible wondrous incandescent beauty surround us if we only open our eyes. Standing beneath overarching wattle trees watching a dozen monarch butterflies flitting between the branches. Don't know what attracted them but what a sight it made with fluttering leaves and fluttering butterflies with roiling white clouds overhead. Didn't loiter long. Thunder coming from the west as well as the east. Don't mind walking in the rain, do mind getting caught in hail.
Dice-ing yesterday and again today. Repotted mature adenium plants. Amazed at what was hidden beneath the soil - huge hard yellow white, can't even call them roots, more like storage tanks with filigree roots sprouting off the sides. Had no idea. Repotted the remaining 14 baby adeniums. The table is groaning under the weight of baby adeniums. Have given away dozens. Overloaded friends and acquaintances with adeniums. Worse than giving away kittens.
Dice had me on the yoga mat during the hottest part of the day. Cleansing sweat I guess. But as I hadn't eaten I wasn't attempting a headstand on a full stomach. Eased back a bit on a few poses. Very sore lower back and pelvis. Don't know why. Better today.
Carry a small sketchbook in my purse. Used it to draw Natalia. Her upside-down-head-under-paw pose and mature-cat-dignified-nap pose. Caught her too, at least in the upright pose. Not just any cat sleeping but Natalia sleeping. The other sketch, as most of her face is hidden under her leg, isn't as clearly her. Pleased with them. Fun to do too. Only 5 minutes or so.
Conversely haven't touched the pastel drawing on the easel. Like the bird, like the horse...well the horse is okay, not perfect, otherwise stuck. Have these elements that don't work but don't know what to do instead. So keep retouching horse and bird and leaving the rest. Waiting for inspiration to bite.
Have a egg yolk painted gesso primed canvas waiting. No tooth. Need to make a mark and see what it looks, feels like. That will determine, in part, to what can be painted on. If it doesn't 'take' the medium, will have to keep it simple and sketchlike. If it does, what fun!
Severe and damaging storms yesterday. Lots of damage in Logan Ipswich area. While walking the dogs watched the back of the storm march away to the east. Don't think I would've wanted to watch the front bearing down on me. Even the back of it was huge, terrifying and beautiful. Stark clenched clouds slow exploding into cerulean blue. In the distance wet clay slabs of grey rain pressed upon the land. On the way home we were helped along by the wind being sucked into the storm. Isolated groups of clouds joined forces, became one huge front.
When I got home, after feeding everyone, looked at the radar. Scary. Angry red splotches like sores scratching across the map. All to the east of us. After dark we got a downpour, 14mm in 15 minutes. Very pleased as we needed the rain but we didn't need damage. Lost power for an hour. Read The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler by candlelight with a glass of red.
Overcome by gratitude while watching that storm. Beauty, incredible wondrous incandescent beauty surround us if we only open our eyes. Standing beneath overarching wattle trees watching a dozen monarch butterflies flitting between the branches. Don't know what attracted them but what a sight it made with fluttering leaves and fluttering butterflies with roiling white clouds overhead. Didn't loiter long. Thunder coming from the west as well as the east. Don't mind walking in the rain, do mind getting caught in hail.
Dice-ing yesterday and again today. Repotted mature adenium plants. Amazed at what was hidden beneath the soil - huge hard yellow white, can't even call them roots, more like storage tanks with filigree roots sprouting off the sides. Had no idea. Repotted the remaining 14 baby adeniums. The table is groaning under the weight of baby adeniums. Have given away dozens. Overloaded friends and acquaintances with adeniums. Worse than giving away kittens.
Dice had me on the yoga mat during the hottest part of the day. Cleansing sweat I guess. But as I hadn't eaten I wasn't attempting a headstand on a full stomach. Eased back a bit on a few poses. Very sore lower back and pelvis. Don't know why. Better today.
Carry a small sketchbook in my purse. Used it to draw Natalia. Her upside-down-head-under-paw pose and mature-cat-dignified-nap pose. Caught her too, at least in the upright pose. Not just any cat sleeping but Natalia sleeping. The other sketch, as most of her face is hidden under her leg, isn't as clearly her. Pleased with them. Fun to do too. Only 5 minutes or so.
Conversely haven't touched the pastel drawing on the easel. Like the bird, like the horse...well the horse is okay, not perfect, otherwise stuck. Have these elements that don't work but don't know what to do instead. So keep retouching horse and bird and leaving the rest. Waiting for inspiration to bite.
Have a egg yolk painted gesso primed canvas waiting. No tooth. Need to make a mark and see what it looks, feels like. That will determine, in part, to what can be painted on. If it doesn't 'take' the medium, will have to keep it simple and sketchlike. If it does, what fun!
Friday, December 14, 2012
The Meaning of Life...yeah right
Dice living today and blogging (number two in my list of six) came up. Previous to that I've yoga'ed, cleaned the bathroom and laundry sinks, and worked on the current drawing. What hasn't come up yet is vaccumming, cleaning the kitchen window and painting the second coat on the ceiling in this office.
Have always found dice living fascinating. It must tie in with Tarot, I Ching and various other things which make a connection between the energy sheet and the energy strings (my poor and for the moment unexplained version of the Universe) for what is chosen (or read in the case of Tarot and I Ching) is too appropriate to be explained by Chance. Jung had it in synchronicity but I suspect it goes far beyond that. If everything is connected and time, as the linear illusion we perceive, does not exist then everything is happening all the time and all at once. Why not pick and choose appropriate (for this particular conscious collection of energy ganglia) bits that help to fill or flesh out the purpose of the current Consciousness?
So much I don't understand (a bit of an understatement) but I have always been confused by the seemingly discrete forms of consciousness we take when we become human. I suspect I have lived and am living elsewhere so why am I only perceiving this particular consciousness? For a reason. When we die do we remember other existences, do we experience them? Does our Oversoul live them all at once?
Just looked up oversoul with Wikipedia. Emerson wrote about the oversoul and said (1) the human soul is immortal, and immensely vast and beautiful; (2) our conscious ego is slight and limited in comparison to the soul, despite the fact that we habitually mistake our ego for our true self; (3) at some level, the souls of all people are connected, though the precise manner and degree of this connection is not spelled out; and (4) the essay does not seem to explicitly contradict the traditional Western idea that the soul is created by and has an existence (?) that is similar to God, or rather God exists within us.
1. The human soul is immortal, vast and beautiful. When I live and think with less than normal dross, I feel lighter, wider and yes more beautiful. Even though....
2. Our conscious ego is slight and limited in comparison despite the fact we mistake it for our true self. Yes, but what is contained within the larger is still 'of' the essence'. Still, I had the minuteness of the ego demonstrated years ago. I'd gone to a movie with my then husband and fainted. No one knew I'd fainted so when I came to I had no one fussing over me which meant no distraction from where I'd been to where I then found myself. I woke up with a terrible sense of loss. Where I'd been had been vast and beautiful and true. To returnn to my'self' I had had to shoehorn this great being into a tiny ego. I was grief stricken. What a disappointment it was to be me when I had had the faint taste of Freedom. I am coward where pain is concerned but since that moment I have not been afraid of death.
3. All souls are connected. All energy is connected. Quantum mechanics, etc. What one is we all are. The difference is in the choices we make. Energy can be directed. Energy is just as much thought as 3 dimensional objects. What we think we make. It's a heavy responsibility which few of us take seriously, me included.
4. The soul is created and has an existence, is similar to God who exists within us. The riddle of this is not whether there is a god and how s/he exists but what makes up the barriers between small ego-constricted us and God? Was it Aldous Huxley who postulated that the mind functioned as a filter so that we would not be overwhelmed by the reality of What Is?
So, what does it ALL MEAN? Greater minds than I have not been able to decisively answer this. What hope have I? Sometimes I am sure it is only so that we may look and love the beauty we have created. At other times I suspect it is a game, a trick we play on ourselves, a quest and puzzle that we must solve to arrive laughing and breathless back at the Source saying 'didn't think I was going to get it this time!'
Have always found dice living fascinating. It must tie in with Tarot, I Ching and various other things which make a connection between the energy sheet and the energy strings (my poor and for the moment unexplained version of the Universe) for what is chosen (or read in the case of Tarot and I Ching) is too appropriate to be explained by Chance. Jung had it in synchronicity but I suspect it goes far beyond that. If everything is connected and time, as the linear illusion we perceive, does not exist then everything is happening all the time and all at once. Why not pick and choose appropriate (for this particular conscious collection of energy ganglia) bits that help to fill or flesh out the purpose of the current Consciousness?
So much I don't understand (a bit of an understatement) but I have always been confused by the seemingly discrete forms of consciousness we take when we become human. I suspect I have lived and am living elsewhere so why am I only perceiving this particular consciousness? For a reason. When we die do we remember other existences, do we experience them? Does our Oversoul live them all at once?
Just looked up oversoul with Wikipedia. Emerson wrote about the oversoul and said (1) the human soul is immortal, and immensely vast and beautiful; (2) our conscious ego is slight and limited in comparison to the soul, despite the fact that we habitually mistake our ego for our true self; (3) at some level, the souls of all people are connected, though the precise manner and degree of this connection is not spelled out; and (4) the essay does not seem to explicitly contradict the traditional Western idea that the soul is created by and has an existence (?) that is similar to God, or rather God exists within us.
1. The human soul is immortal, vast and beautiful. When I live and think with less than normal dross, I feel lighter, wider and yes more beautiful. Even though....
2. Our conscious ego is slight and limited in comparison despite the fact we mistake it for our true self. Yes, but what is contained within the larger is still 'of' the essence'. Still, I had the minuteness of the ego demonstrated years ago. I'd gone to a movie with my then husband and fainted. No one knew I'd fainted so when I came to I had no one fussing over me which meant no distraction from where I'd been to where I then found myself. I woke up with a terrible sense of loss. Where I'd been had been vast and beautiful and true. To returnn to my'self' I had had to shoehorn this great being into a tiny ego. I was grief stricken. What a disappointment it was to be me when I had had the faint taste of Freedom. I am coward where pain is concerned but since that moment I have not been afraid of death.
3. All souls are connected. All energy is connected. Quantum mechanics, etc. What one is we all are. The difference is in the choices we make. Energy can be directed. Energy is just as much thought as 3 dimensional objects. What we think we make. It's a heavy responsibility which few of us take seriously, me included.
4. The soul is created and has an existence, is similar to God who exists within us. The riddle of this is not whether there is a god and how s/he exists but what makes up the barriers between small ego-constricted us and God? Was it Aldous Huxley who postulated that the mind functioned as a filter so that we would not be overwhelmed by the reality of What Is?
So, what does it ALL MEAN? Greater minds than I have not been able to decisively answer this. What hope have I? Sometimes I am sure it is only so that we may look and love the beauty we have created. At other times I suspect it is a game, a trick we play on ourselves, a quest and puzzle that we must solve to arrive laughing and breathless back at the Source saying 'didn't think I was going to get it this time!'
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Dice living today. First roll said water the fernery which I have done, the next said write here. The other choices were write my Aunt, wash the car (ick!), do yoga, plant the leek seeds in a seedling box, draw (which I'll do after lunch anyway). As I do one activity, I cross it out and add another. I can add something fun or something I procrastinate doing. Dice-ing works on those days when I am not terribly focussed or motivated to do any one thing but have a lot to do. It's also fun and engenders a small thrill of excitement. I suspect that small thrill is because I am aligning myself in a small way with the hidden vibrations of the universe. Too lofty a claim for such a small thing? Perhaps but why does the Tarot so often prove correct or apt for the questioner? Ditto the I Ching? Jung didn't scoff at it and neither do I. There are more things in the Universe Horatio, etc.
We seem to have a permanent population of whistling ducks in the peach paddock. About twenty of them plucking the grass like little web footed lawnmowers. We also have a young scrub turkey who shows up nearly every afternoon to scratch around the gardens. He's very bold and doesn't seem frightened of us or the dogs. If we get too close he scuttles into the long grass but we have to be pretty close before he takes off.
Yesterday, R went with our neighbour to his cousin's house. Her husband died a month or so ago. He was a hoarder of sorts and as alot of his stuff is large and unwieldy R wants to give her a hand. The husband collected Buddhas. R asked if I was interested in having one. Sure I said so he brought home about twenty of them. Most of them are resin or plaster, very ornate and not very appealing but he did bring have a few wooden ones that are delightful. Especially this large (3/4 computer CPU size) wood fellow with a cheery grin and an ample, very ample belly. Loved him on sight. But I have taken a few others. One very large red resin fellow, very complicated with wicker hat, chinese characters (ideograms?), bags and a string of coins I have put in the fernery. He is too fussy to be in the house (too fussy to clean properly either) but his deep red looks great in the green of the fernery. I'm quite chuffed. Also in the collection were 3 soapstone figurines; one of Kwan Yin another of Ganesh but I don't know who the third guy is. I think he's a Buddha but he's different in form, more like an Indian god than Chinese. I've always liked soapstone.
I have had a small wood Buddha here in the office for a few years now. I bought him somewhere in the States at a second hand shop or a garage sale or something. He's a laughing Buddha. He finds life not only amusing but a downright hoot. I couldn't resist him then and I still love him now.
The convex mirror drawing is going well. I am working on the area surrounding the mirror. Decided against trying to copy the actual frame that the mirror is in. Just wouldn't have worked. It has been a very fiddly piece but I have enjoyed it. It isn't as well done as I'd like. I'm really trying to slow down and take the time it takes but even though I'm not rushing through I just don't have the skill to make it as good as what is in my head.
I see the Archibald is on again. One day I'd like to get down to see it. 800 entries of which only 40 or 50 will be hung. There are some talented people out there. Saw some of the works in the packing room on TV. I love it that people still love to draw and paint. I guess I'm just too old and set in my opinions to be agog about some of the stuff which is considered art today. (Still suspect a good few of them are having a wank).
Watched a piece on ABCs Art Nation about the new gallery MONA (Museum of Old and Modern Art). It features the collection of David Walsh. No doubt there are many beautiful pieces in it but what grabs the news and therefore what we see are the more dubious 'works of art'. One is a machine which makes faeces. Put the food in one end and through a series of tubes and beakers the end result are blobs of poo. What an inspiring work! Another was a painting, perhaps a photograph, of people spreading their cheeks so their anus was on view. Inspiring! Another was of beef carcasses hung on a wall. I'm faint with awe! What a load of codswallop! It's privately funded and it does reflect the taste of the collector so if that's what blows his hair back, good for him. But I can't help but think some 'artists' are laughing all the way to the bank.
We seem to have a permanent population of whistling ducks in the peach paddock. About twenty of them plucking the grass like little web footed lawnmowers. We also have a young scrub turkey who shows up nearly every afternoon to scratch around the gardens. He's very bold and doesn't seem frightened of us or the dogs. If we get too close he scuttles into the long grass but we have to be pretty close before he takes off.
Yesterday, R went with our neighbour to his cousin's house. Her husband died a month or so ago. He was a hoarder of sorts and as alot of his stuff is large and unwieldy R wants to give her a hand. The husband collected Buddhas. R asked if I was interested in having one. Sure I said so he brought home about twenty of them. Most of them are resin or plaster, very ornate and not very appealing but he did bring have a few wooden ones that are delightful. Especially this large (3/4 computer CPU size) wood fellow with a cheery grin and an ample, very ample belly. Loved him on sight. But I have taken a few others. One very large red resin fellow, very complicated with wicker hat, chinese characters (ideograms?), bags and a string of coins I have put in the fernery. He is too fussy to be in the house (too fussy to clean properly either) but his deep red looks great in the green of the fernery. I'm quite chuffed. Also in the collection were 3 soapstone figurines; one of Kwan Yin another of Ganesh but I don't know who the third guy is. I think he's a Buddha but he's different in form, more like an Indian god than Chinese. I've always liked soapstone.
I have had a small wood Buddha here in the office for a few years now. I bought him somewhere in the States at a second hand shop or a garage sale or something. He's a laughing Buddha. He finds life not only amusing but a downright hoot. I couldn't resist him then and I still love him now.
The convex mirror drawing is going well. I am working on the area surrounding the mirror. Decided against trying to copy the actual frame that the mirror is in. Just wouldn't have worked. It has been a very fiddly piece but I have enjoyed it. It isn't as well done as I'd like. I'm really trying to slow down and take the time it takes but even though I'm not rushing through I just don't have the skill to make it as good as what is in my head.
I see the Archibald is on again. One day I'd like to get down to see it. 800 entries of which only 40 or 50 will be hung. There are some talented people out there. Saw some of the works in the packing room on TV. I love it that people still love to draw and paint. I guess I'm just too old and set in my opinions to be agog about some of the stuff which is considered art today. (Still suspect a good few of them are having a wank).
Watched a piece on ABCs Art Nation about the new gallery MONA (Museum of Old and Modern Art). It features the collection of David Walsh. No doubt there are many beautiful pieces in it but what grabs the news and therefore what we see are the more dubious 'works of art'. One is a machine which makes faeces. Put the food in one end and through a series of tubes and beakers the end result are blobs of poo. What an inspiring work! Another was a painting, perhaps a photograph, of people spreading their cheeks so their anus was on view. Inspiring! Another was of beef carcasses hung on a wall. I'm faint with awe! What a load of codswallop! It's privately funded and it does reflect the taste of the collector so if that's what blows his hair back, good for him. But I can't help but think some 'artists' are laughing all the way to the bank.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Dice, Dimitri and The Deluge
I'm using the die, as in the Diceman by Luke Rhinehart, again. It seems I blither the day away and don't accomplish a whole lot. Rolling the dice after making a list of things to do is a sure way to get things done. So I made a list of six things (as I've only one die, the other die, all colours and sizes, have disappeared over time). Here it is. 1. Wash windows (always include at least one thing you definitely don't want to do). 2. Listen to The Visitor, a CD made by the Robert Monroe guys, a guided meditation to meet 'The Visitor' which I assume will be someone or something of importance to my psyche. I haven't been able to listen to it in its entirety yet so haven't met him/her/it. The friend who introduced me to it listened many many times before finally meeting his visitor. So it may be awhile. 3. Write (the book). 4. Yoga. Have already done some, trying out a new yoga CD. It was okay but a little too easy. Thought it wouldn't hurt to do some more. 5. Plants. We had 51mm or rain yesterday. Took all the plants out for a drink and a wash. Because it rained so hard, they have debris splattered up the sides. Have brought some back in already but there are more plus one palm I want to repot. and 6. Blog, hence this. It rolled a 6.
I was exhausted by 8:30 last night. Went to bed at 9:30 then couldn't sleep thinking about Dimitri. We had a good ending as I wrote yesterday for he was curious, and perhaps made nervous about the storm (10,000 lightning strikes and power outages), and hung around to the entrance to this room off the verandah. I thought this morning that I would try and get him to target a prop, in this case a plastic weave ball with a bell in it. Dismal failure. I held it and he did touch it but he was so focused on getting out he kept offering the behaviour of getting on the forward perch. When I held the ball up to him again he ignored it and bit my finger - twice. Not hard but hard enough to let me know he wasn't happy. The first rule of birdkeeping and training is don't get bitten so I didn't hold it out again. Instead I got a coop cup which hangs on the inside of the cage and put the ball in it. I clicked for him looking at it, for getting closer (in his mad rush to get onto that forward perch) but in truth it didn't click with him at all. He got cranky and went to the back of the cage. Hmmm. I left him in and went outside and did something else (and felt tears of frustration pricking my eyes - why is this so hard for me?). Overdoing it, no doubt. Should have quit while I was ahead. He got frustrated and annoyed and so did I.
When I returned we'd both calmed down. I clicked for getting near the cup, made a big fuss and then let him out. He's still running for the opposite end of the perch when I go out, unless I'm holding millet but I am backing right off and not letting it annoy me. If this is where we are, this is where we are.
He got on the floor a couple of times, even following me to the opposite end of the verandah. I knelt and offered corn and millet treats for coming nearer. He did get pretty close so that's something.
Must say everything looks so scrubbed and fresh after the rain. It has been so dry - grass the colour of a peroxide blonde. The horses were so rejuvenated they galloped back and forth in the peach paddock which is in front of the windows behind the monitor. Even Freya, nearly 30, was in the throng, sometimes leading the way. After the sixth go she veered off to refresh herself at the water trough but the others kept going. Radar, the whippet x, joined in. Even from here I could see his laughter. That dog loves to run, even more than Jamaica, the purebred whippet. He runs for sheer joy. The galahs, dusty with months of dry weather, hung upside down from the wires and shrieked. Even the aviary galahs found toeholds on the mesh and screamed and fluttered and shook their feathers. Wish Dimitri could have had a bath too but that will have to wait. One day....
I was exhausted by 8:30 last night. Went to bed at 9:30 then couldn't sleep thinking about Dimitri. We had a good ending as I wrote yesterday for he was curious, and perhaps made nervous about the storm (10,000 lightning strikes and power outages), and hung around to the entrance to this room off the verandah. I thought this morning that I would try and get him to target a prop, in this case a plastic weave ball with a bell in it. Dismal failure. I held it and he did touch it but he was so focused on getting out he kept offering the behaviour of getting on the forward perch. When I held the ball up to him again he ignored it and bit my finger - twice. Not hard but hard enough to let me know he wasn't happy. The first rule of birdkeeping and training is don't get bitten so I didn't hold it out again. Instead I got a coop cup which hangs on the inside of the cage and put the ball in it. I clicked for him looking at it, for getting closer (in his mad rush to get onto that forward perch) but in truth it didn't click with him at all. He got cranky and went to the back of the cage. Hmmm. I left him in and went outside and did something else (and felt tears of frustration pricking my eyes - why is this so hard for me?). Overdoing it, no doubt. Should have quit while I was ahead. He got frustrated and annoyed and so did I.
When I returned we'd both calmed down. I clicked for getting near the cup, made a big fuss and then let him out. He's still running for the opposite end of the perch when I go out, unless I'm holding millet but I am backing right off and not letting it annoy me. If this is where we are, this is where we are.
He got on the floor a couple of times, even following me to the opposite end of the verandah. I knelt and offered corn and millet treats for coming nearer. He did get pretty close so that's something.
Must say everything looks so scrubbed and fresh after the rain. It has been so dry - grass the colour of a peroxide blonde. The horses were so rejuvenated they galloped back and forth in the peach paddock which is in front of the windows behind the monitor. Even Freya, nearly 30, was in the throng, sometimes leading the way. After the sixth go she veered off to refresh herself at the water trough but the others kept going. Radar, the whippet x, joined in. Even from here I could see his laughter. That dog loves to run, even more than Jamaica, the purebred whippet. He runs for sheer joy. The galahs, dusty with months of dry weather, hung upside down from the wires and shrieked. Even the aviary galahs found toeholds on the mesh and screamed and fluttered and shook their feathers. Wish Dimitri could have had a bath too but that will have to wait. One day....
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