In my Digital Media class with Dr. Stacey Patton, we learned to make a timeline. This was not easy. We had to use several digital sources to come up with a three-moment timeline. I had to fiddle with it for over an hour and start over three times, but I did it! Our next project will be a 10-moment time line of our own life using pictures, videos and sound clips of our own history. I am afraid and excited to get started on that one.
Here’s my practice timeline featuring Carol Burnett.
Knitting Pumpkins
It’s that time of the summer where you’re tired of mowing the lawn and the petunias are looking scrappy. But it’s not over yet and there are still those days with sweltering heat and humidity. You could go outside and weed the garden. Or you could stay inside with the air conditioning and Netflix and plan for fall. That’s what I did. I made a pumpkin ahead of pumpkin spice season so I’ll be ready when it’s time to switch over.
I am part of a new community that is giving me space to grow. I am learning what it means to have white privilege in America and how life is more difficult without it. I am growing my empathy and understanding for people whose experience is different from mine.
Many boomers are faced with the reality that we can no longe ignore the racism in our society. Some double down on long held prejudices and harmful ideology. Some insist they are not racist while upholding systems in place that limit the potential of our neighbors of color. Some, like me will be thankful for the space to learn and grow.
I thought it was good that I never considered race when meeting or interacting with people. But it was only good for me, because being ignorant about race and color is accepting the systemic racism that is part of our American culture. In the aftermath of the George Floyd murder, and the media coverage of the Black Lives Matter movement, I am becoming more aware of the racism surrounding me and more sensitive to how that affects people of color.
I am fortunate to be taking a class learning about digital media offered by Dr. Stacey Patton. My daugher who follows Dr. Patton on twitter shared a link with me where I signed up for the class. 300 students were enrolled and we began a Zoom journey together to learn how to manage a blog on Word Press. It was timely for me because just weeks before I started a blog on Word Press. I didn’t have any experience and didn’t know how to proceed. I could only add ‘New post’. Now I have learned to embed videos and sound tracks. Next week I will be creating a timeline of my own life.
While I appreciate learning about the technology that will help me with my blog, I feel that the greater value is in the community and fellowship of the other creatives in class. It is a new experience for me to be in the minority where I am one of a handful of white students amid a majority of people of color. I am immersed in a class of people who are the same as me and different from me. We are the same because we share a common interest. We are different because we experience racism in different ways.
The assignments we are given are creative and meant to teach us about technology. The topics are personal and we choose them ourselves. This is where I feel uncomfortable, privileged and frivolous. My life experiences feel normal to me; entertaining and fun. When I look at many of the other submissions, I see something more. I see people being vulnerable about themselves, their lives and experiences. I see pain and anger and activism and advocacy. I see real people dealing with real trauma that is happening in the same spaces where I live but that I don’t experience. And maybe that is why I scratch the surface in my writing, so I don’t have to deal with the hard problem of racism.
I want my classmates to know that while I do not experience the same difficulties, I have experienced some difficulties in my life, and that creates a bridge of empathy. I want to share with you the things that make us the same so we can laugh and enjoy each other. I want to learn about the things that make us different so I can understand what you need and how I can help you get that.
My heart is full of love, even when my actions have fallen short. My mind is full of ideas, even when I have not said them out loud. I am starting where I am, with what I have, doing what I can. I am a Digital Media Bawse in progress. Bear with me, I’m growing.
There are two rivers that merge together right outside my home; the Little Cannon River and the Big Cannon River. Join me on my walk as I show you some of my favorite spots.
Daisy’s surprise puppy; watch Jill grow into Doghood.
Thanks for the lesson Dr. Stacey Patton.
With my husband’s help, I feed a migrant community of feral cats. Twice daily, we greet 1 black cat and 3 tortoise shell cats at the food pans in the bushes. Sometimes there is a black and white one, and sometimes an orange or tiger stipe cat and we can tell you their ancestry going back 5 generations.
I’m not bragging about this, and frankly, I wish I didn’t have to talk about this at all. We came upon this cat population accidentally and now we’re trying to work our way out of it.
I came to know about feral cats because I am an avid gardener and animal lover. When I first discovered a little black kitten living in my garden under the Hostas, it was natural to want to feed him. He wasn’t friendly, and always ran when he caught sight of me, but he looked hungry, so I left food out for him. He was black, so we called him Midnight. He stuck around all that first summer and showed up periodically over the following winter. When summer came, Midnight disappeared and that was when a funny thing happened.
To my surprise the Hosta’s revealed a whole litter of kittens! They were tiny, and no sign of mamma cat but I figured she was around somewhere.
We left food out for the mamma kitty, and eventually we were able to handle the kittens with mamma nearby. Just as we were about to catch the whole bunch of them for re-homing, mamma kitty disappeared and took all the kittens with her. Later that year when it got cold, Midnight and Mamma kitty returned and we fed them intermittently as they showed up.
It seemed that my garden was growing kittens. Year after year, kittens were born in the spring and the challenge was to find them and rehome them before the mamma cat disappeared. Whenever we found them, the mamma would move them to a new spot. She often put them under the prickly bush on top of a pile of rocks. This seemed inhumane, so I went online to order a cat house where litters could live until they were old enough to re-home.
At the end of the order form, it said “personalize your house for no extra charge”. I didn’t have a particular cat’s name to put on the house, but my daughter had a great idea. And that is how the Halfway House came to be located in my lilac bushes.
My journey from Midnight to the Halfway House has taught me much about feral cats. Over the past several years we have re-homed over 25 kittens. They have all made wonderful pets.
Now we have a colony of 4 female cats and it is too many. We have since learned that there used to be funding in our area that allowed a local animal rescue to feed the feral cats and spay/neuter and vaccinate them. As the funding dried up and disappeared the cats made their way to our neighborhood, which is close to the river so they have a water source and close to a restaurant which may provide garbage to eat. When two others on the block moved and stopped feeding the cats, they found their way to our house.
I came to know about feral cats by chance encounter with one tiny kitten. You should care about feral cat populations because they could pass disease to people and pets, they can harm the native bird population and they are attracting other predators like coyotes and eagles into city limits. They are in every neighborhood whether you see them or not and even whether you feed them or not.
What we can do about feral populations is to Trap, Neuter and Release back where they were trapped. By doing the TNR, we can keep our population static instead of increasing until it eventually decreases due to the age of the cats. Vaccinate, spay and neuter your indoor cats and keep them indoors. A brief escape can produce kittens.
The best place for a cat is indoors with a loving family.
I have been fortunate to be working from home since mid-March to avoid close quarters at my downtown office. This keeps the Covid at bay and I am thankful for the opportunity.
One of the great things about working from home is that I can avoid the daily commute. Normally, I get up at 5:00 and head out at 5:30. That’s a.m. I still get up at 5:00 a.m. but instead of heading to the office, now I can enjoy a cup of coffee with my husband before he leaves for work. Then I log in at 6:00 a.m. and do a few things before I take my little dogs for a walk on my morning break.
For several weeks, the dogs and I haved passed the same woman, child and dog on our early morning walk and sometimes on our lunchtime walk. We all recognize each other and exchange smiles and covid-style, social distance greetings. Today, I was compelled to say, “We seem to be on the same schedule”. This was the opening that was needed to connect with this family.
We exchanged names, talked about the dogs and our walking and how things have changed so much recently. I got more details about this woman and child than I expected, and I recognized her loneliness and need to talk.
It bothered me the way the woman was talking about her life and her child and the missing father. I could see the child shrink at some of the things that were said. The child spoke a bit too, and I sensed a need for a listener. This family is having a hard time with life right now and I left feeling that maybe I should do something to help them.
Then I realized that we met, we talked, we got to know each other a little bit. We will see each other on our walks and if something needs doing, it will present itself to me. So, while I cannot heal the world, I can be attentive to the people I meet and look for ways to enrich them. Listening is a gift that is easy to give and one we all enjoy.
These days we’re getting used to Social Distancing. We’re learning to keep busy at home and avoid large crowds like you would find at a sporting event. Some of us are okay with the isolation, and some of us miss the interaction. Today, I’m going to tell you about a time when no one was concerned with social distancing. I’m going to take you back to a day when my husband and I took our now-grown daughters to a Minnesota Twins game at the Metrodome. No worries, just a carefree, sunny day of family fun. I hope the story will remind you that good times are coming, and while we wait, we can find laughter in old memories.
I don’t remember the exact date, or the exact Twins game, but I know it was in 1997. The girls were 12 and 8. I’m not a big sports fan, but I do love a good old-fashioned baseball game with the family. But this game was not just anywhere. It was at the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome. Imagine that. A time when everyone could agree to name a sports venue after a politician; our beloved Vice President and avid sports fan, Hubert H. Humphrey. The ten-acre, air-supported domed roof took four months to build. It was made of two layers of woven fiberglass fabric separated by a cushion of air and coated with Teflon.
Going to the Dome was an adventure for our family who was used to sticking close to home and doing mostly 4-H things. As the youngest child of 8, with 5 brothers, my husband longed for this kind of activity. I can imagine he got tired of the endless girl pursuits in our household like Barbies, makeup and debates, A.K.A. cat fights. He probably missed the jostling, wrestling and sports that he grew up with. This was about to be a pure sensory experience. The noise of the crowd, the smell of the hot dogs, the organ playing, and the scoreboard lit up. The anticipation was intoxicating. We were all pumped up.
Off we went to the Metrodome on a perfect Sunday morning, the kids skipping Sunday school so we could drive, park and get settled in for the 1:00 game. We were buckled in the car, baseball caps on our heads, wearing Minnesota Twins shirts, and the kids carrying their baseball gloves, hoping to catch those pop-flies. We parked in a lot across the street and started our walk to the stadium. Our tickets were taken and we walked into the dome with a ‘Whoosh‘. The girls had to hang on to their hats so they wouldn’t lose them in the vacuum created by the air holding up the ceiling. The ‘Whoosh‘ of the Metrodome is still a favorite memory of mine; a sound and a feeling that make me smile. Maybe some of you remember that too.
We were in the second level, right field side. We had four seats in the middle of the row. I went in first, then our youngest daughter, then our oldest daughter, then my husband. We always made sure to keep those girls safe; a parent on either side, keeping them from strangers and in inside our view. Sadly, this was especially important in the years after the Adam Walsh and Jacob Wetterling kidnappings. Our seats were great, the weather was perfect and the game started. Oh, we had fun with the game banter and singing with the organ. Through the first three innings, the seats next to me were empty. But then someone came to sit down. And that is when the experience took a turn; for me anyway.
A very tall man sat down in the seat next to me. Next to him was a child. At least I assume there was a child, because I could see two little shoes on the floor. This guy had no worries about boundaries or social distancing. He plopped in place and proceeded to lean beyond my arm rest and into my seat space in classic man spreading style. I would lean away, and he would spread over further. I tried to be polite and friendly and not make a scene. But really, I was uncomfortable. I kept trying to make eye contact with my husband, trying to get him to see the situation. He would look at me, but instead of understanding my cues, he would say loudly, “What?” Being Minnesota nice, I was in a conundrum. I couldn’t just holler down the row, “This guy is in my space!” Do I just put up with this guy? Do I ask him to move over, or do I change places with my small daughter? You know what I did. I did the only thing I could do. I sucked it up and sat there, seething, squirming, trying to make myself as small a possible without my daughters noticing my discomfort.
The game progressed and I had as much fun as I could under the circumstances. Then came the hot dog vendor. He was up and down the rows, yelling “Hot dogs, cold drinks”. Someone would order a hot dog and instead of the vendor climbing over people to get it to them in the middle of the rows, the vendor would hand it to the nearest person, and we would pass it down. Then, the person who bought it would hand the money to the person nearest to them, and we would pass it down.
This method was working well. Until Tall Guy next to me wanted a hot dog. Or maybe it was for the Little Shoes sitting next to him. I don’t know, but I felt obligated to pass it down. It seems weird to me now that anyone would want their food touched by multiple strangers. But this was before Covid and appeared to be normal behavior for the baseball crowd. I couldn’t really refuse unless I wanted to be a jerk and make everyone stand up to let the guy move down the row and get it himself from the vendor.
I cringed when I saw Tall Guy signal for a hot dog. One by one, people passed it down. It came to me and I handed it to him. He passed it off to Little Shoes next to him. Then he started digging through his pockets for money. He pulled out some change and stuck it in his mouth. Then he kept digging until he found some bills.
Reluctantly, I held out my hand for the money we had to pass down to the vendor who was waiting. As Tall Guy held a bill in one hand, his other hand grabbed the ball of change from his mouth and chunked it down in my open palm. Then he laid the bill on top! Oh my God! I nearly fainted. Once I composed myself, I stood up and reached over to my husband. I plunked the money in his hand and said, “We need to change seats now or I’m going home!” I rushed to the restroom to wash my hands and came back to my husband’s vacant seat.
Folks, there is an art to experiencing a difficult situation in public and not showing your feelings. I mostly made it out of the stadium without making a scene. But once I heard the final ‘Whoosh‘ out the door and I was out of the Metrodome, I let my husband hear it! And I’m still talking about it 23 years later. With this in mind, I’m okay with social distancing.
