Master Gardeners classes start
Blog Posted by kitt at 20:46 on 4 January 2007Today was my first Master Gardener class. The class was orientation, so we didn't actually learn any gardening, but more about the program and what to expect in the program. The class was well organized, and, based on the the horror stories I've heard from previous classes, well worth the four hours spent listening to everything.
Janis picked me up from my house, because it was raining (hence, walking to the rendevous point would have soaked me). I carpooled with Janis and Linda from my mentor group. It's nice to drive down with a group, and I'm glad the program has thought through the "group bonding" part of the program, and organized small, localized groups.
In a sharp contrast to yesterday, I took very few notes. The only time I really stopped and acknowledged what was up was when I noticed the Friends of Santa Clara Master Gardeners Board of Directors was 90% male, when the whole program was barely 15% male. I thought the percentage odd, but Karen (also in my mentor group) commented people volunteer what they know, and the men were probably used to management, finances and the like, i.e. what a board does, and therefore volunteered for that work. I reluctantly agreed she was right.
The weekly class is a serious commitment. This week I was able to put in enough hours at work. Here's hoping I can keep this up.
Training starts today
Blog kitt decided around 20:16 on 3 January 2007 to publish this:Today marks the start of my Master Gardener training, with my mentor group meeting together at one of our mentor's houses and meeting everyone. Roberta and Susan are our mentors, and we comprise of Karen, Kathy, Kathleen, Kitt, Vera, Janis and Linda (ye ole Number 5 on the phone keypad, as Vera's last name begins with a K also).
We toured Roberta's back yard and gardens for a while, waiting for everyone to arrive. She had only relatively recently started incorporating edibles into her (preferred) ornamental gardens, and had a "meadow" as she termed the native grass back yard. She used the term meadow to convince her husband that, yes, it really was okay to rip up all the grass from the back yard and plant interesting, water-wise plants instead, it would still look good.
And it did.
After everyone arrived, we sat down and learned what to expect in the upcoming classes, that run every week until the beginning of June. I chose not to bring in paper or a pencil, so wrote all my notes on my Sidekick. I did a better job of note taking than normal, because I was limited to how fast I could type on the unfamiliar keyboard. Because of unfamiliarity with the keyboard, I types more slowly than I would on the Treo (around 20-25 words a minute instead of my 35-40 words a minnute I can manage on the Treo), and so had to pick out the important point of the conversations instead of transcribing every word.
Near the end of the mentor group meeting, after we had planned carpools for tomorrow's class, Janis, who was sitting next to me, asked what I was doing. The click-click-click of my keys reminded her of the sound her parakeet made when eating, "tick, tick, tick." When I said I was taking notes, her immediate response was, "Why?"
I flubbed some vague answer like, I like to remember what was said, or something equally inane, but honestly, the right question to answer was, "Why?"
I don't know why I typed all that information in. Maybe to make order with my thoughts? Maybe to keep me aware of the conversation: if I have to transcribe it, I have to be listening and paying attention. I don't know. Not taking is so default in my behaviour, I'm almost unable to stop it even when the task is completely unnecessary.
I think I'm the youngest in my mentor group. There are seven of us in the group, all women, with, I'd say, three of them in their forties, three in their sixties. One could be in her mid to late thirties, but I'm not completely sure. Two of the women in their forties are prime candidates to become my gardening buddies: they were friendly, outgoing, and near enough my age to have interests (besides gardening) in common, I suspect. On the casual meeting of the mentor group, I suspect only one of the women would annoy me after a bit, the rest I could easily become good friends with.
The mentor group was formed by sorting everyone's zip code, and divvying the groups into close locales, presumably to facilitate carpooling and social events. My mailing zip code doesn't sort properly and I was placed in the Los Altos group. Now, part of me is excited about this: Los Altos yards are generally bigger than yards in my neighborhood (exceptions being for behemoth houses on tiny lots), which means bigger gardens. However, the flip side is that my group comrades are also, well, significantly more well off financially than I am. Tragically, this difference has the potential to intimidate me, and I hate that in me.
When I think of it, it makes me want to find the nearest book, start reading and disappear into it, losing myself in the words. Or start developing, programming, lose myself in the code of my applications, to drown out the internal struggles and frustrations of where I am, and how it differs so much from where I want to be, or thought I would be in this part of my life.
It may be similar to how people ten years my junior feel when they compare their lives to mine: that decade means a a lot when discussing financial gain and accumulation. Frustration I'm not there yet, yet always the hope I'll get there eventually.
After I plant my garden.
Well, well, well, look at that
Blog Instead of being asleep at 20:16 on 2 January 2007, kitt created this:Even the suburbs has entertainment on some days.
Doyle and I were talking about something at work, when he perked up, pointed at me and said, "Hey! Look at that!" I took a moment's pause before I realized he was pointing over my shoulder and out the office window. That pause was longer than the one I took to grab my camera and start taking photos.
The last Beware-o
Blog Written with a loving hand by kitt some time around 21:02 on 28 December 2006Kris and I went up to San Carlos today to play in the tenth annual Beware-o the Sombrero tournament. We've been playing in the tournament since 1998, missing maybe two since then. The tournament was originally a high school only tournament, run by the group of high school kids on Christmas vacation, and morphed into a "you're home over Christmas break from college and have nothing better to do so comem play" one day tournament in subsequent years as the high schoolers moved on to college. They've since graduated and moved on to work or post graduate school or, as I found out today, the Peace Corps and missions and such. As a result of the inevitable march of time, this is the final year it'll be held, at least by under this name, with the ex-high school kids as organizers.
Good ideas last, so I expect another group to continue the tradition of the one day tournament the last week of December next year.
My team was led by Eric the Red. Eric managed all of three words before the experienced players (read: over 30) started talking over him. It was a little frustrating to see the toe stepping and hear the cacophony of the elders all wanting to be heard.
We played well as a team, familiarity and skill helping us along. I knew four people on the team (Dave, Sarah, Venga, Phelps), having played with them at various times before. We didn't have any beginners per se on the team, so people who had problems throwing in the wind were our weakest links; which is to say, we didn't really have any weak links.
We won our first three games handily, though not necessarily easily. The third game was against another 2-0 team in our pool. Oddly enough, we went up 9-0 on them before they scored their first point. They had four or five players on their team who played together at a local college, according to Emily who was on the team. Their coach was playing on my team. I suspect they intimidated themselves into playing poorly. The experience is going into my UCPC talk at the end of the month: "don't lose before you start playing."
Lunch of delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches was after our first three games. We started late, and came out flat. One of our players, Phelps from San Diego, left after lunch, and his loss was quickly felt. The game capped when we were on our comeback, but not back, so we lost 6-7.
I played well. I had two throwaways, but neither mattered, as they were in games we won. My ankle held up very well, for which I am quite pleased. At one point, Dave McClure (who is no longer at SimplyHired, and is currently waiting the birth of his second child) commented to me, "There's no shame in wearing ankle braces for the rest of your life, if it means you can play."
I thought about it, and, have to agree. I can play with the brace on, and that's what counts.
I can play ultimate.
Cookin' time
Blog Yeah, kitt finished writing this at 22:22 on 27 December 2006Our trip to Australia wasn't the best trip we've ever had, certainly not the best trip I've ever been on. Actually, it's one of the most not-fun trips I've had, and that's including the trip to France back in the early ninties. Now that was a trip to forget (travelling companion: marvelous; braving french culture without a thick skin: forgettable).
Because it wasn't a particularly good time, I had a lot of time to think: when things aren't good, I try to figure out why not, and how to fix them so that they are good. This quirk often backfires, but didn't this time.
I spent the time thinking about what I want to change about myself, because the self is both the hardest to change, and the easiest to attempt to change. The first change I decided to make was to stop biting off my fingernails. Not sticking my fingers in my mouth every moment I'm still, which isn't often, since I'm always bouncing around.
Clipping my nails is now a weekly chore, one I haven't had since, well, since never.
The other decision was to cook on a regular basis. Instead of going out to eat for dinner six nights a week and cook for one, I decided we were going to cook for six nights a week, and going out for dinner would be a treat.
I started cooking each night for the both of us. Kris didn't mind that we weren't heading out for dinner: he'd arrive home and dinner would be ready for him. Dinner couldn't have been much easier for him than sit down and eat. After a few weeks of making dinner for us, I told him what I was doing. He was encouraged, and began cooking with me: sometimes making side dishes, sometimes making the main course.
I'm not sure we're saving money on eating in each night. I'm not sure we're not. It's been a good trend so far, though. We've started eating healthier. We're eating far more regularly. We're spending more time together, talking about the day, what happened and suchk. We're also throwing away significantly less food than we used to throw away. Since returning from Australia, I think I've thrown away maybe two items; instead of our previous two items a week or so.
I'm happy by these changes.
I'm now trying to figure out what other changes to make, continue this trend.