Conversation

Today I conversed about the act of conversation. Talking (and sometimes writing) is generally where some of my more abstract ideas are honed into actual communicable ideas. So here are some thoughts on conversations. Supposedly to be a skilled conversationalist you must focus on asking your companion questions about themselves. Basically the point is to get the other person talking. In general I think this is good advice especially for a first meeting, or a casual acquaintance. My problem is I tend to use this strategy too often. Even talking to fairly close friends and roommates I use this tactic. Which leaves them talking excessively and me rather bored. It's a preemptive tactic that leaves me safe (even if I'm bored).
However, when I end up talking to people that use this tactic as well, or even better then me, it makes me feel threatened. What is this? An inquisition? It's uncomfortable to be the one always talking, because when you talk you are revealing more about yourself then when you stay silent. In other words someone is getting to know you but you aren't getting to know them. Vulnerable, is the word for it. But maybe that's just me. Maybe for most people (like extroverts) being the primary talker is what is comfortable and ideal.
Ultimately I prefer the conversation partner that shares as well as asks, so that you are both becoming vulnerable at the same rate.

Storytellers

In my applied linguistics class this week we watched a movie, one of the sections showed a woman telling a story to some friends, she emphasized her points with almost excessive hand waving. The linguists then explained how she used her words economically and emphasized changes, clauses and movement with her hands. And she did it all naturally. A day or two after I went to a fireside where I heard several other speakers who also seemed to be natural storytellers. They used facial expressions, arm movements and just overall body language. It was very engaging. So are all good storytellers good hand wavers? And if so, are all natural hand wavers good storytellers?  I don't know,but I'm planning on watching more closely,
If so, it is kind of ironic how often people get teased for "talking with their hands."

Rustic Project

 Possibly one of my favorite way to be creative is to see a need and then create something to fill that need. Yesterday I did just such a project. I wanted a small corner shelf to put my clock. At first when I was thinking about it I thought of it in terms of Popsicle sticks. It would of worked, but I figured if I was going to do it I might as well make it a little more classy then that. Thus I created this little shelf with no plans and a little help from my Dad in an hour or two. We split the apple tree branch with a wedge and hammer. Like they used to do to make planks. I was impressed with how well it actually works. It sits on a couple of thumb tacks. So it's not super stable but it works for what I need it to. I didn't use any power tools, all I used was a hand saw, hammer, wedge, square, and nails.

PS. If anyone is curious Rocky, my mountain goat is sitting beneath the shelf in the first picture. He's pretty cute.

Farewell

I walked down the pine needle strewn path for the last time. Sunlight slanted through the trees, dappling the ground and making the mist look hazy and soft. I had run past the pit and the tree fort to the path. Where I now tiptoed through the new poison ivy growth in my bare feet. Each step was sure.

I'd never walk it again. I was saying farewell. My path led along the old paper road, over the small hand dug canal. I half jumped over the little hollow in the trail - tradition. Past the pile of rotting roof tiles perfect for pretend dishes. My hands drifted over the Japanese-Indian Knotweed leaves, the weapons and tools of so many games. My feet turned the corner, passing the thorn bushes' hanging whips. The yellow newspaper stand lay in the leaves, the train track stake still lodged in it's chest. I was at the Log. For the last time.

I checked my watch, I didn't have much time, we would be going to the airport, and Utah in only a few minutes. The intense golden light of morning had already begun to dissolve into the all encompassing light of day. At least we had been able to wait until after my graduation.

The ground was muddy and familiar. I avoided the soggy cushion and used a rock to boost myself up onto the moss covered log. I nestled among the roots and looked out over the marsh. It was a sea of cattails and purple loosestrife, with the forest far behind. A red wing blackbird flew across the blue sky. And I had to leave.

Invisibility

If you have ever watched The Incredibles you are familiar with Violet, the daughter of the family. I was told once that I sounded just like her. That was fine with me, I think her powers are pretty cool; invisibility and force fields. Plus, I really like how she grows and becomes more confident throughout the movie.
Invisibility is interesting though. In some ways it is a cliche for feeling alone or left out, Violet's personal trial. But it is a very understandable cliche if you have ever seen someone else's eyes skip over your face like they were scanning a wall. Someone you know. Or wish to know.
This week school started and as I was walking around campus I felt skipped over at times and I did my own skipping. And I thought about invisibility. When no one notices me, sometimes I laugh (depending on my mood it can be self deprecating or just observationally)  but sometimes I stop noticing people too. Basically I decided that when I notice I'm invisible I then focus so much on being invisible that the people around me become invisible. Weird huh? Invisibility creates invisibility.