Universal crust
. . . And every now and then the universe tosses a crust your way.* There were five of us for Sunday service ring this morning, which means all hands to the pump for the full forty five minutes** but it also means you can at least ring proper doubles methods, albeit without the tenor behind to keep you steady.
Edward called for Grandsire and I made a dive for the (easy) treble, because Grandsire and I continue on our parallel courses. I’ll have been ringing four years this autumn—and that’s not even counting the leg up I’d had by beginning learning once before—I (*&%$”**”{@]!!!!!! ought to be able to ring Grandsire inside after four years.*** I am hopeless. I am a moron. I am too dumb to live. Etc. But the last two times I’ve rung it at practise I’ve made a big messy depressing calamity of it.† Fortunately Wild Robert†† is not merely mad, but patient. And has a sense of humour. And low blood pressure. Sigh.
So we had a long touch of Grandsire this morning while I smugly rang the treble and congratulated myself for not trying to ring inside. And then when we’d stood our bells Edward fixed me with the traditional gimlet eye and asked if I’d like to have a go at Grandsire inside? I did the fish-mouth thing for a minute and then acquiesced to my fate.
The point is, as you will have surmised, that I did it. It was another longish touch and the calls were thick and furious, so you’d barely settled into your new place in the pattern when Edward called again. And I wish to remind you we had no tenor both keeping us steady and slowing us down a little. I was about three-quarters lost most of the time, and ringing by where I was meeting the treble, which is in fact a hallowed old means of keeping yourself straight but you’re supposed to use it because you’re so good at a method that you can relax a little, not because you’re so bad at it that you’re grasping at straws. And when we started out I was praying, no long thirds. Please, don’t call me any long thirds: what you do when a call is made depends on where you are in the pattern, and while a kindly conductor sparing a learner or a halfwit can think ahead and plan that the learner/halfwit not be in the wrong place at the wrong time, generally speaking you just get what you get. And I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and had several long thirds, oh gods. I have no idea how I got through these. I was moaning to Wild Robert about them just last Wednesday: that on paper they look beautifully regular and even and balanced, but when you’re ringing the wretched things you seem to be in the middle of them when the call comes and they go off at a funny angle like a horse bolting.
Anyway. I rang a long touch of Grandsire inside with lots of calls and no tenor behind, and I’ve felt ridiculously cheerful all day as a result. I need to get out more.†††
* * *
* And if you’re wise, you will fall on it, slobbering gratefully.
** Actually this varies. When Vicky or Niall is in charge we tend to have little rests between rings. But Edward was there today as our crucial beyond-dreaded-minimus-four fifth ringer and with Edward—our proper ringing master—in charge, by golly, we’re there to ring service and we ring. We can sit down later. There’s a certain amount of steel under that mild smiling exterior of Edward’s.
*** Well, maybe I will. I still have four months. And if anyone is taking notice of the fact that I’ve been ringing the same amount of time as the fellow who recently got picked up by a bell rope and dropped hard to the immediate consternation of his collarbone, well, yes. Apparently the rope caught on the bulge that something in his pocket was making^ and jerked him off his feet. So we’re all making jokes about emptying our pockets before we ring. But stuff happens. You can stab yourself in the hand when you’re trying to get a bottle of tomato fertilizer open, for example. And as I recall there were some rather good capping stories in response to that post. You can close your hand in the car door on the way to a Fairport Convention concert. Bell ringing is not dangerous, so long as you follow a few basic rules pertaining to the fact that you’re moving thousands of pounds of metal—with its thousands of pounds of inertial force—at speed on the end of a few skittery ropes.
^ Let’s not have any jokes here about whether he was glad to see someone.
† There should be a head::bell^ exclamation of frustration—have I got the punctuation right? Nobody’s said/written this recently and I don’t do remembering. But head::bell is particularly for situations when a background bong would enhance the proceedings.
^ Although this requires a good deal more effort to accomplish than the basic head::desk. Still, I feel it would be worth it under certain extreme circumstances. But bells are in belfries, which are usually several increasingly steep and narrow ladders up, and through several padlocked trapdoors. And once you get there you still have to climb carefully over the complicated frame containing all the bells, which is usually made as difficult as possible by the importunate presence of the beams that are holding the tower up. However bodyfallingfromaheight::bell would probably also be effective.
†† Have I named him here yet? Since I started (re)naming people for the purposes of this blog I’ve been calling him Wild Robert to myself with some glee. It suits him very well. This is my Wednesday night practise ringing master, the one who likes a challenge. He’s the one taught me Stedman . . . and is going to succeed in teaching me Grandsire, by the gods, the stars, and all the tea in
††† And furthermore PEGASUS hit a sticky patch yesterday and rather than beating myself bloody over it, which is the usual system, I calmly^ turned the computer off and went and composed some music. Hurrah.
^ Well, calmly is stretching it
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Hurray for you ringing a touch of Grandsire inside!! Hope you had champagne today?
And equally big Hurray! for (relatively (heehee)) leaving your sticky patch to be creative elsewhere; I’m sure this will be better for Pegasus, but more importantly it will be better for you, and calm is a great weapon against ME monsters and the like..
Raising Green and Blacks to you :)
it will be better for you, and calm is a great weapon against ME monsters and the like..
******* I hope so. But I find ‘calm’ an even slippery concept to get my head around than Grandsire . . . :) But the composing was good. Erm. Well, *fun* anyway. :)
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Fun is even better than calm in fighting stress and ME – look at all the laughter therapy from china to here. Now I’d happily exercise regularly at that!
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You have eleven dogs–don’t tell me you DON’T get plenty of exercise!!!! –But I could wish I DID give myself more LAUGHING exercise. Sigh. . . .
Even rats laugh!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0kxmfSGCaE – who knew?
Oh! That’s from the university where I got my French Master’s. Never got to meet the famous laughing rats, though.
There’s research on dog laughter too!
Oh! That’s REALLY interesting! If you see any more about it–
Here is a more detailed article, and here is the researcher’s website, with a very short audio clip of the “laughing” sound and a research paper on the subject.
The first article mentions that it works better than Dog Appeasing Pheromone, which we’ve tried before with Schroeder, one of my canine brothers. It didn’t work. (Your descriptions of Chaos remind me strongly of Schroeder…) I will have to send my parents a link to the CD–they could put it on a loop and drive themselves nuts, but maybe Schroeder would be calm(er).
THANK YOU. Yes, as soon as she said it *wasn’t* panting and described it better I knew exactly what she was talking about–the clipping yesterday was confusing, I was sitting here thinking *panting*?! But I know EXACTLY what she’s talking about (and a good thing too since the one second clip is useless). . . . I have got to figure out how to use the vocal-record on my camera because the hellhounds are *astonishingly* vocal–I’m used to a fairly ordinary dog noise range and these guys are something else. Since I’m a human and I have language maybe I’m just projecting but I keep thinking that there has to be something behind the amount and variety. . .
Chaos’ hyperness is episodic–he’s not a nervy dog except when presented with diabolical stimuli–his food bowl, for example, sigh. He’s easy to have around about twenty hours a day . . . the other four, well. :)
I know about DAP. I dont know anyone it’s *helped*.
Hmm. Well, Schroeder had a troubled puppyhood, probably. He was found by the side of a rural highway in Iowa while still young, and I maintain that he was a meth baby. (Really, it’s not uncommon for people to rent farmhouses in which to cook meth; they have dogs as an early warning system, then when they decide it’s time to pick up and leave they dump any puppies and possibly the adult dogs too.) When he was at the shelter they used to let each of the other dogs out one at a time to play with him because he had more energy than all of them put together.
We tried the DAP when he started exhibiting a fair amount of petting aggression (that’s about cats because it’s more common for them, but he did the same thing in a doggy fashion) which may have started after a bad experience at the groomer, but also apparently had something to do with me moving back in for a while and lounging on his futon. The pheromones didn’t seem to make any difference, but regimented discipline (he is part Schnauzer after all–German joke) and constant reminders that he is not in fact the king of Earth have got him almost back to normal. He’s still got the energy, though. And the world’s shortest attention span, another reason Chaos reminds me of him. We’ve even had the situation with Duke, the calm attentive dog, showing us how nicely he can do whatever we’re asking of Schroeder, while Schroeder considers whether he could jump high enough to grab the incentive treat by force (answer: yes, no matter how high it’s held).
Well, the how-high-can-I-jump sounds familiar–I ahve another muddy footprint in the centre of my chest today, sigh. Fortunately I’d taken the good sweater OFF before this, and t shirts wash. But *unfortunately* hellhounds would not stoop/bound to jumping for treats. It would make my life a lot simpler if they WERE, you know, REAL dogs, and responded positively to food.
I’m very glad “little” Schroeder found such a great home with you :) It sounds as if you’ve done a great job with him.
Having used DAP with dozens of clients I only recommend it for dogs with extreme anxiety, noise phobia, people/dog terrors, where it works well in many cases – one shepherd cross rescue with incredible problems (now cured :)) had it over firework period and was fine. It was stopped after that and he got worse – so DAP + fireworks meant happier than no fireworks and no DAP… He doesn’t need it any more, he’s a happy dog!
I personaly would not expect DAP to sort “petting aggression” but would recommend strict boundaries, NILIF programme and on leash/under control at all times – sort of doggy boot camp with love rather than aggro!
(southdowner – in case I’m still anonymous)
Great ref here – http://www.shirleychong.com/keepers/dance.html
I’ve been wondering how the bell ringing was going. It’s been a while since you’ve talked about it.
Yay Grandsire inside and doing it! That’s excellent news! And really, you’re not a moron. Don’t make me throw things at you. :P
:D
Don’t make me throw things at you
******** Oh, go on. It will amuse the wildlife. :) I mentioned in a footnote a few days ago that my ringing recently has been ***lousy*** again (presumably) thanks to the ME so this was especially pleasing today. (Of course I will *&^% up again Wednesday night practise.)
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*throws yarn and ferret food*
Eeee! Eeeek! [ducking]
[prancing of hellhounds]
Well done you on the ringing! Feh ! on the bad patch. You will switch on your computer on Monday morning and all the good ringing will have cleared your mind for a long and sweaty and productive bout with Pegasus. Amazing how one good thing can make you feel great.
I joined my outdoor pool Saturday. Went swimming yesterday and today, and I feel so much better: calm, cool, happy – even though I have had no more sleep than I absolutely had to have, and the psychology project gremlins have found me one more text to translate, even though i thought I had done all the translating and that all that was left was edits. But I will survive. As there is a serious dearth of pools in Athens I join the Hilton pool, which is open air and there are plants and a view and a blue sky. So I swam in the shadow of a palm tree and looked up at the blooming jacaranda for an hour or so this afternoon, before returning to be tortured by Bleuler’s theories on schizophrenia. I may keep my wits about me after all. Spring is over and summer is here. Argggh.
I can’t swim in pools, sigh; my skin hates whatever it is they add to the water to keep it clean despite all the bodies in it. We were five days at a posh country house hotel for my 50th birthday (a while ago now!!!) and I swam . . . and by the time we left my skin was in total revolt . . . when I was a kid in Japan I LIVED in the (Navy dependents) pool all summer.
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Most chlorinated pools make me look like a snake changing its skin. But this pool has the added advantage that it’s got ozone, so you don’t have the chlorine smell and overall it doesn’t affect the skin nearly as badly. I do scrub on getting out though.
I write you here from my hotel bed at Wiscon, where I am laid up with a stomach bug that has apparently taken out a significant % of con-goers. I am planning to struggle downstairs for the guest of honor speeches in a bit… but I doubt I’ll be able to cope with the fancy desserts on offer. Such a pity.
You can close your hand in the car door on the way to a Fairport Convention concert.
You could fall into the penguin tank at the zoo. It could happen to anyone. The point is to keep doing these things despite the chances of something ridiculous happening to you. Otherwise we’d never do anything interesting at all. :)
Yes, especially people like US who fall in penguin tanks, etc. Good luck with the stomach bug–oh dear!
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Oh, I hope you feel better soon. As if the misery and indignity of a stomach bug is not enough, suffering from one in the presence of particularly yummy food adds another layer of yuckiness to it!
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Yay, Robin, go you! And you are not a moron! And good on you for knowing when to walk away from Pegasus. I’m sure the break will help, and your subconscious will have worked through the sticky bits for you.
I am feeling mildly smug for having finished a small crafty thing, and photographed it and posted it on my LJ. It’s so hard to get started sometimes, and I’m only doing little projects for my own pleasure.
I can’t imagine doing the great creative writing you and Peter do, let alone with somebody breathing down my neck wanting it on deadline. *Sends many hugs and virtual champagne and chocolate*
What little crafty thing? Why is there no LINK? I can’t click through to your lj from here.
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But just think of how much arm (and everywhere else) strength controlling several thousand pound hellhounds–I mean bells–is giving you to help control your REAL hellhounds!
Congratulations on successful Grandsire-ringing and good for you to let the bad patch percolate while you were composing. Sounds like a successful day overall.
About puppy pictures: I live 1400 miles away from Sister so assuming all goes well (have I mentioned neurosis and superstition before?) and the breeder sends me new-baby pictures, I will try to get them up on Flickr. If I can get some of my pictures of absolute newborn Danes (from the Tripod’s litter, which I bred) into machine-readable format, I’ll put them up. New Dane puppies just look like slightly larger generic puppies, fuzzy slugs for the first couple of weeks, but CUTE fuzzy slugs.
CUTE fuzzy slugs is what is wanted. I have a few photos of my hellhounds’ litter at about six weeks which I’ll post some day. The breeder was going to send me some of the fuzzy-slug stage but her computer ate them.
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I think I can take prints to the magic copy-and-print photo machine at Kinko’s and have them turned into a CD, I’ll have to check that out when I get home and don’t have to go anywhere for a while.
Congratulations! I don’t know bell-ringing, but it must be an equivalent feeling to doing a difficult ice-dance at speed but more-or-less correctly! Terrifying at the time, but exhilarating afterwards.
I think all tricky skills must have that knife edge/exhilaration thing? So–yes. :)
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Hey Mrs. Redboots …
You sound like another figure skater … funny thing, I too was thinking after reading this post that bell ringing and skating have similarities. Both require that one moves faster than one can think and that one’s memory for patterns pull up all sorts of intricacies while in the midst ordering the body to do complicated movements.
I was also considering that there seems to be a similar danger of becoming addicted to an activity which, on the surface, has no intrinsic value.
Furthermore, being involved in Theater on Ice means that one is doing it all with a bunch of other folks, who, if they don’t remember the pattern can throw the whole enterprise careening off to someplace really strange. Sometimes I feel as if I am in the midst of a Terry Pratchett book.
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Hey. Watch where you’re throwing your intrinsic values. Beauty counts–or the striving after beauty–so does the exhilaration of skill, both performed and watched. And I’m pretty sure I’ve said here that as far as bells are concerned, while I’m not a Christian, I think there is something out there, and I ring in the hopes that it’s listening.
Yay for a successful ringing session! :)
And you are NOT hopeless, OR a moron, OR too dumb to live!
*frowns sternly at Robin and offers a bar of the yummy new Green and Black’s Apricot that I discovered on Saturday*
APRICOT???? Be still my heart. Must stake out local chocolate shop. . . .
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“”APRICOT???? Be still my heart. Must stake out local chocolate shop. . . .”"
LOL!
It IS rather nice. I have a feeling it’ll make GOOD cookies….