My Favorite Apps

Oh yes, I have an iPhone and I looove it.  Really, this is the most useful piece of technology I can think of.  It’s in close competition with my new MacBook Pro.  Sometimes I forget how useful it is, and I just play solitaire on it a lot, but then I need something and I remember to go look to see if “there’s an app for that.”  And usually there is.   So today I thought I’d share some of my faves here.  I do like to share them, and writing about them will allow me to further postpone the flurry of housecleaning that was underway until I took this break.  (Hence, if you think this is the most boring topic you can imagine, just come back in a few days and it’ll be something else.)

So without further adieu, here is my short list of some apps I especially like, sort of arranged in categories:

Photography: Camera Genius (zoom lens, the whole screen is the shoot button.) Color Splash (you take a color photo, make it black and white, then recolor only certain parts.) Photogene (Broad range of photo editing devices.) PhotoShare (This one beams a photo to another iPhone.) Klick (direct access to Flickr.) and of course, Flickr.

Budgeting: iXpenseit (This is so cool for watching how you spend money.  It’s my current best one.)

Productivity: Like I’m productive?  If I was productive I wouldn’t be doing this right now.  But, I do have one called Things.  It’s sort of a simple way of keeping track of projects and to-dos.  I always forget to use it – go figure – but it looked so good when I got it.  I think I am just challenged in this department.  I”ll probably start really using it any day now.

Weight Maintenance: Lose It!  This enables you to keep track of what you eat, and set a calories budget for the day as well as weight loss goals.  It also lets you look up the calories in the food you eat.  I’m better at inputting my money than my food, but this one has super potential.  (If you’re not me.)  Gym ABC is one that helps you set up a training program, right on your phone.  I will definitely be using both of these a lot.  Pretty soon.

Books and Music:  Shazam (Identifies music playing so you can find and buy it if you want.  It’s a little temperamental, but works well if you aren’t too far from the music.) Pandora (This one is sooo cool.  You just input an artist and it goes and finds a radio station that plays that music or other music like it.  And then your phone acts like a radio.)

Other:  Sunrise (this one tells at what time the sun will rise and set wherever you are.  Or you can input another location I think.  I like this cause I like to get to the river on time for the sunset, or a little early.  This helps me plan.)  App Gems (This one lists MacWorld’s current favorite apps.)  Solebon Solitaire. (A whole bunch of solitaire games.  Addicting.) Koi Pond (Novelty, it is what it says.  You touch the screen and water splashes quietly, the koi swim away.  I know, over the top.  I didn’t buy it but I do like it!)

Which brings me to the cost part.  They weren’t all free, and a couple actually cost $5.00.  But I’ve only done that twice.  The rest were $2.00 or less and most were free.  So, what are your favorite apps?

That ole’ man river, he just keeps movin’ along.

For the past several weeks, on Saturday and Sunday in the late afternoon I’ve had to go to the river to see the end of the day.  Something just pulls me out there.  And of course, my photographer self doesn’t think I’ve seen something unless I can look at it again later, which has produced a prodigous collection of sky shots.  Today I stood on the bank, watching the sky and the river moving by and I remembered that song, “Old Man River.”

I suddenly remembered, in a different way from before, about  the magic of a river.  The sameness of its movement; whether summer low or winter high, crashing rapids or placid meandering, it just keeps on moving.  Sun up, sun down, moon or no, it does the same thing all the time.  Sometimes in summer it seems to be benign, just a shallow current, its holes and snags hidden from sight.  Then sometimes in winter it rises up and takes over, breaking levees and taking homes, trees, animals and sometimes people with it.  Its power is undeniable in flood season.  And so captivating.  No matter its threat, one is drawn to see it, to see how high it is, whether it has taken over the road yet, whether this year it’ll be even higher than last.

In past years, I’ve spent a quite a bit of time on this and other rivers, but it’s been a long time on dry land for me now.  I always counted on my partner to put the canoe on the truck, to generate the motivation to get to the river.  I just packed a lunch and went.  Today as I watched that water determinedly, placidly moving along I wanted to go along with it. I felt landlocked, stranded on the shore.  I wanted to just gut up and follow the current.  That feeling is a parallel to other things in my life that I feel unable to do.  Maybe it’s time to shift that stuckness, just a little, just to see what could happen.

Art and Music

(Clancy Callahan and Tom Barrett playing music at the opening of Clancy’s mom, Cathy Eide’s exhibition  of paintings.)

The other night I went to see Cathy Eide’s art opening at Cafe Flo.  I was interested to see what she paints, and was really excited to hear Clancy sing.  I’ve known her since she was very young and never knew until this week that she sings.  Tom played and sang with her, and it was a fun night.  Clancy’s voice is rich and rollicking and her songs are fun.  For me they were evocative of a time many years go when I was married to a jug band musician, and used to sing along with him sometimes.  She and Tom sang the same songs he did, and did it ever take me back.  Back to a time when I thought the music could carry us along, through rocky and slow times.  As long as we could sing through it we’d be okay.  The music was a leveler of sorts.  He didn’t seem to feel the same way about it, because he walked away without a backward glance a couple of years into the deal.  After the child was born.  Twenty years later music carried me through some hard times.  As long as I could sing I didn’t cry because the singing touched the same place inside.  Although I’ll admit there were some times I cried and sang at the same time.  Not satisfying to sing while crying, but it couldn’t be helped.  Sometimes the singing won out over the crying, however and I felt great comfort when that happened.  Somewhere along the line, in the past fifteen or so, I forgot about the music.  How did I do that?  How could I forget the music?

Today I went to an Open Studios tour, to three different yards and art shows.  There were quilts, paintings, ceramics, glass, beads, gourds, fountains and metal gates.  Wonderful back yards and studios.  I used to quilt.  I poured my passion there, combining strong vibrant colors with deep black and then hand quilting them with black and shiny gold thread.  The touch of the fabric, the colors and the sculpting of it with my needle and thread filled my heart.  I was disappointed every time I finished one.  But there was always one more to begin.  For a while I had a studio upstairs where I could work in peace, yet could still see and hear my children below in the yard.  I worked then, but my job didn’t satisfy my need for creativity so I did that outside of my work.  Once I became a teacher I used so much creativity in my work that I faded out of quiltmaking.  I haven’t finished one since I became a teacher.  For a long time that was okay with me.  I was doing other things, writing and making little mandalas on black paper.  I still kept it going, often with my students.  I believe that to write well you need to activate both sides of the brain, and that meant doing an art project before writing a essay.  It seemed to work well for my students and me.

Times have changed again.  For the past three or so years my job has not been especially creative for a variety of reasons.  I seem to have quit doing any art and I barely even listen to music any more.  Only recently have I begun to sing again.  I take pictures now and have begun to regain my vision.  Today’s tour of studios and backyards has inspired me to step it up a notch.  Not sure yet what that means.  We’ll see.  In the meantime, you’ll have to excuse me.  I need to go put some music on and clean my house.

White Peach

There is a place on Highway 70 in Yuba County, California, called White Peach which one can only see during the months of August and September.  Every year on a morning in early August the plywood sign appears, the words “White Peach” spray painted in green to entice passersby to stop and visit.  It is clearly a roadside attraction.

One year you decide that you’ll stop.  Is it a village, a fruit stand, a space ship perhaps?  Given the location of the sign beside a peach orchard (not to mention that it says “White Peach”), you assume peaches might be sold there.  But there is no fruit stand visible, so you can’t be certain. Still, you have been intrigued by it for a long time and you want to take a picture of the sign for your daily photo, so you turn into the orchard. Immediately you are surprised to find a lovely little house, surrounded by vines and flowers.  With a some relief you think, “Oh, they must sell peaches here.”  But no, there is no fruit stand to be seen.  Not even a little table with a box or two of peaches.  So you continue along the rutted dirt road, deep into the orchard.

The car bumps along for a ways, when the road suddenly takes a sharp turn to the left.  There you spy a porta-potty, an old cafe chair and a few piled up fruit crates.  Ah! Peaches must be for sale here.  But again there is no sign of anything at all for sale.  You drive on and encounter some trucks loaded with fruit boxes and a barn.  In the distance you can see a little white house with someone sitting in the front yard, next to a big orange water jug.  Still no peach stand and the person in the yard gets up and  walks away.  So, feeling like an intruder, you back up and turn around, feeling like you’ve failed.  You really wanted more than a photo from this venture.  By now you want peaches!  As you drive back along that rutted road, you spy another sign:

Now it’s definite.  There are clearly peaches sold here.  You can just call the farmers on your phone.  Except what are those two last numbers spray painted on that plywood sign?  You can’t tell, so once again you turn around.  You drive into the driveway with a bit more confidence this time, and this time the man in the yard stands up and waves.  So you park and get out of your car, and walk toward him.  He is somewhere between sixty and eighty years old, with beautiful crinkly brown skin and is wearing a dirty turban of an unrecognizable color.  He calls out loudly,”Peaches? Bag? You?  Peaches?!”  In case you’ve missed it, he demonstrates with his hands a shopping bag.  Relieved, you say, “Peaches! Yes! Peaches!  How much?” “Fifteen dollars,” he shouts.  Once you are close enough to converse, you drop your volume.  You are, after all an ELD teacher and you know that increasing the volume of the conversation doesn’t increase its comprehensibility.  He doesn’t know that, apparently, and continues to shout at you.  “Peaches! Bag!”  Thinking that fifteen dollars sounds like either a lot of peaches or a lot of money for a few, you say “Five dollars worth” and hand him a five dollar bill so there is no mistake.  He looks at it, and says “You car.  Peaches.  Bag” and he takes off walking toward the orchard.

You get in your car and follow him slowly along the rutted road through the orchard.  When you get to the cafe chair he signals you to stop your car.  You do, and you get out.  He comes up and pats you on the shoulder and says, “Bag?”  Frantically you rummage around in the backseat, looking for a bag.  He has your money, and you apparently must supply the container.  Fortunately your giant size Chico Bag is there, in a box, so you grab it and open it up.  He looks at the size of it and nods.  Clearly it’s too big for five dollars worth of peaches, but you figure he can put the right amount in, as it’s all you have.  He signals you to follow him, and he takes off into the orchard, trudging along between the rows of trees.  For a minute you think about the fact that there is no one around for who knows how far, as you head deeper and deeper into this orchard with this unknown man.  Finally, when you can barely see your car any more, he stops and points to a tree.  He grabs your bag and starts putting peaches in it.  One after another peach is tossed in there until it is completely full of beautiful (unripe) white peaches.

As you walk back to your car, he tries to ask where you live, “Marysville? You?” he shouts.  He speaks a few words in Spanish so you think maybe you’ve found a common language, and you reply in kind.  But no, those were his only words in Spanish, it seems.  So you reply, “I live in Chico.  I’m a teacher in Marysville.  I’m a teacher.”  He smiles broadly and nods, “Teacher?  Teacher.”  He pats your back vigorously and says, “Thank you!  Teacher, thank you!  Teacher.  Thank you!”  In a moment of clarity, you realize that today has been about way more than peaches.  The peaches are the bonus part of today’s adventure.  You’ve been to White Peach.  And it was a good trip.

Heartspider

Like anyone else, on many occasions I have had reason to notice how I deal with emotional distress.  I remember once, many years ago, when my son was a teenager and something he had said or done made me really mad.  I remember stomping into the house, tearing the kitchen cupboard open and looking for chocolate.  I could suddenly see clearly, “I am so mad – I need to eat about it.”  Whoa~that stopped me in my tracks.  Until the next time, when maybe I was a different degree of mad and I failed to notice it at all and ate the chocolate.

Another time, before I was a teacher, someone at my work had played a joke on me, at least they called it that. It involved a prolonged and elaborate scheme of lies. To me it represented a significant betrayal.  I felt broken inside, and after a few minutes of messy despair, I noticed something happening within me.    Here is what I had to say about it (this is a piece of a much longer story):

“  I felt myself deflate, kind of like a bike tire that’s just run over a puncture vine.  I had this stupid smile still hanging on my face, but I felt empty. I recalled all the little details…and it was all a lie.  I felt a burning anger at everyone who had been involved in this farce.  How could they do that to me?  I thought they liked me, that we had a strong and trustworthy relationship…After a few minutes I made an excuse and left the office.  I needed to get out and feel my pain, to sort it all out.  That was when I discovered the heartspider.  While I was engulfed in this flood of pain and anger, I felt a fuzziness growing within me.  It felt like a little spider was in my deepest self, quickly spinning a cocoon-like web to separate and bury the pain that I was feeling.  At first I resented her interference.  I wanted and needed to feel the hurt and anger.  At the same time, I began to wonder how many little fuzzy balls of insulated pain a heard can hold, and if they eventually burst out into  thousands of tiny ones, like baby spiders…Maybe everyone has a heartspider, I don’t know.  I think that I can learn to live with mine.  She was at work within minutes, wrapping up my own pain so that I could sense the sorrow and loneliness of another person.  I think I need her.”

Recently something happened which caused me to feel an emotional response.  As I went through my reaction, I watched as I grabbed a good book to read, realizing, even as I did so that reading would numb the pain.  The next morning I decided to take a walk in the park, even though it was rainy, and take some pictures.  Another distraction.  When I returned home I went back to the book.  That was when I remembered the heartspider.  I hadn’t had occasion to think of her for a long time.  But I recognize her work.  And now, after a couple of days, it is complete.  I am able to see more clearly, without the distraction of my emotions.  It’s true I can feel a new little capsule in there.  And it may someday burst into thousands of tiny ones. Is this the healthiest of ways to deal with emotions?  I can’t say.  Maybe some would say it isn’t.  I’m just glad to notice that this time I didn’t search for chocolate!

The Woman Who Collected the Sky

Once upon a time there was a woman who collected sunrises.  Every morning she drove along the highway a little while before and a little while after dawn.  She learned to see before it actually happened which days would begin with a dramatic, glorious splash of color, which would be softly swirled in heart-renderingly muted pastels and which would just quietly open or close without much color at all.  She knew just where were the best places to stop and catch a photo of the beginning or end of the day.  The places where it would be uninterrupted by a tall orchard or a plethora of high wires.  The places where it might be reflected in a rice field, doubling the drama.

On the weekends she occasionally slept past the sunrise, and inevitably when she saw the tinge of color left in the already sunny sky, she felt left out.  Like she’d missed one that she could never get back. And while her conscious mind told her not to worry, there would be another tomorrow, she knew inside that it would be a different one, not THIS one.  Something in her heart felt the need to see each one, to collect it, whether in a photograph or in her mind’s eye, and she almost always did.

Sometimes she collected a sunrise and a sunset on the same day, although rarely were both dramatic.  The saying, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” played through her mind every time the sun came up or went down red.  When she knew that rain was predicted, she prepared herself for a glorious morning and left home in time for a stop or two along the way.

She began to build a collection of sky photos.  Sometimes she shared them with friends, online or in person.  Sometimes they praised the beauty of her photos, but at other times they reacted in a less than complimentary manner, telling her they  just didn’t see the story in a sky photo.  At first she felt let down by these reactions.  She questioned herself, wondering if she was becoming a boring photographer.  She even felt apologetic about her sky shots, and quit sharing them.  When a fellow photographer friend asked her one morning if she was “still grinding them out,” she felt a little embarrassed by the camera constantly in her hand or around her neck.  At least until she remembered that he was a really grouchy guy at times who had never seen any of her photos at all, at least not outside of her camera, and she forgave him the comment.

She suddenly realized that her passion for the sky was hers and it was compelling.  And she would continue to take photos of it or not as the inspiration arose.   Her pleasure and fulfillment were her own responsibility, no one elses.  And she really didn’t mind at all whether anyone else was interested in them or not.  She began to collect the sky at all hours of the day.  Whatever would bring her that feeling of a full heart she would continue to seek, knowing that the joy of those moments was greater than any compliment or condemnation of others.  It was her own, and she would treasure it.

Having lived a good life

Last night was the quasi-monthly meeting of the bookclub to which I belong.  Wait, I think I should restate that…of which I am a member.  That is more accurate, as after last night I’m not so sure about the belonging part.  The book we read was, The Middle Place, by Kelly Corrigan.  It was a memoir about the author’s and her father’s bouts of cancer which took place roughly at the same time.  Actually it was kind of a love letter to her father.  As such it was very well done.  Never mind that I didn’t really like either the author or her father.  The book was a quick read and is well written.

What it is also about is the time in life when you are someone’s mother and someone’s daughter at the same time.  You are in the “middle place.”  Before I go further I should say that I am the age of the other club members’ parents.  All but me are in their mid to late thirties.  Usually that isn’t an issue, except that they are all best friends as well and I’m just a fringe bookclub member.  But that’s okay.  The books are always good and I like the women in the group.  I’m just a lot older.  I was invited to join by one of the original members who has been my friend since we went through student teaching together a long time ago.

Last night as we discussed the book, someone said that “we” are all in the same place as the author of the book, which isn’t true for me, but NBD.  Eventually the zinger dropped.  “My dad just turned 60 this weekend.  He’s healthy and active, but really, if he got sick and died now, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.  He’s older, he’s lived a good life.  He’s not raising little kids.”  While I totally get the kids part, and I can’t imagine not living to raise one’s children, I’m definitely not in agreement with the other part.  She’s talking about my peer, and I don’t feel that the part about being done and ready to go now.  I have not yet looked at my life in that way.  I still see myself as having a lot of things left to do.  I’m not even thinking of retiring yet.  Frankly, the comment just creeped me out.  Made me wonder why I was there.  Or if I should return.  But I’ll get over it.  As long as the books are good.