December 22nd, 2004

_schools16887, Aurora

Yule in the Temple, and Chicken Sounds

Yesterday being Yule and all, we opened assorted gifts. There was fun for everyone, and happiness -- at least, until the car pulled the little "Oh, I think I won't start" trick.

Collapse ) The final gift was a home-burned CD, with an accompanying note from Mama, saying:
[FatherSir] made this, but didn't realize that the one tape was a copy of the other, so it repeats after a while. Maybe some grounds for blackmail here, but [swallowtayle] has a copy too. Pretty hysterical!
The content, as I feared after reading the CD (bright pink), was exactly what I'd thought it would be.

When Tay-Tay and I were fairly young, our family got chickens. It was in the spring of the year that I was leaving the second grade, so I was seven or eight, and Tay-Tay was two years younger. Some of the chickens were special pets, and came in the house over the winter to be played with and petted and given treats and made much of.

FatherSir had a tape recorder. This was back in the late 1980s, and the machine was a huge sturdy dark grey beast of a machine, with a gold label with "Property of" and his name on it. It was well-nigh indestructable, and we had enough spare tapes lying around the house that Tay-Tay and I were allowed to use the tape recorder for things. One of the things we collected on some of the tapes were chicken sounds. Imagine a random and scattered combination of audio essay, documentary, and recordings of ambient noise featuring animal sounds, as produced by an eight-year-old and a six-year-old.

In later years, I couldn't bear to listen to the recording, as I sounded like an idiot on tape, especially when I was being as pretensious as only an intelligent young child with a high opinion of her own intelligence can be. FatherSir had transferred the tape to CD and burned it -- a copy for me, and a copy for Tay-Tay.

I popped the disc in the computer and shared it with the rest of the household, identifying the voices of the chickens as they got to talk on tape. Xiao Ji, the huge rooster, was in magnificent voice, and crowed and warbled. The Little Fayoumis decided that he liked the idea of crowing, and hunched down and crowed back, then joined in the badocket, several thousand miles and a decade away from the original fuss.

Someday, when I have the time, I may go through the whole 47 minute track and edit it up into conveniently-sized, nicely labeled segments of sound showcasing a gentle rooster chatting about anything and everything, a conversational Egyptian Fayoumis hen talking about her day and the meal, an excitable Egyptian Fayoumis hen having a serious problem, and some very, very lost chicks. Until then, it's a piece of my past come back to haunt me in clear CD audio...
  • Current Music
    "Which Describes How You're Feeling" by They Might Be Giants
Housewife's Lament

Day & things

Marx left with Clover & family for Flagstaff today -- they wound up not staying the night as planned. I watched the LF. I hadn't gotten much sleep, so I spend most of the morning crashed.

The LF had gotten grounded for inappropriate expression of low self-esteem last night (saying "I hate myself!" in that tone of voice is not going to make a bad situation any better) and was still feeling rotten this morning. I did the thing where I say a few things to him, and then stay in the area listening until he actually says what was really bothering him, and evidently there are bullies at school, including some 6th graders, who call him baloney and make fun of him.

"They're poop-heads!" I exclaimed. This was evidently the right note to strike; he cheered up and stopped calling himself a criminal.

Sis got home, and we went on a last-minute shopping jaunt to pick up things for the people on her list. I caught her up on stuff while the LF snoozed in the back seat. There were traffic problems. We've started classifying traffic jams by flavor of jam -- strawberry has things still running well, raspberry has some problems, marmalade is chunky, bitter, and sour, lemon's not that great either, and chokecherry and gooseberry are at or near no traffic flow whatsoever.

We got back too late for me to go and do a few things I'd thought about doing, and then marxdarx came home while I was in the shower.
running, bomb tech

Plans

Tomorrow:
go bleed
perhaps go shopping
make confections for writing group
finish marking up the blank section in the middle of the novel
type up spare HMftCRF bits that are on paper
go to writing group

Friday:
V comes over here so I can work on Gemini.
I avoid my roommatesister's biological hazards.

Saturday:
gods know what. Probably not much.

Sunday:
not much either.

Monday:
Work again! Yay!