Pointless headache of the day:

Well, really. Is there ever any point to having a headache?

It's not a bad one today, in case you were concerned, but it's bad enough that I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on work much. As a result, I've decided not to work.

There are perks to being part-time, you know. One of them is the ability to decide not to work if you have a headache.

Of course, deciding not to work also means that you've decided not to get paid for the time you've decided not to work.

Ah well. I'll work tomorrow.

And blather tomorrow, maybe. This'll be it for now, folks.

Busy...

Title says it all, really.

I found a new internet toy. Well, new to me. If I get a bit more done with it, it may show up on the blog today.

If not, it'll show up on the blog another day.




Either way... busy.

Pointless photo of the day:

And very few words to go with.

I've been a little busy this morning.

There might be something on Shrubbery later today, though. I had an idea for this week's Illustration Friday (as opposed to the last couple of weeks where... well, the lack of idea was pretty obvious) and, depending on what the afternoon brings, I may actually try to execute it a bit more thoroughly than I generally do in a fifteen minute lunchtime doodle.

Or, you know, not.

I guess we'll just have to see.

Me and alllll the voices, yes.

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Edited later to say:

I forgot to wish everyone a Happy International Chocolate Day. How unforgivable of me.

Um...

Sorry, I got busy doing work stuff, and now I've forgotten what it was I was going to blather about.

So.

Um.

Well, I suppose I could give a little bit of insight as to what my work stuff actually is. It can occasionally be a little bit different from most peoples' work stuff, I guess.

I'm a naturalist, you see. Naturalist/interpreter. It's the kind of job that always seems to have to come with an explanation. Sort of like when I first started my degree and was continually having to tell people that no, studying zoology does not mean that I want to work in a zoo.

Although some zoologists do. There's nothing wrong with that.

So anyway, Dee, what the hell is a naturalist/interpreter? Considering that half the time I feel like I don't really know what it is myself (and I've been doing this for FAR TOO LONG, have I mentioned?) I'm not sure I'm the best one to describe the job, but I'll do what I can.

First let's do the interpreter part. An interpreter is someone who helps people understand things. A language interpreter (which I'm definitely not) translates languages to help people understand each other; a natural history interpreter "translates" nature to help people understand it.

With me so far?

As an interpreter, I'm an educator. I spend a large part of my professional life working with school groups to add a nature component to their science curriculum. When I talk (or, more usually, whinge) about doing programs, that's what I'm generally referring to. Teachers bring their kids to the nature centre so that we can teach them in a different, more interactive way than they might get in the classroom.

That part of my job can be fun. Unfortunately, it's not all just about goofing around in front of children. The curriculum needs to be examined for places that we can fit ourselves in. Programs need to be researched, written, and marketed. Staff needs to be hired, trained, and evaluated. I'm not always involved in every single facet of the above, but I'm in on quite a bit of it.

Of course, school programming isn't the only kind of interpretation that happens here. There are public programs (for, oddly enough, the general public), youth group programs, and even just casual roving out on the trails or in the building. If I'm chatting with you and giving you information, I'm being a good little interpreter.

And what about the naturalist part?

Well, first I want to make it clear that a naturalist is NOT a naturist. There's a difference. You can look it up yourself. Just come back here when you're done.






Ok? Now that we've made it clear that I don't have to come to work naked (in fact it's not encouraged), all I really have to say about being a naturalist is that I spend a lot of my time feeling completely inadequate because it seems like no matter how much weird knowledge I have floating around in the empty space above my neck someone always finds a way to ask me a question that I don't have an effing clue about.

You people are really talented when it comes to that, you know?

Yeah, the naturalist side of my job usually consists of doing my best to answer questions. Questions from visitors, questions on the phone, occasionally questions on the work blog... I'm definitely not the only one answering questions here (in fact, Wheat gets the lion's share. And he can keep it), but I answer attempt to answer a fair number. And now I'm going to tell you a secret about answering nature questions.

Search engines.

Yep.

If you've phoned in to the nature centre and have asked me a question that I haven't been asked a thousand times before, I can guarantee that I've been typing away in the background as I've been talking to you. You probably could have found the answer yourself. The only difference between my googling skills and your googling skills is that I have a basic set of websites that I'm pretty sure I can trust (although the Government of Canada has been known to spread a few untruths here and there, I suppose) so I might find things juuust a little faster than someone who doesn't do this kind of thing as often as I have to.

I'm also very good at looking things up in books.






Have I disillusioned anyone about the whole all-knowing naturalist thing yet? I'm not terribly sorry if I have because the simple truth is that there's no way in hell that we can know everything about nature. Anyone who tells you -- or thinks that -- s/he does is SO INCREDIBLY FULL OF CRAP. Hey, I've been doing this for a long time now. I know a little bit about a lot of things, but I'm never going to be able to answer every question. The only thing that keeps me from drowning myself in a bucket (why waste water when all you really need is a bucketful?) on the days when I'm feeling mostly incompetent is that I did know a tiny fraction more than the people who phoned in, or they wouldn't have phoned in in the first place.

Erm... did that make sense?

Actually, I don't even care if it made sense.

And I'm tired of typing now, so this unintended novel is coming to a rapid close. Gah, I've been long-winded lately.


Ah well. It'll make up for those many many many many many many many times when I'm not.

Pointless photo of the day:

That'll be it for the day. I've got actual work-related things to do.

I do actual work-related things occasionally, you know.

Shocking.

Whinge alert

Nothing like truth in post titling, I figure.

So here it is. The start of the whinge, I mean.

The backs of my heels hurt because they're scraped raw. And my ankle? So not happy, as I found out when I took a little walk on one of the trails just now. And all because I had to dress like a girl yesterday.

I know, poor baby.

I had a meeting that I had to spruce up a little for, you see. Skirt, heels, hairdo... the whole girlie works. It's been a while since I've done that, to be honest. I used to gaudy it up fairly regularly when I was still performing, naturally, and when I was in university I used to wear skirts a large part of the time (although to be fair that was very definitely more in the casual, lab-safe, no-damned-dress-shoes sense of wearing skirts), but it became apparent when I stopped in at the office for a few minutes that people aren't used to seeing me that way anymore.

Want to get a reaction to clothing? Show up in a skirt and heels at a place where you're generally seen in a uniform shirt and jeans.

People were looking at me yesterday as though I'd just dropped in from Neptune.

Of course, it probably didn't help that I was all dressed up and... getting crickets ready to feed to the salamanders. Yeah, that might have had a little something to do with it.

I don't mind dressing up, really. It makes a nice change from the uberdresseddown way I tend to live my life since I started working here SOOO FRIGGING MANY YEARS AGO.








Oops. Sorry. That's a different whinge for a different post.

Where was I? Oh, right. I don't mind dressing up. Really I don't. My feet and ankle, on the other hand, are currently letting me know that they mind it.

A day (or even half-day) in heels when you're no longer a heels wearer is just so, so wrong. I understand that it's the standard thing to wear heels with skirts. Hell, I'll admit that even I like the way they look. But if Whomever had meant for us to walk around like that, Whomever would have given us Kevlar foot coverings and I wouldn't be walking around all bandaged up and throbbing right now.

Incidentally, the day after a day in heels is not a good time to find out that you have no large bandages left in your house. I am a miracle of gauze and tapework at the moment.

Anyway. Whinge over. I'm planning to limp over to the drug store on my way home (oh wait. Maybe I'll drive instead) to replenish the bandage supply, and at some point I'll possibly even make it to a clothing store to lay in a couple of new skirts since it became clear the other day that my current wardrobe is somewhat lacking (does one skirt count as a wardrobe all by itself? Maybe I don't even have a wardrobe).

Oh, but that would mean more heels.

Sigh.





Ah well, if it wasn't for whinges this blog wouldn't even really exist...

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Edited to add a word about today's pointless photo:

It has nothing to do with anything.

Thus: pointless.

Pointless photo of the day:

I imagine you could have predicted that I'd go two days full-on blather and then have nothing to say on the third, right?

Yep.

I could tell you about feeding the snakes, I suppose. I didn't feed them apples, in case you were surmising that from today's pointless photo. I did, however, feed Wheat apples. Or at least offered him apples. He did the feeding part himself.

My father has a couple of apple trees in his yard (as you do) and 'tis definitely the season. I have a lot of apples in my fridge right now. One of his trees has small, crab-sized apples that are nice and sweet but you have to eat a few to feel satisfied. The other one -- the one in the photo -- makes decent sized apples that aren't as sweet but are still good eating and would probably be great for cooking.

Not that I do that sort of thing, of course.

It's just a real treat to be able to pick actual apples in your own yard. This isn't exactly prime apple-growing country, and when I was a kid it seemed like all we had were crab apples. Nothing wrong with crab apples, you know. If you get a decent crab apple tree the fruit can be almost edible, even. There's not comparing it to a true apple, though, and the father figure's trees are finally mature enough that they're producing nicely.

Kudos to the agriculturalists who managed to come up with an Alberta-weather-safe apple.

Um... was I meant to be talking about apples?






No, it was snakes. Well, I don't really have much to say about the snakes. They ate their reheated mice as they usually do. Kind of stupidly, and without any utensils. There weren't any major disasters, however, and no one tried to eat anyone else.

A successful feeding, I guess.






I should end here with something about how do you like them apples (or mice), but I think that's too easy even for me.

Later, all.