repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
August 02, 2003
bears repeating
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
repetition compulsion
water water everywhere...
Went to a pool party last night where a dozen kids went completely nuts in the water. All ages, in around up down jump land dive slide splash--simultaneously. Three weeks ago, Jenna couldn't swim. Last night she did the diving board and slide for the first time and, big surprise, loved it. I tried to remain non-wreck-like as she dashed and splashed and slid and dove nearby and sometimes insanely close to 12 other children doing the exact same thing at the exact same time.
It was choreographed by a force larger than the sum of everyone there. I think that's why no one got hurt. Somehow it was a joyous dance by children who had a lot they needed to release, and to my dismay, no one smashed heads or needed to be pulled off the bottom of the pool, although I saw so many close calls my heart hurt from jumping.
There was something cathartic in the children's free-for-all of energy release. The other parents sat non-plussed while I sauntered around the edge of the pool, not quite willing to leave Jenna to her own devices. She was the second youngest there, but among the most daring. Not surprising.
Three of the adults had brought their dogs, and two dogs were residents, so in all five dogs ran around and around the pool, two nearly taking a dip, but instead happy to lie next to the pool while the kids poured big red beer cups of water over them. I don't know how much pool water the dogs or the children drank, but when the sky had blackened, I noticed a lot less water in the pool.
The lab got the pound cake. Maggie the Old English Sheepdog got half a pizza. Soon all the cups were in the pool with the kids, none left for those of us parched enough to considering drinking diet coke right from the 1 liter bottle.
The dynamics, which I can't help be a student of, thank you blogging, were what interested me most. That and wishing my best friend had been there so I could say, "Did you see that?" "Check that out!" "You won't believe I heard her say..."
Alas. Back to the water again today, to our pool, which is usually a little bit calmer. My nerves and my soul will find repair there.
It was choreographed by a force larger than the sum of everyone there. I think that's why no one got hurt. Somehow it was a joyous dance by children who had a lot they needed to release, and to my dismay, no one smashed heads or needed to be pulled off the bottom of the pool, although I saw so many close calls my heart hurt from jumping.
There was something cathartic in the children's free-for-all of energy release. The other parents sat non-plussed while I sauntered around the edge of the pool, not quite willing to leave Jenna to her own devices. She was the second youngest there, but among the most daring. Not surprising.
Three of the adults had brought their dogs, and two dogs were residents, so in all five dogs ran around and around the pool, two nearly taking a dip, but instead happy to lie next to the pool while the kids poured big red beer cups of water over them. I don't know how much pool water the dogs or the children drank, but when the sky had blackened, I noticed a lot less water in the pool.
The lab got the pound cake. Maggie the Old English Sheepdog got half a pizza. Soon all the cups were in the pool with the kids, none left for those of us parched enough to considering drinking diet coke right from the 1 liter bottle.
The dynamics, which I can't help be a student of, thank you blogging, were what interested me most. That and wishing my best friend had been there so I could say, "Did you see that?" "Check that out!" "You won't believe I heard her say..."
Alas. Back to the water again today, to our pool, which is usually a little bit calmer. My nerves and my soul will find repair there.
that real world
Out in the real world today doing real world things with real world people having a real world life. I think because I was blogging so much, even I forgot that I have a life, and actually live it, in the parallel (though sometime less enchanting) universe known as the real world. Humans are marvelous. Empathy is marvelous. But the blog world is still my favorite.
July 31, 2003
Healing the Sicilian Within
It's really hard being half Sicilian. Especially when it's your dominant half.
{badabing}
It's just hard. It's just so hair-trigger. You've got the motherly sauce-n-hugs part, of course you do, but you have the hired gun part too. You can't help that. It's a good with the bad thing, and it's nothing to be guilty or ashamed of.
The problem is, your instinct is so sharp and pin-prick ready for a single venomous strike that it takes conscious deliberate effort, and lots of acceptance of that side of yourself, to tame, understand, and eventually heal the Sicilian Within.
I have learned that the best way to quiet her down is to pat her hand for a while and let her sit with reassurance. Shhhh. It's okay little killer self. Shhhh. Mama loves you. Be a good little hit-chick and rest your head on this pillow for a while... nuh uh, now sweet knuckles, no moving around, just relax. shhhhh. settle and rest... shhhh.
It's about loving that part of you that can dream up thousands of ways to express your Sicilian talent, and yet also has the wisdom not to.
Today, I will love my Sicilian Within.
Today, I will help another fellow man rather than ponder what kind of design tire treads would make on his back.
Today, I will offer my hand to a fellow woman rather than wondering if her wrist is thin enough to snap with a single well-placed swipe.
I am growing day by day, don't you think?
{badabing}
It's just hard. It's just so hair-trigger. You've got the motherly sauce-n-hugs part, of course you do, but you have the hired gun part too. You can't help that. It's a good with the bad thing, and it's nothing to be guilty or ashamed of.
The problem is, your instinct is so sharp and pin-prick ready for a single venomous strike that it takes conscious deliberate effort, and lots of acceptance of that side of yourself, to tame, understand, and eventually heal the Sicilian Within.
I have learned that the best way to quiet her down is to pat her hand for a while and let her sit with reassurance. Shhhh. It's okay little killer self. Shhhh. Mama loves you. Be a good little hit-chick and rest your head on this pillow for a while... nuh uh, now sweet knuckles, no moving around, just relax. shhhhh. settle and rest... shhhh.
It's about loving that part of you that can dream up thousands of ways to express your Sicilian talent, and yet also has the wisdom not to.
Today, I will love my Sicilian Within.
Today, I will help another fellow man rather than ponder what kind of design tire treads would make on his back.
Today, I will offer my hand to a fellow woman rather than wondering if her wrist is thin enough to snap with a single well-placed swipe.
I am growing day by day, don't you think?
we could make a pact or something
so, when fall comes, you know, anyone who's a blogger just lets the leaves pile up in their yards, and then by October or something, except in Florida and some other hot states, well, okay, so this isn't going to be as easy as I thought.
What I was thinking was that if we all left our leaves in our yards this fall, and appartment/townhouse dwellers, bear with me now, you could have some leaves from multi-treed bloggers like myself, really, but anyway, no, I was thinking we could all just let our fall foliage pile up in our yards and then any house you ride by, see, you'd know a blogger lives there.
Either that or a lazy person.
So, I think it could work.
you know?
What I was thinking was that if we all left our leaves in our yards this fall, and appartment/townhouse dwellers, bear with me now, you could have some leaves from multi-treed bloggers like myself, really, but anyway, no, I was thinking we could all just let our fall foliage pile up in our yards and then any house you ride by, see, you'd know a blogger lives there.
Either that or a lazy person.
So, I think it could work.
you know?
music not words loud not soft
Hello.*
*not work safe
fellow white people: do not be nervous.
President George Clinton, His Royal Magicstry of Funkadelia, is saying "Funkin," not "Fuckin."
He does, however, say "Shit" a lot.
--dedicated to shelley who's a helluva friend.
*not work safe
fellow white people: do not be nervous.
President George Clinton, His Royal Magicstry of Funkadelia, is saying "Funkin," not "Fuckin."
He does, however, say "Shit" a lot.
--dedicated to shelley who's a helluva friend.
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