Wednesday, February 03, 2016

A Tree Top Angel, 1980s. Nylon, lace, optimism.

I now understand why every hacky sack player I ever met was stoned. You need time to move a little differently when you are keeping something deliberately in the air.

My brother joined the Circus. And we couldn't be prouder. We. I love that my Da and I are a couple.
Odd, certainly. I like to think we might be friends.

ANYWAYS: My Brother Scott. Circus Shmrikus. Vermont. Heaven.

And he and his darling family came for Christmas and We were just in heaven, with the new Odessa.

So after a delightful two weeks they leave and Da says I want to learn how to juggle. Scarves. Scott said he learned using scarves. Buy a set for me on Walmart.com. I'll pick it up, two counties away.
Aw. No. Forget it.

Amazon is dangerous. juggling Scarves. Prime? Less than 12 bucks but more than three stars. Yes. Damn, I sent it to myself. Too much trouble to cancel so I send  him a fresh order.

He is delighted and confused and trying to rig them to make them operate in the air as he wants/expects himself/the juggler wants them to be.
We kind of see what Scott meant. but...

Week later: He bought bean bags from the 25 Cent Kiddy Bin at The Happy Dragon. Woop! That one has a different shape. The kids book from the library is on the bed in front of us, advising the bed lest one get tired of bending over for every dropped ball.

Week later I've knit him up three handspun spheres   filled with last years split peas. 150 gms each. But not this little 100 gm. Perfect for you. Good.

It's Wednesday, I'm alone at home. So now I am bouncing this 100 gm thing in patterns in the kitchen and I think this makes much more sense in this state, especially whist listening to Rosamund Pike reading the end five chapters of Pride and Prejudice and the new/refurbished headphones. It really is deeply pleasurable. Alone.

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