am not really very good at keeping up with a blogging challenge.
You know the deal...if you don't know the deal, learn the deal by clicking on the A-Z Blogging Challenge button in the right sidebar.
H is for hugs. I am a little late to the Love Your Body party, but in yoga class this morning, I realized that much of what we do in class is all about loving ourselves. Many of the postures we do in class are somewhat modified, since we are a class full of people with chronic pain issues. Marty, our teacher, stresses that we are taking care of ourselves through the whole process, both during class, and even by making the time to be there. Beyond that, though, he will tell us, "Hug your right knee in to your chest," or "Kiss your big toes together and sink into Child's Pose."
Is this unique to yoga-for-the-infirm, or do other teachers sue the same language?
Boy Howdy, I love these SATURDAY (not Monday) mornings, don't you? This is today's (SATURDAY'S) post for the A-Z Blogging Challenge...details can be found by clicking on the badge in my right sidebar...
Today's (Today, which is SATURDAY) Letter:
For many years now, one of my favorite reads has been Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor (or the Women's Colony, there have been a few permutations over the years...). And now, O! be joyful! Mrs. G is making a road trip. Expect to see me in my full Derfwad glory mid-July when she stops in Toledo, just an hour south of here.
Enjoy your SATURDAY, everyone. I will see you again on Monday for the next letter (let's leave it a surprise, shall we?)
This is Day 6 of the A-Z Blogging Challenge...see more by following the link in the right sidebar...
Hans Holbein's "Dance of Death" alphabet, capital F from fromoldbooks.org
Yesterday, Ms. Partly Cloudy happily gamboled across the street to show me her new costume for the Faire. Not the "e" at the end of that term. Not a fair with rides and games, a Faire with turkey legs and jousting.
Late summer brings the Renaissance Festival to southeast Michigan, and Ms. Partly Cloudy found a great deal on a new costume (she'll rotate the belly dancer outfit in on warmer days).
gown via etsy from seller Loriann37
As gorgeous as her new gown is, and as amazing as the deal may have been, I feel certain it was not the first thing you noticed about my lovely daughter. *sigh* She's done it again.
In any case, seeing her dressed for the faire put a song in my head...another playground activity from 40 years back...
All the girls stand in a circle, and start with a volunteer in the center...altogether now:
"We're going to Kentucky
We're going to the fair
To see a senorita
With ribbons in her hair.
(Center girl starts to boogie)
"Oh, shake it, baby, shake it
Shake it if you can
Shake it like a milkshake
Shake it if you can!
(Center girl closes eyes, points finger, and twirls)
"Round and round and round she goes
Where she stops, nobody knows!"
Whereupon, the girl who is being pointed AT, takes the center of the circle. Repeat until the bell rings.
I love the sounds of a baseball game in the late innings. It brings to mind muggy summer nights, peanut litter crunching under my feet, and the other-worldly glow of the lights on the field. While my husband and most of America enjoy a game on television, I can almost always be found with my little radio listening intently to every moment.
A good baseball announcer knows what to describe to make the baseball game come alive. A great baseball announcer knows when not to talk. Ernie Harwell (Detroit Tigers radio voice from 1960 to 2002) knew when to let the sounds of the crowd carry the broadcast. He was as famous for that as for letting us know the hometown of the lucky dog that took home a foul ball, a feat that absolutely amazed me for the longest time, until Husband spoiled that particular piece of magic for me. Harwell was picking random towns in Michigan and northern Ohio. I prefer to think there was a network of walkie-talkie-equipped spies in the stands, relaying the information to Ernie as the catches were made. But maybe that’s just me.
In a movie theater, the sound of an audience member speaking breaks the illusion of the magic on the screen. A single voice disturbs like a guffaw at a funeral. At a baseball game, there exists a constant hum of conversation and activity, punctuated by the cheers of the crowd. In a radio broadcast, I can hear one dedicated fan trying to get the crowd fired up with a “Let’s go, Tigers, let’s go!” The sounds of the vendors in the section below the radio booth carry to the airwaves at the same time they are reaching their customers in the paying seats. All of the pleasure and none of the calories.
The cheers of the crowd rise and fall like the swell of surf on a beach. The leisurely pace of the game of baseball guarantees an occasional lull in the hum of the fans, and it’s not easy to predict what will induce it to rise, rise, rise to crescendo. The appearance of a crowd favorite at the plate, encouragement for a batter at full count (or a pitcher defending one), and, on at least one memorable occasion, a shout of approval for an outfielder chasing a pigeon off the field. But nothing compares to sudden outburst of joy for the long ball. When the ball comes off the bat at just the right trajectory to clear the outfield fence, listeners can feel the home crowd rise out of their seats as if to add momentum to the ball that might be on its way out. It might be cut short, by a catch on the warning track, but a successful trip beyond the fence means the high note will continue for a full, delirious minute. High-fives, hugs, and hearty whistles drown out even the voices of the men paid to bring us the story.
In the 2007 season, Tigers baseball finally came to FM radio in metro Detroit. The clarity of what some of our outstate brethren had been hearing for years, now came to those of us in the big city. I hated it. That hollow, echo-y sound I had grown up with listening to ball games on AM radio seemed sacred to me. How could I switch to the pre-fab, manufactured sound of FM radio? I took a few weeks, and some cajoling from my husband, but I have switched. I feel a bit like a traitor, until I drive under a bridge and the traditional AM signal is uninterrupted. I can be dragged into the future with the best of them.
And who knows what that future will bring? Satellite radio, digital broadcasts, radio-tagged baseballs, so the guy in the stands who’s lucky enough to shag one will be able to announce his own hometown while recovering from the sting of the catch? Just one thing: if they ever do hire those walkie-talkie-equipped spies to be in the stands? I want to fill out a job application.