Logic of a 6-Year Old Scatterbrain

Both children had expressed interest in trying basketball. The YMCA has a great program, instructional but no-stress. A gentle introduction to skills with traveling aloud and no score keeping. Henry, the six year old loved it.  He had a natural affinity for the game and was eager to learn the skills he did not have. Nora, the nine year old was painfully reminiscent of me at that age–rather uncoordinated with a lack of natural instinct. Not surprisingly, again like her mother at that age, Nora did not want to continue after her first practice. Now normally, my deal is this. If you ask to sign up and I pony up the money then you need to stick with it. In this case, however, I saw that this was not going to get better but get worse. The girls on the team were classmates but more skilled and secure than Nora. They were also girls who routinely did things together socially and had a bond. I could see that Nora was going become progressively timid and self-conscious and it might prevent her from ever trying a new skill again. So, with some co-parenting bickering with her Dad we ultimately came to the conclusion that this time we would not force the issue and give Nora a stern warning about being very sure she wants to try something and  then sticking it out to the end.

This was a rather long preamble to an amusing incident with Henry yesterday. He was moody and looking for a fight and sauntered up to me saying, 

"Nora always gets her way. How come I never get my way?"

 "What are you referring to Henry?" I asked. 

"Nora doesn't have to take basketball but I do. You make me take basketball!" he whined. 

"But Henry," I said, "You love basketball." 

Henry paused, wrinkled his brow and then said with a smile, "Oh yeah. I do love it!" before sauntering off.

Good ol' space case, Henry.

Endless Snow

"See the snow and how it squashes.

Galumpf, galumpf go my galoshes"- Author unknown

This was one of my favorite poems as a child. It's best when read out loud. 

More snow falls today. I am not complaining, mind you. If you are going to live in the upper midwest, the snow is one of the more favorable accompaniments to the cold. There is nothing more depressing than a bare, dry and cold Wisconsin winter. So, let is snow, let it snow, let it snow.

The snow has a lovely muffling effect on the noises of the cars outside. I like to watch it pile up on the wrought iron railing outside my bedroom window. I don't even mind shoveling, really. There is something quite satisfying about it. The marks of your shovel are like raking a Zen garden.  You ask yourself, do I shovel just a path for people to get by or do I clear the entire width of the sidewalk? We live on a corner. I am often too lazy to shovel the entire width of both sidewalks. But then, inevitably, after I am inside and dry, I look out and regret that I didn't just clear it all.

Tentative

Can one, as their 39th birthday looms large, enter the world of blogging? Should one?

As an ex-zinester, I feel like I am cheating. Where is the tactile nature of pages turned? Why should so many random, unknown people know or care about my life, points of view, struggles observations or recollections?

We'll see. I dip in a toe. The water is cold. But I am of hearty Midwestern stock and chilly, unchartered territories are not unfamiliar.

Stay tuned.....