“The time for joviality –
is lost,” he said with much hilarity
“I don’t believe a single word!
I’m much too used to your being absurd.”
He frowned and left me with a glance.
Such looks as born of bitter chance.
“I knew you couldn’t tolerate
The very things I had to say.”
But these last words they sadly fell
On his deaf ears – this I could tell;
Because he turned once more
And smiled
And left the distance separate –
The time
The relative stillness,
Almost deathly,
The waiting.
The big hand-
played tricks
Gave more minutes;
Just a shadow
Or a battery low.
Yet time, itself,
Seemed weighted –
Even if it finally passed;
Those last few moments
Then seemed rushed,
As broken from the
Reverie.
Torn from the
Tender embrace.
Time and taxi whisked
Me away.
As the tram light races along the track towards me,
The morning wraps its autumn chill around me:
I draw comfort from the little things –
My breath; a couple’s kiss;
A child’s questioning of a weary granddad,
enlivened, reawakened in his life by this, such youth.
As the tram passes on into the city,
Its bobbing on the tracks, my lullaby,
I feel the weighty eye-lids that I fight,
the chance to float away again consigned to night,
I persevere, with beauty all around…
Off the street, out of the pubs –
I traced the stained glass story of your deity.
Perched in a pew, any one will do
Therein lie the memories –
Of my youth.
No solace except in sentiment;
No solution, but I tried.
I mixed the colours, pastel, in my mind.
The angels promised heaven,
The “szents”, they sang a song
While Jesus, God, the Holy One,
Sent blessings from Anon.
I sat below, redundant,
Seeming new but still familiar
The light of day it shuffled in
And spoke in the vernacular.
“Like a Morgue” my cynic muttered
“To keep the soul preserved”
Still I’d rather the scent of churches
To any hospital ward.
I left my mind adrift
But nothing tangled,
Nothing bit –
The bait remained unused.
And so with geneflective ritual
I upped and crossed the threshold out…
Yet Solomon’s wife,
A seasoned statue –
Like this I turned that one last time,
The past in ruins, my faith collapsing,
I dared look back
And so am doomed.
Just reading an article on blogging, BloggingTips, and the tips it gives, and I’ve been inspired to write this down. I’m not a blogger! I’m a writer…and by that I mean only that my medium is the pen and paper, first, always. This is what makes having a blog page a pain in the posterior for me. I have the idea, scribble it down and am later compelled to put it once more in typed form onto my blog page. This sounds an awful lot like hard work, and whereas there was a time when I even tried to improve the voice recognition software* on my laptop (speaking practice is always good as a teacher, even better when a Best Man’s Speech is coming up) I gave up on that too. Now where do I go next. Let you tell me!!!
I’d like to be remembered for my life, not my death.
Not just another victim that you will all soon forget.
Commerate me on a “Canal Bank Walk”,
Remember me by verse about which we can talk.
And let death in the shadow that lurks at Ground Zero
Create hope – and not just another tragic hero.
All you need for this game is a baby, preferably at a younger age (more on that later), a set of eight balls (note plastic or sponge are more advisable: more on that later too), 2-4 players, and weather permitting, a garden
Played much like the normal game of petanque, boules, petanca, or whatever name you go by, baby petanque has one minor difference. Instead of using the cochonnet, or jack, a baby is used.
Another discreet difference is that baby petanque is not confined to the outdoors, unlike the original, although I’m sure there are venues outside of the sunny Mediterranean region where lovers of the sport have adapted this too.
Overall the goal is very much the same with the player who lands their ball closest to the baby being the winner. This is why a younger baby is more suitable unless you feel like upping the stakes and playing a more challenging game of baby petanque, clueing in the factors of baby movement, and ball disturbance. For further information on baby movement and stakes purchase visit our official (non-existent) website Just Kiddin’ .
Now concerning the material of the ball: apart from damaging a tile floor if played indoors metal balls also hold the risk of harming the baby!
One last factor. A line is drawn at a minimum distance of ten feet from the stationary baby and it remains the constant starting point to which players have to return to after each round as, in contrast to normal petanque where the cochonnet is thrown back from whence the players have come, it is not advisable to go throwing baby around – however much you may be tempted sometimes!
As with all sports for active and imaginative parents the primary goal is to have some fun.
Everything else will be just a matter of happenstance and babychance.
In the early months I can remember Andi suggesting that we copy everything that Tara did as she lay on her back on the bed between us. Lying flat on our backs and holding our legs out and up at a 45° angle for more than 10 seconds was pressing, more than 20 was testing, more than 30…well who am I kidding, but little Tara could hold them up there in that position for far longer, bring them back down and raise them again. We endeavoured to mimic her as best we could and, well, it was from this that an idea of baby-driven yoga was spawned. Now let me be clear about this. When it was formulated I was under the impression that two great minds, Andi’s and mine, were at work but as it later turned out Libero had got the jump on us by some years. In fact, it is quite possible that Andi had seen the advert herself and had been inspired by the trace memories. She’s in the business afterall.
Well it all came to pass that during a class with a particular student the topic came up of baby-driven activities and I mentioned the yoga idea. Imagine the horror when I learnt that the concept had already existed! Imagine the thoughts of conspiracy as I had in the earlier days of Tara been teaching a woman from the SCA marketing department. Storming home that evening the winds of fury driving me along I poured out my fears of betrayal, and such, to Andi. “Relax,” Andi proffered “that ad’s been out for longer than Tara’s been around.” So matter of factly! But nobody told me. The fury became a pout and I sulked off into an evening beer…and began to dream again of schemes and things.
Comment: The activity itself of baby-driven yoga is actually a good fitness test, as are most activities concerning babies and young children. I can only imagine the older kids are more psychologically challenging but let’ wait and see.
In order to get the most benefit out of it one needs to do exactly what the baby does up to the point of reason of course. Babies are, by their nature, much more flexible than us adults so don’t push yourself into a contortion from which you can’t return!
Enjoy!!!
Trying to nappyise…
Made difficult if she decides she is not interested in cooperating. She’ll then employ all tactics necessary to fight the good fight which can be daunting if she is set down on her nappy-changer. The fall from there is about a metre to a tile floor. Worse still is if it’s a particularly messy present nappywise and she refuses to stay still. Altogether a tough discipline with points dropped for letting the baby fall, putting the nappy on backwards, or just getting all too messy. Drawbacks even if successful: A broken nose from a heel first, bruised body, or just ego. Other unpleasantness can be imagined.
and dress Tara….
A feat in itself this compromises trying to pin her down while trying to prize one of her legs out from under her coiled up body, flicking her over and getting at least one into a pyjama leg. But even this is not enough because if the wait is too long she’ll have wriggled out again and scattered across the bed, giggles in her wake. While not as messy as the nappyising this has its challenges when it comes to all out physical endurance. Points dropped for putting legs in to arm parts of pyjamas, and vice versa; for making the baby cry!!!; for getting one or both legs in and losing them out again. A special penalty point is incurred if you have actually mistakenly put her pyjamas back on instead of her day clothes after changing her nappy in the morning.
