Tarantism
tar·ant·ism Spelled [tar-uhn-tiz-uhm] –noun;
a mania characterized by an uncontrollable impulse to dance.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Pun Intended
I've always loved Washington Square Park. In college I spent many afternoons there and met quite a cast of characters. So when my family came to visit during my senior year, it was one of the spots that I most wanted to share with them.
My mom, my sister and I were sitting on one of the cement benches that fan out from the center of the park. Almost immediately we noticed a peculiar man having an animated conversation, seemingly with himself. He was quite tall and gangly, with a suit of clothes about two sizes too small and too short. Rather Pee Wee Herman-esque. But he wasn't there to draw attention to himself, and he wasn't putting on a show for spare change. He was just going about his business and was extremely involved in this conservation with no one in particular. We continued to watch his antics for a good twenty minutes, chuckling to ourselves, never taking our eyes off him.
Then a stray branch from one of the trees overhead brushed his shoulder as he spastically moved about. Suddenly, and with tremendous conviction, he whipped around and shouted at the offending limb...
"LEAF ME ALONE!"
I think we nearly fell on the ground with laughter. You probably had to be there, as they say, but I think of that day every single time I pass through the park. And it never fails to make me laugh out loud, just as it did today.
My mom, my sister and I were sitting on one of the cement benches that fan out from the center of the park. Almost immediately we noticed a peculiar man having an animated conversation, seemingly with himself. He was quite tall and gangly, with a suit of clothes about two sizes too small and too short. Rather Pee Wee Herman-esque. But he wasn't there to draw attention to himself, and he wasn't putting on a show for spare change. He was just going about his business and was extremely involved in this conservation with no one in particular. We continued to watch his antics for a good twenty minutes, chuckling to ourselves, never taking our eyes off him.
Then a stray branch from one of the trees overhead brushed his shoulder as he spastically moved about. Suddenly, and with tremendous conviction, he whipped around and shouted at the offending limb...
"LEAF ME ALONE!"
I think we nearly fell on the ground with laughter. You probably had to be there, as they say, but I think of that day every single time I pass through the park. And it never fails to make me laugh out loud, just as it did today.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Taking a Dive
Every morning I have to pass through a glass enclosed corridor that connects two buildings in our office complex. Cobwebs and a variety of little dead bugs lurk in the corners. Upon opening the door, there is a small step - no more than two inches, a minute detail, seemingly insignificant. I believe it was my third day at a new job when I noticed that step. Unfortunately, not until I was sprawled out ever so clumsily on the cement floor. Thud. Ah, yes, to take a nose dive your first week of work is a joy.
What I really noticed, though, after the initial shock and as I lay face down on the glossy grey concrete, is that this particular corridor smells exactly like the Blue Earth pool. Whoosh. Transported in an instant back to 1981 and a nine year old me. Oh, the pool. With that unmistakable smell of industrial paint and dampness, Hubba Bubba gum, chlorine and Coppertone. (Why our office building smells like this, too, I couldn't say.)
We'd collect a wire basket for our meager belongings and tiptoe into the locker room, the floor of which always seemed a tad slimy. Pre-swim showers were supposedly required, so we'd poke our head under the freezing water for a split second, just enough to pass inspection in case anyone was checking. No one ever was. Under the metal bannister and up the stairs...we had arrived.
There was no cooler job than lifeguard, in my opinion. Gods and Goddesses sitting there all golden brown and glistening in their elevated chairs, wielding the power of the whistle. I was somewhat starstruck.
In the summer I essentially lived at the pool, and had a swimsuit collection to match, one for nearly every day of the week. One started out red, then faded to barely pink after wear and tear. It was white on top with three narrow stripes across the front. Another was a jade green halter with some sort of drawstrings at the hip. Possibly my favorite was a plain bronzy-brown tank. Keep in mind that I had had an operation to place tubes in my ears in order to cure some chronic ear aches. This required that I wear ear plugs and a swim cap in the water, leaving an obvious white stripe across my otherwise tanned forehead. Luckily, that was before I knew enough to be self-conscious.
We would jump around giddily, complete perfect underwater handstands topped off with a gymnast's salute, dive for pennies, play tag, and actually do a little swimming. During the hourly breaks, we'd reluctantly climb out of the water while the lifeguards took a dip. There were always a few random adults swimming then, too, and we were never quite sure how they gained that special privilege.
If we had any extra allowance tucked away under our towels, we'd gather it up and run/hop across the searingly hot tar of 14th Street to the Swim-Inn. A few coins could buy you Zotz, Tootsie rolls, snow cones or chips. We'd sit with our still dripping suits around the cedar picnic tables until the heat became unbearable on our burning rumps. Then we'd scurry back again to the awaiting water. At closing time, we'd ride our bikes home and get ready to do it all again the next day.
That's all I really needed back then - a few friends, sun, some candy, and the pool. I guess the same is still true today. And if it took a face plant to make me remember that, so be it.
What I really noticed, though, after the initial shock and as I lay face down on the glossy grey concrete, is that this particular corridor smells exactly like the Blue Earth pool. Whoosh. Transported in an instant back to 1981 and a nine year old me. Oh, the pool. With that unmistakable smell of industrial paint and dampness, Hubba Bubba gum, chlorine and Coppertone. (Why our office building smells like this, too, I couldn't say.)
We'd collect a wire basket for our meager belongings and tiptoe into the locker room, the floor of which always seemed a tad slimy. Pre-swim showers were supposedly required, so we'd poke our head under the freezing water for a split second, just enough to pass inspection in case anyone was checking. No one ever was. Under the metal bannister and up the stairs...we had arrived.
There was no cooler job than lifeguard, in my opinion. Gods and Goddesses sitting there all golden brown and glistening in their elevated chairs, wielding the power of the whistle. I was somewhat starstruck.
In the summer I essentially lived at the pool, and had a swimsuit collection to match, one for nearly every day of the week. One started out red, then faded to barely pink after wear and tear. It was white on top with three narrow stripes across the front. Another was a jade green halter with some sort of drawstrings at the hip. Possibly my favorite was a plain bronzy-brown tank. Keep in mind that I had had an operation to place tubes in my ears in order to cure some chronic ear aches. This required that I wear ear plugs and a swim cap in the water, leaving an obvious white stripe across my otherwise tanned forehead. Luckily, that was before I knew enough to be self-conscious.
We would jump around giddily, complete perfect underwater handstands topped off with a gymnast's salute, dive for pennies, play tag, and actually do a little swimming. During the hourly breaks, we'd reluctantly climb out of the water while the lifeguards took a dip. There were always a few random adults swimming then, too, and we were never quite sure how they gained that special privilege.
If we had any extra allowance tucked away under our towels, we'd gather it up and run/hop across the searingly hot tar of 14th Street to the Swim-Inn. A few coins could buy you Zotz, Tootsie rolls, snow cones or chips. We'd sit with our still dripping suits around the cedar picnic tables until the heat became unbearable on our burning rumps. Then we'd scurry back again to the awaiting water. At closing time, we'd ride our bikes home and get ready to do it all again the next day.
That's all I really needed back then - a few friends, sun, some candy, and the pool. I guess the same is still true today. And if it took a face plant to make me remember that, so be it.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Here's To You
Today I'm starting a blog. This blog, in fact. I've been thinking about it for quite some time, but that's as far as it got. I worried that I would need to have profound insights and wildly entertaining stories. I wondered what I had to say that hadn't already been said. And I just plain procrastinated.
So then I got to thinking about my Mom. She died from a stroke a few years ago, but everything in my life still circles back around to her. She was funny. She was tiny. She was immensely talented. She hated her hair. She was more stylish in her jeans from Goodwill than any supermodel in a Chanel suit. She could be impatient waiting in lines. She gave huge hugs. She always took off her glasses before getting her picture taken. She let us stay up all night when I had slumber parties and never told us to go to sleep. She loved gum drops and gummi bears. She was super nice to all my friends.
And she wanted to hear all about my life. She read my journal when I traveled through Europe. She didn't mind when I'd call her at 4 a.m. just so I could tell her something funny that happened that night. She rooted for my friends to do well. She anxiously awaited pictures and letters. She felt the impact of September 11th as if she'd been here herself.
Now that she's gone, I find myself at a loss sometimes. I still ache to tell her about every little thing. So...here's my chance. I'll imagine that she's reading this along with all of you. Hope you like it.
Oh, the title of the blog? Well, that's a reference to her too. It's how she'd always answer when I'd call.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Darling."
So then I got to thinking about my Mom. She died from a stroke a few years ago, but everything in my life still circles back around to her. She was funny. She was tiny. She was immensely talented. She hated her hair. She was more stylish in her jeans from Goodwill than any supermodel in a Chanel suit. She could be impatient waiting in lines. She gave huge hugs. She always took off her glasses before getting her picture taken. She let us stay up all night when I had slumber parties and never told us to go to sleep. She loved gum drops and gummi bears. She was super nice to all my friends.
And she wanted to hear all about my life. She read my journal when I traveled through Europe. She didn't mind when I'd call her at 4 a.m. just so I could tell her something funny that happened that night. She rooted for my friends to do well. She anxiously awaited pictures and letters. She felt the impact of September 11th as if she'd been here herself.
Now that she's gone, I find myself at a loss sometimes. I still ache to tell her about every little thing. So...here's my chance. I'll imagine that she's reading this along with all of you. Hope you like it.
Oh, the title of the blog? Well, that's a reference to her too. It's how she'd always answer when I'd call.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Darling."
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