Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

Tibi gratias agimus quod nihil fumas.

It says "...freedom of...", not "...freedom from...".

Nolite te bastardes carburundorum!

"It's amazing to me how many people think that voting to have the government give poor people money is compassion. Helping poor and suffering people is compassion. Voting for our government to use guns to give money to help poor and suffering people is immoral self-righteous bullying laziness. People need to be fed, medicated, educated, clothed, and sheltered, and if we're compassionate we'll help them, but you get no moral credit for forcing other people to do what you think is right. There is great joy in helping people, but no joy in doing it at gunpoint." - Penn Jillette

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Catch and Release and Duck and Cover

There is something about an October sky. Something about the clarity and the depth and the blueness of the blue that invites being out, under that endless dome of color, free in the breeze.

The Evil Genius has been pestering me for weeks to play Frisbee, ever since I told him that Someone said he likes to play. I am not very good at Frisbeeing (that is too a word), but I can at least teach the lad the basics, and he was desperate to have a go. Alas, our October skies have run more toward the grey and drippy rather than the boundless and blue, and Bird has been disappointed each day to see more rain, more drizzle, more chilly and damp days ahead.

Every night for a week he has asked me if tomorrow we could play, and every night I have replied "If the weather is fine, we will play."

"Fine" means sunny and clear, and perhaps not too cold or too hot.

Today, at last, the weather obliged - and the Evil Genius has been so used to staying indoors, it took him entirely by surprise when I suggested we run some errands and then finally, at long last, Frisbee.

He wriggled with excitement, in that puppy-like fashion that only little boys can muster, and his grin was both wide and bright.

We began with the basics - how to throw the bloody thing so it doesn't guillotine someone, how to get a (somewhat) level flight, trying for distance and something approximating aim, and that was the extent of my abilities. We also chatted about the origins of Frisbees, how they came from pie plates and college students with too much time on their hands, and how one throws better when one gives it a little thought and care rather than simply winging the thing any old way.

Fortunately, we managed to avoid broken windows and personal injury, although once or twice a wild throw may have come close to one face or another, and a certain recently broken toe was mildly offended at all the jumping, reaching, and running going on. We had fun.

After half an hour or so, the little guy was thirsty, so we paused for a water break and a quick trash run, then back to business.

We tossed it around a little more, and then a rogue throw by yours truly flew high and wide, clattered into the front railing and smack onto one of the feral cats napping in a puddle of sun on the top step. Oh, dear. Poor Little Bit - she was not at all amused, although Bird and I were both having fits of giggle over the incident. Little Bit vacated the steps with reproachful look and retreated to the relative safety of under the trailer beside the house...until a wild shot by Bird rolled too close for her comfort, sending her skedaddling back up the steps where she was vigilant but undisturbed until we were done.

Another wild throw on Bird's part had the Frisbee trapped under the roommate's car, right in the middle of a murky mud puddle and well beyond our reaches. A rake was employed to great effect, and the disc was bathed and sent sailing through the air once again.

Then we had to stop for even more serious business - Bird found a slug in the grass! He thought it was a snail that was looking for its shell, and I took the opportunity to give him a lesson in slugs, telling him about their shiny trail. This meant he just had to pick it up and place it on the driveway, then sit down and watch as it oozed along, bewildered and wondering what happened to the lovely cool grass and the shade of a fallen leaf it had been enjoying. The boy was enchanted, peering closely and pointing out the shiny trail it left behind. Finally, after a few minutes and my pointing out that Sir Slug might not relish being in the sun on the pavement, he placed it carefully (read: picked it up and flung it like a squishy Frisbee) in the grass, and we continued with our play.

He did fairly well, it being his first time with the wily disc. The lad needs to learn how to catch things. Honestly, I catch like a girl, cringing at anything that looks like it may come within nine miles of my face...but he's even worse. Once or twice, I practically threw it into his hands, and he didn't make the catch! Poor kid...

He didn't want to stop, but it was time to come inside and cook supper, and it's awfully difficult to play Frisbee by yourself.

He happily expressed his opinion that Someone wouldn't stand a chance when he came to visit, because Bird was ready to challenge him - the kid feels like the Frisbee champion of the world. I hope Someone is prepared to have his socks Frisbeed off!

2 comments:

Susan said...

I wanna play! You're such a fun mom! I'd have bought a boomerang and watched from the window with a glass of chardonnay.

Kyddryn said...

Susan, I'd be afraid to give him a boomerang...the carnage would be epic! I'll join you with the chardonnay, though...I may have strained a neck muscle last night, either running and reaching for the Frisbee or when I was cleaning house after, and I could use a glass of wine...and a masseuse. Sigh. It's Hell gettin' old.