Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

I’m assimilating slowly back into city life; lunch at the senior center was delightful, I think I’ll return for lunch and a spirited game of wii. The weekend has been a blur of seeing friends, family and playing with the kids. After dinner one night I decided to get some kind of workout in for the day, so I joined the little ones in the basement for some acrobatics. When they were little I would lay on my back and balance them on my feet above me, we called it the Superman. Tonight I realized they were a lot bigger, and the standard Superman quickly grew boring. So we beefed it up. We positioned the huge bean bag chairs behind my head and I laid on my back with my head touching them. The kids would run toward me, and right before they reached my feet they would jump. I would lift my feet to their chest as they jumped, propelling them into the soft chairs above my head. I took turns throwing them into the chairs, and the exercise felt good to my stomach and back muscles. I’ve had a stiff neck for what seems to be at least 5 years, and although I know it needed to be adjusted, I never coughed up the $75 to go see a chiropractor.

After a while my host for the next two months, Mr. G., came to retrieve the children and was amused by the flying children. I do have exceptionally strong legs, so when we decided I would give him a turn, I was pretty sure I could handle it. He drew his weight at the last minute, but not before my feet caught him in the stomach as he jumped over me. The result was him flying onto the big soft chairs, with me, folded over in half with my legs over my head, underneath him. The feeling in my neck was excruciatingly relieving. I knew immediately that either my neck had been cured, or I was going to be paralyzed. Turns out I was cured. I had a few sore muscles the next day, but I can move my neck in ways I haven’t for years. Last night I was having a sleepover with Little A, and we were laying on the floor watching Nanny McPhee. We were doing sit-ups and stretches, and she asked me if I could do a backbend. “no I can’t do a backbend.” I said. “I can, watch,” Little A said as she put her hands behind her head and arched her stomach into a backbend. “Why can’t you do one?” she asked. It had been so long that I couldn’t even remember why I couldn’t do a backbend.

So I put my hands on the floor on either side of my head, braced my feet and lifted my stomach. Wow! I can do a backbend. And it was a pretty good backbend at that. My arms didn’t shake and I was able to actually hold the position for more than ten seconds without any kind of excruciating pain shooting through my body. It makes me wonder how many other things I “can’t” do, and why it is originally that I can’t do them.

I’m having a hard time settling back into the life of suburbia, in fact I think I have more of a culture shock coming back to the city after being gone for two years than I did when I went to Mexico. There are so many cars, parking lots, traffic lights, and everyone is in a hurry. I don’t find people who are eager to smile and acknowledge me when we pass in the store, or on the street, even at a Dave Matthews concert with nearly 40,000 people in attendance, I didn’t experience the friendliness I did in V town and Mexico. Everybody here is busy, and many do not have a good sense of humor. I went to Starbucks for coffee and was driving Mrs. G’s car. Mrs. G is one of my oldest, dearest friends, and I’m currently residing with her and Mr. G, and their boys Little Z, 7.5 years old, and Little J, 3.5 years old. They are a delightful family that provide plenty of entertainment and wonderful chaos.

So this day I took the car to Starbucks, which is never one of my favorite experiences anyway. There is always a line of people waiting for specialty coffee, and I am forced to wait while all of the coffees ahead of me are created before the woman behind the counter will pour me a cup of regular old house coffee out of the pot. I know, if I don’t like the wait, don’t go there, but apparently being in the city just makes me a little critical. Anyhow, I finally got my coffee and walked out the front door in a little bit of a haze because I hadn’t had my coffee yet. I walk up to the car and as I reach for the car handle I realize there’s a man sitting in the car. Huh, probably Mr. and Mrs. G saw me in the parking lot and jumped in the car as a joke. Then I looked closer and realized the man in the car was not Mr. G, in fact he was way too small and entirely the wrong color to be Mr. G. Sheepishly I yelled through the window as I made silly hand gestures letting the man inside know that I knew now that I was at the wrong car. I expected a smile, a laugh, or at the very least a nasty look. Nothing. His facial expression didn’t change one iota as I stood outside his car trying to explain myself. He simply didn’t care. Or maybe he was having a bad day, I’m not sure but I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I’ve been a bit of a grouch, wallowing in self-pity and anger because of some business arrangements that fell through. I have a tendency to latch on to one single idea/plan, and beat it until I’m sure its dead. I have other opportunities that I’ve planned to pursue, and of course there’s the writing that I claim to be the most important thing in my life, but I find myself cranky, mopey and defiantly not writing anything. I’m amazed at how mentally I can change in a matter of weeks, days, or even hours. Oh I know it will pass and soon I will be invincible again, but wallowing in the lows of life is frustrating, and today I feel like I want to hide away and stir up trouble in my own mind.

I’m nearly finished with my wallowing, having been drawn out by the innocence and energy of the little ones. Watching a young mind at work is amazing, especially when the young ones are so smart. I take a little credit for that since I’ve known them all since they were born and like to feel I have an impact on their lives. I spent the evening with Baby G, the tiniest of my little friends, she’s not quite one year old. We crawled around on the floor, and I followed her as she explored the rooms of her house, especially the room of her sister, Little A. Baby G’s not allowed in Little A’s room, in fact very few people or animals are welcome in there. Little A especially doesn’t like babies in her room because they “lick” her toys. Baby G was determined to get in there, and I watched as she repeatedly smacked the closed door trying to get it to open. After careful exploring, she figured out that the door through the bathroom that led to Little A’s room was open, and she high-tailed it through the door and toward all the pretty shiney things that are in the forbidden room. I didn’t let her lick anything, but we did spent some time playing with Little A’s toys.

We were preparing for an outing with the G family, and Little J decided he wanted to get his clothes changed all by himself. After taking his pants and underwear from Mrs. G, he went, naked, in search of a place to master his dressing abilities alone. Living in a house full of caring family members proved to be a barrier for Little J, each room he went into seeking privacy he ran into his brother, or his dad, or myself, waiting to offer assistance. The poor kid ran from room to room naked, pants in hand, wanting to dress himself. He finally let us all know he wanted no help, so I watched as he patiently worked himself into both his underwear and his pants. They were a little twisted in the crotch, but he proudly emerged with a big grin on his face, letting us know he was not the baby anymore.

August 20, 2010 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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