Remembering and Reinventing games

We recently were in a position to make our own fun and when the busy book did not inspire we had to use our own ideas.

The kids' grandma got the ball rolling by doing the "memory game" where you present a tray of objects that you get to see for a short time and then you look away and write down or tell (if you can't write yet) what you saw.

We got into play clay big time. There were no limits on that one. Really, none. Jumping fish, and a blueberry tree and a giraffe that can bounce are proof of that.

Then, with a start, I realized that there was the capacity to play Jenga in the house (and all the pieces were in the bag!!) We had been sadly overlooking it all this time. It quickly got turned into another version, but cool, all the same.

The best, most enduring activity was the TASTE TEST. That idea kept on giving. Raisins, pepper, salt and cookies and milk. Not a lot of mystery there, but fun to set up and come up with new things to try.

Comments

A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?

Bringing her back

As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled. The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously. She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant. The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her. The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence. I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face. To sit in her prescence. My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us. This Taylor Swift cover by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning. Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...

The words coming out of my mouth

These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with. I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment. I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat. We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly. I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask. I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...

Growing Versions

Search This Blog