20 February 2010

Closer to the heart

My house is covered with confetti: tiny, glittery, pink hearts.

Today, I took the daughter and her friends bowling, at the daughter's request. The local alley is clean and well-managed, a safe and fun place for a group of girls to spend an afternoon, prior to gorging themselves on pizza, pasta, salad and cake; playing Rock Band; and telling ghost stories.

And spreading metallic pink hearts everywhere.

We got their shoes, and headed to our assigned lane. I helped them search for balls; they are all such tall girls, but slightly built, so the heavier balls wouldn't do. And there was the matter of fingers getting stuck. Finally, shoed and with appropriate rolling hardware, they were ready to go.

Who knew that bowling was such a collaborative sport? I remember going with the CYO group occasionally in high school, and never was there so much dancing and arm waving and multiple pairs of feet bounding around the wood.

I got them drinks--lemonade all around--and then I found a chair at a table a discreet distance away and settled in to wait, a tiny pad of paper and a pen at my disposal. Music was playing over the house PA, a decent selection of classic rock that was loud enough to enjoy, but not deafening. As I watched the dancing, the arm waving, the kibbutzing, the name changing on the scoring console, and occasionally, a ball traveling down the lane, I heard a very recognizable voice singing.

"You can be the captain..."

I smiled.

At that moment, the daughter bowled a strike and turned around with her daughter-patented look of pleasure and surprise.

"MOMMY!" she yelled, just in case I hadn't noticed, not in the least bit fazed that she was 13 years old, and technically not supposed to deign to notice my presence.

I applauded, grinning at her.

Go listen to some good music: "Closer to the Heart" from the album Farewell to Kings by Rush. Yes, I do have an unwritten rule that a band only gets one appearance per month, but hey, some rules are made to be broken.

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