musichal
poet emeritus
Christine gets home from work 'round midnight from her second-shift nursing job, and then it takes awhile to wind down. Jumper sleeps in my lap while she is away, but when mama gets home it's time to play for as much as an hour. Usually that involves chasing a length of string dangling from a long stick, but every now and again I feel like seeing a floor show.
All I have to do is press play on some polka. Now, I've never been much of a polka fan, but Christine and her 12 Polish siblings listened to Big Joe's Polka Show on the radio at family/friends gatherings each weekend back when. She is well-known throughout the county in Nebraska for her chicken dance.
So while she and Jumper's diurnal rhythms are peaking 'round midnight, all I have to do is put on the polka to watch grandma dance with the cat. It is quite a sight. Christine's approach is completely lacking in grace, rhythm or style; the secret to her success is a completely unselfconscious exuberance. Well, maybe we can give her some style points for that, but her dance does not resemble any poultry moves I've ever witnessed.
Funny thing is that even though Jumper has mad skills of dexterity and balance, he learned all his dance moves from Christine. 'Tis a rare thing to witness two creatures perform who are the world's worst within each one's respective genus and species at the activity in question. Both focus their entire energy and concentration upon the task as she laughs aloud with joy, and I laugh aloud with the same. It's just wonderfully horrible.
No, I've never cared much for polka. I listen to several hours of music each day; today was mostly a jazz day for me. However, I can't really say I enjoyed it more than tonight's polka; I guess it was the skillful floor show that won me over.
All I have to do is press play on some polka. Now, I've never been much of a polka fan, but Christine and her 12 Polish siblings listened to Big Joe's Polka Show on the radio at family/friends gatherings each weekend back when. She is well-known throughout the county in Nebraska for her chicken dance.
So while she and Jumper's diurnal rhythms are peaking 'round midnight, all I have to do is put on the polka to watch grandma dance with the cat. It is quite a sight. Christine's approach is completely lacking in grace, rhythm or style; the secret to her success is a completely unselfconscious exuberance. Well, maybe we can give her some style points for that, but her dance does not resemble any poultry moves I've ever witnessed.
Funny thing is that even though Jumper has mad skills of dexterity and balance, he learned all his dance moves from Christine. 'Tis a rare thing to witness two creatures perform who are the world's worst within each one's respective genus and species at the activity in question. Both focus their entire energy and concentration upon the task as she laughs aloud with joy, and I laugh aloud with the same. It's just wonderfully horrible.
No, I've never cared much for polka. I listen to several hours of music each day; today was mostly a jazz day for me. However, I can't really say I enjoyed it more than tonight's polka; I guess it was the skillful floor show that won me over.
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