Skip to main content

spin cylce


College Station is the land of tradition. I’m not Aggie….but I like to make up my own.

In the middle of town there is a big giant big open Christmas tree made out of lights. Most people just drive through the park. But I always like to get out and go stand under it. Right in the middle.
And spin.
I probably started this self imposed tradition with a good buzz as a teenager and didn’t need to spin to make the lights all run together. And I have to admit it kind of feels like flying.
Spinning, swirling, lights blurring, like one of those speedy action shots in a big city.

I didn’t know this was unusual until I asked some friends to spin right in the middle of the Garylord Texan and they stared at me like I was crazy. One reluctantly put her arms out, the other I am pretty sure prayed that no one would see us.
I didn’t care who was watching, I wanted to feel like that. Like flying. Like I was somehow right in the middle of all that light.
Maybe even a little bit like I was home.

Last Christmas me and one of those rare kinds of friends where you can not talk in months and months and pick right back up where you left off were sitting at my dad’s big kitchen table. Her girls in bed, mine getting their jammies on and after a glass of wine,  I managed to talk her into a little field trip. We hopped into the car and went straight to Central Park. I parked and even though it was wet and cold we got out and stood under the tree.
And spun.
Arms out because that is the only way to do it. (and helps prevent you from busting your rear…although that is likely to happen anyways).
And all I could see were colors spinning.
And I’m heard my friend say she had to stop but I kept spinning.
Eventually I slowed but the lights didn’t stop moving.
I tried to walk and wasn’t very successful.
My friend laughed as I stumbled back to the car.

I don’t like the not being able to walk straight feeling, but I do like the few seconds where everything is still spinning even when I’m not.
Your inner ear is filled with fluid and it is the vibrations in this fluid that helps us to hear. But twirl a glass of water and the fluid inside will continue to circle even after you stop it. Rotational inertia. Things want to maintain motion. To keep going, Even if it is in a circle. Maybe this is why it is so hard for most of us to be still.

This town is never the same to me.
It looks different every time I visit.
It keeps changing, even when I don’t.

And my life is like that too. I keep moving, In all kinds of directions. Even when I try to stop, things keep moving. Blurring together. Just like the lights, leaving me occasionally lost, disoriented and dizzy.
But. if you just take a minute to look up.
All you see is color.
All I see is beautiful.
And it doesn’t seem to matter if I will stumble when it all stops.

This year, I took my kids back to the tree.
We parked the car. Got in the middle and I told them to spin.
There were several other families and groups of teenagers right there in the middle doing the same thing.
Our arms spread wide, looking up rather than at each other, we often hit each other.
We were all strangers spinning under the lights.
Some of us kids, the rest of us giggling like we were.
Stumbling a bit, but no one seemed to mind.
Looking up. Moving in circles. Falling down.
Getting back up and doing it all over again.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...