Medeu, Almaty
It was like a holiday, every time. Men sharpening blades, music playing, shirtless people, backwards skating, dancing, in the mountains. People bound together by this strange, amazing activity. A holiday embedded into me, a child, forever. I look out at the these and I plot: for my kids and my inner kid. Let's go!
Unsupported
When you are not held
and loved and understood
unprovided for
Happiness has no place
But take responsibility
and change
There's joy oozing out of the washing machine
delight on the ironing board
there are smiles brooding in the soup pot
Shop vac your tears
You can return to this sculpted chaos any time
Generate your awe for life
in tadasana
and dance like only you do
Isn't there a guitar in there, too?
I'm more addicted to music since becoming a parent than ever before. Its structure counterbalances the sudden sharp merciless screams, squeaks, cries, bangs, stomps, laughs, unimaginable requests and other manic adorable behavior that causes wreckage on my impressionable brain for 18 hours every day. Thank you, music!
