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There is no way in which an exclamation I can make in this medium will do justice to the sentiment it attempts to represent. You know how I periodically discover that certain people are magic? Maybe you don't, because most of the musings are p-locked, because I haven't figured out quite how to explain it. I'll try again.
My uncle, David, is magic. He can make anything happen, the kind of things that you sit around and think it might be cool to do someday, and he just gets up and teaches you how to use the welder or the throwing wheel or the table saw or the saddle cinch. Heather's wedding was a particularly good example; I'd never even tried before, but David can dance, and suddenly I can. He's an architect, and when he's bored we design castles and keep them at a budget that, if I were inclined, I could handle. Really, guys, I'm going to have a castle at some point. He also has a knack of suggesting another way of doing things, another slope to this line that will make the composition of this drawing infinitely better, another arrangement of this furniture that will make the house twice as efficient. David can speak simply of possibilities, and they appear. With him, anything is not only possible, but probable.
My cousin, Grant, is magic. Second person in my extended family whom I've noticed. What David does for my enthusiasm in art and my self- and world-esteem, Grant does for my state of mind. In Grant's company, nothing is as bad as it seemed before he was there. With his brand of magic, when he's really spending time with me, even the least interesting or worthwhile life is not merely tolerable, it's a blast.
The first person I discovered to be magic outside of my extended family is Salad. He, for all his slurred words and twisted perspective, has a clarity of thought and measure of experience that can automatically analyze whatever situation I tell him about and place it in the context of living life and growing up. I always know where I am with him, and how, if not why, the things work that are affecting me.
New magic: Ryan (Joodles). The only one so far for whom I have instincts on the other side of the equation. I've never been a particularly maternal person, or even elder-sisterly, but I have a compulsion to take care of him and make his life more fun, because it makes mine more fun. He is a snap-study, learning anything I want to teach him at a speed that precludes frustration, which means I actually want to teach him things. He's usually very, very good at them. We're halfway through our second song written together, and we're only that far behind because I've had nonstop rehearsals. He's picking up music history like he was born with it, and I have the insanely uncharacteristic urge to babble at him and tell him things every time we walk somewhere together (as we often end up doing, because he lives at Lovett). I talk more to him than I do to Stephan. Unfair, you say: Stephan is a discourse floor-hog. True, but I don't feel it necessary to speak constantly in conversation with him.
So, there's that learning curve, my lack of characteristic social inhibition and there's the fact that he's a mover, which, with my puny one semester of Latin Dance, I am now in a position to appreciate. We had another salsa party tonight.
Cary and Stephan and Catherine and Colin and Denver showed up, and mama drove me and Joodles back from Lovett, where we'd seen Dan's show again. We started with Banana Man, and got steadily more hardcore. Salsa first: Cary taught us a fancy thing they'd just learned in class, so Joodles picked it up like a rhinovirus, and had me doing it perfectly with him by the end of the instructions. We ran out of Ocho Y Mas, so I reverted to the Santana album, which suits the cha cha very well, and Joodles started teaching me a Western dance he learned with his family. A western variation on the cha cha.
It took me awhile to figure it out, but once I did, it was the easiest and coolest thing I could imagine. It was like swimming in the ocean, with the patterns (the waves are still pushing me around, and they've been gone for over half an hour). Being led well was something I guess had only happened to me before with David. It was easy, and it looked good. I got very good at something, good enough for everybody else to comment on, in the space of a couple tries, and then advanced far enough to improvise a little, and fix some of the problems we were having.
He's like a catalyst. That's what it is. And he's so positive that it only works on positive qualities. He's sweet and happy, and therefore so is everyone else. And we want to make him happy, because then everyone will be happier. I know things and like them, and I want him to know them too, so I try to communicate them quickly enough that we can get to the substance behind them in the same sitting. He's a catalyst of enthusiasm.
Side effect: I am so tired right now. We danced till past one in the morning, and we got to my house before eleven. I'm sure my calves will seize up onstage tomorrow during the recital. But great gods of dance and rhythm, that was the most fun I've had since--I can't even remember.
My uncle, David, is magic. He can make anything happen, the kind of things that you sit around and think it might be cool to do someday, and he just gets up and teaches you how to use the welder or the throwing wheel or the table saw or the saddle cinch. Heather's wedding was a particularly good example; I'd never even tried before, but David can dance, and suddenly I can. He's an architect, and when he's bored we design castles and keep them at a budget that, if I were inclined, I could handle. Really, guys, I'm going to have a castle at some point. He also has a knack of suggesting another way of doing things, another slope to this line that will make the composition of this drawing infinitely better, another arrangement of this furniture that will make the house twice as efficient. David can speak simply of possibilities, and they appear. With him, anything is not only possible, but probable.
My cousin, Grant, is magic. Second person in my extended family whom I've noticed. What David does for my enthusiasm in art and my self- and world-esteem, Grant does for my state of mind. In Grant's company, nothing is as bad as it seemed before he was there. With his brand of magic, when he's really spending time with me, even the least interesting or worthwhile life is not merely tolerable, it's a blast.
The first person I discovered to be magic outside of my extended family is Salad. He, for all his slurred words and twisted perspective, has a clarity of thought and measure of experience that can automatically analyze whatever situation I tell him about and place it in the context of living life and growing up. I always know where I am with him, and how, if not why, the things work that are affecting me.
New magic: Ryan (Joodles). The only one so far for whom I have instincts on the other side of the equation. I've never been a particularly maternal person, or even elder-sisterly, but I have a compulsion to take care of him and make his life more fun, because it makes mine more fun. He is a snap-study, learning anything I want to teach him at a speed that precludes frustration, which means I actually want to teach him things. He's usually very, very good at them. We're halfway through our second song written together, and we're only that far behind because I've had nonstop rehearsals. He's picking up music history like he was born with it, and I have the insanely uncharacteristic urge to babble at him and tell him things every time we walk somewhere together (as we often end up doing, because he lives at Lovett). I talk more to him than I do to Stephan. Unfair, you say: Stephan is a discourse floor-hog. True, but I don't feel it necessary to speak constantly in conversation with him.
So, there's that learning curve, my lack of characteristic social inhibition and there's the fact that he's a mover, which, with my puny one semester of Latin Dance, I am now in a position to appreciate. We had another salsa party tonight.
Cary and Stephan and Catherine and Colin and Denver showed up, and mama drove me and Joodles back from Lovett, where we'd seen Dan's show again. We started with Banana Man, and got steadily more hardcore. Salsa first: Cary taught us a fancy thing they'd just learned in class, so Joodles picked it up like a rhinovirus, and had me doing it perfectly with him by the end of the instructions. We ran out of Ocho Y Mas, so I reverted to the Santana album, which suits the cha cha very well, and Joodles started teaching me a Western dance he learned with his family. A western variation on the cha cha.
It took me awhile to figure it out, but once I did, it was the easiest and coolest thing I could imagine. It was like swimming in the ocean, with the patterns (the waves are still pushing me around, and they've been gone for over half an hour). Being led well was something I guess had only happened to me before with David. It was easy, and it looked good. I got very good at something, good enough for everybody else to comment on, in the space of a couple tries, and then advanced far enough to improvise a little, and fix some of the problems we were having.
He's like a catalyst. That's what it is. And he's so positive that it only works on positive qualities. He's sweet and happy, and therefore so is everyone else. And we want to make him happy, because then everyone will be happier. I know things and like them, and I want him to know them too, so I try to communicate them quickly enough that we can get to the substance behind them in the same sitting. He's a catalyst of enthusiasm.
Side effect: I am so tired right now. We danced till past one in the morning, and we got to my house before eleven. I'm sure my calves will seize up onstage tomorrow during the recital. But great gods of dance and rhythm, that was the most fun I've had since--I can't even remember.
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