hk.

woke up this morning from a dream.  the dream took place in hong kong. 
that place has been on my mind a lot lately.

i'd like to go back.  soon.

Clumsy Girl {vol. 2.}

As a Clumsy Girl, generally I never ever participate in sports that involve hand-eye coordination, especially those of the flying ball variety. {did you just giggle at the phrase "flying ball" like I did?  maybe not because you probably have a more mature sense of humor than I do.}  Anyway... today I'm going to tell you about something tragic.  That something tragic is what I will call The Year of the Softball.  My mother, like all good mothers, said to herself "we have to find something Rhianna is good at!" and so she enrolled me in a plethora of activities and sports for Child Rhianna to participate in to find her "niche" or whatever.  Spoiler Alert - softball is not the thing that I'm good at - I have never & will never be known as the Girl That's Good at Softball. 

Rhianna:  Aged 9/10?  I don't remember?  It doesn't matter?  It was pre-puberty - let's go with that.  So, Rhianna:  aged PrePubescent is forced to participate in a summer softball league in her hometown.  The team:  The Tigers.  The colors:  Purple & Gray.  This is the best thing I can say about The Year of the Softball:  I look really good in purple -- it's hands-down the color that looks best on me.  I have exactly one friend on this team.  A blonde headed girl as short and young as me that's not very into playing this sport.  I forget her name, I wanna say it was Brittany - or Ashley - that's what most girls my age are named.  We'll go with Brittany.  The other girls on our team, nice enough as they were, were very competitive and took this sport seriously.  Brittany and I mostly sat on the bench and tried to look small & hidden so as not to get picked for something in the league "where everyone plays." 

So yeah, I'd go up to bat at least once a game.  The most action I got from batting was when I was "walked" to first base because it was hard for the older girls to pitch in my tiny strike zone.  This is not to say that I never struck out.  If I wasn't walked, I struck out.  I don't ever remember actually hitting a ball.  Sometimes I tried, usually with the balls that should have been "balls" because they were too far away - I tried to hit these balls because they were not so close to me and didn't make me cower in fear.  Whatever.  When our team had to play the field part - did I get to just lounge around in outfield like I wanted?  No.  Because for some reason the girls I played with were relatively good and playing in outfield meant you had to be good at catching fly balls.  Where did they put this small redheaded girl that cowered when the ball came near her?  Surely not in the infield - those are important places!  And like I've already said - not the outfield - she can't catch a ball for the life of her.  They put me as the catcher.  Um... what?  Yeah.  I had to be the catcher.  Every once in a while I would catch the ball, but mostly it was me scurrying around to find the ball the girl did not hit and throw it back to the pitcher.  {side note:  I can actually throw a ball pretty well.  Anything to get that ball away from me, right?}  More than once when I was catcher I got hit by the ball because I couldn't scurry fast enough, and ONE TIME, ONE TIME OH MY LORD.  One time I got hit by a swinging bat.  Let me tell ya about it:  late in the season, I decide to "try."  I get really excited because our pitcher pitched a perfect ball that didn't scare me for once, I decide I won't hurl my body away, I will catch this ball that is clearly not in the hitter's strike zone in my glove.  I reach up, gallantly, and let me tell you it was gallant on my part - I remember this incident in slow motion and it was glorious(ly bad), I start to catch the ball, but the girl at bat decides that she is going to swing at this ball, the bat - in full swing - hits my hand lifted gallantly in the air to catch this ball that was clearly out of her strike zone and my glove flies off, the tears come to my eyes, and my little body cries out "UUUUGGGGHHHH" in full Charlie Brown style.  They have to stop the game.  My coach comes over and takes me to the dug out.  A mom comes over - not mine - and brings ice to put on my hand.  I choke back tears - so angry that a few actually escaped.  I am out the rest of the game.  Come to think of it - that's a benefit.  I make excuses to get out of the few games left of the season.  My mom makes me go to one more.  I get put in the outfield.  I let the other outfield girls run to the ball if it makes it to the outfield.  I decide that without a doubt, I hate softball.

One last thing about softball - I thought I escaped the torture with the last game played.  No, no, friends.  I did not.  The last event in The Year of the Softball was a pool party to celebrate the end of summer and the end of that dreaded sport.  This seemed harmless enough.  If nothing, I can swim.  I was a competitive swimmer then remained a swimmer throughout school.  Everything was fine.  Brittany and I kept to ourselves in the shallow end - Brittany couldn't swim well and since she was my only friend I had to stick with her there.  One of the older girls from the deep end called out to her friend in the shallow end, she had just got in the pool near me and Brittany.  The shallow-end-friend yelled out for the deep-end-friend to toss her some goggles.  They were the ugly big kind of goggles that non-swimmers wear - you know the ones that cover your nose too - prepubescent Rhianna scoffs at those because PrePubescent Rhianna has been a competitive swimmer for 4 years already, what do those "softball girls" know?  Anyway, deep-end-friend tosses those goggles but deep-end-friend clearly has lost her ability to throw things since softball has ended because those goggles hit me right in my right eye.  Thanks to my high cheekbones, they SMACK very loudly and tears come to my eyes, my little body cries out "UUUUGGGGHHHH" in full Charlie Brown style.  The girls stop swimming.  A mom helps me out of the water. {side note - my mom wasn't there.}  The coach goes and gets ice.  I sit out of the pool time fun until my parents come to get me.  I do not care because at this point I have way more fun talking to the adults there than half-heartedly splashing in the shallow end with can't-swim-Brittany.  I get a glorious black eye that lasts for about a week. 

I never play softball again.

Clumsy Girl Tip:  Never play softball.  {or any sport involving flying balls.}  {question:  did you giggle that time when I said "flying balls"}

playing favorites.

I went to my parents house the other day to help mom look for something.  While in one of the unused bedrooms, affectionately known as "Rhianna's Junk Room" (storage boxes with all my junk that either I or mom cannot yet part with) mom found some things saved from school.  One of these things was a little brochure where I drew a picture of myself, titled it "Facts about Rhianna," and on the inside wrote a paragraph with only the most important facts about 7-year-old-me.  My favorite things about this:  it looks like I erased the comma after Michelle and put another one before the And on the second line; the fact that I like animals and have freckles were very important (and still true to this day!); and I single out my brother, Bobby, as being the only of my 5 siblings that I actually like - bahaha. 

That is 7 year old Rhianna for you.  Although I might have been 8, but I was either of the two because the first 3 names are girls that were my friends during those ages & probably the friends that were assigned to my table instead of being BEST friends - as I don't have any special memories of those particular girls during that time but I do remember who they are.  No clue what they are doing now - hope they're well!

Hmm.  Oh well.  Mom and I found a few other gems.  But that was the only one I snapped a picture of with my phone.  Why did my mom keep all that junk?

try to remember the kind of september, when life was slow and oh so mellow

I’ll marry, when I marry,
In my own particular way;
And my bride shall dress in sunlight
With rain for her wedding veil.
Out in the open,
With no one standing by.
No song except September
Being sung in the busy grass!
No sound except our heartbeats –
Roaring!
Like a flower alive with bees!
Without benefit of neighbor!
Without benefit of book!
Except perhaps her handprint
As she presses her hand in mine!
Except perhaps her imprint
As she gives me her golden hair!
In a field, while kneeling,
Being joined by the joy of life!

There!
In the air!
In the open!
That’s how I plan to wive!

--Matt, The Fantasticks

I was asked to participate in a benefit show for my community theatre group.  I haven't done any plays in over a year but they are doing pieces of past plays and wanted to do a scene from one I was in.  We had a rehearsal this past Saturday and I got to see some of the other pieces that were going to be shown - and see people I've missed dearly from all the past shows I've done (either on stage or off).  Summer of 2007, our theatre did an outdoor performance of The Fantasticks.  It is easily my favorite show our group has performed.  I did lights and sound for this play {I have a horrible singing voice with a super limited range... so when it comes to musicals I'm backstage (except once I had 2 solos and it was the scariest experience ever)}  I'll tell you what, it was such a treat sitting out on the farm by the barn at sunset when this play began and then listening to all the beautiful songs under the stars in the dead of summer.  So beautiful. 

If you ever get a chance to see this performed DO IT!  {And skip the horrible movie version!}  This play has only a few characters, a minimal set, a mime to act as props and set sometimes, beautiful beautiful songs, and it will make you laugh til you cry {and just plain cry}.  It's been one of the longest running off-broadway musicals for years.  It's truly a gem!

{THE FIRST PICTURE IS MATT, LUISA, HUCKLEBEE, & BELLOMY (THE BOY, GIRL, AND THEIR FATHERS), THE TEXT BENEATH IS SOMETHING THAT I LOVE THAT MATT SAYS, THE OTHER PICTURE IS A PLAYBILL FOR THE SHOW WHICH KIND OF SHOWCASES THE SIMPLISTIC SET, THE TITLE OF THIS POST IS THE FIRST LINE FROM A GORGEOUS SONG EL GALLO SINGS,'TRY TO REMEMBER"}