Dani that was lovely! I can remember so vividly walking out of the optometrist's office wearing my first pair of glasses and the world being instantly unfuzzed.

Dani, me too. I especially love "things that are supposed to melt fuzzily into each other," which is the way my house still looks every morning when I get out of bed.

Susan, Laurie writes som good sex scenes -- they're steamy, but honest and funny, too. You'll like her no matter what workshop you attend.

"The tree across the street – I can see its leaves."

Dani, this is exactly how my mother puts it, when she tells her story about getting her first pair of glasses. She didn't know you were supposed to be able to see the individual leaves, either.

My father got a hearing aid when he was in his 60s. I remember him snapping at my mother, because he could hear her zipper up her jacket. We had to say, "Um, that's a sound people hear." He eventually stopped wearing it. I think he liked the quiet.

She didn't know you were supposed to be able to see the individual leaves, either.

Me either. Or individual bricks on buildings you weren't especially close to. I was 14, and I'd thought the stars I remembered from being 8 or 9 had disappeared due to increasing light pollution as Birmingham expanded. Seeing the night sky again was the best part. OK, at that age, being able to see from the back of the room and sit with the cool kids helped, too.

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you your weekly DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

Drabble #24 ("first time") is now closed.

Drabble #25 was suggested by Susan -- drums.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled thread, already in progress.

Who knew that seeing the leaves on trees for the first time was such a universal experience for the nearsighted! I, too, was about to jump in and say that I remember that, too. Nice drabble.

Oo! Drums. Must ponder. Back later.

"Drums. Drums in the deep..."

Okay, now that that's out of my head.

I'm sorry, I'm still working on The First Time. I just haven't been able to come up with anything. But I will, and I'll post it in my own LJ. I've made a vow, you see, to do at least one drabble for every topic, and I haven't not met that commitment yet. So I can't. Or something terrible will happen.

Meanwhile,

before she ever submitted to me.

Um, Amy, shouldn't this go in Bitches? Sorry. Yes, I'm twelve.

Meanwhile,

before she ever submitted to me.

Um, Amy, shouldn't this go in Bitches? Sorry. Yes, I'm twelve.

Mwa hah hah...

Drums:

The lyrics, in ragged harmony but perfect unison, spin tales of daring camaraderie, of love lost and won.

The berimbau gunga's grand, spare note dictates my mood. Angola, twisted and low, full of malice and trickery, or exuberant Regional, feet pounding out the pattern of the ginga's triangle, sliding, skipping, flipping and leaping. Berimbau viola spins and careens, mirroring the backflips and cartwheels.

But - atabaque. Atabaque tells me how to breathe - tanned goatskin expands and contracts with my lungs. Driving my pulse, controlling my ventricles, grounding me in the heart of capoeira, as my spirit soars above the roda.

Oh, ita, that's lovely. I saw some boys doing capoeira in a park in Orlando one Saturday, and went back every Saturday for 3 or 4 weeks in a row, hoping to see them again. It was amazing.