To Bat and to Beat

Do NOT face up to a ten year old, er he may actually be younger.
Do not even attempt to beat him once!
it will require and you do not want this, a wrench so bad we will have a 'ball and socket dislocation,' indeed, we may have a ball and socket relocation as i see the who arm flying on tendons and muscles i have not really used in er, at least five years.
as you hit you miss, of course.
and you take a swipe at a fast coming ball, on a whosh of batted air you then do other things to that body of yours.
your head jerks sideways to avoid the lethal. the back arches backwards and now we have two separate muscle groups in protests.
we may have also a whip lash and a lower back pain requiring at least a massage.
You learch about on two pins which are welded about three feet apart, welded to the grass and ground for fear that a lunge on your part will have you flat on the face.
this is violance personified, the young boy marvels at his skills to thrash his auntie, actually he is in training for some 'eye to hand combat.'
He is loverly though, this young lad in a stripey for some gaa team i guess.
whilst the marvel is with the kiddie who is gentle and soft like his dad was at that age, you are not so marveling at, burst lungs and pain only three minutes of batting at 'swing-ball' )and missing each time) has given you.
I tried, eggit i am.
A relative, Henry, was over from Canada.
Well, he is a relative of my dad by means of a very confusing generation time line, i shall have to ask my brother to explain.
He showed strong signs of my own Dad for sure.
there i saw it in the bushy eye brows, the way he looked at you, the hand on his chin in a contemplative manner, even the hands, lovely hands.
I remember telling my dad i thought he had really beautiful hands, strong, long and work worn, garden work worn to feed his children.
Dad admired my hands many times too.  he would take them and stroke them. 'beautiful long fingers my dear' he would say.  that is a sign of royalty he would also say.
Oh how i miss my Dad.
anyway `Henry was over and he had bought a bag of goodies.  they were sort of wee talismen of understanding from the american/canadian Indians.
I chose 'Creativity' and its 'logo' for want of not remembering what the correct term is, a Raven, from the Haita tribe.  oh i am pleased i chose it.
It is the Raven of 'Creativity'
Mags was not at this celebration when the Royal Albert China was taken out, so i chose for her, i hope she is pleased "Strength."
At first i chose 'courage' but i felt that she had that in abundance after her return to a rocky Ireland welcome from the Land of the thousand welcomes.  She got about one or two there, nothing more than that and many just a weak smile and a cuppa, but not from the Royal Alberts, for at this celeb it was the first i saw of it.  The Royal China that is.
Alas she needs the strength to come home and face it all, again...an attempt to fulfill her 40yr dream of coming 'Home.'   she has been on my sitting room sofa for the past four months.
I felt alone there i have to say.
It is hard to connect with the family anymore.
Hard to be actually accepted.
There is no small ways of forgiveness, Royals wont do that, as in Royal fashion a mis-behaviour is never forgiven, not even a small error of judgement, as in my case is cause for turning the other and moving on again.
we never did move on, i guess as a family.
very disjointed and dislocated.
we were all maybe amputees or clones from the past dysfunctionals in the clan.
i did face up to the youngest in my tribe, wee R.
she is a ROYAL, she is, tiny and delicate, soft and gentle, like her dad, who is in every way like his own dad, very gentle and very kind.
I love little Royal and I love her King Dad as well, as i do King Dad's brothers, John and Gerald.
We played a game once, in the looney.
a line, and not a line dance.
all were asked in the group who was the saddest there, and asked to place themselves beside one who was less sad.
who was/is the saddest, I was..and i cried when i saw that more of them placed themselves on higher happiness stakes than I.
nothing much has changed.
I was sad there yesterday, love is in short supply, i guess when your grandfather had twenty children by three different wives, it would be, or bred into you to spread the love about.
not a lot came to my line of the family.
and even less was spread to the end of the line in my generation, that is twino and I.
we are superflous in the general scheme of things.
and thats how i felt yesterday.
alienated, i drove home mute and with tears about to rupture.
the gentle smile of Royal, the beautiful smile of the delicate gymnast and the roguish smile of the ball-on-a-string belter.
after the snaps we departed.
i was wrecked and the head was buzzing.  absolutely.
straight away on Google for a 'forever home'
brief words with the twin and a crash out i welcomed, sleep with a headache and profound buzzing.
again i wake and it is now 7.30am.  I do not want to face another bloody day of it.