Playing ball

This gives way to that; one moment melts into another; plans evolve; patterns and melodies emerge.

Yesterday, for rather mundane and complicated reasons, I spent the five o'clock hour as an impromptu babysitter, watching both Cleo and a Yellowbird classmate named Jasper in a playground, until Jasper's mom was able to leave work and join us. It was hardly a chore, though; rather, I fully enjoyed watching the kids develop idea after idea, nudging them only occasionally to show a little care on the balance beam, or the playground tower. And so a session on the swings gave way to an imaginary rocket ship liftoff, which in turn melted into a game of tag, and then - due to the chance find of a ball at the bottom of a grassy slope - into the fort-da variant you see above. At one point, a third child joined in for a bit, and the two boys alternated catching and returning; soon after, Cleo and Jasper were taking their shoes off, claiming that they were about to enter an apartment.

I felt, all at the same time, like a proud and happy father, like an anthropologist who has stumbled on a remarkable culture, and like a privileged witness to a fluid and improvisatory musical performance. I felt, in other words, a bit like Michael Bakan, who once wrote, in his book Music of Death and New Creation: Experiences in the World of Balinese Gamela Belenganjur, of an organic session of music that seemed to evolve out of and blur into everyday life: "As the ensemble grew larger, some of the musicians began picking up instrument and playing, while others continued socializing casually. There were some who managed to converse, smoke, and warm up on their instruments all at the same time, which I found impressive. What playing there was seemed random and haphazard."

There was no smoking on our playground - even this babysitter has some rules! - but I think it's fair to say that there was a random, haphazard aspect to the late afternoon play: an aspect which I found, like Bakan, in a different context, impressive.