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Requiem for a Spin
Clothes are spinning in my clothes dryer, every tumble, a little less damp, continual random encounters all in the joy of the spin.Hey, Brown Sock! S'up, Paisley Boxer Shorts? Howdy, Grey T-Shirt. Pair of Jeans, what are you doing here?
In the dryer, they are one group, even if they will never join each other in an ensemble in the fashion world. They spin together until ready for the outside. Then the spinning stops, and they enter a world of hangers, folds, and drawers.
Kids begin walking, and soon, they spin. My toddler Adrian spins to dance. My second grader spins for the thrill of the dizziness. Catch their eyes during a pass-by on each revolution, and you'll see it. Joy. If socks had eyes, they would have that same look in the dryer. They would not have it on your feet.
I don't remember enjoying the spin, but I know I did. Now, even whirling my kids around gets me dizzy, and not in a wondrous way. The older I get, the less I spin.
A few years ago my family and I hit an amusement park. My teenager and I rode a rollercoaster with a spinny spiral loop -- the Vominator, maybe? I don't remember. I do remember remembering loving coasters, even though it had been quite a few years since I had ridden any.
Something had changed. I couldn't handle the dizziness. Getting off the ride, I was wrecked, and for a long time. I stumbled to a bench, and my son dropped down next to me, teasing and consoling (but mainly teasing). I tried to laugh it off, my head dropped low, but I was humbled. It wasn't being sick that hurt, but the loss of the thrill. I knew then my love of coasters had changed and I would now shift from rider to spectator. It caught me off guard. I hadn't even noticed I was in the cool-down cycle.
I guess it is something in my inner ear, but I can't tolerate spins anymore. I do wear progressive lens glasses (no-lines bi-focals), or, as more commonly referred, Not Young Anymore Glasses. Because different areas of the glasses have a different angle of refraction, if I nod my head up and down, I get a sensation of spinning, and that I can pretty much handle.
Please don't say something I'll vehemently agree with, though, or I'll likely end up on the floor.
Listen, if you can still spin, then spin.
Spin for freedom. Spin for love. Spin for life. Spin for nothing more than the spin itself. But spin, not metaphorically, but literally.
Spin until you fall, laughing. And I'll be nodding in agreement until I join you.
