Bounce With It

So my next-door neighbor, Pogo Stick Boy, has assumed a new persona. He is now Basketball Dribbling Boy. He practices bouncing a ball over, and over, and over, and over, and over. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, ad infinitum. 

It's soothing, in its own way -- repetitive, comforting in its sameness. 

Like Chinese water torture.

I suspect this child is my Karma for the tennis ball bouncing I did all those many years ago. I hit tennis balls against our garage door for three to four hours a day, every day, seven days a week, weather permitting, for about a dozen years.

No wonder Mom drank. ~~GH