How Green Becomes Wood

"They do participate, and Cooger loves to join in," Daizi answered, "I do what I can. We're talking about getting her a sandbox with the water table, which seems like a nice balance of messy but contained enough. I mean, it's sand so it'll get everywhere, but so long as it is outside we think it will be alright."
 
Ciara made a mental note to get Ivy one of those tables for some event. Birthday, Christmas, whatever. She almost had in the past, so hearing Daizi vocalize the thought confirmed her thought that it might be something that would work for them. She'd decided not to in the past because she was worried about the mess and that Ivy might be too young.

"That seems like a good idea. The sandbox is a part of an American childhood. Or, at least, it used to be," Ciara mused.
 
"That's what Cooger said, and a lot of what we read online too... Dark and I had a laugh about it, actually, since we're from the desert. Dark especially finds it a bit absurd, because he definitely didn't have safe, clean, playground sand bought in bags to play in." Daizi said, then after a moment asked, "Did you have one, when you were little?"
 
"Yes, we did, but I did not play in it much. Some when I was very small, but it was not really something I was interested in," Ciara said. She did not say that she had not been allowed to play in the sand after the age of four because it was considered unladylike. Tara had never cared and seemed to take delight in sneaking out to play in the sand, much to their mother's irritation. Their brother had been allowed to play until he'd grown bored of it. Mostly because he never had anyone to play with.
 
"I feel like I never got to do what I felt like doing when I was a kid, you know?" Daizi said thoughtfully, "My dad was really protective over me, to the point where my understanding of what I could do and his varied so much. Besides swimming, I feel like most of my activities were all indoors because everyone was certain I'd hurt myself."
 
"I cannot say I do not see where they were coming from, but at the same time, I acknowledge that a child of any... ability and age level must face dangers and some pain in order to grow and challenge themselves," Ciara mused.
 
"There's definitely a balance, and I didn't totally appreciate it as a kid, but..." She hummed, fluffing out her hair with one hand, "I just remember being so frustrated trying to convince my dad to let me do anything. I had to beg to be taught how to cook! But I guess it's probably why I grew to be so... ungovernable. It's just spite. And like you said, a desire for new experiences."
 
Ciara glanced at Daizi. The idea of teaching a blind kid how to cook filled her with anxiety, but she knew it was just an example. "It would appear children can handle more than what many parents think they are able, and denying them new experiences would be cruel, I imagine. Not that I know much about children, but I do know adults with no outside imput, challenges, and new experiences... wither. I suppose now is your chance to see how far Ivy will go."
 
"In a manner of speaking," Daizi teased. Then she sat back and ordered her second alcoholic cocktail of the evening, asking if Ciara wanted anything. After the waitress was gone, she had another question for Ciara, "Speaking of new experiences, have you ever done anything at an open mic?"
 
"Good heavens, no," Ciara said promptly. "The closest I have ever come to an 'open mic' other than what we are doing right now was a eulogy at a funeral, or someone asking me a couple of hours in advance to fill in for a speaker who had fallen ill."
 
"If you had to---and you don't, don't panic thinking I'm about to ask you to do something dreadful, but hypothetically if you had to, do you think there's anything you would do?" Daizi asked.
 
Ciara almost smiled in amusement at Daizi's careful question. "If I absolutely had to do an open mic, the only thing I can think of would be to recite something like the Declaration or National Anthem. Though I might have some nursery rhyme still memorized. I cannot imagine many places where those choices would be appropriate or welcomed with much more than confusion. You, I am sure, would have far more of a repertoire for an open mic."
 
"If you remember more of nursery rhymes, we should have an open mic at the Necropolis, Ivy would love it," Daizi joked, "I've performed at a few, and Dark too, if you can believe that. He gets terrible stage fright when singing, but he can muster the courage to recite some of his poetry."
 
"He's a marvelous poet," Daizi confirmed, "Although, he doesn't usually recite at English-language open mics because he almost exclusively writes poetry in Arabic. It's easier to convey some things in our native language."
 
Ciara glanced around at the people gathered around them. "I am not certain some of what was said this evening was English," she said dryly. "What is 'riz?' Or 'skibbidy?' They may not even realize it was in Aribic if he read some here."
 
"I think rizz is short for Charisma," Daizi laughed, "Don't ask me about skibbidy. You could ask Dark, though, because after his years teaching at the high school he is shockingly familiar with slang. What instruments do they have up there? I've heard a lot of guitar, is that it?"
 
Ciara looked over the stage. "There is a guitar, though I have seen some people bring their own up there. I believe that is a violin, and the shadows make it difficult to discnern, but I think there is a stand-up bass."
 
It took Ciara a moment to answer the question as she tried to see through the low light. "Yes," she confirmed. "There is one up against one of the back walls. It is covered with a cloth, likely for dust."
 
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