Sentences with phrase «dreams field house»

The Big League Dreams field house expands your athletic endeavors by offering indoor soccer, roller hockey and basketball.

Not exact matches

The cards guide children through a progressive relaxation exercise and have several images for dream ideas such as a tree house, a beach scene, a field of flowers, and a rainbow.

In one of the reversed clips, a sudden burst of inspiration pushes a father to raze his shed and construct a go - kart track; in another, a baseball crashing through a window inspires him to give his back yard the Field of Dreams treatment; and in the «Tree House» commercial, a family enjoys a picnic atop the multi-story arboreal dwelling constructed with the help of a 2014 Toyota Tundra.

Guests to want to opt in on the «Kinsella Experience» will not only stay in the house's one bedroom upstairs, but also receive a «Field of Dreams» commemorative baseball, a bottle of wine plus two wine glasses and a picnic tablecloth, a DVD of the movie (with popcorn to enjoy it with), actor Dwier Brown's (he played Kevin Costner's dad) book, «If You Build It,» and a $ 25 gift card towards a breakfast at a local Dyersville country breakfast spot.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

10/25 Kerry James Marshall, «Mastry» Through 1/29, the Met Breuer A painter of historical mysteries and the «African - American vernacular,» Marshall will showcase his huge graphic masterpieces of jet - black men, women, and children in housing projects, on streets, at play in the fields of the American Dream.