Ode to the Baseball Coach

It was the end of the regular baseball season. The Angels of Hanover Little League started out rocky and ended the season with a bang. It always seemed one of the Angles got a crazy call from the umpire. They made calls on rules the kids didn't know and even our coach got a call that penalized the team. Yet, the boys and coaches showed resilience and kept on playing. As the season was winding down, I wanted to make sure the coaches received a "thank you" from the boys and the parents. Each player signed a baseball and I wrote a personal thank you card.   Here's the inside of the card:

Ode to the Coach

At first we seemed all apart
But we had baseball in our heart
We came together as a team
The league started to heed
The defense started to meld
The other teams we held
Our bats were a tappin'
The crowed started clappin'
We all struck out
Even coach made us pout
We shook it off and stood tall
Even with those crazy calls
Thank you coach
You are the reason
We keep playing ball!

Title

A title. It's a very simple concept. However, for some unknown reason, I cannot establish a title for my blog.

I tested a few:

The Panicky Pen
In This Moment
Somewhere Between
A Tale Between Two Cities
Roseanna Praydis
Loquacity

Still I am not satisfied. I've made lists, tried many different types of creativity techniques, still nothing. I've been blogging for 6 years, on and off, I should have a solid "title" by now.  Maybe I don't need one after all? Nah, the quest continues.

The Old Man and The Sea

(Alternate Title - The Little Girl and The Reservoir)

For months now, he’s asked me to read the book, The Old Man and the Sea. “It’s a quick read,  two day’s max,” my husband tried to persuade me.  I really wasn’t interested in reading about the sea, after all water is my archenemy.  I just finished all the trending books on my bookshelf and began to feel "book lonely," so I finally gave in.  Hoping the old man is in a boat.

The NFL draft picks were on the television in the background. I read about two pages looked up to see what was going on. Old white guys rambling on about the hot college stud didn’t really hold my interest. So, I read a few more pages. Before I knew it I was half way through the book.  My husband turned off the TV. “Ah, already half way, it is a quick read. Good night, don’t stay up too late” he said and went to sleep.

I really wasn’t tired and I was convinced I was going to finish the book.  It was an easy read so I pressed on. Before I knew it, I finished the book.  Pondering, why did the boy cry so much? Boys don’t cry that much, do they? And was it really a marlin, that couldn’t have been a marlin? A shark, a whale, maybe?   I lacked the personal connection to fishing or did I?

I started a new book hoping to settle my mind. I looked over to my nightstand after two short chapters and decided the clock was not working in my favor. I turned off the light and tried to sleep. Tried.   

I thought about fishing and the old man.

I thought about my dad; the end of a good spring rain; the smell of the mixing cool and warm air; the lingering fog that followed.  I remembered a pink windbreaker with a white zipper and brown corduroy pants. Worms! The smell of worms and spring rain filled my mind.

The grey sidewalks were covered with them; brown and pink, thin and fat, long and short. The worms seemed to cover the sidewalks as if they fell with the rain. I couldn’t wait to get outside, to collect my new friends. I'd pick them up one by one carefully placing their slimy bodies in a small white Styrofoam cup, anxiously waiting to share my catch with my dad. Sometimes, I'd sit on the front step waiting, and waiting, and waiting...watching the them wiggle around. I'd add a little dirt for them. 

And then out of the corner of my eye I'd see my dad, spring to my feet and run to show off our bait for tomorrow's trip. 

This time it was Liberty Reservoir. It was a simple silver dingy, big enough for the two of us and our dog.  But a dog was too much trouble in the boat. I took care of the worms. Dad took care of hooking them. He'd cast then turn the line to me. We'd sit and wait. If luck was on my side, I catch something. Dad would usually help bring him in. Dad would unhook him and hand him over. I'd stare the little guy in the eye intently, then look at my dad. He'd give me the nod. Gently, very carefully, I placed him back in the water and whisper "thank you". 

Hot and Fooled

It's warm almost hot, but not too hot. I don't have sweat magically appearing on my upper lip as I walk outside. This is perfect. The sun shining, little humidity, and warmth surrounding my body. Then I stop looking up and starting looking around. All I see is emptiness. People getting fatter.

Yeah, I know I put on a few pounds, about ten or so. Okay, maybe fifteen but that was over a few years time and after a major unplanned lifestyle change. Over two hours in a car each day, limited good weather days, and winter will do that too you. But I quickly made a point to get those pounds in check. I lost a few, about 7, real fast, in January. And they are still gone! There's just a few more I'm aggressively pushing a way.

However, that doesn't keep me from noticing that gradual the creep those around me are starting to clearly show. For some it's only ten pounds over the past few years for others it upwards of 50 or more. It's just gross. Oh, I know this is so very shallow of me, but it more than just pounds and looks. The slow creep, it affects everything, right the core of one's being.

And that's not the end of it. There's the lack of vigor, the void that seems to consume them. The lack of self desire to be more that what they are in the present moment. All that is left is the sad look of succumb and given up that displays prominently on their faces.

It doesn't end at the office, on my way home or when I take my son to his extra curricular activities, it's all around. The total lack of 'care'. It's as if I'm surrounded by zombies, real life zombies. There is no excitement. The energy of life down the drain. Where did it end up? Masked by the sunshine?

Today the weather has fooled me into believing there might actually be some beauty in this place after all, but I really know better.

Slight Rain

The upper deck is slightly damp and it's still misting outside. It looks like the sky might be breaking, which is good because the last thing I want today is another unusable Sunday. I start gathering the table setting for breakfast on the deck, place mats, folks, butter, and so forth.  Strawberries are washed and the last few blueberry pancakes are almost finished. Maybe a mimosa would be perfect with breakfast today but I'm out of champagne so my regular weekend coffee and Irish Cream will have to do.   The radio plays Jimmy Buffet's "Tin Cup Chalice". I quietly sing along, "I wanna go back...to the islands" while the tears fill up the corner of my eyes.  I push them back while I finish putting the food on the table, in a haze.  My mind is stuck, once again, in this place between two cities and I'm not even living in one of them, at least not in the present moment. I was there before and I'll have it back again. This is only temporary I remind myself about five times over.

Piles of Laundry

They stack up high, piles of smelly, dirty laundry. No one wants to move them, touch them or see them. I stare at them hoping they will disappear. My get lost in the volume. I am overwhelmed. And walk away.

An Odd Sense of Calm

An Odd Sense of Calm

There is work to be done all around me, homework, laundry, housekeeping, and packing. Yet, I don't feel rushed, overwhelmed, or that uncomfortable pressure I usually hang heavily on my mind when getting ready to leave for vacation. It's so odd that I'm beginning to think something might be wrong with me. My mind skips over the agony of what will be waiting on the other side of my sunny escape. I'm thinking that maybe that's key for now. Stop playing a chess game. Stop think many moves ahead.   There will always be something waiting at the other end of the board.  Just navigate the few steps in front of me. Tonight that seems to be working.

The Loose Tooth Obsession

The Loose Tooth Obsession

There wasn't a loose tooth in his mouth for months, after he lost two in close succession. Finally, a third decided to jiggle. Friday after school, the stories of how the other kids 'remove' their teeth began. "Mom, so-and-so's dad used a string and doorknob, so-and-so's sister punched his mouth"...and on and on the stories went.  I tried to play it cool, "D, just let it go, your tooth will fall out when it's good and ready. Besides, punching, pulling, tugging, and strings, can't really be good for your gums anyway."

Rolling his eyes he just sighed.

"Ok. We can call the dentist on Monday if you'd like." I replied.

"Nah," he whispered then asked "Can I have Coke with dinner?"

*****************************

Sunday was a typical family do-nothing day. We were enjoying our time together with an afternoon fire in the chiminea and the sunshine on the deck. Nothing really exciting going on. I stop reading and looked up. After taking a sip of wine, I asked my husband "Have you seen D? It's like he just disappeared?"

"I think he went upstairs, probably playing with his Legos." he replied casually.

He was probably right, but something seemed strange. So I walked inside and stood at the bottom of the stairs. "D? You up there? You okay?" I called.

"Yeeessss, Mom. I'm okay" He replied walking towards the top of the staircase with tweezers in hand.

"Ok, good, I thought you disappeared." I paused "What are the tweezers for?"

"Oh, I really wanna get this tooth out, wanna help?"

This Sunday Morning

I'm still tired but easily wake-up and make my way downstairs, two dogs anxiously in tow. They are ready to see the sun, as am I.  It's a little foggy, but the sun is slowing burning the fog away. It's going to be a great day. I slowly make my way to the kitchen to find a hot cup of coffee waiting for me on the table. Just as I finished, my six year old begs for a bicycle ride. I agree. Together we go outside. The fog is still thick, so thick it feels as if it were lightly raining. We ride anyway.

On my newly repaired bicycle, I think back. It was three years ago I was last on this bike riding along the beach were the Gulf meets the Atlantic. For just a moment, I was back home. And on this Sunday, that's where I'll stay.

Defused

Driving at 80 miles an hour, about 15 over the limit, and trying to defuse a persistent anxiety attack that started 3 hours ago, I suddenly realize I don't remember how I got to this exit. My exit. Will I get over in time? Sure. I had to. I was on my way home and home was really where I wanted to be. I continued thinking, I AM a writer. This is what I want to do...want i want to be. So, damn it! What I write I need to mean. So what if I upset someone. No matter what I do I'm gonna upset someone, somewhere, sometime, somehow. What's done is done and my words, although cryptic, are mine. They mean something. I'm NOT taking them back. I'm not undoing it. I'm sick of giving in to everyone else. I just don't care anymore. And that is how I defused my own anxiety attack today.

Of course, you must want to know how I got here.

Prelude to a Weekend with Friends and the Beach

While packing the sunscreen, aftersun gel and bug spray....the wine in the cellar was calling....

I swiftly poured a glass thinking about what the weekend has in store while examining my bathing suits, studying the 5 extra pounds that rest not-so-nicely on my tummy, and praying no one will notice that on my small frame that it makes me look pregnant.

But I continued to sip on my Pinot Grigio, that every liquor store seems to have limit supply of these days.  Dreaming of Frisbee and football on the beach, sandy legs and asses...yeah we fall down a lot...good friends and wild stories... wondering how long it will take to repeat those same crazy stories this time...do we have enough new dirt to share to make to night two.....doubt it....

Better finish packing....

On Writing

Write fast edit slowly...too bad I'm a horrible editor.

What is a Muse?

What is a muse?

The goddesses who inspire the creation of literature and the arts. They were considered the source of the knowledge, related orally for centuries in the ancient culture, that was contained in poetic lyrics and myths. The compliment to a real woman who inspires creative endeavor is a later idea. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muse) I don't particularly like cite wikipedia as a source....I did it for ease in this post....

Not looking for a woman, per se but anything that inspires the creation of literature (writing) or art (painting or photography).

I'm on a quest to find my muse or muses....what ever they may be.