Baseball Memories

 

When I was a little girl, my father gave me the most important gift, the gift of acceptance and unconditional love.

I was in the midst of those awkward middle school years.  I was trying so hard to be cool, to be like everyone else.  Above all, I wanted to fit in.  All my friends played softball, so of course, I signed up to be on a team, too.  I hated every single moment of it.  I was afraid of being hit by a ball.  I couldn’t catch, pitch, throw, or hit.  Yet I kept right on trying.  I went to each practice.  When I got home, my dad spent countless hours trying to teach me and trying to help me improve.  Nothing worked.  I didn’t improve no matter how hard I tried.  As hard as I was working to be better, my heart wasn’t in it.  I wanted to be reading a book, or playing the piano, or spending time with my pets.  The only things I liked about playing softball was sitting on the bench, visiting with my friends, and going to the concession stand after the game.

Proboscis

We were all sitting on the patio this evening.  Cocktail Hour.  T and I sat watching a large moth gathering nectar.  It was huge and looked almost like a humming bird.  The moth moved from planter to planter, flower to flower.

Em watched it along with us, and she was fine until we told her that it was NOT a humming bird.  Then she freaked out as if the moth were suddenly going to attack her.  I explained to her that the moth didn’t have a stinger.  When it darted past her head as it moved to the other side of the patio.  Em was ready to go back inside.

I asked her to calm down and told her to look at his proboscis as he moved through the pot of petunias.  “His what?” she said.  I asked T if this was a Hornworm Moth, sometimes called a Hawk Moth.  Em looked shocked.  She thought she knew her parents, and we were suddenly talking like a couple of entomologists.

Too Many Goodbyes

I called my son Andrew last night, and I told him, “I hate this whole f’ing growing up thing!”  He said, “Whoa, Mom!”  He knew what I meant.  We had been talking about his brother’s visit home last week.  While Andrew wanted to hear all about it, he hated the fact that he had not been able to come home, too.  He said, “I wish that I could be part of the antics, Mom.”

Continuum

Last night I spoke to my younger son for the first time in three weeks.  That is the longest time I have ever gone without hearing his voice.  We had exchanged a few texts, and I knew that he had talked to his dad.  Of course, T filled me in on his conversation with our son, but that was nothing compared to having Luke on the other end of the phone.

Happy New Year

I held Lola’s hand to cross a busy street in Milwaukee.  As I hurried her along, she said, “Mom, you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.  We go slow in the country.”  I immediately smiled at her words.  I don’t know where she has heard that phrase, but I do know that she was speaking the truth.  No matter where she is, now or in the future, she is a country girl.  I was so proud to hear those words, at that time, and in that place.  What my little daughter’s words reminded me was that fact that the things we instill in our children stay with them no matter where they go,  or how far away they are from home…or from us.

For Dad

Little Girls, Little Dogs, and One Old Cat

Finally…this crazy week is over.  The past couple of days have been a whirlwind of activity.  Working with the consultants and conducting public meetings, hosting a concert last night, responding to phone calls and emails.  It was a busy, but productive week.  I enjoyed working with my friend.  His assistance as a meeting facilitator was invaluable, and we were able to accomplish more than I had hoped.  I’m excited for the next phase of this project and many of the potential pitfalls and road blocks I had anticipated were never encountered.  Not yet, anyway.  This is a good project.  What was initially an economic development initiative has blossomed into a community development project.

No Shades of Gray

When I was a young(er) woman, I often used my great-grandparents as my mental guides.

Hazel and Clifford were a wonderful, happy part of my childhood.  They lived on the family farm where Grandpa’s own Great-Grandparent’s had lived.  To me, it seemed like they had been there forever, almost like characters out of a fairytale.  Great-Grandma was a tiny, little woman who always wore a dress, old-fashioned lace-up boots, and a smile.  She taught me how to gather eggs.  I can see her bending down before me, the bun in her hair streaked with gray.  She may have been old, but her eyes were youthful and sparkled with merriment.