Batter up

I was changing the batteries on my beat up old radio - yes, you heard that right, radio! - and when I flipped the switch with the new ones in place, here came the mellow voice of the Nats play-by-play announcer, Charlie Slowes! I was astonished - it's still February and we still have traces of snow! It was such a welcome surprise! Yes of course I knew they were in Spring Training but I didn't know any of the games were carried on radio! Now that's the best news I've had today!

Baseball.... the boon and torment of my days. I vow not to get involved and just like that - on a Saturday night in February my radio is following me around! There's so much to love about the game and so much that is frustrating! You get involved, they tank, you stomp off for days, they revive, you think - well, maybe, and then they tank again. Wait until next year.... suckers.

I vowed at the end of last year's abysmal finish that I would be more judicious - and one change of batteries, and the dial being set just right, and pow, I'm in the game! and the season hasn't even begun!

I somehow think baseball always take me back to Dad and childhood summer evenings on the porch, fresh-mown grass, fireflies, late night chocolate-marshmallow ice cream.... and peace.

By all means, Play Ball!

snow day

First snow of the season that I was able to walk in! I was lingering over my breakfast when I suddenly remembered the forecasters had said it was going to change to sleet and I sprang into action!! It was truly glorious! Every branch, twig, leaves bore its load of white! Patterns jumped out at me on every side - it was like everything had come alive in another dimension. 

And the cathedral silence sank deep within me.

I came to a lovely untrampled white stretch and was truly tempted into snow angelhood, but the thought of wet clothes stopped me! I suddenly realized that most of the time in days gone by when I practiced the art I was wearing a snowsuit or snow pants of some sort - and longed to be transported into that freedom of expression - properly clad!

But still I tramped on, swallowing wintery air and silence.

So to all, whether you watch from behind a heated window, or move noiselessly through the drifted ridges of white outside, enjoy this day's offering of transformative stillness.

jig-saw puzzles

Puzzles, as in jig-saw.

Today I was amazed when my adult son said he and his wife started putting puzzles together! The practice was such an integral part of my childhood but not a part of our current family's history.

The occasion for puzzles in my childhood home was usually a snowstorm! When the flakes started falling, Dad would come home from work and it was time to set up a puzzle. We had a whole big box of them in the attic so the pieces were always icy when we began to lay them out on the kitchen table. Then we would each claim our side, top or bottom and set to work. I was never heavily invested and more often than not came rushing in at the finish line rather than slogging through the early going. Still, I remember with joy.

And there is never a family reunion that doesn't have a puzzle set up in some corner and truth be told, when you haven't seen people for a long while and are unfamiliar with the face of their daily lives, putting a puzzle together is the perfect bridge over awkward conversation.

My son said at first he had to school himself not to think it was a tremendous waste of time - but no!! It's the perfect tool to slow the mind and relax the soul, while sharpening all kinds of skills concerning shape, texture, color recognition.

And in my later years' familiarity with retirement institutions I always smile to see the inevitable puzzle set up in some corner and always a few residents in thoughtful contemplation.

Puzzles, the quietly satisfying, joyfully tedious process of  searching for that piece with a bit of green, two hooks, and a slightly rounded top -  the spying, the hopeful transporting to the empty space and voila!! A perfect fit!

 How much of your day turns out like that??!

Framework

And as a brief postscript to yesterday's comments on Valentine's Day I found this quotation from Harper Lee unbelievably in my morning reading -

Scout had just heard that Dill was not coming for the summer and she mused to herself -

"With him life was routine, without him, life was unbearable."

...which became my Valentine of yesterday!

So often, when it comes to romance, people put the emphasis on magic, fireworks, flashy manifestations of one kind or another, when really what you want most is routine, someone to depend upon, a steady background for whatever else is going on. 

Framework.

recognize the moment

I stepped outside on the front stoop to retrieve the paper and swallowed glorious sunshine! What a difference that yellow orb makes on the day! I could scarcely wait to get started on the day's journey.

But now, breakfast, Washington Post, morning mail later, the skies are all cloudy! Adages swirl:
- don't get your hopes up,
- seize the day,
- don't count your chickens before they're hatched
- many a slip twixt lip and cup.

Well, I won't be foiled and my four miles shall begin shortly!

But first, Valentine's Day. People write that this is one of the most difficult days of the year for many people. Why?... because the cotton candy dream just turns out to be a handful of sticky sugar!

Marriages fail, relationships rupture, children rebel, neighbors fight, governments dissolve before our very eyes, churches corrupt - disillusionment on very hand/

But wouldn't it be wonderful if folks could just embrace love wherever the merest trace of it exists.

And give thanks.

And spread those cards, flowers and chocolates over the other 364 days!


-

the other guy

Many years ago on a dark and stormy night, an elderly, slightly "elevated" woman slammed head-on into my car on the brow of a steep hill. In the midst of the rain, shattered glass and steel, bleeding nose, wind and moans of my injured son, the police officer murmured to me that the lady claimed "Satan was chasing her and threw a tree at her."

So there.

From that moment on, I learned that life isn't predictable. And, while always a careful driver, I have become almost paranoid in anticipation of the other guy's moves. But I read in a police article the other day that awareness, head swiveling constantly is your best hope of survival. 

And sometimes on a dark and stormy night that isn't enough.

I recovered from the above incident with a great scoop of Grace - as did my son. But unless you have been in an accident that wasn't your fault I don't think you can internalize the undying feeling of vulnerability that rides shotgun every single time that seatbelt clicks into place. 

many a slip

I heard that a friend slipped on black ice yesterday, fell and broke two bones above her wrist - ouch!! No matter how supple you feel your body is, that black ice phenomenon is the most feared concept at this age! Did we not have black ice as children??! I think I remember sliding on our driveway at home - with shoes - and I think we even tried ice skates at one time as it was completely glazed over. Oh, the abandonment!

 If I have to determine whether or not I indeed am aging, the fear of falling is certainly a valid barometer! As kids we fell constantly! Even from trees! Yet I don't think I ever broke a bone to this day apart from ribs and nose fractures in a car accident in my forties. But that record exists because of much grace on Fate's part! Many is the time the results could have been wildly different. 

So I guess the lesson is, act your age, proceed with caution, don't take unnecessary risks - but, hey, keep living!!

potpie

My mother was not a fancy cook. She cooked plain fare beautifully. All the standard Pennsylvania Dutch dishes she prepared to a turn, but they usually didn't require great finesse. Except one. Potpie.

Don't mistake potpie for the crusted vegetable pie that is pawned off under that moniker! Real, honest potpie is made from flour, egg, salt and milk. The trick is rolling out the dough to a perfect moist, but unsticking thinness, cutting it into squares and dropping it into the gently simmering chicken, beef, ham broth and cooking it lightly until done. I have made all kinds of pastries, but I have yet to conquer this seemingly simple art. I just downloaded a tutorial from the internet which in itself made me giggle, thinking of my heritage and Mother expertly rolling out the dough on our kitchen table with nary an electronic gadget even in her imagination.

I may still get lumpy misshapen globs of dough despite my efforts, but the deliciously tender morsels of potpie simmered in rich broth will drive me ever onward to the eventual end game of cultural culinary delight!

RIP

It is 37 years ago today that my beloved father died of a fatal heart attack after shoveling wet, February snow. He had scarcely been sick a day of his life so to say the event was shocking is numbing in its inadequacy.

 He was the bedrock of my life. He was always there, literally and figuratively - one of those rare present fathers of the 50's and 60's. Owning his own roofing business in a nearby town even brought him home for the noonday meal. He was there for fun, laughter, tears, disagreements, noise, games, decisions, vacations, church, swimming, boating, family gatherings, guidance.

He was there. 

And when he died, I realized that for all of my life my mother always thought he was the greatest.

There is no greater heritage.

sticking the landing

Sometimes we have to make hard, hard choices.

We had a most difficult family decision to make to move from SD to northern VA in the midst of a blizzard, tearing up tender, hopeful roots of about six months to get to a happier workplace. It was excruciatingly difficult psychologically and literally as we got snowed in along the way. But from that bladed beginning we landed in our current home and have been here ever since - some forty years later. Who knew?!

Often times there isn't a rainbow at the end of storms, but it is somehow gratifying to look back and note that sometimes those first shaky, terrifying steps of faith, find terra firma to land upon.

queen for a day

While writing the previous post, the refrain ran through my head "would you like to be queen for a day?" And suddenly I was back in my home kitchen, hearing Jack Bailey's voice booming out the question over our little kitchen radio! That radio brought the world to the feet of our bucolic little village! My mother listened all day long as she toiled to keep a family of seven, clothed, fed, loved. I never liked the show much as it seemed giddy to me! Why would you want one day of excess - why not seek a lifetime?!

Economics were a bit distant to me in the late 40's, but, yeah, the wisdom still holds!

today

There's a great line from Rumi -

"Jars of springwater are not
Enough. Take us down to the river."

Who knows what he was talking about in the 13thcentury, but for me on this day it means springtime! Yesterday as I walked, each lakeside bench I came to mile after mile, I sat and felt the glow of the February sun on my face and longed for real Spring instead of Spring for a day! There are times when a jar is enough but right now, I want the whole river!

But, snow is in the forecast for next week.

 Carpe diem!

tell me a story

Stories make the world go round.

Take a sermon, for instance. It could be ever so well thought out, with salient points and reverent intent. The congregation will nod wisely, thoughtfully, and go home and basically forget. Add a story to that composed oration, and the people now have a basket to carry the eggs of truth. And they will either make an immediate delicious omelet or they will hatch into further life.

Be it Bible stories, fairytales, myths, folklore, novels, neighborhood gossip, family sagas - stories are where we hang out hats.

Some people tell the same ones over and over, gleefully proffering each polished detail as if Eden-new, and don't make the mistake of trying to head them off at the pass! They won't be "headed" once in gear! 

Think how many times you said to a friend for instance, "I hear there is a lot of flu going around" and the friend replies with enthusiasm, "I know - I just heard that Uncle Jake was fine in the morning, and by noon, my dear...." And the story is off and running. You are likely to have more flu conversations because of poor Uncle Jake!

The older I get, the more I prize the stories of my family, immediate and extended. To laugh, cry, sigh over past events is to step more surely into the light of this day.

take a look

For what it's worth - my parents wouldn't have approved a black face costume in the 1940's!! I'm not saying they were the most enlightened people on the face of the earth, but we were cautioned not to use the n-word EVER, and though we never really had contact with people of color that much, we were taught respect for people in general.

Having said that,  I must add a caveat that as a very young child I glibly recited the "eeny, meeny, miny moe" rhyme for counting off teams but I never associated the n-word with a person - I just thought it was like a nonsense word like all the others. As I grew I realized the meaning and was completely horrified.

So I guess it is clear that as a nation we need to take off our blinders, and realize while we profess tolerance on one level, there may be other aspects of our thinking/experience that are truly, though probably mindlessly, offensive.

Probably a whole lot of us shouldn't be picking of those first stones.

 

on the run

I was reminded, rather dramatically yesterday that I am no longer a youth!!

I was out walking - certainly not attempting my usual four miles, but I did want to get both some exercise and fresh air - as well as enjoy the beauty of the falling snow scenes. But I was judiciously careful of every step as the new snow masked the earlier ice. To say I was largely creeping would accurately describe my progress. I had a lovely time though.

However, later in the afternoon, I was sitting at the kitchen table reading and just happened to look out the window and saw two school-age boys chasing each other - weaving in and out between cars, on the sidewalks, on the street, running at top speed!! I simply stared.

When did I get this old????

my mother's son

I am currently reading a book called My Mother's Son by David Hirshberg - a novel depicting a post WWII childhood in Boston. It's a fascinating time-capsule as well as a poignant coming-of-age. I was struck anew with how explosive the 1950's were. I guess it would be more accurate to say the explosion came in the 1960's but the stirrings were surely in the '50's. And it is so fascinating to read about this era in big cities when there were still distinctive ethnic neighborhoods with their cultural idiosyncrasies. The lovely stew of European heritages -Irish, Jewish, Italian, German, etc. - flared with food, language, traditions, morals. Often sharp edges were on display and at odds, but ultimately they were tolerant of each other as everyone sought a safe place to stand upon. The racial slurs flew fast and furiously, but didn't consume. They still played ball, gambled, gossiped, danced, worked, celebrated, died together.

Where has it all gone wrong?

Now each difference seems so often to be viewed with suspicion, distrust, and downright fear. With all our inventions and advancement, have we lost something very basic along the way. 

Oh, the humanity!