What I Did on My Spring Break

Well, spring sprang. We've had our state of grace and our little gift of sanctioned madness, courtesy of Mother Nature. Thanks, Gaia. Much obliged. I guess it's time to get back to that daily routine of living we like to call normal.

David Assael

Remember this photo? And my post on my great housekeeper skills?

Tuesday, me and Ian - eight hours spent shoveling out the study where three boys have unwound and only spot cleaned for (dare I say?) years. Keep in mind, in the above picture you can't see all the junk (i.e. baseball uniforms, golf clubs, school work, old computer games and the boxes they arrived in, soda cans, underwear) lurking in the crevices beside the couch and computer - or the floor. Nor the mountains of dust on the books. I won't mention the old rug. The result?


Tell me it looks better. Please. I know it smells much better.

Also, youngest son is mad at me. After the first day of NCAA basketball playoffs, I'm 12 for 16. Ranked 143000 on ESPN. Told him when we picked our brackets not to mess with me. That I knew how to do this. He scoffed at my choices. Hmmmph. No scoffing going on today!

Also, spring has sprung in Texas. The Bradford Pears have been most beautiful.


Tomatoes once again planted, dauntless in memory of my previous thwarted attempts.
Cabbage salad soon available for dinner.

Had a pomegranate martini for lunch the other day -- and a nap in the afternoon.

With a clean study, a trip to the library, two miles swum at the YMCA, and 8 high school baseball games behind me, once more to the lake for the remaining two days of vacation, my copy of EB White's essays under my arm. Next week, back to work.

What Lies Ahead

We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up.

Christopher Morley

Once upon a time I spent my days with a gaggle of kids that followed me where ever I went. My world revolved around the three souls I pushed out of my womb and then made sure they had food placed in front of them, shoes that fit, and swimming holes to explore. My days sometimes seemed to never end. I ached for an hour or two where no one needed me for something. Just an hour. Or a minute. Like an opportunity to shut the bathroom door and pee alone.

Even though it didn't seem possible I'd ever escape the always present mountain of laundry, the sticky floors from juice spilled, or the driving schedule that began at 3pm and ended when the last game or guitar lesson ended hours later, I knew there would come a time. That time is now. My last son is a high school senior and next year, my calendar will not have hours of baseball games filling the slots and there will be no one's ass to chew about getting homework completed.


How in the world did this little boy become old enough to go off to college?

Youngest son, Ian, and I took a road trip last week. College visit. He had been accepted to a few schools. Some even with in-state tuition. But he had a dream, and never one to not encourage those, I arranged flight, a car, and time to visit an old friend who teaches at the university.

Ian and I walked around campus, taking in all the sites. Took a tour. Visited with our old friends who drove us for hours on end to see the surrounding area. Overwhelmed, Ian and I retreated to our hotel for siesta time, watching the Olympics or talking about what we'd seen. As Ian endured Ice Dancing, for his mother's sake, we read the local newspapers and just soaked up the entire environment - not talking about a decision.

On the last day, Ian went on ahead of me as he had a meeting scheduled with the head of his department. By the time I got my camera out, (my hands were shaking) he was almost out of my sight and in the building.

We've since had a discussion on which college he's chosen to attend. Come fall, the last of those that followed me around will be off on their own. How does that happen so quickly? My grieving has begun, although...

...I'm probably going to be working so much to help pay for his butt to attend, that I won't have time to miss him. Now, there's fodder for future posts - that midlife job hunting thing again.

Back in the Saddle

Tenacity is a pretty fair substitute for bravery, and the best form of tenacity I know is expressed in a Danish fur trapper’s principle: “The next mile is the only one a person really has to make.”

Eric Sevareid

Last April I wrote a post about my youngest son, Ian, the high school baseball player. How he had endured an odd hip fracture while swinging the bat. Needless to say, it ended his season. Took him out for the summer as well, and required months of rest.

Yesterday, I sat in the bleachers and watched that boy come up to bat once again. His choice, he signed up for Select Fall Ball. No one else in the stands may have known, but I understood the anxiety he held standing in that batting box.

Poised in his stance, he watched four pitches -- all balls. He trotted to first base. Safely. No hitches in his step. Second at bat, the same - four errant throws and another trot for a free base. Third up? He swung and missed. Next pitch he fouled off into the parking lot. Then, struck out looking. Fourth, and final at bat for the day, he connected for a chopper to second. Safe at first on a Fielder's Choice.

Back in the saddle.

On the two hour drive home from San Antonio, he critiqued his play. Recanted the plays he'd made from the outfield - balls caught and throws made. Assessed where he needs to improve. Pleased his arm is back, even though he admits rust.

I reminded him that the kids he's playing with finished the season last spring and played all summer. Told him how proud of himself he should be for climbing back on the horse. He smiled.

Did I have that tenacity and persistence at 17 years of age? I doubt it. Proud of that boy, I am.

However, it does sit my butt back in the bleachers on weekends. I hate to say it, but I didn't miss melting into the metal in 100+ degree heat all summer. But I did miss watching my boy play.

Onward to next weekend's game, the next horse. And the next mile.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game and Other Vacation Tales

There is probably no more obnoxious class of citizen, taken end for end, than the returning vacationist.

Robert Benchley

In order to entice the #3 son to attend a family wedding in Colorado, we threw in a bribe and added a Colorado Rockies game. That it was the only game the Rockies lost in a 17 game run escaped our mind as we saw the Tampa Bay Devil Rays make 10 home runs. Most pleasant experience in Denver - riding the train down to the old Union Station and the ballpark. (I could not believe how Denver had grown since we moved away in 1984.) One dollar hot dog night. Tornado Watch in place as we eyed the ominous clouds that only rain-delayed us 40 minutes. Great fun.




Click on the pictures to get a better view of the stormy sky.












You can take the girl away from the lake, but she'll always find another one. Here is where we rented a cabin with my husband's brother and his family.

Columbine Lake in Grand Lake. The other edge of Rocky Mountain National Park, as opposed to Estes Park.









So peaceful down on that dock. No motors allowed on this lake -- only kayaks, canoes, paddleboats and me, with my book and journal.







This is the three of us (the older two sons working and not able to attend) dressed up for the wedding. Please notice I have my gut sucked in along with wearing one of those seal-it-all-in-there garments. I don't think it worked.

The bridal party oblivious to the falling rain and the umbrellas overhead - as it should be.

The lovely centerpieces and flower bouquets - limes, lemons, gerbera daisies, roses, pittosporum, and maiden hair ferns. Other untaken photos of the trip? The bride, my niece, absolutely beautiful. She met her beau while nurse interning at the Mayo Clinic. The groom -- a genuinely nice young man with a Minnesota accent (I had no trouble remembering mine and communicating with the throng of family and friends that ventured to the mountains of Colorado. Oh, to go Bohting in Minnesota) My sister-in-law and her groom of 30 years ready for a vacation to anywhere after putting on a wedding. But, then, there was Uncle Dave...

with whom I plug my ears as I'm never quite sure just what he is teaching my boys.

Happy Summer Everybody and Happy Birthday July 13 to Uncle Dave. (You are older than me, you old fart - like for another 30 days)

Can you believe I didn't get a good picture of the bride? I so need a new camera.

Running Interference

Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Between this new job, the YMCA, and high school baseball, my blog is going to hell. I so hope to catch up this weekend. With no desire to leave your visit here empty handed, here's a picture from a trip to Alaska last summer. It's a humpback whale waving hello. Oh, wait, that's me!

I get paid tomorrow. I plan to spend it on Sangria Margaritas at Jardin's.

Committed - Swung the Bat

Be sincere; be brief; be seated.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Sincerity: Seven hours into my first day of work outside the home in 21 years, I wrote on the top of my rubric information sheet for scoring high school essays – Don’t be an Editor! Forget Everything You Know! Then I took a breath, and relaxed.

Brevity: No trouble getting up and out of the house. Even read the paper. Perhaps tomorrow my husband will remember I don’t talk to people first thing in the morning. Traffic not too bad. (Did you know NPR has a morning All Things Considered edition?) Who would have known?

Seating: I never thought about how often I go to the bathroom. Tomorrow, no coffee or water before noon. The training portion of this job does not allow for frequent visits to pee. Will move to the back of the room near the door as soon as I can.

Off to the baseball game.

P.S I don’t think anyone will notice if I wear sweat pants. I don't think anyone noticed me.

Batter Up!

Every orientation presupposes disorientation.

Hans Magnus Enzensberger

Tomorrow begins my slide into the forty-hour time clock. I practiced going to bed earlier – and getting up earlier. Thank you Daylight Savings Time for adding to that effort so nicely. Didn’t quite need losing an hour to get me started, but I’ve had tougher tasks to abide.

I have a feeling that tomorrow night, after I've become completely disoriented in the instructional sessions regarding high school test scoring, I'll go to my youngest son’s baseball game, then stop briefly by the Bunco Bitches Second Tuesday of the Month Shindig. If I'm still awake, I'll write a recap and let you know if I've survived the first day.

Should be most interesting to see how I fare. They already have their eye on me, you see. The day I went for my interview, I was led to a large room with instructions to complete all the things in the folder before me, then left alone. The computer in front of me wouldn't accept my name to log in and if I wanted to proceed, my choices were to sit and stare at the wall or seek out the lady running the show. I came out of the room and saw no one in the hallway so I walked back out the big, closed door I’d been led through, to her office. Before I could say a word she stood up from her desk with a look of horror on her face and in a distressed voice said "You're not allowed to walk around unescorted. It says so on your badge."

I looked at my badge and sure enough, I upside down read "Escort Only." Like I'd bothered to look at that. She marched me back to the dungeon and I tried to lighten it up a little bit. On an earlier form I’d been asked if I could follow directions whether I agreed with them or not. So I said, "Gee, I guess this is an example of the following directions thing." She was not amused.

I didn't smile smugly when it turned out they had misspelled my name in their computer entry.

I need to hit the grocery store today, as I have to pack my lunch. Only 45 minutes for lunch and no place close to the sweat shop to purchase anything. I grew to hate packing sack lunches for my kids—every day coming up with something interesting from a fridge that more often than not held slim pickins’ while awaiting payday. I remember an old Erma Bombeck column, how by the end of the week, her kids got two heels of bread with a pork chop bone in between. I hope I can do better than that.

I've included a picture of that youngest son of mine as this week, I’ll only see him in a uniform. Four games and I get to go to three.

Thank you to all my followers and all it has taken to get to this point. I appreciate you. Batter up!