Part 98 Winter eases its bite


Bree has started playing softball. I played a lot of sports as a kid, so I am delighted that she is interested. The league is dads’ pitch, so I volunteer. The only problem is that I have discovered another physical limitation – I am unable to get my glove over my left hand. We I finally succeed, I cannot close the glove to catch a thrown ball. So I must pitch and then catch the returned ball right handed. Fortunately, the kids don’t throw hard at this age, and the dads backing up the catcher observe my predicament and learn not to fire it back to me. The girls hit fairly well in general (I have practiced with Bree in our front yard), they can throw nicely at times (with varying accuracy), and occasionally they will catch the balls hit or thrown to them (although frequently the balls go through their legs or sail over their heads). No one else challenges me for the pitching position, so I continue.

I am on a musical biography kick, so I read Pattie Boyd’s entertaining book about George Harrison and Eric Clapton “Wonderful Tonight”, followed by “You Never Give Me Your Money”, a tale about the Beatles. I also watch a French film called “Girl on the Bridge”, about a suicidal woman who becomes a knife thrower’s assistant, which I find to be well made and interesting, if a bit warped.

Winter is drawing to a close, as it should be if we are starting baseball season. The days have been brisk and cold, although it may just be my continued perception of them as such since I have still not regained all my weight and strength. This winter has at least not been as oppressive as last year’s was, when I was battered by disease and treatments.
I still turn my collar up against the chill, but with a little less desperation these days.



Part 99 Redbuds


If not officially Spring, March 1 certainly is doing a remarkable impersonation. The day is cool and beautiful. Trees are filled with color, typified by the red buds in our back yard. I work a half day, then drive to the medical center for blood work, a CAT scan, and a meeting with the plastic surgeon who will work side by side with Dr. Bl- should I opt for surgery. He is congenial and talks for an hour about a surgical technique that he will use which I find fascinating if only it would be attempted on someone else. Despite the intensity of the procedure, I leave feeling more comfortable.

At choir practice we practice Haydn’s “Creation”, made more difficult since I’ve misplaced my glasses. Driving home, I shift to different musical pieces (Paul McCartney’s “Red Rose Speedway”) to relax. Reading classical music is a mental trip to the gym, and I need a break after the workout.

The following morning I reluctantly drive several miles to a school in the far south end of our district. I have been asked to fill in one day a week due to staff turnover which I am guessing has been in part a result of conflicts with the building principal. I and others have previously met with the principal to discuss services needed and have seen her in action. Her reputation was accurate. The day here is uneventful, though, and I have no subsequent problems with the lady. I practice softball later with Bree’s team, enjoying being active outside in the cool air. At home, I find that Brooke is in trouble for talking rudely to CC and GG. We are suspicious that the sassy dialogue comes straight from the mouths of certain characters from Disney and Nickelodeon teen shows that both kids have been drawn to lately.

I have another training Friday morning, presenting with my friends Brian and Jason. Brian and I have been doing this for a few years now, training teachers and other school staff on how to effectively interact with and, as a last result and when they are a danger to self or others, how to physically restrain out-of-control youths, and we are the proverbial well-oiled machine as co-presenters. Brian is from a small East Texas town, the youngest of 11 children. He drawls his words, has been observed more than once pinching dip under his tongue, and at first glance has redneck written all over. But he is sharp as can be and is a terrific speaker. He is surprisingly sensitive, and once drew tears from everyone seated in the pin-drop silent and largely female audience when he related his tale of how he was once a bad boy before he was redirected down the path of salvation by a teacher who refused to give up on him (at its closing, I rolled my eyes and characterized it as truly an “Oprah moment”). We have been described as being the “Blue Collar” team, a name derived from the former TV Show featuring the more sophisticated (now there’s an oxymoron) Jeff Foxworthy and the card-carrying redneck Larry the Cable Guy (Brian asked me once which one he was, my response being to simply stare at him).

Jason is a much younger, fresh-out-of-college looking blonde haired, stocky person that Brian describes as being a “man mountain”. He is a P.E. coach and former football player who would be intimidating if not for his perpetual grin and good-natured personality. He has recently been added to our small group of trainers, and it is always nice when he is around. In a profession lopsided with females it is a pleasure to be able to hang out with guys and talk sports and other manly things, which we do in asides or during breaks in the presentations.

I drive home listening to a favorite eighties band, Duran Duran and rest a little before my occupational therapy session. I am still attending these, but feel as if I am on a plateau in my left hand fine motor development, and the sessions are feeling more perfunctory. Brookie greets me when I arrive back home with a big hug. Spontaneous hugs from my children continue to be some of the great joys in my life. Becah pulls me aside later and tells me she talked to her teacher earlier today about Brooke’s acting out behavior at home lately. Her teacher described Brooke as being very smart. She has also observed some “drama” going on among some of her preschool class girls, including Brooke. She has no real concerns about her behavior, though.

I eat cheddar soup for dinner, excluding the usual broccoli, since the basil in last night’s tomato soup got stuck. The no-filler smooth soup goes down, but I experience my first ice cream failure later when the rocky road doesn’t work.