By this time of the year (it’s half over – GASP) we’re many weeks into the kids baseball season. We have skin in the game whose names are Sam, Anna and Melodi. By this time of the year it’s getting just a little bit much. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching the grandkids play. It’s just that sometimes the mind wanders. Like when this happened.
Melodi plays Rookie Ball. She’ s into it. When she cracks the ball and runs to first base, braid swishing behind her, it’s a great moment. But yesterday I noticed that, when I wear my blue blocker sunglasses, her pink helmet looks orange. Huh. And speaking of orange there was an old lady . . . no . . . not the one who swallowed a fly or lived in a shoe . . . who was about ten feet from me watching the game, too. She sat in one of those fold up chairs with a sun roof. And she had a cane to aid her when she hobbled over to sit in it. Stooped a bit but alert and possibly with very hot feet. About halfway into the second inning she slipped off her shoes right there in front of God and everybody and guess what? Her toenails were painted bright – like soccer shoe bright – orange. I Loved It. She was also sporting a turquoise ankle bracelet. When I’m old I want to do stuff like that.
Anna plays softball. We were at the field a half hour early. Had the time wrong. So you look around, right? You notice who else is there. You see someone from church and chat. And then you spot the 1930 Studebaker Coupe. Wowsa. Beautifully restored and gleaming in the sun. I love old cars. I wanted to go over and pet it, but I managed to simply tell the owner how beautiful it was. He seemed pleased and I did a quick “throw back Thursday ala 1930” flash in my head. This gal and the Great Gatsby tooling along a country road with me in my Marcel finger waves and him in a straw boater. Picnic by the lake coming up! So cool we can hardly stand ourselves. How awesome would that be.
Sam is at a stage in his baseball playing career where the games are quite good. Engaging. Cheer worthy especially when Hunter clobbers the ball and it goes over the back field fence. His team members gather at home plate to thump him on the back as he rounds for home. But when the dust settles and the game resumes the eye wanders to the catcher for the other team. His white pants are filthy and when he bends over to pick up the ball there’s a particularly dark gathering where the seems meet in the crotch area. One has a hard time looking away, doesn’t one? If he had realized it I’m sure he would have been mortified. “Mom! Was that there the whole game??!! Arggg!!” We might even have won the game with a catcher in that state of mind. Didn’t happen – but it could have.
Yes the baseball year is getting on. But it’s very cool that there are moments of distraction to keep us interested. I suspect that’s why there’s a lot of buying of peanuts and Cracker Jack in that song . . . now what’s the name of it . . . ?
Image: Free Digital Photos