Bud loves baseball. My darling husband loves baseball. The laborador retriever loves baseball. I, on the other hand...well, I love the Boston Red Sox when they are doing well (and end up doing well...which, for most of their history, is generally not the case). I played T-ball for one season and that was about all of my baseball experience. I switched to more exciting (to me) activities like horse-back riding and tennis.
Last summer, my darling husband staked out a part of one of the horse pastures for the Chobani baseball field (Chobani, the Greek yogurt brand, is headquartered the next town over). The boys would go out there and play every evening, and they convinced me that it would be fun. Every so often I would join them. They stuck me in the "field" which encompassed playing first base, second base, and the outfield concurrently. I got pretty good at fielding, and my arm isn't half bad either. The problem was, I didn't have my own glove. I would use Bud's when he was batting (which was most of the time), and then I would switch to my husband's left handed glove (which means I wear it on my right hand!?) when he was batting (which meant I got pretty good at throwing with my left hand as well). For my birthday this year, I asked for a baseball mitt from Bud, and he got me one. I'm actually quite excited about it!
My darling husband loves, loves, LOVES Little League Opening Day (he's coached Bud's team for the past five years). He loves the pictures, the parade, the mayhem! Bud is of course a big fan as well. I, on the other hand, get a little overwhelmed with 400 elementary school kids swarming around in complete chaos! This is why I taught middle school. You can reason with middle schoolers. This is also why I continually bow down and kiss the feet of any elementary school teacher! I try to avoid all the hoopla and just show up for the actual game to cheer Bud on.
This year, however, my darling husband was called away from his Opening Day Duties rather suddenly. I had to pinch-hit so to speak. I was genuinely happy to help out although my mind set was "it's only a few hours...you can do anything for a few hours". So I jumped right into the fray and the chaos. Except... there wasn't any fray or chaos. I had built up Opening Day in my mind to be this overly dramatic, complicated whirlwind. But, careful planning had paid off and everything ran smoothly and was very enjoyable. The field was decked out with the traditional balloons and bunting. All the teams assembled on the in-field and the Masters of Ceremonies said a few words and thanked the sponsors. The jazz quartet from the high school played the National Anthem. Then one of the players threw out the first pitch to open up the season. I was assisting with concessions, and with the help of four or five teenagers and a Little League Board member we were able to take care of everybody's needs. It was all very simple. I took some time to soak up the activity and thought how this is what Bud is going to remember--a family-oriented, fun celebration of America's favorite past time. When he's a dad or an uncle, he's going to remember marching in the Little League parade every year, chatting with his buddies, swinging the bat, and hearing the crowd cheer him on. A lot of preparation goes into making Opening Day what it is. It's not fancy or extravagant, but it's so meaningful. And when so much hard work goes behind the scenes by dozens of volunteers who all respect one another, it turns out to be a wonderful, time-honored, and cherished tradition for so many of our children.
So, good luck Phillies. May you play well during the 2012 Season of Little League Baseball!
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Sunday, March 13, 2011
A Prairie Home Companion
I wanted to start this post with It's been a quiet week in...my hometown" but I'm afraid Garrison Keillor claims ownership to that line.
My darling husband and I met just over 8 years ago, and I think back on these years with a certain nostalgia. This was a time before we had a farm, a time when we gardened on a plot of our dear friends' farm, a time when my stepson, Bud, was still in diapers. I was traveling through the Berkshires and across the Hudson to visit, still holding down a teaching job in Massachusetts. It was a time when I pondering my next step in life, not wanting to be apart from my soon to be husband. I applied to a graduate program not far away from where we would eventually settle in a field that would prove to be exciting, but not very applicable to the job market in upstate New York.
During the colder months of these two years, my darling eventual-husband and I would often spend our Saturday evenings in quiet companionship, listening to Prairie Home Companion, a mutual secret love. I grew up listening to NPR, and my family collected the Lake Wobegon recordings on cassette. I think there are a lot of us Lake Wobegon wannabes even among the young adult crowd, and it turns out that most of my close friends have been regular listeners at one point or another in their lives.
Visiting with a dear friend this afternoon I was reminded that my own life here in Upstate is in fact a bit like those who inhabit Lake Wobegon. While we are well-informed of world events, the inhabitants of the village are very active in local community affairs. We have three public buildings in our small hamlet of 1000 folks: the church, the grange, and the town hall. All three buildings have a variety of activities going on, from meetings, lectures and workshops to quilting groups, dinners, dancing and variety shows (in fact, we have a variety show troupe that stages a show every year at the church and was actually a finalist on Prairie Home Companion's "Talent from Towns Under Two Thousand" about twelve years ago). Much of the region is made up of similar villages, and it is quite possible to sustain oneself solely on covered dish suppers, spaghetti dinners and pancake breakfasts that are offered by each community's gathering center.
All of these public gatherings provide grand means for propagating gossip. Sometimes, it seems a bit like the old parlor game, telephone. "He said, she said", "I heard, you heard..." and can get quite tiresome. Sometimes, I forget how efficiently the rumor mill gets started. Just last week, a neighbor (and pediatrician) approached my darling husband saying "I hear your wife is changing careers!". Aside from this blog (which I know very few people actually read, and most of them are FB friends) I had told a grand total of five people about my career path. Perhaps the small town living keeps us all honest to a degree and it's a good reminder to me to probably tell my boss of my plans before he hears it from another source first.
Sadly, moving to the farm, we have lost some connection to Prairie Home Companion and the News from Lake Wobegon. The evenings often run late by the time dinner is cleaned up, animals are fed and baths are taken. And, with all the hustle and bustle of the day, the three of us will often just collapse on the couch for a half hour before bed, wrap the flannel blanket around us, and read, enjoying each other's company in silence.
My darling husband and I met just over 8 years ago, and I think back on these years with a certain nostalgia. This was a time before we had a farm, a time when we gardened on a plot of our dear friends' farm, a time when my stepson, Bud, was still in diapers. I was traveling through the Berkshires and across the Hudson to visit, still holding down a teaching job in Massachusetts. It was a time when I pondering my next step in life, not wanting to be apart from my soon to be husband. I applied to a graduate program not far away from where we would eventually settle in a field that would prove to be exciting, but not very applicable to the job market in upstate New York.
During the colder months of these two years, my darling eventual-husband and I would often spend our Saturday evenings in quiet companionship, listening to Prairie Home Companion, a mutual secret love. I grew up listening to NPR, and my family collected the Lake Wobegon recordings on cassette. I think there are a lot of us Lake Wobegon wannabes even among the young adult crowd, and it turns out that most of my close friends have been regular listeners at one point or another in their lives.
Visiting with a dear friend this afternoon I was reminded that my own life here in Upstate is in fact a bit like those who inhabit Lake Wobegon. While we are well-informed of world events, the inhabitants of the village are very active in local community affairs. We have three public buildings in our small hamlet of 1000 folks: the church, the grange, and the town hall. All three buildings have a variety of activities going on, from meetings, lectures and workshops to quilting groups, dinners, dancing and variety shows (in fact, we have a variety show troupe that stages a show every year at the church and was actually a finalist on Prairie Home Companion's "Talent from Towns Under Two Thousand" about twelve years ago). Much of the region is made up of similar villages, and it is quite possible to sustain oneself solely on covered dish suppers, spaghetti dinners and pancake breakfasts that are offered by each community's gathering center.
All of these public gatherings provide grand means for propagating gossip. Sometimes, it seems a bit like the old parlor game, telephone. "He said, she said", "I heard, you heard..." and can get quite tiresome. Sometimes, I forget how efficiently the rumor mill gets started. Just last week, a neighbor (and pediatrician) approached my darling husband saying "I hear your wife is changing careers!". Aside from this blog (which I know very few people actually read, and most of them are FB friends) I had told a grand total of five people about my career path. Perhaps the small town living keeps us all honest to a degree and it's a good reminder to me to probably tell my boss of my plans before he hears it from another source first.
Sadly, moving to the farm, we have lost some connection to Prairie Home Companion and the News from Lake Wobegon. The evenings often run late by the time dinner is cleaned up, animals are fed and baths are taken. And, with all the hustle and bustle of the day, the three of us will often just collapse on the couch for a half hour before bed, wrap the flannel blanket around us, and read, enjoying each other's company in silence.
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