An American Pastime

Summer is here! We hit 90 degrees today and I watered the veggie garden twice to keep it from wilting. There is iced tea on tap and weekly watermelon purchasing happening to boot. All of spring has gone except for the dogwood blossoms which are lingering with extra vigor this year. Even my roses have finished blooming and now the garden is all lilies and daisies and anytime soon now the purple coneflower will join in.

Our first "extracurricular" type activity has just ended as baseball wrapped up this past week. So much fun sitting on the mini-bleachers with the other moms through blazing sun and even a little rain and watching smash hits and foul balls alike as our boys learned the basics of the game together.

 I never expected to feel so very fond of a sport but Little League has my heart. So much of it has to do with Ru's intense love for the game...any game really, but he sure latched on to baseball. He loved learning from the neighborhood dads who coach, loved the hard work of studying stances and getting the particulars of procedures nailed down, and he felt so incredibly spiffy and official in a real, live uniform.

 I just put the pants and socks in the Goodwill bag but he's keeping his jersey in his sentimental box and still wearing his team cap around the house. I wonder if it will the first of many uniforms I stain treat over the years. I think we are headed to the sports department for good, this one is an athlete.

Golden Memories

Cropped transparent version of Image:Olympic flag.svg (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Olympics were about the only real t.v. material I remember watching as a family when I was a little girl.We didn't have a television through my whole growing up (on purpose) so we had to go to my grandma's cabin five miles away or to a friend's house in order to catch any of the events. Man, did that make it seem like a big deal! I remember pretending I was Kristi Yamaguchi after watching her stunning skating performances and imagining how it might feel to do fabulous routines on the uneven parallel bars.

We were a family of nature lovers and artists, not really sports types for the most part. It seemed very important when Papa suddenly manifested team spirit and a magnetic attraction to viewing this sporting event. I remember feeling curious by his excitement and watching him cheer for a photo finish to see what it all meant and how you reacted to it.

I think The Olympics, chapter books and missionaries were the ways I learned about other cultures and countries. There wasn't a lot of first-hand ethnic variation in the north woods of Michigan. Seeing all those bright, unfamiliar flags and proud athletes from the other side of the globe representing their people seemed like something deeply poetic and opened the world to me in my little log house.  I remember watching my eccentric, witty, tall, liberal grandmother sitting next to me, my little legs pulled up Indian style on her couch, her leaning forward, pausing in the middle of her eternal Solitaire game squinting up at the little television set on the wall. Some American was being awarded the gold medal for their performance, they slipped the ribbon necklace over their neck, they clutched their roses, they waved to the crowd, and with the camera panning the sea of Americans and the winner's hand proudly over their heart, the music swelled into our national anthem, and next to me on the couch my clever, stoic grandmother had tears running down her cheeks. I was astonished, The Olympics were clearly important stuff.

And now, here I am watching re-runs of yesterdays key events on YouTube with my little boys who are watching my face to see what it all means and trying to understand how it all works. It gives me a deep thrill to see them acting our foot-races, being impressed by the good sportsmanship on the screen, asking if they can get out our flag to wave and making Tinker Toy torches. And I do hope I'm passing the flame on well.

Bruiser!

Having a skateboard and being too macho to wear your elbow pads has its caveats.

 Poor little toughman is all scraped up and honestly, it looks a good deal worse in person than it does in this picture. He's a dedicated little boarder though, still gung-ho to keep rolling through the pain and not crying over it until he was indoors and trying to get ready for bed. So, we've had a generous coating of triple antibiotic cream and a little dose of Tylenol to calm to tears and at dinner we rolled his bum sleeve up greaser style so the cuff wouldn't touch the raw skin. Poor little wincing sport nut. Hope it feels a lot better in the morning like I heard A telling him as he tucked him in. Its easy to forget how much those sliding burns across pavement hurt...man do they sting like the dickens!