Play Ball!

The only real game - I think - in the world is baseball.
George Herman

Spring is here and baseball is in the air! Or in our case, softball! All three of the girls, even HyperBaby, are playing softball this year. That means my Saturdays are pretty much spent living at the field. So far the weather has held out, but it is only the first week. Last season was literally a washout considering how much rain we had. Hopefully this season won't be!

As far as the quote goes, I just HAD to choose that one. Why? Because I was lucky enough to have actually met the man behind the words. George "Babe" Herman lived next door to my piano teacher. I have many fond memories of going to his house before my lessons and hanging out with him. We didn't always talk about baseball, we discussed a lot of things. We talked about the dove with the injured wing that he had rescued. It used to sit on his shoulder while he was watering his garden. His wife would bring out lemonade and cookies while we chatted. He would often come to our recitals, and always had a positive word for every performer. He may have had a legacy in baseball, but his legacy for me will always be the kind old Mr. Herman who made waiting for piano lessons a whole lot easier.

Pop!

I just think that there is very interesting stuff in the mundane.
Harvey Pekar

I love bubble wrap. There is something very cathartic about taking a sheet and twisting, wrenching, and tearing it all while listening to the various sounds that are emitted. I remember how my brothers and I would love it when a package arrived at our house. Not, mind you, for the treasure that might lie within, but for the bubble wrap. We used to fight over who would get the biggest sheet. We would also have contests as to who could pop the most the fastest, who could pop the loudest, and so on.

If you enjoy bubble wrap too, grab a sheet and let's see who can pop the fastest!

Remembering Sept. 11

September 11 impressed upon us that life is a precious gift. Every life has a purpose. And I think we all have a duty to devote at least a small portion of our daily lives to ensuring that neither America nor the world ever forgets September 11.
Bill Frist

Although I am not a fan of Bill Frist or his politics, I do agree with his quote. I can still remember that morning with clarity. I think we all do. I believe that every generation has a defining moment, and September 11 is ours.

I have spent some time this past week discussing that day with my friends, colleagues, and students. I have discovered in some ways, those of us who lived on the West Coast had, initially, a more visible window on the events because we watched them unfold in almost entirety on the television.

The alarm had just gone off signaling me to rise for another day of teaching 3rd graders. My husband (at the time) had already been up for awhile and was almost ready to leave for his job. I had hit the snooze button as was generally my habit, looking to gain a few more precious minutes of sleep...or at least quiet. Our youngest was not quite a year old, and was a night owl. (She still is!) He raced up the stairs,and woke me from my drowsiness to tell me that there was something on the news that I just had to see. I followed him downstairs and watched with amazement the replays of the first plane hitting the Tower. Amazement turned to horror when I realized that the newest images on my screen were not replays, but the live images of the second plane.

My thoughts turned immediately, as I am sure most did, to family. I had suspicions, later well proven, that Islamic terrorists (though I hate to call them that because they sully and defile the true Meaning of Islam) were behind the attacks. And that made me think of my brother. He was (and still is) an NGO working for various aid relief organizations. He had been in the areas well known to be populated by such terrorists. At the time, he had recently evacuated to a safer country due to the charged political climate that existed BEFORE 9/11. However, the country he was in still had the potential for danger, especially considering the events that were unfolding before our eyes.

In a tearful daze, I called my parents. They were still asleep. I must have had a certain edge or sound to my voice because my mother's sleepy voice changed to a more serious tone. She and my father joined the millions of others whose eyes were glued to what was playing on every station on every TV. We discussed my brother...his whereabouts, his safety, our concerns. Although we did not hear from him until three days later, he was safe and would remain so.

I went about the normal routine of my day and headed off to work. My students' reactions were interesting. Some wanted to talk about what was going on, others had no clue what had happened. Those children are now a month into their last year of middle school. I wonder what they think now? I wonder what has changed about their lives...the obvious and the not so obvious...since that day almost 5 years ago.