Starting an Inning on Second Base

By Wade Shaw, Grandfather of Redwinger Ethan

There is a reason for the plate on the pitcher's mound in baseball, but its exact purpose is not always clear.
I was able to watch grandson Ethan's Redwing team Tee Ball semifinal game yesterday with the Moms in the north bleachers. For October in Texas it was windy, and surprisingly cold, and we were all feeling chilled as the game's innings went on for a good long while. There were copious runs, but no real scorekeeping. There were no outs that I noticed. None of us in the bleachers really knew many of the rules, but everyone knew one important rule.

Every Tee Ball game ends in precisely 45 minutes.
But this one had not ended after an hour, and in the bleachers the other Moms were pawing at their cell phones inside their purses, texting, "we b late. dunno wen. get pizza". Probably the game would end soon

But it did not. After another chilly 20 minutes, and uncountably more runs, the coaches met on the pitcher's mound. After some scribbling on the scorekeeper's card the coaches eventually shrugged, nodded, and returned to their dugouts. A rumor sprang up the rows of bleachers followed closely by smiles of relief. A final sudden-death inning had been declared. Run counting being politically incorrect in Tee Ball, the winner would be the first team to put a runner out.
"Whatever," the bleacher Moms grumbled, "it's dinner time". We didn't know the rules, and sudden death sounded, well, quick. After a day of school the lads in the dugouts were clearly reaching a hunter-gatherer crisis. Most players were now fruitlessly picking through their backpacks for previously-scorned lunch snacks.
In the event, we all thought we knew at least one more baseball rule. No one gets on first base unless they bat. Right?
Wrong. There was surprised chatter in the bleachers, when at the start of this final sudden-death inning, Ethan's coach shouted into the dugout, "Ethan, put your helmet on and go stand on second base. No. Leave your glove. Go right now!"
Ethan hadn't batted, and in fact no one on his team had. How could Ethan go straight to second base, we wondered, even in Tee Ball? The coach then called the next Redwing batter up. "What's this?", the Moms muttered quietly, none daring to to question Tee Ball rules. "Its Tee Ball rewind!", someone quipped to short laughter. "Ethan was on second in the last inning, so..."
Out on the diamond with both feet on second, Ethan looked intently towards right field where he often played. "Why is he looking out there?", I asked his mother quietly. "Not unreasonable." another Mom offered. We'd already seen the opposing catcher take his bat and go home. Perhaps Tee Ball rules allowed the team at bat to loan fielders to the opposing team?
Whack! The Redwing batter hit a sudden grounder, and Ethan leapt off second base and ran like the wind. He ran straight for the pitcher's mound in fact. In both bleachers the Moms were up and yelling, "Third! Run to Third"! Ethan slowed at the mound, grinned, and made a careful circle completely around the pitcher's mound on his way to third base. Safe, he acknowledged a standing ovation from the Moms of both bleachers with aplomb.

Why put a base on the pitcher's mound if you aren't supposed to run around it, I thought, as the Moms pushed post-game snacks through the dugout fence to the Redwings.

The Dancing Bear

The most important thing to understand about taking care of yourself is to use the everyday resources surrounding you.

This bear recognizes the potential of a tree. He demonstrates one way to get either a back rub or some good exercise - or both!

Close to Six at Twenty-six

They say: Where does the time go? Where does it? I was absent-mindedly washing my son's hair in the bath tonight when I realized that he is almost six years old.

Almost six years old! My memories start at six.

I was pushing bubbles out from between the strands of his hair, rubbing his little scalp with my fingers as the realization washed over me. His skin still has that plumpish, sweet-baby clarity, but his legs are long and knobby like a foal's. He has running legs, playing legs - dotted with penny bruises from tumbles and fine scratches from tree-climbs.

I don't think my legs were ever like a foal's, though they were always bruised at the knee - rollerskating at six, seven to twelve.

I remember being six. And maybe that is why his age struck me the way it did tonight, at the edge of the tub, on my knees, at the mercy of the moment. Because I remember six, and because he is almost six.

He will remember six. He will remember this moment, I thought. The magnitude of this!

I don't really remember a whole lot about five. Things started at six. When I was six, I spent days at the art table making sock puppets, pretending to be a teacher, watching Matlock and microwaving marshmellows when no one was looking. I had a tiara. Six was good.

Most importantly at twenty-six, six does not feel that far away. I do not feel old enough to have a six year-old son. If we are being honest, most of the time, I feel six myself (minus the energy and plus the PMS). Six feels near, close. If I turned my head over my shoulder, I'd see six. If I reached back, I'd touch six. It would be fuzzy. It would be warm.

Six glows in the dark and is clean. It smells of Zest soap and Pert Plus, having been sterilized by time, I'm sure.

And my son at twenty-six? Twenty-six is good, too, but he'll remember six. Now. Today. This moment could be with him forever, with him at twenty-six, thirty-six to sixty-six.

It is strange to think that my son will remember the moments we make together - here in the bath, on the playground. I often wonder what our memories will mean to him. I wonder which memories he will really remember - the ones he will hold close to his heart, revisit, dedicate time to. I wonder which ones will fade into luke-warm, out-of-focus childhood feelings and which ones will crash over him at night just before sleep in his 20's and 30's - the sharp ones that feel like they just happened but came in like a flood from nowhere.

I hope he remembers me washing his hair and playing Billy Goats Gruff on the playground. I hope he remembers snuggling and hot chocolate before school. Surely, he'll remember snuggling! We spend so much time doing it. I know he'll remember times I wish he wouldn't. There are plenty of grumpy-mommy moments to choose from - moments of uncertainty and hesitation and sheer exhaustion.

Regardless, I look forward to his discovery, whether or not I witness it or get to discuss it with him, of the nearness, closeness, the just-over-the-shoulder feeling of being six. Because what a marvelous thing memory is! Really, the magnitude of it's presence. Time passes but remains suspended in our minds through memory, if we are careful - like a twenty-something toy boat in bath water, bobbing, carrying us.

So what does my value of memory and time and preservation and closeness mean for my son? What does this mean for us - for Moms who can still feel their childhood but have children of their own?

Memories are contributions. Contributions to create with care. Today. Cliche sentiment? For sure! And with good reason.

If I am twenty-six and still I feel close to being six years old, like I can grasp it in my hands and pull it back to me with the singular desire to remember, we must act, create, live and build memories of wonder and happiness each day, right now - for ourselves and those around us.

By acting, creating, living, building we are changing people. We are contributing to their lives, and through memory, to their futures. For that reason, we must make memories out of the good-fabric of who we are. Because we will remember. Our sons will remember - our daughters, our husbands and friends. And our memories will be part of us and of them.

And not only will we be in memory, our memories will be close, reachable. They will be all around us and in us and in others - from six to twenty-six.

These memories I create today, all of them will be in my son's future and in my future son.

The Grateful Nostalgia within me says: Thank you, builders and designers of six - parents, friends, teachers, writers, sock-makers, Matlock, Zest. Thank you for six, however soap-stained and sanitized. Twenty-six would not be so grand without such times.

May I do as much for my son.

Ethan's Computer Art, March 2008

Great use of color. Hans Hoffman, you may have met your competition.

Team S Update

I have been working like a dog - hence me laying down like one in this picture. Stella is bewildered. "What the heck are you doing down there, Momma?"

As some of you know, I am now the Marketing Director for the Lauterstein-Conway Massage School here in Ausitn. I'm trying to wiggle my way in to their Workshops department, too - mostly so I can take all the classes for free and scoop the commission. It is a good job, and they respect my opinions and experience there, which is very nice. I also am working with the new Fitness Director at the YMCA on youth programs and community relations. I have been doing it for a while, but without the Fitness Director - because there wasn't one - which was horrible. I am still teaching toddler gymanstics and dance there. Ethan, as you can imagine, is an expert tumbler now, and Michael has mastered the art of man-handstand. Go, Dad!

I also wrote a ridiculous children's book for Ethan about the power of making choices. I am about to start working on illustrations...someday.

Which brings me to the babies:

Ethan is such a gentleman. He has very good manners, and he loves his grandparents. He, of course, is a video game fanatic, and loves playing "mens" just like his Uncle David did when he was Ethan's age. The night before last, he and I took all his "mens" and hung them, propped them and staged them all around his "Spiderman hideout." Let me just say - he has a lot of "mens." He is fabulous with sounding out words - reading with me with relative ease at bedtime now. We are trying to make it to the library once-a-week for new material to practice on.

Stella is into books - way into books - and animal noises. (Sheep say baaaa!) Michael and I read the same books over and over and over to her - in a five minute period. Sometimes she reads to her "babies," and sometimes her brother reads to her, but when she comes up, book in hand, and turns her back, ready to be lifted onto my lap, there is no doubt that I am going to read Winne the Pooh a dozen times. She loves swimming, and much to her parents' dismay, has NO fear of jumping head-first into much-to-deep water. Loves it.

Michael is well, but you will have to check out his blog for the nitty-gritty details...

Much love!
J

Graham Family Easter

When I was seven, the "Graham Clan" went to the Texas beach together for Easter. We all ended up with the stomach flu, but it was something - aside from spending all my time in the bathroom - I will never forget. I remember hunting for eggs by the pool and jumping waves with Don, who hardly ever took family vacations with us.

I hope my children, as young as they are, will remember the moon over the beach, wearing a sweater over their swimsuits in the sun and picking up sea shells with Grandmother with such fondness.

Happy Easter, Graham Clan.

and more...

Photos, photos, photos

Great philosophy with real life application

The Simple Secret to a Happier Life

WebMD Feature from "Redbook" Magazine
By Charlotte Latvala
In the immortal words of the Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want. And you know what? That's really okay. Discover how letting go of impossible (and draining) dreams puts you on the path to peace.
In the 37th week of my third pregnancy, I was cruising right along with no major health problems until — bam — I developed Bell's palsy, a partial paralysis of the left side of my face. I couldn't close my eye, I drooled when I ate, and, worst of all, I couldn't smile normally. Doctors assured me that the condition was temporary, and that my muscle function would return within months. But my progress was slower than expected, and I spent the next year feeling self-conscious and sad. I just longed to look normal again.
Eventually, I went to specialists, did countless hours of physical therapy, and received therapeutic Botox injections (at times, I felt like a human pincushion). It all helped, but my smile was still somewhat crooked. I felt depressed, defeated.
Then, on a visit to my mom's house, I happened to glance at the framed copy of the Serenity Prayer she keeps in her bedroom. You know the one: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference." Reading those words made it crystal clear: It was time to put my disappointment behind me and focus on the positive parts of my life — my family, my work, the simple pleasures of my day-to-day existence. I had lost something, to be sure, but feeling bitter and shortchanged wasn't the way I wanted to live.
So I quit mourning the loss of the "old me." I finally allowed myself to accept my less-than-perfect grin, and in the process, to make peace with the fact that life rarely turns out the way you expect. And that's true whether it comes to physical setbacks, relationships with people you care about, or even your hopes and dreams for your kids. It's tough to let go of something you want badly, but if you release yourself from the relentless pull of your If only... thinking, a sense of peace, and even joy, will rush into that mental space instead, says C. Leslie Charles, author of Why Is Everyone So Cranky? "When you can just 'be' with a situation," she says, "things usually begin to relax, turn, and reshape — for the better."
Giving up long-cherished dreams doesn't mean you need to deny or disown them. "Your dreams will always be part of you," says Charles. "But getting too focused or obsessed with a goal or yearning can leave you feeling cheated." Letting go, by contrast, means making a choice — you decide not to give in to thoughts and actions that waste your time, not to dwell on what you don't have.
And that can be the first step to a more blissed-out, less stressed-out existence. Read on to learn how to let go of those unrealistic longings — ones that you believe hold the keys to your happiness, but actually hold you back — so you can love the life you have right now.
If you long to be closer to a family member...
For years, Nanci Schwartz hoped for a tighter bond with her brother. "He never saw eye-to-eye with my dad, and is now somewhat estranged from the whole family," she explains. Every time Schwartz tried to reach out and was rebuffed, she was hurt. "The final straw came recently, when my husband and I planned a birthday get-together for our parents," says the 41-year-old from Fruitland Park, FL. "My brother never even bothered to respond to the invitation, and once again I felt completely let down."
Perhaps you, too, have a family bond that's coming apart at the seams. Or maybe you just have a sneaking sense that something is missing in your relationship with your parents or siblings. "No matter what has gone on before, we all have expectations about what our family relationships are supposed to be like," says Lynn Robinson, author of Divine Intuition. "Deep down, we believe that our family should always be there for us through thick and thin." Plus, it's normal to want to draw closer as we start to get older and realize how quickly time is passing, adds Robinson — since the family members you bicker with today may not be there tomorrow.
How to Let Go
Slowly, Schwartz has begun to accept her distant relationship with her brother. "I finally realize that it's not my fault we're not closer," she says. "It's his choice — and looking at it that way has lifted a huge burden from me. Now I can stop spinning my wheels, trying to make the impossible happen. I'm not thrilled with the situation, but it's not going to consume me, either, because there's nothing I can do about it." The (very liberating) bottom line here: You can't ever control someone else's behavior — you can only control your own.
You'll be happier, not to mention more sane, if you focus on the relationships in your life that are reciprocal — the friends and loved ones you can rely on, says Robinson. "Your peace of mind ultimately doesn't depend on the closeness or distance of one person," she explains. "The more healthy relationships you have in your life, the better."
If you've had a long standoff with a relative and you're aching for some closure, consider writing that person a heartfelt and compassionate note, she adds. "Make it simple, not a rehash of past events," Robinson suggests. "Tell them what you appreciate about them and that you look forward to hearing from them on their time and terms." Mail it and let it go, telling yourself that you've given it your best shot. Or write the letter and don't mail it — instead simply use it as a way to release and sort through your feelings. That process alone will make it easier for you to find peace.
If you want to get it all done — and perfectly — at work...
Museum educator Nikki Manning used to feel compulsively driven to complete all her work by the end of the day — and when she couldn't, she carried her anxiety home. "I'd wake up in the middle of the night and begin to write down things I needed to do the next day," says the 27-year-old from Columbia, SC. "My bathroom mirror was covered in sticky notes."
Sure, being a productive and valued staffer is a good thing, but knocking yourself out day after day — whether to achieve perfection on a project or feel "done" — doesn't make sense, since at any well-structured job there will always be fresh deadlines to meet, more paperwork to do, and the like. (It's sort of like the laundry at home — you're never completely caught up.) Plus, if you're consistently working late, you're likely neglecting your well-being, health, and relationships, notes Robinson. Ultimately, the satisfaction that you get from being "on top of things" is fleeting and not a true source of happiness — and it simply isn't worth the steep personal price you're paying.
How to Let Go
Watch what you tell yourself. "Saying things like, ‘I'll never catch up,' or ‘I'm always stressed,' will overwhelm you further and keep you working late," says Robinson. Instead, she advises, repeat calming (and true) messages such as, "When I clock out at a decent hour, I'm so much more productive the next day," and "Nothing tragic will happen if I turn this in tomorrow morning instead of at 8 tonight."
Try to step back and pinpoint why you're being so obsessive about your job. Could it be that you're avoiding problems at home or other personal issues? That your self-esteem hinges entirely on your career? "Ask yourself, What's missing in my life? What would be fun? " suggests Robinson. Then, make little steps toward positive change — get yourself to the gym instead of staying an extra hour at work, or meet a friend for coffee on the way home.
For Manning, letting go meant carving out official downtime. "I promised myself that two days a week I'd walk away from my desk at 5:30 p.m.," she says. "I literally scheduled time with my husband and daughter so I'd be forced to leave, and vowed not to check e-mails or my BlackBerry at home." Setting boundaries made all the difference. "Now I can sit and breathe and enjoy dinner with my family," says Manning. "I'm still getting as much work done — yet I have a life now!"

For full article: http://www.webmd.com/balance/features/simple-secret-happier-life?page=3