Category Archives: Life

The Season Before The Season

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I told a friend that if I got a lazy snow day at home this week, I would definitely write about baseball and Spring Training – the season-before-the-season.

I forgot the part about having electricity.

So, what began as a rare and beautiful snowy “off day” in a winter that hasn’t had much in the way of snow …

dotty snow

Quickly morphed into a brutal and ugly struggle for survival as a heavy, wet snow took out nearly every tree and power line in Central Virginia. (I’m estimating here, but we had either 10 inches or 8 feet of snow … I couldn’t tell for sure.)

snow day2

The Day After — the slushy, muddy, messy road to our house, after all the tree limbs were cleared away.

No power means a couple things. No heat. No light. No flushing. No internet. Clearly this would not be easy.

It would be a difficult struggle. Our very lives teetered on the brink.

I wore mittens, for God’s sake. IN THE HOUSE. Do you know how hard it is to turn the page on your Kindle wearing mittens? It is impossible.

Yes, we struggled. For six long and torturous hours.

(For point of reference, six hours is like sitting through a 17-inning game. Now, imagine it while wearing seven layers of clothing. And, then your team loses.)

Then, the power came back on.

(My husband and trusty editor would like you to know he napped through most of it.)

The lights lit. The water ran. The house toasted. Why are we more civilized than squirrels? We flush.

I’ve been easing my way into baseball this season. Just like the players, the umps, and the broadcasters, Spring Training is a time for fans to find our rhythm, too. Time to figure out who’s playing where. Time to choose the lucky tee-shirt I’ll wear during must-win games (Manny Machado, #13, don’t let me down).

mannytee

Time to block off the calendar. You’re getting married/having a baby/throwing a party when? April? June? July? September? No, no, I’m afraid I can’t, I’ll be watching baseball.

Time to dissolve into an easy, loping pace. Because easy and loping is the only way you’ll make it through the season without burning out or giving up.

And, if I can get my easy loping skills down (and, as I said, I’m still in spring training) it might be an equally long blog season here. So, settle in …

Sitting in a dark, cold house – mitten-clad – on a wet, snowy, powerless day made me ask myself, “What Spring Training places would be preferable to sitting in a dark, cold house during a March snowstorm in Virginia?”

The correct answer is: all of them.

But, why should I simply plow through all 30 Spring Training locales on this blog when you can just turn on MLB Network, probably right this very second, and catch a game beamed live out of Florida or Arizona?

Ed Smith Stadium, Sarasota, Florida. Spring home of the Baltimore Orioles. Go O's!

Ed Smith Stadium, Sarasota, Florida. Spring home of the Baltimore Orioles. Go O’s!

That’s when I came up with my list of the most amazing Spring Trai… …

… …

Well, that’s enough for today.

Just like the players, who ease in by playing a few innings here or there, or knock off at noon so they can get in some golf, or just skip the bus ride to the away game entirely, I’m gonna wrap up for today. Can’t push too hard, too early, or risk injury.

But, I’ll be back tomorrow … or the next. Because we’ve got lots of Spring Training ahead, before the real season even begins. (And, don’t forget the World Baseball Classic. Oh, so much to do! Oh, so much to watch!)

It’s Spring!

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“People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” ~ Rogers Hornsby (legendary 2nd baseman from 1915-1937, .358 career batting average)

Waiting For The Ball, by Clinton Helms

Waiting For The Ball, by Clinton Helms

There’s a moment that comes, long about February, when the need for the spring becomes more than just a gentle, sweet longing.  It becomes much more urgent, almost primal.  As though you’ve gotten so chilled to the bone … there’s no telling if you’ll ever thaw out.

It’s in that moment of urgency that you know that finally – finally! – you can begin to count.

Five, four, three, two …

Not the days ’til spring.

The days ’til Spring Training.

For those whose calendars failed to remind them, pitchers and catchers report in Florida and in Arizona on Monday.

And, while February 11 isn’t spring. It’s close enough.

Because baseball is there to remind you that spring will come, despite the cold and the snow and the dark.

Here in Virginia, it’s still winter. Sure, there’s no snow on the ground (sorry, New England) and today was almost pleasant (apologies, North Dakota). (And by pleasant, I mean I bundled up snuggly in a wool sweater, extra long scarf, and fully buttoned winter coat, but the kid playing outside at the grocery store was in shorts and a tee shirt.)

But, it’s still winter.

Photos of Minor League Baseball, by David Deal at the Arts Center in Orange

Photos of Minor League Baseball, by David Deal at the Arts Center in Orange

Until, you walk into a room filled with baseball.

And, the sun is shining through the windows at just the right angle, and you swear it’s the bone-warming sunshine that comes in May. And, the room is brighter and more golden than any room you’ve been in for months. And, you look all around and you’re surrounded by spring … and summer and baseball.

Even here, in Orange, Virginia, where the Orioles Spring Training camp is – by Mapquest’s calculations – 14 hours and 40 minutes away, and the first day of spring is farther still.

Even here, like even everywhere, baseball brings the promise of new life and the hopes of spring.

This week, the Arts Center in Orange, in downtown Orange, Virginia, opened a warm and sweet multimedia exhibit called Spring Training.  All things baseball, by a talented group of local artists.

Right here, in my little town. Baseball.

If that don’t beat all.

And, it made my heart jump alittle. And I felt the promise of springtime seep through the lining of my coat, through the scarf and wool sweater.  Right into my bones.

Finally. Warm again.

“That’s the true harbinger of spring, not crocuses or swallows returning to Capistrano, but the sound of a bat on a ball.” ~ Bill Veeck (20th-century baseball owner & innovator)

For some, baseball is history …

Ball Park Blessing by Susan Harb

Ball Park Blessing by Susan Harb

For some baseball is youth …

By John Strader

By John Strader

“Don’t tell me about the world. Not today. It’s springtime and they’re knocking baseball around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball.”  ~ Pete Hamill, journalist & author

For some, baseball is memory …

Memories, by Chee Kludt Ricketts

Memories, by Chee Kludt Ricketts

For some, baseball is a game …

Venus Flycatcher by John Strader

Venus Flycatcher by John Strader

For some, baseball is religion …

By Susan Harb

Baseball Candelabra by Susan Harb

For some, baseball is life …

"A Very Long Season" by John Corrao

“A Very Long Season” by John Corrao

“Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too.” ~ occasionally attributed to Yogi Berra (Legendary Yankee, #8) … and sometimes to an 8-year-old kid.  But, hey, let’s give this one to Yogi.

You should wander your way to Orange and check out the Arts Center.  (Lots of cool other things besides baseball, too.  Yes, there are other things besides baseball.  A few things anyway.)

SPRING TRAINING

On Exhibit at the ARTS CENTER in ORANGE

129 East Main Street, Orange Virginia

February 7 thru March 30, 2013

Monday thru Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

No charge, although donations are gratefully accepted

www.artscenterinorange.com

All images are the copyright of the artists.  Images used with the kind permission of The Arts Center in Orange.  A special thank you to Laura Thompson, Arts Center Executive Director.

Ball in Hand, by David Deal

Ball in Hand, by David Deal

Remembering Earl Weaver … & Thinking About My Dad

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Many years ago, long before I came along, my dad ran a string of gas stations in Los Angeles. He was very good at his job. He ran a tight ship.

That laser-like attention to detail and exacting perfection didn’t change over the years. He demanded a lot of himself, and, by turn, everyone else.

One day during those gas station years, late ’50s or so, Mickey Rooney – yes, that Mickey Rooney – came to my dad’s station. And, apparently, Mickey Rooney didn’t adhere to the “good customer” rules that my dad expected.

A “Do you know who I am?” led to a “I don’t care who you are.” Rooney, the story goes, expected free service on his car, simply because he was famous.

A scrap of some kind ensued. (I’m biased, but I’m gonna go with my dad on this one. Because really … a Hollywood star kicks up a stink with a gas station guy? I’m just going to assume the Average Joe was the good guy.)

From then on, Mickey Rooney was not spoken of in our home.

So, it was with a bit of sadness – no, sadness isn’t right; let’s call it You MUST be kidding eye-rolling – when I read a tribute to the legendary Baltimore Orioles manager Earl Weaver, who passed away on January 19 at age 82, that described him as “Mickey Rooney in a uniform.”

You’re comparing a baseball legend to this guy who picked a fight with my dad because he was expected to pay for service like everyone else?

The Earl of Baltimore was a baseball genius.

But, he was also a scrappy, crabby, cranky, irascible, chain-smoking, argumentative firecracker, who might be best known for all the times he tangled with umpires, kicking dirt and getting ejected from 98 games.

He was a tough-as-nails perfectionist who demanded a lot of himself, and, by turn, everyone else. Kinda like my dad.

Earl Weaver is, on the one hand, a big ball of everything I usually find unpleasant about the game.

Crabby, loud, vulgar. Extremely vulgar. Did I mention the chain-smoking? (He was ejected at least once for smoking in the dugout.)

But, he is also a lot of what I find wonderful about baseball.

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Bears Don’t Hibernate. Neither Does Baseball.

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My husband informs me that bears in Virginia do not hibernate in Winter.  He works at the Wildlife Center of Virginia, so he oughta know. 

It’s a sad day when bears let you down.

I have relied on the wisdom of hibernating bears when encouraging my Yoga students to quiet their practice in winter and in honoring my own circadian life rhythms. 

Bears hibernate in winter, I figured, because they are smarter than we are.  They know the value of rest.  They know that cold, dark winter days demand that they slow down and refuel.  These resting bears became a powerful role model for how we all should care for ourselves in winter … carbo-pack and hibernate.

Now, I find out that this hibernation thing is a big bear hoax.

This bear cub was in the Wildlife Center of Virginia's care. Wide awake ... no hibernating for him.

This bear cub was in the Wildlife Center of Virginia’s care in 2012.  Wide awake. Thanks to WCV for this photo.

As long as Virginia bears find the weather comfortable and ample trash cans to paw through, they’ll just amble through their winter like the rest of us.  Still, they hunker down in ugly weather.  So, while they may not hibernate, they do know the value of slowing down. So, hibernation aside, I guess they’re still smarter than we humans.

I was looking forward to a bit of baseball hibernation this winter. 

162 games is a long regular season.  It’s a reliable, irrefutable fact.  Eighty-two basketball games in an NBA season.  Sixteen NFL games a season.  These are, apparently, games for the short-winded and the short-attention spanned.   

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“Let’s All Go To The Lobby”

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Lobby2

Do you remember how they used to have intermissions when you went to the movies?

Yeh, me neither. But, I’m told they did.

What a brilliant idea!

And, what a wonderful way to spend an intermission – head out to the lobby for something popcorn-y or chocolate-y or chewy or sweet.

Why can’t I get daily intermissions like that?

Don’t we all need a break in our day? Don’t we all need to head out to the lobby for a treat?

Here’s where sports excel. Extremely civilized break time.

Baseball’s Seventh-Inning Stretch … sure, a bit paltry. But, a nice idea. Love “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” (almost as much as I love the “Let’s All Go To The Lobby” jingle). 

But … here’s a random aside, as long as we’re talking baseball.

I may bleed Orange & Black for the Orioles, but I can’t think of a more miserable way of spending my seventh-inning stretch – my delicious break time – then standing around while they play “Thank God I’m a Country Boy”. (I am, for the record, neither “country” nor “boy”, so I’m not sure why they insist I sing it at every game.) 

And, while we’re on the topic of baseball’s seventh-inning stretch, rumor is that the Yankees include a long, ponderous version of “God Bless America” during their stretch just to make the opposing pitcher sit and wait a little longer. I’d like this a lot better if the Orioles had thought of it first.   

Anyway, I hope your team has a better stretch time (and I invite you to tell me all about it in the comments).

Half-time at basketball and football games are ok, but still a bit chintzy.

Hockey does all right. Two luxuriously generous breaks between periods, and nothing to do but watch the Zamboni slide around, suck up the blood, and smooth up the ice. Very Zen.   

So, anyway, I wrote up my to-do list for this past weekend. The stupid thing was three pages long. THREE pages (double-spaced, but still!). That list didn’t even mention Christmas and all the additional things that are expected of one during this “peaceful” season. So, not only did I not decorate, or write cards, or wish anyone “Merry Christmas” … I didn’t even have time to put those tasks on my list.

Needless to say, I got very little on the list accomplished. So, I’m far behind, tired, and yes, a little annoyed by doing too much and achieving too little.

And, that’s what brings me back to the need for daily intermissions.

Yoga is great in that respect. We sit and breathe. Think of it like sitting and watching the Zamboni slide around (but without any hockey bloodshed). 

Sit. Breathe. 

That’s it.

That’s the daily intermission. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Whatever you got.

Breath goes in. Breath goes out.

You can try it now. It’s pretty easy.

Or, you can take the next 39 seconds and watch this video and one of the greatest songs of all time … and, yeh, go get yourself a treat. You deserve it.

Oh, and by the way, writing something for you WAS on my “to-do” list this weekend. I’m a day late, but I’m checking it off the list anyway.

Breath goes in. Breath goes out. Breath goes in. Breath goes out.

Lobby4

The NFL Knew. And They Covered It Up.

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If a big food corporation sells a contaminated product that makes people sick, they’re forced to remove the food from the shelves. If people actually died? Well, that could be criminal … or at least a top story in the news.

Same with pharmaceuticals. Car companies. Toy manufacturers. Anyone, really, who runs afoul of the Consumer Product Safety Commission, the FDA, or even just riles up the local consumer action reporter at the evening news, has a lot of explaining to do if their product is dangerous.

So here’s what I don’t get.

How can the National Football League (NFL) endanger its players – knowingly – and still be not only the most popular sport in the country, but also the most profitable?

I loved football. Growing up, I was diehard for the 49ers. Oakland Raiders, too, but mostly ’9ers. I still have my Ronnie Lott bobblehead. My husband is from Colorado and a Broncos fan. Occasionally, I will say “55 to 10”. That’s all. Just “55 to 10.” He knows what I mean.  (Click here if you don’t.)

But, in recent years I’ve become increasingly disturbed by the growing violence of the game. The collisions seem uglier than usual. The game is becoming more about the train wreck, head-on-head, smash-ups. (And, this was even before the news broke this year about the New Orleans Saints’ “bounty hunting” – where players received financial bonuses based on the severity of the injuries they inflicted on opponents. The more serious the injury, the bigger the payoff.)

I started to lose interest in football, initially, because I was falling for baseball, and something had to give. Baseball seemed so much more athletically graceful. So much more strategically interesting. So much less ugly and brutal. So much more fun.

Oh sure, I thought football and I could still be friends. Even though I was in love with another game.

But, I finally had to break up with football.

Continue reading →

I’m Thankful The Thanking Is Nearly Over

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I am thankful that Thanksgiving is nearly over. Only a few more daily “I am thankful for …” posts on Facebook and Twitter.

I love my friends. I don’t mindlessly “friend” every person who bumps their grocery cart into me. I’m a selective Facebooker.

But, even so … the string of daily posted thankful messages can wear. When you’re thankful your manicurist convinced you to try “Berry Naughty”, well, really? Really? 

Deep down, I guess I am thankful for these thankful posts, even the seemingly frivolous ones — as they’re much better than the mean-spirited and loud political ones of the past few months.

First, there are the thankful people who have lived amazing lives … recounting their adventures, day by day. “I’m thankful for my time in the Peace Corps when I built a road for an isolated village in Paraguay.” “I’m thankful for my mother who marched with Martin Luther King, Jr.”

But, even amazing lives peter out as the month goes on. What began as “I’m thankful for the people I met when I worked in an orphanage in Nepal”, by now has become, “I’m thankful the grocery store had Panko crumbs this afternoon. Dinner is saved!”

I love the spirit of these messages. But, there’s also an underlying sense of failure for the rest of us. I haven’t lived an exciting life. I haven’t done amazing things. Now, I just feel bad. Put on the spot, I’m really just thankful that my husband cleaned up Smokey Jo’s hairball this morning, allowing me a few extra minutes of sleep.

There’s another kind of serial thanker out there: The person who has decided to thank family and friends, by name, every day. This is a brilliant marketing strategy. We all tune in daily – hoping, expecting – that we will be named next.

I’m beginning to lose hope with one longtime friend, who has mowed through three, four people a day, and has now taken to thanking the birds who stopped by the feeder outside her kitchen window.

I’m thinking that perhaps I could draft up a nice little something about me that she could post. I could remind her of all the reasons why she ought to be thanking me, including that I have now saved her the trouble of writing up something about why she is thankful for me. I guarantee, your house finches will not be so thoughtful.

I am thankful. Honest, I am. I am thankful for every moment, at least I try to be. So what if I don’t feel the need to share every detail with the world? Because, when you’re so vocal in your thanks for the things in your life, you may be hurting someone else because they do not share your good fortune.

Grateful that your home survived Superstorm Sandy? Of course you are. But, remember that someone near you was not so lucky. Don’t revel. Don’t gloat by saying you’re thankful that your candidate won, saving the world from certain destruction. Conversely, don’t pout by saying you’re thankful that, while your candidate lost, God will save the world from certain destruction.

See? It’s hard to be thankful and humble at the same time. At least on the Internet.

This Mutts cartoon was published in 2002. It’s one of my favorites. See more wonderful Mutts cartoons at http://www.muttscomics.com

But, I’m thankful for you.

Even if I don’t know you. If I DO know you, you have enriched my life in the flesh. But, even if I’ve never laid eyes on you, you’ve been kind enough to read these words from time to time. And, that is a very generous thing to do.

Really, I’m thankful for you.

My dad was a North Dakota farmer. But, he remembered most fondly his time in L.A. in the 1950s where he ran a string of successful gas stations. When he died, I found this photo and a letter from the corporate head recognizing him for having the cleanest, most efficient stations. His love of Los Angeles and L.A. sports never left him.

Six years ago, my dad died. On Thanksgiving Day. 

A friend said, “Your Thanksgivings will never be the same.” But I disagreed. My dad knew that I loved Thanksgiving (and the Macy’s Parade and the Rockettes. Oh, the Rockettes!).

He wouldn’t want to take that joy away from me.

My dad gave me my love of sports. Although he preferred the Rams (L.A. and St. Louis) and the Lakers (L.A., but not Minneapolis).

He would root for the Dodgers, if pressed, but he never quite understood my love of baseball. “You didn’t get that from me, kid.” But, he was all about sports, so I probably did.

For years, he would, in the name of economy, save his copies of Sports Illustrated and mail them to me – often with little snarky comments written in the margins, and pictures of his favorite NBA players circled in Sharpie. Sure, just getting me my own subscription would have been cheaper. But, not nearly has special.

So, I’m thankful for my dad.  And, for baseball.  And, for the off-season, which is a nice time to catch up with life, and start that beautiful longing for the next game.

And, you.  Don’t forget that I’m thankful for you.

“Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so, let us all be thankful.” ~ The Buddha

About That Oriole Pumpkin

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Oscar has an Oriole pumpkin. Do you?

[UPDATED: October 2013 and October 2014]

Yes, I have the Oriole Bird stencils for your pumpkin. Smiley Bird. Angry Bird. The new “We Won’t Stop” stencil. Read on! 

Back in 2012, I was very excited when people started coming to my blog … Someone out there really cares what I think about the Orioles? What I think about Nick Markakis? Manny Machado? Darren O’Day? They want to read what I know about the history of the world’s most perfect game? (I’m blushing.)

It didn’t take long to discover that you’re not coming to read my insights about baseball after all.

You want the elusive Oriole pumpkin stencils, don’t you?

OK, I’m bummed that you didn’t stop by to see what I have to say. These words don’t write themselves, you know. (And, I write a lot of them … just click here to read my latest post. And, if you’re an Orioles fan … sign up to get my posts, we’ll have fun!)

But then …

Yay for my 20-year-old super-cool cat Oscar who gets attention whenever his pumpkin photo pops up on Google. And, yay for for the Orioles … in the post-season!

That pumpkin I carved back in 2011 was a mess. (But then, so were the 2011 Orioles.) I didn’t know what I was doing, and really, put sharp objects and me in the same room and there’s bound to be blood.

Yours will be better. The Orioles were too busy making their way to the World Series to update the stencils in a timely fashion, so I’m doing my part … here they are.  (Just click on the stencil you want, then right click to save it on your computer.)

OrioleBird Stencil

 

Here’s Angry “Buckle Up” Bird.

And, new “We Won’t Stop” for 2014:

We Wont Stop 2014 Stencil

 

It’s hard to find the stencils online. But, here’s the link to these Oriole stencils if you prefer the PDF format. Click here.

But, those are awfully fancy pants for a pumpkin.

So, here’s the more primitive stencil I used back in 2011. I think it’s much easier to carve.

This easier Oriole stencil should be here: http://baltimore.orioles.mlb.com/bal/downloads/y2009/retrohatbird.pdf

This simpler Oriole bird stencil is also in PDF form.  Click here.

Tape the stencil to a pumpkin. Poke a nail along the stencil’s lines and onto your pumpkin. There you go … carve away!

Have fun. Don’t cut yourself. And, I hope you find a cool cat to pose with your Oriole pumpkin.

Go O’s!

(Extra credit if you carve an Oriole pumpkin and post the photo in the comments.  Or email it to me at jackie@thebaseballbloggess.com and I’ll post it for you!)

I Never Meant To Cause A Fuss

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I have a super-secret blog. The fact that you are reading it right now (and you’re not married to me) sort of lessens its super-secret status.  But, it was super secret, once.

I just decided I needed to type something … something nice. About something I loved. And, I thought I could say one or two nice things about baseball and Yoga.  And, it would make me feel good inside to write something positive about some things I love.  What could be easier?

Oh sure, I published it on a blog.  I put it out there.  I just didn’t want to embarrass myself … especially in front of my friends.  So, at first, I didn’t tell a soul.

Eventually, I told my husband (hi honey!) because I needed a grown-up editor to rein in my occasionally all-over-the-place, mixed-up thoughts (and my inability to know a 2-seam from a 4-seam fastball, to spot a balk, or to understand the need for all the spitting).

I asked some friends if I could mention them in my posts, because they know baseball. And, some said “yes” and a few sent some nice thoughts, too.  But, I wouldn’t give them the address.

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One Wild & Precious Life

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Oscar is my cat.  He’s 20.

Although he has his share of stiffness and achy joints in recent years, he can still hoist himself up on the barn roof for an afternoon snooze.  Just yesterday, for instance.

I share him with you, because he’s a good reminder of Poet Mary Oliver’s words:

“Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild & precious life.”

Oscar came to us about eight or nine years ago.  So, he already was an older cat — nearly elderly.

But, he was unhappy with his people up the road, I guess.  And, so he packed up and moseyed through the fields.  A half-mile.  He just showed up one day.  Moved in.  And, never left.

We always joke that he saw our place as a retirement home.

But, in fact, he didn’t retire.  Instead, Oscar found a second chance and a new life — rich, rewarding, active, and comfortable.

And, his decision to make a fresh start … at an age when he should have been winding down … is a daily inspiration to me.

It’s never too late to start again.

So …

“Tell me, what it is YOU plan to do with your one wild & precious life.”

P.S. Oscar would be delighted, I’m sure, if you would share his photo, and message, with your friends and loved ones.  Because he carries Mary Oliver’s inspiring words.  And, they are very good reminders that we all should live our lives to their fullest.