At the Old Ball Game

It was a gift of an August day in Washington—82, breezy, and low humidity at 11:45 this morning when Mackenzie Gore threw the first pitch of the Nats-Angels game. We were up in the third tier, right above the first baseline, with a clear view of the plate and our free jerseys in hand. 

The park was nearly empty, and not even the organist was playing. It might have been that this is a prime vacation week in this town, our team is out of playoff contention, or most of the starters were second-string. Whatever the cause, we enjoyed practically having the section to ourselves as we watched the game progress. It was scoreless until the top of the fourth when the Angels put five runs on the board. 

When the Nats could not answer them for a couple innings more, Heidi grew disgusted and went off in search of water and popcorn. She missed seeing LA bring it to 6-0 in the seventh, which was probably just as well. There was a rally in the 8th; the home team scored 2 and had the tying run at the plate with the bases loaded. Improbably, the same scenario occurred in the bottom of the ninth. The Nats had a real chance to tie or even win, but the game ended abruptly at 6-4 after the Angels turned a double play.

We were filing out with the rest of the light crowd when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Three of my 6th graders from last year folded me into a big hug. We spent a happy few minutes catching up and basking in our mini-reunion before we went our separate ways.

"Now, that was a great day at the ballpark!" I told Heidi.

Someone Who Knows

"How's retirement?" a friend's mom in from out of town asked this afternoon.

I gave my standard answer. "So far, it's just been like summer break," I laughed.

She is a former teacher and nodded knowingly. "You won't really feel it until school starts."

I knew what she meant. I definitely felt a twinge of uncertainty when Heidi got her back-to-school letter from the principal yesterday, and I eagerly read over the pre-service week schedule and agendas, wondering all along if perhaps I had made a mistake. 

"I'll be honest," she continued, "I did go through a period where I questioned my purpose. After being a teacher for so long, how could I not?"

I nodded in recognition. 

"But you know what?" she told me. "That did not last long, and I'm here to tell you that retirement is wonderful!"

It's a Wash

Tropical Storm Debby did not ruin our beach vacation. Sure, there was a little rain and some overcast skies, but there was also quality beach time and pool time. And, to be honest? We went for the company, and that did not disappoint. Neither did the food, thanks to local produce, fresh seafood, and my brother's great cooking.

Tropical Storm Debby did, however, make our trip home rather hellish. Torrential rain, blinding road spray, a 40-minute delay due to a horrific accident, and Treat's phone blaring tornado warnings all added up to a long and grueling drive. Although the company was, once again, delightful. 

Tropical Storm Debby might have ruined our day today with drenching downpours and flood and tornado warnings, making ducking out for anything the equivalent of a cold shower. But we needed the rain so badly that it was impossible to be upset.

Walking Lucy just an hour after the sheets tapered to a drizzle, we ran into a neighbor with his own dog. "I can't believe how dry the ground is after all that rain!" he marveled, standing in the middle of a grassy common in flip flops. "My feet aren't wet at all."

But at least the grass wasn't brown and crunchy anymore.

Over Confidence

I recently read that professional table tennis players are often challenged by amateurs who are confident they can offer a competitive game. Of course, it's rare for such players to even score a point on the pros, but there's something about how commonplace ping pong tables are in basements and rec centers that makes the sport seem unrealistically accessible to the casual paddler. 

I thought of that today as I watched Lucy chase seagulls on the beach. She was confident that she could catch one, and they seemed to indulge her—swooping low before flying away so that she raced in large loops around and down the shoreline. She really believed she had a chance, but in the end, she didn't even get a feather.

Hindsight Bias

Some things never change, like sibling quibbling, for example. Take this conversation between a 62-year-old and her little 60-year-old brother.

"Harris picked Walz as her running mate," the brother told his sister yesterday morning.

"I knew it!" she said.

"No, you didn't," he replied.

"You heard me say it last night," she argued.

"But you didn't know it," he pointed out, "you only predicted it. Thinking you knew it is a logical fallacy."

"Like confirmation bias?" she asked.

"Yeah, but not that one," he said. "It's one where people think things were much more predictable in retrospect once they know the outcome."

"Hmm," she grumbled. "Maybe."

"We should go to the beach," he said. "It's not raining, even though they predicted it would be."

"I knew it!" she said.

"No, you didn't," he laughed.

"But I knew you were going to say that," she told him. "I really did."

Debby Does, or Does She?

We knew she was coming, but we decided to take our chances. Tropical Storm Debby has been pumping clouds and moisture our way since yesterday. There have been dry moments and even some sunshine, though, and that's when being 600 feet from the beach comes in handy. We spent an hour there with the dogs this morning; Bill, Emily, and Riley went back for some beach time a little later, and Heidi and I took advantage of the house pool before the rains came. And the weather cleared again at six, just in time for another dog walk on the beach. A misty marine layer obscured the beach, but we were far from the only ones there.

Sure, the prediction is rain all day tomorrow as Debby regroups off shore and then hammers South Carolina, but so what? Maybe it won't, and if it doesn't? 

We'll be ready.

As Always

 "When was the last time you were at the beach in summer?" I asked Heidi as we stepped into the warm sand.

"Last year, when I went to Rehoboth," she reminded me. "What about you?"

"I was just trying to figure that out," I told her. "I think it's been over ten years!" 

In fact, it has been 11. The last time I visited a beach in the summer was in August 2013, when Heidi and I took Isabel down to Point Lookout for the day. The last time I was at an ocean beach in the summer was three years earlier than that, when most of the family met for a week in August in Edisto, SC.

Since then, I've visited the beach at Thanksgiving, in February or March for the Oscars, in October when Heidi had a conference there, and in November for Heidi's birthday. I've been to the beach at least 20 times, just never in summer.

There was a cool ocean breeze blowing this afternoon when I made my return to summer at the beach, and overcast skies kept the temperatures below blazing. Still, there was a crowd of folks on blankets and chairs under umbrellas and the inescapable smell of sunscreen as kids ran back and forth to the surf. Super tan people clad only in bathing suits and sunglasses walked the waterline, expertly avoiding the boogie boarders that came crashing in on the waves.

It was as if nothing had changed in the last decade, and there was honestly something kind of nice about that.