Fair Weather Fans

The home team was already down by two runs when we made it to our seats at the bottom of the first inning. Despite the Sunday afternoon game time, traffic had been atrocious, and getting to the park had taken us nearly an hour. When the Nats went three up and three down for the first three innings, Heidi scoffed in disgust. The White Sox hit a couple more homers in the next couple of innings, and Heidi doubled down on her dismay. "No, really," she said. "Why do we bother?"

"I think it's fun to see players hit home runs," I shrugged. "Even if they're on the other team."

"No. It. Is. Not." Heidi replied, and we left it at that.

It was 7-0 in the middle of the sixth. "If they don't score at least one run here, we can leave," I offered.

"Deal!" Heidi accepted, and we were on our way within minutes. 

As we trotted down the ramp to the mezzanine level, I reflected on the past season. My friend Mary and I had been there the day the park opened for preseason, and here I was on the last day, too. That first game was a rainout, and this one was a blowout, but my expectations were low, so I was never disappointed. 

And it's always fun to go out to the old ball game.

(My Fancam photo!)

There's Always Next Year

Despite the warm weather, there are some signs that summer is subsiding into fall. The days are shorter-- darkness fills the windows when we sit down to dinner at 7:30 or so. There is a hint of color in a few of the trees, and the squirrels seem super busy. 

Today is also the last game of the season for our home baseball team, and we have tickets to watch them take on the White Sox in a late afternoon matchup. Neither team is any good; both have spent the last few years "rebuilding," and it looks like both have a ways to go if this year is any indication. 

Even so, it will be pleasant to sit up in the third tier with a view of the river and the monuments. There will be a light breeze tempering the warm afternoon as we wave our caps, make some noise, and sing along to Take Me Out to the Ballpark one more time this year.

Don't Mind the Sideline

"What do you think these are for?" Emma said to her big brother as they stood on the sideline of her soccer game. She was pointing to the red plastic locks on the poles of the canopy tent the coach had set up to keep the rain off his team.

Her brother shrugged, so I entered the conversation. "I think they're to make the tent go higher or lower," I said.

"They use them to take it down," Emma's brother agreed with me.

"Wouldn't it be funny if the tent were only this high?" I asked, pointing to the level of the locks.

Emma's eyes widened, and she crouched low, considering the idea.

"How would you even get out of there?" I said.

"You would have to army crawl," her brother suggested.

"Or do the worm," Emma added, flopping to her belly to demonstrate.

"Emma! You're going into the game in one minute!" The coach delivered what he assumed was good news.

"I get to stay here for one minute!" Emma cheered and wiggled away.

Flash Bang

The organization could have been tighter.

In addition to it being the Friday of a week interrupted by a holiday and testing, today was also picture day at school, and I was subbing. My group was scheduled to go a little before lunch, which was actually the middle of fourth period. In addition to the class I had, the assistant and I were supposed to pick up "a few" kids from a math teacher on another team. As it turned out, thirty-five excited sixth graders and I busted into the theater, ready for their close-ups.

Fortunately, it was not my first experience with such picture day chaos. Unfortunately, there was not a single administrator or school employee in charge, nor did I know these kids. Fortunately, one of the photographers took matters into her own hands when I asked her where she wanted the students to stand and confessed that I was a substitute.

"Listen here!" she boomed from the stage, and the kids stopped wiggling like puppies for a minute and looked up at her with wide eyes. What followed was a crash course on preparing to be photographed quickly and well. As they combed their hair, straightened their collars, zipped their jackets all the way up (or took them off), and made sure their necklaces were clasped in the back, she divided them into groups and sent them to line up by one of the three makeshift studios.

"Oh, will you tell them to sit in the center section and wait when they're through?" I asked. She did, and they did.

In less than 10 minutes, we were on our way back to class. "The doors are shut," she told me, "because it's our lunch time. But just go ahead through; they're not locked."

"Thanks!" I said. "You did an amazing job up there."

"Thank you!" she shrugged. "I do a lot of middle school pictures."

Dog Whistle

I picked up a big acorn cap this afternoon on my walk with Lucy, and, wedging it between my thumbs and forefingers, made a V with the first knuckle of my thumbs and blew over them into the cap. Lucy turned sharply at the shrill whistle, and I wondered, a little apologetically, if it hurt her ears. 

I showed her the acorn cap on my outstretched palm, and she sniffed it. Then she took it, chewed it up, and spit it out. 

No more whistling today.

Family Business

"He knows your nephew," the sub coordinator told me this morning, nodding to the tall young man helping her. And to him she said, "This is Treat's aunt!"

He reached out to shake my hand. "Treat was right across the hall from me last year," he said.

"He's our school-based sub," the sub coordinator introduced him. "And she taught here for more than thirty years," she said about me.

"And Treat's mother is the art teacher here," I added.

"Oh yes," he replied, "I do remember Treat saying he came from a teaching family."

I carried the warmth of that remark all the way to my first period World Geography class, where I was the substitute co-teacher. I knew the teacher I was working with, and it so happened that Treat had worked with her as well. 

The block passed by quickly in pleasant consideration of various land formations and climates, and their appeal to the students personally. "You're pretty good at this!" the teacher joked when the bell rang. "Have you ever considered being a teacher?"

"Well," I laughed, "it does run in my family!

The Closer

"Hey, Tracey," my former principal said smoothly as she and her sister, the president of the league, approached me at bowling this morning. "You've always had an exceptional attention to detail."

I smiled at this unexpected compliment from a past supervisor.

"That's why we think you would be a great addition to the audit committee!" she continued, smiling broadly.

My eyes widened, and the three of us burst out laughing at this brazen recruitment ploy.

"I have seen this opportunity in the weekly e-mails," I conceded. "I just didn't know if someone with more experience would be a better fit."

"Oh no," she assured me. "You would be great."

"Then I accept!" I agreed.

"The president will fill you in on the details," she told me and walked back to her lane.

"She's still got that management flair," I said to the president, shaking my head.

"She always has," her sister agreed.