Playing hooky, kinda
Even though it's one of the busiest times I've had at work in recent memory, I took a half-day today for an annual doctor's appointment that managed to slip to 14 months (sort of like my haircut, which I should get probably every two months, but I can't even remember the last time I had a cut -- I don't know why I don't just consistently make my next appointment as I'm leaving the salon). So I worked at home in the morning, and headed up to the doctor's office around noon. I should probably find a doctor closer to home, or even to work, but I've been going to this guy since I was 19, and there's something comforting about having some consistency with the person doing your annual exam. He has soothing pictures on the ceiling, and always makes excuses for me when I've gained a pound or two over the course of the year, and he always asks how my mom's doing, so I'm sticking with him (although I'm sort of concerned about his respect for HIPPA -- I could totally overhear everything he and the woman ahead of me said).
The other bonus of going to the doctor closer to where I grew up is that our family jeweler is around the corner, so I can go get my ring cleaned and browse all of the pretty, sparkly, shiny things in their display cases. And, I stop by my parents' house on the way home, which today was especially nice.
It was a beautiful day, the first day that's really felt like spring, a perfect day to be out of the office. I had some lunch, a sandwich adorned with the pickles that our local grocery store no longer seems to carry (Dear Stop & Shop: The Bread & Butter sandwich slices suck; please restock the Hearty Garlic. Love, Tangent"), and then went for a walk with my parents. Suddenly, a car was honking, and my sister -- who lives in the same town -- pulled up next to us, her three kids in tow. Which was a lovely surprise, and my littlest nephew, who just turned five, invited me to his first t-ball game tonight, and how could I turn that down? So I went back to my parents', took a little nap in the sun room, and woke up in time for dinner before the game.
What is it about my mom's cooking? Seriously, she made meatballs and spaghetti, with fresh Italian bread, and that was it, but it was heaven. I don't even like spaghetti, and I'm pretty certain that the sauce was straight out of the Ragu jar, but it tasted divine. And even before I could say that out loud, my mom mused, "Do you really enjoy eating here with us? Because I remember going home to your Gammy's house and even the simplest things just tasted better."
And it was true with my grandmother, too, my mom's mom, Gammy. She would make me scrambled eggs that were buttery and fluffy and perfect -- I always ate them with a cocktail fork, for some reason -- and she let me drink 7Up from the cans she kept in the fridge, and even the 7Up tasted better at her house. My mom's special thing for her grandkids -- and her kids, and her husband, and herself, really -- is that her freezer is always stocked with homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Following the food nostalgia: softball nostalgia. I remember my sisters coming to my games when I was in second and third grades, huddled under a huge comforter; it was freezing during those early-morning games, especially at the beginning of the season. Tonight, despite the beautiful, warm day, by the time 6 o'clock rolled around and the sun was starting to dip, it was quite chilly at the t-ball field. But we rallied for the three-inning game, which was the most hilarious thing I've seen in a long time. And also the sweetest: the kids were just running around gleefully, not a care in the world, and the coaches, half a dozen dads, had endless reserves of patience. Whenever there was a hit, at least four kids in the field would run toward the ball, piling themselves in a heap. About half of the kids at bat would forget to run after they got a hit; they seemed sort of shocked that they'd actually hit the ball, and were so focused on watching it, they forgot about the running part.
And no one cared; none of the players laughed (although I might have, a little) or booed when the kids whiffed a swing, or forgot to run, or got beaned in the head with the ball because they were looking at bumblebees instead of paying attention to the game.
I know that in a couple of years, these kids will be playing competitively, and some will excel -- you could already see that some of these kids are natural athletes, and that they'll be really good at baseball -- and they'll start keeping score; they'll start groaning when the weaker players are up at bat, or make the wrong play in the field. And I think that's good; I hate this trend where there are no winners and losers, so no one's ego gets bruised. But for today, it was pretty great to see these five year olds, exuberant just to be outside, to be wearing their oversized baseball caps, to have the chance to run around with their friends and be rewarded with juice boxes and snacks at the end of the hour.
Tomorrow, back to the rat race, but once in a while, it's good to run around aimlessly, to bask in the warm glow of sunshine and nostalgia.
The other bonus of going to the doctor closer to where I grew up is that our family jeweler is around the corner, so I can go get my ring cleaned and browse all of the pretty, sparkly, shiny things in their display cases. And, I stop by my parents' house on the way home, which today was especially nice.
It was a beautiful day, the first day that's really felt like spring, a perfect day to be out of the office. I had some lunch, a sandwich adorned with the pickles that our local grocery store no longer seems to carry (Dear Stop & Shop: The Bread & Butter sandwich slices suck; please restock the Hearty Garlic. Love, Tangent"), and then went for a walk with my parents. Suddenly, a car was honking, and my sister -- who lives in the same town -- pulled up next to us, her three kids in tow. Which was a lovely surprise, and my littlest nephew, who just turned five, invited me to his first t-ball game tonight, and how could I turn that down? So I went back to my parents', took a little nap in the sun room, and woke up in time for dinner before the game.
What is it about my mom's cooking? Seriously, she made meatballs and spaghetti, with fresh Italian bread, and that was it, but it was heaven. I don't even like spaghetti, and I'm pretty certain that the sauce was straight out of the Ragu jar, but it tasted divine. And even before I could say that out loud, my mom mused, "Do you really enjoy eating here with us? Because I remember going home to your Gammy's house and even the simplest things just tasted better."
And it was true with my grandmother, too, my mom's mom, Gammy. She would make me scrambled eggs that were buttery and fluffy and perfect -- I always ate them with a cocktail fork, for some reason -- and she let me drink 7Up from the cans she kept in the fridge, and even the 7Up tasted better at her house. My mom's special thing for her grandkids -- and her kids, and her husband, and herself, really -- is that her freezer is always stocked with homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Following the food nostalgia: softball nostalgia. I remember my sisters coming to my games when I was in second and third grades, huddled under a huge comforter; it was freezing during those early-morning games, especially at the beginning of the season. Tonight, despite the beautiful, warm day, by the time 6 o'clock rolled around and the sun was starting to dip, it was quite chilly at the t-ball field. But we rallied for the three-inning game, which was the most hilarious thing I've seen in a long time. And also the sweetest: the kids were just running around gleefully, not a care in the world, and the coaches, half a dozen dads, had endless reserves of patience. Whenever there was a hit, at least four kids in the field would run toward the ball, piling themselves in a heap. About half of the kids at bat would forget to run after they got a hit; they seemed sort of shocked that they'd actually hit the ball, and were so focused on watching it, they forgot about the running part.
And no one cared; none of the players laughed (although I might have, a little) or booed when the kids whiffed a swing, or forgot to run, or got beaned in the head with the ball because they were looking at bumblebees instead of paying attention to the game.
I know that in a couple of years, these kids will be playing competitively, and some will excel -- you could already see that some of these kids are natural athletes, and that they'll be really good at baseball -- and they'll start keeping score; they'll start groaning when the weaker players are up at bat, or make the wrong play in the field. And I think that's good; I hate this trend where there are no winners and losers, so no one's ego gets bruised. But for today, it was pretty great to see these five year olds, exuberant just to be outside, to be wearing their oversized baseball caps, to have the chance to run around with their friends and be rewarded with juice boxes and snacks at the end of the hour.
Tomorrow, back to the rat race, but once in a while, it's good to run around aimlessly, to bask in the warm glow of sunshine and nostalgia.
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