My Life As A Baseball Player
I've never been particularly good at baseball. I can generally make contact with the ball if I'm holding the bat, but I've never gotten a home run. When it comes to throwing, I'm more of a "hope- it -doesn't- come- to -me" kind of gal. The thought of catching the ball and having to make it travel to someone else on the baseball field is so daunting, I'd rather pretend that I wasn't on the field at all. Not that I don't practice, but the technique evades me.
Over the years, I've taken aim with objects in my hand, and the trajectory I imagine rarely materializes. It usually travels in a direction that is completely opposite to my intended target. I've thrown items that have hit the roof directly above me, when I have really meant them to go straight ahead about 300 feet. I have thrown items which turned out to be boomerangs in disguise. It has gotten so that when I go outside to throw little bits of food off the deck for the dog to fetch, she is the only one who scrambles down the stairs to find it. Everyone else scrambles for cover. It's a unique talent I have. A burden I must bear. A proficiency which defies explanation.
One day, I found a bit of leftover cheese in the back of the fridge. I took it outside. My husband made the mistake of leaning over the deck to watch the dog's reaction. He was talking to her about the anticipation of getting a treat. [He should have been watching what I was doing.] There he was cooing away: "Are you waiting for a treat Kola? Hmmm??? Yes, you are. You are such a good dog...." and that's where his interaction stopped. I had wound up with the cheese in hand, thinking I was the next Cal Ripken Jr.. I had thrown that cheese as hard as I could, with the intention of getting the dog to run for the reward. It didn't go very far. It actually hit my husband square in the back of the neck. He turned around and looked at me, like I'd meant to do it. I hadn't of course. I had imagined the flight of the cheese as sailing over his head and into the neighbor's yard. I think what made it worse for him, was that the sight of him rubbing the back of his neck, and the surprised and slightly wounded look on his face was so comical, that I burst out laughing. He didn't speak to me for a while.
I can't say that my lack of skill has impeded my enthusiasm for trying to throw objects. I have the desire to improve. I think about the technique before I throw. And I truly believe that the next one is going to prove once and for all that I have conquered my ineptness at the craft of lobbing items into space. It happens. But rarely.
Last summer, we had friends stay with us for a couple of days to attend their son's wedding. One morning, I decided to make pancakes. Not that I'm boasting here, but I must admit to you cyber readers that I have perfected the art of making golden fluffy pancakes. I have served them to many people with rave reviews. I am good at making pancakes. And over the years, I have learned, that the first couple of pancakes are not good for human consumption, because they don't cook evenly. They are necessary though, to season the griddle, so that the rest of the pancakes are golden delicious. So on this morning with 12 people coming downstairs for breakfast, I made a double batch, and started pumping them out.
The first ones of course were no good. I slipped out onto the deck to throw them over. It was raining, and Kola was no where to be seen, but I figured she could find them later. Then I went back inside and made the rest of the breakfast.
I thought no more about it until later, when their son-in-law came back from a last minute shopping trip across town. He'd gone out to get some last minute supplies. When he came back, we were still chatting around the table. He had a strange look on his face. When we asked what had happened, he reported that he'd driven to the mall and back with a
pancake on his windshield. This was the pancake I'd intended for Kola to find. The windshield on the rental car was quite deep, and apparently, instead of landing on the lawn, the pancake had lodged just underneath the windshield wipers. Even though he'd had them on, the pancake never budged. He hadn't noticed it until he returned. It was then I had to confess what I'd done. Of course everyone had to rush out onto the deck to take a look. His wife got the camera out and recorded it for posterity (and my embarrassment). We never did find the other one.
I think I'll stick to what I know. Yep, I'm good at making pancakes.
Over the years, I've taken aim with objects in my hand, and the trajectory I imagine rarely materializes. It usually travels in a direction that is completely opposite to my intended target. I've thrown items that have hit the roof directly above me, when I have really meant them to go straight ahead about 300 feet. I have thrown items which turned out to be boomerangs in disguise. It has gotten so that when I go outside to throw little bits of food off the deck for the dog to fetch, she is the only one who scrambles down the stairs to find it. Everyone else scrambles for cover. It's a unique talent I have. A burden I must bear. A proficiency which defies explanation.
One day, I found a bit of leftover cheese in the back of the fridge. I took it outside. My husband made the mistake of leaning over the deck to watch the dog's reaction. He was talking to her about the anticipation of getting a treat. [He should have been watching what I was doing.] There he was cooing away: "Are you waiting for a treat Kola? Hmmm??? Yes, you are. You are such a good dog...." and that's where his interaction stopped. I had wound up with the cheese in hand, thinking I was the next Cal Ripken Jr.. I had thrown that cheese as hard as I could, with the intention of getting the dog to run for the reward. It didn't go very far. It actually hit my husband square in the back of the neck. He turned around and looked at me, like I'd meant to do it. I hadn't of course. I had imagined the flight of the cheese as sailing over his head and into the neighbor's yard. I think what made it worse for him, was that the sight of him rubbing the back of his neck, and the surprised and slightly wounded look on his face was so comical, that I burst out laughing. He didn't speak to me for a while.
I can't say that my lack of skill has impeded my enthusiasm for trying to throw objects. I have the desire to improve. I think about the technique before I throw. And I truly believe that the next one is going to prove once and for all that I have conquered my ineptness at the craft of lobbing items into space. It happens. But rarely.
Last summer, we had friends stay with us for a couple of days to attend their son's wedding. One morning, I decided to make pancakes. Not that I'm boasting here, but I must admit to you cyber readers that I have perfected the art of making golden fluffy pancakes. I have served them to many people with rave reviews. I am good at making pancakes. And over the years, I have learned, that the first couple of pancakes are not good for human consumption, because they don't cook evenly. They are necessary though, to season the griddle, so that the rest of the pancakes are golden delicious. So on this morning with 12 people coming downstairs for breakfast, I made a double batch, and started pumping them out.
The first ones of course were no good. I slipped out onto the deck to throw them over. It was raining, and Kola was no where to be seen, but I figured she could find them later. Then I went back inside and made the rest of the breakfast.
I thought no more about it until later, when their son-in-law came back from a last minute shopping trip across town. He'd gone out to get some last minute supplies. When he came back, we were still chatting around the table. He had a strange look on his face. When we asked what had happened, he reported that he'd driven to the mall and back with a
pancake on his windshield. This was the pancake I'd intended for Kola to find. The windshield on the rental car was quite deep, and apparently, instead of landing on the lawn, the pancake had lodged just underneath the windshield wipers. Even though he'd had them on, the pancake never budged. He hadn't noticed it until he returned. It was then I had to confess what I'd done. Of course everyone had to rush out onto the deck to take a look. His wife got the camera out and recorded it for posterity (and my embarrassment). We never did find the other one.I think I'll stick to what I know. Yep, I'm good at making pancakes.
Comments
Thanks for the chuckles--JC
Joy