I have a confession to make: I am a terrible person. Well, no, that isn’t exactly the confession I was hoping to make, just that, well, I have been slacking –big time on the blog front. You see, almost one month ago mom and I took off for a weekend trip. It was supposed to be “Just the two of us.” If you have been following any length of time you know that Amanda and I love surprises. Probably close to two years ago we started plotting and preparing for this surprise to take place. But since it was a surprise, and mom has been known to stalk the blog (Hi ma!) I couldn’t say anything about it…and well, writing anything else seemed pointless.

So back on track.

A month ago mom and I headed to Seattle for a “girls weekend” –she didn’t question why I had nearly 50 pounds of luggage for a weekend trip and I appeased her with “A girl needs stuff –even if it IS just a weekend” when really, my bag was loaded to the hilt with random bits…

The day we left home, David, Amanda & their crew were leaving England to fly to Seattle to surprise mom. But the surprises weren’t and didn’t stop there. From there, we bought mom a car, and made a road trip up through Canada where they would stay for a few months. Confused? Me too.

Pretty much every time I told someone about our big surprise they looked confused and asked some random questions about the logistics…logistics smogistics is what I say!

In the end, we pulled off the epic surprise with very few glitches. They showed up at the motel –shocked the socks off of mom and we spent the next four days searching for a car. It was a very long four days but to shorten the story -we eventually found one that fit the criteria, bought the car, and began our trip.

…and then everyone got sick.

I wish I were kidding. But the brand new car endured countless bouts of vomit. The whole way home.

We made it tho, and have been doing our best to fill the time and knock items off our “Summer Bucket List.” Which might explain my absence. That and the fact that these people are some of my favorites. Our days are wild and epic. Fast and furious. But it has been an amazing summer.

…and hopefully I will get around to sharing some of the epicness.

Until then!

So about a month ago someone approached me and asked if I wanted to play softball. I didn’t put too much thought into it before agreeing to meet once I got a glove.

While this may not sound like a big deal -I should probably interject a little background. I am 26. I have never played sports. I actively run from balls being thrown at me. I played a few rounds of volleyball a few years ago.  I nearly broke my thumb at one of those games. I have never held a bat. Never thrown a ball (except to the dog) and have never been interested in how the game works. In short? I am a rookie that knows nothing about the game except what my mind tells me: Which is to run from the ball.

The first game I went to the coach told me I would just sit out and he would explain the rules as it went along. I sighed relief and took my position as bench warmer. That I could handle. Not two minutes later he called my name “You! Over there!” apparently the other team was short a player so figuring he wouldn’t be losing much -he farmed me out to the other team. My first time ever holding a bat. My first time ever swinging at a ball. My first time ever running bases. I hit the ball. Ran the bases. Scored a point. For the opposing team.

Yay?

I went home later that night and googled everything I could on softball.

Two days later we met for practice where I would spend an hour learning the rules of the game and having it drilled into my head “Run TO the ball” -after 26 years of running FROM a ball I was now trying to retrain my mind to run TO the ball. I was also trying to learn how to catch the ball, keep the ball from smacking me in the face and who to throw said ball to. We only covered about ½ the positions, but at the end he told me I had a great throwing arm and had potential. I assumed that was a good thing, because I really didn’t understand the other softball terms that were being tossed around.

I couldn’t walk right for a week. My hand turned blue and purple -because I had to learn the hard way that you do not catch a ball without a glove. I couldn’t lift anything for days.

…and then I went out of two for two weeks and missed out on a game and practice.

Last week was our third game, and my second.

We were short two players which meant that instead of playing outfield -I was put as catcher.

I will let that sink in for a moment.

Catcher. Perhaps the most dangerous place ever. No one explained the rules to me. No one told me what to do. There was no time for that. They simply said “Crouch there…” Right behind the bat. Right in the line of the ball. Right in the line of fire. Oy.

Last night I managed to hit the ball twice. We lost by one point. But from what I hear -we did a really good job as a whole. Considering the opposing team had all their players (and some really good ones at that) and the empire apparently took two points off our game.

I really don’t know why or how or any of that…I am still trying to understand the rules, the game and the ball. I still find myself cheering on the opposing team and only manage to catch the ball about ¼ of the time. But when the bat hits the ball, something about the cracking noise sends my legs flying as fast as they possibly can. To where? I am really not sure. I just run. Then run again. Then run again. And hope for the best.

There were more people in the dug out that belonged to me than the team last night -99% of the fam was there, cheering me own, squawking out random bits of encouragement to me and the other players. Grinning like bafoons right along side me as I stood at first base after hitting a squiggly ball that gave me enough time to run.

If nothing else, it will be an interesting summer with lots of flying balls -and at the end, at least I will be able to throw the ball for the dog a little further than normal…now if only she could throw them to me so I could work on my catching!

Amanda and her fam are in town for a few months and as a result she took a few…pictures. Of course she didn’t catch me hitting the ball or running like a fool…her pictures are probably the most accurate representation of what I look like 98% of the time.

Not so pro tip: Do NOT catch a ball with the hand that doesn’t have a glove.  Don’t ask me how I know, just don’t do it:

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Wait, where did it go?

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What am I looking at?  The ball that is not?

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Yay!  I caught it…oh, wait, no I didn’t.

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For the record I DID catch a few balls, and did manage to score the team a point…I think.

Thankfully the team is really low key -and everyone is just as happy to hit the ball as they are to make a home run.  Not that I would know -we haven’t exactly had any home runs.  But still!

This Easter season has been a favorite of mine.

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For obvious reasons, of course.  But for not so obvious reasons as well.

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The promise of sun and 60 degree weather.

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There have also been flowers blooming, birds chirping and day light sticking around a lot longer.

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I am pretty sure that Spring is my favorite season.  It comes after a long winter and has the promise of summer to follow -where summer has the promise of fall and winter.

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Spring is in the air!

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(spoiler alert: Yoshi likes spring too!)

Close to probably five years ago there was a couple I knew. An older couple who had been married for years. Many years. They were, in my mind, the idol of marriage. They were what one should strive to be like. Their attitudes, outlook and perspective on life was something to be desired. About five years ago -the wife landed herself in the hospital. The particulars were hushed, the details were secret and the information private.

We brought them coffee and a newspaper -sometimes fruit, for no reason other than feeling absolutely helpless but wanting to do something. It was a small task that didn’t require much effort on my part -and a task that I didn’t even know if they appreciated.

A few short months later -she passed away.

It was only then that the details slowly began to emerge, details that literally -made me sick to the stomach and made me wonder if bringing coffee and newspapers only made the situation worse. It wasn’t even a few months after she had passed -did he show up at my house with a box of cookies and a card.

A handwritten note from him and his wife -thanking me for the daily coffee and newspapers. The “little bit of normalcy” in their dark days. I remember thinking how -in his deep pain and anguish -he had taken the time to thank me for something so simple and stupid. The task he performed did not go overlooked -simply going to a grocery store to buy something, writing a note -with her name, and delivering it -holding a conversation in which he openly admitted to crying daily…

It is something I will never forget and something that will forever be etched in my mind and heart.

To do something for others is one thing -but to do something for others when you are hurting so badly -is another. It comes from a much deeper part of the heart.

Which is why I decided that instead of drowning in self pity and despair -I am going to choose to do things for others. Even, or especially when, I don’t feel like it. On those days when seeing daylight is so, so hard -I am going to put others first. I am going to do something kind for someone else.

The hardest thing in my life is knowing that while my life is seemingly out of control -there are other people out there. People who are hurting. Just because my heart is confused, does not mean the rest of the world has ceased to exist. Instead of giving into my desire to pull the covers over my head and not face the world -I am going to face it head on.

I am going to push through. I am not going to be beat down.

Someone told me once that your life -your words -can have an impact on others. Your simple deeds can hurt someone so badly…or they can help keep someone from the despair of suicide. I am clinging to that hope. Clinging to the tiny shards of hope that maybe -just maybe -my actions will have an impact on others…and if not, at least I am not allowing myself to be swallowed alive -regardless of how badly I want to be.