Started the day very early by driving to Grayling, MI, about 60 miles south of Topinabee, for Gracie's basketball games. (She was playing 4 this morning.) She loves basketball and is pretty aggressive as well as a good team player. These are 10 year-old girls. They go to school together and have been together since kindergarten. I know most of them from other activities - soccer, ballet, and many of them came to our Halloween party last fall. Cute girls, all of them. I don't know most of the parents and they don't know me. So...as the final seconds of the second game were counting down, Gracie dribbled the ball down the court and stopped in front of the basket looking to pass the ball when an "unknown woman" sitting behind me began yelling "shoot the ball, shoot the ball. shoot the ball" and on and on with her voice getting louder and louder until she was screaming in my ear. That's when I turned around and said "stop yelling at her. She's a 10 year old child." Well, that's when this "unknown woman" told me I must not know much about sports because you yell at the players all the time. Everyone knows that! (Oh boy! I know Emily wants me to turn around and walk away, but I just can't!) So I look her in the eye and tell her I am a former cheerleader and know quite a bit about what we in the south call cheering, not yelling. And if she wants to know what I know about basketball, I tell her "I am from Louisville, Kentucky, and in case she hadn't heard, the University of Louisville is the number one ranked basketball team in the nation and U of L also won the Sugar Bowl...that's football! I do know sports and how to behave at sporting events." She said she would continue to yell and I'd better not sit near her. I told her I would be glad to move away from rudeness. ONLY THEN did I turn and walk away. Emily, of course, had already moved to another section and did not speak to me for the next thirty minutes. I'm sure she is still very upset that I exhibited my often dramatic, distinctive personality in a public place but when you or anyone else decides to act in a mean spirited way toward my loved ones, you have stepped over the line. Do not mess with my grandchildren...EVER! By the way, Gracie's team won three of their four games. Here! Here! (I also guess I'll not be invited to attend any of Gracie's future basketball games. So glad I told that damn yankee off today.)
Now, what did you do today?
It has snowed every day this week and tonight the weather people have told us to expect an additional 8 inches. My small part of the world is filled with snowmobilers and skiers enjoying the weather. And next weekend is the Indian River Winterfest! Ice fishing tournaments, snowmobile races, ice sculpting contests, and lots more. Anyone available to come up? Just remember...Baby, it's cold outside!
Enjoy your life!
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Happy Birthday HC Baker!
Today HC Baker would have been 66 years old. I always loved this time of year, from January 9th until June 1st, because during that time I was married to an older man! Finding a gift for HC Baker was always difficult. He just seemed to buy whatever he wanted so when the time came to look for something special, it was a challenge. If you knew him, you knew he was a collector...of anything and everything. Whenever he had two of something, he'd start a collection. I laugh now when I look back on it but at the time, it bugged the livin' daylights out of me. Where to put all this stuff????? At one time he owned 522 cookie jars! Think about that!
One thing he loved but did not buy was wooden boxes, so I was always on the lookout for those. Over the years I was able to find quite a few. The wood was always solid, the hinges always strong. There might have been a scratch or two or a nick here or there, but inside, the wood was warm and smooth. Some at one time had a key but it was long gone so the heart of the box could be opened and the insides shared with many. That's who he was.
After his death, (among other things) I lined up all the boxes on a counter and each grandchild picked the one they wanted. They couldn't look inside but had to choose just by the look of the box on the outside. Once they all had chosen, each opened their box to discover what was inside. Oh the treasures they found. Keys, seashells, coins, "highlighters" (anything he read he highlighted), buttons (all the ones he lost off shirts and told me he had no idea where the buttons were - wish I'd known!), old photos, things we had no idea what they were or where they came from, and on and on. I have one of the boxes right beside me that I chose to keep and inside there are six seashells from the Indian Ocean, an original Starwars figure, an ashtray, 2 buttons, a very interesting screwdriver, half of a plastic Easter egg, and one of those tiny wooden boxes containing a fake bug with legs that wiggle all around when the box is opened. I know the story of the seashells and the photos, but the rest remains a mystery. Knowing HC Baker, there had to be a story.
For months after he died, I'd turn to talk to him, to share a story with him. I'd wake in the morning thinking of something to ask him. I had so many questions I didn't have time to ask and he didn't have time to answer. It's the talking I miss the most. The sharing of the "outside" of our lives, the "inside" was always understood.
I don't look up expecting him to walk through the door anymore. I don't watch for black pick-up trucks to see if it's him. He's still in a box on a shelf in the den (can't put him away) and our wedding ring is still on my finger (tried to live without it but had to put it back on). I still get angry with him from time to time mostly based upon my frustrations (surprise!). Life is always changing. Each morning looks different. And for all of those things, I am incredibly grateful.
Happy Birthday HC Baker! Wish you were here to celebrate. I'd love to hug you.
One thing he loved but did not buy was wooden boxes, so I was always on the lookout for those. Over the years I was able to find quite a few. The wood was always solid, the hinges always strong. There might have been a scratch or two or a nick here or there, but inside, the wood was warm and smooth. Some at one time had a key but it was long gone so the heart of the box could be opened and the insides shared with many. That's who he was.
After his death, (among other things) I lined up all the boxes on a counter and each grandchild picked the one they wanted. They couldn't look inside but had to choose just by the look of the box on the outside. Once they all had chosen, each opened their box to discover what was inside. Oh the treasures they found. Keys, seashells, coins, "highlighters" (anything he read he highlighted), buttons (all the ones he lost off shirts and told me he had no idea where the buttons were - wish I'd known!), old photos, things we had no idea what they were or where they came from, and on and on. I have one of the boxes right beside me that I chose to keep and inside there are six seashells from the Indian Ocean, an original Starwars figure, an ashtray, 2 buttons, a very interesting screwdriver, half of a plastic Easter egg, and one of those tiny wooden boxes containing a fake bug with legs that wiggle all around when the box is opened. I know the story of the seashells and the photos, but the rest remains a mystery. Knowing HC Baker, there had to be a story.
For months after he died, I'd turn to talk to him, to share a story with him. I'd wake in the morning thinking of something to ask him. I had so many questions I didn't have time to ask and he didn't have time to answer. It's the talking I miss the most. The sharing of the "outside" of our lives, the "inside" was always understood.
I don't look up expecting him to walk through the door anymore. I don't watch for black pick-up trucks to see if it's him. He's still in a box on a shelf in the den (can't put him away) and our wedding ring is still on my finger (tried to live without it but had to put it back on). I still get angry with him from time to time mostly based upon my frustrations (surprise!). Life is always changing. Each morning looks different. And for all of those things, I am incredibly grateful.
Happy Birthday HC Baker! Wish you were here to celebrate. I'd love to hug you.
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