The game of softball will always be special to me because that’s where I first came to know Sharon. Even though we grew up on the same street, it took years for us to connect.
As a tomboy, I lived to play baseball in the streets of our suburban home in Marin County. The boys and I dodged parked cars as we ran for fly balls; the manhole cover in front of the Brodnik’s house was our permanent second base.
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It sits safely tucked away on the back shelf in my garage. During my once-a-year purging, I come across its cold, musty leather with worn straps barely holding it together. The feel of it in my hand is cool and tight around my fingers and it smells of leather oil. I love that particular scent because it brings back fond memories of my childhood.When you’re an 8-year-old tomboy, the best gift you can receive is your brother’s baseball glove that helped the Indians win the Little League Championship.
Continue readingHere’s my annual Father’s Day post, adapted from an article I wrote for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1997. Happy Father’s Day! Here’s to you Dad…
There’s an image I have captured in my mind. I’m in my car in front of the home my parents have shared for most of their 45 married years. Mom and Dad are standing on the front porch.
From the street, I can see the huge eucalyptus tree in their backyard, silhouetted against the evening sky. It’s gently swaying in the warm breeze while the full moon illuminates the manicured lawn. My parents are smiling and waving as I drive away after a visit.
Mom lives alone now that Dad is in an Alzheimer’s nursing facility, so that scenario has changed. But it never does in my mind. My parents always stood on the porch to wave good-bye when I left. Even in pouring rain, they still stood in the open doorway together. I always looked back and returned their waves. Continue reading
This year marks 50 years since my besties and I joined a softball team. When I wrote this posting in 2016, I was 61. I’m turning 70 this year and we’re still going strong — although no longer on the softball field! Through all these years our relationships have continued, creating new memories yet never forgetting the way we were way back when. What fun we’ve had, and still have. So here’s to you Sue, Sharon, Mandy, Patty, Karen, Joan, Maria, Pam and Sheila. Looking forward to what’s to come.
Last week some friends and I attended my godson Martin’s baseball game (an independent professional team) at Albert Park in San Rafael. Being there was a trip down memory lane. Thirty-one years ago these same friends and I stepped off the adjoining field for the last time after playing fast-pitch softball for 10 years. When we formed the team in 1975, I was the old lady of the group at age 20. Little did we know then what fun times awaited.
Sitting there watching Martin play brought back many fond memories. Insert music here: Memories, light the corners of my mind, misty water-colored memories of the way we were. Okay, enough of that. Suffice to say those 10 years together stretched into 40 (now 50). And we’re still going strong.
Here’s my annual Father’s Day post, adapted from an article I wrote for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1997. Happy Father’s Day! Here’s to you Dad…There’s an image I have captured in my mind. I’m in my car in front of the home my parents have shared for most of their 45 married years. Mom and Dad are standing on the front porch.
From the street, I can see the huge eucalyptus tree in their backyard, silhouetted against the evening sky. It’s gently swaying in the warm breeze while the full moon illuminates the manicured lawn. My parents are smiling and waving as I drive away after a visit.
Mom lives alone now that Dad is in an Alzheimer’s nursing facility, so that scenario has changed. But it never does in my mind. My parents always stood on the porch to wave good-bye when I left. Even in pouring rain, they still stood in the open doorway together. I always looked back and returned their waves. Continue reading