At my age?

I wasn't going to sign up again this year for the church softball team. I knew I would be the oldest player. But then my daughter thought that she might join. Austen doesn't play softball, she plays soccer. I had no problem signing up as soon as I knew that Austen was interested. Duh, what mother in her non-menopausal moments would miss an opportunity to share some silly times with her 17-year-old daughter. And it has been silly...like the ONE time I caught a fly ball in the outfield for the third out. Austen scooped me up onto her back for our victory return to the dugout. She leaned forward and we kept going faster and faster. Austen's legs gave out under my extra weight and we both plunged forward onto the ground. What I remember most--after the laughing stopped--is her helping me up and asking if I was hurt. Tender mixed with silly. I would sign up for that any day.

Beyond the Pits

A blog sounded like intriguing and motivating technology to document my thoughts. But after a couple of blog entries, something happened. I was tapping away on my keyboard when I heard it...a quick, sharp ping, like a little rock smacking a windshield. Who did that...which vehicle zinged a rock from its tire at me? Was it the big Bravada with the neon sign on the driver's door blinking: You can only blog if you have something brilliant to say. Or maybe it was that annoying little Cavalier whose rear window read: Who cares what you blog anyway? Or what about that old junker Gremlin who disappeared in an exhaust cloud sputtering: And you thought you could write. All I knew for sure was that this fresh pit in my blogging windshield meant a crack would soon appear.

And each time I sat down to blog, I noticed the humongous chip mark left from one of those fleeing vehicles. The Bravada, the Cavalier, the Gremlin...I suspected each one at different times. And I kept watch on the almost imperceptible imperfection—awaiting the crack to appear--instead of writing.

Well, it has been months now, and guess what...no crack. Time to get behind the wheel again. So what...I took a hit. It’s only a little chip spot.

What was that? Another ping??? Must have been that bright red Diablo whipping past. Not this time buddy...I can still see the road ahead. The windows are down and I’m feelin the wind.