Like Sheryl Crow says, "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad!"

It's been a month since I've last been here.   I've been running on the hamster wheel - work, sleep, work, sleep, and in between, there are bouts of smiles, temporary insanity, promises to myself to indulge more in the things that truly make me happy - writing (why I'm back here- even though this seems more like venting), nature, and.... uh, and.... uh.  What the hell is it that makes me happy?   I thought about this today after reading an article in Yoga Journal Magazine - commercial, yet stimulating at a certain level - I like the mind expansion and the practice that is Yoga - I digress, more on that subject for another post.

I'm not really sure what makes me happy.  Damn it, and just when life was on cruise control and I felt like Jack Nicholson in "...Cuckoo's Nest"  Nurse Ratchet, one lobotomy, please.   I was letting the job numb the brain and just running, running on that little plastic wheel in this cage, all that is missing are the wood chips-- oddly enough, I just wrote down today to buy mulch for the front flower bed - and even more ridiculously ironic - I just bought a new water bottle.  What's next?  Hamster food pellets?  I won't go that far.    I'm really rambling here, but it's liberating.

So...I had an 80's flashback -- a bit of a childhood regression and a reminder from the evening news that this week is opening season for baseball.  It made me think of the days when I felt free- running around barefoot, playing sports, walking through creeks and finding cool things like old bottles, crawfish, and frogs that I would bring back to live in my kiddie pool.   Those were times of happiness even though there was occassional hardships - a financially struggling family - I was a pretty happy kid and lived to play baseball and stickball with my friends and my brothers - especially my brother John.   My brother John and I were very close when we were kids- we did everything together and I believe he is the one who gave me the resolve I have today - to constantly challenge myself even when I think I can't go another step - I am reminded of catching flyballs at 9 oclock at night with nothing but the street lamp and fireflies to light their trajectory - I developed excellent hand-eye coordination and night vision!

I miss those nights, but life evolves and sometimes you have to jump off the hamster wheel - even if it is doing 80MPH to regain your perspective and discover what truly makes you happy - even if it is only for 10 minutes, a day, a week, or a lifetime.

A reflection on how life changes effect even the closest of relationships.

Past Times

By Stephanie

Even though we’re related

People would never guess it.

Maybe it’s because you look like Grandpop and

I look like Grandmom.

Your brown eyes and blonde hair to my green eyes and brown hair

But that didn’t matter. We are blood.

Since I could crawl to your walk

I was your shadow

And you taught me how to throw, catch and hit a baseball.

I was the only girl who could hit the ball over the fence.

My brother, perhaps you beamed with pride in your  mind

“That’s my little sister.”

Which makes these play-by-plays that much harder

Because now that we are older and no longer run home together,

I can’t quite remember when we drifted apart

Perhaps it was after that last over-the-fence homerun 

The summer before you went into 9^th grade

The last time we would walk to 7-11 for Slurpees

After the big game.

I wasn’t ready for the change up that took place.

It was more like a fast ball right down the middle

The hormones stole you over night.

You traded your baseball card collecting

For an obsession of washing your face and combing your hair.

You devoted your time to other girls and

You didn’t have time to teach me anything,

Not even how to bat left handed

Like you promised. 

You picked up your date for the dance

I stayed home to braid Barbie’s hair.

We lived in the same house, played on different teams.

 While I was fast asleep and dreaming of

My Little Ponies prancing by a clear blue stream.

You would be getting home from your dates,

Filled with fantastic stories of drag racing Mustangs,

Your lips flushed cherry red with kisses from big haired girls.

You in high school, me in elementary school, we were leagues apart. 

My stories about Mrs Hanson teaching long division,

Brad Smith teasing me about the gap between my front teeth

They couldn’t hold a flame to your struggles with

Finding the square root of anything and keeping a clear complexion.

And now, all I have are memories…

One more at bat before dinner,

The final game of catch under the dim lamp-post at 403 Willard

All fading…

Like the leather of the baseball gloves that live in solitude

In the musty corner of Mom and Dad’s basement

They, too, long for us to play the game once again.