FeeFiFoto Blog

Longing For Good News And Occasionally Finding Some

I read the New York Times every day.  I'm on the internet every day, working, writing and checking news.  I listen to NPR.  Sometimes I'm not sure why, since I often feel worse than I did before picking it up.  The news is ominous, threatening and depressing.  Is it that difficult to find and publicize encouraging news? 

Well, here's one story that will undoubtedly put some optimism in your heart, at least for today:

It happened at a junior varsity girls' softball game in Indianapolis this spring. After an inning and a half, Roncalli was womanhandling inner-city Marshall Community. Marshall pitchers had already walked nine Roncalli batters. The game could've been 50-0 with no problem.

...This was the first softball game in Marshall history... Marshall showed up to the game with five balls, two bats, no helmets, no sliding pads, no cleats, 16 players who'd never played before, and a coach who'd never even seen a game.

One Marshall player asked, "Which one is first base?" Another: "How do I hold this bat?" They didn't know where to stand in the batter's box...

That's when Roncalli did something crazy. It offered to forfeit.

Yes, a team that hadn't lost a game in 2½ years... purposely offered to declare defeat. Why? Because Roncalli wanted to spend the two hours teaching the Marshall girls how to get better, not how to get humiliated.

That's about when the weirdest scene broke out all over the field: Roncalli kids teaching Marshall kids the right batting stance, throwing them soft-toss in the outfield, teaching them how to play catch. They showed them how to put on catching gear, how to pitch, and how to run the bases. Even the umps stuck around to watch.

Roncalli wasn't done. [Their coach] asked all the parents of his players and anybody else he knew for more help for Marshall -- used bats, gloves, helmets, money for cleats, gloves, sliders, socks and team shirts. They came up with $2,500 and worked with Marshall on the best way to help the program with that money. Roncalli also connected Marshall with... coach Kim Wright, who will advise the program.

And that was just the appetizer. A rep from Reebok called Sullivan and said, "What do you need? We'll get it for you." A man who owns an indoor batting cage facility has offered free time in the winter. The Cincinnati Reds are donating good dirt for the new field Marshall will play on.

I keep rereading this story for the same reason I keep rereading Pride and Prejudice.  I like happy endings.  I need happy endings.

Don't we all?

Find the entire story, reported by Rick Reilly of ESPN.com, here.

Time To Kvell

This morning I was privileged to see both of my kids shining like brand new pennies, although by the end of the morning I was gasping from the exertion of beholding all this dazzlingness.  It wasn't exactly the beholding that wore me out, but the shuttling from one event to the next that made my hair stand on end.  I swear, I'm still waiting for "Beam Me Up, Scotty" to hit the fan; or how about apparating like in Harry Potter?  That would be nice -- or maybe a portkey.  I'd even try floo powder if it meant I could get from one place to another without driving, even with all the fireplace ash to contend with.

Where was I...?

Ah yes -- kvelling.  Kvell is a Yiddish word that means "to be extraordinarily proud"; you could look it up at Merriam-Webster but don't bother because I just gave you their definition and saved you the trouble of clicking over and clicking back.

This morning Robespierre was the only seventh grader to receive a school pin for clocking at least 100 hours of community service in the past year.  He accomplished this by working three straight weeks last summer refurbishing school computers and getting them ready for the next academic year; he also worked behind the scenes at upper school wrestling matches, and helped load hundreds of grocery bags at the Jewish Food Bank.

Before attending his school's two hour awards assembly, however, I attended Cupcake's fourth grade poetry breakfast; all the students memorized and recited poems of their choosing and displayed the maps of the United States they'd drawn from memory after a month's practice and study.  When I get her map home I might post a photo of it; take my word for it -- it's beautiful.

Cupcake chose to recite "If" by Rudyard Kipling, and she nailed it.  She dedicated it to her brother:

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

The instant Cupcake finished her piece I snaked through the crowd toward the exit, knocking aside a foolish couple of grandparents who had ill-advisedly planted themselves between me and the door.  I bolted through the parking lot and hustled through traffic, arriving at Robey's school with no more than three minutes to spare before his name was called to receive his award.

And my contribution to the day's pride?  That I made it from one school to the other without having an accident or getting a speeding ticket.  Yay me.

Look At This Face

How could one not love it? 

Some facts about Tibetan Terriers:

• Apparently they're not really terriers; they were called terriers by the first westerners to meet them because their size was similar to most real terriers.  Miss Puppy, however, is as stubborn as any legitimate terrier.
• Having been developed in the snowy mountains of Tibet, they boast disproportionately large feet that serve as snowshoes.  Miss Puppy uses hers to swipe contraband from the kitchen counter.
• They're highly clever and resourceful.  Miss Puppy figured out how to pull open the fence and how to twist the handle on the water valve in the yard to get herself a drink.
• They are extremely good natured and tolerant.  Miss Puppy lets us fiddle with her ears, her tail, her food, her feet, all without complaint or protest.

Every day I make a point of kissing that sweet snout at least once.  She's my Little Person.

Pluses And Minuses: Things We Like And Dislike About Our Neighbors

Advantages and disadvantages to living behind a high school:

• We have a gigantic field at our fingertips (foottips?) for walking the dog, flying a kite or kicking a soccer ball -- a distinct plus when your genuine yard comprises moss, moles and mud.
• The school staff objects when we use their grass -- something about the dog making a mess, I don't know, but really -- if they didn't want us to use their grass then they shouldn't have grass, right?  If we owned a cow we'd definitely be setting it out to graze there.
• Miss Puppy thinks that every time students are yelling in the playing field, they're summoning her to come out, race up and down the fence perimeter and woof at them.

• Sooner or later Miss Puppy overexerts herself chasing her imaginary friends, plunks down and sleeps it off.  This makes me look like a good and attentive parent who actually walks her dog.
• Students, teachers, lawn maintenance individuals frequently throw their trash over the fence into our yard since, apparently, even though the yard contains a house that from time to time has lights on, as well as a clamorous dog, no one actually lives here so no one will mind if you throw your Capri Sun pouch over the fence.
• We can throw our own trash onto their side of the fence and leave it for them to collect.

RELAX -- we don't.  We're composters -- we don't litter.  Geesh.

Anyone have anything else to add?  What are the advantages to your neighborhood?

Suspended For Inactivity

You know how department stores will call you if someone tries to use your credit card after it's been idle for a certain amount of time to make sure the Terminix man wasn't snooping through your desk drawers while ostensibly treating your house for weasels or carpenter ants?

You know how some gift cards expire if you don't use them before a certain date because the stores are counting on your forgetting the cards so they get to keep your money without having to surrender services or merchandise in exchange?

That reminds me -- I'd better schedule that pedicure soon...

Well, guess what?  BlogHer just sent me a plaintive note wondering where I've been and politely withdrawing my advertising until I post again.  But really, I have an excuse.  It might not be a good one but it's an excuse:

The bus was late.

No, that was yesterday.  Hold on...

The dog ate my blog.

No... no -- not that she wouldn't try, but she's actually been on good behavior lately, if you ignore the recently shredded purple Ugg*.

Bar Mitzvah. 

Yeah, that's the ticket.  This Bar Mitzvah has had me busier than a one-armed man trying to paddle a canoe in a straight line. I've been busier than a termite in a sawmill.  I've been busier than a one-armed man trying to pitch a tent in a wind storm.

Hellooo?  Anyone out there?  I know you're there -- I can hear you breathing.

And, as if the Bar Mitzvah weren't enough, I was in charge of Teacher and Staff Appreciation gifts for the month of May at Cupcake's school and I chose to give 77 people each two 750 ml bottles of Pellegrino  sparkling water, which adds up to 156 bottles in thirteen 30-pound cases of twelve; each bottle had a ribbon and a mushy note tied around its neck, which took a month to accomplish, and then I had to deliver the bottles around a school comprising six three-story buildings equipped with precisely zero elevators, which is why the next time I tackle Teacher Appreciation the gift will entail an unsharpened pencil or a handful of feathers for each teacher although why they'd want feathers I don't know but it's enough already with shlepping 390 pounds of water.

So anyway BlogHer: I'm reallyreally sorry I've been ignoring you but it's nothing personal and thanks for your kind note of suspension which I totally deserved and I promise that I'll be more reliable as soon as this Bar Mitzvah has been accomplished and the kids sent off to camp exactly a week later, and while I have your attention can you do something about getting William Shatner to host Saturday Night Live?  Thanks.

*Spell Check suggested egg or fuggy and I don't know what fuggy means but I think it might be my new favorite word.

A Poem To Noms - Oops - Moms

...with a tip of the hat to Upchuck Gluck, who planted the seed of the idea for acrostic poetry in Robespierre's subconscious.  See the acrostic?  Below?  See what it spells?

OKAY -- okay!  It says M.O.M.  That stands for "Mom."

sheesh.

A Poem To Moms

M.aking sure that you never forget to give a kiss to everyone at night

O.verly eccentric when it comes to planning parties, bringing friends in and always making sure that you are well fed

M.aking enough food to feed the whole Israeli army with leftovers

Mom, thanks for all that you have been doing for my Bar Mitzvah. The planning, the setup, the invitations and the t-shirts. I wouldn't be able to be having this without you. Love you lots and Happy Mother's Day. Love, Robespierre

_________________________________________

Does the Israeli Army eat leftovers?

Letters of Advice

Dear Squirrel Population:

Thanks ever so much for selflessly furnishing an abundance of oak tree volunteers which will, in the next decade or so and at no cost, replace the many mature trees in my yard that will inevitably fall, although I hope not on the garage while the kids or I are in the car.  Might I offer a suggestion, however, to facilitate your future acorn-burying and retrieval protocol?

Next fall, when acorns are plop-plop-plopping to the ground and you're amassing and hiding them as if you were Jesse James stashing loot, why not make a mental note of where you're putting them?  This way, you (or your relatives if you happen to be eaten by a hawk, but we won't discuss that) will be able to find them next spring and they won't be blooming into hundreds of tiny oaklets right next to my sidewalk or house foundations.

I know you must have a lot on your little squirrley minds right now, what with the kids clamoring that they're bored and there's nothing to eat in the nest, so I've come up with a tool that might help you keep track of your groceries.

Why not try a few of these:

Or, if you prefer a more graphic reminder, how about this:

I can provide Sharpies in any color you choose.

_____________________________________________________________

Dear Moles:

I know your life is hard, what with digging underground all the time without knowing where you're going and having to eat ants and worms every day, but may I intrude on the execution of your labors with a friendly observation:

You see, Moles, Miss Puppy takes her profession very seriously, which I might have thought you'd have deduced after having spent an entire day bending over a hot stove preparing Worms Bolognese for guests who never arrived, since they'd been shaken senseless out in the yard and would never eat worms again. 

My advice?  Stay out of the yard.

If you need assistance finding your way to the other side of the fence, let me know and I'll bury a couple GPS devices in the garden.  I can even mark them with Post-Its.

_____________________________________________________________

Dear Ants:

We all know you gravitate to dark, sheltered places to raise your families, so as to avoid spiders and lizards and armadillos.  And I understand you initially believed that setting up housekeeping inside the lid of my composter was a smashing idea.  But after two weeks of daily scrambling to gather up kids, pets, Grandpa and XBox every time I open the lid to dump garbage, why haven't you realized that you made a mistake in selecting the composter as your summer home?  Sometimes it's best to just cut your losses, relocate, and let the bank take over the property.

Just keep an eye out for the moles.  They have GPS.

Thought From Someone At A Loss To Produce Coherent Thoughts

• Seriously, why do TV baseball announcers feel compelled to talk 100% of the time?  The worst part, aside from the stultifying boringness of everything they say, is that they rarely describe what's actually going on.  So what are they talking about Every. Single. Minute?

• Bar Mitzvah planning is continuing apace, and now that the invitations are out I can safely reveal the Top Secret details for which I took a vow of silence nearly a year ago:

1. We're having a New Orleans-style Jazz brunch, complete with Bananas Foster and beignets*; the shrimp remoulade*, however, will be displaced by smoked salmon because eww, we're not kosher but still -- eww -- shrimp at a Bar Mitzvah?  Noooo.
   
2. The invitations to the kids' dance party were silk screened in fluorescent green paint on black tee shirts and mailed to each guest, with RSVP information on attached laminated lime green cards.  This approach presumably cuts down the amount of glowing plastic rubbish we'll have to supply to guests at the actual dance party.
3. The celebratory video is still under construction, with estimated completion date some time before June 12, 2010.

• Shouldn't the phrase "Years of Age" have been abolished after Jane Austen died?

• Speaking of Jane Austen, Cupcake and I are reading Pride and Prejudice together and I am utterly thrilled to be sharing one of my favorite books with one of my favorite readers.

• Cupcake is attending a summer school program at a boarding school in Boston for three weeks after her month at camp has ended.  She'll take classes and seminars, go on field trips, and live in the dorms like a Hogwarts student.  I might be a little bit jealous.

• Today is my father's birthday.

* Spellcheck wanted dragnets, remonstrate or remodel