breaks

Breaks never come fast enough.

I can see why teachers long for the holidays. During this Easter break about half the faculty is going south.

In the schools up north ---- Lake Placid and Saranac Lake --- they have two week break and even a high percentage leaves for the warmer climes. It really is a job where you need to take a moment, reflect and recharge.

For me that means goofing off even more. I have playing with the computer way too much. Reading some blogs.

I did go with MarsEdit . I still use Nisus Writer Express for most of my writing, but for previewing and posting, it is an excellent program.

I have been trying to buy shareware now that I have a little income coming in.

Speaking of which, I want to write some. There is a student who is an excellent cartoonist, who will be doing illustrations for the book we are working on "My Two Scents." I decided about a year ago it would be good to have a book that you could insert names would be a way to keep attention. So you write something like: "So Snatch took a whiff of ______" and in the blank you say, 'Tyler,' who is now paying attention. I hope it works out.

I am not clear how the interaction will go with the illustrator. I am kind of dependent on getting the teachers who have the better relationship with him to help prompt him.

I have the same situation in reverse with coaching softball. Teachers are asking me to work with their problems via the softball team. Of course, I often respond: "It's not you, it's ever class she is in." Though there are some students that really only have problems in certain teachers' classes. Those are the students that one or two teachers can help out.

Maybe those problems can't be solved, but I have a week to think about it.

Asperger's syndrome

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39 to 19

If we had more than four hits I would be surprised. In fact, it is quite possible there were two no-hitters tossed in a 39-19 victory for us. We were never behind, never in doubt, had pretty much complete control of the game and I never relaxed the whole game.

We had girls walking bases, stealing on passed balls, over throws, under throws and girls swinging at balls that were a foot outside the plate. The game was going on and on and on and I thought it would be called for darkness.

The score was 7-4 after the first inning, then 11-4 after the second, then 19-7, and on and on, but every time the other team started cheering I thought there were going to start a rally. The umpire suggested I stop stealing home, but much of it was on past balls.

This was supposed to be one of the best teams in the league. The score was supposed to be 39-4 and we were supposed to lose. I found out in the last inning there was not a seven-run limit and I thought at any moment the other team was going to score 21 runs.

I stopped the stealing, then the other team scored five runs and I didn't know what the next or what the third pitcher would do. I didn't know what anyone would do. I didn't think the other team was suddenly going to be better defensively, but then my players started swinging so they could have a hit to brag about. I was afraid we were going to pull muscles from swinging at balls so far outside that the catcher couldn't touch them.

Only one of my pitchers --- the last one --- really stopped the other team from scoring, she made three plays, 1-3 and the game was over.

And in all of that, the only real mistake we made was I. I was never thinking about the game, but about our players. I worried if everyone would get in to play. I worried about the girl who cried because I took her out. And then I worried about when I put her back in to pitch, and she was the star.

After the first inning when we had the scored the maximum runs allowed the other team stopped. I thought we did something wrong, I didn't know how to fix it.

Sure there is no 'I' in 'team,' but feel like there would have been a lot of 'me' in the end result if we lost. This was a time when I felt the ladies won one for me, even if they didn't know it.

occasionally bad is good

the hurt is on the way.

Or one would think after today's practice.

I had three pitchers pitching batting practice. The girls might have thrown 3 percent strikes. That is not good. It wasn't good for the hitters, nor was it good for the confidence for the pitchers. It was especially not good for the ability of the players to swing the bat.

The only thing I can hope is that it was just a totally 'off practice.' Several times in my theatre career there has been a horrendous rehearsal right before a performance, often the first performance of the production. And that was followed by a very good performance. I think it is a combination of two things. I think before the first time this is a lot of anxiety and the second thing is there is nothing like a bad performance/practice to make one understand what is needed to make the changes needed to be better.

I just hope I have enough girls that want to be better.

mitts and monkeys dancing

I am going to have to get a summer job. I am more in debt than I have ever been, and my life is running short

Walking through the school yesterday, I had my mitt on --- my second mitt. My first mitt, my little black one, was given away when I was maybe seven. This mitt, became a second mitt and the one I have tucked away somewhere was my third. The second mitt is now my softball mitt. I store a softball in it and have retro-fitted a pocket for a softball. It is the one I bring to practice.

It (excuse the pun) fits me like a glove. When I have it on, it is like it is part of me. As I walked through the school I waved at a couple of the faculty taking a CPR course. I heard them laugh as I walked away, I think it was because I waved with the mitt, which I didn't even think about having on.

It got me to thinking how I have that mitt on my hand, it seems natural. However, when a girl forgets her mitt, I will offer her mine. The recipient never seems to enjoy the thought of putting the 'old man's' mitt on. To me it is like an old friend. To the girls, it is just plain gross. They don't like how the fingers have worn away and the years of sweat and dirt is not very pleasant to a stranger. But I am not a stranger.

I really miss wearing my baseball mitts. Coaching has reminded me of that. When I am pitching batting practice and a girl will try to impress me with a sizzler throw, I snag the past and the future.

When I was in the masters program at University at Buffalo I went to about a half a dozen Buffalo Bisons games (just for the record I am ashamed of how minorleaguebaseball and majorleaguebaseball have taken away the identity of and websites of teams like www.bisons.com). It was a lot of fun and the year I was there, they were the International League champs. Last year, the Toledo Mudhens (I grew up in Toledo, OH) won. [I'm glad www.mudhens.com kept their web site.]

Each game I went to I would wear mitt number three in hopes of catching a foul ball. In the last two years, mitt number three has gone to a Bison's game, a Mudhen game and a Detroit Tiger game.

I want to be the Library Monkey at the Bison's ball games.

My plan would be to dance around in a monkey costume in the upper deck down the third base line in Dunn Tire Park. When there is a home team strike out I would hang a red 'K' and when there is a hit I would hang a green 'H.' I thought it would be a good promotional activity and a good job for me during the summer. I hatched this plan, that got denied by the powers that be at the Bisons front office (might be why they didn't win last year).

It would give me the opportunity to wear mitt number three and make money.

The mitt thing is one of those weird ironies. It is holding on to a childhood. When I was the age of the girls I am coaching, I lived with mitt number three. This was around 1968 when the Detroit Tigers won the world series, which made it intrinsically more valuable

I slept with that mitt (I put a ball in the pocket and put it under my mattress.) Mitt number three is a Mickey Lolich autograph model. Lolich won three games in the 1968 World Series. That was sweet.

When the softball sinks into the pocket of mitt number two, I can hear my childhood pop. If I could be the Library Monkey with mitt number three, the pop might merge my childhood with my in ability to grow up.