The World Famous Leaf Party

It came and it went, too quickly as always.  The World Famous Leaf Party.

Troy, Cyndi and the kids (Wolf, Scout and Finn) arrived mid-afternoon Friday from Neptune Beach, Florida (by way of Atlanta).  I was tied up at work, but Jude, J.P. and Joe took them to the Nashville Zoo, where the highlight of the afternoon was petting the kangaroos.

Friday night, Cyndi and Scout drove down to Franklin to see friends.  Troy and I picked up dinner at Edley's Barbecue for the gang, then Troy left to pick up Wolf at the airport.  Wolf flew in from Jacksonville, as he was part of the homecoming court at his middle school Friday evening (as if I didn't already feel old enough).  Troy and Wolf drove to Franklin, as well, and Jude and I put J.P. and Finn to bed together on the floor in J.P.'s room on a pile of blankets, sleeping bags and pillows.  They loved it.

Saturday morning, we all went to J.P.'s basketball game at First Presbyterian Church.  He scored the first basket of his nascent basketball career on the first play of the game.  It was pretty awesome, except for the fact he somehow managed to poke himself in the eye in the process of hitting the bucket.  So, as I was clapping and cheering, he was crying.  It was kind of like when it starts to rain while the sun is shining.  In the end, the "Green Lightning Machine" won it's third game of the season to push our record to 3-0, as I remained undefeated in my career as a basketball coach.

We ran errands, rushed home and completed last minute preparations for the World Famous Leaf Party.  Our home was a beehive of activity, as Jude and Cyndi directed the rest of us in setting out the food, chairs, tables, etc.  Soon our friends and family (and their kids) arrived and the Leaf Party began in earnest.  As the kids waded into the giant pile of leaves in our front yard, the adults watched and chatted amiably.  The weather was exquisite and the Leaf Party went off without a hitch.

Late Saturday afternoon, Troy and I took the kids (sans Joe) to Rose Park.  As late afternoon turned to early evening, we played soccer and threw the frisbee.  It was especially fun when we played soccer with a large blue exercise ball that's been bouncing around my yard and garage for close to a decade (I literally don't know where it came from).  After we got home, Cyndi and I picked up dinner from Chago's Cantina and after we ate, we called in an early night and went to bed.

This morning, Cyndi and I went for a 3-mile punishment run/walk, finishing at Bongo Java, as is our custom.  Jude and Troy brought the kids down and we had a family breakfast together at my home away from home.  We went back to Rose Park for more soccer, frisbee and playground playing (for Joe), then returned home so the Baines could pack and prepare to leave.

As always, we all were a bit melancholy as I took the traditional Baines family photograph on our front porch.  J.P. and Finn, in particular, were sad and shed tears as we said our goodbyes.  Cyndi texted us a few minutes after they left, just to let us know Finn was crying and said she wanted to move here and live with us.  We felt the same way.

Another Leaf Party Weekend in the books.  It passed too quickly, but it reminded us how lucky we are to have such old and dear friends as Troy, Cyndi, Wolf, Scout and Finn.

Indian Summer

Joe and I are in the "Indian Summer" of our weekend afternoon walks, literally and figuratively.  Fall is here, and it feels like it today, with the high temperature in the low 70's.  Soon it will be too chilly for our walks.  And, just as soon, he'll begin to nap in his crib on weekend afternoons (as he does not during the week).

And just like that, it will be over.  One of my very favorite things about being a father will have come to an end.  First, J.P. and now, Joe.  I feel melancholy just thinking about it, actually.

I'm at Bongo Java as I write this on a Sunday afternoon and Joe is sleeping in the stroller beside me.  My friend, E.J., has fired up a music mix featuring "Uncle Tupelo" (a top 5 all-time band for me), which kind of fits my mood.  Mellow and nostalgic.

Damn, I'm going to miss these quiet Saturday and Sunday afternoons at Bongo Java.  It won't be the same without Joe (or in another life, J.P.), sleeping in the stroller beside my table.

(I posted this out of order, as it was originally written in early October.).

Blue Mitts

This afternoon marked the conclusion of the fall season for the "Blue Mitts," J.P.'s baseball team I coached in the West Nashville Sports League.  To say I enjoyed it would be the understatement of the  year.  The truth is it may have been the most rewarding experience of my life.

The Blue Mitts were Wyatt, Brennan, Bennett, Benton, Cash, John, Cooper, Harrison, Luke and J.P. and I absolutely loved coaching each and every one of them.

The highlight of my weeks this fall has been leaving work early on Friday, meeting my boys at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ and playing baseball with them as the sun sank lower and lower into the early evening sky.  First, we stretched in left field, then I raced the boys to the fence in right field and back (At practice Friday, Wyatt "tied" me and was ecstatic).  Next, we took batting practice, as I sat on one knee close to home plate and pitched ball after ball to the boys.  Last, the boys ran the bases, twice.  In the background, throughout practice, parents watched and talked quietly and the boys' siblings laughed and played together.

When practice ended, J.P., his grandpa and I usually stayed behind so J.P. could hit another bucket of balls.  Often times, his teammate, Benton - a serious, quiet boy who is the most talented athlete on the team - stayed for extra hitting, too.  I especially cherished those times, pitching balls to J.P. and just spending quality time with him at the end of a busy work week.

Games were Saturday afternoons at Warner Park (field # 2), usually at 1 p.m.  Normally, each team batted through their order two times, then we called it a day.  Today, in the final game of the fall season, each team batted three times, which was nice.  J.P. batted last, which he loved, because he got to the run the bases when he hit the ball.

For me, there was something special abut coaching these boys.  I can't put my finger on it, but I think it has to do with their age, 5-6 years old.  They're all so innocent, not a care in the world at practice or games.  Truthfully, they seemed to enjoy practicing and playing baseball, but their favorite part was chasing each other and playing "diaper tag" afterwards.

Also, because it was "coach pitch," it's so easy to make a real connection with the boys when I'm pitching to them.  As each boy steps into the batter's box, I'm so focused on that boy and he on me.  I want so badly to give each one a good pitch (or pitches) to hit and for him to get a good hit.  As I would kneel on one knee 10 or 15 feet away from home plate, each boy stared out at me wide eyed and expectantly, a look of complete trust on his face.

I can't help but laugh, thinking of my first practice at Sevier Park, on a makeshift baseball field in the grass.  I was more than a little apprehensive, as Jim White (J.P's grandpa) and unloaded the gear from my truck before practice.  Thankfully, I found my groove pretty quickly, and by the second or third practice we were off to the races.  I started out wondering if I could coach and I ended up realizing not only was I a pretty good baseball coach, I enjoyed it tremendously, as well.

I'm smiling as I sit at Bongo Java, Sleeping Joe beside me, thinking about the fall season, from beginning to end.    

VU Jane

My mom (aka VU Jane) is having surgery tomorrow.  I'm not going to go into the details of what type or why, out of respect for her privacy, but it's not a small thing.  If all goes well, she will get to come home tomorrow evening.  I suspect she'll spend the night in the hospital, though. 

I'm not sure where to begin in describing how much my mom means to me.  I don't know a stronger, tougher woman.  She lost her husband (my father) at age 31 and was widowed with 2 young children.  She moved us back to Tennessee from California in 1972, first leased an apartment in Bellevue, then bought a house in Brentwood (the same house she's living in today, 41 years later).  A few years later, her father died. Then, her older sister, Ann, died.  Then, when I was a fresman in college in 1984, her oldest sister and best friend, Sue, died. 

She took care of her aunt, Margaret, until her death.  Then, she took care of her mother, Mary Alice, and her mother's sister, Sarah, until she died.  So much death and hardship, yet she never complained to me, not once.  She just got up every morning, loved them and loved us, and did whatever it was that needed to be done that day.  And then she did it again the next day.

She paid for Tracy, Alice and I to go to college, ultimately returning to work as a nurse.  For 17 years, she worked nights as the charge nurse at Baptist Hospital.  She touched so many lives during her time working on the 3500 (rehab) floor.  Simply put, my mom was born to be a caregiver.  It is her blessing and her curse, as she always has cared for others first, herself last.

I have marveled at the fact that since she retired a few years ago, she's been busier than when she was working, mostly helping other people.  Just tonight - the night before her surgery - she visited an older woman she checks on regularly, providing her with conversation, company and the occasional batch of cookies or a similar treat.  That's just who she is.

My mom raised Tracy, Alice and me, all on her own.  For the most part, Tracy was pretty easy to raise.  Alice and I, not so much.  As the oldest child and her only son, I constantly tested her limits and tried to exert my independence.  Losing my father at such a young age, I think I grew up more quickly than some of my peers.  I know I lost a lot of the innocence that children have and that affected my world view somewhat.  We fought, at times, when I was a teenager, but I always respected the fact that she listened to me, respected me enought to let me have my say, then made the decision she thought was best for me in a particular circumstance.

In truth, my mom has been my best friend.  I have always been able to talk with her - to tell her anything.  She has been there for me on every single occasion I have needed her.  And that's something.  She's been my rock, my example, my pillar of strength.  I aspire, every day, to be as strong as she is.  I fail, but I keep on trying.

My mom has lived a life of service to others.  She epitomizes the word "selfless."  My mom has lived a life of service to others.  She epitomizes the word "selfless."   

I've said this many, many times.  I believe there's an express lane at the pearly gates near the entrance to Heaven.  I also believe my mom will be in that line, the one that says "12 items or less," when the time comes. 

Jackie Robinson said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."  My mom's entire life has been about impacting other lives. 

I love you, mom, and I'll be praying for you tonight and tomorrow.

 

Gone

It's Friday night and I'm sitting at Bongo Java, a half hour before they close.  It's actually fairly deserted inside, with just a couple of tables of people talking quietly and drinking their coffee.  My guess is that a lot of the Belmont U. students took advantage of the long weekend (Labor Day) to travel home.

I said goodbye to Jude, J.P. and Joe at the airport, then drove home to an empty house.  It's strange, but while I look forward each year to the peace and quiet I'll have when they travel to Neptune Beach to visit with the Baines' clan, I also miss them as soon as they're gone.  When I got home from the airport, the silence in our house was deafening, in large part because I knew it would be that way for a couple of days.

It was nice, tonight, to sit at the bar and have dinner at Cabana, reading on my iPad, nowhere in particular to be.  At the same time, it's weird to know that I'll be going home in few minutes to an empty, quiet house (excepting N.C. and Mini T., our silly cats, of course).  I'll probably get caught up on "Breaking Bad," maybe watch a few episodes of the office, then read for a while.

My play is to get up early tomorrow and hit the trails at Shelby Bottoms for a long run.  Sadly, it's been ages since I've been there on a Saturday morning for a long trail run.  My Saturday morning trail run there was a focal point of my life for so long.  It's tough, now, because between family obligations, laziness and injuries, I just haven't been able to get over there on Saturday mornings.  Tomorrow, though.  Tomorrow.

First Day of School

Today was J.P.'s first day of school, year 3, at Children's House.  He's in "K-Club" this year, a certified kindergarten program at the school he's attended the past 2 years.

Jude called me this morning after she dropped him off at school and we marveled, together, at how it seems like only yesterday we were dropping him off for his first day of school at Children's House as a 3 1/2 year old.  Today, he was up, dressed and ready to go early, all so he could help Ms. Anne get younger children out of their vehicles in the drop-off line.  In fact, Jude and J.P. arrived so early they were first in line, which has never happened before.

J.P.'s one of the older kids at Children's House now and it's hard to believe.  He's growing up before our very eyes.

Postscript (or Deja vous)

As a postcript to the post I finished minutes ago, I'm sitting at Bongo Java, drinking a "Mood Elevator," Sleeping Joe beside me.  I'm actually sitting at the same table I was sitting at on April 28, 2013, when I wrote the post about the Belmont U. kids leaving for the summer.  My friend who works at Bongo, George, is sitting outside on the front deck, just like he was 3 months ago.

Life has a sense of humor, doesn't it?