Running the Trails

It's a beautiful early morning on campus at Sewanee.  I'm at Stirling's Coffee House again, enjoying a cup of coffee before I head back to the cabin and get ready for Mike and Bill to arrive.  We're going to get an early start and, hopefully, get to Bonnaroo in time to see the Teskey Brothers.  That's the preliminary plan, anyway.

I had a fantastic 4 + mile trail run yesterday on part of Sewanee's Perimeter Trail.  Part of the trail I had run before - to Beckwith Point.  I call it the "Five Bridges Trail" because there are five small bridges to cross as the trial winds down and up to Beckwith Point.  It's a tough run because there are so many uphill and downhill parts and because there are a lot of exposed roots and rocks.  I like that, though, because it requires me to engage my mind in the physical act of running as opposed to just letting my mind wander.  That's a different approach to running - for me, anyway - and it's a nice change from running the streets of my neighborhood.

The view at Beckwith's Point is nice, although you have to clamber across a formation of boulders to get to the edge and really enjoy it.  It's a peaceful spot and when we're here with the Allen's for the week of July 4, I might suggest we hike there and have a picnic.

I continued on the trail from Beckwith Point to Green's View, a relatively short section of the trail I had never run before.  The trail wound around the edge of the golf course before opening up into a large clearing with a spectacular view.  Well worth the extra half mile or so.

The run back to the trailhead was tough but satisfying.  The music playing on my favorite playlist - "the Haunting," a collection of 50 + songs that stay with me - kept me going.

There's just something about trail running that speaks to me in a different way.  I've felt that from the time I ran the Wild Thang 10-mile Trail Race at Long Hunter State Park, my first ever trail run to now.

Now, time for some music.

  

Back on the Mountain

It's here and I'm here, on the Mountain.  

Bonnaroo 2019 and a weekend I've pointed toward, mentally and especially emotionally, for almost six months.  I've needed this weekend like I never have before.  A chance to get away, to reflect about what has been lost and how my life has since I was here last year.

The Mountain - and include within it Sewanee - is a magical place for me.  I love it here.  There's something about it that relaxes my soul.  It centers me and it recharges my batteries.  And, most importantly, something about being here heals me and that's something I need after my mother's death.

It's still strange, somehow, to type those words.  I vividly remember how much grief she gave me the first time I came to Bonnaroo for the weekend, seven or eight years ago.  She worried about me, as she always did.  She didn't understand Bonnaroo or why I wanted to be here, to stay in Paul's cabin, alone for the first couple of days, then with my friends.  She didn't understand why I wanted - no, needed - to spend three or four leisure days listening to music at the Farm with thousands and thousands of people.  

Over time, I think, she came to understand that in the middle of my busy family life and a sometimes stressful professional life, I need a long weekend away to find myself again.  I needed time and a place to reset my compass and to find peace and quietude.  She still laughed about it and told me I was crazy to go to Bonnaroo, but she grew to understand how important it was for me to be here.

I miss my mom something fierce.  Still.  I don't talk about it as much, as I don't want to burden my family and friends with my grief.  She was my North Star.  I think about her every day, or almost every day.  I'm not sure that will ever end.  I'm not sure I want it to end.

It's manageable grief, for me, or at least that's what I tell myself.  She taught me to be strong, always.  Without question, the example she set for me - every day - of getting up, putting one foot on the floor followed by the other and taking care of business - is something I have relied on and continue to rely on as I find my way and learn to live, and to thrive, in a new and different world.  She faced so much adversity in her adult life, always with a smile on her face and an unshakeable sense of resolve.

My mom loved life and refused to dwell on the adversity she experienced.  She never complained, at least not to me.  She smiled, laughed and loved her family and her friends.  That's the lesson I try to learn, for sure, especially during difficult or stressful times.  It's what she would want me to do.

There will be moments while I'm here - like yesterday evening during a 4-mile run on the Mountain Goat trail as dusk fell or this morning, sitting on the front porch at Stirling's Coffee House on campus, sipping a cup of coffee in 63 degree weather - when my thoughts and memories of my mom almost overwhelm me.  But, then, I'll take a deep breath, look around and see - really see - the beauty all around me.  The train I'm running, the music I'm listening to and the laughter I'm sharing with my friends.

And I will be glad to be alive.

      

Seven Hills

A couple of years ago, some friends of ours invited us to go swimming on a Friday evening at Seven Hills Swim and Tennis Club.  When we walked in, it was like I'd entered a time machine and been transported back to the Brentwood Dolphin Club in the mid-1970's.

We spent so many lazy summer days at the Dolphin Club, swimming with friends, jumping off the diving boards and playing "green river," "gator" and baseball (with a tennis ball).  In my pre-teen and early teenage years, the Dolphin Club was my social circle all summer long.  In those days, the summers were endless and seemed to last forever.  Now, not so much.

My mom played tennis - always doubles - for the Dolphin Club for several years.  She often played with Donna Bethel, a peach of lady who later became a very successful realtor in Brentwood.  Donna died several years ago, long before I did some work for her son, Tommy.  Those were good ladies and good times.

Sadly, the Dolphin Club was sold several years ago to a developer.  It fell into a state of disrepair until very recently, when a building project of some sort finally began in earnest.  It was sad, really, to imagine so many memories of so many people disappearing as the remaining structures there were razed.  

I applied for a membership to Seven Hills last year and was wait listed.  Last winter, I reapplied and much to my delight, we got in.  We have several friends - most of our Dodgers' family, in fact - that belong to Seven Hills, as well.  I knew we'd love it and so far, we have.

Last Saturday evening, with Jude still laid up after eye surgery, I took the boys to Seven Hills for a quick swim and dinner.  We arrived a little after 6 p.m. and the pool wasn't crowded.  We swam for a bit, then ordered dinner from the Grill.  It had cooled off by the time we ate.  It was nice just sitting and talking with the boys, probably a lot like it was for my mom on those summer evenings when we were at the Dolphin Club with her so long ago.

After we ate, I watched Joe jump off the high dive for the first time ever.  He's fearless, much more so than J.P. was at that age.  I laughed every time he jumped off with a huge smile on his face.  Next, we played keep-a-way in the pool with the Waboba ball, the three of us hanging out, roughhousing and laughing together.  

It was close to a perfect summer Saturday evening.

The Dodgers

The Dodgers' baseball season ended for the spring on Saturday afternoon.  Dodgers II lost 11 - 5 to the Giants (for the second times) in the semifinals in the bronze division of our end of season tournament.  Dodgers I, JP's tournament team, trounced the Cubs 16 - 4 to win the Silver division end of season tournament.

This spring, the Dodgers had 19 players on our roster, as we added a few new players from BSAA (Bellevue).  The plan - and I think it worked well - was to have two teams (Dodgers I and II) that would play doubleheaders during the week and on Saturdays.  With two teams, I had the flexibility to move players back and forth, as needed, with the understanding that Dodgers I was generally the more experienced team and played a lot of teams of mostly 12 year olds (our boys are all 11 years old) while Dodgers II played less experienced teams.

We added two coaches - Jonathan N. and Ronnie S. - both of whom were fantastic.  They fit in well with our regular group - Chris T., Tony W., Randy K., Will W. and Chad P.  The new boys, of course, fit in seamlessly, like they had been with us from day one.  Almost without exception, having two teams seemed to work well for everyone.  I'm going to debrief with a couple of my longtime coaches to see if they agree but I anticipate we'll do the same thing in the fall.

Appropriately, Dodgers I peaked at the right time in the season finale.  They were aided by a couple of forfeits by other teams in the end of season tournament but the Cubs - in our bracket - benefitted similarly.  Our pitchers were fresh and the Cubs' stud, a behemoth (bats right, throws left), was primed and ready to pitch deep into the game.

Robbie D. got into trouble early pitching for us and I lifted him in the first inning with one run in and the bases loaded.  Porter W. trotted in from right field and pitched as well as I've ever seen him pitch. He ignored the pressure and retired two batters in a row on a strikeout and a groundout.  Just like that, Dodgers I was out of the inning.

The Cubs' big man struggled early and often on the mound.  The boys hit him and took several walks as he struggled with his control.  Dodgers I jumped out to an early lead and never looked back.  Porter W. pitched 2 2/3 innings and Benton W. finished up, throwing gas.

JP played well at shortstop.  One inning, late in the game, he fielded a ground ball up the middle and threw on the run to Wes T. at first base of the first out.  Next, he caught a line drive hit to his left.  For the third out, he charged a slow roller, fielding it and throwing it to Wes. T. in one motion.  Very smooth.  As he trotted off the field, he was beaming.  To tell you the truth, so was I.  His future is probably at second base but he can play shortstop as he has all season long.

I'm proud of all of my Dodgers.  It's been a great spring season, though the rain disrupted our practice and game schedule.  Now, it's on to All Stars and June baseball.

The Junior Dodgers

Last night on a beautiful late afternoon on field #3 at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ, the Junior Dodgers blanked the Cubs, 12 - 0, in the last game of pool play in WNSL's end of season tournament.

It was one of those special games.  Every player in the lineup - all 10 of them - had at least one hit.  Everybody contributed.  The boys were happy to be playing baseball with their friends.  And I was happy as hell to be running the pitching machine and coaching them.

With J.P.'s team, the Dodgers, I didn't normally run the pitching machine.  I had the maestro, Dan Ayres (aka "the Professor"), to run the pitching machine.  And he was the absolute best at it.

The pitching machine, by the way, is a spring activated machine that's designed to throw a consistent pitch, every time, to the 7 and 8 year olds in our league.  And it almost never does.  Some can operate it better than others.  Fortunately, I've got enough experience on it that I generally can coax good pitches out of it.  Generally, not always.

There's nothing worse than having a 7 year old up at bat with one pitch left to throw - each boy gets three swings for five total pitches if he hasn't swung and missed three times - and, as he looks out at me expectantly, I throw him a bad pitch, he doesn't or can pull the trigger and swing, and his at bat ends after which he trudges back to the bench, head down.

Conversely, some nights are like last night.  The machine is dialed in or I'm dialed in, or both, and every single boy is hitting.  We've had two, maybe three games like that all season.  It's a joy to watch.

Last night, two of my boys, James and Lucas, got big, big hits.  Both of them are right-handers and have been stepping out of the batter's box with their front foot when they swing, stepping toward the third base dugout.  It's been a struggle, because we haven't been able to get as much - or any - practice time due to all of the rain this spring.  Still, they've battled.

James took a ball off his right knuckle in his first at bat, but didn't cry and stayed in there to finish the at bat.  It was a good one.  His swings were good and level and he didn't step out of the box with his front foot.  In his second at bat, with two strikes, he roped a line drive to right field between first and second base.  I jumped and cheered as he ran to first base.  I could hear our parents, sitting or standing on the third base side of the fence, down the left field line, cheering wildly.  I ran over to James and gave him a big hug.  I was, and am, so proud of him.

The next couple of players got hits and James ended up at third base.  One of our strongest players and best hitters, Trey, was coming up to bat.  Trey's enthusiasm is infectious.  Great, great kid.  First one at the ballpark, always smiling, always ready to play baseball.  Before he stepped into the batter's box, he yelled down to James at third base.

"James!  Hey, James!"  When James looked at him, Trey said, "great hit!"

James smiled and yelled back, "thanks!"

That, in a nutshell, is why I devote so much of my time to coaching baseball, scheduling games, emailing parents, etc.  In that one moment in the twilight on baseball field at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ, I saw leadership, sportsmanship, camaraderie, friendship, innocence, earnestness and a blissful happiness.  And more.  All in that one moment.  It was beautiful.

Later, Lucas, who has struggled hitting as of late, laced a hard ground ball single in the hold between third base and shortstop.  After he arrived at first base, again to the cheers of all of our parents, I heard him yell, "I don't know how I did that!"

I smiled, then laughed out loud, then picked up a baseball and carefully placed it on the pitching machine, just so.  Still smiling, I pulled the lever back, popped it and pitched the ball to the next batter.

And somewhere in that moment, I thought to myself, I just might be the luckiest man in the world.

Mother's Day and a Return to Happier Times

Last Sunday was Mother's Day, my first one without a mother to celebrate.  The word that best describes the entire weekend is desultory.  I went through the motions of living my life but in reality, I was on autopilot.  Sunday, of course, was tough.  

Shortly after my mom died, I penned a long thank you note to the staff in the Courtyard at NHC Place, where my mom was living before she died.  For one reason or another, though, I never printed the letter and took it by there, although I had intended to do so many times.  I even had ordered photographs of my mom so I could attach them to the letter for staff and residents to see.  

I woke up on day and three months had passed since my mother's death on January 31, and I hadn't been back to NHC Place. 

I knew that needed to change and, although I knew it would be gut wrenching, I decided to visit on Mother's Day.  So, after church on Sunday, I drove to NHC Place in Franklin, TN, and walked in for the first time since I got the call from a nurse on January 24 to tell me that something had happened to my mom overnight.  

Nancy, the weekend receptionist, smiled when she saw me, stood up and said, "Mr. Newman!"  Still smiling, she said, "you used to always bring donuts."  We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then I walked down the hall to the Courtyard and as I did, a flood of memories overwhelmed me.  

How many times had I made that walk down the hall on the way to see my mom?  So many, but not enough, I feel.

I punched in the code and walked into the Courtyard, not without trepidation.  Tears filled my eyes as I saw several familiar faces among the residents, going about their daily activities.  It was like my mom hadn't died and I had never left.  Then, I realized there were a few faces missing.  

I walked up behind a home health care employee who always sits up front with her patient.  She turned around, grinned, stood up and gave me a hug.  

"I was just thinking about you and your mom," she said.  "I miss her." 

"I do, too," I replied.  

I saw Dahlia and a couple of other staff members.  It was a little bit awkward for them, I think, probably because they could see that I was struggling with my emotions.  I think they knew it was my first time back in the Courtyard and, really, they weren't quite sure what to say.  I hugged them, anyway, and that made me feel better.  Hopefully, it made them feel better, too.

I walked back to my mom's apartment, growing more - nervous, I guess - with every step I took down the hall.  There was no photograph on the outside of her door, so it was apparent that no one was living there.  That surprised me and, I think, saddened me a little bit, too.  I walked inside and the powerful sense of nostalgia almost knocked me off my feet.  I looked in the closets and drawers hoping to find some remnant of my mother's life there, but there was nothing left behind. 

It was such an indescribably weird feeling, just standing in this apartment where mom spent the last months of her life.  I looked at the bed and I couldn't help but recall, in vivid detail, how she lay there helplessly surrounded by staff, a nurse and a doctor, when I rushed in on the morning of January 24, so different than when I had seen her the afternoon before.  It was almost real.  

I left the apartment after a few minutes and walked down the hall.  I could see some residents who had been there three months ago were gone and some new residents had arrived.  I continued into the common area and I stopped, again, just to look at everyone.  

It was then and there that I realized why I had felt drawn to return to NHC Place - to the Courtyard - on Mother's Day.  

I saw Ms. Ann, who lived in Aspen Arbor when my mom moved in there in October 2017.  She smiled up at me from her wheelchair.  In recognition?  Perhaps or perhaps not.  But she certainly knew I was a friendly face.  

"Ann, how are you?" I said.

"I'm better now," she replied.  Still smiling.  "We had some good times, didn't we?"  

Ann actually said that to me, word for work. 

"We sure did, Ann.  We sure did," I answered.  

I walked around the room and greeted Ms. Deana, Ms. Sarah and last, but not least, Ms. Carol.

My mom shared a table with Carol every day.  They read magazines together and they ate together.  They were compatible.  I used to sneak Carol ice cream when I brought it for my mom, although she wasn't supposed to eat sweets.  Carol was so grateful and always thanked me profusely.  My boys, J.P. and Joe, used to read books to my mom and Carol.  

Dahlia walked up and joined us.  She tried to remind Carol who I was and, more importantly, who my mom was.  

"Remember Ms. Jane, Carol?  She used to sit with you."  Dahlia said.  

Carol looked at Dahlia blankly, then at me.  There wasn't a glimmer of remembrance of my mom and the times they spent together.  That made me sad.

I gave Carol a hug, said a quiet goodbye to Dahlia, and left. 

Happy Mother's Day, mom.  I miss you and I love you.

    

  

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

It's just past 7:30 a.m., the beginning of May, and I'm sitting in Bongo Java before work.  Old school it is, as I'm having a Mood Elevator made by Josh, one of my all time favorite baristas.  Anywhere.  Josh is really the last man standing from the old crew at Bongo Java.  He makes the only iced coffee drink I like.

Exams are over and the Belmont U. kids are mostly gone for the summer.  Some of the upperclassmen are still around waiting for graduation later this week.  Parking will be easier for the next 3 months, for sure.  We'll be able to get into Chago's and the other restaurants easier, too.  The quiet summer in the neighborhood begins.  It's the cycle of life living near a college campus.  We've been riding that wave for 15 years.

I wanted to write a bit about Joe's baseball game Monday night, while it was still relatively fresh in my mind.  The Junior Dodgers are having a good season, although with mostly 7 year olds, they're one of the youngest teams in the Rookie division of WNSL.  Moving up early in the fall to hit off the machine as mostly 6 year olds helped tremendously, as I knew it would.

Monday night, we were playing an older team, the Cubs.  As Joe and I walked up to field #4 at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ - my favorite field and one with so many happy memories - a Cubs' player standing near home plate looked at us and said, "we're going to cream you."  In response, I looked at him and said, "you may.  Or, you might strike out four times."

Father of the year.

One of our best players, Trey, busted his lip in warmups when he missed a ball thrown by a coach and it hit him in the face.  Not too hard, but hard enough to bust his lip, which bled and pretty quickly swelled.  Trey sat the first two innings - he normally plays first base - and Joe stepped in at first for him.  Joe's a gamer and did reasonably well even with his infielder's, small glove, getting a couple of putouts.

Early on, it looked like the kid was right, as the Cubs put five on us in the first inning.  We managed a measly run, then the Cubs scored two more.  7-1 after two innings.  It was looking like a long day for us, which in no fun when you're running the pitching machine like I was.  Our boys were struggling at the plate, which adds pressure to me on the machine because I want to try to give them something to hit.  The hard part is, of course, if they don't hit I feel like I don't have the machine dialed in well enough to give them something to hit.

Suddenly, in the third inning, the Junior Dodgers' bats exploded.  Everybody started hitting.  We batted around, scoring eight runs in one inning to take a 9-7 lead.  The Cubs and their parents were shell shocked.  I had the pitching machine dialed in and the boys were dialed in.

The best part of the game - hell, maybe the best part of my Junior Dodgers season - was when George Bell got his first two solid hits of the season.  He and I have put in extra work together with his hitting, at practice and before games, and it paid off Monday night.  When he got his first hit, our parents cheered loudly as I raised my arms in triumph while he ran to first base.  I made eye contact with his parents who could hardly contain themselves.  I ran over to first to congratulate George and slapped him on the helmet.

It was such a great moment and, for me, encapsulated why I love coaching baseball so much.  It's great, of course, to coach my sons.  But it's great, too, and so satisfying to see a boy struggle, work hard and be rewarded for his hard work by experiencing a small measure of success in a game situation.

This is special group of boys, these Junior Dodgers.  7 and 8 year olds are so much fun to coach.  It's a great age.  Competitive but not too much so.  Not much strategy and mostly all fun.

It was a great night.  A happy night.  A baseball night.  These are such memorable times on the baseball fields.  I'm appreciating them now because I know one day in the not too distant future, they'll be gone.