Diaries I Read:
Last night was softball night, our second game of the season. It was B�s first game since his accident, and while it was wonderful to see him out there able to play again, I was worried. I was scared that he might fall, that he might get tackled, that he might somehow get hurt again.
As it turns out, I should have been worrying about myself.
My first time up to bat, I hit the ball. Sort of. I bunted it. But not on purpose (I�m not skilled enough to do that). I sort of hit it and it landed about two feet in front of me. I didn�t think it could possibly count as a real hit � I figured it must be a strike or a foul or something � so I stood there for a second. Then I heart my teammates yelling, �Run, Freedom, RUN! RUN!�
So I ran.
I�m pretty fast, and I was pretty sure I could get to first base before the ball did. So I ran toward first base, and I�m running, and the stupid girl on first base is standing right in front of the base, right in my path. Oh well, I thought, I guess she�s gonna get knocked down.
So I run right into her, and I know I�m going to fall. But before I do, SMACK! I get hit in the back of the head by the ball. Then I fall. I think my right knee hit first, and then I skidded on the heel of my right hand. Somewhere along the way I skinned my left forearm along the ground too.
I stood up and was a little confused. Did I just get hit with the ball? In the back of the head? And did I really just bite the dust because that first-base girl was standing in my way? Yes, it appears that�s precisely what happened.
Everyone was very concerned about whether or not I was OK. I was fine, just a little stunned. Everyone was worried about my head. But my head was OK � the ball had actually hit me on its way down, so it didn�t hit that hard � it was my bloody right hand that hurt.
The catcher who�d thrown the ball (at my head, may I add) kept apologizing. Those in the dugout wanted to know if I wanted someone to run for me. Heck, no! None of the other girls on my team can run worth a darn. That�s my favorite part about softball � running the bases � it�s the only thing I really know how to do. So I kept playing, and eventually I made it around the bases and got a run and everyone said I was a real trooper. Yeah, yeah.
A little while later, after washing the blood off and trying to pick the little bits of gravel from my torn-up hand, I was up to bat again. I got one strike. Then, on the next pitch, I hit it. It was a pretty good hit, and apparently it went toward third base. I knew it would be a close one, so I dug down and really ran for first base. When I was about three feet from the base, WHAM! The ball skips off the ground and smacks me hard in the back of my left calf. I hit first base and then hopped a few times on my right leg as I felt the sting of the ball on my leg.
Man, I had thought my skinned-up hand was painful, but getting smacked hard in the leg by the ball really REALLY hurt. This time, I knew it would hurt to run. But again, I wasn�t gonna let one of those slow girls sub for me. By the time I got around the bases and scored another run, the bruise was already coming up.
Now it�s this giant, perfectly round bruise/welt the size of a � well � the size of a softball on the back of my leg. It�s impressive. And it hurts. It hurt while I was trying to sleep last night; it hurts when I walk; and it really hurts when I happen to brush it up against something. And I can�t cross my legs, at least not left over right.
So I have five wounds from last night � a bump on the back of my head, a skinned knee, a skinned arm, a torn-up hand, and a big fat bruise on my calf. It�s a good thing we won the game.
~*~
And here�s another story from last night (yes, we had quite an exciting evening).
When we got home from the game and dinner, where I enjoyed a well-deserved beer, B and I took Dixie out for her nightly walk. B doesn�t go with us very often, so it was a nice treat to have him with us.
So we walk around the block on the sidewalk that is behind/above our house. From this sidewalk, you can see right into our backyard. And our kitchen and family room and bedroom, if the blinds are open. You can also see into all the neighbors� yards and homes. I always sort of look, not to be nosey or anything but just because it�s natural to look. Sometimes I�ll see our neighbor Mark working on the computer or our neighbor MJ doing the dishes or something. No big deal.
I�m well aware of the clear view available from this sidewalk. We keep our blinds in our bedroom closed whenever we�re sleeping or dressing or whatever. I�ve forgotten a couple of times and walked by the window in my bra or something, but in those cases I�m always quick to duck out of sight or put on a bathrobe or something.
ANYWAY�
B and I are walking and we can see our next-door neighbors, Craig and Heidi, in their kitchen. We were sort of looking to see what they were up to. Their blinds were halfway closed, but I think they must have been pointing upward, because from the sidewalk above we could see them pretty clearly. I look at Heidi, and then I look a little harder. �Is she NAKED?� I gasp.
B whips around. �IS she?� he says. And then he stands there, peering over into their home to catch a better look at her. She stood with her back toward us for a few moments, and it was kind of hard to tell, and then she turned around and BOI-OI-OING! There were her big old jugs, just out there for the whole world � and me and my husband � to get an eyeful.
We both looked at each other, wide-eyed, and giggled.
�Go, Heidi!� B said.
�I can�t believe she�s just cruising around her kitchen topless!� I said.
We walked Dixie to the corner and then, on our way back, peered in through their window as we passed again. There she was, showing off her boobs to the world. Hilarious.
It�s especially funny because these particular neighbors are total hermits. They literally drive up to their house, open the garage and drive into it, and then close the garage before getting out of the car. A couple of times I�ve knocked on their door for whatever reason and they don�t answer it, even though I know they�re home. They�re nice enough people, I guess, they�re just very reclusive. So I know she would be shocked to know she�s been flashing the whole neighborhood. Heh.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004