A Homemade Mess

It’s been quite a stretch. The Christmas and New Year holidays were followed quickly by the punishing onslaught of snow and freezing temperatures. Then, just as March revealed a possible light at the end of the wintry tunnel, our household fell into illness mode, from the sinus infections that struck us all to the mysterious ailment that slammed my wife, landing her in bed for 10 days. As we turned the corner into April, everyone finally started feeling a bit better. Now, as our Spring Break begins, there’s the task of catching up on all the work that needs to be completed, from grading papers to drafting lesson plans to completing free-lance writing assignments.

            All of which leaves very little time to address the house in which I live. So as I work at home this weekend with my wife and girls away for the weekend with family, I push the laptop away for a second and glance around me. And I must admit, what I see is not pretty. It’s something we’ve all witnessed at one time or another. It’s just, well, it’s what you’d call a mess. A mess that, in its own way, chronicles the four punishing months that have ensued since we were singing Christmas carols and decking those halls back in December.

            I begin in our sunroom, which seems to be inviting all seasons as it sits between our kitchen and backyard. I see the softball-sized, red-and-green Christmas balls that were used on our front lawn (for what, I’m still not sure), and the extension cord that lit our evergreen in the backyard for the holidays. It took two months for the snow to uncover that cord before we could retrieve it in March, and it might take another two before the cord goes back in the basement tool closet. Next to that cord, I see leftover lawn and leaf bags, unused bottles of liquid bubbles, metal marshmallow roasters, a pair of winter gloves, and softball equipment. On the table out there is an Easter egg-dyeing kit, and beneath that table is a gingerbread village kit, and beside the gingerbread village is something called a “Flower Pot Cupcake Baking Kit.”

            Things have to get better in the other rooms; it can’t be that bad all around. And it’s true, the rest of our house is more liveable. But wow, how things accumulate. In the kitchen, our daughters’ January birthday napkins sit beside our younger daughter’s first-communion certificate from March. In the living room, a stack of birthday cards (also from January) lie beneath the winter-themed travel tissue packets, which themselves lie beneath the never-to-be-used-Target-impulse-purchase Easter lights.

In our study, which doubles as the girls’ playroom, a three-month-old “Super Size Crystals” experiment sits on yet another hutch, while a magnetic bulletin board holds pieces of paper that read “St. Patrick’s Day” and “Sale! Come Now,” followed by a reminder to those playing a long-forgotten game of make-believe store that “Whoever is the first to spend 6 dollars or more will get the mystery item!”

            I think we’ve all won that promotion, girls, as this house is nothing if not a harbor for mystery items. A jar full of mushy green goo (more “Super Size Crystals,” perhaps?) A new doorknob, to replace the one I had to break down when my older daughter accidentally locked herself in her bedroom a few months ago. A pair of ice skates beside a pair of shorts beside a hand-cranked flashlight beside a magnifying glass beside a CD copy of A Charlie Brown Christmas.

It is just too much. At the landing beneath the stairs to my daughters’ upstairs bedrooms, a pink pig Pillow Pet sits beside a board game titled “Pop the Pig.” It’s a fitting pair for this time of year, when families like mine feel like we’ve been living in pigsties for just too long.

I guess that’s why they call it “Spring Cleaning.” I’ll get to it one of these days.

Summer (One Sixty-Two: Day 74)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day Seventy-Four: Billy Butler, Kansas City Royals

There’s a Springsteen cover band playing “Thunder Road” on the pool deck of a hotel called the Montreal Inn. From eight blocks away, we can hear the music as we roll our bicycles out of the garage for the short ride to the beach. Inside the house, I walk my dog into her crate, and turn on the TV so she’s not frightened by the sound of all those fireworks yet to come. I choose “Sunday Night Baseball,” and Billy Butler of Kansas City is up at bat against Joel Pineiro of the Los Angeles Angels. Pineiro strikes Butler out just as my dog takes a seat in her crate.

Down at the beach, the crowds are thickening, as adults and children lay out their blankets and unfold their beach chairs. Once we’ve claimed a spot, I grab our baseball gloves and have a catch with my girls for a few minutes. Nearby, a group of kids light some sparklers. The cover band has moved on to “Rosalita.”

As the sun sets, the thin clouds streaking across the darkening blue sky take on brilliant tints of pink and orange. Across the bay, we can see the fireworks beginning over in Delaware. As the sky darkens just a bit more, the grandparents sit down in their beach chairs, while the parents and kids huddle together on a blanket.

As the fireworks begin shooting up from an offshore barge, the oohs and ahhs commence right away. Explosions of green, red, pink, white, yellow and purple fill the sky above us, and the beach crowd is captivated. The 8-year-old calls out names of holidays that match the colors of each firework: “Christmas!” she shouts to the red and green sparkles above her. “Easter!” for the bright pink shimmer. “St. Patrick’s Day!” for the green field of lights.

The fireworks last for 15 minutes, ending in a scintillating rainbow of colors and pops and applause. When it ends, we rise from our comfy seats in the sand, roll up our blankets and make our way back to the bicycles. The crash of ocean waves reclaims its place of prominence among the sound effects here. The moon and stars once again direct our visual effects.

It is summer, as ripe as a fresh peach. As bright as a fireworks display. As reassuring as a Springsteen song. As alive as a baseball game.

I breathe deep, take it all in, and pedal home slowly through the gathering darkness. There’s no rushing this.