Shake A Leg

"Hey, come here," I yelled to my assistant.

"What?" she yelled back. "I'm busy."

"Seriously, you've got to see this."

"Aren't you supposed to be working on the budget?" she asked, walking into my office.

"Yes, sure, whatever," I said. "Look." I pointed to the bus stop across the street.

She looked. "Oh my God, what's he doing?"

"Polishing his leg," I said.

"It's in his lap," she said.

"I know. I saw him take it off."

"I didn't expect that," she said.

"I told you it was worth seeing," I said.

"It was," she said, closing the blinds. "Now get back to the budget."

"Okay," I said.

Songs I Never Hated - Part 17

Rock On

"What are these?" asked one of my co-workers.

"Souvenirs," I replied. "For the gang."

"Okay. Thanks, I guess. But what are they?"

"They're little rocks. I got enough for everyone."

"You're joking, right?"

"No," I insisted. "They were part of the Little Rock."

"Why do some of them look like concrete?"

"Those are from the pilings they used to shore up the rock."

"Where did you get them?"

"From a rock vendor. He had a stand at the classic car show. Near the pavilion where ZZ Top was playing."

"And they're supposed to be genuine?"

"He assured me there are," I said. "I could tell he was honest. He only had a few teeth."

"Please don't tell me you paid for them," she said.

"He gave me a bargain," I said, perhaps a bit defensively.

"Did you get any magic beans?" she asked.

It's My Duvet And I'll Cry If I Want To

Honor Thy Mother

"Put it down!" I shouted.

Lucy darted away. I flailed at her with a stick, trying to back her into a corner of the yard.

"Stupid dog," I growled at her. She growled back.

Things had been going downhill since Friday. My morning meeting that day had gone long and by the time I got back upstairs to my office, my mother was firmly ensconced in a guest chair.

"Sorry I'm late," I told her.

"It's fine," she said. "I've been having a lovely conversation with H."

H., my assistant, smiled at me. "I've learned so much about you," she said.

I moaned in quiet pain. "Mom, what kind of lies have you been telling?"

"You see?" my mother asked H. "This is how he behaves."

"C'mon, Ma, let's go eat."

"It's cute the way he calls you 'Ma,'" said H. "He sounds like he's from the East Coast."

"I think it's irritating," said my mother. "Then again, I've had to deal with him all these years."

H. nodded. "I can see how that would be irritating."

"Can we go?" I asked. "I'm starving."

By the time we got to the restaurant I'd recommended, a Szechuan place noted for its lunch buffet, the line reached out the door. Sitting in the passenger seat of my mother's car, I shrieked in frustration.

"Oh, stop complaining," she said.

"I've got a meeting at 1:30 and I don't have time to wait."

"We'll find another restaurant," said my mother.

"I don't want to go to another restaurant. I want to go here."

"Then let's get in line."

"I hate lines. I'll have a nervous breakdown."

"You'll have a heart attack if you don't relax."

"I hope so," I said.

"Your children need you."

"You're lying again."

We finally got me fed and returned to work, although not without a fair amount of swearing on my part. After enduring an afternoon of comments from my coworkers about how lucky I was to have a mother like mine, I escaped for home.

And now, less than a day later, here I was chasing a dog.

"Lucy killed a squirrel," the Lovely Bride announced a couple of hours before as we watched our middle boy's soccer game. She'd just finished texting our oldest.

"Lucky squirrel," I said.

The Lovely Bride shook her head. "Your mother said you were in a mood."

"It's not a mood, it's a belief system. I believe that if there was a God, He'd hate me."

The parent sitting on the other side of me looked over for a moment and went back to watching the soccer game. She's known me for years.

"Do you mind?" whispered the Lovely Bride. "We still need these people to help carpool."

"Fine. Lucy killed a squirrel. So what?"

"So the oldest had to leave for work and couldn't get it away from her. He left her outside. You'll have to get it away from her when we get home."

"Me?" I asked. "You do it."

Which is how I came to be chasing the dog around the yard, a bloody and quite dead squirrel dangling from her mouth.

"Come here, girl," I said. "Daddy loves you."

She tried to sneak past. I shook my stick and she retreated to the other side of the fire pit.

"Good girl," I said. "Now drop the rodent and nobody gets hurt."

She feinted right. I was there for her, got the stick hooked in her collar, and she released the carcass.

"Stupid dog," I repeated, flinging the squirrel into the marsh on the other side of the fence. Turtle food.

The stupid dog took the opportunity to lick me. I gagged and pushed her away.

Toweling off after my shower, I yelled to the Lovely Bride in the living room, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"I think you know," she replied.

Setting Sail

"You need to pick a place for dinner in Little Rock," my assistant, H., told me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it's your job to entertain the board when you're out of town."

"Really?"

"Yes. If you leave it to T., you'll end up at a pub with good beer and adequate sandwiches."

"I like beer," I said.

"That's fine," she said. "You can have beer with dinner. But you've got to find a nice place to eat."

"Then I have to get dressed up," I whined.

"It doesn't have to be fancy," she said. "It just has to be nice."

So I spent much of last night researching Little Rock restaurants.

"I found one," I announced this morning.

"Good job," said H.

"Are you patronizing me?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"No doubt," I said."Can you make reservations?"

"Yes."

"Do I remind you of Julie from 'The Love Boat?'" I asked.

"What's 'The Love Boat?'" she replied.

"How old are you?" I asked. Then I sang the Love Boat theme song.

"Please don't do that again," she said.

"Aye-aye," I said.

At Bat

I don't coach anymore. Not in the summer, at least. The kids are getting too good, the parents too competitive. I'm happy instead to be the team parent, buying socks and belts, sending emails, and creating spreadsheets.

My friend P., who I used to coached with, he's still at it. My youngest is playing for him again. There are two assistant coaches as well, both of them good baseball minds and good guys, and we've all had some fun teasing our own kids and cheering for the rest of the team.

The season began, as it always does, with a tournament named after a former local player, Scott Brainard. I'm told Scott was a hell of a ballplayer, and that he loved the game, and that he grew up and became a decent guy who got killed trying to break up a fight. His parents raised money to install scoreboards in his memory, and the league started the tournament to thank them, and now twenty-one years later his family comes to hand out trophies and remember their son, their brother. My kids know who Scott was and so do all the other players and parents and spectators who come to welcome a new year of baseball.

A couple of nights ago, we played a team from a neighboring community that always participates in the tournament. The other coach was a guy who Coach P. and I have known for years, we run into him in baseball and basketball. It was a close game, a couple of contested calls, but our guys won it for a chance to play for the championship.

Later, the other coach sent an email to Coach P. that said:

That was a nice game last night. I'm bummed (a little) that we didn't win, but your team won and showed great respect after the game. My son talked with one of your players after the game and they congratulated each other on their respective performances. It makes the game worth playing!

Coach P. responded.

I certainly agree. I saw a lot of true sportsmanship and that's what makes it worthwhile. I've really enjoyed coaching the last few years against your teams. You guys run a class organization. Good luck with the rest of the season.

I like to think Scott would be pleased.