wild pitches

So I listened to the Yank’s opening day game the other afternoon on the radio. Listened as C.C. Sabathia got knocked around in his big debut. I have this feeling I’m going to psycho -analyze the big guy all season. I’m kind of cool to him, after hedging for so long on signing with the Yankees. I like his stuff, no doubt. I chose him as a rookie on my fantasy baseball teams and won  a few leagues that year with him (that was pre-kiddo. Not time for such things now). It was only one game, but I have this sinking feeling that he might be one of those stars who can’t play in New York. You know, like ARod. Except I can’t hate C.C. like I do ARod. Arod just makes it too easy. C.C.’s a pitcher, besides. I like most pitchers, unless their names are Roger Clemens or John Rocker. Pitchers are known to be quirky. Wierd. Superstitious. Like Mark Fydrich back in the day. David Cone. David Wells. Jim Bouton.  Rick Ankiel. So many others. Actually, Manny Ramirez has a pitcher’s personality. They’d think nothing of his wierdness if he were a pitcher. Anyway, maybe C.C. knew something that he wasn’t when he was hedging all that time. Or not. Let’s hope.

We gave a pair of finches to the kiddo’s  best friend Charlie. Kindred spirits, they are. Artistic. Sweet. Sensitive. Can’t believe a nine year old will play with a six year old and not grow bored, but he’s the closest thing to a big brother that she has. Always wished I’d had one myself. Or a big sister. Ah well. Anyway, Charlie’s pair has laid fifteen eggs in their tissue box nest! Obviously, they won’t all hatch. Wow. We had a trio of three new baby birds a couple of months ago…two twin female fawns named Fern and Beatrice, and a pied male we named Homer. Beautiful. We also have a white female named Eva  I’d adopted from the pet shop (she was being pecked and plucked by the canary she was sharing a cage with…she had to be saved!). I don’t think we’ll be getting anymore birdies…or any other pets…anytime soon. Think what we have is good. Really, really good. For now. Really!

Picked up the kiddo early for a dental appointment last week. She had Art class. I like watching her when she doesn’t know I’m there. So she’s painting a flower and her art teacher comes up to me and says, “Oh, she is such an artist. I think it’s her first language. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”. Well, yeah. But the second sentance…brought on some tears. Because that’s exactly it. I don’t care to pressure her to become some famous artist. Or anything like that. But I’m thrilled that she just happens to be able to access art as a language. Her language. Unique. I’m very happy for her.

Happy Spring/Easter!

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