Well, the Poison-Ivy Kid managed to get his swollen feet into his cleats and did, after all, take part in his first-ever Babe Ruth game. And even though Dexter lost to Howland, the boys played well. This kind of team is a new thing for Paul: everyone is a decent player, which is to say, right field is not reserved for the kid who's so bad you can't put him anywhere else. Paul has always played center field, and has always hated it because he's seen it as demeaning. No matter how often his mother tells him, "You're in center field because you can cover the entire outfield because you're fast and because you can catch the ball," he sulks. Last night,
he was the kid playing right field, and
he was the kid who was busy busy busy because everyone was hitting to right. He said afterwards, "Outfield's more interesting than I thought." His mother did refrain from "I told you so."
In other news, you might have gathered from Julia's comments on yesterday's post that
How the Crimes Happened is a
finalist for the 2011 Maine Literary Award in Poetry. Winners will be announced on July 14, but as far as I'm concerned, I wish that everyone could win. I know many people on this list, and I'm so happy for all of them.
Today's schedule: (1) Drop the Poison-Ivy Kid off for a doubleheader with Millinocket. (2) Pick strawberries. (3) Whip an extravagant amount of cream.
4 comments:
Sounds like a fun game; glad the Poison-Ivy Kid enjoyed outfield! (and gained a new nickname :) I too picked strawberries today (make that strawberry, we've had ONE so far!); I'll really need a lot of whipped cream!
What great news about "How the Crime Happened". It's a wonderful collection, Dawn. Hope you win.
Have a wonderful 4th!
HI Dawn, Thanks for clarifying what gallumphing squat-bodied critter it was that spooked me (or me, it) on my way down to the parking lot the other day. Groundhog. Humph. Not one of nature's graceful ones.
Thanks again for a wonderful "Poetry Camp" experience!
That groundhog spent a fair amount of time under the front porch. He liked to stick his head out between the stairs and glower at me. I think he may have been a reincarnation of the Curmudgeon himself. He certainly had the scowl.
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