TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME (or how I learned to stop resisting and embrace baseball)

         This one is for Bill.

           When my husband and I joined our lives 12 years ago, he brought to the marriage three adult sons, one grandchild (to be joined by four more over the ensuing years), a gazillion boxes of books, and a love of baseball.

         I quickly came to love the sons and their families. 

         And I made room for many of the books among my own large collection.

         Baseball, however, was another story.  Making my peace with that one has been the work of years.

         Perhaps my backstory will help to explain my resistance. 

         Except for the occasional childhood game of stickball in the street and some mandatory games of basketball and field hockey in high-school gym class, I have never played a team sport.  There weren’t organized leagues for girls when I was young, and, in truth, I probably wouldn’t have been interested.  I spent most of my girlhood with my nose in a book or running around with my friends, playing games involving imaginary characters.  There was lots of built-in walking and bike-riding in those days of free-range children, but not many adult-organized sports outside of Little League, which was still a boys-only activity.  And as an adult, I’ve been more of a walking, swimming, yoga-izing type of exerciser. 

         And then there is this:  I was born without a sports-watching gene.  Sure, I went to some football games in high school.  It was nice to be outside with my friends in the autumn, but I didn’t pay much attention to the game and never learned the rules.  I also went to some basketball games in high school and even pretty much caught onto the rules.     

         And that, with the exception of some excitement the year the Trailblazers won the NBA championship (1977) and a couple of years cheering for a daughter’s volley ball team, pretty much describes the extent of my sports fandom.

           So, there I was 12 years ago, blissful in my sports-free world, cheerfully unable to follow the constant talk of teams and their wins and losses at my work place, scornful of those who wasted hours of their lives in darkened bars and family rooms screaming at and for their favorite teams, when baseball walked into my life and demanded my attention.   

  

         Mind you, I wasn’t introduced to the world of baseball by just anyone.  The man with whom I had cast my lot wasn’t just a baseball fan.  He was a rabid and perpetually disappointed fan of the Chicago Cubs, the team, as I was to learn, with the longest play-off losing streak in the history of baseball.  I had married a man who had listened to the Cubs on the radio as a child in Indianapolis (a city without a major league baseball team), and who had spent the decades since dreaming of the day when they would play in the World Series, something that hadn’t happened since 1945, when, sadly, they lost.   

         What was I to do?  I didn’t care about baseball; when I was a kid, my best friend’s dad used to watch the game and it looked really boring to me.  Still, I felt fortunate that I hadn’t married a man who spent the better part of  every week watching ESPN.  We didn’t even have ESPN – still don’t.  The least I could do was look into this baseball thing that was so important to him and only really occupied him during the play-offs.

         So, after we were married, I started watching the World Series with him each year.  Not every game and not every inning of those games that I did watch.  But I hung out with him and I learned a few things, such as:  The game is mostly about the pitching.  Who knew?  I would have thought, if I had thought about it at all, that it was all about the hitting. 

         And then, 2016 rolled around and there were rumblings that this was the year, the year the Cubs would finally make it to the Series.  And I watched my husband grow cautiously hopeful.  I watched some play-off games with him.  I even texted my excitement to a sports-loving friend as the Cubs looked like they would win the pennant.  Yes, I, Ms. I-don’t-care-about-sports, was excited, drawn in by the Cubbies’ mystique. 

         I found out that watching baseball could be—dare I say it?—fun, not to mention a great distraction from a long and ugly political season.  

         And then, the remarkable, the almost unprecedented – the Cubs in the World Series.  And I folded.  The tension was too much.  I kept leaving the room, rather than watch as the Cubs snatched defeat from the jaws of success again and again.  They would break Bill’s heart.  I couldn’t bear to watch.

         Except.  It wasn’t over.

         They came back.  Back from a 3–1 game deficit.  Winning first one game.  And then another.  And then . . .

         (Here is where I stopped writing to watch the seventh game.)

         You know the ending.  You know (unless you have been living under a rock) that the Cubs ended their 108-year World Series drought tonight.

 

         And, yes, it’s only a game.  A game that will make the players and their handlers and coaches rich whether or not they win.  It will not end world hunger or solve the problems of humankind.  But it was fun to root for the underdogs, even if I accidently called a “full count” a “full house,” and referred to “overtime” instead of “extra innings.” 

         It is good to watch people do something at which they are excellent.  It is good to see success where success has been delayed.  And if we elect our first female President during the same week that the Cubs won the Series, who knows what else might be possible. 

            

          

         

IT IS A BIG DEAL: Some Thoughts on the First Nomination of a Woman for President by a Major Political Party

         Three days ago Hillary Clinton accepted the Democratic nomination for President of the United States.  I am not here to tell you why you should vote for her (although I think there are many good reasons, even if she wasn’t your first choice) or how it terrifies me to think of her opponent in the Situation Room.  And let me make clear that I am not suggesting that anyone vote for Hillary because she is a woman.  (You wouldn’t, after all, catch me voting for Sarah Palin because she is a woman.)  I just want to spend a few minutes celebrating how far we have come in my lifetime so that those of you under, say, 40 will understand why this is a moment that brings tears to the eyes of women of my generation.        

         I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that for many millennials the nomination of a woman as a major-party candidate for President is apparently not viewed as a big deal.  I guess this means that we did a good job of raising them with a wider view of their options than my generation grew up with.  My daughters, now 31 and 28, grew up believing that they could do with their lives whatever their talents and hard work would allow.  But it is important to remember that it was not always so – important to remember how recently this belief was nurtured in little girls, both by their parents and by society at large.  The women of my generation did not grow up imagining that we might be President one day.  The dream that a woman might one day be in the White House did not take hold until the women’s movement of our young adulthood, and we have waited until we were senior citizens to see this day.  So, yes, for us, it is a very big deal.    

         Let’s go way back for a moment to the 1950s when I was a child.  I didn’t know any mothers who worked outside of the home.  All of the moms stayed home, both in my neighborhood and on TV.  This wasn’t a choice, as it is now.  This was what you were expected to do.  My mother, who was born in 1920, quit working outside the home when she got married.  Women born a few years later quit their jobs when they had their first child.    

         (And, yes, I know that there were mothers working outside the home because they had to, but this was not the “ideal.”  I am talking about the white, middle class world that I knew.  The one depicted in magazines and advertisements and on TV.  I will leave it to someone else to describe the world from which I was sheltered.)

         I wish that I could re-create this world for you in a few words, but it would take more than the length of this post.  The best I can do is to direct you to TV shows, movies, and magazines from that period.  For now, I will simply say that if you were to peruse print and TV advertisements from the 1950s and most of the 1960s, you would find that women were (or were supposed to be) freakishly preoccupied with the whiteness of their husbands’ shirts and with which cleaner would result in the most sparkling floors.  And if you were a little girl during this period, you would have learned from observing the world around you that men had power and that women’s only access to that power was through their feminine wiles or through clever tricks to build their husband’s egos by causing them to believe they were making decisions actually made by their wives. 

         And, in retrospect, the most unbelievable thing is that all of this seemed normal.  Because, unless you are a visionary, normal is bounded by what you know.  It took the civil rights movement for a few women to start noticing that while they were fighting for the rights of the people we then called Negroes, they didn’t have an equal place at the table either.  And I have to admit that when these women started talking about equal rights for our gender in the late ’60s, it took me a while to figure out what they were talking about.  It didn’t take too long, though, for me to start understanding that what I had accepted as “normal” wasn’t fair.

         It wasn’t fair that only a few careers were open to women, and when women were allowed to work beside men, the men were paid more. It wasn’t fair that when women did go to work outside the home, most men still didn’t cook or change diapers or do dishes.  It wasn’t fair that a woman could get fired for being pregnant, and had to choose between having a family and pursuing a career.  It wasn’t fair that we couldn’t get credit cards in our own name.  It wasn’t fair that we couldn’t borrow money without our husbands’ permission.  It wasn’t fair that female college students had a curfew and male college students did not. It wasn’t fair that women were expected to accept being “girls” our whole lives in the same way that black men were supposed to accept being “boys.” And it wasn’t OK that being “taken care of” by a man was supposed to make up for not being allowed to use our brains or pursue our talents. 

 

         And so much more that it is hard to remember now in light of the changes that were wrought as the result of the courageous women (and men) who fought for women’s rights in the face of what, at times, felt like insurmountable resistance. 

         The women’s movement changed my life.  I ultimately went to law school after it occurred to me sometime during my college years that this was something that a woman might actually do.  This certainly was not a career I could have imagined during my childhood or early teen years.  So, my daughters had a mother who worked.  They also had a mother who made the choice to work part-time while they were growing up.  The operative word here is “choice.”  I had choices not available to my mother and her generation.  And my daughters have had choices that were not available to me when I was growing up. 

         So, if so much has changed, why does it matter that a woman may be the next President of the United States?  It matters because it is such a short time since a woman in the White House was unimaginable, and, make no mistake about it, there are still those who would turn back the clock on women’s rights.  It matters because the work isn’t done, and seeing how far we have come gives me hope for a brighter future for our children. 

         And it matters because little girls, like little boys, need role models. I will leave you with this conversation that I had with an African American girl in a third-grade classroom where I was a reading volunteer last year: 

            

         Me: Oh. You're reading about the underground railroad. Did you 
know that Harriet Tubman is going to be on the twenty dollar bill?

         Girl: (Smiling) No. That's cool. She will be the first girl on money?

         Me: Yes. She's going to be there instead of Andrew Jackson.

         Girl: Didn't he own slaves?

         Me: Yes. I believe he did.

         Girl: Then it's good they're taking him off the money and putting a girl on. Will there be more girls on the money soon?

         Me: (Not wanting to mention that Jackson will now be on the "back" of the twenty, whatever that means) - Yes, I am sure there will be by the time you are a grown up.

         Girl: (Grinning from ear to ear) Yay!!!!

        

        

        

          

NOTES FROM MY FUTURE SELF

         I am a healthy 60-something, and am doing everything I can to keep it that way.   I feel fine.  I am not blind, however, to the fact that, my best efforts notwithstanding, there is a fair chance that sometime between now and when I move on into the great mystery that is death, I will not be as healthy as I am now.  So, just in case I am not able to share these tips later (or forget them. . .), here are some notes from my future self to my future caregivers, based on what I learned caring for my mom during her declining years and what I have gleaned from my first year-and-a-half as a hospice volunteer. *

         Let me start with what I don’t want because I am more upset by these than by the things you are not doing. 

        

1.      Do not leave me alone in a room with a blaring TV over which I have no control.  I prefer music or silence.  On the other hand, I would be happy to have your company while I watch a show of my choosing. 

2.      Do not call me “young lady.”  I know how old I am; you are not flattering me, only patronizing me.

3.      Do not argue with my confusion.  If I mistake my nurse for my mother, ask me what my mother has to say.  If I say I am planning a trip, when you know I can’t walk to the bathroom, ask me about what I am packing and who/where I will visit. 

4.      Do not talk about me as if I am not there.  Assume I can hear you, even if it doesn’t look like I can.

5.      Do not tell me about the sacrifices you are making for me.  I can’t do anything about this.  Assume that someone will make sacrifices for you when your turn comes.   

6.      Do not tell me how upset you are by my condition.  Find someone else to share this with.

  

         Remember that I once had a life as full as yours, and would like some help in filling it now when I am not able to be as active as I once was.  Please do whichever of the following things do not cause discomfort for me or you.    

1.      Take me on outings, if I am able.  I miss being in the world.    

2.      Even if I can’t manage outings, take me outside or place me where I

can see outside.  I was once an active gardener.

3.      Talk with me.   If I tell the same stories over and over again, ask me about something more interesting, such as what it was like to be a teenager in the ‘60s or how I spent my childhood.

4.      If I can’t talk, talk or sing to me.

5.      If I am able to read, bring me books and magazines.  Read to me.  Read to me even if I am still able to read. 

         If I have dementia and can’t tell you what I would like to hear, try reading something that I loved as a child or young person.  (Hint – For me that would be Anne of Green Gables.)  I spent time reading to a hospice patient with dementia who loved Dr. Seuss. 

6.      Hold my hand or rub my feet.  I haven’t lost my need for human contact.

7.      Play music for me.  Ask me what I would like to hear.  If I am not able to tell you, and you know what I loved when I was young, try that.  Otherwise, you are probably safe with classical music. 

8.      If I am confined to my chair or bed, bring me something soft to hold in my hands.

          (If I have dementia, I may still respond to different textures—give me a sampling of different materials to touch.  I might also like a baby doll to hold.) 

9.      Help me to get dressed every day for as long as I am able. 

10.     Be patient with me as I try to keep up with technology.  (OK, you can start on this one now.)  I would like to use the current email/text equivalent to stay in touch with the outside world for as long as I can. Notice when I am no longer able to do this, and see 11and 12 below.

11.     If I can read, send me cards or notes.  I love to feel connected.

12.     If I can answer the phone, call me.  Like I said in No. 11, I love to feel connected.

         My future self thanks you and, if you happen to be a caregiver now, she asks you to take these suggestions to heart.  She would also love to see your additions to this list.  Please share them in the comments below.   

*     This post expands on a previous post titled The Top Ten Things That I Learned at the Assisted Living Facility.  


Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash

IF YOU'RE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW IT: Some (Aspirational) Thoughts on Gratitude and Contentment

[I have adapted this post from a talk I gave at two Unitarian Universalist churches in my area in 2014.  I am revisiting it because I need to remind myself of its message.]
        

         If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands!

         When my daughters were very young, we sang this song.  It was fun -- clapping our hands, stomping our feet, shouting hooray.  But I remember wondering – What does that mean? – If you’re happy and you know it?  Can you be happy and not know it?  Upon reflection, I have come to the conclusion that, yes, you can.

         Have you ever noticed that the manifestations of unhappiness are really compelling, while happiness can be lost in the shuffle of daily living?  Grief is riveting.  Heartbreak is a stalker.  Depression is a swamp of pain and emptiness that weighs down the depressed and refuses to be ignored.  All of these states are demanding.  They sit on our chests and threaten our very breath.  To survive them we must remember to get up in the morning, to eat, to pray, to put one foot in front of the other.

         But happiness can wash right over us without our taking note of it.  We can fail to notice that we are contented with our lives.  Or worse, we can fail to be contented because we fail to notice what we have. 

What makes you happy?  Do you even know?  Would you recognize happiness if it stepped in front of you and hit you on the head?  Or are you too busy thinking about where you have been, who has done you wrong, what you have to do next?  What if you’re happy right now and don’t know it?

Maybe I should pause here to talk about what I mean by “happy.”  My dictionary defines “happy” as “enjoying, showing or marked by pleasure, satisfaction or joy.”  To these I would add contentment, which I define as being comfortable with what we have.  I think that we are generally aware of pleasure, joy, and satisfaction.  But, what about contentment?  This is the state that I think we can go without noticing because of our failure to open our eyes.  And I also believe that we can cultivate this state.

In order to do this I think we must do two things.  The first one is somewhat difficult.  The second is quite pleasurable.  I’m going to address the hard part first.  In order to be happy, I believe we need to be conscious of, and try to reduce, some bad habits.  These are perfectionism, needing to be right, complaining, criticizing, and worrying.  (There are others, but we don't have all day.)  While I look at each of these in turn, I’m going to ask you to remember that this is the work of a lifetime.  Anyone who has overcome all of these bad habits can ascend right now.  But let’s see if the rest of us can at least try to recognize these habits for what they are.

Perfectionism.  This one is really challenging for me.  It is the false belief that we must achieve perfection in order to be lovable or even acceptable.  To be clear, the perfectionist does not believe him or herself to be perfect.  He or she, instead, drives him or herself crazy trying to do things without a mistake.  For the perfectionist, something is either perfect or it is garbage. 

You can see how this could get in the way of happiness.

         The need to be right.   This one is closely related to perfectionism.  “Do you want to be happy or do you want to be right?”  I don’t know who originated that question, but it is a good one to keep in mind.  Another version is, “Do you want to be right or do you want to be kind?”  Ouch.

         Is it really necessary to prove that we are right?  All of the time?  Can we let someone else be right?  I know a couple who resolved their squabbling by agreeing that one would be right on odd days and the other on even days. 

         There are, of course, times when it is important to convince others that we are right.  Say, when the house is on fire and they can’t smell the smoke.  But, really, isn’t most of it just our egos wanting to strut?

         Complaining.  This is another really tough one.  Have you ever tried to go a day without complaining?  I have; I don’t think that I made it through the morning.  You know the litany:  “It’s raining.  My back hurts.  My job is boring.  My boss, my mother, (you fill in the blank) is so annoying.”

         Of course, sometimes these comments can be no more than the statement of a fact or the answer to a question.  As in, “My back hurts, so I’m not gong to be able to do that job that I said I would do.”  Or, “How do you feel this morning?”  “My back hurts.”  And sometimes we are identifying a problem that might have a solution.  As in, “My job is boring, what can I do to find another job or make my life outside of work more satisfying?”  Sometimes we are expressing a genuine concern or seeking solace.  As in, “I am having a hard time being patient with my mother.”  Or, “My child is very sick and I am so afraid.”  But, let’s face it, most of the time we are just kvetching about things we either can’t do anything about or have no intention of doing anything about.  It’s as if we believe that the complaining itself will change our circumstances.

         Spoiler alert:  It won’t.

         Criticizing.  Again, try going a day without criticizing someone of something.  “If only my mother, child, spouse would do X, then I would be happy.”  Maybe.  Or maybe it is as the Dalai Lama says:  “If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”  What would this look like?  Could we rephrase the criticism as a request?  Instead of “You are driving me crazy by doing X,” might we ask, “Could you please do Y?”  Could we try to figure out what is behind the other person’s behavior and, in this way, soften our reaction?

         And might we ask ourselves this:  Is our criticism going to lead to problem–solving?  Or is it just going to raise our blood pressure?  Can we do anything about the thing we are criticizing?  If so, let’s do it.  If not, what exactly do we hope to accomplish?

         Worrying.  Sure, we need to plan.  But doesn’t worry just rob us of our pleasure in the present moment?  Here’s what Winston Churchill had to say on the subject:  “When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.”

         Now that we have looked at some the things that can impede our happiness, here is something we can do to cultivate happiness.  I quote again from the Dalai Lama:  “We have to learn how to want what we have, NOT to have what we want in order to get steady and stable happiness.” 

         Can we do this?  Can we want what we have?  Let me make clear that I don’t think His Holiness is telling us to want cancer, a drug-addicted child, or any other awful circumstance, nor, do I think that he is asking us to be passive in the face of injustice or suffering.  If we are in a bad circumstance and we can do something about it, we should.  What I think that the Dalai Lama is talking about is appreciating what we already have, instead of spending our energy in lamenting what we don’t have.

         It is so easy to become numb to what we have.  Most of those who are reading this, even those with financial worries, live lives of incredible privilege.  First, to be alive is a privilege.  Then, we have all of our first-world privileges.  Housing.  Food.  Hot running water.  I expect we would miss these if they were to disappear, and yet we pay them so little notice. 

         The psychologist, Robert J. Wicks, says that we should “be aware of our tendency to manifest ‘spiritual Alzheimer’s disease,’” and that “there is a tendency to have ‘gratefulness tolerance’ and lose an appreciation of the wonderful people and things already in your life.”  I believe that the best and easiest way to cultivate happiness is to fight this tendency toward spiritual Alzheimer’s disease by cultivating gratitude.  It is through such cultivation that we learn to pay attention to what we have.

         So, how to do this?  Well, we don’t necessarily have to go around clapping, but we can spend some time each day being present to what we already have.  And this can be really pleasurable.  One way to do this is with a gratitude journal.  Try this:  Find a blank notebook and spend a couple of moments every day writing down three things for which you are grateful.  I guarantee that, over time, this will improve your mood.  I kept a gratitude journal for a while and found that the list just kept growing.  I moved beyond the obvious list of people, health, education, and creature comforts to less tangible blessings such as the slant of morning and evening light, the leisure to engage with others to walk, to knit, to read. 

         We live in a world filled with the wonders of oceans, trees, bird song, art, music, and community.  Yet, much of the time, we barely appreciate these gifts.  When we develop the habit of gratefulness, when we stop long enough to be conscious, really conscious, of these wonders, we cultivate happiness.

         And, yes, the world also holds many sorrows and challenges.  Maybe you are in a really difficult time.  Maybe you are depressed.  Or ill.  Maybe you are grieving.  You are not happy and you know it.  And you don’t feel like clapping.  Even at these times, I think it is possible to be present, however briefly, to our blessings.  This presence won’t make the unhappiness go away, but it just might cultivate a receptivity to future happiness or contentment.  We know that the wheel turns.  We can have faith that our worst moments will eventually give way to new and different happiness or contentment.

         Will we be ready?  Will we recognize contentment when we feel it?  One of the problems with recognizing happiness lies in our expectations.  A friend once told me that when he was very young he thought that when he grew up there would be a big ball of happiness.  It would be like a great wad of chewing gum.  But, over time, he learned that there was not a wad of happiness.  There were, instead, chicklets of happiness.  A chicklet here.  A chicklet there.  Can we be alert for, and present to, the chicklets?  Can we be aware of happiness as it is described by TV writer, Andy Rooney:   

“For most of life, nothing wonderful happens.  If you don’t

enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and

sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then chances 

are you’re not going to be very happy.  If someone bases his/her 

happiness on major events like a great job, huge amounts of

money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that

person isn’t going to be happy much of the time.  If, on the other

hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard,

a drink or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit

of happiness.”

         Can we, with Andy Rooney, learn to appreciate the “little things” that aren’t so “little” after all?  I think we can.  We just have to remember to pay attention.

          On that note, I think I will go and dust off my gratitude journal.

        

Image by dhanelle from Pixabay