Sojourner's Ramblings

I grew up in a small town, and one of my favorite memories is playing with all the neighborhood kids - most of them boys which probably explains a lot about me. Sometimes in the summer, we'd start early and end late....the local church tower played bells at 9pm and that was always the signal that it was time to go home. I'd forgotten all about the 9 o'clock bells until I was home recently and heard them again. I think it was on that same trip home that I took a little time while Mom was busy to take a walk around the neighborhood. Boy, that brought back a flood of memories. Driving those streets as an adult is one thing...but oddly enough, walking those same streets as an adult had quite a different effect on me. I had a good childhood. Thanks to my parents I was taught responsibility but I was still allowed to be a kid - for as long as I could be. Something that I think a lot of kids are missing today...on both counts. But that's not what this blog entry is about. This blog entry is about a good old-fashioned game of neighborhood baseball that we stumbled across while we were in Mexico.

We'd just been to Wednesday evening church services in the tiny town of Soledad. Some of us dying for SOMETHING cold to drink - preferably NOT water - we set out walking to find the local grocery store. On our way there I THINK we might have passed Juan Valdez...but I can't be certain...I think he was trying to hide his face from us. :) Right across the street from the store we found a lively game of béisbol mexicano. It was much like the baseball we all know...and some of us love...with a few exceptions to the rules. I think the rule alterations had much more to do with the neighborhood than it had to do with being in Mexico. Unfortunately, when a couple folks from our team jumped in the game it took a few innings for them to catch on to these new rules. It wasn't until Jess cranked it out of the park twice that she realized this reality: launch it once...you're out. Launch it again?....your team earns two outs....launch it yet again?...three outs. You get the idea. All designedd to keep anyone from having to chase the ball and likely losing the ball. No one wants to have a hot game of neighborhood baseball interrupted like that. Deviation number two is one that I still haven't figured out: any out at 2nd base is always a force out. No need to tag the runner. Yeah...like I said...still haven't figured that one out. Ray fought long and hard trying to convince the boys he was safe because he hadn't been tagged but when virtually every kid on the field came up to him screaming OUT and holding their thumbs in the air...he finally conceded. This was one of those rare occasions in Mexico when we could fully participate in their activities and the language barrier didn't get in the way - baseball is béisbol...for the most part. But in my old games of neighborhood baseball growing up, I can say I never remember any of the neighborhood boys riding his horse to the game.

I didn't participate...although I would have liked to. I was dressed in the best clothes I'd packed for my trip and my shoes just weren't going to cut it. Now those of you that know me very well know it wasn't because I was in heels! But my shoes were a little short and had hardly any tread left on them so I was sure that running on a dirt covered concrete basketball court could only result in some kind of embarrassingng incident. So I watched instead. It was a fun evening. The constant wind blowing a constant wall of dust and dirt my way got a little old and I got a lot dirty. It didn't take long for the bottle of pop I'd bought to get coated with mud...from the condensation and the flying dirt - it was that thick in the air. I was pretty proud of myself when I actually thought of a phrase in Spanish that would successfully ask one of the kids if he wanted the pop...because I didn't like it...when in reality I was tired of holding a bottle of pop coated in mud. The first one I offered it to didn't take it....I guess his parents taught him well. But my second victim wasn't long it taking me up on my offer.

It was a fun evening. I think we were kinda celebrities in that little town that night. Those little fellas are probably still talking about the evening that van full of white people stopped by to play baseball. :)