My Journeys as a Cardboard Cutout

Like most things in our Amazon-Prime world of free-shipping, my cardboard cutout arrived in the mail. It would be the first journey of its travel-filled summer.

 

Maybe you’ve seen the cardboard cutouts of spectator’s faces seated in the baseball stadiums. The Dodgers are one of the teams that has cutouts. They had two prices, $149 and $299, with the proceeds going to the charities supported by the team’s foundation. I thought these were fair prices, somewhat close to what I’d spend on a night at the ballpark (the former) and (the latter) if I wanted concessions. I decided to forgo ordering from the Dodgers, instead getting a cardboard cutout from a printshop in Fresno for a fraction of the cost.

 

I mapped out my travel plans while waiting for my likeness to arrive in the mail. I ordered a number of padded envelopes (I need to travel in comfort), printed pre-paid shipping labels, and placed phone calls to all the people I’d be visiting. I also included a detailed itinerary so not to confuse anyone.

 

I was pleased with the quality of my cutout, I looked quite nice if I do say so myself. I named him Flat Tony. Soon after being delivered, Flat Tony boarded a motorhome with my friends Will and Dee for a roadtrip to the national parks of southern Utah and Arizona. I‘ve always said that Zion National Park is my happy place, so it was amazing to revisit it once again. But my first trip to Bryce National Park was more spectacular than I imagined. We hiked for hours, and I sat atop Will’s backpack, completely enjoying the views while also keeping a watchful eye on his two children. We last stopped at the Grand Canyon and once again I was awed by the majesty and grandeur of the grandest of erosion-induced landforms.

 

2020 was supposed to include my first-ever cruise. I was going to go to Alaska to see whales and glaciers. Remember the cruise ship that was docked in San Francisco harbor back in the early days of the pandemic? That was to be our boat, the SS Coronavirus. Despite the cancelation of all cruises, I still made it to Alaska, traveling via first-class mail to my cousin Jim’s house in Wasilla. The memories of this visit will last a lifetime. Jim took me fishing, whale-watching, and glacier-viewing. I included instructions to stuff me into the next pre-labeled envelope after a two-night stay. Like the fish we caught, I didn’t want to smell after three days.

 

I thought this summer would be a good time to check off a few baseball stadiums I have yet to visit. Jim mailed me to my cousin Dave in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. It was my longest journey of the summer, a whopping 3,300 miles. Dave took me to a Marlin’s game. Dave is a top-notch chef, so the food was picture-perfect. Dave then mailed me to my cousin John’s place outside of Tampa so I could attend a Rays' game. He then sent me to my cousin in Orlando, who then mailed me to John’s daughter Tracy in Atlanta so I could catch the Braves in action. Houston and Toronto now remain as my last two teams to visit. Since I don’t have family or friends in these cities, I decided to focus on traveling the country. Tracy shipped me North Carolina. Then it was on to the DC area to see a gaggle of cousins there. They then sent me on to Michigan to see relatives on both sides of the family tree. My final stop was in St. Louis, where more kinsfolk on my mom’s side reside. I cherished being able to see my aunt Shirley, who at 89 years old is the eldest stateswoman in the family. The get-togethers were special at every destination. 

 

The St. Louis clan then sent me homeward. I arrived just in time for one more motorhome trek, this time with Rick and Lynn to Yellowstone National Park. The ride was as smooth as a fine wine and offered the needed rest after thousands of miles of air travel. 

 

When Flat Tony finally returned home, I found my cutout a little worn and tattered. My corners were bent, and my edges were frayed. I needed a good disinfecting. I put my cutout in the car and drove myself around town. I went by my church which is still off limits. I thought maybe I should sneak Flat Tony inside on a Sunday. It might be cool to see myself on the next Livestream, peaking over the shoulder of Todd the drummer. I showed Flat Tony my gym, which I haven’t entered into since it’s brief summer reopening. I think of the owner, my friend Gil, and hope he’s surviving. I pointed out my favorite restaurant and its parking-lot dining area, thankful that the Chef is still cooking. We passed empty movie theaters and the massage studio that used to keep my back kink-free. I wonder if it will still be in business when the pandemic ends.

 

I decided to make one more stop. I went to my classroom. It was empty of course, a lonely reminder of our times. I looked around, sad that it will remain vacant probably into 2021. I wished for the clamor of learning in progress. Instead, like Zoom students on mute, there’s nothing but silence. 

 

How weird I thought, as we drove home, how much our lives have changed and how different things are depending on where you live. I could drive a few miles south, cross the Orange County border, and experience a totally different level of freedom. Flat Tony got to travel the country, but I can’t go to church or eat in a restaurant. Unless I want to drive to Anaheim or San Diego.

 

Back at home, I showed Flat Tony my upstairs guestroom/classroom. He looked like he might cry, but he was impressed with the flat screen TV. So, I turned on the baseball playoffs. After weeks of travel, he looked right at home.

A Labor of Love

 “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”

As we celebrate Labor Day, it’s easy to look around and see how the Covid-19 pandemic has affected the American workforce. Maybe you’ve been laid off, or at least you know someone who has. Perhaps you’re working from home or experiencing a drastic change in how your work environment looks. The travel, hospitality, food-service, construction, and retail industries have been hit hardest. Small business owners are reeling. The good news is that unemployment is dropping, and businesses are starting to bounce back. 

 

The education of children around the world, has been significantly altered by the pandemic. Schools are in different stages of reopening. My worldwide sources tell me that schools in Prague are fully open, but the students are bubbled by year. It’s like keeping the freshman, sophomores, juniors, and seniors all isolated from each other. So that if someone is infected, just that one group can be quarantined. 

 

A friend in the UK reported that schools where she lives are also ready to open next week. There are several protocols in place to keep kids safe and socially distanced. One includes putting the teacher in a marked off box that the students aren’t allowed to enter. Sort of like the goal crease in hockey. If the teacher leaves the box, does he or she receive a two-minute timeout in the teachers’ lounge?

 

My national correspondents relay similar info. A teacher in Florida said her school is open. Parents had the choice of virtual or traditional school. Teachers with health issues take the virtual classes. In Maryland, my cousin stated that schools are only virtual, but will re-evaluate next month. A friend in Rochester, NY also had the traditional vs. virtual option. A cousin in eastern Michigan says that schools are either open, totally virtual, or using a hybrid, depends on where you live. Here in LA County, virtual is the only option. 

Last month, I started my 21^st year of teaching and it’s safe to say that I’ve never had a day when I didn’t want to go to work. But, contrary to the quote above, I’ve had to work every one of those days. The wisdom of the quote is not lost on me. Find a career that is rewarding and meaningful and you’ll enjoy your work. Choose a job to which you can passionately devote your heart and mind and you’ll discover a fulfillment that carries you though the struggles, frustrations, and difficulties.

 

And that’s what I’ve found. Teaching is by far the hardest and most exhausting job I’ve had, but it is fulfilling and rewarding beyond measure. I enjoy the challenges. I love not being stuck in a car or an office. I like creating lessons and collaborating. My day flies by. Oh, and the kids are pretty great too. They learn, grow, and make me laugh. But they’re hard too, because well, they’re kids. But on tough days, we can go play kickball.

Teaching has always required a ton of work. I’ve often said that I could keep an administrative assistant busy with all the extra things on my plate. No teacher ever says, “I’m caught up.” There is always something else to do. But things are incredibly different now. The work has exponentially increased. This season of pandemic-induced distance learning reminds me of my first year of teaching. It was a crazy year of on-the-job training and trial-by-fire preparation. Every waking minute was spent thinking about teaching. And 21 years later I find myself in the same boat. It’s non-stop thinking and around-the-clock working. I, and teachers around the world, are working harder than ever.

 

A quick poll of my colleagues tells me that educators are working twice, three-times, maybe even four times as much. One said that the stress and anxiety that comes with virtual instruction has increased also. And it’s more physically taxing, reported another. Doing so much computer work is wreaking havoc on our eyes, brains, heads, backs, and necks. I agree. I feel mentally fried by the end of the day.

 

Here’s a glimpse of the difference between virtual and traditional: a simple third-grade lesson on adjectives would include giving the students a page to cut out, color, and glue into a notebook as I guided them through the lesson. Virtually, this is much harder. It would involve parents being able to download and print my worksheets. So Instead, I create a slideshow about adjectives that includes embedding an adjectives video. Then I create a Google form to give the students practice with adjectives. Lastly, I assign adjectives practice on an educational website. Now imagine doing that for every lesson, for each subject, five days a week. 

And that’s just lesson prep. Add in a few more hours to learn all the technology that distance learning requires. Teachers are watching videos, scouring digital-learning platforms, vetting online resources, and learning how to use educational websites so they can make their Zoom lessons academically enriching. 

 

Many teachers I know are Zooming from their empty classrooms. I read about a history teacher from Texas who is traveling all around the country teaching from historical places of interest. Another, hospitalized on bedrest, is laboring from her hospital bed until she goes into labor. I have graduated from the kitchen table where I taught in the spring to the upstairs guestroom. It’s quiet and I have my own restroom.

 

Why are teachers working so hard? Because it’s what we do. We don’t want our students to lose out on learning. We want to maximize every moment, in person or virtual, we have with them. We don’t accept mediocre work, so we don’t allow ourselves to perform mediocrely. Even if it means working in the summer, on the weekends, at nights, and on holidays.

 

Somewhere there is a teacher working today, a holiday devoted to taking a break from working. So, as you celebrate say a prayer or a give a positive thought to the universe for the teachers in your life.

 

Because we need them. Now more than ever before. 

 

Happy Labor Day

Watching Opening Day with Shoeless Joe

I was settling in to watch Thursday’s season opener between the Yankees and Nationals, when my stepdaughter noticed a strange baseball player in our backyard. He was wearing a throwback White Sox uniform.

 

Suddenly, I was reminded of the time I took Hall of Famer Tris Speaker to an Angel’s game (here). I haven’t spoken with Speaker since, but I could tell this wasn’t him next to the jacuzzi.

 

“I think that’s Shoeless Joe Jackson,” I said. “You know, from Field of Dreams.”

 

I poked my head out the back door and called, “Can I help you?” 

 

“You a lawyer?”

 

“No, I’m a teacher.”

 

He turned to leave, “Sorry to bother you then.”

 

“Wait,” I yelled, “I know some lawyers. Stay for a few minutes. We’ll talk. And besides, the game just started.”

 

He nodded and approached our door. He removed his cap and tentatively entered our TV room as if he was exiting an Iowa cornfield. I pondered asking him to wear a mask.

 

“Joe Jackson,” he said, extending his hand.

 

“I thought that was you!” One of the greatest hitters in the history of baseball was in my home. Because my mind races like a bullet train, I instantly pulled up his batting feats: he owns the third highest career batting average (.356) and is one of the few guys to hit over .400 for a season. He hit .408 in 1911 and didn’t win a batting title. Ty Cobb hit .419. On the other hand, Jackson was one of eight players banned for life for allegedly throwing the 1919 World Series. 

 

Motioning for him to take a seat on the couch, I said, “Great timing, it’s Opening Day.”

 

“In July?”

 

“It’s been quite a year,” I said.

 

“What’s with all the empty seats? We used to play to huge crowds. Don’t people watch baseball anymore?”

 

“We’re in the middle of a global health pandemic and the fans can’t go. That’s also why the season is just starting.”

 

I went on to recap the Covid-19 scenario, the quarantine, the masks, the deaths, and the restrictions. I didn’t mention the toilet paper shortage. 

 

“Sounds rough,” he said. “Reminds me of 1918. We had a pandemic too.”

 

“The Spanish Flu. I’ve read a little about it. What was it like?”

 

“It was pretty awful,” he said. 

 

My mind rattles off the stats as he described the hardships the nation felt at the time. The pandemic lasted 15 months and killed an estimated 50 to 100 million people worldwide, including approximately 675,000 Americans. More than 500 million people were infected around the globe.

 

“And we had to end the 1918 season two weeks early because of the war. Many of us ball players had to work to support the war effort. I only played in 17 games that year. Had to go work in a shipyard.” 

 

“Why?” I ask.

 

“It was either that or get sent to the Western Front. The government instituted a “Fight or Work” program. I chose ‘work’.”

 

“Smart choice.” I couldn’t imagine Mike Trout or Mookie Betts having to make that decision. 

 

On the TV, Giancarlo Stanton hit a mammoth home run and pitchers Gerrit Cole and Max Scherzer looked sharp. As the game rolled on we settled into comfortable conversation. He told me about having to go to work in a mill as a six-year-old and that his wife was just 15 years old when they married.

 

We talked mostly about baseball, the evolution of the game, and my life as a fan. We shared our love for a sport that for over a century has been a daily diversion from the troubles of life, a unifier of communities, and something sacred to focus upon to pass the time. I thought of our country’s current boiling pot of issues and wondered if anything would have been different had we had sports to bring us together.

 

On the TV, it started raining.

 

As if on cue he said, “Racially, it was an explosive time too. There were riots all over the country. Lots of deaths, mob violence, and the national guard.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” I said sadly.

 

“It was later called Red Summer because of all the bloodshed.”

 

I made a note to read up on my history.

 

But when MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred appeared on the screen for an interview he mumbled under his breath, “Commissioners,” and changed the topic.

 

“So, about that lawyer,” he said.

 

“Yeah, why do you need one?”

 

“I want to sue Major League Baseball. I’d like to be reinstated.”

 

I shook my head in disbelief. “Now, 100 years later?”

 

“Yes. Now. I heard about how the Astros cheated in the World Series.”

 

“You heard about that, but not the pandemic?”

 

“I thought that was fake news.”

 

“Very funny. But why the lawsuit?”

 

“Because those guys admitted to cheating and didn’t get punished! Meanwhile, I was acquitted in a court of law AND got banned for LIFE! We lost the World Series,” he continued, “and the commissioner tossed us out of the game!”

 

“Well, there were punishments,” I said. “People were fired. The team lost draft choices and was heavily fined.”

 

“Apples and oranges, buddy. The players, the guys between the lines, they still have jobs. Very well-playing jobs, I might add.” 

 

I couldn’t disagree. I told him about how MLB granted the players immunity. How it said the players ‘didn’t know’ that using technology to steal signs was illegal because Houston’s management failed to pass down a memo from Manfred’s office. 

 

“Didn’t know, hmmph!” he garbled. “Everybody knows. They knew it. You know it as a kid. You know cheating is wrong like you know how to give a firm handshake, like you know how to look someone in the eye when you say, ‘good-morning’.” He stood up, started pacing the living room. “You telling me that everybody who scuffed a ball, corked a bat, and took a drug, didn’t know what they were doing?”

 

“Of course they knew ….” His voice trailed off. 

 

He’s right I think to myself. You know it as a kid. In my classroom, my students set up three-sided cardboard walls during tests to prohibit cheating. The temptation is strong. Wandering eyes lead to an unfair advantage. Especially if you’re sitting next to a smart kid.

 

And when they get caught, they don’t say, “I didn’t know I couldn’t do that.”

 

In the Astro’s dugout, technology and trashcan lids created an unfair advantage. Did Jackson and his fellow scandal-mates give their World Series opponent, the Cincinnati Reds, an unfair advantage?

 

I have to ask him, there might never be another chance. “Did you do it, Joe?” 

 

He picks up a wooden bat that I keep nearby. Gives it a few slow swings. He looks me in the eyes, pauses, and says, “It’s been a hundred years, I think I’ve done my time.”

 

My heart sinks. I’ll get you the numbers of the two lawyers I know,” I say. “I hope it works out.”

 

The scrawl on the bottom of the screen says a player has been banned for 80 games for using performance enhancing drugs. I think 80 games would have been sufficient for sign-stealing too. 

 

The rain delay in Washington extends, so I switch over to the Dodgers game. The Dodgers have cardboard cutouts placed in the seats behind home plate. A reminder of our current times.

 

Times that are ever changing. Times that seem to stay the same.

So Sad Over School Closures

“While the new school year will begin on August 18^thas scheduled, it will not begin with students at school facilities. The health and safety of all in the school community is not something we can compromise.”

-- LAUSD Superintendent Austin Beutner

 

“I’m so sad, sad.

I’m so sad, sad.”

-- Maroon 5

 

In a normal year, I start thinking about the start of school roughly 10 days before the first day of instruction. Supplies are bought and the classroom gets set up after a summer of cleaning and hibernation. I make copies and decide what first-week projects and assignments to keep or toss. 

 

But 2020 isn’t a normal year. I haven’t stopped thinking about the start of school since last year wrapped up in June. Yesterday, my school district announced that it is not opening for in-person instruction when school resumes on August 18. When I read the news, I was heartbroken. 

 

As a teacher, I try to have all the answers (at least at a third-grade level). When it comes to COVID-19 and how to best do school, the safest possible way, I’m at a loss. I don’t have any answers.

 

Time will tell if LAUSD made the right decision, but I’m sure it was the safest decision and I’m okay with that. But I’m still sad. While I’m deeply thankful to have a job, I’m sad that the virus has affected my occupation so dramatically. I’m sad for the students who can’t be in school, socializing, playing, seeing their friends, and learning together. I’m sad for the parents trying to juggle work, family, technology, and common core math.

 

Teaching is hard, but it’s what we do. Distance learning is hard x 1,000. It’s batting right-handed (I’m a southpaw). It’s driving on the left side of the road. It’s cooking in someone else’s kitchen.

 

Honestly, I was hoping for some sort of hybrid. At a bare minimum, I was wishing for a scenario where I could meet in person with 4-5 students for maybe a couple of hours each day. Take my roster of students and make a Monday group, a Tuesday group, etc. Give us from 9:00-11:00. Make us wear masks. I’ll keep the doors open. We’ll sit 12 feet apart. We won’t do recess or share pencils. We’ll use the restroom one at a time. We’ll wash our hands. The rest of the day could be distance learning. 

 

But this won’t be happening. So I’m sad.

 

When we shut down the schools in March, I already had seven months’ worth of knowledge about my students under my belt. This helped dramatically as we transitioned to distance learning. I knew instantly when someone’s work was below their capabilities and when someone had a little too much help from mom or dad. But I can’t begin to comprehend how I am going to open the school year virtually. It seems daunting and overwhelming.

 

I feel like in order to distance teach properly, I need SOME in-class time with the students, even a miniscule amount. I need to discover their strengths and struggles. I need to develop a rapport with them. I need them to get to know me. I need to learn their personalities, their likes and dislikes, their behaviors. How quickly or slowly do they work? Can they work independently? How do they respond when things are hard? I need to see their writing and listen to their reading. I need to assess them. I need to correct their handwriting and remind them a million times to use punctuation and capital letters. We need to bond. This seems impossible over Zoom. 

 

So I’m sad.

 

Perhaps, my wished-for hybrid model isn’t the safest plan. I know we need to err on the side of protection. We have to account for an older teacher, or one with health issues, or somebody with a compromised immune system. Maybe, now at 52 years old, I’m one of the “older” teachers and if infected I could be wrecked. I understand that it just takes one symptomatic 8-year-old to sneeze on me. 

 

I’m so sad.

 

So now my wishes change. After going through the spring’s session of virtual instruction, here’s what I wish for to start the semester remotely:

 

1.     I want to teach from my classroom and not from my kitchen table. As long as we don’t have another mandatory lockdown, this can happen. I want my full array of supplies and curriculum. I want to sit in front of my giant wipe board as I Zoom my lessons.

 

2.     I want a mechanism in place where parents can drop off assignments and assessments from the week before and pick up a packet of work for the coming week. This will require teachers’ aides making copies and preparing packets. An all-digital classroom may work for middle school and beyond, but in third grade I need to see work on paper. And I want the creators of the Chik-Fil-A drive through to organize this. 

 

3.     I want all of the students to participate. In the spring, too many students went AWOL. (As I’m sure some teachers did too). Honestly, this will be unlikely. 

 

4.     I need the governor to cancel next spring’s standardized testing. Unless we’re fully back in the classroom by the end of September, students shouldn’t be tested on how they did during distance learning. Plus, by late fall we’re normally beginning to learn how to navigate the online testing system, as well as do practice assessments. I can’t visualize this happening remotely.

 

5.     I need the kids to be able to access my classroom library. This could prove tricky. I could select their books to send home with their drive-through packets. This will help diversify their reading pallets. No more reading every Diary of a Wimpy Kid book 22 times. 

 

I’m glad the decision to not reopen was made earlier than later. The remaining five weeks of summer gives me some time to get ready. 

 

But I still have a lot of questions.

 

And I definitely don’t have the answers.

 

I know this will pass. I’m choosing to believe that something good will come from this. I will do my best to support, teach, and connect with my new students virtually. But I’m still sad.

 

So sad.

Going the Distance with Distant Learning

It was like going back in time, albeit only two months ago. With permission, I went back to my classroom to grab some supplies for distance learning. The cupboards displayed orange-bearded leprechauns and my door was decorated with green lucky shamrocks. It had been two months since our “two-week” quarantine started and the room looked as if I had retreated minutes before the arrival of an enemy army.

In a way, that’s what my students and I did. Only the invader was a microscopic virus.

As an elementary teacher, the school year usually ends with fond goodbyes and happy well wishes for an enjoyable summer. Teachers and students joyfully count down to the final minute of the last day. The end of the year is a celebration of accomplishments and academic growth. Sometimes there are years when the end can’t come soon enough. The days slog by like a march to the guillotine. However, both scenarios have one thing in common: closure. 

But not this year.

So many students at all levels of education have missed out on memories and milestones. Proms, graduations, and the spring sport seasons to name a few. At the elementary level, our 5^th graders won’t get a traditional culmination and the kindergartners will miss their annual Broadway-esque performance and party. Tragically, there has been tremendous loss of life and the effects on our economy and workforce are staggering. But COVID-19 has also taken away so much when it comes to education. 

As a teacher I’m feeling the loss of a traditional ending to the school year. How much differently would that last Friday have looked had I known we wouldn’t be returning? Would we have played more or celebrated our “two-thirds” year of school? As of now, we have three weeks of remote learning left in the year. Somehow saying, “have a good summer” over Zoom isn’t going to cut it. 

Back in March, educators across the country were thrust into the world of distance teaching. Principals and administrators had to get computer devices to families that lacked technology. District’s bigwigs had to figure out how to feed children who depend on eating at school. Initially, when faced with only a two-week holding pattern, I tried to keep some semblance of normalcy. I assigned regular work in all subjects, knowing that state testing was looming once we returned. It was hard to know how much to assign. Was it enough for the sharp kids? Was it too much for those who struggle? How would my students’ parents do while trying to work from home and take care of other children who also had their own remote-learning assignments? I told everyone to do his or her best, not to stress out, and we’ll play catch up after we return. Heck, two-weeks is shorter that our winter break.

Then when the quarantine was extended indefinitely and state testing was nixed, I had to shift gears altogether. Suddenly it wasn’t about staying sharp for testing. The plane was landing and my students have to continue to get ready for 4^th grade. This wasn’t a hiatus; this was a new normal of trying to teach what I hadn’t yet covered and what I needed to reinforce … from home. 

The kitchen table became my desk and my learning curve began. While still juggling student workload issues and parental limitations I, and thousands of other teachers, had to figure out numerous educational online platforms. I had to learn how to use online meeting websites and a virtual classroom. Webinars became lunch companions. I’ve never been a big YouTuber, except for watching Holderness Family videos, but now YouTube is my best friend.

In a way, distance teaching reminded me of my first year as an educator when the position was mentally all-consuming. Every waking moment was spent thinking about how to do this job. Twenty years later, I found myself back in a similar situation. To a somewhat lesser degree, once again, I was consumed with thinking, worrying, and wondering about how to do my job.

On the other hand, I’ve enjoyed parts of the process. I’ve always wanted to learn things like Google Classroom. But now I was forced to do so. A school year is as busy and as frantic as the Indy 500. Sometimes one more piece of paperwork can feel like a high-speed blowout. Vacations and days off are just pit stops. You can refuel and change the tires, but not overhaul the engine. Covid-19 necessitated me to redo the transmission, so to speak. It’s exciting to have not just a newfound understanding of technology, but also the experience and a plan on how to use it in the future.

I’ve also been seriously impressed with student’s and parent’s abilities to cope and adapt. I didn’t learn to type until high school. Nowadays, eight and nine year olds are crafting multi-paragraph essays on Chrome books, creating online slideshows, and learning through video conferences. 

The month of May is usually my favorite time at school. The instant-pot-like pressure of testing has been released and students get to work on Open House projects to showcase what they’ve learned. In June we end the year with a whole-grade-level Field Day of competitive events and a pizza party. Right now, I’m not sure how to make the end of the year special and memorable. I want to celebrate what my 24 kiddos have achieved and accomplished. I want to honor their perseverance and adaptability. I don’t know if the students feel this way, but I need closure.

I’ve got a few days to come up with a plan. Maybe I’ll start by asking the students what they want. Or I could do a search on YouTube. But only after watching one more Holderness video. 

Emailing Heaven ... Mom, Send Help Quick!

To: Helen D. Gervase

From: Your favorite son

CC/BC:

Subject: Send Help Quick

Hey Ma,

Happy 16^th Mother’s Day in heaven. I sure do miss you. I know I haven’t emailed in a while, but it’s high time I did so. Things are crazy down here. We’ve got a global pandemic going on. And, I need your help.  

Before I fill you in, let me update you on the fam. Dad is still the king of Carmel (and its weekly newspaper). He lives on a forested hilltop, surrounded by deer, gardens of flowers, and the sweet companionship of a lovely lady who keeps him in check. She also prevents him from going out in shorts and knee-high dress socks. So we’re very thankful for her.

Christy is still in Monterey. She’s a superhero OR nurse and a hall-of-fame mom. She’s a quiet, humble expert in just about everything, from antiques to home remodeling. She’s like a sister-Siri. I can call her and ask her anything and she’ll have a helpful answer for me. (I can explain Siri later if you need me to). 

Jenny and her family moved out to Murrieta a few years ago. I miss that she’s not around the corner. She too is rocking her nurse’s cape and has taken her spot alongside Christy in the motherhood hall of fame. She’s also working her way up the multi-level marketing pyramid. She does it with grace, laughter, and a contagious amount of positivity. I can’t wait to see her at the top very soon. She’s a natural and must have been paying close attention whenever you tried the latest home-based sales program.

Ok, so like I said, it’s a tad wild down here. A weird virus came out of China and has quickly made its way to every corner of the globe. Basically, the whole planet has shut down. Over a million Americans have been infected and nearly 80,000 have died. The U.S. economy is below rock bottom and unemployment is sky high. We’ve been quarantined at home for nearly two months. Just about everything is closed. Schools, restaurants, and churches are empty. All the pro sports leagues are on sabbatical. Mom, I need baseball big time.

It’s a very unsettling and confusing time and is definitely unlike anything that I’ve ever seen. It’s now being called a “hinge” moment in history, like the Great Depression or 9/11. Not since 1918 has the world experienced a pandemic of this magnitude. Parts of the country are starting to re-open. But some people think it’s too early to do so, while others believe we shouldn’t have closed down as strictly as we did. It’s just so hard to know what’s going to happen. By some reports, it could be 18 to 24 months before we return to normal. Or a second wave of outbreaks might be around the corner. I’m not sure our country can handle either one.

You see, over the last few years the United States has grown increasingly divided. We are polarized politically and it’s driving people away from one another, within families, within churches, and across the country. People are restless and tired of sheltering in place. Tensions are high, the news media isn’t trustworthy, political correctness is out of control, and politicians are fallible (at their best). Protesting has become the new national pastime. Not that speaking out against injustice is a bad thing. I’m all for the first amendment, but it just seems to be getting out of control and often misguided. Protesting racial prejudice is good. Protesting beach closures seems selfish. And this Coronavirus is fueling the fire. I’m afraid something devastatingly violent is going to happen.

I was hoping and praying that a silver lining to this pandemic would be a unifying and a healing of our nation. That we’d become more unified as a people or that maybe God would bring about some kind of spiritual revival. That more people would do less looking out for themselves and do more looking up to heaven for help. Of course there’s still time, as I said, we might have 18 more months for God to ignite change.

So this is where you come in. Can you pull some strings, maybe get some one-on-one time with Yahweh, and possibly ask him to help us out down here? We really need this pandemic to peter out so everybody can go back to work. We’re desperate for some good news to quell the pressure that seems to be gripping the nation. Oh and of course, some extra helpings of the Holy Spirit would go a long way in turning more hearts toward heaven.

I know this is a big ask, but I’m not requesting this for myself. Personally, I’m doing really well. I’m diligently trying to keep the current batch of third graders engaged and active while teaching from home. And I’m privileged to quarantine with the most wonderful wife and mom. She loves me so well and I thoroughly adore spending our sheltered time together. Like Christy and Jenny, she too is a gold-medal winning mom. She’s is the epitome of patience with her kids. She’s full of wisdom, strength, and gentleness. She’s rarely frustrated and always unflappable. It’s almost as if someone up there knew exactly what I needed.

You always knew exactly what I needed when I was a kid, so I’m guessing you may have had something to do with bringing Beautiful Karla into my life. 

I’m going to keep praying for the aforementioned requests. I’m not sure how it works where you are, but please do whatever it takes to talk to Abba Father. Set an appointment, grab coffee, invite him over, or take a walk together. 

The world, our country, and our leaders need a lot of help.

And He’s the only one who knows exactly what we need. 

I Miss Baseball, Medically Speaking

The coronavirus-induced 41-state lockdown has us all longing for activities from our once normal life. I miss my friends and seeing family members. My toes and hairline miss both my pedicurist and my barber respectively. But what I really miss is baseball. Like clockwork, the end of March Madness brings April Fondness for the resumption of my first true love. Covid-19 has successfully stolen baseball from me like the Grinch who tried to steal Christmas. I always welcome Opening Day by marinating in my Baseball Dictionary. Each season brings a new collection of thematic baseball words and phrases. I’ve written about foods and animals, as well as geographical, spiritual, political, and romantic terms. And this season, with baseball in quarantine, what could be more appropriate than a compilation of medical and global pandemic baseball terms. Here goes:

A is for Aspirin:

The ball thrown by a fastball pitcher, in which it appears smaller than it is. Along with Advil, what not to take if you have coronavirus-like symptoms. Tylenol is recommended.

B is for Bleacheritis:

The name of a mock disease for the deteriorated physical conditioning of those who have given up active participation in athletics and become spectators. Every time I think I’ve kicked my case of bleacheritis I end up pulling a hip-flexor muscle playing slow-pitch softball.

C is for Chinese Blow:

A lucky hit; a fluke hit. Or the unfortunate impact of the coronavirus on the world.

D is for Doctoring:

Gaining an edge illegally by making the ball move erratically after it has been pitched. Also what the superhero physicians and nurses are doing to combat the coronavirus in the hospitals and medical centers day in and day out.

E is for Ear Syphilis:

A condition in which an umpire is overly sensitive to comments from players and fans and allows his performance to be affected. Or the condition affecting the people who refuse to listen to the shelter at home and social distancing guidelines. 

F is for Filthy: 

Said of a pitch that features a combination of speed, movement, and location that makes it unhittable. The speed in which Covid-19 has moved to nearly every location in the world makes it a truly filthy virus.

G is for Glove and a Prayer:

The assets of an ineffective pitcher. Also the only remaining tools of medical workers during the hospital-mask shortage.

H is for Hospital Throw:

A throw by an infielder to another that leaves the latter exposed to injury by a sliding or charging base runner. Also, the method used by doctors and nurses to share their under-supplied face masks.

I is for In the Neighborhood:

Said of a fielder who is close enough to touch a base. Or the only place Beautiful Karla and I can walk while the beaches and hiking trails are currently closed. 

J is for June Bug:

A rookie who is sent back down to the minor leagues by early summer. Or what we might be faced with if the virus isn’t eradicated by the end of May.

K is for Kill the Rally:

To end a scoring opportunity, such as by making the third out with the bases loaded. Or what the virus has done to President Trump’s and Joe Biden’s campaign gatherings. 

L is for Loaf Season:

A sarcastic term for the off-season. People around the country are using this time to learn new hobbies or skills. I’ve taken up yoga and in the truest sense of the term, bread baking.

M is for Mask Work:

The catcher’s duties. And what is now everyone’s practice when leaving home for groceries or errands.

N is for “No Catch”:

The plate umpire’s call when the pitch is in the dirt on strike three. Or what all who don’t acquire the virus will proclaim at the end of this predicament.

O is Official Distance:

Any field measurement stipulated by the official rules of the game; e.g., the distance between the bases is 90 feet. Six feet is the only official distance we care about right now. 

P is for Poisoned Bat:

The bat held by a hard hitter. Also what someone in China ate that started this whole mess.

R is for Ryanitis:

A mock disease that mysteriously struck hitters on the day they were scheduled to face all-time strikeout leader Nolan Ryan. Synonymous with Mr. Gervaseitis which is what my students have when they “forget” to open their google classroom while distance learning.

 

Nolan Ryan

Steve Sax Disease:

The sudden inability for a fielder to make routine throws. Named for the LA Dodgers’ second baseman who became plagued by wild throws. Or what doctors and nurses experience when their hospital throws are off target.

Steve Sax

T is for Two-Way Player:

A player who is proficient on both offense and defense; i.e. the Angels Shohei Ohtani. See also moms and dads trying to work from home and lead their kids through their schoolwork. 

Shohei Ohtani

U is for Untouchable:

Said of a player who would not be considered for a trade to another team. Also the feelings of someone with ear syphilis regarding their chances of catching the coronavirus.

V is for Velocity:

The speed of a pitch; that which determines a good fastball. The coronavirus’ velocity to circle the globe is equal to Nolan Ryan’s best fastball. 

W is for Wait ‘Til Next Year:

The plaintive mantra of fans whose team has once again fallen short of expectations. Also what many parents are telling their children regarding summer travel and vacations. 

Y is for Yard Work:

A home run. Also, along with Honors Chores and AP Cooking, what a lot of kids are studying during the quarantine.

Z is for Zip:

To shut out, i.e. Tigers Zip Yankees in 10 Innings, 1-0. Or to move quickly: The pitcher made his fastball zip across the plate. Also what the government is recommending us to do away from home. See also Nada, Zero, and Zilch.

Stay safe and stay healthy my friends.