Midwestern Meditations

There's nothing better than getting away for a few days. It doesn't even matter how far you go, as long as you're not in your own home with your never-ending to do list in plain sight. I swear I become a different person. Almost pleasant to be around. It's delightful!

Summer presents the most opportunities for these bits of respite from reality. In the past couple months, I've enjoyed an overnight to Cape May with my family; a visit with my parents, sister and nephew near Barnegat Bay; and most recently, I traveled to Minneapolis with my husband for the MLB All Star Game. On this little jaunt I made several observations that I'd like to share with you. This top 10 list isn't particularly meaty (except for the steak and BBQ) or deep, but it's all I've got time for. Seems these little getaways get in the way of getting stuff done and now I'm behind in my job, my home life, my volunteer obligations, yada, yada, yada. The good news is that I actually have a couple of ideas for more substantial posts in the near future. So you have that to look forward to. I seriously hope, however, that you have more to look forward to than a blog post. But I digress. Without further ado, here are the Top 10 Things I Learned on My Summer Vacation (in no particular order).

1. Pepsi, popcorn, donuts and beer can bring a person to their knees. Literally.
   
2. You can't help but feel a tremendous sense of pride and patriotism when six U.S. Air Force Thunderbird jets do a flyover in a flat delta formation at about 400 mph just as Idina Menzel hits the final note of the national anthem.
3. Somewhere over the rainbow, skies, indeed, are blue.
4. Some people over-pack clothes when they travel. I over-pack reading material (and never have enough clothes).
5. You hear some memorable stuff when you visit new places, like "Can you pass me my cheese curds? I left them under your seat."
6. Money can't buy you love, but it can buy you one hell of a steak. 
7. People in Minnesota are just nice. TSA folks in the airport there actually appeared to like their jobs. Just can't imagine seeing that in the City of so-called Brotherly Love. 
8. Every state believes it's the master of BBQ.  
9. I don't know what it is, but elderly black men have some of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. I saw Hank Aaron at a pre-game event over the weekend, and his distinguished face reminded me of the Rev. Dr. Gardner C. Taylor, one of the greatest elder statesmen (96!) of the black church (and a Judson Press author).  

   

   Mr. Hank Aaron

   

   Rev. Dr. Gardner C. Taylor
10. It's awesome to see people you love as others see them. Over the weekend, I was able to watch my husband in his element, associating with colleagues from around the MLB. He's the same friendly, intelligent, engaging, real, humorous and well-respected guy I fell in love with. Now if only he could return to proper form at home. Ha! 

Here's hoping that wherever your travels take you this summer, you come home with your own top 10 list! And how about sharing it?

Now That Was a Trip!

Last Monday Rob, Abby, her friend Bethany and I set out on a road trip to Pittsburgh. Despite state cops as thick as mosquitoes on the turnpike and my nagging Rob incessantly about watching his speed, the drive across the state was blissfully uneventful. We even made our way out of the seedy side of town without getting shot (I guess those pops could have been fireworks) when my GPS took us to the wrong Penn Ave. After arriving at the Westin downtown, we locked the girls in the hotel room and headed to the bar where we found a few of the Phillies broadcasters. I felt very special when Larry Anderson bought us each a beer. I left Rob there, returned to the room, and crawled into my Westin heavenly bed, thinking that this road trip was looking promising indeed. The girls sleeping until 10:30 the next morning didn't even faze me.

But this is a Freakin' Angel blog post, so you've learned to anticipate the drama.

Sure enough, on Tuesday morning after our sleeping beauties decided to grace the world with their presence, we started the long search for breakfast. It could have been quick and painless, but Rob has a stubborn streak and so we covered a mile of the Strip, tripping over vegetable stands and Korean food, tiptoeing past Pirates paraphernalia, and avoiding stuff that smelled bad. It was after 11:30 by the time we found anything resembling an eatery, and naturally Abby insisted she only wanted breakfast food. Did I mention that the girls were wearing flip flops and not happy about their choice of footwear after walking forever? By the time we selected an acceptable spot, Abby was beyond miserable. Which pissed me off. Which made poor Bethany look as if she wanted to cry, wondering why in the world she had subjected herself to a long-distance road trip with crazy people.

Abby whined that she wanted to do something fun. Like go to the beach. Which she knew damn well didn't exist in Pittsburgh. I asked her why she came along on the trip she asked me if she had a choice. Good point. I thought she was being an ungrateful brat for failing to appreciate that she was on a "fun" road trip to see the Phillies play in another city. Apparently baseball games, regardless of the city, are not worth a five hour drive and two mile flip-flop walk for a bagel. Turns out a side visit to Beaver, PA, a tour of Mark Boyd's church, and a visit with my college roommate Kathie wasn't the fun Abby had in mind either.

Thank goodness for the freaky people.

When we'd left the hotel on Tuesday morning, we noticed a handful of odd folks. "Odd" as in wearing tails. And not the kind that go with a tuxedo. There was one individual dressed in full "critter" gear. But at that point we only had eyes for breakfast and didn't pay much attention. Later that afternoon, after our Beaver visit, we returned to the hotel before heading to the Phillies game and found the critters had multiplied exponentially. Some had only furry heads. Others preferred tails or similarly inhuman bottom halves. A dozen or so sported a complete look, most appearing to belong to the feline category, though I spotted a few bears and foxes and others that defied classification. Abby, having become increasingly brazen in recent months, decided to do a little research by going directly to the source:

Abby: "Why are you wearing a tail?"
Fox (clearly uncomfortable being spoken to by an actual human): "Because I'm a fox." (He shows her his fox badge.)
Abby: "Is there something going on? Some kind of event?"
Fox: "Anthrocon."

Anthrocon, according to the event website, is the world's largest convention for those fascinated with anthropomorphics, which are humanlike animal characters. They claim these folks are "a collection of artists, animators, writers, costumers, puppeteers, and just everyday fans who enjoy cartoon animals and their kin." And you'll be happy to know that membership is open to any and all who "like to imagine what it would be like if animals could walk and talk as we do." Where do I sign up?

You'd like to think that there are no more than a few hundred belonging to the "Furry fandom," but if attendance at Anthrocon is any indication, we're talking thousands. More than 5,000 attended last year's event alone, pumping millions into Pittsburgh's economy. It makes sense that hosting the convention should be profitable for a city - even worth the freak show. You have to figure these people spend very little money in real life. Remaining single and living in your parent's basement keeps expenses low. Sorry, that's conjecture. I have no proof that these folks are less likely to marry or lead typical American lives. Actually, as evidenced in this group hug photo, it's clear that they are friendly creatures:

Some were nice enough to wave to us. They seem much more comfortable if their heads are covered. But hey, who isn't? 

I took a few more photos of our furry friends, but not without hesitation. I honestly struggled with whether it was "right" to photograph them for being "different." These were just everyday folks who happened to be in touch with their animal side. Don't they deserve their privacy? Would I want to be photographed for appearing to be strange slightly unusual? I'm actually serious about this. In fact, in my next post I'm going to consider when and where our differences make it acceptable for us to be the subject of blog posts and photo opps. And I'm going to tie it in to bikinis and the Amish. So for now, please enjoy these pictures before I decide they're inappropriate:

When Dropping the Ball

Spring training is in full swing. For some reason, I'm more excited about this Phillies season than any other, possibly because I'm seeking redemption for the abrupt and heartbreaking end of 2011. That spectacular collapse, along with the game-costing blunders of the more recent NFL playoffs and Super Bowl, have caused me to wonder:

• When a team doesn't meet expectations, does the blame gets passed around?
• And how does the individual player handle their mistakes?

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We all know Giselle Bundchen was happy to give the finger point the finger at Wes Welker when he dropped that perfectly thrown pass from her man, effectively losing the Super Bowl for the Patriots. But how did Wes feel? (Besides generally shitty?) Do professional athletes take it as hard or harder than the rest of us when we let down our friends or team? I know fear of disappointing teammates is a major stumbling block for Abby, and it basically squelched any desire Ian ever had to play sports (along with his general lack of athleticism). So how do you deal with it as a professional when your salary and the stakes are so high?

I'm sure it's bad enough to literally or figuratively drop the ball, but there also must be unwritten rules for how you respond. I'm assuming your teammates want to know you're sufficiently crestfallen and heartbroken, but I imagine collapsing into a heap of sobs is not particularly appropriate. I wonder, too, does one apologize at the professional level? And if you do apologize, how do you expect your teammates to react? Do they tell you that you suck and that you totally let them down or is that just what they're thinking? Do they pretend they don't know you? Is there some form of retaliation involving shaving cream or tire slashing, or could they possibly pat you on the back and say, "You'll get 'em next time, Tiger."?

Without question, it takes a certain kind of person to play the role of prospective hero or fall guy. I, for one, cannot imagine being in a less desirable position. The game is on the line and my kick, catch, pitch, or hit may make the difference between victory or defeat? Um, no thanks. Clearly these pros are much stronger than we mere mortals.

Having never played team sports in my life, I'd love some feedback from those of you who have.

• What are the unwritten reaction rules for messing up?
• Does someone teach you how to respond when a teammate lets you down? If so, what do you learn?
• Do you think the rules change as you progress from Little League and Pee Wee to high school, college, and the pros, or does sportsmanship remain the same regardless of how high the stakes?

Weigh in!

10 Things You'll Never Hear at Citizens Bank Park

As we prepare for October baseball, I am fairly certain you will never hear these words uttered at a home Phillies game:

1. I sure wish they’d stop showing busty chicks on Fanavision.
2. The food at the ballpark is a bargain!
3. I hear Hunter Pence is a moron Mormon.
4. We'd be in great shape if we only had some quality pitchers.
5. That Freakin’ Angel Kim sure does get lousy seats.
6. The Phanatic is the dumbest mascot ever.
7. It's incredibly annoying when the Liberty Bell lights up and rings.
8. I can’t believe we have to sit through another post season.
9. I feel bad for the Mets.
10. This winning thing is getting old.

Let's Go, Phillies! See you at the Park.

How to Make the Short List for Kim's Phillies Tickets

On Wednesday, the Phillies begin their fourth straight trip to the playoffs. We're getting spoiled here in Philadelphia, but enjoying every minute of it. Well, maybe not every minute, particularly if you're my husband. As many of you know, my husband, Greg Dobbs Rob, works for the team. And if the request for tickets is steady during the regular season, you can imagine what he goes through come October.

As the wife of the guy who works for the Phillies, I get a fair number of ticket requests myself, most of which I laugh off with a good natured, "you wish." The challenge for me actually, is in deciding who I want to accompany me to these precious post season games. Believe it or not, careful consideration needs to be given to selecting the right phan for the job.

This point was driven home for me when my husband told me of a coworker who is currently at the Ryder Cup in Newport, Wales. She had been invited by a friend who was attending as a client of one of the Cup sponsors and was able to bring a guest. The problem is that this woman hates golf. She actually asked if they had to stay till Sunday...the day of the final matches. Yes, you have to stay for that. To say this is a tragic waste of a Ryder Cup ticket is an understatement. It should go without saying that when selecting a friend to accompany you to any major sporting event, that friend should be a fan of the sport involved.

In addition to selecting your guest based on their fan status, here are some additional considerations for who makes the cut:

• Is this person a true friend or family member? Frankly, I'm never going to be willing to give my extra ticket to the roofer or the dry cleaner. Please don't ask.
• Does this person regularly ask you for tickets? They're out. I'm way more inclined to offer my ticket to a friend who has never once asked for tickets because they don't want to be rude. This way I feel like the good fairy when I make the call to invite them along.
• Do you have a good time with this person? I once invited Freakin' Angel Karen to a playoff game and she organized the all-important tailgating complete with beer and cheesesteaks before the game. No one before or since has suggested tailgating. Shame on the rest of you!
• Is this person well-off financially? Then buy tickets, you cheapskate! Kidding. But seriously, back to the good fairy thing, if I can invite a friend who I know would have to choose between eating dinner for a week or going to a playoff game, they're more likely to get the call. This consideration has definitely benefited friends like our Children's Ministry director at church. 
• Can I expect undying love, devotion, and appreciation from this person?. If I take you to a playoff game, I expect non-stop thanks and gushing love and admiration. Buying me a beer, soda, or popcorn is never a bad idea either. After all, even the good fairy gets hungry and thirsty.
• Does this person know the sport? Being a fan is essential, but actually understanding the game is worth bonus points. 

On Wednesday I will be accompanied to the first NLDS game by Mr. Hugh Poland. My friends and family members are wondering "who the heck is Hugh Poland and how did he make the cut?" Well, Hugh is a Judson Press author whom I would also consider to be a friend. He's one of the most likeable guys you ever want to meet, plus he meets the requirements above almost to a T.

1. Hugh is a huge baseball fan. He wrote two of our best selling (and my favorite) Judson Press books, Steal Away and Intentional Walk, both volumes of devotions for baseball fans.
2. Being from Texas, Hugh never asks me for tickets to Phillies games. I, however, have routinely asked him to come to Philadelphia so I could take him to a game. He is in town this week for a conference in Lancaster. Talk about good timing!
3. I have enjoyed Hugh's company at Christian retailing events. If you can enjoy someone's company in an exhibit hall, you're probably in good shape for a sporting event.
4. Hugh is a church musician. I doubt he's drowning in dough.
5. I'm just guessing here, but yes, I think Hugh will appreciate this opportunity. 
6. Does he know the sport? Hugh is a member of the Society for American Baseball and he wrote two books filled with stories from the game. I think he knows the nuances.

So there you have it. The way to Kim's heart and playoff tickets. I expect I'll receive some creative comments from this post, all finding a way to let me know you're an underpaid, highly appreciative individual who has read every book there is on the topic of baseball and who bleeds red and white...

Go Phils!

Game Over

Ian quit baseball yesterday. Rob wasn't happy. In fact, when I started to write this post, Rob was simmering with quiet anger. He has now settled into a state of quiet disappointment. I think Rob was almost as upset with me as he was with Ian, since I enabled the quitting.

The way baseball season has worked this year is that Rob talks to Ian the morning of or night before a game, gets him to commit to that particular game, and then leaves it up to me to get him to the ballpark when required. Ian always responds the same way to my attempts to get him out of the house at the given time: "I'm not going." I express my frustration and disappointment in the nicest possible terms. I tell him his father is going to be very upset with him. I ask him why he agreed to go when his dad talked to him about it. And ultimately I resort to, "Call your father. I'm not getting in the middle of this."

Yesterday morning Rob assured me Ian was good to go for last night's game. He told me Ian was allowed to bow out after this game if he personally informed the coaches that this was it for him. I expressed my skepticism about this whole scenario, but prepared to give it the old college try come 5:00 p.m.

At 5:00, I ask Ian to get dressed for the game. "I'm not going." We go through the scenario described above, ending in "call your father," but this time we hit a road bump. We can't reach Rob on the phone. As it gets closer to game time, mom panics. Ian is too big to wrestle to the floor and force into his baseball pants and jersey. And there's no way I'm dragging him to the car and strapping him into his car seat seat belt, kicking and screaming. In some ways, many ways, the toddler years were simpler. At least then you could physically manipulate them as required. The increasing difficulty of parenting this tween is not good news for me because I thought the toddler years were hell. But I digress.

I was stuck with a kid who was already late for pre-game warm-ups and who was expected to play ball in about 20 minutes. I resorted to telling him that not only is his dad going to be pissed angry disappointed with him, but his team is too. Of course, since he believes he's the worst kid on the team and they'd be better off without him, Ian isn't buying this at all. In desperation, I tell him that if he's not going to suit up and play, we've got to go tell the coach, in person. This idea has no appeal to Ian either. "Can't we call or send an email?" Nope. I stand firm. If you're going to be a quitter, you're going to be a quitter with class.

I drive Ian to the ballpark where I ask the coach for a minute of his time. Ian can't bring himself to tell the coach of his decision, so I do the talking. The coach expresses his disappointment, but understands. Ian stands there looking slightly mortified. Game over.

Parenting in the Major League

My husband leaves for spring training this weekend. As a marketing/sales guy for the Phillies, he's in the unfortunate position of having to take clients to Clearwater where he's required to wine and dine them, hit the links, and of course, sit in the warm, Florida sunshine with a cold beer enjoying a few Phillies pre-season games. You can tell I harbor no resentment about this whatsoever.

In the midst of my harboring no resentment, I've been thinking about how there are a number of elements of baseball that I'd really like to see applied to parenting:

Spring training: Every year, for two months before your child gets out of school for the summer, you would head to Florida or Arizona to practice your parenting skills and maneuvers so you don't drop the ball or commit too many errors when overwhelmed by the all day, every day presence of your children for the next three months.

The off season: We think teachers have it good with summers off. How about professional athletes? Baseball has the longest season and that's still only six months. I think all parents should have an off season where you get to walk away from the madness, the constant demands, and the expectations. Just chill on a yacht or cruise around in your sports car for a few months. Yes, I do believe I'd be a much better parent if I had an off season.

Batting average: If you're batting .333, your team is pretty darn happy with you. You're destined for the All-Star game. The press is noticing your accomplishments. High fives and butt smacks all around. As a parent, what if I only make good decisions, deliver appropriate consequences, and say the right things one third of the time? Or what if I have three kids and only one of them isn't a total embarrassment? I think we should adopt major league standards for ourselves as parents. It would relieve so much pressure!

Salary  It should go without saying that we parents are seriously underpaid. Personally, I'm working with a salary cap of $0.00. I'd be willing to trade in my super cool mini van and frumpy mom clothes in exchange for a bump in pay. And I wouldn't even ask so much that it would require my home team to pay the luxury tax.


Let's hear it sports fans. What other elements of the game should be instituted for moms and dads?