I’m re-blogging one of Ned’s pieces because he’s funnier than me. Ergo, please read this, laugh, then follow his blog, buy his book and together – we can make him a very rich man. He’ll then buy the island next to Johnny Depp’s and only discover upon washing up on its shores that, because it’s only three inches above sea-level, it’s not possible to have Internet service. Then I shall have the last laugh. Bwahaha.
(Sooner or later we all start having flashbacks. Mine just so happen to occur Sunday mornings. That’s becauseFlashback Sundaysis when I reach back — way, way, waaayyy back — and pull something from the distant past which, hopefully, isn’t a muscle…)
Ned Hickson photo/Siuslaw News Walking through my town’s small baseball park the other morning, I was struck by a bit of nostalgia. This was unexpected, considering what I’m usually struck by when the Cedar Company bird squadron begins its morning maneuvers. With spring approaching, first-year tee-ballers were scattered around the field with their fathers, who were imparting basic hitting and fielding fundamentals, baserunning technique, and clarifying that running home didn’t mean crossing the highway alone.
Watching this, I was reminded of working with my oldest daughter in preparation for her first season of tee-ball
five eight ten not long ago. As you’d expect, we bought…
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