Regular Life

When Ben was 1.5 years old, the only TV shows he watched were “Sesame Street” and the Baby Einstein videos (not “Little Einsteins,” which is totally different).

Shannon found a talking Elmo that allowed the parent to customize it with the child’s name. Working within a web browser, she carefully typed in his first name, and soon the “He Knows Your Name” Elmo was on its way. We couldn’t wait to see Benjamin react to hearing Elmo address him directly.

When we got it and squeezed Elmo’s little red hand, however, it seemed he was talking to someone else entirely. Without hesitation, I grabbed my video camera.

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“They’re down there with swords and shields having battles! It’s great!” said Z, between labored breaths. He had run much of the way home.

“Are they still doing it right now?” I asked.

“Yeah!” Z said.

“Well, let’s go,” I said.

I grabbed my keys and my two camera bags and headed out to the car. Z, his brother, and two of their cousins bounded down the front porch stairs behind me and squished across the soggy lawn. Packed like sardines into the in-laws’ Hyundai Elantra, we made our way the few blocks to the park.

I had never seen anything like it.

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Ben poses in uniform before the game.

And then he cuts up a little.

(click any pic to enlarge)

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In my fourth grade Social Studies class, our assignment was to choose a vacation destination and calculate the time and money required to make the trip.

My first step was to write a letter to the area’s Chamber of Commerce requesting information. I crafted a business letter under my teacher’s careful direction, sealed it inside an envelope, pressed on a freshly licked 15-cent stamp, and mailed it off with giddy anticipation.

I was thrilled when the bulging mailer arrived, chock full of information about a place so distant and distinctive that it seemed like a dream. There were full-color brochures featuring locales I had seen only in black-and-white library book pages. I collected the dollar figures for gas, food, and lodging. I carried the one, the two, and whatever else I needed to come up with a total.

I imagine how much different this would be for today’s fourth grade children. Although from top to bottom my methods now seem antiquated, I knew exactly how long it would take and how much it would cost to go there and back.

Twenty-six years later, I’ve never been.

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See other Wordless Wednesday participants at http://www.wordlesswednesday.com/.

I dusted off the seat and knocked the spider egg sacs out of the spokes. It was Ride Your Bike to Work Week, and I was going to join the fray.

My physical conditioning, it turns out, was not up to the task.

Later that day, after I leaned my bike against a tree to make the short walk to the office door, part of me hoped it would get stolen so I wouldn’t have to ride it again. The other part knows I can’t afford another bike, and on the outside chance I’ll want to ride it in another couple years or so, I might need it.

I’m starting to think the same about our our minivan.

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Saturday’s post at One Wink at a Time inspired me to finally use two pictures I’ve been holding for future use. Her post reminded me so much of something I would have written when we lived in Bella Vista, Arkansas that I just had to share these.

The following pictures are deck views from the house where Ben lived his first year. I bet you can guess which is from Autumn and which is from Winter.

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I have one fond childhood memory of baseball, and it’s all thanks to my father. More on that in a minute.

Now that my son is on a tee ball team, I’m reminded of the one season I played baseball. I still maintain that I would have had a more positive experience had I started in tee ball like most of my teammates. There I was, at age 9, with boys age 11 firing the ball at me. I decided it just wasn’t for me, and with one baseball talent already under the roof, there was no pressure for me to keep playing.

I’m a coordinated guy, and I hit the ball well in practice. As a youngster and a beginner, however, I didn’t get to play in games much (this was before all the feel-goodery kept everybody in the regular batting lineup). I managed to touch bat to ball only once.

I dropped the bat and ran as fast as I could toward first, the ball blazing a trail for me.

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What makes the background (and part of the subject) so fuzzy in this picture?

In this, the second in my sporadic photography how-to series, I’m discussing depth of field. This is useful for those using point-and-shoot cameras as well as SLR (single lens reflex) models. Almost every digital camera sold allows some degree of control over settings, and getting a handle on depth of field is a quick, easy way to make your photos stand out on purpose instead of accidentally. (If you don’t care a thing about this, then don’t worry, there are several pictures to see.)

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