Friday, March 31, 2017

Tetelestai

It is finally March 31st. I did it. We did it. The Slice of Life is finished.

When I began blogging on March 1st I was nervous. I like to keep my thoughts as my own, private thoughts. I still do. However, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I succeeded in blogging everyday for a month. I wish I could say I was excited every time I sat down to write, but like I wrote in my first blog, I gained perspective on how my students feel when I ask them to write and their minds are blank. For a month, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, stared at a computer screen (iPad or iPhone during Spring Break), and wished I had a pencil to be twirling around my fingers.

Sometimes my thoughts flowed freely, other times, especially once Spring Break started, I wanted to be doing anything but writing. Although I must admit, this March a lot happened, both joyous occasions and times of sorrow, and now I have all of those moments in writing to look back on in the future. But I have to say I am glad it is finished. I'm looking forward to a little more sleep. I'm looking forward to what the last 8 weeks of school will hold. I'm REALLY looking forward to MLB, more importantly the St. Louis Cardinals Opening Day, on Sunday. I'm looking forward to summer. I'm also looking forward to the Cardinals having Yadier Molina for at least the next 3 years (late last night they announced he signed an extension!).

For now though I will rejoice in being done. Tetelestai! It's the Greek word Jesus uses while on the cross, translating into English as, "it is finished!" In Bible college, we often used it when we completed big papers, ranging anywhere from 10-60 pages. Jesus meant it much deeper in the sense our sins are "paid in full." While I'm way more thankful for how Jesus meant it, and the hope it gives us, I'm going to go back to my Ozark days because I am excited to be finished. Until next year.

Tetelestai!

Thursday, March 30, 2017

White Board Art

Our first white board art.
While scrolling Instagram back in December I came across a high school art teacher in Kansas City, @mrsdrmorgan, who does white board art with her advisory crew. It was during the last week of school leading up to Christmas Break when I was pulling out all the teacher tools from my tool box. My students were getting restless, so I decided to be brave and try something new. I found one that I thought would be fun and the kids would enjoy. Plus, I never let my kids draw on my white board, so I knew they would like me actually letting them for a change.

The first one was simple and didn't require much artistic ability on my end. It allowed me to gauge how well they could handle using my markers and white board. I told them only 3-4 people at the board at a time and if you don't come to the board until you have an idea of what you are drawing. The first 20-30 minutes of the day we spend silent reading, so they also enjoy getting to take a break from reading.

After the first one went so well, I decided to be brave. I've always enjoyed arts and crafts, but hadn't taken an art class since 8th grade. I also don't have a ton of confidence, or if I'm being completely honest, courage, in showing my artwork to the world. Drawing is therapeutic to me, but something I preferred to keep private, but when it comes to kids, I'm a little more willing and courageous. Coming back from break, I changed it up a bit, and now a lot of the board work requires them to write instead of draw. Again I was nervous about how they would feel about me making them write, but they still enjoyed it. I always answer the questions, too, so they get to learn more about me as well.

Now, several white board artworks later, my kids ask me when we get to do another one, which makes my teacher heart happy. Sometimes I still come up with something for them to draw, because I want them to use the creative part of their brain. Regardless, I have loved getting to know my students more based on their responses to the white board art. I also like that they have become more comfortable with it, and their answers are becoming more unique and resembling their personality.

Before Spring Break, when kids were once again getting restless, I did a series throughout the week. It was also the week the live Beauty and the Beast was released in theaters, so it seemed appropriate.





Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Praying for Skunk

I wish I always prayed with the same innocence I had when I was a kid. When I was around 5 I decided I wanted a cat. My parents said not right now. I don't really remember what I thought or felt when they said that, but apparently I thought I needed to take my request higher up. Every night when my parents tucked me in, my mom would say bedtime prayers with my sister and me. After they told me no to a cat, my bedtime prayers went something like this, "Dear God, thank you for today. Thank you for mommy, daddy, and Jessie. Please be with Granny and Papa, Gramy and George. And God, can I please have a cat? Amen."

I'm sure my mom and dad had a good chuckle about my prayer. Eventually, after 6 months of me praying for a cat, my mom told me ever so gently, "Cait, you don't have to keep praying for a cat. We aren't going to get one right now."

As any stubborn 5 year old would, I continued to pray. Again, I don't remember what I thought or felt, but obviously I believed God could override even my parents wishes. My mom and dad must have decided to give up the fight and just let me keep praying. Every night, my prayer was the same, asking God for a cat.

Finally, approximately another 6 months later, my sister and I were outside playing. We live out in the country, and from back in the woods, a cat came walking into our backyard. My parents were outside, too, and saw it. They thought it was probably a distant neighbors' cat out wandering. If he was, he lost his way home. We had Skunk (he was black and white, so naturally I named him Skunk) for 3 more years. He blessed us with his wild wifey, who blessed us with 3 litters of kittens. From those litters we kept Nala, Simba, and Batgirl. Batgirl and Simba provided us with Blackie. (I was a very creative pet namer...).

My family looks back and laughs at the story. I appreciate God's sense of humor. Surely He laughed when my mom told me I could stop praying for a cat. I know to this day my mom laughs when she remembers telling me to stop praying. I wish as an adult I had the same stubbornness in my prayers I did as a child. Sometimes I do, because I like to be overly optimistic, so occasionally my childhood stubbornness finds its way back in. Then life happens and God says no or not right now. I'm left wishing He would have said yes. My optimism eventually creeps back over me and I know deep down, when God says no it's because He has a plan. However, I wish I was still stubborn enough to pray for a cat everyday for a year.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Less Than Perfect

Sometimes I am a perfectionist, or maybe just controlling. I like to have things a certain way. Such as when writing my blog, I spend way more time on it than need be. I am meticulous. I analyze every word making sure I haven't overused the same word too many times. I preview what I've written a zillion times before finally, somewhat dreadfully hitting publish. I am always certain I must have done something wrong, whether it be incorrect grammar or the format of the page or placement of the pictures. I am even more conscientious than normal especially since it is on the web for anyone to see.

During Spring Break, I had to be content with being less than perfect. It seemed to be the lesson God was hitting me in the face with the entire week. I didn't want to be worrying about what I was going to blog each day, I wanted to be fully present with my friends in Arizona. So I settled with being less than perfect. I wrote everyday, I tried to make them meaningful, but I didn't ponder over every minute detail. I also settled for not being the first or second blogger everyday. Again, I decided being all there was more important to me.

Back in Missouri, Sunday I went to church with my parents, the church I grew up attending in Versailles. It seemed to follow my Spring Break lesson God was teaching me of being less than perfect. A few weeks ago, a pipe in a water fountain burst, flooding half the church. The congregation had been meeting in a community center the past 3 weeks, but Sunday they were cleared to meet in our church. As I sat in the sanctuary I observed. The normal church pews had been moved while repairs are made, so we sat in white plastic chairs. The carpet was gone, leaving the floor bare until new carpet is installed. The bare floor made the music and preaching echo off the floor, filling the room with extra vibration. Church on Sunday was less than perfect, but our hearts were in the right place, praising and worshipping God. As I sat in church on Sunday I reflected on being less than perfect, and contemplated writing a blog about it, but was afraid of being too vulnerable.

Later Sunday evening, I was driving my 3 hours back to Webb City. I stopped at my usual gas station on the corner in Lebanon, MO. I had just sat down in my car to leave when Alicia Zornes name appeared on my cell phone. In a few short minutes, I knew coming back to school from Spring Break was going to be far less than perfect. Trying to comprehend the loss of Mr. Kevin myself was hard enough, imagining telling 23 kids the news Monday morning was beyond what words could describe. I was thankful when Alicia and Karen decided what we needed most Monday morning was their prayer over us. I was thankful when they stepped out of "principal" mode and demonstrated in our staff meeting that a less than perfect Monday was completely acceptable, as they themselves shed tears over the loss of a beloved family member to our school.

I don't like crying in front of students, so I don't allow myself. For various reasons, I've choked back numerous tears while teaching this year. But Monday, I let the tears fall. I opened myself to being vulnerable to my students, because Monday was less than perfect and my students didn't need perfection, they needed human. As my students cried, some of them wrote their feelings. One in particular stood out, "Mr. Kevin won't be remembered as a janitor, but a friend. He made unwanted kids feel welcome." Mr. Kevin made each and every one of our less than perfect students feel important and special. From what I can tell, and from personal encounters, Mr. Kevin made each administrator, teacher, and staff member feel loved and brought joy into every room he entered. In a life where I strive for perfection and control, I'm learning it's okay to sometimes be less than perfect.

Monday, March 27, 2017

1,800 Seconds

Half an hour. 30 minutes. 1,800 seconds. There are a lot of things that can be done in 30 minutes or less. Baking a cake, watching an episode of Petticoat Junction or the Andy Griffith Show, a lunch break, if the clock didn't stop 2 quarters of an NFL game, an average 5k run time, the list could go on and on. Sometimes 30 minutes passes by quickly, other times it seems to drag on and last eternity.

As if telling my best friend goodbye wasn't sad enough, the 30 minutes directly following, I spent in sheer panic. The traffic had backed us up getting to the airport, so by the time I arrived inside I had 45 minutes to get to my gate. I took a deep breath and convinced myself everything would be just fine. I printed my ticket and got in the short line to check-in my bag. I handed my newly printed ticket to the lady at the counter and she quickly replied, "you have to check your bags 45 minutes before your flight, it's now 38 minutes."

I'd love to see the look on my face as she told me that. I do know the thoughts in my head, "SRSLY?!" I so badly wanted to play the, "my best friend just had a baby, got released from the hospital at 12:30, and we rushed across Phoenix for them to get me here" card, but my parents raised me better. Instead, I opted for asking what my other options were.

They were: 1. Take the next flight to St. Louis 24 hours from now or 2. Leave your luggage here with someone and take your flight. My thoughts: 1. I don't want to sleep in the airport or make my friends come back to get me. My parents are already driving to St. Louis. I don't want them to have to get a hotel, because I was 7 minutes late. 2. Does it look like I have a multitude of friends surrounding me waiting to keep my luggage in Phoenix?

Once again, I opted to keep my thoughts in my head and asked if she was sure there was no way I could get my bag with me on this flight. After 5 more minutes of debate, I came up with the idea, maybe it could somehow appear small enough to be a carry-on bag. That idea must have struck a chord with her, because she tagged my bag, reminded me any liquids over 3 ounces would have to be disposed, and said now run. Running is exactly what I did, at least as fast as humanly possible with a large suitcase in hand while going up an escalator.

Security was equally as pleasant as my encounter at check-in. To my surprise, ALL of my liquids passed! The best news I had heard in the past 15 minutes. I quickly slipped my sandals back on, grabbed my suitcase and purse, and ran for my gate. Thankfully I could tell the line was still long, so I wasn't going to miss my flight. I waited my turn in line, got my ticket scanned, and the lady told me I'd have to wait until everyone boarded to see if they had room for my bag. This is when I went into meltdown mode. I had made it this far, surely I couldn't get turned away now! I waited. I teared up. I waited some more. FINALLY, the line was through. The check-in lady informed me she had gotten word that my luggage would fit, I could board. Whew. I was saved.

Half an hour. 30 minutes. 1,800 seconds. When watching Andy Griffith or Petticoat Junction, those 30 minutes go by much faster and way, way, way more pleasant than the half hour I had just experienced at the airport. But much like the ending to most 30 minute sitcoms, all was well at the end of the day, and my little meltdown left me feeling quite silly.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Same Post, Different Day

Once again, I'm admitting defeat. Today was the last day I had in Eldon before driving back for school tomorrow. Sunday's at my parents are a busy day of rest. During the school year when I visit, they typically look the same way. Breakfast, church, eat out for lunch, go home, play with our 2 beagles, chill/hangout with my parents briefly, pack, load car, visit my Gramy, drive 3 hours, unload car, unpack necessities for the morning, get ready for Monday, and finally go to bed. Today was no different. I enjoyed my last day before Spring Break comes to an end tomorrow and I soaked in as much family time as possible before driving back tonight. Tomorrow, my regular routine will return and there will be more time to set aside for blogging. But for today, once again I'm keeping my blog short, sweet, and to the point.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Family First

Sometimes spending time with family trumps getting a worthwhile blog written. Today was one of those days. I had one full day with my parents before I head back to Webb City after church tomorrow. So today my blog is short, because family is more important. Also, typing a blog on my iPhone takes more time than the 30 minutes I have left to get it in. It pains me a little, because I feel like it's admitting defeat. However, I know I'll feel better later that I prioritized my time with people I love.

Friday, March 24, 2017

The Inevitable Goodbye

Over the past 8 years I've gotten used to saying goodbye. I know at the end of a week, no matter where we are, eventually I'm going to have to tell Emily see ya later. The first few years, I'd get teary eyed and occasionally let the tears fall. It finally became the norm and I was able to contain my tears, knowing that even though time passes between our visits, we always pick up right where we left off. We've both put so much stock into our friendship that now I fully trust her. 

Today though. Whew! Watching Emily become a mom... it's something I'm still not able to put into words. Surreal... Beautiful... None seem to do it justice. So saying goodbye is like it used to be, leaving me teary eyed and hoping they won't make it to my cheeks. Add into that Bart becoming a dad, which is absolutely precious, but even more so, watching him take care of my dear friend. Seeing a man care for his wife is sweet enough, but watching him as he tends to the aid of the mother of his child is yet again something I can't put into words. I believe it's a beautiful image of Christ and how He cares for each one of us. It's also another reminder for me that true gentleman still exist in the World. 

Unfortunately, today I did have to say see ya later to my friends. Ainsley made her first stops out of the hospital at Chick-fil-a and then the airport before going home. Now I'm left, feeling like it's 8 years ago attempting to hold myself together. This time I'm on a plane, once again fully surrounded by Cubs fans, and trying not to let the tears fall in front of complete strangers. Thankfully, Emily also taught me growing up not to care what other people think, so I'll go with that now. My heart, while a little sad, is also completely full of joy and love and baby Ainsley snuggles. And on the plus side, the Cubs fans sitting next to me seem to be as polite as Cubbies fans could possibly be. 

 

Thursday, March 23, 2017

A Drive Around Phoenix

As much as I've loved all of the baby Ainsley snuggles the past 2 days, I still wanted to be able to see something in Arizona, other than the beige walls of the hospital, before I leave tomorrow. Luckily, the Shaws have loaned me their car for the week, so sight seeing would be possible. I knew any big, nature-like, tourist sights weren't going to be accomplishable, but I figured maybe I could squeeze in walking around some sports stadiums. So this morning I woke up extra early before making my way to the hospital and drove around the Glendale and Surprise suburbs of Phoenix. 


 From the time I landed in Phoenix I kind of wanted to visit the University of Phoenix Stadium where the Arizona Cardinals play football. Even better, it's holding the NCAA Final Four this year and has the logo plastered on the front of the spaceship shaped dome. Naturally, after coffee, I made the spaceship my first stop this morning. When I pulled up I found a semi-empty parking lot and pulled in. I was slightly nervous about being parked illegally or walking somewhere I wasn't supposed to be, but the saying goes, "it's better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission," so I made it my mantra today. As I walked down the sidewalk I noticed several grounds crew around the different parking lots, which made me question my mantra. I decided not to care and centered myself in front of the logos on the dome and snapped a few pictures. I turned to walk back and one of the grounds crew men was walking towards me. As I began to panic, he kindly asked if I wanted to be in a picture with the stadium. Feeling sweet relief and gratitude for his nice gesture, I accepted his offer. I don't know the gentleman's name, but he set my attitude for the entire day, and I'm very thankful for him. 

His kindness encouraged me to seek out one more stop on my little adventure. With spring training baseball happening all around, I couldn't let my St. Louis Cardinals loyalty keep me from seeing a training sight. Being a Missourian, I chose the location of the Kansas City Royals spring baseball games. I was pleased to find out the Royals Stadium was directly between my current location and the hospital. I trekked across the city, nervously parked once again, and walked around the outside of the park. The air was perfectly cool and I could hear the sounds of bats hitting baseballs. Pure bliss. One of my favorite signs of spring. Ainsley snuggles were calling my name though, so my little Arizona driving escapade came to an end. I'm glad I decided to wake up a little early to do some exploring of the Sun State. 
  

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

One Day

This morning before going back to the hospital to see Emily, Bart, and little Ainsley, I stopped back at the Starbucks I went to yesterday while waiting. When I first walked inside I instantly smiled and my heart was happy. While I stood in line waiting for my Americano, I continued observing the coffee shop. The location of the hospital is in the middle of a retirement suburb of Phoenix. So naturally in the early morning hours the "old" people fill up Starbucks. There had to have been 20-30 of them both inside and outside on the patio. My favorite was a group of women and men, they had pushed 3 tables together and were talking loudly and cackling amongst themselves. Another couple walked in, talked to the large group, and debated where to make their final nesting ground. Ultimately they decided to pull yet another table to the group and join their friends. And yes, the following is indeed a creeper pic I took of the group. 

Yes. I took a creeper pic of the group.
All the while, I watched in envy. I decided that one day when I retire, I want to spend the winter on into spring training in Florida with all my friends. When I wake up, I want to go to a coffee shop where everybody knows us and chat and cackle the morning away. After our coffee is sipped, we will go to St. Louis Cardinals spring training games at Roger Dean Stadium. We will enjoy America's favorite pastime and prove the critics wrong; baseball hasn't become too slow paced for the Millennial generation. Maybe I'll finally learn to golf upon retirement, because based on the golf courses that surround each out looking direction of the hospital, that's the thing to do when you retire. 

One day I'll enjoy not keeping to any set schedule every waking moment. However, right now that's not possible, I have schedules to uphold, blogs to write, lessons to plan, kids to teach and love, I have a job to fulfill so I can make it to retirement. For the next couple days, I'll savor the Ainsley snuggles, chats with Bart and Emily, and watch in envy as the retirement crew continues to meet at the Starbucks I've made my coffee stop for the week. But one day I'll be like them. One day.


 In case you missed yesterday's blog, meet Ainsley Ida Shaw. 
In case you missed yesterday's blog. Meet Ainsley Ida Shaw.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The Waiting Game

We spend a lot of time in life just waiting. My trip to Arizona alone has involved a lot of waiting. I waited in the terminal at the airport. I waited as my flight was delayed 30 minutes. Luckily, I had zero wait time for my friends to pick me up from the airport. Emily was there to wait with me for my luggage to come around on the carousel. 

In the last 3 days there have been numerous other times I've waited. Some simple, like at a red light or at Starbucks for my coffee. Today, has been the most eagerly anticipated wait. Bart, Emily, and I waited as the nurses poked and prodded to prep Emily for a c-section. Then we waited some more. And then a while longer. Finally, after a few hours of waiting they took Emily to the OR. I waited again with Bart until they came to take him back to Emily. That might have been the hardest wait. Waiting with Bart, an anxious, soon-to-be, first time father was humorous to say the least. He didn't know what to do with himself. I knew nothing I said or did would help, yet I still attempted, with mediocre success, to pass the time with funny stories to make him laugh. Finally, an eternity of 20 minutes passed and  the nurse came for Bart.

It was like 100 bottles of milk on the wall, but I was the last bottle and no one was coming to take me back. So back to waiting it was for me. Thankfully, I'm not an expectant father, so I had the sense well beforehand to ask Bart for the car keys. Google Maps had kindly informed me there was a Starbucks half a mile away from the hospital, so I used it to pass a whole 15 minutes of my time, but to get my much needed, first cup of coffee for the day. Then it was to the waiting room for me. In the waiting room it was just me, myself, and I, so I enjoyed some quiet, alone time.  It ended up being the shortest wait of the day. About 30 minutes in, Bart text me to say Ainsley Ida Shaw and mom were both doing great and I'd be able to come up shortly. The wait was finally over. 
 
With tears in my eyes as I type, I'm sitting in a room with a perfectly healthy, little baby girl. Her middle name, Ida, comes from Emily's great grandma. The grandma that brought Emily to church almost 25 years ago when we first met in the nursery. My heart is bursting with so much love I'm not quite sure how to contain it. Instead of figuring out how to contain my joy, I'm going to put my device away, quit waiting, and go be Aunt Caitlin to a beautiful Ainsley Ida Shaw. 
 

Monday, March 20, 2017

The Sac Fly

When you love someone or something you make sacrifices. In baseball, hitters sacrifice potentially getting a hit, in hopes of advancing runners on base. On a deeper level, I believe the greatest example of sacrifice comes from God sending His Son to die, so we could have eternal life with Him. However, I think that humans demonstrate acts of sacrifice in every day life. This week, my dear friend, Emily, is showing it to me in abundance.

For the past 3 years, it's been a given that I will visit Bart and Emily during my Spring Break. When I found out they were moving to Arizona, I was excited to visit a new part of the country. I also thought I might get to see some early live baseball, since teams do spring training in Arizona.  In September, when she told me she was pregnant, I quickly did the math to realize her due date would fall perfectly in line with my Spring Break. I was hesitant to ask if she still wanted me to visit for a week. Before I could ask, she told me she still expected me to stay with them.

Now that I'm here, I see, and feel, the sacrifices Bart and Emily are making by allowing me to stay with them. In approximately 24 hours, Bart and Emily will become a family of three. They could easily have requested that I not come visit them this year, giving them their last days as a couple to themselves. But they didn't. They sacrificed those precious days to welcome me into their home. Bart is also graciously giving up time with his wife, for me to have time with my lifelong friend.

Emily has also done her best to show me a little bit of Arizona in the few days she has until going to the hospital. While we have done some house cleaning, grocery shopping, and other expectant mother essentials, she's still made time to show me around. Once again, she's sacrificing her time for me.

I'm blessed with friends who remind me of the eternal sacrifice we have been given. I'm thankful for a little glimpse, shown to me by friends here on earth, of the love Jesus has for us. I'm glad for the deeper meaning of sacrifice, and the ones a lot more dependable than that of the baseball sac fly. Tomorrow will be an extremely exciting day, but for now I'll soak up today. Today I'll choose to be thankful for sacrifices and the time I've been given with dear friends.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

A Sleuth of Cubbies

Yesterday evening I began my journey to Arizona for Spring Break. After my parents dropped me off in the St. Louis airport, I successfully made my way through security. I still had well over an hour until my flight would board, so I found my way to Starbucks. To my delight, the kind male behind the counter gave me my drink for FREE, because I was his last customer of the night. I walked to my terminal smiling from ear-to-ear over his simple, yet generous gesture. My highly anticipated trip was already off to a great start!

As I sat in the terminal reading and enjoying my free coffee, I observed more and more Chicago Cubs fans. Didn't they know this is St. Louis? I get seeing one, or two, Cubbies here and there, but a sleuth of them in a confined space, no thank you! Then it dawned on me, Cubs Spring Training is in Arizona. Bleh. I was going to be on a flight surrounded by these so-called baseball fans. At the moment, I was more so wishing I had worn one of my bajillion St. Louis Cardinals shirts or my ball cap, but I hadn't. So there I sat, still enjoying my coffee, trying to focus on my book instead of the insults swirling around in my head.

When it finally came time to board the plane, I walked the length of the narrow aisle to the 2nd to last row. I'm always curious as to who I'll be sitting by. I had "picked" my seat that morning when I checked in online. I opted for the free middle seat in the back of the plane, because all the other available seats cost more money. I got myself cozy and tucked my belongings under the seat in front of me to make room for people who'd soon be sitting on either side of me. I waited. And waited. Until, to my surprise, no one sat down and the plane took off. I was elated! I looked around, the flight was indeed full, all rows packed, but I had found the one row in which no one else was sitting. I could stretch out my legs if they felt cramped. I could move a muscle without fear of bumping elbows with a complete stranger. Most importantly, I didn't have to make small talk with the horrendous Cubs fans, while attempting to convert them to God's team.

My flight was blissful. I found joy in the little blessings of free coffee and a spacious plane ride. Now, I'm writing from Arizona, where I sit in my friends' apartment, ignoring their wooden CUBS decor to my right and World Series Champions ball cap to my left, while praying to no avail for their salvation.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Home Sweet Home

After school yesterday, I drove 3 hours northeast. Before flying to Arizona tonight, I'm spending a little time at my parent's house in Eldon. When you grow up in a small town, there are the kids who can't wait to get out and the kids who never leave. I think I fall somewhere in the middle. While I might have numerous complaints about my hometown, it also stores a plethora of precious memories. A part of Eldon will always be my home. Home means different things to different people, but to me, home is...

•Between Jefferson City and the Lake of the Ozarks on HWY 54
•The Eldon/Tuscumbia exit
•Knowing the story behind each cross on the side of the road
•Home of Christian Cantwell, the 2008 Olympic Silver Medalist in Shot Put
•Being welcomed by the Eldon FFA sign and the 2011 and 2014 National Champions in Parliamentary Procedure banner
•Where I became "Proud to be a Mustang"
•Footlong Chili Cheese Dogs and a Marshmallow Pepsi from the Cree Mee
•The middle school and football field sitting between a cow pasture and a cemetery
•Traffic jams caused by tractors and, even better, horse and buggies
•Smiling when smelling the scent of turkey barns
•Everybody knowing everyone else's business
•The lovely odors of turkey and cow manure
• Long, curvy, somewhat hilly roads
•Familiar faces and waving at every car you pass, even if you aren't sure who they are
•No Internet and very little cell phone service
•Quirky
•Where I learned to be the person I am today
•Family

Friday, March 17, 2017

The Farm


It has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. To you, it may look like a man standing in a field. To me, the story behind this picture is still too painful to put into words on a page. Besides, it would be hard to condense generations of memories into a mere 1,000 words. But this picture holds precious memories from the farm that I will savor for a lifetime. For the time being, I'll leave the picture to tell the story until I'm able to write it. I will also choose to believe a picture is sometimes worth far more than just a thousand words.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

The Simple Life - Hay Bale Jumping

Growing up in a small farm town, the things you do while hanging out with friends could be considered simple.

When my sister was in 3rd grade, she got to start taking piano lessons. Her piano teacher happened to be the mom of one of my kindergarten acquaintances. They lived only a couple miles from our house on a farm. Eventually, Andrea and I started playing together while my sister had her lessons. We would run wild on their farm: jumping from tops of rock piles, climbing and exploring the loft in their barn searching for trinkets, and my favorite... hay bale jumping.

Andrea and I as pigs in a school play. Hay
bale jumping was pre-cell phone, picture
taking days.
Their farm had rows and rows and rows of big, round hay bales just waiting to be given to their cattle in the winter, but in the meantime, we put them to even better use. Andrea and I would sprint the length of the row and then turn to face the 4-to-6 feet wide barrier between us and the next row. As 7 year olds, standing just under 4.5 feet tall and 35 pounds soaking wet, naturally the jump seemed like it would be a piece of cake for both of us. We'd take our leap, land on the other side, and take off running again. Repeating this over and over.

Occasionally, we would give ourselves an added challenge. Andrea's older brother sometimes thought we were cool enough to join on the hay bales. Being taller than us, and much bigger, he would stretch himself across the gap in the hay with only his feet and arms holding him up. Andrea and I would take turns using him like a bridge to get to the next row of bales. (And we wonder why he rarely joined us outside?!) Another challenge accomplished! We were unstoppable. Until winter came and our jungle gym became cud for the cows to chew.

Every once in a while, or quite often, I yearn for those simple times once again.

Teaching college friends from the city how to jump hay bales.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Spring Break

In a little over 84 hours, I will be in Arizona. I'm trying really hard not to wish away the next few days, but it's hard when what lies ahead is so exciting.

Emily and I have been friends since our parents put us in the nursery at church. Our friendship grew as our grandmas, who babysat us, took us to Ladies Quilting Club every Tuesday, also at church. (One day we hope to follow in our grandmas footsteps and form our own Quilting Club). We were the only two kids there, so we had free reign of the entire building while the women quilted. In Sunday School, we were usually the only two our age, so we were double trouble. In Christmas plays, we were ALWAYS cast as the sheep or angels. Also known as, "you two aren't quite old enough for starring roles and can't sing to save your life, but you're cute so we'll put you on stage as part of the background 'choir.'" Needless to say, we made fond memories out of our short-lived acting careers.

Notice, we are slightly taller than the rest of the angels...
But we're the only ones in ALL white!

Unfortunately, Emily is a few months younger than me, which meant when we started school we were in different grades. That never came between us though. Outside of school, if you saw one of us, you saw the other. She hands-down has the record for most sleepovers at my house. During summers, we practically had two houses and four parents, because you never knew which house or which parents would have us. We spent countless hours together, usually laughing.

In high school, we became almost inseparable even at school. We were in Band, Ag. (FFA), Cheerleading, and gymnastics together, plus, all of our youth group activities. I could write a novel about all of our shenanigans from those times, but I'll spare you. To make a long story, slightly shorter, I graduated high school and came to Joplin. She graduated a year later and went to Lincoln, IL. Emily met a boy, Bart. Emily married Bart. Emily moved even farther away with the boy to Rhode Island. The last two years during Spring Break, I visited them in Rhode Island. Then last summer Emily and Bart moved to Arizona.

Spring Break in Rhode Island last year.

Which brings us to being in Arizona in a little over 84 hours. However, to add to the excitement, while I'm there Emily and Bart will be welcoming their first baby! Spring Break perfectly fell so I get to be in Arizona for the birth of my niece. In the next week, I will become "Aunt" Caitlin for the first time! Containing my excitement is becoming harder with each day that passes, but I shall try to continue not wishing next 84 hours away.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Coffee Coffee Coffee

Hello, my name is Caitlin, and I love coffee. To be honest, it could be considered an addiction. I can't remember the last day I went without drinking a cup, or two, maybe three, sometimes four... never, no never five, that would be insane.

The show Gilmore Girls perfectly depicts my affection for coffee. Rory, and even more so her mom, Lorelai, thrive off of coffee. I don't think they ever go an entire episode without drinking a hot cup of joe. The opening scene in the pilot episode revolves around Lorelai begging the diner owner, Luke, for another cup.

Lorelai: Please, Luke. Please, please, please.
Luke: How many cups have you had this morning?
Lorelai: None.
Luke: Plus...
Lorelai: Five, but yours is better.
Luke: You have a problem.
Lorelai: Yes, I do.

At least as a coffee lover, I admit to my addiction, right? I think if I drank it for the caffeine rush, or drank a splash of coffee with a cup of creamer, I would think about cutting back, but that's not the case. I love the dark, black, bitter taste of a steaming cup first thing when I wake up, for a mid-morning pick-me-up, an afternoon jolt, or a late night stimulant. I enjoy drinking it alone or sharing a French press with good friends. Please, please, please, just don't ask me to live my life without my glorious coffee.

I'll leave you with life lessons you need to know about coffee lovers, taught by the Gilmore girls:

When someone says, "coffee coffee coffee," they don't literally want 3 cups of coffee.


 Even if the coffee tastes terrible, a true coffee fanatic, suffers through the unpleasantry...


...because not drinking the coffee, is not an option...


...and will result in sitting on a psychologists couch in tears. 


Finally, desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures.




Monday, March 13, 2017

Wild Raspberries


During the summer, the side and backyard at my parent's house looks like a jungle. At a glance, most people would think they need to do some major weed-eating. Sometimes, I think it takes my dad a lot of self-control to not take his tractor to the chaos of bushes, instead he just mows a path through them. Because buried inside the mass amount of leaves and trees is a hidden treasure, hundreds, maybe thousands of wild raspberries.

At the beginning of each summer, I still go home to pick the raspberries with my mom. We start watching for them in early May, because we know if we wait too long, the birds will be enjoying a tasty treat at our expense. Usually it's June by the time they ripen. Then we wake up early in the morning to beat the summer heat and take old ice cream buckets outside to begin our hunt.

For the record, I don't like bugs. I particularly HATE spiders, but they seem to like me. As you can imagine, while picking raspberries in the woods we stumble upon a plethora of different critters, so I make our hunts rather entertaining with my squealing. Through the years, I think I've gotten better at controlling my irrational fear and the squeals only come out on occasion now.


It typically takes us a couple hours to make it through all of the bushes. Then a day or two later, we go back out to pick the newly ripened raspberries. The cycle is repeated for a couple weeks until there are no more berries to be picked. Some days, we are lucky to retrieve half a gallon. Other days, my mom and I might both fill our gallon buckets. We used to package the raspberries and my Granny would make raspberry cobbler for us. Now my mom has taken over the cobbler baking. Truth be told, I'm not a huge fan of raspberries, but I always eat the cobbler, plus I drown it in vanilla ice cream. Even if I never ate any of the raspberries, it wouldn't matter to me. It's more important to me that I get to spend time with my mom and we get to continue the simple tradition of picking our wild raspberries.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

The Prodigal Daughter

For a while now, the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15: 11-32) has been one of my favorite parables. I was excited to see it was the lesson I'd be teaching to my 4th grade Sunday School group this week. I think the story resonates with people, because at some point in our lives we can relate to each of the characters. While the message of forgiveness is simple enough for any age to understand, as I've gotten older, I have enjoyed the complexity each character brings to the parable. 

Jesus starts with the younger son asking his dad for his inheritance. Basically, the son is telling his dad he wants him dead so he can have his money. The father, with a broken heart, gives it to him. When the son goes off, he eventually blows through all of his inheritance and is forced to eat with pigs out of a trough. Finally, he comes to his senses and realizes the shame of going back to his father would be far better than eating pig slop. I imagine the son walking back how I do when I get in trouble, head hanging down low with big, sad, puppy dog eyes. Nothing burns me to the core like having to look my parents in the eye and admit I did something wrong.

Even more impressive, to me, is the father. When he sees his son coming home, he runs out to meet him. The Greek word used, dramōn, is the term for footraces in the stadium. The father doesn't just quickly walk or jog, but he races to meet his son. As if that isn't impactful enough, in those days it was shameful for a man of his age and prominence to run. In order for him to run, he would have had to lift up his robe (the correct term is to "gird up your loin" which makes the immature side of me chuckle) in humility, showing his legs. To top it off, the father throws a grand party, killing the prized calf, to welcome back his prodigal son. This is when the parable brings me to my knees, forcing me to wonder why God would be so willing to take on our shame, leaving us with a clean slate and giving us eternity with Him.

As if the younger son and the father don't throw daggers at my heart, Jesus makes it a triple whammy by adding in the older son. The older son, who also received his inheritance after his younger brother asked, has been with his brokenhearted father, working hard while his younger brother was off squandering his inheritance. I would be tempted to say, rightfully so, the older brother is jealous. He hadn't squandered his money, yet his brother was getting a party! The father is faced with reminding yet another son of forgiveness. Oy. Forgiveness. Such a simple word, but when someone has done you wrong, forgiving them packs a punch to your own gut. 

I know the feeling of being the prodigal daughter, all too well. I've "looked at God" knowing the right thing to do, and out of spite I do the opposite, because in the moment it's easy or it feels good. When I finally realized I hit my own darkest moment, I wondered how God could ever love me the same. I wondered why He would ever want me back. Why would He want to call me His daughter? It was then, the father in the Prodigal Son brought me to my knees while tears flowed down my cheeks. Just like the father ran to his son, God races toward us with open arms, longing for us to return to Him. He doesn't love us any less, instead He does us one better, by taking on our shame for us. Like I taught my 4th graders today, the bottom line, everyone needs to be forgiven, even me and even you.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Something Special

When I was in 7th grade, my Papa passed away. Months later for my Birthday, my Granny gave me $50, the $50 bill left in my Papa's wallet after he died. Being the sentimental person that I am (even as a 13 year old!), I saved it. I wanted to spend it on something special. Several years later, my Granny passed away on my 21st Birthday. My mom knew Granny intended to give me $50 for my Birthday, so she found the blank card Granny was going to give me and wrote a check "from Granny." Again, being sentimental, I put the check in savings with the $50 from my Papa, and I waited until I found the something special to spend it on.

The summer after my 21st Birthday, I spent 5 1/2 weeks teaching English in Hong Kong. I had wanted to go on an overseas mission trip since 2009 when I graduated high school, but the thought also terrified me. What if I wasn't good enough? Could I really be that bold? Would I be helpful to the people I would be serving? How could I spend that long away from family and friends? Who and where is the money going to come from? All of these questions, and fears, were bottled up in my mind. For a long time, they kept me from going anywhere.

Finally, in 2013 my friends convinced me to just go. They knew I wanted to and that I had found an organization that suited the talents the Father had given me. They also knew the only thing holding me back was myself, and the lies from Satan I was allowing myself to believe, so they forced me to apply.

ELIC is an organization that has been teaching English in China since 1981, but have now expanded to teaching English all across Asia and the Middle East. They have formed relationships with the governments of each country, so while their primary job is to teach English, the government also knows they are sending Believers. ELIC combined two of my biggest passions in life: spreading the Good News and teaching. It was hard to ignore this opportunity, and I think the Lord knew He'd have to hit me with a ton of bricks with an opportunity I couldn't resist, in order for me to finally go.

After applying and being accepted, I had to pay a deposit in order to lock in my spot. The deposit was $100. While small in comparison to the rest of the trip, again it seemed as though I was being hit with another ton of bricks. Whether or not this was a sign from Above to confirm that I was supposed to be going to Hong Kong, I took it as one. I had been waiting 8 years and 5 months, in search of something special to spend my Granny and Papa's $100 gift. If they had still been here, even though the idea of their youngest granddaughter going overseas would have scared them, I knew they would have supported me in anyway they could. So with the $100 from so long ago, my Granny and Papa did support my dreams, and I finally found my something special to spend it on.

A throwback to 1991 with my Granny and Papa.

Friday, March 10, 2017

Learning to Fly

There's a line in a poem by Erin Hanson, "What if I fall? Oh, but my darling what if you fly?" Sometimes the fear of failure keeps me from doing things, but other times, it ignites a fire within me to try harder so I can know what it feels like to fly.

I had been working on landing my aerial (no handed) cartwheel for YEARS! During all those years of trying, it was at the last split second, I would put one hand down on the mat right as my feet were hitting the ground. It was frustrating. My coaches did their best to reassure me I had didn't need my hand, even joking they would tie my hand behind my back so I wouldn't put it down. It didn't matter though, because somewhere in the back of my mind was doubt. I doubted that I could actually land it, so my hand always found its way down.

One day while practicing more failed aerials, I took a break and went to the bathroom. When I got back, my coach told me while I was gone, my friend had landed her aerial. How could this be?! Emily had been attempting hers for maybe a year; I had been trying for more years than I cared to admit! Feeling defeated, exceedingly jealous, and more motivated than ever, I took my spot on the mat.

Staring down the long, blue springboard, I visualized what I needed to do and took a deep breath. I was off. I raised my heels to the tips of my toes and stepped. Left. Right. Left. I was building power each time a foot hit the floor. Hurdling my right leg in the air, I used every ounce of my jealousy to push my right leg down with all the force I could muster up, catapulting myself into the air. My arms flew back, my body flung forward, as my head went sailing toward the ground, and my legs went hurling over my head.

The moment of truth had come. I had made it to this point, oh, so many times before. This moment could make all of the other attempts not feel like failures. It could make all of the times I slammed my knees into the mat upon landing, turning them blue and purple, worth it. It would slightly take away the envy I had for Emily landing hers first. All I had to do was trust myself.

As my legs descended, my shoulders made their way upright, my arms remained glued tightly by my side, and my feet hit the ground. Finally, my hand hadn't escaped at the last second. I did it! I landed my aerial cartwheel. Instead of bursting into a joyous celebration, I stood completely stunned.

The closest evidence I have of ever doing an aerial.
Suddenly, both my friend and coach started laughing. They were beaming with pride. It turns out, while I was in the bathroom, Emily had NOT landed her aerial cartwheel. They had lied. The two of them schemed together, because they knew by telling me Emily had gotten her aerial, it would strike the stubbornness inside of me enough to accomplish a long, sought out goal.

I have to admit, they were right, and I am so very glad they lied to me. At last, I had overcome the doubt inside my head and all of my attempts no longer made me a failure. Finally, I knew what it felt like to be able to fly.



Thursday, March 9, 2017

They. Just. Won't. Go. Away.

Much like my blog posts about baseball, the 2011 St. Louis Cardinals team just would not quit. Really, the entire season was full of the the Cardinals proving people wrong, which I admired. They had developed their own quirky superstitions, from "Happy Flights" to a rally squirrel. By the time the World Series rolled around, they had been faced with numerous "do or die" games, so often that I always believed in my heart they would win. So when Game 6 of the World Series came down to not only the last out, but the last strike, with David Freese at the plate I had no doubt in my mind he would come through.

The fall of 2011 I had a night class at MSSU, which was unfortunate, because a couple post season games for the Cardinals fell on class night. My dad's theory was, if I skipped class that would give the team bad luck and they would lose. His guilt trip worked. I may have paid more attention to my phone giving game updates during class than I did to my professor, but I never missed a single night class. Then I realized Game 6 of the World Series was set to fall during my night class. Oh the agony! However, I was in luck, rain had swept into the St. Louis area, and Game 6 had been postponed to Thursday. (God truly seemed to be working in my favor!)

Thursday night finally came and once again, I was faced with a dilemma. At OCC, Thursday nights are reserved for dorm devotions at 9pm. Game time was at 7:05. Our dorm parents were gracious enough to let us invade their little apartment living room to watch the game. They even excused us from devos to continue watching. But yet again, my dad's theory, if I skipped devos it would bring the Cardinals bad luck. At that point in the game, the Cardinals were down 7-4 and needed all the luck they could get. So at 9pm I grudgingly made my way outside with my fellow dorm mates, while my best friend, Brianna, sat happily in the apartment continuing to watch our team.

As we sat around a bonfire, singing praises to God, I watched my phone... (For some reason, my dad was okay texting me constant updates of the game, as long as physically I was in the place I needed to be). I sat anxiously and squealed as I read that Allen Craig hit a home run bringing us within 2 in the bottom of the 8th. At last, devos were over and I sprinted up the hill to my dorm, just in time to catch the all important 9th inning. Unfortunately, there was a negative vibe in my dorm parents apartment, so I elected to finish the game upstairs in my room with my trusty radio. (I don't like watching the Cards with people who lack faith in them).

David Freese landing safely at 3rd to tie the game in the 9th.
On the bright side, and to my advantage, by listening to the game on the radio, I learned the outcome of the game several seconds before those watching the TV. I listened and I paced my dorm room floor, while my roommate videotaped my ridiculousness. When David Freese belted one out to the wall for a triple to tie the game I knew it was historic. With the game in extra innings, and the Rangers going up by 2 again, I still knew not to count out those "never say die" Cardinals. As I stood frozen, no longer pacing the floor, hands on my head, the Cardinals tied it up again. On TV, I later learned Joe Buck exalted, "They. Just. Won't. Go. Away." Oh how true that proclamation was. How fitting, when the Cardinals were down to their last strike, for the 3rd time that game, David Freese was back at the plate. I went back to pacing the floor, when I heard the famous words of Mike Shannon bring joy to my heart, "Get up, baby, get up, baby, get up!"

Freese after hitting the walk off home run,
being greeted by his team.
Normally, I'm a quiet, composed person, but with those words, I went screaming and running down my dorm hallway. As I rounded the corner to go down the stairs, I almost ran over my dorm R.A. She gave me the look of death, because 10pm starts quiet hours, and by then it was well past 10. Then she noticed who she was giving the look to and in shock said, "Oh... Caitlin? Never mind, continue!" While she didn't entirely care what the Cardinals had just done, she knew it was important to me. I continued my marathon run, while screaming, until I reached my dorm parents apartment, where I was racing to find Brianna. On TV, David Freese had yet to hit the game winning, walk off home run, but Brianna already knew. She had heard me up above them, screaming and running (sounding like an elephant), so she screamed and pushed through the crowd that had gathered at the door to meet me with a giant bear hug. Finally, the TV caught up to real life and cheers of disbelief erupted from the crowded living room. The Cardinals just wouldn't go away.

The Cardinals shredding Freese's jersey.
A tradition they made in 2011 when players hit walk offs.
The excitement from Game 6 made for a lackluster World Series win in Game 7, nonetheless, the Cardinals, at last, found themselves champions. My family's superstition with Dave remained in tact. What we had known since June finally came true; we just had no idea what a wild ride it would be to get there. Back in August, the way I met my future best friend, was made all the sweeter with World Series Champions attached to the memory. The knowledge about the Cardinals my dad had been passing to me since 2010 seemed a lot more significant now that we had shared our own history together. While feeling overwhelming joy from the long, hard fought victory, late in the night on October 28, 2011, we were all once again left staring out the window waiting for spring.


Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Baseball: Very Superstitious

Baseball and superstitions seem to go hand in hand. There was the Curse of the Bambino. Unfortunately, I have to say was again, there was the Curse of the Billy Goat. There is the slightly lesser known superstition about the 2010, 2012, and 2014 San Francisco Giants World Series Championships. Something else happened all 3 of those years as well; Taylor Swift released a new album. In 2016, the Giants only made it to the NLDS before losing to those who shall remain unnamed. Also, in 2016, Taylor Swift did not release a new album. My favorite baseball superstition, though, is one very few people have the privilege of knowing. However, to accurately tell it, we have to start in 1982.

Dave and my dad in 1982.
In 1982, my dad was in the Air Force. He and my mom were stationed in England. While hitchhiking to base one day, my dad got a ride from a stranger, Dave. It turned out Dave was from Ozark, MO. (What a small world?!) Dave and his wife, Lisa, and my parents became quick friends. Now, if you’re an avid Cardinals fan, you might already know, in 1982, the St. Louis Cardinals won their 9th World Series Championship. Sadly, technology wasn’t what it is now, so my dad and Dave had to read about each game in the next day's newspapers. Nonetheless, the Cardinals won without them being able to watch and cheer on their beloved Red Birds.

Moving on, 25 seasons later in 2006, the Cardinals made it to the World Series again. At some point during the season, my mom and dad heard from Dave’s wife, Lisa, who let us know Dave was overseas once again. On October 26, 2006, the Cardinals went on to win their 10th World Series Championship becoming the "worst" team to take the title with an 83-78 regular season record.

It's worth mentioning, St. Louis had made it to the World Series in '85, '87, and '04, but had lost all of them. Also, Dave hadn't been stationed overseas since he and my dad were in England. But the Championships in 1982 and 2006, I'm sure those could just be chalked up to a coincidence.

From a game my family attended in 2011.
Which brings us back to 2011. In June, I received a text from my dad, “The Cardinals are going to win the World Series.” Short. Simple. Mind boggling. (If the battery in my Samsung Solstice 2 still worked, I’d prove it to you.) He continued by saying he had heard from Dave. In the next week, he would yet again be overseas. He would be gone for a year, which meant he would be gone in October. Therefore, the Cardinals were going to win the World Series.

Could it really be possible?? The Cardinals were terrible during June; somehow they managed to end the month 5 games over .500 but that itself was a miracle. The rest of the season didn't go much better or show much promise of another ring. Our superstition seemed to be coming to a crashing halt in 2011. However, I never lost hope.

In August when the Cards went 10.5 games back from being the Wild Card team and had a 1.3% chance of making playoffs, I made a bet with a friend that they would win the World Series. When it came down to the Cardinals needing to win the last game of the regular season, and the Braves having to lose their game, I believed. Throughout the playoffs, as the World watched in dismay and astonishment of how this ragged group of baseball players were managing to have the comeback of a lifetime, I continued to believe. That was how much faith I had in my Cardinals or how much I trusted in my family's little baseball superstition...

The Cardinals banner for the 2011 World Series.
If they only knew how perfectly fitting it truly was.


Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Rally Squirrel and Happy Flights

In August of 2011, I had moved back to Joplin to start my junior year at OCC. On August 22, 2011, the college had a convocation banquet, like they do at the beginning of every school year. Unfortunately, the banquet meant I was going to miss most of the Cardinals game that night. Which for a girl who had spent all summer watching or reading every detail of all 100+ games from April until August, I was devastated. As soon as the banquet finished, I bee-lined it for Goodman Hall, room 307. Since dorm rooms do not have TV’s, I had brought my trusty radio so I could listen to the baseball games. I rushed into my room and before I did anything else I turned my radio dial to 1230 AM. Mike Shannon’s deep, raspy voice was soon booming down the halls of Goodman 3rd.

Bri and I celebrated the WS win at Panera with a game 6
rally towel, chirping rally squirrel, and a rally squirrel cookie.
As I listened to the baseball game, I started to unpack the rest of my belongings. I had left the banquet so quickly that the rest of the girls in my dorm were just now returning. Soon, I saw a freshman girl passing my room. As she passed, she said hi and kept walking. A split second later, she was back in my door way, asking if it was Mike Shannon’s voice she heard. My eyes lit up like a wildfire, I was stunned to find another girl at Ozark who knew the voice of Mike Shannon. “Of course it is!” I told her. She told me her name was Brianna, she gave me her phone number, asked me to let her know the outcome of the game, and went on down the hall to her room.

The Cardinals ended up losing the game that night, but I met Brianna Davis, the girl who would become my best friend. To our surprise, the Cards went on to make up their 10.5 game deficit in September, and proved resilient in the postseason going on to win the World Series. Brianna and I, much like the Cardinals that 2011 season, formed a friendship that has also proven to be resilient. A friendship that has stuck together through ups and downs, stood strong no matter what continents we live on, and one that challenges me to be a better person.

Happy 24th Birthday, Brianna!



Monday, March 6, 2017

For the Love of Cardinals

The year 2010 was a pretty insignificant year as far as Cardinal baseball is concerned. They didn't make the playoffs and ended the year with Yadi and Waino both injured. However, for some strange reason, during the offseason my interest in the Cardinals grew immensely. Don't get me wrong, I had been a Red Bird fan ever since I could walk. It was a special treat, as a seven year old, getting to stay up late several nights in the summer of 1998, to see if Mark McGwire would beat Sammy Sosa to Roger Maris's single season home run record. (I even wrote about it in my Winnie the Pooh diary the night it finally happened!)

Two members of the 1934 Gas House Gang.
But for some reason, the offseason of 2010 was just different.

I drowned myself with learning the history of the St. Louis Cardinals. From the Gas House Gang to the night Yadier Molina made Shea Stadium go silent, from the Knothole Gang to the reason seat cushions are rarely a give-away at Busch Stadium, from the legends Stan "the Man" Musial and Red Schoendienst to the then rookie, David Freese, from Jack Buck’s, "Go crazy, folks!" to Mike Shannon’s "Get up, baby, get up!" from the importance of Hornsby and .424, Gibson and 1.12, and Brock and 118, I simply couldn't get enough. I read every article the St. Louis Cardinals posted on their website that winter. All the while, I could tell my dad was enjoying passing on his knowledge of his beloved team to his daughter. Little did I know the coming season was going to be one I’d never forget.