Critical

Dr. Wife is playing softball with her colleagues on a city league team. She loves the game, and was trained by her father at an early age how to do such things as "hustle" and "keep your eye on the ball" and "walk it off." She can hit and throw and catch, though it is possible that after success at each she will jump up and down and squeal gleefully. She can "use your cutoff man" and will "watch the third base coach" when appropriate.

Being new to the city, it was a bit of a struggle finding the fields for the first time. Thankfully, Tom-Tom guided us with the power of GPS geekery (thank you, Skynet). We followed its guidance, dutifully turning right ahead and in 500 yards kept left. Across the train tracks. Past the steel building parts wholesale. Carefully past the strip clubs (Kalamazoo has strip clubs?!). And finally, behind the beer distribution center we found the softball fields and playground.

I'm not a city planner, nor do I pretend to be a civil engineer. I do not have experience in managing softball complexes. But I might suggest that this location is not really conducive to a family atmosphere. The grounds themselves were well kept, though muddy. A few large piles of mulch and sand indicated that the spring parks crew would be improving it even further as the weather continued to warm.

Dr. Wife took her glove and went off to join her team, and I took Miss Neverpoop off to explore the playground. Dozens of dandelions later, we reached the playground beyond the fields. It was in relatively good shape, with no sharp edges or broken glass. A smattering of small children scampered about on scooters and with sticks. All normal things.

I was almost lulled into believing that this was an oasis of safety. I was nearly capable of ignoring the proto-thug graffiti in the small canopy above the slide (U Love Me with the L backwards). I blocked out the fact that three-year-olds were running around for an hour with nary a parent in sight.

But then I found a sign that I could not ignore. A token from my own miscreant past. A piece of paraphernalia that brings to mind stolen cigarettes, knives, and lustful thoughts.

A 20 sided die.

That's right. The park has role-players. Gamers. Dungeons and Dragons obsessed nerds. It isn't fit for decent folk. I felt at home.

Stink Trumpets on a Pale Horse

Winter is an icy fist of pain pounding at my bones unrelentingly over and over again. Its razor knuckles cut and slice at cheeks that were meant for grinning on sun-warmed beaches. Bitter cold winds whip knives like ninjas across the fields and through my skin. It seems that nothing can stay its awful bite...

And yet, spring... It approaches... I would dare not admit it, but I have received the sacred promise...

The Three Stinky Harbingers of Spring have arrived.

What? You are unfamiliar with this prophecy? Let me tell it for you.

The first shall come as a ghost of a stench... acrid, still coasting on the currents of flurried snow. The second shall be strong, and its carcass shall be seen in black and white and red all over. The third shall be true in the rain, its awful bouquet bringing tears with spring rains. Thus shall three roadkill skunks trumpet the arrival of warmth unto the world.

And I have smelled them. Though snow may ride its way into town tonight, it will be chased out shortly by the overpowering cloud of rancid that hovers for miles around the body of a skunk taken down by a Peterbilt.

The sad part, these skunks have only just emerged from their slumber to eat and fornicate. They didn't know that they were part of a grander destiny. They merely wanted a Bacchanalian celebration to end their winter slumber. Maybe a Chipotle burrito and a foam party or two. Instead, they become part of an annual crime scene that even David Caruso wouldn't take off his shades for.

Welcome, Spring. And a toast to my fallen skunk-homies. The midwest thanks you for your sacrifice.

Remiss

I'm a bit ashamed of how long it has been since I posted a blog. I suppose I have been a bit uninspired as of late. So I suppose what I will start with is a brief bullet of the weirdness of the Rover life.

• I went to Chicago to work on training teachers. It was a disaster, and left me feeling incompetent and angry.



• I went to Florida with my brother. It was a sunshiny gift from him, and it was some deep contemplative time that I desperately needed.



• I went to Ontario to work on training teachers. I dissected what I did and how I did it. I refocused on new goals and went back to developing skills that needed it. Total success. It left me feeling confident, but exhausted. 8 hours is a long time in a car.



• Yesterday was April 1st. I miss you, Eddie.

And now it's back into the dad role. Miss Neverpoop will be getting a spring break starting on Friday. Really, her preschool teachers will be getting a spring break. So she and I are going to be kicking it this week. I need to find some fun and silly new things to do. I need some silly in my days. Thankfully, an almost-five year-old can provide that.