Now Here's The Way To Kick-Off A Wedding!

Candy coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize ...

Today I helped my son and his bride of 9 months move into a new apartment in St. Peters. It's a much nice, much safer place than they have been living in. It was actually fun to help them move their stuff and see them light up at the prospect of life in their new "joint."

But the coolest part of the day came before the moving began. I met my brother-in-law, Jim, at their old apartment and they had not yet arrived from picking-up their key at the new place. So we did something all red blooded American men do. We went to ... THE BATTING CAGES!

Okay, it's been about ten years since I was THAT red blooded. But I got my tokens, my complimentary helmet, loaner bat, and headed to the baseball "medium pitch" batting cage. Debbie and Jim stood outside as I took a few practice swings, deposited the fake coin into the slot, and stepped into the batters box.

You know. Ten years is a long time. This particular cage was suppose to clock out at 60 MPH. That might not be much to Albert Pujols but it's about the speed of a bus on the highway to me. The light came on at the machine. I dimly saw a baseball drop into a rocket like contraption. And then, "Holy moley, what was that?" Zing! Swing! Whop. The ball came. I pulled the trigger on the bat just about the time the catcher would have been throwing it back to the pitcher. Zing! Swing! Whop. I slapped at the first three swings as a right handed batter without so much as a foul ball. I looked and felt sadly pathetic swinging wildly. Zing! Swing! Whop. And then the strangeness kicked in. The very first time I picked up a bat as a little kid I started swinging from the left side of the plate. I have no idea why. I don't do anything else left handed. I golf from the right side. I write right handed. I pet doggies and tickle "The Amazing Elle" right handed. But batting left handed just always felt natural to me. So I moved over.

Suddenly the aluminum bat began meeting the horsehide ball. That's when I remembered the purpose for batting gloves. I mean like,... ouch! Still, it felt so sweet to hit a baseball for the first time in this millennium. I didn't set the baseball world on fire. And I didn't dare step into the 80 MPH batting cage.

Yet.

It felt good. Right up to the moment when my elbow popped and I remembered that I'm not in high school anymore. So I hung up the bat and helmet one more time. I'll be back. I'll have more tokens. And once again I'll make the cubs wonder why they didn't sign me earlier. (I'm holding out for a last minute contract just in time to propel me into the upcoming World Series.)

Ahhhh. Eyes on the ball. The swing of the bat. The sweet vision of the ball rocketing toward left field KNOWING it would most certainly evade the grasp of all outfielders.

Can you smell it? Can you? That's the smell of .... Cracker Jacks. Candy coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize. You. Are. All. Mine.

I take it back

I wrote a blog post last night. I reread it this morning and read the comment posted below. After thinking about it and especially after praying about it I have decided to remove the post. I do not know if my anonymous friend who left a comment is correct or not. If he or she is correct ... and that just might be the case ... then I threw a "spiritual torpedo" in the water at a church and that was wrong. If my friend is wrong and my original thinking is correct, well, the world will carry on quite well without this piddly little post.

I try to live what I believe. And I believe that it is wrong to do harm to those trying to do good. And so to my friends in the church I referred to, I apologize. Even though you probably didn't even know this blog exists much less that you appeared in it. That's not the point. I bless you and ask that you exalt the name of Jesus.

Ron