I Sure Ain't No Sammy Sosa

In an effort to earn more money this spring, I eagerly applied to be the Curlew High School assistant softball coach.

Bad idea.

In the last ten years since high school graduation, I forgot how terrible I am at softball. I'm pretty much awful at anything that involves a ball, a bat, a glove and running- not to mention decision making skills and mental toughness.

When I think back to my softball playing years at Inchelium, all I can remember is the look on my coach's faces whenever I messed up (like, all the time). They'd shake their heads in disgust or let out an audible sigh or just throw their hands up in frustration and look to the sky for some Divine miracle. Those looks still haunt me. Batting wasn't my thing, throwing wasn't either and decision making skills were definitely not my forte. I used to play with a thick rubber band on my wrist for me to snap whenever I made an obvious error. My wrists practically bled.

After graduation, I left my softball years behind me and swore I wouldn't return. But, alas, the financial strain of saving for a year of painting caused me to have a severe lapse in judgement and leap at the chance to serve as assistant coach. Last weekend, I sat in my parent's living room and relayed stories to them about my experiences as assistant softball coach so far: "Do you guys even KNOW how hard it is to hit fly balls?!!? It's practically impossible to make that sphere go anywhere you want it to. Think of all the possible directions a ball can go when it's hit with a bat: it can go behind you, it can plop in front of you, it can...." And on it went. My ranting continued with stories of trying to teach players how to bat when I, of all people, can't seem to get the ball past the pitcher's mound. I vented about how complicated 'tagging-up' to a base is when a fly ball is hit.

Me: "It makes no sense that you RUN when the ball is caught. I don't get it."

Mom: "Well, isn't that the first base coach's job to tell when to tag-up or not?"

Me: "Mom, I AM THE FIRST BASE COACH!"

Mom: This is junior high softball, right?

Me: "Mom! This is HIGH SCHOOL SOFTBALL!"

That was when mom laughed so hard she cried.

Two more months and this season will be over with. My gift to the team this year is a promise NOT to return to coach them next year. You're welcome, ladies.

Mr. Mouse and Me

The drive from my parent's ranch to my home in Curlew is an hour and a half trip. Driving for a good 90 minutes isn't usually that grueling but, as it turns out, I don't get any radio stations for the last 45 minutes of driving time (one of the drawbacks to living so rurally)- just static and snippets of songs:

"-----wel-come-------t-----Hote-----Californi----such a lo--ly place----------"

If you know me at all, you know that I love music and I thoroughly enjoy rocking-out to tunes while I negotiate the curvy roads of eastern Washington. That last (almost) hour of driving can be a killer without music- especially since I visit my parents almost every weekend and I am left driving home in silence alone...alone with my thoughts.

Last night, as I cruised home from Long Rifle Ranch, my car started the ascent up Boulder Creek Road and, predictably, my radio gave out. I turned it off and watched as my headlights scanned the road in front of me. With nothing but time and silence, I figured I'd spend a little of my drive thinking about and planning for this upcoming trip.

"What should I pack?"

"What else can I do to save money?"

"What can I do to ensure this adventure runs as smoothly as possible?"

"What is my next painting going to be?"

"Linen or cotton canvas?"

...etc.

Inevitably, thoughts turned from concrete to-do lists to more abstract, vague "no right answer" thoughts like:
"Can I do this?"
"Is this possible?"
"What if I don't make it?"

Twists and turns of the road kept my Mazda's wheels turning while throughts and concerns kept MY wheel turning as well.

"What if I don't make it?" The question stuck with me, like it was riding shotgun, keeping me company on my drive home.

My mind tried to shut off the faucet of doubt pouring more thoughts into my brain,
"Stop it. Don't even think that this isn't going to happen!"

I was busy wrestling with my own insecurities when I suddenly spied a mouse in the middle of the road- two shiny little eyes.

With my car zoom-zooming ever closer towards this little rodent, I watched Mr. Mouse (I am assuming it was a HE) struggle with indecision and insecurities of his own. He'd ventured out onto the scary pavement and had stopped right in the middle- unsure whether to turn back towards the comforts of home OR to surge ahead and leap towards the other side.

His decision became obvious when he hesitated-like he wanted to head back but, at the last second, scurried towards the right side ditch- running full speed into the unknown.

Kind of like me.

Mr. Mouse didn't double-back, he didn't go back to the safety of where he came from, and neither will I. That rodent, for one split second, had a choice to make and he did.

Next time I am driving in the car, in silence, alone with my thoughts, "What if I don't make it?" is a question I will not entertain. Instead, I'll consider the mouse and his bravery, and remind myself that there's no room for second guessing.

And I'll devise a budget so I can afford satellite radio.

Update on Joe

Several of you have inquired about Joe Artist lately. I guess he left more of an impression on you than I thought. Well, I wanted to let each one of you know that he is doing fine, sitting fat and sassy in my sketchbook, getting impatient just sitting on my shelf.

For those who are familiar with Joe Artist, you will totally understand what I am talking about. For those who have not yet met Mr. Joe, I urge you to befriend him on Facebook (Joe Artist) because he loves friends... and you can catch up on old episodes.

Joe Artist came about on a gloomy Saturday afternoon in November, 2009 and frequented my Facebook page for several months before disappearing last summer. Joe has served as a creative outlet for me and, as projects come and go, he's always eager to entertain my family and friends with stories of heartbreak, crazy Christmas gifts, faux hawk hair-dos and the every day struggles that artists face (lack of sales, spells of creative droughts, and the constant struggle against insecurity). Although Joe went dormant last summer, he is due to make a reappearance here in the near future. Stay tuned.

I should mention that Joe has been invited to join me on my European adventures this next year as long as he minds his manners and doesn't irritate the locals... and as long as he doesn't cramp my style. =)

Keeping up with the McJones-es

It seems as though almost every one of my friends, family members, acquaintances, and even co-workers have something monumental happening in their lives right now:
retiring
engaged to be married
getting divorced
pregnant
first child has been born
new job
new girlfriend
new boyfriend
new pet
new car
buying a house
decorating a house
going to college
graduating from college

you get the idea.

It's been hard resisting the urge to compare my life to other's.
At times, I feel as if life is a game of Sorry. Most people my age have their little Sorry pawns in their circle, in their big house with their little kids-- whereas my Sorry dudes all got bumped back to start about a year ago. With the termination of a marriage comes the termination and/or deferment of several dreams (kids, security, etc.) and the need for a change of direction.

It was this time last year that I said good bye to several old dreams and started incubating a new plan: leave home and explore while I can. Sure, I might not be having children or obtaining my masters degree like others, but I have a chance to leave, take a few chances, and go on one great adventure before I settle down again. Keeping up with the Jones-es has just gone out the window now that I've headed in another direction. What I mean to say is that, in my plan to leave the US and paint for a year, there's no Jones-es to keep up with, no Smiths, no Andersons, no one to compare to- because they're busy doing something else, and I am busy setting a new standard for myself- independent of others.

It feels good.

So, as my friends and family are busy buying baby clothes for their upcoming child, trying on white dresses for a summer wedding, cashing in on their IRA in anticipation of retirement, signing the mortgage, taking the car for a test drive, and framing their diploma, I will be busy too: packing.