This is one of the times that as a resident of the planet, I feel helpless. The world seems so big and spread out, California feels so far away. When there are things going on that just don't make sense, how do we figure out what to do? There are lots of reasons for things to not make sense and because there are so many situations that people feel like there isn't a responsible party, I think it is part of our human-ness to blame someone. Surely because something is so wrong, someone must pay, someone has to accept the fault.
I can't imagine the fear and the anger and the helplessness that the people smelling the smoke and seeing the flames consuming their houses feel. Grabbing everything that you want from your life before today that you'll want for your life tomorrow seems absurd. Trying to figure out what to shove in a box that will preserve memories seems so secondary to a future that will be tainted by the exact reason you are shoving crap in a box.
I heard on the radio the other day that there are many different groups getting stuck with the blame for the fires that are raging, destroying and displacing southern California. The president is being blamed, global warming is being blamed, terrorism is being blamed, arson is being blamed. Surely someone must take the heat. Someone has to be responsible for the hurt and the loss and the destruction.
There is a big part of that that I don't understand. I guess I just feel like why waste time, whip into frenzies, or push agendas because of all of unanswered questions and not understanding. It just seems to me that we should work toward stopping the problem. Shouldn't the why of the problem be second to the ending of the problem? It seems like fighting over blame while the problem is continuing seems silly.
Growing up near Cleveland lent itself to a very cheap form of entertainment, Indians games. They were terrible but had a small, devoted fan base that I found myself in, in spite of the DH. There were also the Cavs who were terrible and the Browns who were terrible. You couldn't afford not to buy a $4 Indians ticket and sneak down to the seats behind home plate. Ah, the days of Sandy Alomar (who btw threw Ricky Henderson out at second from his knees), Albert Belle and Carlos Baerrrrrrrrrga.
I love watching baseball and going to baseball games. I like how stadiums feel and the energy of a game. I love peanuts, popcorn and cracker jacks. Not so much cracker jacks but it seemed to fit there. I love paying $27 for a diet coke and a cold hot pretzel. It just seems like a very normal, safe, fun way to spend a day.
Sean and I were watching the Indians and the Red Sox the other night and I began my barrage of questions and requests for him to rewind the play because I was convinced I could see that the guy was safe while everyone else blindly accepted the umpires call. I also have what has to be an incredibly annoying habit of asking no less than 100 questions per game. That is any sport, ok any activity we watch or go to including things I have a pretty good grasp of understanding. I have an incredible husband who is the best, most patient teacher who explains things so clearly and without patronizing even if he feels like he is explaining to our 6 year old.
Through his explaining the most fascinating thing I have heard about baseball is this...
The umpires are taught to watch the bag and listen for the ball to hit the glove in order to call an out. I am fascinated by this. They aren't watching the fielding, the throw, the catch or the runner, they are using their ears to see the play.
I am trying to figure out how to implement this into my life. I want to be able to use all of my faculties to determine how I call a situation. I don't want to use just my eyes and get stuck needing someone else to make the final call. My eyes are too easily misled and tricked. When I make a call, I want to be sure. So I am listening for the ball, I just won't wear the baseball pants.
"In a zoo in California, a mother tiger gave birth to a rare set of triplet tiger cubs. Unfortunately, due to complications in the pregnancy, the cubs were born prematurely and due to their tiny size, they died shortly after birth. The mother tiger after recovering from the delivery, suddenly started to decline in health, although physically she was fine. The veterinarians felt that the loss of her litter had caused the tigress to fall into a depression. The doctors decided that if the tigress could surrogate another mother's cubs, perhaps she would improve. After checking with many other zoos across the country, the depressing news was that there were no tiger cubs of the right age to introduce to the mourning mother. The veterinarians decided to try something that had never been tried in a zoo environment. Sometimes a mother of one species will take on the care of a different species.
The only 'orphans' that could be found quickly, were a litter of weanling pigs. The zoo keepers and vets wrapped the piglets in tiger skin and placed the babies around the mother tiger."
As I read this the other day, it got me thinking. I have friends who are adopted, friends who have adopted and friends who are adopting. But I was born into the family I was raised by, I am not an adopter and wasn't an adoptee so I don't get it on a level that some do. j I love adoption, I love it. I think this is one of the times in that I wish I could just open my brain and let people see in because I am having a hard time putting words to my thoughts. Actually I should probably just keep my brains to myself. m I do know this though. As someone who has decided to give all that I know of me to all that I know of God and live in a way that goes with what I think he asks of me, I at 23 years old, was adopted. I became part of God's family and am his daughter and he my dad. (I sometimes hate to use language that is "churchy" because I loathe churchy.) Its just true and I am not smart enough to think of a better way to put it, just that I am now part of his family. And of course the pig into tiger family as I am into Gods family analogy stops working eventually because God isn't the tiger sad and depressed and needing something from me to improve him. I guess more often than not, I feel like a little pig trying to be a tiger when all he asks of me is to be a little pig, be honest about my piggyness and he will put a cute little red bow in my pig hair and cover me up with his tiger blanket and cuddle me. As long as I let him.