“Baseball is like church. Many attend, few understand.” 
Leo Durocher (1906 – 1991)

Cosey was running up to me looking like she was going to burst open with excitement. You see, I had come home half-way through work because I had forgotten something, which was nothing new. Forgetting things has now become a regular part of my daily ritual. I can’t seem to make it for at least a few hours without a lapse in thought, forgetting my wallet,  neglecting to pay a bill,  or even stop and eat something. I am not sure if it is some sort of early onset of mid-life altziehmers, or just the fact that at any given time of the day I am doing 100 things at once and just happen to forget a few things here and there. Either way, it gets annoying quick, and I seem to be spending more time trying to remember what I had forgotten. Where was I?… oh yes, Cosey.

Cosey ran up to me, not just with the regular smile on her face, but a blistering, “oh my gosh I can’t hold it in anymore” look like she had either just won the lottery or something good had happened at school. She finally blurted it out in words faster than her mouth could form… “I WON! I WON DADDY!”   I was contemplating what a 8 year old could actually win, and started to wish it actually WAS the lottery when she handed me a packet of papers. Cosey, (following along her maternal genetic line) has always done well in school, creating a layers of A+ homework assignments tacked to the fridge. Judging from the packet of papers she had handed me she was being rewarded for Most Improved in her reading skills with a ticket to a local minor league baseball game. At this game she was to be recognized, with other students from the county school system immediately before the game, and allowed to go onto the field for a bit.

Now I was getting excited. The opportunity to pull my oldest away from the barbies and pink frilly dresses was one in a million. I might be able to convert her over to the tom-boy look I had been trying to achieve for years now. This was my chance. A few weeks later the day had come for the baseball game, I had just come back from a mountain bike ride which was cut short so that i could attend the baseball game with her. I was not gonna miss this. Cosey was already dressed and ready for out outing, complete with a baseball hat and camo pants… both of them the color pink. I was not going to let this get me down as i knew the conversion was going to be a long process. She will be trying out for the high school football team and beating up cheerleaders soon enough. It was just gonna take time.

We arrived at the ball field early and were ushered into what can only be described as a juvenile delinquent holding area. A young lady who was obviously in charge of the 100 or so kids who were screaming, fighting and otherwise acting like monkeys, walked up to me and told me that i could just go ahead and have a seat in the stadium and she would make sure Cosey was ok until the presentation. I almost laughed in her face. By no means was she in any position to take control, responsibility or action with any of the  children who were there already, and I had serious concerns for her mental state if she actually was serious. I elected to stay with Cosey and the hoard of squealing pigs until the last minute when they were escorted to the side of the field.

Right before the game, an announcer, who obviously just wanted to get on with the game, introduced the Hamilton County School Most Achieved Students with the lackluster tone of someone explaining the Holocaust to a tourist at Auschwitz. Cosey walked onto the field scanning the 1000’s of people in the crowd obviously looking for me. She had no clue it was a impossible task, but it made me proud that out of all those people she just wanted to see me.

We went to the concession stand and ordered 2 hotdogs, 2 drinks, and some popcorn and then found our seats. For some reason we were surrounded by die-hard baseball fans, who were decked out with team jerseys and gloves to catch any and all foul balls. The men looked at me suspiciously, probably wondering how i managed to get my daughter to come to such a manly sport.. once they saw the pink camo pants and hat Cosey was wearing I think they snickered a bit and ignored me.

 We were finishing the last of the popcorn in the 2nd inning when the local team connected with a fast ball and hit it over the left field wall. Home run. Everyone in our section jumped to their feet and began screaming as two runners were crossing home plate. I pulled Cosey up and began clapping myself, showing her how exciting this game could be.  After the fanfare faded, she asked me what had happened and I spent a few minutes proudly explaining the rules of baseball to her and the point/out/strike system. She nodded in understanding and I could not help but to sit back and smile.  This feeling was not meant to last long. The next minute a batter hit a ground ball to the infield. Cosey jumped up and yelled “HOME RUN!”.. the people around me just stared.  I sat her down and tried to explain the rules again, but she just wanted to show the boy next to her her pink hat, which I now think said “Princess”.. After awhile she was on the ground gathering everyone’s spilled popcorn so that she could make a princess crown with string.

I gave up with a smile. She may not be the tom-boy I wanted, but she sure made me proud. We lasted 3 innings before we left the park and went to a local shop for ice cream… with pink sprinkles.

  ”If it weren’t for baseball, many kids wouldn’t know what a millionaire looked like.”
Phyllis Diller

“Slow and steady wins the race, then wastes no time grinding salt-caked glass in your open wounds.”
Randy K. Milholland

It was around 1100 AD. There was a guy, I’m sure, who was sitting in a back room of the Chartres Cathedral. laboring away on the new piece of art for the front entrance of the church. He was crouched over a large piece of colored glass which was one of many to be cut and assembled together flawlessly in a mosaic of the Virgin Mary. The Bishop has set a time line and he had very few days left to finish the piece. Beads of sweat were forming and dripping from his forehead as he applied pressure to one corner of the glass hoping it would break as intended and leave him with a perfectly shaped nose for the Virgin’s face. There was a cracking sound and then a guttural scream followed by a long line of french curse words having something to do with the illegitimate puppies of pregnant female dogs.  Eventually, the piece was finally finished, however Mary looked like Barbara Streisand after getting in a fist fight. The Bishop was not happy. The artist was executed of course, however he did not care since he was finally out of his misery and did not have to participate in any more stupid and frustrating pieces of fragile artwork.

This past month has been filled with similar frustrations as I have attempted to broaden my horizons and indulge in stained glass art. Although much time has past since 1100 AD, technology has not progressed much in the realm of stained glass making. If my kids actually listened to me at all, they would have learned several new words to expand their vocabulary coming from my mouth. This was not easy, not one bit.

Stained glass is something I have always wanted to do. Not out of pure creativity but more a fascination with the end result. I have stopped many times to look at old glass art at those salvage stores and to me they seem like a ordinary windows… with a story. Even if the glass was made recently, it still has a aura which is oozing history. You just want to stare at it and wonder where it has been or who use to own it.

I bought a beginners kit on eBay, read a few books on the subject, then considered myself an expert. I decided to start out small and followed instructions on a piece which had cut-out templates in one of my books. It was a glass cover for a night light. Simple enough to get the hang of it and practical for a application in the girls room. The design was supposed to be a sunset over the ocean.  Piece of cake.  Feeling proud of myself after 3 hours of work on a 5 inch piece of glass, I showed Cosey my creation. She absolutely loved it however thought it was strange that I would make a stained glass picture of a “smooshed jelly sandwich”. At this point I decided it would now be abstract art, and Cosey can kiss my butt. I then emailed a friend of mine a picture of it to which he responded with acclaim at the talent my kids must have to do such creative projects. I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Suppressing my damaged ego, I moved on to something I had always wanted to have. A numerical glass piece displaying our house numbers. Maybe the mailman can appreciate my genius. While the layman may look at it and notice 1,..2.. but no more than 14 imperfections,  a true artist will realize it is a contemporary piece showing the fall of man in a sinful world who build their lives on the slanted and not so perfect foundation of untruth. Duh.

A week later my second creation was complete with newfound realization that I stink at soldering. After a night of framing it in the small and useless window above our front door, the whole neighborhood is jealous. I’m sure.

“Glass, china, and reputation are easily cracked, and never well mended.”
Benjamin Franklin (1706 – 1790)