Don't Mess with (me when I am leaving) Texas

I move very, very soon. My messy mid-packing apartment is a constant reminder of the rapidly approaching departure. Currently, we don’t know where exactly I am moving to; this includes both city and type of residence. Joe has bounced up and down and then up and then down again and then back up this season enough that we haven’t settled on what we should do about the roof over our heads. Polly says she isn’t worried about it.

We totalled up how many miles I have traveled this year thus far: 18,000 miles between January and today. The world is 24,0000 around so I am almost guaranteed to have traveled “around the world” by the end of the season. To those of you who have jobs like George Clooney in Up in the Air, you have far more patience than I. 

Can you imagine if Clooney sat next to you on a flight?
I might not get off the plane.
Oh, come on, even Joe might stay on the flight next to George!

Things I will miss about Texas:

Good Co. barbecue 

Goode Co. on Kirby

Dr. Pepper
My familyPeople saying Coke, but really meaning any carbonated beverage
“Y’all”
Cowboy boots in a non-novelty way
The Guadalupe River. By the way, this is my first summer in 4 years to not be working at Mystic and my first summer in 16 years to realize I can't go back and work there.... or be a camper.

The Guad at Camp Mystic's Waterfront

My friends
Steak
The Galleria
My church
Finding any item of clothing you can imagine can, in fact, bear the Texas flag

I think my sister owns one of these
shirts. They have
the real thing too, if that's what you're
looking for

The Rodeo
St. Arnold’s and Shiner Light Blonde
Swimming in October
Texas Country Music

In honor of my hiatus from Texas (as if four years of college were not enough), I am going to write a few little vignettes about the Texas I know, the Texas that has been created around me and the one we so love to romanticize when we have to be away.


Water from the sprinkler turned to steam on the concrete. Everything was wet and hot. Even the cars’ hoods looked like water as the heat rippled over them.  Somewhere in the distance an ambulance drove by, its siren’s tone getting lower as it passed. Zoe played in the soil with naked Barbies. Her toddling sister slept inside, her hair curling on her forehead from the baby sweat. Later their father would come home with his dry cleaning and golf shoes. Later they would eat Kraft macaroni and cheese and drink milk from cups they bought at the circus. Zoe’s was a pink elephant. Its trunk was the handle and it had long black eyelashes. She made the Barbies do the splits and tried to make them hold handstands in the grass. One of the Barbie’s hair was brown, which meant she wasn’t really a Barbie, but Barbie’s friend Susan. Or Brenda. Some name that was not Barbie and did not have an “i” with a heart on her box. A boy rode his bike, without training wheels, down the street. Zoe wanted her baby sister to wake up so they could fill up the inflatable pool and make the Barbies, and Brenda, go skinny dipping. Zoe liked to go under the water and open her eyes. She could see the pebbles and sticks poking at the bottom of the soft plastic pool and her hair stuck to her face when she finally came out. Her mom did not like it when she put her face under. Her mother, now, was moving the sprinkler to make sure her begonias and monkey grass got enough to drink. It had been many days since she watered the plants so much of it was dead. Little brown buds fell off and ran in streams to the hot, wet street.

The second canoe was smoother than the first. The Guadalupe water was still and green before the dam and we could see turtles heads pop up and the outline of their shells. Sweat prickled on my back like the insects that landed on the water. Their legs twitched and spasmed, then they flew to another spot. Or went to the tall grass on the road side of the river. I asked West if he wanted to turn back before the dam; he said no. We didn’t talk for a while after that, just listened to the sound of our paddles dip in the water and scrape against our old metal canoes. Sometimes my Dr. Pepper cans rattled by my feet. Sometimes West was so silent I could have sworn he was a Hill Country Indian. His bandana was tied around his head and his shirt, long discarded, was tucked into the seat of his shorts over his butt. He stopped paddling and looked at me while he took a drink from his water bottle.
“You’re doing a pretty good job there,” he said to me.
“I like the river.” He smiled but didn’t say anything and went back to his silent paddling. West’s back was burning and I was sure that mine was red, too. Later we would have to take turns putting cold aloe vera on each other’s backs. West would tell me to put it on my hands first before rubbing it in. I wouldn’t say anything. And maybe he would pat my shoulder as a way of telling me he was finished. The dam was upon us. We had to pick up the canoes one at a time and walk them down. Though the water was more shallow, the river floor was clay and dipped down in tubs. West got a leech on his forearm. He pulled and flicked at it till the leech fell off.
“So do you have to suck the poison out?” I asked.
“No, that’s snakes. This will just need to be cleaned. Plus, if I was bitten by a snake, you would have to suck the poison because I would be too weak.”
“I would do that. For you.”
“I know.”
The current moved us for a while without having to paddle except to stay straight. We would need to turn around soon to make it back before dark. Or we would just stay on the river till the breeze picked up and the water turned black beneath our canoes.


They sat on top of the picnic table with their feet on the bench, just like they had done in high school. They’d eat cafeteria yogurt and talk about their days, uniform skirts tucked between their thighs as to attempt modesty. They had on jeans and boots so there was less balancing involved now. There was also no yogurt, just some beers in plastic cups and a poorly sugared funnel cake. Marcy wore a push up bra that night and it was riding up her back and she was certain one of the straps was twisted. When she got dressed she looked like a sexy cowgirl, she thought. But now, sitting next to Allison and a few hours into the night, she felt like she had tried too hard. You could tell she had tried to look like a sexy cowgirl, and what she really was was a sexy cowgirl’s overly primped friend. Allison, who did not own a push up bra, wanted to get a cinnamon roll and maybe ride the ferris wheel. They got up to find the tent with the cinnamon rolls, but there was a cluster of high school students flirting and laughing too loudly. Marcy suggested they still wait in line, but Allison said she changed her mind about the cinnamon roll and she just wanted to go sit and watch the ferris wheel and finish their beers. Marcy had wanted to finish her beer in line with the high schoolers, but followed Allison back to the picnic table that now had two Hispanic boys playing with one of the prize stuffed animals. It looked like a squid. Marcy almost made a joke about things that look like squids; she decided against it though.  They watched the boys play for a while then looked back wordlessly at the blinking lights of the ferris wheel.

The Heels Were Made for Teaching

Bookshelf at Shakespeare and Co. in Paris, France
One of my study abroad trips in college

“Wait, what do you mean ‘Free Read Day’? I don’t get it." This was the general response from my students when I told them to bring a book, no iPads, Kindles, eBooks, magazines or comics, to read in class last week. (Note: A student brought Captain Underpants and actually tried to make an argument as to why he could read it as a junior for Free Read Day. A book that comes with stickers is not going to fly for Free Read Day.)

This face would probably shock
my students

When they were unable to bring a book to school, I let them borrow some of mine.  
I shocked my students with the fact that the books I gave them were not 17th century poetry or written in Old English. The books I gave them were by modern and contemporary authors with some elements I know they weren’t expecting (“Uhm, this book says the word ‘beer,’ is that okay?”*) and with endings they certainly were not anticipating (“Why does he just walk away? Why did she still love him?”**). But I loved that they were holding books from my personal library, with my old notes and scribbles in the margins. I know they felt like they were looking into my diary or something, and in a way they were, by my diary as a reader not as a writer. 

Student A: “Are we going to find notes to ex- boyfriends in here?”
Me: “Would I still have the book if I wrote notes to other people in them?”
Student A: “Guess not.”
Me: “Besides, I would never let an ex-boyfriend keep my books.” Student B: “ Wait, You have ex-boyfriends?!”


This is the same reaction to my having a doctor’s appointment, as though we, teachers, do not go to doctors or get sick or leave the school campus for anything. Did I think that about my teachers? I guess to some degree I did, but when I came back to school after the doctor they were very inquisitive then as well.
Student A:“Are you sick?”
Me: “Nope.”
Student B:“Are you getting sick?”
Me: “No, just a check up.”
Student A again: “Were you faking sick?” 
Student B:"I bet you were faking."

Me: “Okay, time for a pop quiz.”

With this year winding down I keep wondering if I have made any impact on them besides my clothing-- which is still commented on daily (“I don’t think you have worn the same shoes twice,” said a male student to me. “Yes she has, she wore those before Christmas break. That is two times this school year, gosh, you idiot,” said a female student in my ‘defense.’)
But I think about my most influential teachers, the ones that made me want to be a teacher; I wonder if I have done even half of that, a third of that, for my students. I know they will not leave my class dreaming of being an English teacher. I know they will not go out and buy every Barry Hannah, Miranda July, Mary Karr book they can find.*** I know that they don’t think Shakespeare is cool or that Old English is easy. But I want so badly for them to think something, to learn something and most importantly, to feel something. That is what reading and writing does that no other subject really can, it makes you feel. I want my students to have read something, even if it was just a page and the rest was Sparknoted**** I hope they read it and had to look inward at themselves in a way they hadn’t before. We have talked about pride and greed and lust and love and death and creation and isolation and abandonment and fear-- oh goodness have we talked about fear. The most fearful thing, after all, is that someone can look at us and see us for who we truly are. Reading is that, it forces you to look inward. I want them so badly to have studied these themes and thought, I know what he/she feels, I have never killed anyone to become king, but I know how it feels to want something you can't have or I know what it feels like to be alienated, I know what it feels like to reach out and have no one reach back-- I didn't know other people ever felt that way.


I personally fear that I did nothing but show them how to write a proper thesis statement and insert page numbers on a Word doc.

A student from the other 10th grade teacher’s class said that all we do is color in my class. He said this to two of my girls who are not making very good grades and that all they have to do is stay in the lines in my coloring books and they will get an A. My teacher friend teaches the class that this conversation was taking place in. She said the girls stood up for me, but mostly for the rigor of my class.
“It is, like, hard. Like, we really have to read and learn stuff. She grades our essays hard and she makes us like, go deeper”
“Yeah, you don’t even know. It is a hard class and we are trying really hard to make good grades. It is hard.”
                         
The girls also told me about this the next day. We joked as a class about if that was actually the case, than they should all have made A’s on the test I just handed back, which they did not.


Being the young, new teacher I am an easy target. 
Being the young, new teacher means I will quip right back at you. 

My teacher friend said I should come meet this boy, the naysayer/hater, so I did.
Teacher Friend introduced us: “Boy (name omitted to protect his identity), this is Mrs. Savery. She wanted to meet you.”
I smiled big, gave a firm hand-shake and said, “Hi, Boy. I hear you really want to come to my class to color.”
He looked at me wide eyed and shocked, “Uhm, no.”
“Really? I think you should just stop by sometime. I have plenty of extra coloring books if you want a break from Mrs. Other 10th Grade Teacher’s class.”
“I like Mrs. Other 10th Grade Teacher’s class.”
“Oh, that’s great! I will let her know. But in case you need a break from all of your learning and test taking, I have all of the Crayola crayons you can imagine and we don’t even have grades. Just stick figures.”
Still shocked and stammering he said, “Oh, okay.”
“Okay, great! Well, come by sometime. It was so nice to meet you!”

My girls, who were listening from the hallway, all hugged me after like it was an episode of Saved by the Bell and I had confronted the bully. They thought it was, like, so awesome. Which it kind of was.
(Boss, if you are reading this, please don't fire me. I was standing up for my students! I was standing up for literature!)

What was even better was that the next day a few students stayed after class to tell me how much they had learned this year and what a good teacher they thought I was.
“I would take your class every year if I could. Even if there was a coloring class, I would take yours instead!”

What did we learn from this, class?
We learned that teachers talk. That you shouldn’t talk about what you don’t know.  That maybe I have done something for my students.

And don’t mess with the teacher in the red-soled shoes.







*Reading Larry Brown's Big Bad Love; which is not, in fact, about love being big or bad. Well, maybe a little bad.
** Reading "Up In Michigan" after I told them that Gertrude Stein told Hemingway it was the cruelest story she had ever read. And it is pretty cruel. So of course, they wanted to read it.
*** All amazing authors, very contemporary and not for everyone.
****Sparknoted: a verb meaning read the first and last page of a book and used Sparknotes for the rest.

"Never go on trips with anyone you do not love"

 There is a scene in Ernest Hemingway's novel A Farewell to Arms in which the main character, Fredrick, has a conversation with the priest while he is injured in the hospital. Fredrick tells the priest he does not "love much." To which the priest responds: 


"Yes," he said. "You do. What you tell me about in the nights. That is not love. That is only passion and lust. When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve." 
"I don't know love." 
"You will. I know you will. Then you will be happy."
"I'm happy. I've always been happy."
"It is another thing. You cannot know about it unless you have it." 


Though this is not my favorite Hemingway book*, this scene certainly strikes a cord to any reader. Those who love know, those who do not, won't until they do. 


Another favorite quote of mine is in this novel (I promise this is not a literature lesson, so bear with me): "The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places." 


I once told Joe I knew I wanted to marry him when my plans changed because of him. Whatever silly timeline I had come up with, whatever check list of life accomplishments I had before him, changed when he came into my life. 

Such an attractive couple

And plans have changed again. Next fall I will not return to teaching full time; I will travel with Joe and take care of our marriage full time. I have loved teaching in the way you love things that make you struggle, that break you and make you stronger, and I hope to one day come back to the classroom full time. But for now, my family (however small it is) has to come first. 


But God is good and were we are needed he will find a way to have us there. My boss came in my classroom two days after I wept in his office about how I couldn't teach next year and offered the creative writing class to me through an online course-- I didn't even hesitate to say yes! There will be a presiding teacher to basically administrate the class, but the syllabus, grading, teaching and instruction will be "mine." The Lord has lead me to this school and has a purpose for me here, one I am even more certain of now that we are able to make an arrangement that satisfies all of my roles. 




At Camp Mystic for Girls**  there is always a Sunday we talk about putting God first. It is visually demonstrated through a giant fish bowl, rice and some golf balls. When we put worldly things first, represented by rice, God's will doesn't always fit, shown by trying to fit golf balls in the already full fish bowl. But putting the Lord first, meaning the golf balls, the rice sifts through and the Lord provides. I guess I forgot this in all my crying over what to do about next year. 




                                 Put your golf balls in first and your rice will fit, too. 

One of my favorite camper photos ever       

Photo Ode to Mystic 


**I went to Camp Mystic since 1998, with a hiatus between 2005-2007, quickly to return to be a counselor. Aside from my parents, I don't think anything has been as impactful and formative as Mystic. The river, the Hill Country, the tradition and the people make you renew your spirit and your body like nothing else can. God's hand has made Mystic as a place for girls to find their faiths, walk in hope and grow in love. 

Camp Mystic Dance 2011; sister and Rita 

Asking campers to back up so I can do the worm
at a Mystic dance party 

A little HBR
That's horse back riding to those of you who have never
filled out a Mystic Activity Card 

Reading at Mystic on CC Day, aka best day ever.
Yeah, I am a freak, kind of. 

My Mystic friends and the directors, Dick and Tweety at my wedding.
You don't go somewhere for 12 summers and not get attached to some folks.

* Read Hemingway's short stories or A Moveable Feast or The Sun Also Rises.  A Moveable Feast is a collection of short memoirs about his time in Paris. Better yet, read it in Paris. You'll never be able to stop loving the city. The title of this post is a quote from A Moveable Feast, and I couldn't agree more. 

UPDATE: Since this post went public Joe was called up to the big leagues again! Another player is injured, so there is no telling how long he will be there; however, it is nice to know that he is the next guy in line when something like this does happen! 

Polly Will Be Signing Autographs Later

Maybe it was the massive American flag. Maybe it was the Air Force flyover during the National Anthem. Maybe it was the Phillies Phanatic dancing to "Proud Marry." Or maybe it was just getting to see Joe smile on the big screen at Citizens Bank Park, but I was completely swept away by the romanticism of baseball on April 9, 2012.

Don't worry, I won't wear
it to a live game. 

And why shouldn't I be--my husband made the Opening Day roster for arguably one of the best teams in baseball history.


Tuesday night I was dressed to work out, but never made it. ESPN ScoreCenter app* kept updating me on the many pitching changes of the last pre-season game and Joe's name was continually not called. I folded laundry and bit my nails to ragged nubs and Polly wondered why I kept moving the clothes she was trying to sleep on.

iPhone photo of field because I can't find the cord
that connects legit camera
to laptop 

"It's been a long day," he said when I answered. I nodded and exhaled ready to get past the small talk.
"It has. How are you?"
"Good. I am good. Do you want to meet me in Pittsburgh tomorrow?"
I started crying hysterically and told him how proud I was of him. After numerous mass texts and phone calls, my parents and his brother "Potty" came over for a glass of champagne while I packed--


for 30 degree weather!


I bundled up in my best version of cold weather spring style (cream coat, tomato colored dress, black tights, black booties) and met my parents and sister Yulie in Pittsburgh. Even though the real show was a few days later when we were the home team, it was pretty amazing to see him run out and knuck with Charlie Manuel. The staff was very nice, kindly leading us to the traveling family room and brushing the dust off our stadium seats (this was a little excessive, but sweet nonetheless).

After Pamela's incredible pancakes

No trip is complete without some eating so I will give a quick run down of the best places we went. Primanti Bros prides themselves on a sandwich made with your choice of meat, topped  stuffed with cheese, cole slaw and french fries. If you have ever seen the videos of a snake eating a gazelle, than you have seen what one has to do to eat these sandwiches.** Totally worth the TMJ though. Pamela's was the breakfast place of choice, Michelle Obama's favorite as well. I ordered chocolate chip pancakes with bananas, also known as all of my favorite things. The pancakes are very thin, like a crepe and the cheesy scrambled eggs were made with Velveeta. I don't remember what anyone else got because mine was so good I didn't look up or breath for my whole meal.

Primanti Brothers 

One of my wife friends, Brooke, suggested I change my flight so I would leave out of Philadelphia. I told her this presented the dilemma of not having a car to get to Philly from Pittsburgh.
"Just fly on the team plane."

Uhm, yes.


I will be a huge bratface princess and say that flying privately is freaking awesome. Hospitable friends of my father have let me go to on their planes, but this plane was Delta without security, lines, other passengers or waiting. I cannot say that it was not sans motion sickness (me) or flight anxiety (Joe), but it was really great and the team is very lucky to be able to travel that way. And I am lucky I got to mooch.

Highlight of the flight? Joe is basically a fraternity pledge and has to carry different players stuff, so I tried to be as invisible as possible while he did his rookie stuff. A former Astro  was walking down the aisle of the plane and stopped to introduce himself, something that was very uncalled for and very polite. I jumped up, and I mean jumped up, and smacked my head on the low ceiling over the seats.


I only hope he forgot my name and has doesn't associate Joe with the head trauma patient.


Philadelphia was incredible. I choked up several times thinking about how happy I was for Joe. I thought about a particularly rough time last season when I visited him in A ball. He was hitting then and not getting enough playing time to even show what he could do. The stress of no playing time only made his at bats less than ideal, perpetuating the cycle.
"I don't even know what I am doing here. I don't like being treated like a little boy. Tell me I suck, tell me I need to retire. Hell, release me," he vented that morning. My heart broke for him. I prayed to God that I would sacrifice anything, anything at all, if he could feel like he had a purpose again. Because even that early on, I knew Joe was ultimately where I felt my greatest purpose and that is what happens when you love someone in a real way-- you fight for their happiness more than your own.


So when Joe smiled walking down the "red carpet," high fiving fans that lined the field and a boys' choir sang some song about Philadelphia-- I was singing songs of praise that what I had asked for in Florida less than a year ago had been answered.


Joe played in that game. Allowing one run, but holding his composure as he always does.


Tonight Joe was moved to AAA and had to take the longest route possible to Buffalo, NY to meet up with the team (Philadelphia to Detroit to Buffalo--what?). This is not to say that Joe won't go back up with the big boys, nor is it to say that he will. We don't know what the rest of the season holds.




But Joe has played in  Major League games, he has played in a Major League Opening Series game and God has used him to make an inspirational story that can make even a cynic smile.

Worn out from all of her publicity 

*I only have this to know Phillies game stuff during baseball season. I get alerts but don't get a lot of them. What I do understand is "FINAL" means the game is done.
** I looked at some pictures to put with this snake-eating-gazelle comment and decided that they were really too gross to post on here. Save yourself your breakfast and don't Google Image it either, I sure regret it. 

The Post with No Pictures

Opening Day is Thursday and as of this post, we don't know where Joe will be this year. More than likely, the big bosses have already made up their minds so it is just a matter of time before we know. I will be seeing Joe this weekend, be it in Pittsburgh (Majors) or Providence (Minors) I am holding my breath to find out. Today at church the sermon was about anxiety, and no better message could have been made for me today. Worry, said Ben Young our pastor, is looking in the future with the worst case scenario in mind, it is looking into a future without God.  And I know that whatever happens with and for Joe, God will be there no matter the outcome. I only wish I was there to be supportive. Giving major (pun intended) news via text or even phone call is not quite the same as in person. 


On Saturday we celebrated one of Joe's best friend's, Adam Z, birthday. Everyone brought their dogs and we all, canine and humans alike, enjoyed the sunny weather and new homeowner Derek's pool. Adam Z sacrificed birthday boy lounging and boiled big, fat crawfish. Crawfish, like many shellfish, are cooked alive so we had a giant cooler of pinchy little guys. Lize and Bryce and I became nine years old and poked them till they got in fighting stance-- claws up and out. What is it about things being small and aggressive is always funny? Lize's dog Duke got in a small tussle with one and I am sad to report the crawfish (kind of) won by a massive pinch to the snout. Duke flung it in the air and homeowner Derek got rid of it so we wouldn't have another incident. Polly would not have bounced back as fast as Duke had she been the curious dog of the day. Poor thing did come home with blisters on her paws from running all day. She hardly even made it to her bed before conking out when we got home. 
(I am a terrible photographer and rely on Bryce to document such things as this--- and the pictures aren't on Facebook yet for me to steal and claim as my own artistry)




All of this excitement also put me to bed early and all to aware that Joe was not there. I guess it is like never feeling as lonely as you do in a crowd when you're all alone (yeah, Wade Bowen lyric*), it is never more obvious that Joe is gone than when I am somewhere he should be. His good buddy Brian "Viernes", too, was notably missed and something feels off with the group's absences. When people ask, "How is married life?" I say, "Kind of like being single." But a really pathetic kind of single-- not the fun girl who says things like, "I don't have time for a relationship" or "I am just not into boyfriend/girlfriend labels." Not that I want to be this girl, I just want to be with my husband more. 


My creative writing class has reminded me why I have wanted to teach it and why I love to write. I submitted my story this week for my workshop in two weeks. I went with a piece I wanted to revisit from my thesis. It is easily one of my most controversial pieces and I fully expect for at least 6 people to hate it after the first paragraph... but hate isn't a bad thing, it is an emotional reaction and I want my readers to feel something. It makes me think more and more about writing a collection one day, or even a memoir about all the baseball stuff from my perspective. My friends from college liked this idea when I mentioned it in the summer, so long as I include them in the story and then write one about college. The latter might have to come much later and let the statute of limitations come into play for some incriminating tales.... mostly just so things that need time to be funny can do so. 
(If I put pictures with this paragraph I would either be a major creep in creative writing class or a very hated member of my college friend group)


But a baseball story, told from the stands with a hot dog in fluted paper balancing on my knee, might happen. I guess that will be something I worry (or not worry, thanks Ben)about later. For now, I will just not-worry about how what to bring on my trip to either Providence or Pittsburgh. Charlie Manuel**, give me a call if you can and let me know what you think I should pack. 


*Wade Bowen, Texas Country singer/songwriter. One of my favorites. 
**Charlie Manuel, Phillies manager.


Since I didn't have any cool pictures dealing with content, here is one just because.  This is what I wake up to if Polly stays in the bed with me: 

She has absolutely no sense of personal space. 

The Flying Corgi

Polly and I made the journey to Florida together for Spring Training. We almost didn't make it, however,  due to heinous lines at the airport-- thank you United and Continental for merging, it sure made things go at an excruciatingly slow pace. I cried to a security guard that my flight was leaving in 15 minutes (true) and I hadn't seen my husband in a month (exaggeration). He said no passengers could be expedited, no exceptions. Real tears ensued at this point. The twelve people in front of me felt compassion towards the crying girl holding the puppy and let me cut. I then broke Olympic Gold Medal records sprinting through the airport to get to my gate, which was the very last one because, really, why would anything about traveling be easy?

If you have more than 4 people working, things would probably go faster, IAH. 

We made it safe and sound and Joe was happy to see his girls. Let the record reflect that he hugged Polly before me, a gesture I will not soon forget.


Polly flew the weekend before last to visit my sister and various friends in Oxford. She was great except on the flight back I fell asleep and she barked until I woke up. It was pretty rude, if you ask me.


Currently, she is chewing my shoe laces which will inevitably lead to me telling Joe I need new tennies. Chew those shoes up all you want, just stay away from my Louboutins.

Exhausted from traveling and shoe-chewing

I have experienced a different side of life in the past week or so. Not only did I become one of those women that travels with her dog, I got a taste of what it is like to not work (I feel there is some cross-over between these two categories).


After dropping Joe off at the field while it is still dark--crazy fans already lined up at the fence to try and get autographs-- I have had loads of free time till the game starts. I have gotten to do things I don't get that much time to do at home such as go back to bed, work out, read terrible magazines, watch TV,  pick out clothes and make new outfits that Rachel Zoe* would even be proud of, learn what all the buttons are on my iPad and go get my nails done. I have to say, it has been really nice having the down time. The obvious perk of getting to spend time with Joe is priority, but I am seeing what it will be like this summer and what it would be like if I were to stop work and travel with him full time.

At the famous Ceviche, note my cool outfit 

One wife here is a retired Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. She and her husband, who shall remain nameless, got married in November and she will move with him to Philadelphia and travel to the games that she can when they play away.
One girlfriend quit her job as a body builder ( I am sure there are more professional terms for this) and worked some at Nieman Marcus in Tampa, then got transferred to  Nieman Marcus not far from the AAA team and Philadelphia last year. She said that she has gone in and worked once a week or so since getting to spring training with her boyfriend. Both have given up their careers for the time being to travel with their husband/boyfriend. The most time they will spend away from their respective partners will be when a road trip goes especially long, meaning about 6 days. I am insanely jealous of them; however, I have a different situation.


 I  have the job I wanted since I was in elementary school. Not a filler job that I am trying to eventually work up towards, no, I got THE job I want. And while I am exhausted and stressed and have found myself locking my classroom door to cry once in a while, I don't know that I could trade that for being here. Joe and I have rationalized that with the summer and the off season, we are really only apart 4 1/2 months. If I can travel to see him every other weekend, than that isn't too bad. Of course, that is a big if. If I am able to find flights that I don't have to miss work. If I am able to find the energy to get on a plane every other week only to arrive at my destination at midnight, then return Sunday night as late as I can as to spend time with Joe only to find myself wanting to take my coffee intravenously Monday morning.

                                                This is what I miss when I am not with Joe


I went to a wives' conference over Spring Break put on by PAO (Professional Athletes Outreach) and Baseball Chapel. It was so insightful to meet other wives in this position. Some  women have grown children who they themselves are already playing pro ball, and some are newlyweds like myself. The primary was discussion about keeping perspective and being able to find God in everything we do, and if we don't, change courses. Our speaker Rene Taubensee made a point that really struck a cord in me: Women at home don't get this. This is probably the hardest thing, seeing friendships sift out differently than I ever thought they would. Being gone almost every weekend takes up a lot of social time to cultivate my friendships at home. There were some great, inspiring women that I met that I look forward to becoming better friends with in the baseball world-- but what about  my roots are in Houston (or Oxford, for that matter)?


PAO link: http://www.pao.org/
Baseball Chapel link: http://baseballchapel.org/


Basically I have made my home in between a rock and a hard place. I am away from my husband and feel more alone than I ever have, but have the job I went to college for and have wanted since I thought I was a March** sister from Little Women. And not only do I want my job, I feel needed here. I feel like I serve a greater purpose than my own professional ambition right now. Or, I am with my husband and we can grow in our marriage and love while I potentially go crazy because I don't know how be satisfied with setting my schedule around when my dog needs to poop or getting manicures or  Zumba class***-- I fear I would not be a productive, happy wife, nay, human being, if I did not have the intellectual stimulation I do now--


But does staying here make me a bad wife?


(By the way, in my head right now Sarah Jessica Parker is narrating this like she does when Carrie muses on Sex and the City)

I wish this is how I looked when I typed

So I pray for patience in all my trials, rest when I am able to find it, strength when I am weary, overwhelming love for my husband and my job and hope that United will offer frequent flyer miles for dogs.




I have started taking a creative writing class at Rice. It is a continuing education class which means I am the youngest of 18 aspiring and  inexperienced writers. Stay tuned for my observations from class.






* Rachel Zoe = the styling equivalent to Moses, she leads thousand through the wilderness of the unfashionable world. At some point, I will write a fashion blog post. If you need anyone to help you pick out clothes or go shopping for you, contact me.
**Wonderful book and movie, Christian Bale and Winona Ryder in the early 90's-- why doesn't Jo choose Laurie!!??
***Don't get me wrong,  I love manicures, pedicures and Zumba. I do not love poop.