It wasn't because he brought her flowers....
It wasn't because he wined and dined her....
She loved him because he spent hours on the computer
trying to track down the 1970 Brooks Robinson baseball card
for their oldest son's birthday
She loved him because he played with their kids, even after a hard day at work...
baseball games in the big front yard...
cheering them on...
not getting angry when the youngest son
knocked a homer
straight through the living room window
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
Off to the ballfield
Where I once used to roam
From sun up to sundown
I'd call my home
Left all my troubles
Great times were had
By all those who played
I remember each moment
Like it was yesterday
Now I'm taking my son
And a group of his friends
To hit a few balls
And bask in the sun
I hope he remembers
This time that he'll have
Playing in ballfields
Putting troubles behind
It is cold out now
but don't you worry
Spring is right around the corner
and will be here soon
The sun will be bright and we might burn
but it is better to be hot
and to sweat
than to freeze your toes
Two months from now it all will start
the crack of the bat the cheer of the crowd
Every little boys dream
to watch their heroes play
So let's all have a some patience
and the days will pass
and before you know
that season will be here
In the dirt of the diamond, my son’s eyes
Burn below the rim of his red hat
And he pulls his hand back,
looks at the score yet again,
digs his small toe in as his chest rises.
From my place in the stands
Every muscle has become tense
And my heart is pounding in my chest
As he draws his arm back and then forward
Releasing his breath and the tiny spinning ball,
A wild pitch bouncing off the wire fence.
And I finally exhale, wonder if he knows
I am throwing with him and that was my wild pitch
because I forgot to breath when we released the ball
And I was trying to throw it slow.
And I should just let him throw the ball
Because I am not a good pitcher
Because how can I possibly throw with him
When he is a lefty and I am a right.
But all of me grows tense, as he has the ball yet again,
And then we are winding up again
Because I cannot let go
Because his dreams are now my dreams
Because I don’t know how to love him
Any other way. So I will wear his little hat and
Must remember to exhale when we release the ball.
And I can play with him for a few more years
So we wind up, and we pitch, and that fast ball down the middle,
It wasn’t even trying to be avoided,
And so I know he threw that one
Because he is ready for the fast ball
And I would prefer we pitch it slow,
Just for a little while longer.
Long enough for him to know I am out there with him.
Long enough for me to learn how to let a fast ball fly.
A subject of sweetest softness
Cats can be loved too
Graig Nettles as a Yankee wore the number nine
the New York Yankees in the seventies very fine
I’m Red Sox fan but a baseball fan first
as you can tell baseball is my first thirst
ever since the seventies I was a baseball fan
Lou Brock and Yaz and Yaz the main man
baseball my sport of choice it’s my only game
and the Boston Red Sox have plenty of fame
I’ve been to Boston a few times what a city
Hold your head up Grandma would say
and let me pull your hair from your face.
Stand up tall and properly, for a lady
it should look as though it comes naturally.
Oh Grandma I would say, I just want to go
and with the boys play. I want to fish and
shoot marbles too and maybe some baseball,
if Bobby doesn't come too.
Who is Bobby, she said. Just a boy who doesn't
like girls who with their brothers hang.
Well maybe Bobby is right and a lovely girl
such as you, shouldn't be talking such slang.
I long to be where the boys are for they have
so much fun, it beats cooking and knitting
silly hats and gloves. Give it time and you
will see, she said, that being a lady is what
God has meant for you to be.
I would lay awake each night as I grew and I
dreamed of the places my brothers seen
and Bobby too. I always knew when they were
to return home for most often it was when the
cherry blossoms scented the lawn.
Then there came that Spring day when all of them
came home late, but all I could see was
Bobby standing at gate.
My heart did flutter and my cheeks, I knew were
flushed. I never knew I had also missed Bobby
just as much.
It has been 4 years now and I still wear Bobby's ring and
two beautiful children that in cherry blossoms we play.
I often think back to what Grandma said and I understand
now every word that still echo's in my head .
I think Grandma's have an inside tip
for she already knew the plan, before I did.
I will always love you Grandma.
One feels so alive
at baseball games
You are a part
of something there
As a Mets fan
I feel myself as
a piece in the urban puzzle
A member of the urban tribe
Joining in the
cheering for the
helps the masses to release
which has been created
by urban life - even if last season the team
didn't fare well
The loyal fans
stuck with them
till the end
Loyal fans such as myself
see the Mets
as the descendants
New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers
a team all New Yorkers
can embrace wholly
A team you can yell yourself hoarse for
Through the cold winter
there are no green diamonds
to gaze upon
But we New Yorkers know
that the sound of "Play Ball" will
soon usher in
another 162 games
for the New York Metropolitans
Our hometown heroes