At least this came:
People tend to identify themselves but some of the activities that they do. Mike, for instance, is a mapper. He’s also a fisherman, a hunter, an musician.
My mom is a mother…which she chose to be.
I can describe myself in adjectives: happy, odd, not-so-well traveled, cheap, free. But I don’t have an “-er” beyond “sister” and “daughter”. I’m not a golfer or a softball player. I’m not a runner or a hiker or a climber. I do some of these things–I joined a softball league and I run, but I do not identify myself with those activities.
And we’ve talked about how I write, but I am not a writer. I am not a musician. I am not a cook. I am not a baker (yet…am I right, Mike? 😉 ).
I don’t do activity that I enjoy so much that I want to identify myself with it. What does that mean? I want to be a wife and a mother someday. Those are things I will choose and will enjoy…but shouldn’t I have something to be until then? I’m not a crafter or a decorator. I am not a quilter or a seamstress.
I suppose I am a dreamer. And I suppose I am an avid Roseanne fan. And I do love the Cleveland Indians and baseball, but not so much so that I can define myself by any of it.
I think this goes back to me needing a hobby. But it seems it’s deeper than that. It seems to me that I need a self-defining activity. This ought to be interesting.
I really didn’t want to play softball last night. I drove to the fields and I was sitting in my car just praying for rain as I watched black clouds roll past my moon roof. And nothing.
But at 8:15, everything let loose and there was cloud to ground lightning all over the place. I was so thankful that the games were cancelled.
For the longest time, lightning and severe storms have fascinated me. When I was younger, my cousin Meghan and I would sit in my father’s Jeep Wrangler, parked in the gravel driveway of my grandparents’ farm in Clyde. We had just seen Twister and we were hooked. We were storm chasers, and we chased tornadoes.
Ever since then, I’ve been the girl in the front yard waiting for the lightning to flash across the sky, or a strange cloud formation. I want to be Jo Harding sometimes.
Wouldn’t hurt to have Bill Paxton, either. 😉
There’s a man from my hometown that chases tornadoes named Allan Detrich. Someday, I think it’d be fun to go along with him. Maybe when I die, his team will fulfill my wishes to be sucked up into a tornado. Ha ha maybe not…
So I joined a softball team. I do not know any of the particulars. I don’t know the name of the team. I don’t know what position I will be playing, and I do not know where we play/practice/etc. In addition, I only know one person on the team and that’s because she asked me to join this morning.
Remember when I was bitching about not being able to meet people in my mid-20’s? SOLVED!
That said, I AM SO EXCITED!
I used to play rec league softball in high school, and I had a blast. When I was in grad school down in North Carolina, my lovely friend Jenny made us all sign up for an intramural team called The Buttermilk Biscuits. A bunch of writers on a softball team. We got our asses kicked.
But now I get to play again! I have to get my mitt back from Mike’s house. And I wonder if I still have a bat.
Shit, much more importantly–I need to hit the batting cages.