The Weekend Eudemon
Felon in the outfield. That's Eric Scheske.
As we've mentioned before, May means nice weather and lots of children sporting events. But Friday was just too gorgeous (70 and sunny) to enjoy cold sober, so he took Child Three to baseball practice and helped out for a half hour. He then walked 400 yards to a different baseball diamond where Child One was starting a game.
Eric had noticed from previous years that everyone sits and stands along the baselines. No one sits in the grass bleachers behind the outfield.
So Eric did. With a blanket, the recent issue of The Atlantic, and Yellow Tail Shiraz in a huge plastic wine glass.
As close to heaven a person will get during a kid's sporting event.
But of course it's a crime. The baseball fields sit on public school property, and we're told there's a strict prohibition against any alcohol on school property. No matter. He was able to finish the glass' contents unmolested by the liquor laws. Afterwards, he didn't even use vulgar language, get in a fight, urinate where people could see him, or do any of the other things that such liquor restrictions are meant to prevent.
There's another kid/wine function today: Child Three's First Communion. Old Jack is pretty excited. Some of you might know Jack the little Thomist from this article (the article was written a few years earlier, hence it refers to Jack as "three" when, in fact, he was seven at the time of publication).
Jack has a highly-analytical mind. He expressed concerns about practicing first communion, frightfully asking, for instance, "Are they going to make me take the wine during practice? It won't be the blood at practice. It'll just be wine. I might get drunk."
The worry subsided when they told us he'd just receive grape juice at the practices. Now, after months of preparation and hype, Jack is ready. It's good to see the little guy so excited. If we can get him through his teen years and launched into the young adult years with that enthusiasm, we'll feel better about our post-death prospects.
The Punchy Journal
. . . We drank like British Bill for another hour or so and then I left, suitably inebriated but fully upright. Not bad for a Thursday night.
It's a nice early spring night. "March comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb." That's one way of saying it. Others might say, "March screws with your head."
But tonight, it's nice.
The wind has stopped its rush and a southern breath tops the cold. The frost stands by, still there, but small, with no hurt in its hands.
I left the bar eager to get home. In inebriation, little things are fun, and I was hoping my handful of little things weren't in bed yet. I had my pockets full of little "bar favors" that I'd snagged: colorful cardboard coasters, a bottle opener, Miller Lite Pre-Season Baseball pamphlet. Kids like little things, especially little things that come unexpectedly. In that love for little, childhood is like a twelve-year state of drunkenness.
But the kids would have to wait. Another little thing caught my inebriated attention: night.
Of all the Meadian gifts from Zeus, the sudden surprise of nature has always been my favorite. A wise man once said that those who set out to appreciate nature are the ones most likely to miss it. The converse is also true: Those who set out with no thought to nature, like a mildly-inebriated man, are most likely to find it.
Tonight, I was struck by the remnants of death: of winter and its lifelessness. No trees are budding and no flowers blooming. But there is a moon and streetlights. The brittle tree limbs sit still, as if afraid to move for fear they'll break. All still.
I slowed my walk to a slow stroll, head up looking at the tree shadows and moon and a few stars. All silent.
This lasted for about ten minutes.
Then a car came blasting down the street, stereo blasting, windows down (45 degrees is warm this time of year). . .
