Adolescent Literature

I am an avid reader. I always have been, and I probably always will be. Ever since I was a child, I have been passionate about literature – setting, storylines, characters, relationships.

My favorite part of elementary school was when the teacher spent a half hour each day reading to the class. In middle school I loved literature circles and book reports. In high school, I always had a book with me and I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say I read a book a week, sometimes even more. In college, it was much of the same.

I love everything about reading. I love being immersed in a new world or time period, taking on the characteristics of the protagonist (and sometimes antagonist), and imagining myself in their shoes. I love the different forms of writing, the different styles each author brings to the page. I love the structure (or lack thereof) and the flow of the words. I love the feel of a book in my hands, the sound of the pages turning. I even love the smell of the paper and the glue.

So it was an interesting moment this morning when I received a Facebook message from an old family friend. The message simply read:

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I Have a Dream

I have a crazy dream.

Actually, let me stop myself before I even begin. I’d like to withdraw the word ‘crazy’ from that statement.

I have a dream.

It isn’t a crazy dream. Crazy implies unrealistic, foolish, irrational even. This dream is none of those things. A bit out of reach maybe, but not unattainable … not if I really put my mind to it.

So, I have this dream.

I want to be Richard Barrow.

“I’m not skinny!”

It’s 7:30am and I just crawled out of bed – an endeavor that took four times longer than usual due to the burning in my quads and calves, the tightness in my shoulder blades and arms, and the dull ache that spanned the rest of my body. Once I strategically pulled myself off the mattress and onto my feet, I hobbled into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

“I’m not skinny!”

I said the words out loud, allowing a frown to plant itself firmly on my face.

“How can I not be skinny yet?”

I mean honestly, I had an incredible session with my personal trainer yesterday, the success obvious in my inability to walk normally or lift my arms above my head.

I spend at least an hour every day at the gym. I’m doing strength training, cardio workouts, spin classes, and splurging on personal training sessions. I even take the stairs at work!

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I have been a fan of baseball for as long as I can remember. I’m not quite sure when the love affair started, but I give credit to my father for introducing me. We used to go to games together when I was little – he, my stepmom, my sister, and I. I always loved the games – making a trip out to Seattle (a long haul for a young girl!), entering the Kingdome, and finding our seats in the Family section in deep right field. We always had peanuts – usually from Rick the Peanut Man – and almost always had a hot dog. Back then the stadium didn’t have all the fancy booths like Ivars, the Asian wok, and chocolate covered strawberries. It was hot dogs, pretzels, and sometimes pizza. I liked it that way.

We’d gear up for the start of the game, waiting for our favorite players to take the field. We’d watch Ken Griffey Jr. and Jay Buhner run out together, step on second base, high five, and go their separate ways – one to center field and the other to right. We’d watch Joey Cora run out and superstitiously jump over the white baseline, always sure not to hit the chalk. If Randy Johnson was playing (an extra treat), we’d watch him throw his warm up pitches, in awe of his height and throwing speed.