Vases and Pitchers…

Typical morning here in Heaven with Bear chewing her morning rawhide and Teddy waiting for his coffee(cup). The eliminating of unwanted fardles continues apace, and yesterday I went at the top shelf in the kitchen cupboards to discover that in that terra incognita was a LOT of dust. I could hear the entire maternal side of my family saying, “You could plant potatoes.”

The cupboard is near the back door so who’s surprised? I packed up most of it for the thrift store, but I listed my mom’s Roseville vase on eBay along with a terrifying number of OTHER mother’s (and grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s) Roseville vases. The good news is that someone has bid on it, and I will be able to pack it up and ship it out in a week or so. Why oh why didn’t I save all that bubble wrap?

Last time I went to the thrift store with stuff I was turned away because they didn’t take donations on Monday. Their sign had blown down the road so how was I to know that? It was kind of amusing because I was parked right by the intake door. I had two bags. I am SURE the woman who warned me off was wondering why I didn’t put up a fight of some kind, you know, say something logical like, “Well, it’s just two bags and I’m here now.” But I didn’t. I honestly didn’t care enough besides, she should have said it, but no one did so they’re in the garage soon to be joined by a box of stuff. The shelf is empty and free to gather all the dust it wants.

Among the stuff I’ve found in this long adventure are a few photos of my family (featured photo). Back in the Little League days, my brother, who was adamantly NOT a sports guy, wanted to be a pitcher. His big sister, who was adamantly a sports person, wanted to play centerfield. That worked out pretty well since I played centerfield with a well-padded first-baseman’s glove so I could play catcher while my little brother worked on his pitching. “Against the fence, kids,” said my dad, “So you don’t break any goddamned windows and you don’t have to chase the goddamned ball.”

My dad was given to florid language. Meaning, gratuitous cursing 🙂

We spent many summer days in the backyard training. Unfortunately, my brother never got to play pitcher on his little league team. He played right field most of the time, the field where nothing much ever happens. He was so not into the game that, often, he didn’t even come in to bat when his team was up. Once in a while his coach would yell at him, “Kennedy! You’re up!” meaning it was my brother’s turn to bat. Sometimes my brother would come in and sometimes not.

I wonder what he was thinking about out there.

26 thoughts on “Vases and Pitchers…

  1. Roseville and Hull pottery…I had a lot of that. No idea whatever happened to it. I still think it’s pretty, though.

  2. Ah yes; right field – the purgatory of Little League. I picture your brother picking dandelions or gazing into space, lost in another world. As a lefty, I was quickly designated as first baseman. They had me catch once – without benefit of a catcher’s mitt, since we didn’t have a left-handed one. As a batter I had a knack for getting hit by pitches and striking out. The year I got glasses that changed.

  3. I love the memories! With 2 sisters, sports were not even on the radar. My sons both played baseball when they were young. Your brother sounds like my son#2 – he was never paying attention though he did accidently catch a fly ball when he put his mitt up to keep from being hit in the head! My SIL collects McCoy pottery… My grandmother and then my mother collected hand painted china plates – they are all going in the garage sale in May!

    • Well…it’s sat in a cupboard since I moved here and in a cupboard before that. I think it deserves a better fate with someone who would appreciate it. 🙂

      • I’m sure you know yourself well enough to decide whether you would set it out with flowers in it:) I hang onto things (like teapots and multiple sets of dishes) because they belonged to my grandmothers or mom and I can’t part with them! I do display some pieces, but many do sit in the dark of a cupboard. Someday, I will HAVE to do something with them!

        • I would probably look at the vase and many other things differently if I’d had kids. And they might look at them and say, “Mom, I love grandma’s vase!” ❤ And I could give it to them. I have a tea cup and saucer that my grandmother gave me. When I was a little girl, she and I had tea-parties and she had all these pretty tea-cups. The one I have is the one that was my favorite. They can pry that out of my cold, dead fingers. 😀 It’s on my counter, ready to use if someone comes by for a cup of tea they get it.

  4. MAK, I absolutely love this post. The pictures make my heart smile. The vase is so beautiful.I grew up on a field. Dad is in Missouri’s Hall of Fame for fast-pitch softball. I guess that’s why I’ve always loved dirt (I’ve had a couple of cabinets in my past I COULD’VE grown potatoes, too? lol). What lovely memories and morning you had. It is SO good to see you. Love, Karla and Finn. ❤️

    • Your dad is my hero. I lived for baseball back when my brother was just standing out there in right field. One of the best days of my life was the time my dad came to watch me play. I hit 6 home runs that day. Not really a big deal because it was the first ever girls’ softball league in my town and I was the only girl on the team who’d ever played outside of gym class. I used to hit the balls for my bro’s little league team’s fielding practice. “Get Kennedy’s sister!” Such different times. ❤

      • 🥹 aww, MAK. Thank you so much. He’s a leftie. Is known as one of the fastest ever. I watched him get a triple off of a bunt. Six home runs!! Wow! My Dad would stand by the dugout when I was pitching (I had about 20 more pounds and a much larger right arm). He wouldn’t say anything to me. Just stand there with his arms folded. After the game he’d ask me what I thought and then proceed to advice. YOU’RE my hero, too, with the homers and ball experience. My 3 gloves are in my closet at this moment. I loved, breathed, ate dirt and played slow pitch through my early 30’s before my accident. “Get Kennedy’s sister!” Yes!! I got to throw at my first ex’s (boys’ Dad) fast pitch practices (all men). My best sports story was when my oldest was playing basketball (Dad coached and blind folded us on the free throw line~long story) and the guys had to run suicides in the gym for every missed free throw out of 5 each player shot. I was coming through the gym and they yelled for me to shoot! I sank all 5 and Jarrod and the guys just smiled as Coach told me to go back to my office. Lol. I was a history major when I began college. I loved music, too. But I didn’t want to coach at school and that’s what history teachers did (my Dad being one). Although I switched majors, I did end up having a few years coaching. My days at the ball field are some of my favorite memories ever. I think I may have wrote a bit about it in “Shake it Off” post. I think it’s so cool to know you were a ball player, too. ❤️🥰🙌🏻

          • I cried. ❤️ I’ve never seen memories as presented in quotes~it runs deeper to me in this manner. It was 1982 (or 81?) and I leaned forward from the middle of the back seat to Dad when I first saw the Colorado mountains. Mom and sisters were asleep. I was always sitting in the middle and Dad’s “son/daughter/mini-me”. The bag that was filled with harvest is precious, too. What beautiful memories, MAK. 💛

            • thank you, Karla. I wanted you to know the story of the 6 home runs and knew I’d written it somewhere. Sorry the photos are gone, but I was trying to get more memory last year, so I deleted a bunch of pictures. I don’t know about everyone, but for me a lot of my memories are vignettes that began with words, like my grandma waking me up so early. My dad had MS and the heat really bothered him, but that evening he wanted to watch me play. Eastern Nebraska in July is — as you know — sticky and relentless, but he was there. He played catch with me every night after supper. I wanted to grow up to be Willie Mays. I didn’t fully understand that wasn’t an outfield position but a unique individual. 😀 Anyway, the quotation from Dostoyevsky is very informative and I believe, for many of us, true. It depends what we focus on. ❤

              • You’re welcome. I understand about the pictures and the quote. I loved playing catch with my Dad, too. Yes, the humidity and MS~poor man. I really do try and focus on the good for sure. ❤️

  5. I have enough dust built up for potatoes. I had no idea there was a potato option! I loved softball too and was a pretty good shortstop in 7th grade. I could even hit. Not many girls played in the neighborhood (in fact it was only me) when I was younger. I played with the boys in the street, marking bases with rocks. Fun times! I really enjoyed this post. My brothers had zero interest in sports and it was a disappointment to my parents. But, girls in sports? Not a big draw for them.
    I can still hit a whiffle ball though. Ask my grandson. 😊

      • Yeah, I wish you had lived in my neighborhood! Whiffle ball is fun and my grandson is just so impressed this old lady can hit. (the running to base part is another story) 😀

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