Still Coughing

I finally gave up and went to the doctor on Monday. He said this cough is going around and takes about 3 weeks to go away. That was good news since I had been coughing for over 3 weeks. He gave me a flu and pneumonia shot. The cough got a little better and my arm was very sore from the pneumonia shot. After 4 days I phoned the doctor (Crystal insisted) to tell him about the soreness in my arm. He had me come right in so he could look at it. He phoned me this morning to be sure it was getting better. He was afraid it could be infection. It was an allergic reaction and is getting better. Thanks Crystal, I guess it could have been serious.

Sick is no fun, Well is better

I am up and dressed. A feat I didn't accomplish yesterday. I had a cold at the first of the month and thought I was over it. It came back with a vengeance Thursday. My nose was running a stream so I took an allergy pill. It was good for 24 hours (it wasn't good at all. My nose continued to run).

I was afraid to take cold medicine for 20 hours and suffered a awful night. I won't be taking any pill that holds me in bondage that long again!

As soon as I was free to take the cold medicine I began to improve. I hope to go with the Red Hats to lunch today. I missed two dinner appointment this week, because of the cold. If life doesn't get any worse than that I can live with it.

I was O.K. on Wednesday and gave an art lesson. It was my only day I was well enough to given a lesson.

assignment #7 a re-write

LITTLE LEAGUE ROOKIES

“She’s a woman and we don’t have women coaches in this league!” the league president, Don, shouted, red faced. The right to coach Little League baseball is still being jealously guarded by men.
“I’ll only manage a team if I get to pick my coach and I pick her!” shouted George.
“We need a fourth team for the miners. We had three teams for the first half of the season and it didn’t work well,” said Don.
All of the coaches and managers agreed. A vote is taken and George’s terms are accepted.
“Bobby is a good player and I want him too!” George adds.
“O.K. you can have him. His birthday is on the cutoff date, and he is too old to pitch.” Don concedes.
“Bobby is eligible to pitch,” Insisted Coach Bonnie. Little League headquarter is called. Bobbie’s eligibility is established. He is allowed to pitch.
Bob and John’s Service Station sponsors the team and provide uniforms. We have a coach, a manager and a group of twelve boys. We are now a team. Let’s play ball!
Our team is made up of boys pasted over at the beginning of the season and boys culled from the three existing team. The coaches have chosen who they will give us from their team. You can be
Bonnie Phillips
AWQ2865
sure that we aren’t given any all stars! The boys are eight or nine years old, with the exception of twelve year old Bobby.
Encouragement and praise replaces criticism and we are off to a good start.
At our first practice, while running the bases, Larry runs to first base and then to pitcher’s mound. “This is going to be a challenge!” thinks Coach Bonnie.
It’s game time. The Umpire shouts, “Play ball” and the second half of the season is under way.
This is our first game and all eyes are on me. I am thinking of the men coaches and the need to prove them wrong about women coaches. The smell of hot dogs simmering and popcorn popping floats across the diamond, but I’m too anxious to think of food.
The ball field is fenced and has two dugouts, a grassy outfield and fresh chalk on the infield. It is surrounded by open fields and grazing cattle. The smell of freshly cut grass floats in the air and mingles with the odor of manure. This doesn’t slow down business in the snack bar.
Behind the snack bar a group of older boys are encouraging the younger ones to touch the electric fence that surround the pasture, with the long blades of grass. The electricity travels up the wet grass and delivers a small shock to the surprise of the little boys.
The team is all here except Pete. He rides to practice with a neighbor and rides his bike to games but can’t find the ball field on his own

“Coach, I forgot one shoe,” says Jimmy.
“Coach, coach I’m wearing my cup,” said Jamie, throwing one leg into the air and rapping his knuckles on the front of his pants.
Richard removes his partial plate, containing one front tooth, and hands it to me. “Mother is afraid I may break it if I play with in my mouth,” he says.
“You look sad. Are you OK?” I ask Robert.
“My glove is black and all the other kids have brown gloves,” he replies with a tear in his eye. “Black glovers are neat,” I said, trying to console him. He brightens up and goes to sit in the dugout.
Umpire shouts, “Play ball.
Billy, who has the smallest strike zone on the team, is at bat. “Ball four, take your base,” shouts the umpire.
The next batter is Willie. He suffers from dyslexia. He gets a hit and runs to third base. Scooping up the ground ball, the fielder sees the batter going to third and is confused. He hesitates, and over throws first base; the ball goes into deep right field. The runner on first base advances to second base, but stops when he sees third base is occupied by the batter. The ball is thrown to first base and the umpire shouts, “Batter’s out.”

The opposing coach scratches his head and says, “That’s either the dumbest or the smartest way to advance a runner I ever saw.”
The volunteer umpire’s knee guard has slipped and is now on the side of his leg. “Look, they twisted his leg to get him to take this lousy job,” calls a voice from the bleachers.
The sun is blazing hot. Pressure is on the pitcher and sweat is running down his face. Joey hits a single and goes to first base. Jack, the fastest runner on our team, is at bat. He hits a long fly into center field and over takes Joey, and is pushing him around the bases, both score.
Two more runs and two more outs and our team is in the field. Larry, the youngest boy on the team, goes to the port-a-potty
They have a runner on third and first. our catcher lifts his mask, setting up a play. The ball is pitched; the first base runner takes off for second base. The short stop moves in close to the pitcher, the catcher throws to the short stop, the runner on third thinks the play is at second base and starts home, the short stop returns the ball to the catcher and the runner from third is tag out at home.
The opposing coach says, “What just happened? How did they do that?”
Joey is pitching. He looks uncomfortable and the wet spot in the front of his pants is getting larger and larger! His mother dashes home for a dry pair of pants.
The inning ends and our team goes to the dugout. Larry returns from the port-a- potty and fails to notice his team is now in the dugout. He tries to joins the other team in the field and is called back.
The mercy rule is called, because we are ten runs ahead, and the game ends. We have won our first game! The men coaches are surer than ever that they don’t want a woman in their league.

Doing eighty and loving it!

Mother Nature May I Grow Old
I’m doing eighty and it’s all downhill from here!
Staying young is a losing battle and I surrendered years ago. I know when I’m licked. The mirror doesn’t lie even if my well meaning friends do when they say, “you haven’t changed in fifteen years”. Maybe they haven’t changed their glasses in fifteen years. I gave up the illusion of youth years ago when I stopped dying my hair and realized you can’t fool Mother Nature, and nobody really cares anyway. I love my white hair and have night mares that my hair has turned dark again.
I now do things that youth and false pride denied me.
I shower daily in the summer and shower and shampoo only twice a week in the winter. My cat doesn’t mind.
I let my cat walk on the counters tops in the kitchen. I can’t stop her.
I shout for another checker when the line gets too long in the market.
I talk to strangers of all ages, sexes, and nationality.
I shop at thrift stores and pay little for my clothes. I blow what I save on clothes on my expensive feet. I have to pay over $130.00 for my shoes, but only if I want to keep walking.
I’m into comfort in clothing and not the latest style. Style is a personal thing that I don’t see through the eyes of youth. Ironing clothes is a lost art and cotton wrinkles. I like polyester it doesn’t wrinkle. My birthday suit has wrinkles; I forgot to read the label.
I have recently rearranged my dish cupboard. I have consolidated my dishes and now paper plates, cups and bowls occupy half of the space. I plan on saving water, making my trash man’s job more secure, and doing my part in recycling paper.
Cooking was never my favorite thing. I fancy myself a good cook, but I only cook because I like to eat. I don’t care who cooks it so I eat out a lot.
I drive a dirty car. It’s not that I don’t like a clean car, but I don’t have a garage and it gets dirty fast. I don’t like to wash it. One of the perks of being ancient is that my neighbors sometime wash it for me. I love it. Unfortunately my outside cat loves it too and leaves muddy paw prints on the hood and roof.
I don’t do yard work and haven’t in recent years. As a youth I mowed lawns for money and feel it is only right that I repay society by now employing a gardener.
I worked years cleaning other people’s homes and apply the same reasoning for employing a lady to clean my house. I attribute lack of ambition in both of these areas to maturity and not just plain laziness.
I do the laundry when the hamper fills up or I run out of clean underwear. I have enough underwear for two weeks so that saves a lot of wear and tear on the laundry facilities.
My cat and I sleep together. She has trained me to sleep in the middle of the mattress while she occupies the corners. It took awhile to work out this arrangement and involved a few bites through the blankets followed by a few kicks, but we now have an acceptable understanding.
I see my dentist about every two years and don’t bother with that twice a year schedule thing. The only thing that would cause me to see him more often is a tooth ache and I haven’t had that in years. I floss and brush daily and don’t worry about staying kissing sweet.
I wear my hair short, cut my finger nails short and often find myself short on energy until someone says, “Let’s go”. That works better than a vitamin B shot.
I get my yearly physical every two years.
I have clutter on the floor around my recliner chair. It may include my lap top computer, appointment calendar, books and everything my cat has knocked off of the end table. I nap in my chair when I feel sleepy and no one cares. I love to paint pictures and write stories, but only when the spirit moves me.
I eat early in the evening and go to bed early, or late depending greatly upon the score of the Lakers basketball game. I don’t like to watch losers.
I hang up on people taking phone surveys and unsolicited phone calls. I don’t bother to be polite.
I love family and friends.
I admit I don’t understand Isaiah and have difficulty pronouncing bible name.
I can live with that. Life is good.