Hurdles in Springtime...

And so Annie and life keep me so occupied that I can't find time to process the important stuff because I'm too busy living it. Basketball transitioned into track, which is now overlapping softball. I worked a huge retaliation case in Tulsa, OK, struggled alongside the police in Ardmore to set to rights a situation where someone was taking medication prescribed for retarded people. I quelled a juvenile riot in a medium security prison, testified in court in Tulsa and still found time to watch Ann place in every running event she undertook at the beginning of the season, bringing home medals for the 440 meter relay and the 100 meter hurdles. (She also ran 4th out of 14 schools in the 100 meter dash).

I also agreed to participate in my community's Oklahoma Centennial project, which has left me talking to old passionate women on the phone at all hours of the night and carefully handling ancient photographs pre-dating my great-great grandfather. I am proud to do it but am reminded of how little time a working mother has. Between track and tales of 1907, my grass and the occasional sunshine, I have nothing else to give. I can only apologize to those of you who have not heard from me. My heart and soul are occupied at home.

I am also reminded that life itself is the hurdle race. I jump over some every day, just as my daughter does. She will race again in competition on Friday. I have to keep jumping until then. Today was just an example of that.

Playing softball in Oklahoma in the springtime is a dicey game and not just because of bad pitchers. We have to keep an eye on the weather while admiring Ann newly moved to first base and in the fourth cleanup slot on the batting schedule. We have to listen with one ear to the weather radio while Janie trots to her new home at third base, primed to hit just before Ann.

The three of us never got that far this evening. Storm season is upon us. Any fool in Oklahoma could feel the instability in the air but we showed up at the softball field as instructed, the game before ours running long with kids we defeated on the hard court come out on the dirt to give us a run. It didn't matter that I delivered Ann and Janie a few minutes late. We had to stop on the way because we were blinded by flooding rain and pounded by nickel sized hail. Pushing on, though, we found the skies clear and the field dry in the county seat 12 miles away. Don't forget, this is Oklahoma.

Yet another hurdle presented itself. The temperature dropped steadily as the softball team warmed up for its first game. One storm traded out for another and threatened from the southwest. People in line for nachos at the concession babbled about twisters on the ground to the south and east of us.

We don't postpone ballgames here on account of tornadoes 20 miles south and tracking away from us. That's just a fact. But, had I been the weather official at that particular softball undertaking, I would have taken note of the lightening. One grandmother standing under a building eave with me scolded...If you can see lightening, it can see you. Only in Oklahoma?

She should have been the weather official but she wasn't. And the game should have been called 15 minutes before it was, but it wasn't. When the weather official finally decided to call it a storm out, it was too late. Our team muddled around under the dugout awning until I issued stern instructions to Ann and Janie to get to the car. People running around the fields were shouting about tornadoes on the ground.

We made it to the field gate before the hail started to strike again. All I could think about was what would happen when the hail stopped. RUN! I shouted to Ann and Janie, the two fastest hurdlers in the sixth grade, never thinking about how they would leave me alone in seconds in the pelting ice. Regardless, I didn't want to be around that place when the tin roofs began to fly off.

I've got a few sprints left in me, or so it seems. Running, I looked around for possible shelter on the flat ground should we need to abandon the car but saw nothing. At the same time that a golf ball-sized chunk of hail whacked my glasses, I heard Janie yelp in response to the same type of impact on her head. Ann was wearing her batting helmet, which she intended to share with Janie, had anyone got the chance to bat. No chivalry there in the heat of the storm.

I arrived at the car a full half-minute after they did, reminding myself that I am no longer a track star. But my ability to drive like a motha remains firmly intact. I was skillfully out of that parking lot and on the road ahead of the storm within minutes, the children chattering with running excitement as I threaded the car toward open ground and safety.

Targeted exclusively on Tornado Alley, the spring storm moved quickly north and east. As I drove, I explained how storms in Oklahoma rage suddenly at the behest of warm and cold wind. The children listened, grateful as myself that we were not harmed. I slacked off to 90 mph when I could see the edge of the clouds against the setting sun and we got home early.

Just another Springtime hurdle. My glasses aren't broken but I've got a whelp on my cheek. Ann is sleeping with her batting helmet and Janie has a knot on her head. Weather willing, we'll get 'em next time.