Halloween Weekend

AKA the Two Days After My Birthday

Let me begin by telling you that my nephew played magnificently on Friday night; however, his team did not. Patrick is my hero; his team? Not so much.

Ramapo High vs Wayne HIlls High: Friday night under the lights.

Moving on. . .

Have you ever heard of the TNT Last Look Weekend? It’s a club softball player’s last chance to see and be seen by prospective college coaches in our area. The fields are located in Quakertown, PA. Temps hovered around 40 degrees Fahrenheit both days. I froze my butt off cheering for my daughter and her teammates. My throat hurt. My fingers were frozen. But I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone else in the world.

My daughter loves her teammates and they love her. Warriors, all of them.

I go to watch my daughter. Four games, two days.

My daughter is a warrior. Tory walked out onto the field both days to pitch in 40 degree weather wearing only an Under Armor shirt, a cotton tee shirt, softball pants, high socks, a Rip It face protector and her new Ringor metal cleats. She threw pitch after pitch while I shivered under a blanket in my winter coat, hat and gloves. She was focused and intense, never showing she was cold, never showing she was anything other than in control.

We didn't decorate, but the kids don't mind. They focus on the candy and treats we give out.

We are home now and the doorbell is ringing. We didn’t have time to decorate our home for Halloween this year; we didn’t even carve pumpkins, but I’m happy to say that it hasn’t deterred the goblins and ghosties running up our driveway. It’s Halloween and the trick or treating is mighty fine.

Rained Out

But Still Fun

It’s finally happened. Yep. Softball was RAINED OUT for today, Saturday. It’s the first time this season that weather has impeded play. My daughter Tory and I are in Morgantown, PA for a college showcase tournament called Pegasus. Her team got in one game last night. . .a real nail biter that ended in a tie score. . . with only a single-cloud outburst letting loose over our heads near the end of the 7^th inning.

Today. Well, today we weren’t as lucky. It poured rain. Buckets of rain. And windy. Tory slept for hours in her bed at the Holiday Inn. Bless her.

There's a quilt shop in the balcony above Martin's Food Store! Weird but true!

This weekend is a trip back in time for me in one sort of way. You see, I used to quilt, and this area of PA has loads of quilt shops and fabric stores that cater to quilters. I’ve visited this area, this town, before. With my sister Cindy. With my Mom and her friends. With my beloved Italian girlfriend Anna (whom I blame for getting me to quilt in the first place).

The bacon! The bacon! YUM!!

I ate breakfast The Windmill Restaurant, hard by Martin’s Country Store. The Hayloft Quilt Shop is located in the balcony of the store. Gobs, or whoopee pies if you prefer, are homemade in Martins. I bought 2 packs of the minis and stashed them in my Pilot for later. I also bought honey butter and small red and white potatoes. Ah yes, and whole mustard seeds. You can buy small amounts of fresh bulk dried herbs and other stuff at places like Martin’s here in PA.

You say Whoopie Pies. I say Gobs. Whatever! They taste great!

Funny thing, when I was leaving The Windmill, I looked up the hill and saw “Goodwill Outlet.” I ambled in and found end tables for my son Max’s college apartment. And they match the round leatherette-topped table my husband Mike and I scored from someone’s trash a month or so ago! After wedging the two end table into my Honda Pilot I was a happy Mom!!

P.S. I have photos ‘stuck’ in my camera; the problem is that I can’t find the correct wire to get them into my beloved Mac. Bear with me here, folks!

P.P.S. We’re home and I found the camera cord so here are the photos. Today’s softball games — 3 — were all wins for Tory’s team. She pitched great. And played first great! Good job Rampage!!

Club Softball Season

Let the Games Begin

This is Tory's first high school game ball.

High School softball is officially over in our town. Tory and her teammates played hard and won more games this season than any previous varsity softball team at the high school has won ever. Tory pitched 8 games and was the winning pitcher 8 times.

For me, the really fun softball season is just beginning: Summer club ball. I love to watch Tory play softball. For the past 2 years Tory played with a club team out of Bergen County, NJ. The girls played U14 ball, and last year, they were good enough to win a tournament, duke it out for second place in a couple of others, then go to Disney to compete last July. I went along as a chaperone and it was awesome.

Tory's softball glove of choice!

Ever since Tory picked up her first softball glove at 6 years old, I’ve watched her practices and games. She’s played on Rec teams, Town Travel teams, and Club teams. When she was 14 she played on 3 different teams at the same time. Tory loves softball. She’s worked hard to become a terrific pitcher and first baseman. She wants to play in college.

In past years, summer club softball was about sending the best 9 players onto the field in an attempt to win a trophy or a berth to softball Nationals. As a parent it was fun to watch and you knew what to do: You cheered for your child’s team. . .to win.

This year, it will be different. This year Tory is playing on an 18U Gold Team. These teams attend “Showcases,” which are tournaments that allow high-level softball players to show their particular skill sets – be it pitching, hitting, fielding, catching  — in a game setting to the many college softball coaches who attend these tournaments. The player is looking to find a college to play for and the coach is looking for players to play for their college. Competition is fierce, I hear. Trophies aren’t awarded to the winning team. “Winning” is when an individual athlete connects with a college coach. I’m not sure how this actually works so for the next 8 weekends I’ll be watching, and listening and learning right along with Tory.

Summer Softball: Where the real action is, to me.

Please say a prayer for my girl. She’s a hard worker chasing a dream!

Random Drug Testing of High School Athletes

Has  Your High School Athlete Been Chosen?

My daughter Tory’s high school softball team played another “States” sectional game on Tuesday. Last Friday, her coach told the team to report to the Athletic Director’s (AD) office on Monday morning. Tory told me that when she arrived two officials from the state athletic association were in the AD’s office along with the rest of the varsity team. After the officials explained what the gathering was about, they took out a piece of paper and called out the names of six players on the varsity roster; these six would have to submit to the random drug testing. No parents were notified ahead of time or up until this blog posting that their daughters might be/were drug tested.

As background, please know that at the beginning of their athletic season players and parents are required to sign a form giving permission to have a random drug test performed on the athlete if the team makes it to a State tournament game. If you don’t sign the form, your athlete is not allowed to play, at all, in any high school game.

“NJSIAA STEROID TESTING POLICY CONSENT TO RANDOM TESTING

“In Executive Order 72, issued December 20, 2005, Governor Richard Codey directed the New Jersey Department of Education to work in conjunction with the New Jersey State Interscholastic Athletic Association (NJSIAA) to develop and implement a program of random testing for steroids, of teams and individuals qualifying for championship games.

“Any student-athlete who possesses, distributes, ingests or otherwise uses any of the banned substances on the attached page, without written prescription by a fully-licensed physician, as recognized by the American Medical Association, to treat a medical condition, violates the NJSIAA’s sportsmanship rule, and is subject to NJSIAA penalties, including ineligibility from competition. The NJSIAA will test certain randomly selected individuals and teams that qualify for a state championship tournament or state championship competition for banned substances. The results of all tests shall be considered confidential and shall only be disclosed to the student, his or her parents and his or her school. No student may participate in NJSIAA competition unless the student and the student’s parent/guardian consent to random testing. (my emphasis here)

“By signing below, we consent to random testing in accordance with the NJSIAA steroid testing policy. We understand that, if the student or the student’s team qualifies for a state championship tournament or state championship competition, the student may be subject to testing for banned substances.

Signature of Student-Athlete                  Print Student-Athlete’s Name                  Date

Signature of Parent/Guardian                  Print Parent/Guardian’s Name                  Date

June, 2008”

Okay, I understand that. And I signed the form, as did Tory.  We didn’t think too much about it, and when Tory heard “rumors” last Friday that a drug test might be performed on Monday, she shrugged it off and went about her life. Guess what? She was one of six athletes chosen to be tested.

The six athletes chosen included two newly “pulled up” freshman players,  a sophomore, one junior and two seniors. Of the players chosen two are “starting varsity team” players. I have since learned that “random” refers to the timing of the test, not how the athletes are chosen.

According to Tory, the players were escorted by a female high school security guard and a female official from the NJSIAA one by one down the main hall of the high school to the girls’ bathroom. The official entered the bathroom with each girl while the guard locked the door and remained outside. The official put some blue dye in the toilet (to prevent the player from diluting her urine with toilet water) and asked that the stall door not be locked while the player peed in a beaker. The player then capped the beaker and carried her urine back down the main hall of the high school to the room where the other selected players and male NJSIAA official were waiting. Once back in the room the player was told to open the beaker, then the male official divided her urine into two beakers and immediately tested one beaker of urine for specific gravity, temperature, and the hydration level of the athlete. After that he took the untested beaker of urine, put it into a box and asked the athlete to seal it. The last athlete of the six got to watch this process for the five athletes who got tested before her and then herself.

Tory doesn’t rattle easily, nor is she quick to anger.  She called me after the process was completed and said, “That was the most humiliating thing I’ve ever had to do. I had to walk through the main hall of my high school carrying my urine and escorted by a high school security guard and an official from the NJSIAA.”

She said students stared at her. She said the news spread very quickly. Tory said when she attended her afternoon classes she was asked by friends and acquaintances why she was being tested for drugs. The students had either seen or heard about the escorts, has either seen or heard about the urine samples and were generally curious.

I guess it’s okay though since

“The results of all tests shall be considered confidential and shall only be disclosed to the student, his or her parents and his or her school.”

Many adults would shrug off the urine carrying part of this story as no big deal. Let me tell you, though, that some female teenagers don’t. They don’t like being made into a public spectacle. They don’t like looking “guilty.” A large portion of the student population either saw or heard about the six being tested.  Some of the athletes walked the hall during class changes.

Is this process really "confidential?"

If random drug testing is an important part of playing in “States,” then these athletes should have been given what I would consider true confidentiality.

Strike 1: The AD and NJSIAA officials should not have had the entire team present when they called out the names of the six to be tested. The athletes should have been called in individually, told individually, and either tested or released individually.  That’s confidential, at least to me.

Strike 2: Being escorted by a high school security guard and an NJSIAA to use the public toilet located at the opposite end of a very long main high school hallway is not very confidential. A private bathroom should have been secured or at least a closer “holding room” to the public toilet to avoid the main hall walk for each athlete. The nurse’s office has a private toilet. Other areas of the high school do too. And the AD knew last Friday that the testing would occur.

Strike 3: What if? What if one or more of the athletes tested has a banned substance in her body? Is this when the “confidentiality” part of the agreement kicks in? After you’ve been named in front of the rest of your team? After you’ve been escorted through your high school hallways carrying your urine and accompanied by state and local officials? After many students in the general population of your school know which six athletes were tested?

What is “confidential?” And is this process handled the same “confidential” way at other high schools?

P.S. Tory’s team beat a very good opponent in the semifinals on Tuesday and will advance to sectional finals play on Friday. The random drug test results will be available in two weeks.

Plaque Happens

And So Does Life

No! This is not my mouth!! Nor do I want it to be!!!

Yes, plaque happens and I don’t want it lingering on my teeth, beneath my gum lines or anywhere else near me. That’s why I visit my dentist, Dr. K., every six months. And with my son Max home for spring break I dragged him along for good measure. Many of you may remember Dr. K. from two previous posts in December 2009, “Queen for a Day” and “The Queen Lives.” He hasn’t changed, nor has his loyal office staff.

Max and I arrived, breathless, since every event seemed to conspire against us today: Tory slammed her left thumb in the car door getting out at school this morning. Result: She can’t put her softball glove on so she can’t throw, pitch or do much of anything softball-related. And this is tryouts week at her high school. Needless to say, with a black and throbbing thumb (not broken), she’s just not able. Big Drama.

I was late for everything today. Little drama.

It’s the second Monday of the month. My favorite!  My Garden Club had a most excellent speaker/demo today. Do you remember me mentioning Bartlett’s Greenhouse when I posted “NJ Flower Show – Setup Day?”  Well, Marietta and Nancy, the co-owners, gave an almost two-hour demo today at the club meeting. It was fabulous. And I brought my friend Renita with me to listen and learn (and maybe convince her to join). Only thing is with the demo going over the normal one hour, I had to leave for said dentist. To the rescue came my good friend Adelle. She offered to take Renita back to my house to pick up her car. With that arranged, I sprinted out to my car and headed uptown to pick up Max, fight the traffic on the highway east and got to Dr. K’s office a little late.

Who Draws the Short Straw the Most in Your House?

It’s always iffy in our family who pulls the short straw and goes first. Since I was late picking Max up, I bit the bullet and volunteered. I snuggled into the comfy seat and leaned back. The sunshine streamed in the western window and I actually began to relax! Maybe for the first time today!!

Dr. K’s trusty and cute, young assistant let me know today was the day for two bitewing x-rays. Okay! That’s easy. She plopped the heavy lead shield on me and prepped the little thingy that holds the x-ray cards in place. I obediently opened my mouth then bit down hard on the plastic holder. She stepped out and took the photo. With gag reflex coming on quickly, I helped her pop the little thingy out of my mouth. Whew. Relief. She efficiently x-rayed the other side and I, equally efficient, popped the little thingy out of my mouth for her.

“No damage. Good to go,“ I think.

Dr. K. rolled into the room. Smiling, he asked, “So how are you? Anything bothering you? Any problems?”

Smiling tightly I replied, “No. No. Everything is great.”

“Okay, then, let’s take a look.”

With that he plunged into my mouth and started the high speed teeth cleaning machine. Spit and water flew as he worked his way, slowly and carefully, from tooth to tooth, front and back. I pressed the drool-catcher paper towel clipped under my chin to my lips as he continued.

I heard the high pitch scree of the cleaning machine in my ear. The sound reverberated through my skull. I clenched and unclenched my fingers. Wringed my hands. Flapped my feet back and forth, back and forth. Anything to take my mind off the feeling and the sound.

Dr. K., after two passes, finished my top teeth, and we took a break. I swallowed the pooled spit in my mouth and braced for the bottom cleaning.

Off he went. The high-pitch scree. The reverb in my ear. The clenching. The wringing.

Then he was done.

He polished my teeth. It tickled and I laughed as he cleaned the inside edges of my top teeth.

“You laugh in exactly the same spot as your daughter,” he said.

Imagine that!

Relaxed and happy, I began to get out of the comfy chair and Dr. K, who had been gazing at the two bitewing x-rays, said, “Wait. I see something! Sit back down and let me check it out.”

I slumped back.

I hate the hook. What about YOU?!

Off he went with the hook thingy. Oh, how I hate the hook! He dug. He pried. He pulled. Finally. Finally, he was satisfied that I didn’t have one speck of plaque (or anything else) left for him to extract.

Score points for a dentist who cares!

P.S. My mouth is still aching.

And you? When was the last time you visited your dentist?

Pennies from Heaven — Part 2

Just Thump Me Upside the Head, Dad

After my Dad died, my two older sisters found pennies in the most unlikely spots as they went about their daily lives. They were convinced the oddly placed pennies were messages from our Dad, telling them he was thinking of them and was in a good place, pennies from Heaven, if you will. I never saw any and was pretty despondent about the whole thing. Then Tory’s summer softball season arrived and caught up in the excitement of her games, thoughts about pennies from my Dad receded.

 One tournament weekend Tory’s team was playing in the hinterlands of Pennsylvania, not so very far from where our Dad was born. After the games on Saturday, I collected the girls’ dirty uniforms and headed to the hotel laundry room to Shout out the stains in my official capacity as Team Mom, while my friend Robyn, the other Team Mom, kept an eye on the girls in the pool.

 I entered the small laundry room using my room key, and as I walked in, another woman was transferring her wet laundry into a dryer.  We nodded politely to each other as she finished putting her quarters in the machine and the dryer started up. Taking a chair close to the door she began to watch the small television mounted high on the wall. Humming to myself, I separated the filthy socks from the equally filthy shorts, sprayed them all down with Shout, then separated the dark uniforms from the sports bras and the like. When I was done I had two washing machines full of yukky clothes.

 Someone knocked at the laundry room door, glancing at the woman who was immersed in a show on the TV, I walked over, looked out the door’s little security window, saw Robyn and opened the door.

 “Hey. How’s everything going?” she asked, poking her head in the door and looking around the long, narrow room.

 “Just fine. I’m going to put the quarters in, start the machines and watch television while they run through the cycle.”

 “Okay,” she said. “Do you need anything? Quarters?”

 “No, thanks,” I replied patting my back pocket. “I’m pretty sure I have enough change in my pocket.”

I needed eight quarters.

With that Robyn left and the door shut firmly behind her. Walking back down to the washing machines at the far end of the room, I began digging for the quarters in my pocket. . . and came up 3 quarters short of what I needed. “Rats,” I thought, wrinkling my forehead, trying to remember where I’d left the rest of the change. Practically smacking myself on the forehead, I remembered the pile sitting on the nightstand in my room.

 Turning to the other woman with the five quarters still clutched in my hand, I held out a wrinkled dollar I had pulled out of my pocket and asked, “By any chance do you have change for a dollar? I don’t have enough change after all.”

 Shaking her head regretfully from her seat she replied, “No, I’m just about finished here and I’ve used all my quarters. Sorry.”

 Hoping to catch Robyn before she was too far away, I opened the door to the laundry room, leaned out and shouted down the hallway, “Robyn, I do need some quarters after all. Do you have any?”

 Spinning around, Robyn headed back to where I stood in the doorway. Fishing in her pocket she brought out four quarters and I traded her for the wrinkled dollar bill. “Thanks a lot, sweetie” I said. Sorry to be such a ditz.”

 Smiling she just waved me off.

 As the door closed I walked back over to the two machines. Fumbling a little I stacked the quarters in my left hand then reached out with my right to load them into the little slots. “That’s funny, I thought to myself. as I saw the eight shiny, bright quarters that filled each and every slot on both of the machines.

Ready to load them quarters right into the slots.

 Turning around with a smile, I said to the woman watching television, “Thank you so much for putting the quarters in the machine for me.”

 Looking up from her spot near the door she replied, “I didn’t put any quarters in the machines. I don’t have anymore, like I already told you.”

 “But, but here are eight quarters lined up in the slots, four in each machine,” I said.

 The woman got up, walked over to the machines and peered at the neatly aligned quarters in their holes, looked me in the eyes and said, “I told you, I don’t have any quarters and I certainly didn’t put them in the machines.” With that she resumed her seat.

 Really puzzled by now, I started the wash cycle on the machines, walked back and sat in a chair next to the woman near the door. My mind was racing as I tried to figure out what just happened. I opened my mouth to speak, then I closed my mouth because I didn’t know what I was going to say.

 Thinking hard, I sat a few more seconds, then opened my mouth to speak. Looking straight ahead I asked, “So while I was talking with my friend at the door, you didn’t get up, walk over and put the quarters in the machine?”

 “No. No, I did not,” the woman responded, by now having abandoned all pretenses of watching television and staring straight ahead herself.

 “Well, how did the quarters get there then?” I asked logically.

 She didn’t reply as she got up and walked over to the dryer that had just sounded its buzzer; the cycle were complete. She took her clothes out, folded them, and turned to leave. As she reached out her hand to open the door, she paused and said, “That was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”