Yes, it’s true: I took a vacation. Not a big one, mind you, just an itty bitty trip to North Carolina to visit the mysterious Angela. (And, for the record, I still believe we can turn her into an epic figure simply by making everyone wonder about her…but that’s another story.)
Have I returned with massive revelations about the publishing industry or gossip about authors or anything whatsoever to do with why many of you anticipate my blog postings? No.
I have returned with an autographed Durham Bulls game ball. The same one that hit my six year old on the head. Oh, it was an eventful summer night, for sure. Fabulous seats on the baseline (see nice picture of Pitcher Man for field-proximity gauge), great view of the Durham Bull (nobody hit it and won a free steak. Dang.) We even had ideal weather! And so our night began.
Our first indication that things might be interesting was when we ventured to buy cotton candy and a man sprang into action, photographing my daughter. As soon as the transaction was finished, a reporter spun into action too. He was doing, of all things, a story on the cotton candy vendor. “Why did you choose to buy this cotton candy?” he asked, barely suppressing a smile as he grilled us on our purchase. Later, he even returned and took picture of Angela’s children too.
Then the night progressed, and we were treated to watching a groupie sit and chat up one of the pitchers, a la Bull Durham. That fueled some interesting speculation (none of which I can share here) and right when Groupie Gal left, a foul ball slammed into the seats at about seventy miles an hour, missing my youngest daughter’s head by about two feet. Whew. So, I wandered upstairs to buy t-shirts, horrible images playing in my head, and when I did finally return, Angela’s husband, Greg, told me it was okay, he was prepared to protect the kids at all costs if any ball came near them. I settled into my seat, reassured and at peace—until about ten minutes later when another foul ball came our way, and next thing I knew Greg was handing the ball to my oldest daughter. I watched, thinking, “Why does she get the ball? Because she’s visiting? How nice of Greg—to give us the ball.” Yep, that was what I was thinking right until the moment I saw Tyler burst into a huge fit of tears. Greg had deflected the ball from her head with a seat cushion, but then it had bounced off and dinged her on the head.
Tears were eventually dried, the Durham Bulls Company Man reassured that we wouldn’t sue anyone, and we sank back into our seats to watch more of the game. And then the manager was ejected from the game—at the top of the ninth. And then fireworks afterward. The night seemed packed with crazy moments at every turn. But the most exciting thing, really, was just spending time with good friends.
Don’t you just love Summer?