Sunday column: Red dirt and pop flies

Although it's nearly a week late, this column may be well worth the wait when paired with these photos:

1992 Baton Rouge team, the "Lions" (I'm standing second from left). Apparently, we got trophies! Probably just for participating ... I was never on a team that consistently won games, much less trophies.

While I remember nothing about the "Lions," the "Wreckers" I remember well. There I am again, standing second from the left. And let's not even talk about the white biking shorts trimmed in lace that I'm wearing. Ouch. Miss Tootie (yep, that was her name) was the coach who pelted us with pop flies during practice. She's standing on the right. I played with this team for a couple of years; this picture was taken in 1993.

And now for the column ...

There’s just something about the red dirt of a softball field.
I’ve always had a strange feeling of love for that dirt, and I can only figure it stems from years spent having fun on the field.
I was never a softball superstar — I’ll be the first to admit that. But, I was a decent outfielder, and I always enjoyed playing.
Softball was a way of life for me during the spring and summer all the way through high school. I played on the city league and later for the high school team, and it was something that gave me a sense of pride and belonging.
The sport had a way of unifying the cliques that invariably form beginning in oh, probably second grade. Even though I was a “nerd,” I played softball, so I had something in common with girls in other groups, like the “athletes” and the “popular” crowd.
Let’s be honest, that’s really something when you’re a teenager.
Most importantly, I always had fun playing softball. I was fortunate to have coaches whose main motivation was teaching the sport and making sure the team was having fun. There were no cut-throat coaches spewing threats or irrational parents screaming from the bleachers in my softball experience, thank goodness.
For us, it was all about developing skills, playing smart and catching fly balls. That was the key — catching those pop flies. And boy did we practice that. Even though it’s been about 10 years since I played in a softball game, I feel sure that if a pop fly was headed my way, I could catch it without flinching.
I know there are a lot of girls out there who are much more serious softball players than I ever was, and good for them. I could never be bothered with all the technical aspects of specific types of bats and cleats. I just liked to get out there and play. That’s probably why my career wasn’t terribly long-lived.
That’s OK, though, because softball for me was exactly what I needed it to be. It was a physical outlet, a change of environment and a good opportunity for exercise.
I got back out in that red dirt recently to play a little ball, and by the time I walked off the field I was on a softball high. The years I played on softball teams built up positive associations with the sport and all its trappings that have been lying dormant for some time.
Maybe I’ll give in, break out the old glove and rediscover the game this fall. If I do, I’ll tell you one thing for sure — hit a pop fly in my direction and you’ll be out.

Look! Nick played ball, too: seven years of Dixie Youth.

Our neighbors are animal haters.

She can name that bug!

Now here's a girl who knows her bugs, and isn't afraid to touch them!
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/08/080807-insectarium-video-ap.html
Anne is now officially my go-to girl when I have insect questions.
She rocks! I need to get myself down to New Orleans to check out the Insectarium.

Sunday column: Here come the butterflies

I started second grade at STM with no front teeth!

In eighth grade, I started school without glasses for the first time since second grade.

Nick had a back-to-school experience in January 2007 for the first time in about 10 years. He's my hero!

Back-to-school time evokes one especially strong memory for me: Butterflies in the stomach.
Every year I was in school — including all four years of college — the butterflies would visit in the week leading up to that first day.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved school. I just always was hit by those first-day jitters.
When I say I loved school, I mean I absolutely adored it. I was never one of those kids who cooked up excuses to stay home or who cried as Mom dropped me off. Nope, that was my brother. He was the one who stayed home with a “stomachache” and who I had to drag into the kindergarten classroom — literally — as he cried and screamed so loudly his face turned bright red.
Admittedly, he’s come a long way since then. But, the memories of his attitude toward back-to-school will live on. Unfortunately.
Unlike him, I looked forward to everything about school: The desks, the fresh notebooks and pencils, the books we would read, the list could go on and on.
In my effort to ward off the butterflies, on the night before school started I would always try to get everything prepared for the next day. I’d hang my clean uniform on my bedroom door, I’d line up my shoes and socks and pack all those supplies in my bookbag. Then, I’d get into bed and try so hard to sleep, but year after year I never could. My mind would race with questions about my new teacher and classmates, the new material we would cover, the dreaded P.E. class and memories from the previous year.
After getting about two hours of sleep, it would be time to get up and get ready to go — sending the butterflies into double-time.
While my day-before preparations changed as I progressed through school, the general feeling of anxiety mixed with anticipation was as constant as the tardy bell.
When you’re feeling nervous about going back to school, or really starting anything new in life, it’s good to have some tools on hand to help you get through that first day.
For example, when going on a first date I would always have an “out,” just in case things didn’t go well. I’d create some excuse before the big night that I could use to bail myself out if the need arose.
Way back on my first-ever day of school, my mom gave me a tool that has served me ever since. It was the first day of kindergarten, and I was scared about starting a new school where I didn’t know anyone. In her infinite wisdom, Mom gave me some advice about how to make friends.
“Just walk up to them and say, ‘Hi, my name is Emily. What’s your name?’ ” Mom told me.
That sounded simple enough. So, I tried it. And it worked.
It is a phrase that sounds friendly and is easy to remember. It got me through that first day of kindergarten and has served me in all kinds of situations since then.
It’s an approach that can work for children and adults, and I’m so thankful to Mom for giving me that advice.
Finding yourself in an unfamiliar situation with a group of unfamiliar faces can be nerve-wracking no matter how outgoing you are. And if you’re even the least bit shy, it can be downright painful.
So, here’s to the first day of school and getting it over with. Days two, three and four are always progressively easier.
Lincoln Parish students eased into the 2008-09 school year with a half-day on Friday. Monday brings the first full school day and probably a couple fewer butterflies. Eventually, after a week or so, they’ll fly off back into hibernation, until it’s time for school to start next year.

Featured artist

While I've been working day-to-day all summer, the more artistic members of my family have been, like, creating cool stuff! Carolyn sent me these previews of her paintings (complete with commentary!) and I had to share. My favorite is the ones with the dark blues. Looks like she's had a much more productive summer than I have. Good for her! Enjoy!

For Mama

Enjoy!

Sunday column: When did dorm life get luxurious?

Here I am circa 2000 in my Pearce dorm room with my first roommate (courtesy of Tech's sophisticated potluck system), Diane. She lasted two whole quarters at Tech!

On-campus life has come a long way since my days as a Louisiana Tech student.
I recently helped a family member move into a University Park apartment, and I was struck by the quality of the new housing facilities. For a moment I wondered what campus I was on.
It’s been about a decade since I loaded down my Honda Prelude with dorm room essentials and headed west on Interstate 20, destination: Tech. Student housing here in Ruston has advanced by leaps and bounds since then.
As a high school student, I got a preview of dorm life the summer between my junior and senior years when I enrolled in a class at Tech. For three weeks, my best friend and I traded our real life as Monroe teenagers for the freedom that comes with being college students. We moved into Kidd (remember good old Kidd? It’s now a parking lot) and stocked up on junk food, wielding our Tech Express cards and trying desperately to look like we belonged on a college campus.
Back then, dorm rooms didn’t have Internet connections. Heck, they didn’t even have thermostats. Every year that I lived on campus, my roommates and I would suffocate in the winter and freeze in the summer because the temperature of the entire dorm was managed by one master switch located somewhere across campus. I don’t know if there was ever a time when that particular arrangement made sense, even back in the ’60s, when many of the buildings were built.
I lived in the dorm for three of my four years at Tech. In my senior year, when I finally moved off-campus, I asked myself why in the world I’d waited so long. Now, though, for students lucky enough to live in University Park, there’s no real difference between living in university housing and living off-campus.
During those three years of dorm life, I had three different roommates and lived in three different dorms: Pearce, Kidd and Aswell. Each one had its own set of amenities and inconveniences.
There was one problem that plagued me from dorm to dorm through the years: ants. Even during my three-week stint as a faux college student I battled the dorm ants. They were back when I returned as a full-fledged freshman and were the reason I lobbied the housing office to get a dorm re-assignment (finding ants making trails through your underwear drawer would send you over the edge, too).
But alas, there they were again at the new dorm, and no amount of complaint calls from either myself or my parents seemed to get the problem solved. Eventually, I just made a habit of buying a can of bug spray every time I went to Wal-Mart (which was frequently back then, i.e. every other night). By the time I finally moved off campus, I was a pretty good shot. This skill also came in handy during The Great Cricket Invasion of 1999. I remember walking across a cricket-laden Centennial Plaza one day that year, relishing each step as I crunched crickets beneath my feet.
On-campus pests aside, life in the dorm wasn’t all bad. I met some interesting people and learned how to adapt — a skill, like accuracy in bug-killing, that will serve me for life.
It makes me wonder, though, about the new crop of college students who are living an entirely different Tech experience. Rather than playing racquetball at the Intramural Center and going bowling at the Bulldog Kennel, will they instead be holed up in the swanky UP apartments updating their Facebook profiles?
With individual bedrooms (what a concept) and kitchens, will students participate in the rousing conversations that would erupt from time to time in the Student Center or outside at the red tables? There’s a chance they could really be missing out.
University administrators have recognized — and rightly so — the need to upgrade facilities for the next generation of college students who have extremely high expectations. There’s no doubt that the new housing and recreation options Tech is working on will serve to raise the university’s profile and attractiveness to students and their parents, as well as faculty and staff members.
I just can’t help but indulge in a little nostalgia for the way things used to be, not that long ago. Back then, students walked to on-campus computer labs, because we didn’t all have iMacs. People passing by on campus would say hello to each other and stop and chat, because we weren’t all plugged into iPods or cell phones. And the dorm life — well, it built character, because it wasn’t nicer than our parents’ houses, which we’d just moved out of.
I bet the residents of University Park would say I’m just jealous — and they would be right.