Day Four Hundred and Eighty-Nine

The Bowlers

I can't remember the last time I bowled. Maybe senior year in college? Three years ago? I do remember one time I went bowling with my uncle Rick. I was twelve or so and we were at a Spokane alley around noonish. But inside, it looked more like midnight. All the black lights were on, and my freckles were popping. Our waitress was quite nice. She brought us coke and fries and made us laugh. And then, I noticed something on her nails. I asked to see them under the special light, but she shoved her hands in her pockets before I got a good look at them. She whispered something to my uncle and he looked at her in horror. And I was left to wonder. On the drive home, I asked him what happened. How do you tell a 12 year old that the bowling alley lady had various suggestive sexual positions on her nails? Uhhh? After that, we just referred to her as "Nasty Nails."

Last night, there were no such women. Just a sweet bunch of baseball friends looking for a good time. I managed a chuckle thinking about her - since I can't help but think of Nasty Nails every time I visit a bowling alley - and threw the ball down the lane.

Victory! I whooped up on Adam! Feel that shame Husband!

Buuuuut, he was bowling with his right hand.

So, I evened the playing field and bowled lefty. And yes, I felt the shame. Adam whooped me. Regardless, we both suck. #1 and #4 killed us.

I took my favorite shirt of Dad's when I left Washington.

Last night, I finally put it on. 

I really miss him.

When I got the news that Adam made Big League Spring Training, I cried happy tears. I cried sad tears too. Dad was supposed to come down in March to visit and watch him play. I was looking forward to those moments in the stadium with him. I wanted to see that look on his face when Adam took the mound for his very first big league pitch. Knowing Dad, he'd probably shed a tear or two and hug me big with a grin across his face.

Most days are good. Some days are not. I struggle at weird times and in different situations. But last night, when I saw his shirt in my drawer, I missed him in a good way. And wasn't afraid anymore of putting it on. I miss you so much, Dad. And hope - the greatest hope - that you're well.