Last Times

It’s often said that there’s a first time for everything, which means that there’s also a last.

Sometimes these last times can't happen soon enough, like your last day on a job you hate, or the last time you eat an awful school cafeteria lunch where you can't determine which food group each individual item belongs to. (Meat? Vegetable? Your guess is as good as mine!)

Some of them are accomplishment, like your last cigarette before you quit for good, or your last payment on a loan.

Some of them are stepping stones, like the last night you spend at your parents’ house before setting out on your own, your last college class before graduation, or your last day in a cramped apartment before moving into your first house.

Sometimes the fact that you’ve gotten to a particular last time is a sign of growing maturity, such as your final just-for-the-heck-of-it-all-nighter, or the last time you try to park in every available space in the Econo Foods parking lot in Houghton, just because either you or one of your friends thinks it will be fun. (Hint: It's not. Believe me.)

Some of them are lessons learned, more amusing than anything else now that they're over, like when I traveled from Niagara Falls, New York to Stevens Point, Wisconsin by car in a single day. That was definitely not a good idea, and it was certainly both a first and a last.

Some of them are little reminders that the world is always changing, along with everybody in it. I have a niece that will run up to me and say, “I want you!” with her arms outstretched, which means I'm supposed to lift her up in the air and give her a ride. This is something she's sure to outgrow in the not-so-distant future, and even though things will still be just as fun, only in other ways, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s going to be that last time.

Some of them are signs of progress, such as the last time dialing up to get on the internet, or the last time paying a bill with a physical check.

Some of them are signs of getting older. For example, there’s going to be a last time that I dive recklessly for a volleyball or shoot a three-pointer during a pick-up basketball game, along with whatever day it is that I’ll go out for a run and then decide never to do it again.

Some of them are fun to think about. For instance, whenever my friend Lurch and I are in the U.P. at the same time, we invariably end up playing H-O-R-S-E at Eagle Harbor. It’s tradition. We’ve been doing it since we both moved away, and it makes me wonder, how long will this go on? When is that last time going to be? I don’t see it stopping anytime soon, but does that mean that someday we’ll be in our fifties, with gray or no hair, slightly stooped over, shooting half-court shots and laughing at idiotic jokes, all while people walk by shaking their heads, not quite understanding the ritual that they’re witnessing? I sure hope so.

Some of them are just plain weird. Take the last time I played with G.I. Joe action figures. When was that, and why didn't I ever play again? Did I wake up one day and say, "Well, I'm too old for that," and move on to something different? Or did my playing stints get shorter and shorter until it just sort of fizzled?

Some of them are things you fully expect never to happen again. I’ve been to the Grand Canyon once, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I never go back. There are simply a lot of other places to go and things to see.

But eventually, if you keep thinking about it, you get past the good and the funny and the intriguing and get down to the last times you don’t really want to think about; the last times which prove that nothing lasts forever.

The last time you see the mountains. The last time you see the ocean. The last time you look down on the clouds from the window of an airplane. The last time you get up early just to watch the sunrise in some quiet spot you know.

If that doesn’t get your attention, I’m not sure what will.

The last time you listen to your favorite song. The last time you crack open a new book. The last time you eat your favorite meal. The last time you sip a steaming cup of coffee.

Will you even know it's the last time?

The last time you crack a joke and make the people around you laugh.

The last times you’re with those who are important to you; your friends, your family, your loved ones.

These last times are hard to think about, probably saddening, maybe even scary, but ignoring them doesn’t make them any less real. They can come early in your life, late in your life, any time.

There are many references in songs and books and movies to making each day count, to living like you were dying, to not wasting a moment, and while I don’t disagree with this philosophy, the truth is that no matter how much you cram into your life, no matter how much joy you manage to squeeze out of every moment, you’re still going to experience all of those last times.

Some may say that since you have no ultimate control over it, you should just take all you can get and enjoy it to the fullest, because the alternative is to worry about it needlessly, and again, I don’t disagree. I just think that once in a while it’s good to slow down, take a step back, and ponder it, just to make sure that you’re comfortable with where you’re standing.

Personally, when I do this, which is probably not often enough, I like to think that once I’ve exhausted all of those last times, when I’ve done and seen all that was meant for me, then I’ll get to go to where all of the first times don’t have last times. Then it’s not that scary or sad, and at least for me, that makes all the difference.

Deja Vu All Over Again

Those of you who read this post probably won’t be surprised at the event I am about to recall. If anything, I should be the surprised one, since you’re still here reading this blog, for reasons I can’t comprehend, since I’ve yet to bribe anybody to repeatedly view it just to inflate my hit count.

Anyway, let me preface the story by saying that I like to stop at Holiday and buy coffee in the morning. Obviously that’s not a cost effective move, since it would be cheaper to brew it at home, plus you'd eliminate the extra time needed to make the stop, which would allow for more time to sleep in. Still, I enjoy it all the same. I think it goes back to my childhood, where it was always a treat to go to the gas station and buy pop or comics or one-hundred penny candies for a dollar and then watch the cashier almost have a nervous breakdown. Call it recapturing my youth. Call it ignoring my future. Call it irresponsible fiscal policy. I call it tradition.

But on to the story, which I surprisingly haven’t forgotten about, despite my inane ramblings about my childhood.

As I alluded to, I’ve been stopping at Holiday quite often in the mornings. That is until late last week. I had just paid for my coffee when the cashier smiled and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

It was like the world stopped spinning and time stood still. I was hit by a stunning moment of clarity, and I realized then that I was becoming too predictable, which is just another way of saying that I was becoming boring. It was Jimmy John’s all over again. (Second chance to catch up, if you missed it.) For the record, I haven’t been back to that particular Jimmy John’s since I posted about it over a year ago. That’s how stubborn I am about silly things such as these.

Not surprisingly, as I walked out of the store I thought well, I can’t come here anymore, and so far, I haven’t. I’ve gone as far as to start making my coffee at home and bringing it to work. Now, I have no illusions of boycotting this Holiday forever just because a cashier was polite and I took it as a dig on my lack of dynamism. At some point I’ll need gas, or I’ll run out of coffee at home, or I'll stop being crazy, or I’ll just want to watch people buy completely unhealthy breakfasts consisting of energy drinks or soda along with a half-dozen doughnuts, and so I’ll stop in.

But it’s still kind of scary that I’ve already gone this far and changed up my entire schedule just because I’m threatened by something somebody said that shouldn’t be threatening at all. I mean, what’s going to happen if I ever get married and my wife says, "See you tonight," as I leave for work in the morning? Will I immediately think, well, I can’t come here anymore? (All right, that’s probably a bad example, I hope, but my point remains.)

I guess it’s just something I’ll have to work on. My mantra will be that routines don’t necessarily mean that one is boring. Perhaps I’ll start by going back to that Holiday once a week for coffee. At first I’ll be like a deer, very tentative and ready to flee at the slightest disturbance, such as a loud truck in the parking lot or the cashier smiling at me. But I’ll slowly gain confidence and maybe build up to going twice a week, and then see where it takes me.

I'm pretty sure I can make some progress. Heck, who knows, maybe I’ll end up doing something really crazy. Maybe I’ll go back to Jimmy John’s. But don't bet on it.

Softball Musings

With the early onset of spring, a rash of softball playing has broken out in the Twin Cities area, at least from where I’m standing, which is quite often the outfield.

This means that my proficiency in hitting opposite handed is being severely tested. This is because since we play co-ed on a small field, it’s been decided that all guys should hit wrong handed. While a solid theory and a good rule in general, in my case it’s somewhat irrelevant. Hitting my natural hand, I’ll most likely ground weakly to the left side of the infield. Hitting wrong handed, I’ll most likely ground weakly to the right side of the infield. However, I’m nothing if not a team player, so I just go along with it.

On the defensive side of things, I’ve found that I enjoy playing the outfield. I could probably chase fly balls for several hours straight and not get the least bit bored. (Insert your “fetch” joke here.) One of my goals this year is to attempt a diving catch. Note that I didn’t say ‘make’ a diving catch, for you never want to have unreachable aspirations. But attempting a diving catch should be in the realm of possibility. I’ve never tried one before, always chickening out at the last moment, but this year I’m determined to change that, even if it’ll look more like an ill-advised belly flop than anything else.

On the other hand, the infield doesn’t interest me in the least, because not only do you have to remember how to “turn two” and be the “cut-off man”, there is an exponentially greater chance when playing there of a ground ball taking a bad hop and destroying your face.

So, to sum it up, if my softball role had a title, it would be Defensive Specialist Who’s Not That Good On Defense But Who’s Called That Because He’s Even Worse On Offense. (DSWNTGODBWCTBHEWOO for short)

Bonus Story:
In college I took a PE softball class. During this time I managed to blend into my surroundings quite well, never excelling, yet never being too horrible, except on one occasion. We had split into two games, and the other game finished first. Everybody from that contest moseyed on over to check out our game. Time was running short, so it was decided that we'd only play one more out, and of course I was up to bat. Now, up to this point I’d never had problems making contact with the ball the entire semester. (I’d ground weakly to the left side of the infield.) However, at that moment I realized that every eye was on me, and that the players from the other game probably wanted this game to end so they didn't have to sit around and watch, and so I immediately folded to the perceived stress. I flailed miserably at several pitches, probably looking more like somebody with uncontrollable muscle spasms than somebody trying to hit a ball, and struck out.

Hmm. Perhaps I should have ended on a positive note. Let me think. Ah, this should work.

J