Life as we know it
Zoo Lou of St. Paul writes: “Subject: Babe Ruth and My First Home Run.
“It was the first Saturday in June of 1957, and I was pedaling my bike fast and furiously down Third Street on St. Paul’s East Side to Parkway Little League, not wanting to be late for the big day of tryouts.
“What I encountered at this field of dreams was a rambunctious group of 8- and 9-year-olds, brimming with the unbridled energy of wild horses, all vying for a spot on teams with such scintillating names as the Chicks, Robins, Vols and Owls.
“It was the commanding presence of Mr. Mincher, longtime leader and mentor at Parkway, and some volunteer dads who managed to get everyone registered and organized into groups.
“I started out in center, and almost immediately a wave of self-consciousness swept over me. Duct tape covered the holes in my tennis shoes, patches covered the holes in my jeans, and my glove was this overstuffed monstrosity that kept slipping off my hand. But when I caught two fly balls, my confidence soared.
“After patrolling the outfield, I was about to face my biggest test. There I was in the on-deck circle, nervous as all get-out. Suddenly, I remembered the stories my dad and uncles told me about Babe Ruth, the Sultan of Swat, the mighty Bambino, the greatest home run hitter of all time, stepping to the plate before 60,000 roaring fans at Yankee Stadium.
“I closed my eyes and imagined the Babe standing next to me. ‘Just relax, kid, and keep your eye on the ball,’ he said with a wink. ‘You can do it.’
“After some swings and misses, I was down to my last chance. Taking a deep breath, I glared defiantly at the pitcher, tightened my grip, and, with one Ruthian swing, drilled a hard liner to left field. Racing to first base, it felt like my tennis shoes, duct tape and all, were gliding above the ground. I was the happiest kid on the face of the Earth.
“Mr. Mincher patted me on the back and told me to stay alert and run the bases like a real game. A soft grounder got me to second, and a bloop fly got me to third. One base to go.
“Peering anxiously down the line. who did I see coming to bat but good friend Terry ‘Trucker’ Truhler. And he wasted no time belting a sinking liner to right. I took off for home like Jackie Robinson and jumped on the plate with a resounding ‘THUD’!
“‘I hit a home run! I hit a home run!’ I shouted over and over, pumping my fist in the air. ‘We did it, Babe!’
“Basking in the glow of my prodigious feat, I didn’t realize the other players were looking at me like I was some sort of nut. When I got home, I continued to boast about my home run, until all the kids, with equal parts amusement and sarcasm, explained to me what a home run really was. Needless to say, I felt pretty silly and embarrassed.
“But just to indulge a young (now very old) man’s fancy: I still truly believe I hit a home run that June day in 1957. And Babe Ruth was with me.”
Please release me!
The Doryman of Prescott, Wisconsin: “Subject: Long Lived The Queen Earworm.
“My little brain was playing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ from 1 a.m. to the break of day, today:
“MOMMMAA, I CAN’T GET TO SLEEP!
“You’ve been playing in my head,
“Ever since I’ve gone to bed . . .
“MOMMMAA, I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!
“I just toss and turn all night,
“Waiting for the morning’s light . . .
“Well, it goes on and on, but you get the picture.”
Life (and death) as we know it
Plus: The simple pleasures — and: The highfalutin displeasures (responsorial)
Birdwatcher in La Crescent: “Subject: Hello, again.
“It has been way too long since I have corresponded with Bulletin Board, but life got in the way.
“COVID came, and we all had to deal with that — some who received the ugly germ, and others who witnessed those people from afar.
“In 2021, my groom of 61 years fell while outside walking and suffered a traumatic brain injury and brain bleed. While in the hospital for 76 days, he then experienced having a pacemaker inserted, suffered a small stroke and a heart attack.
“The writing was on the wall: We have to move and get out of this large two-story house with all the stairs. So, we moved to a twin home with zero steps, out in the country of La Crescent. I said when we moved: Now I know why we had four children — so we would have help moving when we got old.
“Behind us is prairie restoration, with lots of wildlife to view. We kept saying, ‘Why didn’t we do this years ago?’ Oh yeah, twin homes weren’t built here years ago.
“My groom passed away late fall of 2023, so I am now learning a new life.
“My simple pleasure this spring has been that I bought a bluebird house after seeing a bluebird glide by. Within three days after I attached the house onto the side of the shed, Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird took up residency, and on Sunday during the all-day rain, they left their cozy confines.
“Last year we had sandhill cranes behind our home, and our daughter named then Frasier and Niles. They had two little fuzzy, yellow ones they brought for us to see, but one day there was only one, and the next day Frasier and Niles were alone — so sad, but that’s nature.
“I totally agree with Twitty of Como: Music isn’t necessary for most documentaries — and if they think it is, how about turning the volume down so we can hear the commentator, whose voice should be louder than the music. I have closed-captioning on all the time, as my ears don’t hear as well as they should, even with hearing aids. And I don’t want to turn my volume up to my level of hearing, because I am sure the neighbors across the street don’t want to hear what I am watching.
“Thank you for all the BB entries. They are so enjoyable.”
BULLETIN BOARD SAYS: Thank you, ma’am. And welcome back.
Everyone’s a critic!
Architecture Division (including: There’s nothin’ like a simile!)
Grandpa Bob reports: “Nine-year-old Sam, commenting on fast-food architecture, said: ‘I like the older McDonald’s. They look like a happy kid. The newer ones, the flat and dark ones, look like a depressed adult who doesn’t like their job.'”
Everyone’s a critic!
Headline Division
Email from Donald: “Clever headlines.
“These headlines recently appeared on the front pages of SPORTS in the Pioneer Press the days after the Minnesota Timberwolves played the Dallas Mavericks in the NBA Western Conference Finals:
“Monday, May 24, after Dallas defeated Minnesota 116 – 107: ‘MAVS > MAV-NOTS.’
“Wednesday, May 29, after Minnesota defeated Dallas 105 – 100: ‘HOWL ABOUT THAT.’”
Today’s helpful hint
Or: The Permanent Family Record
Kathy S. of St. Paul: “Subject: Spreading Our Roots.
“A public-service message to any BB reader given up for adoption (plus the birth parents) in Minnesota:
“1. Effective July 1, 2024, any Minnesota adoptee aged 18 or older will be able to request their original pre-adoption birth records. Note the word ‘any,’ since some records were closed by court orders.
“2. Birth parents may file a Birth Parent Contact Preference form with the State of Minnesota, to say if they want to be contacted by adoptee(s). This form does not keep adoptees from accessing their birth records; it lets adoptees know if their birth parents want to be contacted.
“Tracing the families of adoptees used to be difficult, if not impossible. Adoptees weren’t often told of their birth families, and many records were (or still are) sealed. For at least 10 years, I knew that one of my dad’s second cousins was rumored to have given up children for adoption — back when I couldn’t figure out how to find them.
“In fact, Dad’s second cousin in Iowa gave up two boys for adoption, Curt in 1946 and Tim in 1949. Per my DNA test, I figure that Curt is her son, and Tim is a more distant family member. I located Tim without DNA, by posting a mini family tree on Ancestry. A ‘leaf’ popped up on the birth mother, and I contacted the genealogist who had posted information on her. She gave me Tim’s name, address, and phone number.
“Eight days after I called Tim in Iowa, he and his wonderful wife, Pat, came to St. Paul to meet me and learn about our family. On a gorgeous day in October, I drove them to the historic cemetery of St. Peter’s Catholic Church in Mendota. Looking down from the cemetery, I could see a wealth of history in the rivers and places where local peoples and my ancestors lived.
“In the 1970s, I befriended Sadie, the last Travers member of my great-grandfather’s generation line, at my great-aunt’s funeral. I took her out to eat, and to St Peter’s Cemetery to visit her family’s graves. I also photographed her next to the small monument at the gravesite of my great-great-grandmother Mary — Sadie’s aunt. When Tim and Pat visited, I gave Tim a copy of that picture, and watched his wife photograph him in the same place.
“Some time later, Curt’s wife contacted me about our mutual DNA, and I helped bring Curt and Tim together. They seem to have much in common, and to enjoy having ‘roots.’ I hope to see Tim again someday, and to meet Curt — but I’m not counting on it.
“Meanwhile, I have boasting rights among genealogists for finding Tim without using DNA. Sometimes that is enough.”
See world
From Arden Hills Swede (f.k.a. Mounds View Swede): “I’ve been watching the pond near the front of our New Perspective Senior Living home in Arden Hills and was delighted one early-spring day to see the turtles all out and sunning themselves on a sunny day.
“The most I’ve counted at one time is 17, but another resident counted 18. I feel very fortunate to be in a place with a lot of nature nearby. so I can continue to get photos to share with Bulletin Board. I’ve been lax in actually sending them, but I hope to get more ‘with it’ now.”
The vision thing
Rusty of St. Paul: “As my eyes continue to age, I have found it is easier to read with my glasses off and my face close to what I am reading.
“I was reading a column today in a neighborhood newspaper about upcoming changes to Hidden Falls Park in St. Paul. New changes include replacing the picnic shelter, new pavement for the parking lots, a cultural ceremony area — and then I read that a ‘A mature play area is also under consideration.’
“While I’m not a prude (I don’t think), I’m not from California, so I wasn’t so sure about this type of play spot working in buttoned-down St. Paul. I read it again: ‘Mature play area.’ Then moved my face closer to the page. ‘Oh,’ said Rusty. ‘A nature play area.’ For kids.
“Later in the article, a woman who works for the city was quoted: ‘We’ve heard a demand for a nature play area.’ I wish my brain had been still processing it as ‘”‘mature play area,’ as then I would know that St. Paul has become more open-minded than I give it credit for.”
Band Name of the Day: The Overstuffed Monstrosities
Website of the Day: https://www.youtube.com/embed/fJ9rUzIMcZQ?si=s8V-5VcYZRL8wCxV
Bulletin Board 