The
way it works usually is that I’m ready to crawl out of my skin by the end of
February; when March opens like a scene out of Tolkien, flying replaces
crawling. Any kind of spring can’t come
soon enough.
Rather
than stare out the window at a thermometer, I get ready, mostly by making sure
the Schwinn is in shape to ride another year.
Clare was a blessing because we had spring training together. When she was small, we played catch in the
backyard until I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. Then it was the batting cages and calisthenics
and after that being the chauffeur to and from practice. All of it made the time pass.
And
now I’m left with an old bike.
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