Once Upon a March so Cold/Hot

Clare told me the other day that she’d been dreaming about softball for the past two weeks.  Given how this was such a major part of her life, I’m surprised it was only two.

My waking memories of softball are more hot and cold, literally and in reverse order.  Our wedding anniversary coincided with the start of softball, the third week of March.  All through high school, we basically froze; really, flesh will adhere to aluminum bleachers no matter the clothing, or so it seemed.  Sophomore year high school, I looked like the Michelin Man, I was bundled up so much.  But you root for the ones you love, whatever the temperature.

Our reward was college softball, which kicked off every year in Florida.  The first year we went, neither Michele nor I could get over that it was already 80 degrees around our anniversary.  The locals—Clermont, outside of Orlando—thought we had to be out-of-towners because we were wearing shorts; they thought it was a little “cool” out still.  Ordinarily, when in Rome...but not this time.  Better yet, we were able to sightsee around games, with trips to Daytona Beach and St. Augustine and a couple of spring training contests.

But now all we can do is dream or remember, or look at pictures uploaded.  My father always said it was hard getting old.  He was right.