Spring is coming…Oliver Rides the Bus

Spring training has started for major league baseball teams and that made me think of this little story I wrote about a boy that loves baseball enough to disobey his mom.

Oliver Rides the Bus

 Oliver tried to focus on the geography of Peru, but kept thinking about well-hit doubles, strikeouts and close plays.

Mr. Franzen’s voice filtered into his brain during a 5-4-3 double play, “Oliver…Oliver…Mr. Winslow!”

Oliver slowly realized it was not the play by play announcer calling his name, “Um…huh…yes? I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for joining us. Tell us about the Nazca lines in Peru.”

“They are…glyphs, drawings on the ground you can only see well from the air that no one understands.,”

“Excellent. Who discovered the glyphs….”

Her voice faded into the cheering crowd after Oliver hit a homer, winning the championship.

At dinner, Oliver’s mom said, “My car broke down today. I can’t drive you to your game tomorrow. I’m sorry, you’ll have to miss it.”

Oliver choked on his milk. “But Mom, it’s the first game of the season. The team is counting on me. I’m the starting shortstop.”

“It’s just a game.” She served the peas.

Oliver looked at his mom as she put a slice of meatloaf on his plate. “Maybe I could take the bus. The #82 runs up Meridian to Green Lake. If you give me some change, I can…”

“Now hold it right there, I have not given you permission to take the bus by yourself.”

“But, Mom!”

“No! I’m sorry about the game, Oliver. It can’t be helped.”

Oliver had a hard time sleeping that night. He dreamt about baseball, striking out or dropping a line drive or a missing a deep fly ball. His team kept losing, and it was all his fault.

He woke up early, tired, but excited.

“Ok, I know what I need to do.”

He went straight to his coin bank, and found four dollars and seventy-six cents.

“I’ve got just enough money for bus fare both ways.” He smiled.

He checked the bus schedule.

“Let’s see, where is the ball field?” he ran his finger up the route until he found it.

He looked at his clock. “Just enough time to get ready.”

Oliver dressed in his uniform, grabbed his money and  his glove. Then he slipped down the stairs, careful not to wake his mom.

“Ok, all set, here we go.” Oliver let himself out the back door.

Once on the bus, his mind filled with fantastic catches and hits.

“Kid…hey, Kid!”

Oliver looked up to see the bus driver standing next to his seat. “We’re at the end of the run, you gotta get off.”

Oliver looked around. “Where are we? I wanted to go to the ball fields at Green Lake.” Oliver felt sick to his stomach.

The bus driver chuckled. “You must have been daydreaming. We passed by there a half-hour ago.”

“How can I get back? It’s too far to walk.”

“Relax kid, there’s another bus stop across the street where you can catch a bus back to Green Lake. I’ll give you a transfer so you can ride it. I played some little league when I was a kid, I know how important the games are.” The driver smiled.

Oliver thanked the driver, crossed the street and waited for the bus. This time he asked the driver to let him know when they got to Green Lake, so  he could get off at the right place.

Oliver thanked the driver, got off the bus and ran to the field where his team played. The game had already started, so Oliver put his stuff with the rest of the team’s things and went into the dugout.

“Hey coach! I made…it…uh, oh.” He saw his mom and coach Bradley standing with their arms crossed, looking at him. Oliver attempted a sheepish grin.

“Oliver, where have you been, and how did you get here?” his mom asked.

Oliver stared at his shoe laces.

His mom uncrossed her arms, walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You took the bus, didn’t you?”

Oliver’s face reddened. “Yes, Mom. I just wanted to play so bad.”

“I understand. However, after you went to your room last night, I called your coach. He offered to give us a ride. But, you left this morning before I could tell you.”

Oliver looked up and caught a glimpse of the coach heading out to the field.  He then looked at his mom. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you just wanted to play baseball. I wanted you to play, too. Look, I’ll promise to make sure you get to every game if you promise to stay off the bus. Deal?”

Oliver smiled. “Deal!”

“Mrs. Winslow,” Coach called from the end of the dugout.

“Yes, coach?”

“Could you umpire the game? We’re one umpire short today.”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna umpire? I didn’t know you knew anything about baseball.”

His mom smiled/ “I forgot to tell you—I lettered in softball in college. Come on son, let’s PLAY BALL!”

 

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Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Northwest Christian Writers Association

Author Kathleen Freeman shares her wisdom and encouragement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My husband often accuses me of being a matchmaker, a Yenta out of place and time.

It’s true. Despite a bedroom that argues against it, I love to organize. In the right mood, I can sort a silverware drawer with the best of them—toss take-out restaurant chopsticks from two years ago and make all the spoon bowls stack in the most eye-pleasing manner.

My passion, however, is people. Despite the Valentine’s Day sound of that, it isn’t couples I most like to match. I’m an idea connector, and that ardor extends to finding talents. I LOVE to put people in situations where they can grow and learn, do their best, use the gifts God has given them to make the world a better place. I find it irresistible to help loose chains and free people to love the Lord with…

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A Different Kind of Conflict

A Different Kind of Conflict

Linda W. Yezak

conflict You’ve heard authors talk about turning off their internal editor? There’s a reason for that. Authors and editors think differently, and if one can’t shut off the other when necessary, there is conflict.

I doubt I’m telling anyone what they don’t already know, but this really is a right-brain, left-brain kind of thing.

I always get it confused, so in case you do too, here’s the theory: “right brain” folks tend to be more artistic; “left brained” folks more logical. So when the right brained author has the left side of his brain pokin’ its nose into his business, he gets stymied. Stilted. Stopped.

And when the left brained editor is reading the wonderful works of the writer who has pushed the limits of artistic license, he becomes mortified and indignant and threatens to yank that license away. Illegal use of imagery!

Not long ago, there was a discussion…

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Oogie’s New Foolproof Plan

A funny little story for you today. I hope you enjoy it.

Oogie’s New Foolproof Plan

By: Steve Mathisen

“Oogie are you sure this is gonna work? Your last idea landed us in the doghouse for a solid week.”

“Ralphie, we’re dogs, we always sleep in the doghouse.”

“Yeah, but it’s worse when they put you on half rations.”

“Oh Ralphie, forget all that. This is the best plan I have ever had. It is foolproof. It…is…stupendous!”

“No way! Your last plan was foolproof too. I still have bruises from the broom swats.”

“That won’t happen this time. No brooms, no way!”

“Well, all right…but only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“So, how is this plan different? You scare me when you get this excited about one of your plans ‘cause I’m always the one that gets hurt.”

“That won’t happen this time. No way!”

“Ok, you said that already. What is this foolproof plan, Mr. Big Brains?”

“Last time we went after the bacon too soon.”

“Too soon?”

“Yes, too soon. We tried to get it from that pan on the stove. We knocked it over, and bacon grease went flying everywhere.”

“Everywhere but our mouths. Most of it landed on the floor.”

“Uh, yea. So when we did get the bacon, we couldn’t get away with it because of the grease all over the floor too. It was too slippery. We got caught.”

We knocked it over? Let’s get that part straight right now. You knocked it over!”

“Ok, ok, I knocked it over, but you were supposed to grab it and run away with it.”

“Oh yeah, I was just supposed to grab it before it hit the floor. But, it turned out to be impossible with that pan flying straight at me.”

“I suppose my aim could have been a little better.”

“Yeah, and that grease was hot too! I nearly got splattered with it, after I dodged the pan. Then, when I did grab the bacon, I couldn’t get any traction on the floor because of the grease… And then…there was the broom. Ewww! It makes me shiver all over just to think about it.”

“Never mind all that. This time it’s going to be completely different.”

“Ok, maybe. How?”

“I got it all figured out.”

“You do, huh?”

* * *

In order to read the rest of the story, please go to http://goo.gl/WolWU3 where you can purchase the book

Space Kitties; Anthology 1: Feline Forays Through The Galaxies (Volume 1)