Wrong

Some things are simply not right.  What is right is that it’s Spring, though the weather will be on and off for a bit yet.  It’s Spring because the Phillies are playing in Clearwater and college baseball is underway.  What’s right is the ball field grass is green; it gradually becomes somehow impossibly greener under the lights; my heart is still beating and Skippy the implanted defibrillator continues to be quiet.

And then there’s what’s wrong.  Pales in comparison to the harbingers of Spring, heartbeats and Skippy, but still just wrong. 

Designated Hitters.  Pitchers should hit.  As someone said, using a DH is like sending someone else in to a basketball game to shoot free throws.  Wrong.

My thirty-something year old friend who lives with the aftermath of Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) and  her version of Skippy.  Too young.  Not right.  Ever.     

I get annoyed when I have to explain that I didn’t have a “Massive heart attack”.  Somehow, I prefer my reality of  the far less common and more dramatic SCA, though that is mighty small of me.  After all, before 9/5/09, I could not credibly have described the difference between a heart attack and SCA.  I’m wrong to get cranky about it, but I can’t seem to help myself.   My cholesterol was never high, thank you very much.  Small.  Small. 

Aluminum bats in college are wrong.  Actually, I think they’re wrong in high school and probably Little League as well.  The sound of a baseball bat should be a crack, not a ping. 

Mitt Romney in worn, broken-in jeans.  Very high ick factor.   And I don’t believe it.  Where is he getting them?

A favorite photo is ever so slightly out of focus.   There’s a new camera just developed (lytros) that will fix that, but too late for my shot. 

The wrong man calls.   Of course, the 'right' man is also a wrong man,  but that's just me.  I was thinking of writing a country song "He was the answer to the wrong question".   Another day.....

  

Writing a post like this after my extraordinary good fortune is wrong;  my heart stopped and I didn’t die.  This uncharacteristic whining reminds me of one of my favorite birthday cards ever created.  

- -   On the cover are two women.  One grants the other a single wish and the birthday girl says "Thinner thighs".  The wish-granter rages - really, all the problems in the world and that is what you selfishly ask for - thinner thighs??????

- -   And inside the card, the birthday girl responds.  "Okay, okay.  Thinner thighs for everyone".

And there you have it.


P. S. The photo is from jupiterimages.com;  isn't it perfect?