Baseball season has started again.

It started last Sunday. Each year I become a "baseball widow" around this time of the year, as Kris goes off to spend time with his mistress (her name is MLB).

I resist learning about baseball. I tolerate his watching so much because it means I can work on my own projects with little guilt about not spending the time with Kris. I'm sure Kris would love if I were an avid baseball fan, but I'm not, and don't plan on being so any time soon. I can count the number of live games I've been to in my lifetime on one hand, and the number of those I've enjoyed on the number of penises attached to my body.

I've learned more than I care to learn about baseball, but I still get many terms mixed up. Take, for example, the high cheese ball.

In reality, there's the high cheese, which is a pitched ball that blows right by the batter. Often said as, "Wow, that was some high cheese."

And there's the high fast ball, which is a pitched ball that comes in at the top of the strike zone, really really quickly.

Technically, there is no high cheese ball, but I use the term generously.

There's also home base. Or the in-field homerun. Close, but they make Kris cringe every time I use the terms.

Good thing I don't discuss the high cheese ball hit over home-base for the in-field homerun. I might become a divorcee instead of a widow.

I hate linking to other websites. I don't like it because I have no control over the life of the content I'm linking to. I'm not done with my local cache module, where it would become a non-issue, so until then, I resist linking to other websites.

That said, I have to link to this one. Sent to me from Jeff Wells in L.A., I love the pictures this guy has taken:

Dreams of Flying

Look at the full set. Some are better than others, all are great.

I've come to the conclusion that I have a new favorite word. If I asked Kris what my new favorite word is, he'd tell me it is either "nominally" or "clearly," because I've certainly said both a lot. I'm struggling to remember what words those two replaced most recently, and can't recall.

Regardless, Kris would be wrong.

My new word is "No."

It's a recurring theme (with variations), so I've embraced it.

No is now my default answer to everything.

Can I take on a new client?

No.

Is this my responsibility to fix?

No.

Do I have time to help on this project?

No.

Should I save some of this tasty cake for Kris to eat later?

No.

Can I do this?

No.

Can I finish that?

No.

It's an uncomfortable statement to make. I feel I'll be disappointing everyone. That I'll be failing them. That anyone I say "No," to will think less of me because I said no, instead of an enthusiastic yes. That I'll be less of a person because of it.

By saying yes, though, I have committed to doing too much. I don't schedule-in any downtime for myself. I stop reading books. I stop gardening. I stop running. I stop. And then I lose myself. I lose perspective. And then I lose my motivation.

And at that point, I do disappoint, because I've committed to something I no longer have the energy or motivation to do, because I was doing that something for someone else, and not because I was passionate and committed to do it.

So, better to do less and be excited to do it, than pretend to live someone else's life, and worry about someone else's worries, and try to achieve someone else's dreams. Because I'll never succeed otherwise. And I'll hate myself for failing to do something I never wanted to do in the first place.

So, my new word is "No."

Unless I'm excited about it.

Then, "Yes."

Note to self: check the amount of space in the freezer before hitting the "buy" button on the food website. You just may not have enough room.

The corollary to that note may just be, if the food is packed in dry ice, there's a good chance the items right next to the ice are the same temperature as the dry ice. Those you don't want to pick up with your bare hands.

Really.

Today I was cleaning the kitchen with the dogs staring up at me, hoping for some food droppings, when I heard a noise that sounded like someone was at the door. I had a book playing on the stereo, so I couldn't be sure. I turned to look out the window, and saw no one standing at the front door, so turned back to putting away the dishes.

A few moments later, I heard rustling and patting noises at the front door, along with the mail door opening and shutting. I turned back around to the window, expecting to see someone there, and still saw no one.

The mail door noise continued, and had me terribly confused. I went to the front door, and opened it, looking at the mail slot.

To see Liza standing there.

I looked up to see if her parents were around. Nope. Just Liza.

And the dogs going crazy! I had to yell at them to shush them, and feed them more treats (greenie and rawhide) for them to leave us alone.

Liza, in her dark green, velvet dress, looked at me, said she had something for me, handed me a small red seed, said it was for me, and asked me to plant it.

She then smiled, and dashed out the door, calling, "I need to get home now!" I watched her has she ran all the way, a smile on my face. Unbidden and alone, Liza came to visit me. Which gave me such joy, I had a tear or two. Just like I used to run next door when I was very little to visit the Bauers, Liza came to visit.

I could wonder if her parents prodded her to head over, but I'll just assume they didn't and keep this smile.

How is it that I do laundry every day, yet every morning when I'm getting dressed, I can't find any clean underwear?

Kris has a billion pairs of clean underwear, and at least a kabillion pairs of clean socks. But I spend twenty minutes every morning trying to find a single pair of undies for myself.

Clearly, the dog has been feasting again.