Dear friends,
Elizabeth Barrett Browning said “Earth’s crammed with heaven.”
Sure was ’round my corner of the world yesterday. Mr. Mom and Parker and I spent a lovely fall evening watching Parker’s friends and classmates dominate a varsity soccer match. Dominate is not an exaggeration. Our team won 5-1 and advanced to 14-3 on the season.
After watching my very first high school soccer match last night, I had only one thought: Is there anything more beautifully athletic and carefree than 16-year-old boys chasing soccer balls?
Oh my mercy — it was poetry in motion. It was poetry in testosterone.
And then, afterwards, while walking across the field to our parked car I had a second thought: It would really suck to run across this grass as fast as I can and then fall down.
Oh my mercy — how do they do it?
Ah . . . youth. I’d like to say it’s wasted on the young, but in fact, it’s perfectly, wondrously, immaculately bestowed upon those who can enjoy it most. The innocent, the optimistic, the idealistic, the limber. The resilient.
Oh to be all those things again!
Last night, though, it was good enough to watch it. To hear it. To be reminded of my own dim memories of what it was like to run, run, run as fast as I could across lush green lawns on perfect fall nights when there’s a hint of something in the air, something sweet, something clear, something pure, something just beyond what we know and into the realm of what we cannot grasp but will chase until we fall.
Heaven, I think, as the poet said, crammed right here on earth.
With gratitude {for green grass, crisp air, and blessed youth, even if it’s no longer mine},
Joan, whose nostalgia ran deep enough last night to carry her to the concession stand for a Kit-Kat bar
Debt of Gratitude 
I too spent my evening watching my daughter play the “beautiful game”.
Where we live I can occasionally hear a high school marching band’s drum line practicing in the AMs. It never fails to accelerate my pulse. Is there anything more delicious than enjoying guilty pleasure concession foods while watching your offspring excel in their chosen sport? If so I can’t imagine what it is. Go Parker!
There is a field near my house where high school boys play lacrosse. All those lean teens look even more elongated running with their lacrosse sticks.
I played soccer for ten years, until the middle of high school. At this stage in my life, I cannot imagine how I managed to run for 90 minutes at a time, much less do crazy things like slide tackling and smacking a soccer ball with my head. But I did. A long, long time ago (15 years ago, YIKES).
I hope at least one of my sons plays a sport in school. It’s such a fun time of life.