Passover Blessing

t was a spontaneous delight of Spring, renewal -- and a total surprise to our adult children. So, count it as an added blessing for Passover.

Before readying for our seder at our upstate farmhouse, we were outside, together starting the Spring cleaning by picking up winter’s fallen branches, clearing and clipping, and getting the garage sorted. Seeing the bag of old baseball gloves, a sudden desire awoke to throw a ball around – unusual for an otherwise aging guy long since suited to sitting and the occasional hike.

Somewhere between dare and astonishment, idea of playing in the backyard – our own Field of Dreams -- fit perfectly with our talked-about feelings of freedom from enslavement of all sort and the joy of Spring, the heart of the holiday. What could not have been anticipated was the sheer sense of joy of being in the sun after a rainy morning and playing like kids.

We’re a family much more likely to break into music-making, line-dancing or jokes than such disorganized would-be athletics.

Add in the twist that over the years, the mice with whom we share country living had decided that leather baseball gloves or their webbing might be good winter snacks. Out of concealment of the bag, we pulled gloves that had been gnawed and ignored, with holes in fingers or webbing that a ball could simply pass through.

Within moments, we found ourselves laughingly and kindly remembering how to toss and catch a ball, moments rekindled from the days of Louis and Hannah playing as kids in Los Angeles with the Minor Giants and Honeys of our neighborhood Little League, and even my own from playing softball with teams from the newsroom and from our synagogue.

Of course, I instantly knew how to gauge the ball’s arc, but forgot that the knees and legs needed more flexibility than they were able to provide. Maybe we should have tried this after four glasses of wine. My dancer wife, Patch, could move easily, even if throwing and catching were complicated with a glove stiffened by time or inattention. Daughter-in-law Clara, who never played catch growing up in Spain, only had trouble while trying to film it all at the same time. Jorge, Hannah’s husband, had no trouble with spryness or Spring.

I’m sure any neighbors who saw us would find it all comical. Indeed, it was as funny as it was unusual and spontaneous. It was down home and genuine. It produced peals of laughter. It was, in a word, liberating from the worries of our time and circumstances, and curiously it was a source of hopefulness that we can still surprise and delight one another.

Curiously, the moment called for trust, recognition of a spirit of renewal, and an understanding that we make room for others, even annoying country mice. It called for remembrance and the need to forgive ourselves for our bumbling ways – not such a bad way to celebrate the deeper messages of Passover.

Terry Schwadron is a retired journalist.