Sports: a conundrum

   Today was one of those incomparably lovely days, when the temperature soars, skies are sunny, and to top it all off there is absolutely nothing on the calendar for those golden hours after dinner.
   Which is a really good thing, as it gave me the chance to make complicated arrangements for dealing with tomorrow, when:
    I need to drive to the airport.  (approximately 60 miles from home base)
    Imelda has her first softball game.  (seven miles)
    Joan has her first soccer game.  (fifteen miles, completely different direction)
    Veronica has Little League practice.  (three miles, but yet another direction)
    All between the hours of 4: 15 and 6:00.
    There is no public transportation in our town.
    None of the girls is old enough to drive.
    Jane-Clare is no help, as her after-school job kicks in around 4:30.
    This, clearly, has all the makings of one of those word problems (fox-goose-sack of corn-small boat-river) the habitual solving of which supposedly will head off dementia, though possibly at the expense of bringing on an alternate mental disorder.
    Our original plan, which I suppose I ought to describe more accurately as a forlorn hope, was that Joan could catch a ride with her BFF, whose mother and I have formed a friendship, over the past 15 years, originating in the coincidence that we have three pairs of same-age daughters.
    No dice.
    "I was going to ask you the same thing,"  BFF's mom explained. 
    See, the fact that our daughters are the same age has its downside, too.  Turns out Imelda's opposite number also has a softball game; not the same game, of course; that would be too easy.
    So now we had the added wrinkle of providing transportation not only for Joan, but also for her BFF.
    That was solved, is that is the right word, by bringing Duthac into the picture.  He agreed to drop both girls off, immediately prior to his heading off for work; someone else would have to pick them up after the game, but that seemed quite do-able.
    OK.  So.  Imelda's game is at home; she will be there, needing only to be retrieved later.  My husband is willing and able to take care of that aspect.
   It was only over dinner that we learned about the third sports-related event.  Veronica's coach called and recited, "We have a practice tom--"  at which point I burst into laughter.
   Poor man.  No doubt his statement seemed entirely reasonable from his perspective.
   "Yes, I hope we don't have much trouble with the weather," he said, putting the best possible spin on my reaction.
     OMG, the weather!  Now, if Joan and BFF are dropped off, well and good, but what if there is a thunderstorm and the game is called and there is no shelter available?
    Here's what we have:
    Dad is going to Imelda's game, and quite possibly driving hell-for-leather to pick up Joan after hers;
    Duthac is dropping off Joan and BFF;
    unrelated nice family, enlisted via frantic telephone communication, is driving Veronica;
   Mom is picking up her sister at the airport and heading to the mall and a nice quiet dinner at  P. F. Chang's (please don't give me away).
    And yet another mom (bless her heart) will transport Joan and BFF to the home of one of them in the event of an electrical storm.
     Do we have all bases covered (to borrow a metaphor)?
    You know, I wonder about that fox-goose-corn thing.  I mean... aren't foxes omnivores?  And they're reputed to be quite smart.  So... look, if he figures out that the goose just isn't coming his way, wouldn't that sack of corn start looking pretty darn good as an alternative?
    I'd also like to know whether Shirley Jackson and her family ever located that missing blanket.*
    But I think we are all pretty clear on that whole it-takes-village thing, n'est-ce-pas?


*see Life Among the Savages

Am I a WHAT?

Jean Kerr once related how a polite young man at a cocktail party ruined her day, or at least what remained of it, by asking how she had voted in an election far predating her arrival at the age of 21.  The voting age has, of course, changed since then, and to date nobody has yet wanted to know whether I voted for Johnson, or even Nixon. 
The other evening, though, a very nice young lady had me similarly choking on my tonsils with the simple question, "Are you a nun?"
Please understand that I have the greatest admiration for nuns.  According to something I read just recently, the term is properly applied only to those who are cloistered, so I have to assume that this delightful girl hadn't read the same publication.  She appeared to be quite sane, so I am sure both of us realized we were standing in a regular parish church, with nary a grille in sight.  I have the greatest admiration for sisters, too.  I would never suggest that it's an insult, of any kind, to be mistaken for one.
But I have to wonder.
I know many consecrated religious wear wedding bands, being Brides of Christ and all (although I would wonder whether those bands are ever Claddagh rings: just asking), but do they wear diamond solitaires, too?    I mean, wouldn't that be a strain on the collective finances, after a while?
Something tells me I shouldn't be bothered by this.  Undoubtedly it is a compliment, and one I don't deserve....
Foil highlights!  C'mon!  I ask you... foil highlights!  Would a nun have foil highlights, with or without a wimple? 
In fact, imagine what a huge compliment it is to be mistaken for someone so holy that she has consecrated her entire life to God and spends most of the day in prayer, rather than just ducking in late to prayer group after running errands and meeting with an editor and....
Running clothes!  I assure you, I was wearing a running suit.  And cross-trainers.  OK, there's nothing to say a nun, or at least a sister, couldn't wear that; but would she wear it to church?  Nah, that's left for slackers like me.
Isn't it astonishing that anybody could look at somebody as worldly and distracted as I am and come up with anything approaching the image of a dedicated religious?  Wow, how off-base can you get?  I am humbled beyond belief.
But that's the last time I leave the house without lipstick.