Baseball season. Oy.

My husband bought a cute little sign for our kitchen a few years ago. It reads: “We interrupt this family for baseball season.”

‘Nuff said.

To be fair, he doesn’t shove it down our throats. And Sandy is almost as big a fan as Leo is, so it’s something they can enjoy together. Sunny is a different story, but she’s pretty tolerant. If Daddy and Sandy are happy, she’s happy.

Heck, I like baseball. It’s the American Pastime, fer cryin’ out loud. Plus, the new Mets’ stadium has pretty awesome concession stands. (Sushi. Need I say more?) On top of that, I really love the innocent joy and boyishness baseball brings out in Leo. He has such a high-stress job, and it’s amazing to see the tension melt out of him when he walks into Citi Field or turns on the MLB network at home. So what if there are a dozen (times ten) other things I’d pick to be watching or doing were I on my own? How can I complain? “I can’t” is the correct answer.

So, even though I’m not really a fan, I’ll turn on the game, even when Leo isn’t home, just so I can talk about it with him later on. I’ll follow the baseball headlines, take note of important players and events (like Gary Sheffield’s 500th home run), and let him talk about strategy and statistics to his heart’s content. Because it makes him happy. And because I love him. Love ain’t no battlefield. For Leo and me, it’s a baseball field. (Were you wondering how Pat Benatar fit into this post?)

He does the same for me, too. He’s been known to surprise me with tickets to Alvin Ailey, just because I love dance. He went with me to see the “Sex and the City” movie, even though he was probably the only straight guy in the theater — AND he held my hand and said really mushy, romantic things throughout the movie. He finds ways to let me know he respects and admires my religious choices, even buying me a “Wiccaversary” gift each Ostara, the anniversary of my self-dedication.

The point is this: it’s so easy and fulfilling to find bliss in your loved ones’ bliss. When they share their deepest pleasures with you, whatever they may be, take joy in their joy. Spread the wealth. Share the love.

Today is a special day for Jews. Aside from being Erev Pesach (Passover Eve), it is the day of the Blessing of the Sun (Birkat HaHamah), which comes only once every TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS. Our Rabbi, in his email about it to the congregation, said:

You may be wondering why this takes place every 28 years – the idea is that every 28 years the sun is back in the sky at the place where it was at the time of creation. The science they used to make this calculation back in the 3rd century was pretty good in its day… However, this blessing is not about science, it is about WONDER! It is appreciating the miracle of life, a gift from God. May we be blessed to see the sun in its season tomorrow morning!

This is so in line with Wiccan spirituality, to my mind — the idea of steeping ourselves in awe and wonder at the magnificence of the universe, of anticipating such a moment for almost three decades, and of relating it to something that is so easy to take for granted. I love being able to bridge the gap between my birth religion and my chosen religion. Things like this bring home to me the realization that spirituality is universal, regardless of the medium.

Have any of you had a similar experience/realization with another religion or spiritual path?

Yeah, yeah. It’s been a while. I was going through some crap, which I may talk about later. Right now, I just want to get back into the swing of the blog thing.

I’ve lost some weight — been exercising regularly and doing Weight Watchers. I don’t know what switch flipped in my head, but something seems to have gotten my butt in gear. I feel better, look better, and make my hubby happier. There’s something to be said for that.

I’m going to start out slow here, so please be patient with me. But I AM back… break out the confetti.