{"id":3632,"date":"2017-04-14T21:13:47","date_gmt":"2017-04-14T21:13:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/2ndcupoftea.com\/?p=3632"},"modified":"2017-04-14T21:13:48","modified_gmt":"2017-04-14T21:13:48","slug":"baseball-at-dusk-farewell-val-disere","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/2ndcupoftea.com\/?p=3632","title":{"rendered":"Baseball at Dusk – Farewell Val d’Isere"},"content":{"rendered":"

Between heaven and earth,<\/em>
\nbetween darkness and light,<\/em>
\nbetween magic and reality,<\/em>
\nlies only my heart…<\/em><\/p>\n

A<\/strong>s I walked home from work this week, I saw a boy playing with the water of a well. I stopped and stared. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, I was more sad than I remember being in years. I just stood and watched. I let the feeling grow, take over and tears appeared in each of my eyes.<\/p>\n

\"3d5566e8c517ee11ae78304789bb60e0\"<\/p>\n

The boy had a piece of wood attached to a string which in turn he was dragging round and round. The wood floated, and together with the white string, formed a sort of primitive vessel. It was one of those old fashioned stone wells, the likes of which scatter Alpine vilages in France, spewing forth delightfully cold, delicious water. He was one of those boys you might see in illustrated story books of the seventies. Brown, neat hair, faceless – I could only see him from the back – blue shorts and a white t-shirt.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He could, when standing on tip-toes, only just reach over the edge and touch the waters surface, permitting him this game. It was close to seven, the sun was just setting in Val d’Isere and, as it does every evening, cast it’s last rays from behind Roche de Bellevarde\u00a0up along ‘the highstreet’, long golden fingers slowly losing their grip on the day. It was my favourite time of the spring days in Val.<\/p>\n

Behind the boy, apres ski was rounding up, live music at Coins des Ami; ‘Chez Bob’ as G and I called it, for no real reason. I assumed, as I watched him, that his parents must be somewhere there amongst the crowd of bright jackets and salopettes, buzzing along to the music. Next to the well, people were beginning to gather, awaiting the free shuttle bus direction Fornet. Predicted departure; 2 mins. Colour; Red.<\/p>\n

And no one seemed to notice this little chap.<\/p>\n

I remember once reading something about the inspiration behind one of the songs – I forget which one – written by Michael Stipe, or maybe even Peter Buck, of REM. Whichever of the two, returned home one evening just as dusk was settling. In the park in front of him, he said, some children were playing baseball. As he stood the dimming light and watched them, the tears started streaming down his face. He said he didn’t know why.<\/p>\n

This was my baseball at dusk moment. In the simplicity of that boy and that toy, in this crazy place, surrounded by music, beer and sexed apres-ers, something touched me. I couldn’t move. There were plenty of kids in Val, it was Easter Week and before that had been school holidays also. But you don’t see kids playing in wells, with pieces of wood. You see kids on skis, with ipads, with iphones, with all kinds of gadgets I will never fully understand. The night before at Coco Rico’s I had glanced out onto the grass – usually snow – bank opposite the stage and seen it dotted with kids huddled up in the ski wear, the faces illuminated by technology as their parents drank and danced to Summer of 69.<\/p>\n

This was my baseball at dusk moment and like one of those chaps from REM, I knew I had to write it…<\/p>\n

For this was unlike the kids on the grassy bank. Maybe this boy was not even really there. No one paid him any attention. But I saw him and I see him still. At the time I didn’t think anything other than he was real, but the effect he had on me and the clarity with which I can recall him now, made me wonder… Maybe only I could see him.<\/p>\n

There are two children in my life I will always wish I could have met. I believe in magic. Not out of a hat magic, but the magic of more to life than meats the eye. Maybe this was magic. I like to think so. Why else would I have been so deeply touched. What, if not magic was making that happen. As I eventually left the boy (I made myself go, before he turned around) and walked up the hill towards home, I was thinking that just maybe, this little chap, playing exactly the sort of game I would have enjoyed to teach him, was somehow\u00a0one of these two. If so, even from behind, he looked happy…<\/p>\n

\"240_F_81086412_SNPcw7hKJJll1EJM1W092cA3Y4YQF1cX\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

– Written on my last day in Val d’Isere – April 2017. Having spent two months here helping on a ski season, I’d like to dedicate this true story to ‘the kids’ as I called them; Josh, Sam, Grace, Tash, Ross, Amelia and all the others. You have no idea how much you have meant to me and I shall never forget you; your innocence, joy and above all total confidence and optimism in that all which lies ahead will be good. Whatever life throws at you, I hope a part of you will never forget the simple joy of playing baseball at dusk… <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

I shall miss you all. Thank you.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Share this:<\/h3>