Of Depression and Giant Sausages

Funny how the stupidest little things can shake One out of a funk.

I pretty much hate Labor Day. The childhood experience of it, the last hurrah of summer vacation, the gateway to the numbing repetition and regimentation of the educational process, has never left Me, I suppose. So I was feeling pretty blah.

A baseball game in on the TV . . . The Brewers and Dodgers. Baseball at least survives Labor Day, like a defiant Indian Summer it blazes on into October, its heat rising with each passing day, a stark counterpoint to the suddenly chilly evenings and the slowly-fading green.

And, in baseball games played in Milwaukee they have a quaint custom. At a certain point between innings, mascots dressed liked a hot dog, a Polish suasage, an Italian sausage, and a Bratwurst race around the field, much to the delight of the crowd. (In the interest of diversity, Chorizo will be added next season. I kid you not.)

Just now, before resuming live action, they showed a little snippet of the just-concluded sausage race. And, amazingly, stupidly, confoundingly, just seeing that little bit of completely unrepressed goofiness has lightened My mood considerably.

Now, some would stop and think about that, to really try to get at "why." Not Me. "Why" is the question of gift-horse dentists. I'll pass, and simply enjoy the improvement in My mood.

Hope everyone is doing well. Kisses and hugs to all the usual suspects.