Is it Just me, How I am, Or Does John Hiatt JUST ROCK?

No offense to John Hiatt.  But alone, with Peggy in San Francisco, and I am talking to a pug/shit zu mix, a healthy aloof cat that is attacking groceries bags, and a special needs cat and I have three beers in me and I am cooking; really cooking: I mean I am making marina with ground Italian sausage, cooking a steak for Neko and making bacon for tomorrow’s salads and keeping the next beer really cold (there IS going to be a next beer; Garanteeed,  {spell chker cannot even get close when you are drinking!} and a John  Hiatt song comes on and it SPEAKS RIGHT TO me, well I just have to think he is the best song writer EVER.

 

I think this when sober as welll.  But the line:

 

There are only two things in this world

And I forget what they are

Just sends me over my cliff

I am happy, sad and accomplished all at once. 

And remain a John Hiatt fan forever, and I will be morning; I hope.

And I patiently await Peggy’s return. And I miss her.

OOOH, Cat Power Rocks TOO!

Here are the lyrics that sent me over the edge:

I've been taking off and landing but this airport's closed
And how much thicker this fog is gonna get God only knows
Just when you think that you've got a grip
Reality sneaks up it gives you the slip
As if you ever knew what it was taking you down the line

Tearing through the cottonfields and bus shelters
of the South running helter skelter
down through the MississippI delta
with no place to call your own
mixing up drinks with mixed feelings
all along the paint was peeling
down to an Indian blanket on a pony
with no rider in the flesh and bone
looking for his buffalo river home

I've been circling the wagons down at Times Square
Trying to fill up this hole in my
soul but nothing fits there
Just when you think you can let it rip
you're pounding the pavement in your daddy's wingtips
as if you had some place better to go
or a better way to get there

Now there's only two things in life
but I forget what they are
it seems we're either hanging on a moonbeam coat tails
or wishing on stars
just when you think that you've been gyped
the bearded lady comes and does a double back flip
and you run off and join the circus
yeah, you just let that pony ride

Health Care, Retirement, Republicans and Democrats that Just Might be Republicans

This post is going to be a rambling mess!  It has been percolating for weeks, maybe years.

Merry Christmas, we have Health Care Reform!  Like most people I do not yet have a complete understanding of it yet.  And like most Leftist, I have sinking doubts that it is all I want; more than doubts - I am pretty sure this is not the reform of my dreams.

But make NO mistake..... I am delighted that we have done SOMETHING!  I am encouraged we have made strides.  There has to be SOMETHING good in there based on how tight the Republicans underwear has gotten!

I am older now and maybe someday I will be wiser.  The Stones said it best:

You can't always get what you want

But if you try real hard you just might get what you need.

We didn't get what I wanted.  No "One Payer System", No Public Option.  But you know something, we did get what we needed.  We got something.  Like 100 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean, it is a start!

Am I disappointed that schmucks like Lieberman (sp?) acted more like Republicans ( I cannot stand to even see that smug asshole speak); yeah.

And it it just me, or are the Republicans looking like giant babies on the playground.  If I hear them say "our health care system is not good, it needs reform but no one will listen to us" one more time I will scream.  Do not get me started on McStain.

How can we live in a country that takes 12.4% (do not forget the match) of most every dollar a working man makes to a retirement fund but will not step up and pay for medical.

Is the Republican strategy to take our money for a retirement that will never come because they are counting on us to not live to see 65? 

Just a warning and a side note to my children in the spirit of full disclosure, I have already started the process on indoctrinating Eli and Abby into wonderful Leftists and socialists - just try and stop me.

Cutest, Nicest, Most Adorable Dog in the World

The voting is in, sorry Sammy ...Here is the winner!

80 Years of Celebration

Brother Bruce, Patty, Peggy and I decided to treat my mother to a fine dining experience at Canliss for her 80th Birthday. It was a wonderful time.



Canliss upon hearing of the special occasion sent a little birthday treat to my Mother.

On Sunday Peggy and I hosted a breakfast/brunch to extend the celebration.


Eli was there and on his best behavior. Here he is complimenting the chef with a polite, controlled burp after chowing down. What grace and manners this boy has!

We all wonder where Abby got the trait to stick her tongue out whenever she is concentrating???

Eli takes a break from his building to think about what the next step should be.

Neko finds a nice safe place to ride out the party in her low key style.

Men

This is not about me turning gay. I am pretty sure I am not. And I will save you the Seinfeld line here. I am not gay. Maybe it is just all the Phillip Roth I have been reading lately. Too much Zuckerman. But I have been looking at men lately. Taking a good look. Like never before. Really looking at men. Almost for the first time.

I like men. I like being a man. I have a pretty good definition of men. It is pretty broad and open. Very accepting. I feel for men. I feel the pain of being man. The conflict of maleness. How hard it can be to be a man. Difficult job that never ends.

For me, it is what life is about. Being a man. Hard work. Nasty stuff. It is a cold cruel world. It moves fast. It is always changing and the world always wants more. And there is not much help out there.

It is a confusing, rule oriented, demanding no excuse world. As Frank Sinatra would sing, you’re riding high in April, shot down in May. Nothing lasts and like any good prize fighter we are judged by our will to get off the mat, try again knowing another punch is sure to come, and knowing that there is a punch to come that could end it all.

This is what I think about when I look at other men. As I do, I wonder…how is their fight coming along. What do they fear, how do they cope and how do they get through their day. How is the world treating them.

I see slight answers in how they dress, how they walk, how they hold themselves. I notice that more men limp. More men seem to carry pain. I see some men that are behind on points in the fight, I see some men that look undefeated, and I see some men that look like they cannot take another round.

And I worry about them. And I forgive them. And I want them all to find happiness and above all acceptance.

More and more I notice how life is not good to men. We are most likely not like the guys on TV. We typically are either not that pretty or that stupid. I have never asked any other man, but I sure do not like the way we look on TV. We are not as simple as that. We are dealing with way more fear and confusion than TV portrays.

So I go through my days, take my punches and punch back at the invisible foe from behind my guard. I seek shelter in my corner. I take refuge in my castle and thank my lucky stars that there is someone in my corner who loves men, knows my pain and sometimes even clears a path for me and sheds light on another way and at times understands why I sometimes cannot take that path even though I know it is better.

Don't Want a Pickle

This post's for real. After HS graduation I bought a 1974 Honda CB 350. Drove it all summer and off an on for a couple of years. Shortly before I became a father in 1977, I gave it up. My brother took it to sell it for me and that is the last I saw of it.

Now Harley's seem to be the rage for us 50 pluses. They have a marginal pull on me, but quite frankly the new motorcycle designs don't do much for me. My eye likes the old models.

I have been looking on Craigs List for some time for one like the one I lost track of so many years ago. Today I found one, spitting image and it is in great shape. Certainly better shape had I owned it for 35 years.

I bought it.

It's mine.

Vroom Vrooom!!!!

Day Jobs

A lesson in life finally hit me this week after being broadcast to me for all of my 54 plus years. Why does life grant you these visions at such times? Perhaps maybe the question ought to be why I constrict my life with such a definition. Perhaps this opening is the topic for another rant / post.

But this week I finally learned the danger of DAY JOBS. Massive occupiers of time that misdirect the meaning of life and while allow one to survive perhaps get into the way of allowing one to thrive. Interesting that these words rhyme.

On Tuesday I saw one of my heroes, John Irving speak. By hero of course I mean someone I admire, which is to say envy, which is to say “why can’t I get it together like that."

Last night I attended a poetry reading for our favorite waitress. Smaller venue, smaller world. She was supported musically by another waitress from the same restaurant. The poetry and music were wonderful. Quite entertaining. But significantly different from John Irving. Significantly different from watching musicians who perform for a living. I love our poet friend, but in my rustic limited vernacular – they were the JV. Talented, but not ready for prime time.

Words said by John Irving on Tuesday night came screaming back to me. I understood the words on Tuesday. I thought I got the point on Tuesday. But on Thursday night the sky opened, a voice screamed at me and a point was made.

On Tuesday John Irving was asked to compare his books and perhaps name a favorite. Like any parent, he said he was proud of each and could not single any one out. But he went on to say that structurally, his later books were vastly superior to his first five books. He said the simple reason for this was TIME. For his first four books he wrote when he could between his day jobs. And for his fifth book, although he was a full time writer, he had not mastered how to manage his time, how to be a full time writer.

Day Jobs.

They get in our way. They consume us. Our current day process of food foraging and seeking of shelter get in the way of the pursuit of which is burning.

I reflect on things that got away. Why did I not pursue things that burned in me? What distracted me from the pursuit of baseball, of words of a myriad of things more interesting than accounting? Simple fact. Those that I know who pursued these things forsook the practicality of eking out a life over the pursuit of what they knew they wanted. They were willing to loose it all to get what they wanted.

My practical side forbade me from shooting the moon, damning the torpedoes and rolling the dice.

I am comfortable. My feet are dry, I have no physical hunger. My life is happy; my needs are more than met.

But god all mighty, sometimes I am so hungry.

Marshmellow History

No one, NO ONE I talk to remembers (or says they remember) the marshmallows of my youth. I am appalled that I was the only one paying attention. NO ONE seems to remember that marshmallows were once a thing of beauty, more solid and much more of an individual thing. Each one was a prize in itself. They had shape, texture and a glee full firmness. Each marshmallow was its own thing, unique and tasty.

They came in a box. There was a row on the top, there was a row on the bottom. You hoped you would get one and you treasured it. You held on to it for a while and thought about how you would eat it. Take it slow, gulp it down or perhaps toast it. And there was a risk to toasting it. You took your time and it was a big deal, at least to me it was.

And then sometime in the 60's marshmallows, like cartoons, comics and many other things that had a richer, more fine history, became commod-i-tized. Stream lined, mass produced. They made them cheaper and in greater quantity. Yes there were more, yes they were cheaper - but now they were no good. Cheap imitations of something that used to be so cool.

For years I have wanted proof. But every time I would bring the subject up I would get glazed over looks from my peers. I guess it happened without them seeing it. Maybe they never knew what they had. Maybe it is more proof of my supposed autistic tendencies. But now I have proof. I may be crazy, but not the kind of crazy that people were trying to pin on me.

It happened, I have proof, real proof - Internet proof.

Here it is:

Marshmallow History

The name marshmallow refers both to the sugary confection as well as to a plant. The 'mallow' plant (Althea Officinalis) is common in Europe. The leaves and roots are both edible but it is the mucilaginous substance from the root from which the early marshmallows were made. Today however the root is no longer used and has been replaced commercially with a gum arabic solution or at home with gelatin. The earliest use of the mallow plant to make a confection dates back to the Egyptians. "The first marshmallows were made by boiling pieces of the marsh mallow root pulp with sugar until it thickened. After is had thickened, the mixture was strained and cooled. As far back as 2000BC, Egyptians combined the marsh mallow root with honey. The candy was reserved for gods and royalty (no wonder I felt so SPECIAL getting one)."The modern version most similar to what we see today was first made in France around 1850 and was called pate de guimauve. Marshmallows were made with the mallow root sap, gelatin, egg whites, corn syrup and water. The boiled mixture was placed in special molds coated in corn starch (to prevent sticking). This process was laborious so the manufacturing technique was changed in the 1900's with the invention of the "starch mogul system".

The marshmallow became very popular in the U.S. from the 1930's to the 1960's. Early on they were a child's candy but later they were seen in cookbooks used for topping cocoa, dessert topping and even in salads.In 1955 there were over 30 marshmallow manufactures in the U.S.

Thanks to one Alex Doumak, ( Thanks?, he ruined EVERYTHING!) marshmallow production changed to an extrusion process which made for rapid, low cost production of the product still sold today.

I am Somebody Now!

I had luch with one of my former college professors yesterday. It came about due to an invite from a fellow SU accounting classmate to take part in the SU business school golf tournemant. My friend Gibby was soliciting partners for a foursome that was to include this professor and himself. The email string contained other potential golfers and the professor; but not Ginger and Mary Ann or the millionaire and his wife. I was feeling kind-of spunky so I shot off a wise ass "reply all" and then the fun started. At first Gibby was terrified that I had offended the professor, but he came back later and replied that he hadn't laughed so hard in years. At lunch yesterday he informed us that he now uses the email string in his SU Bio.

Here is his SU bio:

DAVE TINIUS:
Dave’ s background is engineering , public accounting, consulting and a long career at Seattle U teaching accounting. To give you an idea of how highly regarded Dave is among the SU alumni, here’s a little snippet from a recent e-mail exchange among some accounting alums . . . we didn’t make this up.

In this e-mail sequence Gibby is trying to get a couple of his SU, late-1970s-alumni, pals to play in the Albers golf tournament with himself and Dave in July. Here‘s the exchange of e-mails:

Subject: I need two
2:17pm, June 24
Hey guys,
. . . I have agreed to play with Dave Tinius, one of the long time accounting professors. We need two partners for this best ball scramble tournament . . . Any takers? . . . Gibby

Subject: RE: I need two
2:33pm
Not me; that bastard gave me a C in Cost Accounting, yeah you hear me, I am talking to YOU Professor Tinius, guess you never thought that oversight would ever come back and bite you. Well, it is biting today. HA! I will not carry your team this year, Gibby . . . Coug

2:38pm
And another thing, the questions on those cost accounting tests were horrible. They were like this:

Your golf score card has been destroyed in a fire. You know Gibby’s handicap,
the course slope, and the relative humidity. The O’Brien twins and Elgin Baylor
are playing in the scramble as well. What was the score on the first par three?
For bonus points, whose drive did you use?

Like I could ever answer those questions . . . Coug

Subject: RE: I need two
2:41pm
Coug, let it go!!! It’s been 30 years. And you’re still losing sleep. Besides you did all your studying at Sundance to get away from diapers . . . Brian

Subject: RE: I need two
2:51pm
Yeah, but I still remember Professor Tinius coming over to me and saying “kid, it’s not your night; we’re giving the A to Wilson.” Not my night! I coulda taken Wilson’s cost analysis apart. So what happens? Wilson gets the championship bout in the ballpark and I get a one way ticket to Palookaville. I coulda been somebody, I coulda had class . . . Coug


Origins Students: Don’t worry about it . . . there’s no way to prepare for Dave’s questions or his grading.

A Song to Bother Peggy, in so many ways

My Kindle-Ling

Just last month I bought a new toy
How was I to know it would bring such joy
So light when I go, it is something I bring
It is my new reader, my Kindle-Ling

My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling
My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling

When I was little boy In Grammar school
Always went by the very best rule
But If I had it then, every time the bell would ring
You'd catch me reading with my Kindle-ling

My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling
My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling

I can by books before you all
I can have them read in no time at all
But there is one down side, one bad little thing
I cannot share books with my Kindle-ling

My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling
My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling

I have hope that that in some soon tomorrow
The publishing houses will permit me to borrow
That surely will cause me to sing
When I can put YOUR books on my Kindle-ling

My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling
My Kindle-Ling My Kindle-Ling I like to read with My Kindle-Ling

Now this here song it ain't so bad
Prettiest little song that you ever had
And those of you who will not sing
must not be owners of a Kindle-ling

Pretty Good Little Saturday

I am having a pretty good little Saturday.  Peggy is away at a woman’s conference in Leavenworth and I have the house to myself.  Perfect weather for it.  It is raining cats and dogs outside, ala Cat in the Hat, and I am stuck inside, but unlike The Cat in the Hat I am stuck with Things 1,2 and 3.  Neko, Pushy and Munchy have me surrounded.  We are having a little love fest.  I am up in the loft in the chair torn to pieces by the cats,Neko in my lap (causing typing problems), Munchy in her evening pillow palace (loving the chance to be there during the day, and Pushy as always in on our perimeter, staring out the window at birds, twitching and making hunting noises.  I think I will sit here, make this post, read my kindle (the new Krakhauer book about Pat Tillman, Where Men Win Glory, a great read) and possibly contemplate a To-Do List.  I have got a couple hours of live Dead floating through my I-pod and things are looking very good.

My plan for this Pretty Good Little Saturday include finding a way to fit pizza into my day somehow, fix a few things around the house, do the dishes, some laundry and keep the love fest going as long as I can; Note Pushy just switched windows, there might be some action on the north side.

This evening I get the pleasure of heading over to Kelsey and Brian’s house to sit for Eli (and secretly start the brainwashing process to mold him into the man he should become, frankly I am worried about all the time Peter is spending with the boy, we certainly do not want Eli to be subject to those views!)

It is nice to have some alone time in the house.  I love Peggy dearly and miss her presence, but it is also nice to have some forced solitude.  Kind of a ying/yang thing and absence making the heart grow fonder.  I have always needed space and what better time to have space as when Peggy is on a vegetarian kick.  I will eat well this weekend.

Now for something completely different (in honor of the Monty Python reunion that took place this week). 

There are people who achieve greatness.  Ted Williams was the greatest hitter that ever lived.  Einstein is heralded as one of our greatest minds.  Who cannot marvel at the wonders of a man like Obama?  Sometimes when I reflect on these people of greatness, these heroes I wonder, “where do I fit in”  Why am I so mundane? Why did I not reach these heights of wonder?

And then it hits me.  It might not be much.  It certainly has not given me worldwide fame or made me rich.  But deep in my heart I know that NO ONE, no one on earth, no one before my time, and most likely no one after me (well tonight with Eli might just give him a chance; although the skill did not seem to be picked up by my direct offspring) can load a damn dishwasher as good as I can.  Any brand, any style, no matter how many dishes, no matter what shape.  I know that I am the best damn dishwasher loader that EVER walked the earth, so I got that going for me.

And my mantra, that NO ONE seems to ever get:

ENVISION IT FULL!

Walking Proud

Just an update to show the entire world just how far little Munchkin has come with her walking skills. If you have been following her progress you will remember her as the underfed starving spastic kitten that my mother had named "Flip-Flop" because she could not walk, but rather dragged herself around the yard.

I have shown some of her progress, and here she is in all her glory.

She loves to eat, but you cannot tell from her still undersized, skinny frame. But it is her two favorite times of the day, her half a can of cat food every morning and every evening. Beef with gravy is her #1 favorite, but she has not turned down anything.

She love to cuddle, her second favorite thing to do is to catch Peggy sitting on the coach and make a run for her lap. She has been known to seek me out as well.

New receipe; Old Man Stew in the Desert

Went down to Scottsdale AZ with a bunch of old baseball buddies for four days and nights. Our goal was to assist Kenny Knutson in his new job as pitching coach at ASU. I think we did a good job of getting in the way of his new job, drinking everything in site, hurting ourselves and losing golf balls. Generally had a good time.

Joining me in attendance were Gibby, Mike Carr, Six, Apple Sijer, BP and Mac. We came, we ate, we golfed, we drank and we talked. Ears were burning, noses were burning and skin was burning. The damage was somewhat tamer due to age, we didn't get kicked out of anywhere, and don't believe anything you heard - we WON every fight we got into with stray cacti.

Yeah, but you should see what the cactus tree looks like NOW!

BP cheating the group by getting extra winks. Apparently this is NOW part of his warm up routine, and it still takes forever to get him ready.

Kenny trying work one of his cell phones. After the second person lost their cell phone (Coug and BP) Kenny surprised us all with the fact that he keeps a back up cell phone.

Sijer, as fit and ready as ever. Still displaying the killer guns that made him and Larry Bird famous.

BP telling Mike about what his score "coulda' been' without the penalty strokes.

A quick call to the front desk and this desert critter was whisked out of the hot tub, no questions asked.

Breakfast, the only healthy meal and moment of our days.

Gibby and Sij deep in discussion. Keep your eye on the Crown Royal bottle. We had two at the table, and they disappeared faster than the golf balls from my bag.


Two Mikes pacing themselves during a great story telling night. Note the one empty in the center. We were halfway there!

Not sure if this is the view off the back of the Condo, or a picture of one of my tee shots. I think it must be a tee shot and you can almost see the ball fading over that last rock.

Chillin' in the Trees

We are taking Labor Day to the extreme this year. Normally I like to hang in town for Labor Day and just putz around. This year we did not get away at all, other than Memorial Day Weekend, so we thought we would combine Labor Day with a mini vacation. We rented the glorious Tree House on Whidbey Island and are just hanging and relaxing.

The Tree House was built by our friend Sean Bell, who also built our house. It was one of his early pieces. The cool factor of this house is the use of a tree as a support function.

Junior and I

Last night Peggy and I went to the Mariner game. We had way too groovy seats, about 15 rows behind home plate. Maybe you saw us on TV. We were just behind the annoying three ladies begging for rally fries, I think their sign said they would smile for rally fries. And they had these lame glitter smiles on little sticks that they held in front of their faces. But enough about them. This evening was all about ME, and Junior.

Jose Lopez (one of Peggy's favorites, but I still am not impressed with his everyday defense) was having a night. He doubled in the first, and homered in his next at bat. He was hit on the hip on the first pitch on his third at bat. What up with that! It was a sorta ugly moment. Pretty hard glances were exchanged, but that was the extent of the deal. Then JUNIOR came up.

One pitch into his at bat, at a quiet moment I yelled "Protect him Junior!". Two pitches later; BOOM, home run. It was beautiful.

Here is the great part of the story. As he stepped on home plate, he paused, looked right at ME and pointed!!!!!!!!

Wow, Wow WOW WOW.

I guess I am like the lady in white from the Natural.

Or, if you just do not want to give me credit for anything, maybe I was just confused and maybe Peggy was correct, maybe his mother or wife was sitting somewhere close behind us.

Here is what the Times, and apparently Junior had to say about "THE MOMENT":

Plate umpire Marty Foster had no sooner issued a warning to both dugouts than Griffey, on a 1-1 pitch, sent a shot over the right-field wall for a two-run homer.

It was his 14th of the season and 625th of his career, and Griffey pointed at his mother, Birdie, in the stands as he crossed the plate. She was in town for a charity golf tournament.

"She doesn't get to see very many games live," Griffey said. "She's going to take credit for that one."

Ouch, this hurts me deeply

Phase III

Planted the plants along the fence line. Three huckleberry bushes. Pies galore next year!

Fern central along the back fence.

As seen from the edge of the property, garden area, gravel lane and garden area

Phase II

About a year ago I started to landscape my mother's backyard. It was a daunting project. Overwhelming to me. Yes I have heard the story of how to eat an elephant, one bite at a time, but imagine having to eat the elephant ALIVE and the elephant could grow between bites!

The back yard was a mess. An area shaded by huge cedar trees that has always made growing grass impossible. Impossible for me anyhow. I am sure some smart guy from a golf course could make grass grow there. It contained a dilapidated shed/chicken coop. Fred, her former boarder (and hoarder) had saved and stored countless pieces of possible construction materials in every corner. And the weeds had taken over. I mean taken over. The weeds were so bad they would gang up on you if you dared to walk through the back yard. They were like a unruly, inner city gang of weeds, the worst kind.

Phase I

With the help of many folks we took down the shed/chicken coop. Last summer I re-gravelled the driveway and gravelled the area on the side of her house to almost the "good shed". I spent many weekends pulling weeds, weed whacking and swearing at the weeds. Then one weekend I realized I could not do it alone. I enlisted Terry, my brother-in-law to help.

Terry can DO things. Terry is a framer and if you are reading the newspaper you can guess that Terry's business is down. I hired Terry and shared my loose vision with him. Terry can do things and is an artistic guy. He assessed the back yard and refined the vision to include USING the hoarded scrap crap that Fred has stored in the yard. We came up with three zones and idea for a fence (to corral Nelly). And then as luck would have it, Terry got busy.

But Terry toiled week nights and weekends. His efforts are shown in what my mother is calling the great wall of China. The vegetable garden walled in by the cement blocks with its "Industrial" look.

I weed whacked, borrowed Uncle Don's roto-tiller and started to destroy the rest of the yard. Why 83 year old Uncle Don spent an hour or so tilling (what a man!). I trenched out the pathway and lined it with Fred's hoarded cement rails. I raked and hauled more crap that you could think was in that old dirt.

And Saturday, we gravelled the path, got excited and went plant shopping, got worried and stayed late to plant the plants. Was so impressed with the look that on Sunday I went for two loads of bark.

Now, at the end of phase two we have the beginning of a very nice looking, serene backyard.

Kind Words

Another Magnolia baseball season ended yesterday.  My thirteen year old team made it into the end of year play-offs, but were eliminated after two games.  There were some really tough teams in this league.  Solid teams that had too much talent.  We almost beat the #1 seed in game one, but lost in the end 6-5.  In game two we hung in tough for a bit, but too many non plays took us down in the end.

I was proud of the team.  Proud of their growth.  They did very well and I have high hopes for the team's future.

They were an exceptional group of boys.  I do not always say that.  There are always boys of great character on each team I coach, but this group did seem to have more, have more heart and were great listeners.

At the end of year party, one of these boys actually stood in front of all the parents, teammates and Bish and I and delivered a wonderful tribute to me in thanks for the season.  I was touched by his thoughts and impressed with his preparation, his delivery and his poise.  Thirteen years old!  I can only imagine the open road ahead for this boy.

My other catcher then stood and gave a wonderful talk about my other coaching half, Mark Bishop.  Again the poise and ability of these two young men impressed me.  All season long I observed this boy smoothly taking a leadership role among his peers.  In a soft subtle style he would gather the team, reiterate our words, prod his teammates in a gentle firm way.  He was always the one I would see talking with whichever teammate had just goofed up.  Talking them back to the positive world.

Isn't it amazing to observe others actually doing what we all preach.  Demonstrating the good side of all of us.  Isn't it amazing that by teaching young men how to act, how to grow, how to be that we can get lessons in return.  How teaching others how to treat others we can learn and be shown just how important it is to ALWAYS be like that.  To be the man your dog thinks you are.  To be the coach your team wants you to be.

Why I love my wife; why it is so damned easy

Peggy turns 53 tomorrow. That is one BIG reason I love her. She is my age, at least for a month. And she is the cutest little button. There are so many reasons to love her.

She is warm, open, loves animals, loves me, smart (close to being as smart as I am, but not quite SUPER GENIUS category), witty, funny and just has that easy way about her.

She is easy to talk to, or not talk to. Why we could talk or not talk for hours on end, and still find things to not talk about.

Warm, she just calms me by being around. And I want to be around her. Want to hear her talk, want to watch her work, want to be by her side. Love seeing the look of concentration on her face; love to see her day dream. Just love to see her move to music when she thinks she is not being watched. Love to see her cook. Love the way she walks. Loves the way she listens, love what she hears and can pull from me. Sometimes it is only what I mean but cannot say. I love to catch her eye from across the room.

Open, she can move freely through all my inner rooms and is always welcome. I have no fear that she will see anything, even things that I don’t like that ARE THERE that she cannot live with, things that she couldn’t see and love about me. I am open to her and love that she is open to me. No message, no judgment, she can see things as they are, things I don’t like but am trying to deal with. She helps me deal with them, and I am no longer afraid of what is there.

Her love of animals gives me relief. I see her love and where it comes from and know that I too can be loved, no matter what, and I think it makes me easier to love, more open to love.

Smart, she can even spell and knows grammar. And she can recall things that I have forgotten. Last night she brought up something that I have already forgotten. Things we learned in second grade can still be important, and she was listening then, and she listens now. She is smart because she cares so much.

Witty little thing can give me shit in ways that just make me feel more loved, like the things that are wrong about me are funny. I am glad they are not as scary as I thought they were.

And it is just amazing how much fun we have together and how much of this cruel hard world can be funny to experience when we are together

Happy birthday you wonderful, old, warm, loving, witty smart woman.

Kick Ass Marinara

Two or three Sundays ago I took a cooking class with Brother Bruce at La Medusa in Columbia City. We had a great time cooking and Peggy and Patti came down later to join us for a wonderful meal. I give the restaurant 5 stars. A must go to.

We made some marina sauce that was part of a Crazy Water Soup. The soup had 6 oz of marinara, 6 oz of chicken broth, a dab of this garlic/anchovie sauce that we made (and I cannot spell without my sheet). On top of the soup you put a piece of toast (with oil) and a fried egg on top of that.

A week later I tried to recreate the wonderful marinara sauce that we prepared that night at the restaurant from the recipe sheet they gave us.

It was good, but marred by my inability to ask questions. The recipe is printed below and suffice to say the "t" after cayenne pepper denotes "teaspoon" not tablespoon.

I made it again Tuesday night with this new found knowledge it was much nicer than my first batch. The sauce made me feel like Ted Williams, if you catch my drift from earlier posts.


24 medium cloves of garlic*
2/3 cup of olive oil
28 ounce can of San Marizono Tomatoes
1 t of cayenne pepper
2 t of salt (I went less)

* at the class I learned that one can tell lots about a cook in the way they treat garlic. Their suggestion - shitcan your Susie Garlic Press. They advised to individually slice the garlic into thin pieces. I did this the first time but the cayenne pepper overpowered everything so I could not tell the difference. The second time I used my little Cuisinart chopper. I got a hint of garlic bitterness in the sauce so next time I will go back to individual slicing. I have the time.

Saute the garlic in the oil until it blooms. Add the pepper and salt. Stir it up some. Add the tomatoes. Let it simmer for at least 20 minutes.

Wonderful!!!!

National League Cooking

Why do I even bother? I like to cook. I get drawn in. And if you know me, you know I am an idea guy. Big ideas. I get overextended on my ideas. Somewhere between idea and talent I sometimes get really frustrated.

As a cook, and I say this lightly as will be explained, I get carried away. I shoot higher than my ability. I am not a real follower but more of a instinctive cook. Hence my problems.

I see things in restaurants. I see pictures in recipe books and I get an inspiration. I go to the store and availability can also influence this inspiration. Then I get going in the kitchen and reality bites me in the ass.

Last night was a prime example. A couple of years ago in DC we ate at an Italian restaurant and I had this rabbit dish. The dish had flattened rabbit wrapped around asparagus and it was quite tasty. I am kind of drawn to these fancy wrapped food.
So I was inspired to recreate the dish. I substituted chicken thighs for the rabbit added bacon (just because) and did my best.

Well it started out all horseshit. It is pretty damn complicated to get the chicken into the right shape. And I need some sort of commercial stapler that is safe for cooking. The big ass toothpick things I was using made it difficult to create that cool look.

I was ready to throw the whole thing away about midway through. Quick end of the story, they came out very tasty, but looked horrible.

Of course I drank my beer while cooking and kept tabs on the Mariners during the process. They were playing San Diego, in San Diego. I saw Felix Hernandez bat, and then it hit me. As a cook I am like an American League pitcher playing in a National League park. I have no real business cooking. Sure I can run into a ball by accident. I can bunt, but who am I fooling. The other hitters are real and I am just flailing away. I better stick to bunting and trying to not strike out in the kitchen.


Of course I will still continue to try to run into a ball every now and then. But this new attitude should help me not get so frustrated.

Proof Positive That I Invented the TACO SALAD

He Made Me a Reader

I just got this picture. He is very young. Seven years old. Hard to see him in the picture. The man I knew. The powerful, demanding man. Was he really this young, ever.

He never graduated from High School. He dropped out, lied about his age and joined the Coast Guard. Headed for sea. Went to Alaska. Crewed on ice breakers and manned lonely light houses. Personally I never saw him read a book. Partly due to my bed time. Partly due to the hours he kept. Partly due to the way he was.

But he made me a reader. My mother gets credit as well. She was the visible example. She was always reading. Still does. My father had lots of books. Never saw him read. Too late to see it now.




I became a reader in Chicago. I must have been a second grader. I went to second through fifth grade in Chicago. Eisenhower Elementary. Kennedy was killed while I was on that playground. I always came home for lunch. I always smelled the school food being cooked. I never got to eat there, but that is another story, another time.

I became a reader because my father read Jack London's The Call of the Wild to us at night. Bit by bit. As only he could have read it. My father had the Alaskan accents down. He knew the talk. He knew the words. I mean knew the words. Had heard the words. Had seen the people. He knew what they were saying. He had seen the Wild. Heard the call. And he passed it on.

That Spitz.. she be one damned she devil dog

Be Careful of What You Wish For

Pushy is BACK!!!!!

We were outside last evening working in the garden when our friend Caroleen drove up. As she got out of her car she started to babble excitedly in french and she and Peggy went nuts, scrambling around. When they finally told me what they were talking about, I joined the hunt.

Caroleen had seen Puskin, and the two were in hot pursuit. I asked Caroleen where she saw Pushy and told them to stop chasing. I asked them to go back to the garden and stated that I would try to get behind Pushy in a wide arc and see if I could get her to run to them. This trick did not work.

Peggy and Caroleen went into the house to work on some project (THE LETS GET PEGGY OUT OF WORKING IN THE GARDEN PROJECT) and I remained at the garden. After a while, just when I was about to water, Puskin came slowly up towards me. I sat down and grabbed a long thin leaf and started to twirl it and rub it against the ground. Pushy was putty in my hands for this game. She slowly stalked the reed and soon pounced. As she was now within reach I simply grabbed her and took her into the house; without too much scratching and clawing.

After securing Pushy into the house I returned to finish in the garden. I worked for another half hour of so and when I was cleaning up I heard the worst cat noise, and assumed it came from outside. When I got into the house Caroleen and Peggy were monitoring a vicious stand-off between Pushy and Munchkin, with poor Neko suffering as collateral damage.

My assumption was that the new 'wild Pushkin' was being the tough guy and giving her helpless, spastic sister trouble but nothing could be further from the truth. Poor Pushkin was trying to be nice to her sister and Munckin wanted NOTHING to do with her. It is so wierd. Yesterday Munchkin moped around looking and meowing for her sister. Now her sister was home and she was attacking her. Was it jealousy?

We think that it must be smell. And we think that Muchkin does not see well (explains more things). After running around outside with probably every male cat in site Pushy must smell different. We have contemplated a bath (get real!) but are now thinking of just wiping her down with diaper wipes and waiting for the smell to go away.

Also tomorrows trip to the vet (spading time) might help cure that tomcat odor.

Trip Summary

Our trip to the City was fantastic. We arrived Friday evening and made a beeline to our Greenich Village apartment.

After getting settled my lovely bride and I went out to a lovely dinner at a nice Turkish place.






We ended the evening with a nice scenic ride to see the Brooklyn Bridge and toured the New York side of the bridge.





After a lazy Saturday morning, we had lunch at Bar 6, a recommendation of a French speaking guitar player who lived in 'our' building. After a short interuption at Ray's we were off to Yankee Stadium.









Another lazy morning on Sunday and it was off to Staten Island for GG's 103rd birthday party. We celebrated till quite late and caught a late subway, ferry and subway back to 'our place'.





On Monday we bummed around the city. We saw a cop on a horse:



Saw a baseball field



Other distractions


Bought some art



Stopped at Pearl River and got some color ideas for our Zen Table


Checked out the John Lennon exhibit at a museum


And discovered (not the hard way) what happens when you park where you should not park in New York



On Monday we toured the Botanical Gardens in the Bronx, visited Greenich CN and made it to JFK in time to come home.