Making the Rounds

I visited our city park tonight, right around sunset, and, as usual this time of year, it was empty. I felt that pang of sadness when I realized that summer is, indeed, heading into its final days.

As in most small towns, the park is the hub of activity here during the summer. Mostly baseball, which was never my favorite sport to cover because of the negative attitudes of far too many parents ... and the heat & humidity ... but mostly the out-of-control parents.

I played only 2 seasons of organized softball, and I really don’t remember any problems with any of the parents. Oh, there probably were some attitudes, but I was oblivious to them, apparently. Plus my mom has always been someone who believes that “you fight your own battles,” so I am quite certain that had I complained about not getting enough playing time or not getting to bat high enough in the lineup or not getting to pitch every game, my mom probably would have told me, “If you don’t quit complaining, you’re not going to get to play, period.”

I remember some of those official games, but I also remember many others, the ones that took place in the backyard or at the park, on non-official game days, or even on the playground at school. The ones in which you got to have ghost runners if there weren’t enough players, you shared your ballglove with your opponents and you kept a running tally of the score until you forgot ... ’cause it really didn’t matter which team won, anyway, ’cause you’d have a whole new team for the game coming up during afternoon recess.

I worry about kids who don’t have a parent or an older sister or brother to play catch with them. I worry about my girlfriend’s grandkids, who seem to enjoy baseball but only want to bat ... not that there’s anything wrong with batting — I mean, I love to bat, too, and I am a pretty darn good switch-hitter, too — but you cannot overstate the importance of being able to throw the ball and catch the ball, also.

And then I kick myself over the times that the kids have wanted to play ball, and I’ve told them I was too tired or it was too hot out.

We’ll be together the day before Labor Day. I think I’ll plan on organizing a game of baseball.

: )

I saw some kind of critter at the park this evening. I think it was a groundhog, but I really don’t know for sure ... and I had no interest in getting out to investigate.

And, of course, there were roses.

I call this last one “Rosebug.”

: )

I have GREAT ’abs! : )

See?

(Studio: My car. Background: Adidas short-sleeved jersey-style T-shirt, draped over my right thigh.)

What’s that? You were expecting a picture of my great abs?!

Hehe. Oops!

Trust me: The habaneros make a MUCH better photo!

: )

Say That It’s Only a Dream

Sometime this morning ...

I dream that I am teaching again. Two classes, and, of course, as usual, I am not quite prepared for the start of the semester; in fact, I am not even sure which room my second class is located in, but it’s OK because this is the first day, and no one else has a clue, either, really.

Next, I am going with my parents and my sister and Kameron to a swimming pool. We see Meredith, and Mom invites her to go with us. (She is sick, I know, but she looks good. She is much younger — about my age, now, only I am my age, also.)

“I’ll go,” she tells me, “but will you be able to drive me home later?”

I tell her I will.

The pool is more crowded than we expected. Meredith sits in a chair at the far side of the pool deck. My step-siblings are there, too, but they are inside, so before I jump into the pool, I go inside and give them each a kiss on the cheek. Then Kam and I get into the pool.

Later, I look over at Meredith and see that she is shaking, ever so slightly, from the cold. Even though it is warm out, and she is wearing a navy-blue fleece sweater.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask her, and she nods.

“Just let me make one lap around the pool,” she says, and she takes off walking.

I see her, in the distance, making the turn as the path curves to the left.

... and then I wake up, and for the first few seconds, I believe that she is still alive. And then I remember that she is not.

Aftermath

It was rainy and breezy and overcast today. Remnants of Katrina, the fine folks on The Weather Channel told me.

I like the anchorpeople on TWC. Most of them, anyway. A couple of the women annoy me with the way they speak, their inability to ad-lib as well as some of their counterparts. A couple of the men bug me, a little, because they look as if they are wearing rugs, and every day, I find myself thinking: Why bother?!

The only 2 people I can face, on a daily basis, early in the morning, are Heather Tesch and Marshall Seese. And whoever happens to be travel analyst that day. Oh, and the tropical weather guy (he always wears really snappy button-down shirts and cool ties; sadly, I cannot think of his name at the moment).

Anyhoo, I was trying to take a picture of rain this a.m., but the wind kept blowing the leaves I was attempting to photograph.

Later in the day, I found some mushrooms. I believe these are deadly poisonous (as opposed to mildly poisonous). My friend Joe the Outdoorsman said that certain kinds of mushrooms (possibly these) will make a person violently ill a few hours after they are consumed, and then the person will appear to have made a complete recovery, only to find, a day or 2 later, that he or she is in COMPLETE liver failure. Or something like that.

: (

Nevertheless, I am fond of fungi. From a visual perspective.

Where do you go when your home is now underwater? How do you rebuild when everything is gone? Do you pack up and head north, wanting never to experience something like this again? Or do you figure the odds are in your favor, in the long run, if you manage to live a long life, and decide to stay where you are, only not quite exactly as you were because, obviously, everything is different now?

Thought(s) for the Day

• When the Check Engine light comes on, it means Check the Gas Cap. (Trust me on this one.)
• Four more days until the 3-day weekend.
• Reaching age 40 and never having had a cavity could be one of the most significant accomplishments of my entire life ... and I probably actually had nothing to do with it (I give all credit to good genetics), except for the regular brushing and flossing, OF COURSE!

: )

The hummingbird showed up twice today, darting in when I was just out of camera range and then hovering for a few seconds, nearby. (I could have sworn I heard her say, “Beep! Beep!” one of those times!) Actually, she flew in another time, earlier in the day, when the dog (Chico) and the cat (Patches) were out in the yard. Apparently to see what the 2 of them were up to, as she sort of hung in the air, a couple of times, checking them out before flying up and away.

: )

My friend Roger posted a couple of pictures that I am in love with in The Orchard.

Here’s a lil’ burst o’ color from Donald and Virginia’s flower bed this evening.

Question of the Day

When did “trailer courts” become “mobile home parks”? I keep seeing all this coverage of Hurricane Katrina — which, of course, every time I hear the name of, I naturally start to hum that smile-inducing song, “Walking on Sunshine,” sung by those one-hit wonders, Katrina & the Waves! — and pictures of wind-ravaged, rain-pelted mobile home parks. But no trailer courts.

Huh.

When I was a kid, my aunt lived in a trailer court. Briefly. And what I remember most is spending the night with her and then getting to ride the bus to school the next day. Which, when you don’t have to do it every day, is a treat and an adventure, all rolled into one. (The adventure actually occurs after school when you have to manage, somehow, to remember which bus you’re s’posed to get on. Not as easy a task as it sounds!)

: )

What I remember second-most is the kid who lived in the trailer court who had part of a pop bottle embedded in his head. I think it was the result of a fight with some older kids.

My dad also lived in a trailer court a few years later. Briefly. What I remember most about that is how loud the rain sounded when it hit the trailer, and how cold the pop was in the bottles in the Coke machine in the laundromat, from which Debra, Bobby and I were constantly trying to figure out ways to get free bottles of pop.

(I have lived in Southern Illinois for many, many years now; hence, I now refer to “pop” as “soda,” usually, although when I order it, I usually just say, “Coke.” Which actually prompted a girl working at the Jimmy John’s near Navy Pier in Chicago to ask, “Are you from the South?” To which I replied, “Well, Southern Illinois” — knowing that, to most people from Chicago, anything south of Kankakee is considered “the South.” She told me that most people from the South order pop/soda by saying, “Coke.” [I asked her where she was from, and she said, “Houston” — which confuzzled the heck outta me!])

: )

Friday Night

Storms and clouds in the afternoon make for nice sunsets that evening, I think.

This was an incomplete pass. And, clearly, the wrong exposure setting on the camera.

March of the Penguins

I love this film.

Muchly.

: )

*sigh*

I saw this on my short drive to the office today.

Of course, once I arrived at work, on my desk I found a copy of an obituary that ran yesterday, along with a note detailing the 4 mistakes in the obit. Two mistakes were our fault, one was the funeral home’s fault and the other was a toss-up ... which, by default, makes it our fault.

There is not much about work that I hate more than making a mistake in an obit. And not necessarily because of my extreme anal-retentiveness when it comes to such slip-ups, but, yeah, that’s part of it.

I expect my reward/punishment for such miscues will be to spend all of eternity fuming over a major typo somewhere in my own obituary.

: )

Field Notes, Part 2

For starters, I should mention that the bigger butterfly in the previous post is a spicebush swallowtail. Which I keep wanting to call a spicebrush swallowtail. I have no idea what kind of butterfly the smaller one is.

I should also point out that while it appears that the insects (butterflies are insects ... aren’t they? I mean, they’re so beautiful, they could be birds!) are standing perfectly still, enjoying the sun and the lovely wildflowers (not sure what kind those are, either [I know, I know: For field notes, these are remarkably uninformative!]), in actuality, by the time I got around to taking this picture, the breeze had picked up considerably, and these flowers were blowing up and down, side to side, and the flutterbies were holding on tight.

It reminded me of surfing.

Butterflies surfing on flowers.

Yeah.

: )

As for the conditions of the day, here is what I wrote in my actual notes: North Sandusky. Mostly cloudy but sunny. Lake slightly rough.

I drove through my favorite picnic area and something caught my attention. Looked like dried tobacco hanging on one of the trees or bushes or something. Should I stop? I wondered ... so, of course, I did.

Turns out they were pokeberries. Or so I just learned.

Next, I headed over toward the mine. As I turned onto the highway, I noticed a huge field of sunflowers, most of which had bloomed and withered, and I felt a real pang of disappointment; why could I not have noticed it before? Also, I wanted to shoot the white flowers I kept seeing alongside the road, and the yeller ones, but I couldn’t ever find a safe place to pull off until I actually got to the mine.

These are field thistles.

I found some fleabane blooms.

And a honeybee gathering nectar on a sunflower.

And a partridge pea.

(These flowers remind me of poppies, somehow. And oh, how I love poppies!)

About that time, a helicopter flew overhead. And for some unrelated reason, I started thinking, again, about disappointment, and the sunflower field, and also how I had wanted to take some pictures of the white flowers by the roadside, and how I had not found anywhere to stop but then had managed to find some other very cool stuff.

Which led to thoughts about expectations, and how sometimes I go looking for one thing but end up shooting something completely different.

And I suddenly felt sorry for anyone who didn’t happen to notice (like I did) the little whitish whiskery-sorta things on the bottom of the pokeberries ... or for anyone who would have been so disappointed that what they found did not meet their expectations that they might have considered the entire trip a failure ... or something.

(This all tied in to the pool party on Sunday, which I had not been looking forward to, at all, but ended up having a wonderful time at. One more reason to dread large or even medium-sized events: You might up having the time of your life!)

: )

Of course, then I spied, with my little eyes, a couple of sunflowers in front of the abandoned mine. And suddenly, all and any expectations were exceeded, by about a hundredfold.

: )

However, in the midst of all this shooting, I looked down and saw, right there, on the front of my orange T-shirt:

TICK!!

God, I hate those little buggers! And though I didn’t find any more, I was scratching all over and checking myself for ticks the rest of the day/night.

(I like to think I’m an outdoorsgirl, but in reality: I am SUCH a wuss.)

: )

Field Notes, Part 1

Today I was compelled to drive out to the lake. Halfway there I realized I had the Olympus with me instead of my Kodak (with its superior zoom), and I actually had this thought: Well, maybe a butterfly will land right in front of me, near enough that I can shoot it up close.

And wouldn’t you know:

Not just 1, but 2! And is it just me, or are those little white hearts on the wings of the black/blue butterfly?

: )

It was a very good day. Although I did see the hummingbird again, later — actually, I think I might have seen 2, but of course I did not even attempt to take a picture. I simply sat back and watched and marveled.

And I remembered being at the Betty Ford Gardens (NOT Clinic!) in Colorado back in 2002, and how the hummingbirds were everywhere, flying from flower to flower to flower.

Butterflies are a little easier. Sometimes.

A Pair of 3s

And this time, the hummingbird buzzed right past my shoulder. (I am beginning to feel a little bit like Wile E. Coyote and that pesky Road Runner!)

: )

I did notice that the bird is green, which, according to my Birds of Illinois handbook from Lone Pine Publishing, means it is a ruby-throated hummingbird. Not sure if it was male or female, the darned thing whizzed by me so fast; I think I might have seen a glint of red, however, which is a characteristic of the male.

My color du jour, though, is yellow.

Sunflower Stages

A Chair in the Yard

I am watching the series finale of Six Feet Under for the 2nd night in a row. And I am wishing I had listened to Jack and gotten HBO 5 years ago and had been watching this show all along. And now, the show that was all about life and death is now gone, save for syndication.

Just like all the rest.

(I gotta find me some new favorites.)

: )

(But I missed the hummingbird!)

These pink flowers caught my eye this afternoon, so I started shooting.

And then a tiger swallowtail came to play.

And a buckeye butterfly.

And a wasp. YIKES!

And a hummingbird, too, but I was not quick enough to catch it.

Maybe tomorrow!

: )

Full Moon for Matthew

Full moon tonight, and I made 2 attempts to shoot it. First, after grilling myself a most excellent Angus chuckburger at The Lovely’s (these frozen burgers we’ve found are just awesome; I’d link to them if I could!), I headed to the park to see if I could find a good place to shoot from. And I did, sorta, but I had the work camera ’stead o’ my own camera, which has a better zoom, so I wasn’t expecting much.

And, not surprisingly, I delivered: Nothing!

Yet, I enjoyed viewing the moon as it rose over the trees. And while I was there, a train rumbled past — the same freight line, perhaps, that travels through the park when I am trying to play tennis, usually at least once per match, making it impossible to tell, from sound alone, whether your opponent has just hit a topspin forehand deep to your own or a drop shot that will barely clear the net, challenging you to sprint to the ball, stop, adjust your feet accordingly and then manage to hit a shot of your own, before the ball bounces a second time, over the net and between the white lines. I even broke out the big tripod, only to discover that I have managed to lose the little thingie that screws onto the bottom of the camera and attaches to the tripod (I believe it might be called a panhead, but I am too lazy to look it up) ... the little thingie which, for all intents and purposes, renders your tripod completely useless if you don’t have it.

: (

I felt mosquitoes nipping at my legs, and I reminded myself that there have now been nearly 30 confirmed cases of West Nile Virus in my state; 2 weeks ago, there were 4. Should I be worried? (Because I really didn’t feel particularly worried.)

Anyhoo, I returned home to watch an amazing comeback by the St. Louis Cardinals. Down 4-0 in the bottom of the 9th, they got a double from Mabry, a single from Taguchi, a 3-run homer by Molina, a single from Rodriguez, a sacrifice from Eckstein, a single from Nuñez, a popout from Pujols and a 2-run double by Edmonds to win the game, 5-4. (Of course, all the true Cardinal fans I know had given up on the Redbirds. Go figure!)

Then I hopped online and read a wonderfully honest piece of writing by Matthew, and it made me want to take another shot at the moon, this time with my Kodak. (Actually, I took about 50 to get approximately 2 in focus; gotta LOVE digital technology, instant gratification and no wasted film!)

: )

More mosquitoes bit me as I took pictures. Dogs barked. Before leaving for work, the neighbor behind me shut out the light over his garage — the light that shines through my bedroom window and used to annoy me because I wanted complete darkness when I slept, until about 3 weeks ago, when I decided that the light through the blind had a certain kind of sexiness, of all things, and had started to get used to going to sleep with light falling across my bed. Trucks barreled down newly repaired Main Street, which now has these patched parts that, when big trucks and certain cars hit them, sound like minor explosions.

I looked at the moon through my binoculars, too, and decided that, someday, I might ask for a telescope for Christmas (like I did when I was in 5th grade and Miss Kull showed me Jupiter) or maybe just a kazillion megapixel SLR camera (preferably a Nikon) with a National Geographic-style telephoto lens.

: )

New Growth

Is it redundant to say that: “new growth”? Does the word “growth” indicate or at the very least imply that something is “new”?

(Is it possible I think too much ... about mostly the wrong things?)

I am thisclose to buying my own printer, in no small part because of my latest adventure at Wal-Jack. First of all, when I arrive at the store, I see a woman standing in front of MY commercial Kodak printer. So I think, No big deal, I have 45 minutes or so to kill before I am supposed to play tennis, anyway, plus I need tennis balls. I wander over to the sporting goods and grab 2 cans, then stroll back to the printer: The woman is STILL there!

(Said as if I have not spent at least an hour at said printer, myself, on at least one occasion.)

I’m telling you: Karl has a Pac-Man machine (which also includes Ms. Pac-Man!) in his basement; I really don’t see any reason why someone shouldn’t get me the big Kodak printer.

I stroll over to the scrapbooking section (??), and then back to electronics, and finally, the woman has finished her printing project. I belly-up to the printer, only to discover that the only thing on the screen is a cursor which moves around when I touch the screen, but does nothing else.

“Uhm, does this printer need to be reset or something?” I ask one of the women working in the photo lab.

She gives me sort of a blank look. “Well, sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t,” she says with a shrug — and then makes absolutely no move to come over and take a look at the printer. (OK, so there were several people in line, waiting for their photos ... which is something I was going to do, also, but by this point, I had no interest in being in the store any longer.)

: (

The good part about the abbreviated trip to Wally World was that it allowed me to take a drive out to the lake. And as irritated as I was, along with the general sadness of the day, I could not help but notice an abundance of butterflies flitting around from place to place, throughout my drive.

I am quite glad I have started to notice the world around me.

: )

Along with the habaneros, the cacti/succulents also seem to be thriving. I was pleased to see some new growth (I will use the term; redundancy be damned!) on the pencil cactus and the aloe plant upon my return from the Windy City.

Perhaps you also need to spend some time away, sometimes, to notice.

Anyhoo, I actually wanted to write something along the lines of new growth. And I actually wanted to write it in my new OFFline journal, which is going to be something of a new adventure for me ... but then, I was unable to print the photos I wanted to include (above), so there ya go.

(Is it Friday yet?!)

; )

A Bad Day

You know it’s a bad day when the first news you hear is that a 14-month-old boy has died of an accidental drowning. And then, to cap the night, when you find out your sister had to have her kitty, Jackson, put to sleep.

: (

This is the song I am listening to now. Sometimes I simply have to hear it. (Probably the least known song off the Breakfast in America CD, which came out during my freshman year of high school. I can remember listening to songs from this album the summer between freshman and sophomore year when I was attending various youth group retreats and campouts and what-nots ... and thinking “The Logical Song” was truly kick-ASS, mainly because of the sax! ... and then, I did not even buy this record for myself until sometime during the 1990s!)

Lord, Is It Mine

I know that there’s a reason why I need to be alone
You show me there’s a silent place that I can call my own
Is it mine? Oh, Lord, is it mine?
You know I get so weary from the battles in this life
And there’s many times it seems that you’re the only hope in sight
Is it mine? Oh, Lord, is it mine?

When everything’s dark, and nothing seems right
There’s nothing to win, and there’s no need to fight

I never cease to wonder at the cruelty of this land
But it seems a time of sadness is a time to understand
Is it mine? Oh, Lord, is it mine?

When everything’s dark, and nothing seems right
You don’t have to win, and there’s no need to fight.

If only I could find a way
To feel your sweetness through the day
The love that shines around me could be mine
So give us an answer, won’t you?
We know what we have to do
There must be a thousand voices trying to get through.

— Supertramp

Updating

OK, I have finally managed to update the links along the right-hand side of the page. Naturally, I have not broken the links into categories (e.g. Blogs, Sports, Cool Sites, etc.), but I did manage to put them in alphabetical order, at least!

Mostly, I wanted to get Matthew’s new site on there, and I also included journals belonging to some of my pals from the Orchard (Dan, Kelly, Kylie and Zayne), some of whom I have met in real life as well as online. And then I got started with the Cubs, and the Cards, and next thing I knew I was going down my Favorites list and decided to include a few from there, and ... well, after an hour or so of cut-’n’-pasting, I figured I’d better put an end to the madness, at least for a while. (I discovered this template alteration was fairly easy and basically painless.)

: )

Checked my e-mail and found something from Tickle, a test asking: Could you be a genius? I clicked on the message and saw that several tests were being offered. Just below “The Super IQ Test,” I saw one called “What Does Your Hair Say about You?” and decided to take that one instead.

(I mean, even if I am a genius, do I really wanna know? What kind of pressure would that put on a person?!)

I was less than impressed with the quiz, as a couple of the multiple-choice questions had NO answers that applied to me and I had to pick the one that was the closest to being correct.

Still, here is what my hair says about me, apparently:

Di, your hair personality is Edgy

You refuse to buy into trends and would much rather wear a one-of-a-kind creation than something purchased at a mall. Blech. When it comes down to it, you break the style rules and love being unique. Your individuality has probably produced many unconventional hairstyles, whether or not you've dared to bear the shortest, spikiest hair or the shaggiest mullet in town. No matter what, you adore being edgy, so take control and give your hair a new twist — bang-accenting highlights or a wild new cut. Being an individual is always hot.

I am pretty sure I have never had an unconventional hairstyle in my life ... though I have had very, very short hair (for example, right now!), and I admit that, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, my hair did have certain (ugh!) mullet characteristics. (I take no responsibility for that, however; at the time, I didn’t even know what a mullet was!)

: )

I am back to watching late-night Seinfeld reruns, and I am happy to report that, once again, I welled up during the “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” montage at the end of the Seinfeld Retrospective. How can I miss this show SO much, 7 years later?!

: (

I am also already missing Six Feet Under, even though it technically has not yet ended. And Queer as Folk. I have watched both shows for only the past 2 seasons, but damn — I like ’em both, a lot. Combine their departure with the retirement of NYPD Blue AND the unexpected cancellation of Judging Amy, and I find myself rather sad and somewhat annoyed by it all.

And I’m also aggravated that 2 of the best actresses on TV, Sharon Gless of Queer and Tyne Daly of Amy — whom we all know and love from Cagney & Lacey (though, admittedly, I rarely watched that show) — will not be anywhere to be found next season.

Except on syndication, perhaps.

On the Waterfront

Just a few more Chicago shots.

Sears to Hancock

Lighthouse on Lake Michigan

Sailboats ’n’ Skyscrapers

Baluga Whale at Shedd Aquarium

No trip to the Windy City is complete without a stop at the Billy Goat Tavern. Mostly, it’s a dive, but the guys there make an awesome “Cheezborger! Cheezborger!” Plus they have thick-sliced kosher dill pickles. YUM!

: )

Then we strolled over to Marshall Field’s to pick up some of their world-famous Frango mints. Which I once devoured almost a full box of over the course of 2 days one winter and lived to regret. We passed the Chicago Theatre along the way, and I insisted on having my picture taken in front of the sign.

I am not always all that fond of being on that side of the lens; however, lookit the way the people on the sidewalk are looking at me! Like I’m famous or somethin’! How funny.

: )

Cubs 11, Cardinals 4

OK, this game was 2 days ago. And I am a person whose slogan, at times, is “Quit dwelling on the past!” Mostly when someone is talking about something that I would rather not remember. (I do believe in no regrets, learn from but then forget about your mistakes ’cause you sure can’t change the past, etc. ... but this is quite another thing, altogether.)

However, Thursday’s Cardinals-Cubs game was everything I love about baseball.

And, I should make a note right here and right now: My earlier post, about how I had decided I was going to root for the Chicago Cubs AND the St. Louis Cardinals? That deal is now off the table. I mean, privately, I will still admit to liking to watch the Cards; I mean, if you love baseball — and I do, despite one of my friends’ attempts to make me NOT love baseball with his constant bashing of my favorite team — you have to enjoy the way the Cardinals play to win, every game.

Publicly, however, I cannot show any allegiance to the Cards.

Even if they happen to win the World Series. This year or any year soon.

Anyhoo, after hearing ALL WEEK LONG about how bad the Cubs are this season, by the time Thursday rolls around, I am not even all that excited about going to Wrigley Field — which, if I am lucky, I get to go to once about every 5 years. The Cubs are in the midst of an 8-game losing streak, but that is not what is putting a damper on my enthusiasm: It is this nonstop critiquing of every aspect of the Cubs that has me actually dreading the game and possibly having to sit through a losing effort. To the Cardinals, of all teams.

I know I am going to have to drink some beer. Early and often. (OK, so I have 2 Bud Lights. Which do not taste as good to me as the Miller Lite I’d had 2 days earlier at the Billy Goat. But that’s neither there nor here, I suppose.)

: )

We sit through a 90-minute or so rain delay, and then, just before the game, I wander down to the first level to go to the bathroom. When I come out, I see some men walking up the steps to the field-level seats — and their hands are full, and I have a feeling the usher is not going to ask to see their tickets, and I suddenly think, Hey, maybe I can sneak in along with these guys!

And I do! And when I walk up the steps, there’s Greg Maddux, throwing some warmup pitches near the Cubs’ dugout!

So I snap away, and before I know it, the game is getting ready to start. I decide to try to find a seat just a few rows from the field, but the usher asks for my ticket. I look at her, shrug, and then mosey up to the section just above the section closest to the field.

I have a perfect view, so I decide to shoot everything I can. I get a picture of David Eckstein as he reaches second on a stand-up double, followed shortly by Albert Pujols rounding third on his home run trot. (Pictured with Eckstein is his Cubs shortstop counterpart, Nomar Garciaparra; with Pujols is Cubs third baseman Aramis Ramirez, along with the third-base umpire.)

And suddenly I am having the time of my life because I realize I am this close to the playing field, and I am getting some great shots, and I am thinking, Hey, you know what: I used to do this, back in the good ol’ days when I was the sports editor! And you know what else: I actually miss doing this.

(Food for thought, perhaps, for another day.)

And I can’t resist taking a picture of Jim Edmonds, mainly ’cause he’s Tee-Hee’s favorite. Or perhaps Tee-Hee and I’s favorite player to discuss. Or something like that.

Eventually, of course, I get chased away from the prime real estate by another usher. And by this time, the Cubs are already trailing 2-0, but suddenly, I do not care.

I am enjoying the game.

Nothing anyone says or does can take away from my enjoyment of this game.

Of course, it helps that by the time I return to my actual seat, the Cubs have scored a run and are down by only a run, 2-1. In fact, they go on to score in every inning except the seventh (by which time my friends, with the Cards trailing 10-4, have thrown in the towel and are ready to leave the ballpark ... which I am happy to oblige, knowing that I did not want to sit through a potential Cards comeback/Cubs collapse, which would give my friends even more verbal artillery).

: )

Several of the Cubs’ runs come from Derrek Lee, who crushes 2 home runs during the game.

If I were a gambler, I would put my money on either Lee or Pujols to win the National League MVP award this season.

All in all, a great day at the ballpark. And I am very glad I went.

: )