Cubs Spring Training 2008

Alfonso Soriano, the Cubs' gazillion dollar player, actually signed a few autographs after one of the games...and I almost got squashed in the process!


Oh my aching back! Just kidding. I'm pretty sure they feel just fine!

Um, is that regulation baseball equipment? Sorry, but if someone's gonna stick that in my face, I'm definitely taking a picture!

No, he's not practicing his proposals. I believe Matt Murton's already married, but I could be wrong.

Morning calisthenics? Actually, just the beginning of the usual pre-game warm-ups. Don't they look silly?

The front of this lady's shirt has a big "101" with a slash across it. Translated for my Euro friends: 2008 marks the 100th anniversary since the Cubs last won a World Series. We'd rather not see the 101st anniversary.

Some action from Friday's game against the Seattle Mariners, which the Cubs won! Actually, they won all three games that weekend. Maybe I'm a good luck charm?!

The 2008 Chicago Cubs take the field in Mesa, Arizona!

Geovany Soto knocks in one of the 13 runs that the Cubs scored in a rout of the Kansas City Royals on Sunday.

This is the left-field hill at Ho Ho Kam Park in Mesa. The entrance to the hill area (the 'berm') has been open for approximately 2 minutes! Kinda anxious to get out there?!?!

Did I mention that this was my ride for the weekend? No soccer mom minivan for me!

Mark Grudzielanek, the second baseman for the Kansas City Royals, is still a favorite of mine despite his being a former Cub.

This is one of, I think, three times that the Cubs had the bases loaded in Sunday's game against the Royals.

The Royals and the Texas Rangers share the stadium in Surprise, Arizona and it's a very nice stadium. No surprise there.

Ryan Dempster and Geovany Soto share a few minutes of strategizing prior to Sunday's game. Dempster, who's moving from a relief role to the starting rotation, pitched well, giving up just one run on one hit over four innings.

I've met Dempster several times (he actually says hello to me - usually). Before the game that day, I stood near the wall as Dempster walked by. I yelled something at him and he looked over. No smile, no wave. All concentration. Total focus and it showed.

Have a great b-day Maple!

Monthly Sun Program, installment #2

No, don't go scrolling down looking for installment #1, because there isn't one. The Monthly Sun Program is my plan to find warmth and sun during the long, cold Chicago winter. In January, I headed to Fort Lauderdale, Florida where it was warm for one day and cold and rainy for two. Hence, no monthly sun installment #1.

Which brings me to February and my first ever trip to Southern California. Let me start by saying that people in Southern California aren't like other people.

Take this young guy, for instance. He's on a surf board, but he really isn't surfing. Perhaps he's kayaking? Maybe. I think maybe he's a frustrated gondolier gone astray from Venice!

Southern Californians do things a bit differently, like they only have crosswalks on one side of the street. Not sure why. And they wear suede and wool knee-high boots on the beach with tank tops!

Also, stop lights last only about 12 seconds. For laid-back people, these guys really want to get going. But not too fast! I'm pretty sure that for about 30% of the population, the speed limit is actually about 10 mph UNDER what's posted.

Which brings me to this girl, who was demonstrating some wheeled fun at a flea market in Costa Mesa. I WANT ONE!!

There is a place in Costa Mesa called Triangle Square. You will recognize it not by either geometric shape mentioned in its monniker, but by the large DOME that sits atop it. I have no idea why.

I didn't stay in Costa Mesa, but rather Laguna Beach ('cause you KNOW how I love the beach!) and this shot was taken right around the corner from my hotel.




Yes, I did stay and watch not only beach volleyball but beach (sort of) basketball, too. I think if they played baseball on the beach, I'd move here!



My theory on the utter lack of clear and understandable street signs in Southern California relies on the idea that maybe they're considered ugly, and I think we all know that UGLY just won't do in Southern California. The sign for the Orange County airport is about the size of the street sign at the corner of your block. Go have a look, I'll wait.

Oh, speaking of beautiful people, I was watching the local news one early evening while getting dressed to go out in Laguna Beach. The newscaster started talking about the Academy Awards (aka Oscars) and then she talked about road closures and I thought, what does that have to do with the Oscars?

Um, oh yeah, this is actually where they have the show! Oops!

On my last night in Southern California, I went out to dinner (alone, of course) and ended up eating in the bar area of this very nice beach restaurant. I chatted with the bartender a bit during dinner and mostly read the book I had brought along.

When the couple sitting next to me at the bar finished their meal, they called to the bartender and asked him to get their bill. They seemed to be fun and interesting people (from some of their conversation that I overheard), so out of Midwestern friendliness, I joked, "Yeah, put mine on there too!"

The man turned to me, smiled and said, "Yeah, okay." "No! I was just kidding!" I protested.

But he was adamant, "That's okay. You can pay it forward."

Did I mention that people in Southern California aren't like other people?

Guns don't kill people; people kill people....bullshit!

What the hell's going on?!?!?

In the past three days: a man broke into a city council meeting in Kirkwood, Missouri and shot and killed five people and critically wounded the mayor before police shot and killed him; a woman shot and killed two other women on the campus of a college in Baton Rouge, Louisiana before killing herself; another guy had planned to gun down numerous people outside the recent Super Bowl in Arizona. He didn't follow through.

Reasons??? The Kirkwood guy was mad because the city had cited him for improper permits for his paving business. The Baton Rouge woman's motives are still unclear, but the Super Bowl would-be shooter was angry because his restaurant couldn't get a liquor license.

People get mad. I understand that. I'm getting really tired of these senseless shootings!

What ever happened to a good, old-fashioned fight? You know. With fists. The thing that results when you clench your hairy little paw?!

If I want to kill someone and they are standing 300 feet from me, I can do it easily if I have a gun. What a chicken-shit I'd be!

But if I don't have a gun? I have to run over there and try to inflict some serious damage with my own two hands. I'm not that big or that strong, so chances are, that person has a very good chance of defending themselves. Or maybe not.

But it's FAIR! And I'd have to be pretty courageous (or stupid) to jump someone just because I'm mad at them.

What kind of gutless coward settles their argument with a gun? They sneak up behind their enemy or drive past in a car with shaded windows. The level of cowardice just boggles my mind.

In olden days, a disagreement would be settled with a duel. Two men would announce their issue and fight very publicly with each having an equal chance to win. Those were the days of real men.

I say, 'Cowboy up!'

You have a problem with someone? If you can't settle it diplomatically and physical violence is your only option - -as you see it- - just punch them in the nose.

It's organic.

Ever want to get away???

Remember TSG? The guy I'd been trading emails with who said he wanted "in?" Well, since I hadn't heard anything from him since that encouraging (if short) email, I was left wondering. And never one to let sleeping dogs lie, I decided to poke it a little.

"Maybe I misunderstood," I wrote in my email. "I thought you wanted 'in' as if you were 'INterested' in being 'INvolved.'"

Just a day later, I received an email from TSG apologizing for his disappearance but it seems his mother is in the hospital and will probably never come home again. He's spent the last few weeks caring for her and trying to make the impossible decisions regarding her long-term care and housing.

Um...yep, that nails it. I'm going to burn in hell.

Career homework

Yes, I've been seeing somebody. Actually, two somebodies. But it's not what you think.

They're career counselors. S and J are being paid well to guide me to a career that I hope will be not only lucrative ('cause you KNOW how much I love $$$) but satisfying as well. We'll see.

In the meantime, they've given me homework. And it's harder than you'd think.

Think back throughout your entire life (including the days when you were too young to think about a paycheck) and try to remember all of your achievements. It doesn't matter if it was something that seems trivial now. It was a success to you. A gold star next to your name.

Whether it was organizing babysitting jobs for you and your friends or being named vice president of marketing or trimming $5,000 off the company's office supply budget.

Try to remember as many as you can...in detail. Write up each of them in about 100 words.

Next, take each individual achievement and list all the skills that were necessary to reach that goal. Maybe you are good at asking questions or you make people feel comfortable talking to you. Also on that page, list the qualities that you exhibited in achieving it (yes, I thought the first two seem to be the same thing, but whatever) and a third list of the people who supported you in that success.

By now, you are probably knee-deep in paper. If you are, you are farther along than I am.

I'll keep you posted. And yes, this stuff is coming with me to Florida. I'll try not to spill a pina colada on it!

Please define 'in'

Remember a week or two ago, when I asked TSG if he wanted to stay in contact with me (since we hadn't seen each other since August) and he said that he wants in?

I guess I should have defined 'in' like INterested or INvolved because I haven't heard a word from him since then.

But you know what? I'm not going to stress over it because I really don't have the time. I leave for Florida on Saturday morning and I've got to pack!

Cross your fingers for fun and sun!

Stew on this

It was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that I parked outside the rundown church a few miles north of my neighborhood. This would be my first volunteering assignment and I really didn't know what to expect but I planned to keep an open mind.

A growling stomach would be horrifyingly inconvenient when serving dinner to people for whom this might be their ONLY hot meal this week, so I made certain to snack before I left home. A few hours earlier, I threw some veggies, some cubed meat, beef broth, red wine, crushed tomatoes and a bunch of spices into my crockpot and set it on low (and tried not to feel guilty about my late dinner of homemade beef stew).

Several of our 'clients' had already arrived when I walked into the third floor auditorium-turned-dining room. Our team leader immediately instructed me to tie my hair back, wash my hands, and grab a clean apron.

I'm ashamed to admit that I expected the room to be filled with stick-thin elderly black men in grubby ripped clothes - - the 'underpriviledged' as my suburban upbringing drew them. To my surprise and dismay, the room filled with a group that reflected most any neighborhood in Chicago. Black, white, hispanic, asian, young, old, men, women (okay, not many women) all in old, but clean clothes.

The faces were different, but they all wore smiles of gratitude. Not a single person who received food that night neglected to say 'thank you' or 'God bless you.' I was humbled when our clients gave us a round of applause just for helping out.

My job, as it turned out, was to serve the entree. Or rather, to fill the largest compartment on the cafeteria trays that we filled and served to our guests. Pasta, salad, applesauce and cake occupied the other tray areas.

The main dish?

Beef stew.

The apple fell pretty far I guess

As is the norm for Saturday mornings, I drove out to the suburbs to take my 80-year-old mother out to breakfast. It was a deal we made when I became a North Sider and moved "all the way up here" (about 30 minutes north).

Anyway, since I know that my mom likes to live vicariously through me, I try to come prepared with little tidbits of things that are going on in my life. You know, so the breakfast will be entertaining for her. And, so she won't get on my nerves about not having her idea of a perfect life (i.e. husband, kids, dog, house with white picket fence). The woman really knows how to push my buttons sometimes.

In keeping with my new spirit of life in 2008, I thought I'd let my mom know about the volunteer projects that I'm signing up for (including serving dinner to some homeless people and helping to re-organize the library in a local charter school).

This from the woman who has cleaned our local church every week since time began,
"Why would you let them take advantage of you like that?"

Yep, did your jaw drop open too?

The great is starting (I think)

Way back last summer when Firecracker (now Maple) and I used to go to Cubs games, we'd meet a lot of fun people. One of these people was a guy I called the Tall Southern Gentleman (TSG).

You may remember that TSG and I were in touch until late August when his best friend and said friend's wife were involved in a terrible car accident. The wife died and TSG was hit very hard as she was like a sister to him. He fell out of touch.

Fast forward to November.

Upon returning from Australia, I decided to drop him a line. He had warned that he'd be out of contact 'for quite some time,' but since I didn't know him very well, his definition of 'quite some time' might be different from mine.

I received a nice, polite email in return, saying that he thought about me quite a bit when the Cubs went to the playoffs (alas, his Detroit Tigers crashed and burned). Nothing about coming to Chicago to take me to dinner (which is where we left it in August). Hmmnn??

A few weeks and a few emails went by and it became more and more apparent that he was only returning my emails with no new input from him.

So, in light of my new mantra, I decided to call him on it. Fish or cut bait, right?

I waited until after the holiday craziness died down and then sent an email explaining my new mantra and how I expect great things for not only me, but also for people I know. And, essentially, is he IN or is he OUT?

A few short hours later, I had my answer.

"I am in."

Expect great in '08!

That's my mantra for this new year.

Expect great.

It's a big leap for me, right? I know it is, but I think it's time.

I HAVE to start thinking great things or else great things won't happen.

And they WILL happen. This year.

But where to start with all this expected greatness?

Here are some ideas:

• Smile more. (Tried it the other night at a nice restaurant and not one, not two, but THREE guys wanted to buy me a drink!)
  
• Be open to more new things and new people.
• Keep my mouth shut more (yep, a challenge, I know).
• Take more chances.
• Do volunteer work (already signed up for two January events).
• Get rid of excess crap in my home (by the truckload people!).
• Create opportunities for more physical exercise (dancing, maybe?)
• All the little annoyances??? Just let them go!
• Learn to meditate (Jada?? a little help here please?)
• Find a job I LIKE! (spoke to career counselors already).
• Clean house in my relationships (If I lose contact with someone, there's probably a good reason for it. If they want to contact me, they probably know where to find me.)
  

And if 2009 rolls around and I haven't done all of these things (not just once, but regularly), it will still be okay.

Every little bit helps.

A new loo!!!

I'm sure I have photos somewhere of my old bathroom, but I can't find them (and I'm not going to stress over it like I used to!) so you'll just have to trust me when I say my new loo is INFINITELY prettier!!!

Okay, picture this: tiny gun-metal gray floor tiles, a commercial toilet (no tank, just a metal flushing handle), a plastic sink with a peeling wood vanity cabinet that rocked if you leaned against it, an old tub with a rusty drain and blue stick-on fish on the tub floor, and the cheapest round-bulb vanity light fixture with one stubborn bulb that always blew out immediately.

Got a good picture in your mind? Okay, now I have this!


For those of you with really good eyes, yes, these photos are ones I've taken on my many travels. I've used the theme 'water.' Seemed appropriate for the setting, doncha think?



The towels are navy blue, not black. I splurged and bought some terribly luxurious Egyptian cotton towels. Seriously, I don't think I could stand up with the weight of these towels when they are wet! Fabulous!




And, yes folks, the vanity countertop is black granite! No more plastic fake marble shit for me. I'm pretty pleased, if I must say so myself.

Too soon for New Year's resolutions??

Sorry about that sad Christmas post. I'm working on eliminating negative thoughts from my consciousness, but it's taking some time and more effort than I expected.

I'll do better next year.

I promise.

What are some of your New Year's resolutions?

Is there any eggnog left? Is it spiked?

It doesn't feel like Christmas.

Yes, it's cold outside (but the snow melted in a bizarre 50 degree day yesterday), but I don't have a single decoration in my home. Of course, if you count the Christmas cards I've received (mostly from former coworkers), then, yes, I have decorations.

For the first time EVER, my home does not have a Christmas tree. And for those that know me, my Christmas tree -- with its glass ornaments from all over the world and the wildest assortment of shapes and sizes of lights -- is a true highlight of the season for me. Putting my tree up always puts me in the holiday mood. That, and about six candy canes!

In past years, I've held a Christmas party where I continue my father's tradition and ask each guest to guess the number of lights on the tree. With lights shaped like icicles and poinsettias and giftboxes and flickering lanterns and snowflakes, it's not an easy task to count them all.

Two years ago, one of my German colleagues (a very well-educated fella) worked up a scientific formula to come up with a number. And he won a bottle of tequila for closest guess!

As disappointing as it is, there is one good reason for the lack of arboreal decor. My bathroom remodel, which was supposed to be finished by mid-December at the latest! is still going on. Although it's only my bathroom that's under construction, the dust and debris and truckload full of tools throughout my apartment made cleaning (let alone decorating) impossible up until a few days ago. I just couldn't bring myself to clean and decorate after Dec. 20, knowing I'd be taking it all down in only a week or two.

Christmas shopping has been one of my great and rewarding challenges these last few years. I've been lucky enough to make a decent salary, so I use my good fortune to buy what I think are pretty cool presents for my family. Finding a gift that will make someone say "Wow!" when they open it is really fun for me.

I said it's a 'challenge' and never has that been more true than this year. To begin with, I spent my first few weeks post-Australia visiting my brother in the hospital, so no Christmas shopping then. I came home from vacation to a HUGE mess and a less-than-ideal situation with regards to personal hygiene (i.e. sponge baths and hair washing in the kitchen sink!)

Not one of my family members gave me a hint as to their needs and wants for Christmas this year, so my creative juices really worked overtime to come up with good gifts.

And my job, in a word - sucks! So much so that I have an appointment with a career counselor next week and if the stars align and I don't lose my nerve, I will be leaving my shitty job in 2008.

Can you say 'stressed'?

Finally!! I finished my Christmas shopping on Thursday (although my mother's gift - - which is usually really great since I set the bar so high with her past gifts- -is back-ordered!). The back-up plan for her gift is strangely back-ordered also. I say strangely because I wanted to purchase the DVD of an old British TV show that my mom and I used to watch when I was younger. It wasn't a very popular show in the US, but apparently, it's the No.1 gift this year because every store and every online outlet has it backordered!! WTF!!!

Oh, get this! While purchasing my brother's family's gift, I messed up my shoulder.

Any doctors in the house? Let me ask you: if my right arm hurts after lugging around a large heavy box and during the night, I roll over onto it and hear a loud 'pop' and, in the morning, it feels better, does that mean I dislocated it?

I've decided that 2008 will bring changes for me. I just hope they're good ones!

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope Santa brings you everything you've wished for!

Animal, vegetable or mineral in Oz

This area of the University of Adelaide campus almost makes me want to sign up for grad school. How does anyone get any work done in such a beautiful place?


Okay, is this the scariest entrance ever?!?!?! This psychotic grinning clown is the entrance to Luna Park, an amusement park just across the Harbor Bridge from Sydney.

Gives me nightmares!!!

Could this BE any more beautiful? A schooner tips in homage to the majestic Sydney Opera House.

An emu emphatically ignores the sign's instructions at the Habitat Rainforest Preserve in Port Douglas. And yes, I was that close to this very LARGE bird!

Koalas are every bit as cuddly as they seem. This cute little guy was introduced to me at the Habitat Rainforest Preserve by a fella who makes Crocodile Dundee sound like a New Yorker!

So beautiful, I had to take another picture. Sue me. Guess it was too beautiful a day to pass up an opportunity to go sailing, whatever the boat.

Aussies are great people for making any open area a fun place to be. These schoolkids are playing rugby during recess in a park created under the Sydney Harbor Bridge (on the Kirribilli side). Too cool!

Believe it or not, boys and girls, this was taken at a vineyard! In my five previous trips Down Under, I'd toured the Hunter and Yarra valleys, the Margaret River valley and now, the Barossa Valley. Yep, I'm officially a wino!

The mile-long walk from Bondi Beach to Bronte featured art installations of all kinds and this one seemed just too appropriate for a top-optional beach (like all of them in Australia). I would've seen more art, but about 5,000 other people had the same idea.

I can't help but take a picture every time I sit down for breakfast at the Soul N' Pepper in Port Douglas. It just too beautiful a view. I don't know if you can tell, but just in front of my plate, the table features a huge gap where the sun and sea have eroded the tree-sourced tabletop.

Down here, if you get a group of boys together and hand them a bunch of long sticks, they don't play hockey, they row (or crew, as I believe the sport is called). Pretty neat team event, huh?

Back at the Habitat Rainforest Preserve, the mornings feature a program called "Breakfast with the Birds." And they aren't kidding. While the parakeets were colorful (if not also noisy and a bit too aggressive for my liking), there were some stork-looking birds that (at almost 3 feet tall) were a bit too big to be jumping on my table and reaching for my muffin!

Happy Turkey Day - - not!

SYDNEY - - Saturday in Sydney for me is Retail Therapy Day and I've decided that I deserve it after a phone call from my mother this morning.

Every year, I schedule my birthday trip's end to coincide with Thanksgiving, that great American eating festival. Not a huge holiday, but one that my family traditionally shares at my mother's home and one that each and every member of my Chicago-area family would torture me for missing.

One of my brothers has been ill and will be having surgery the day before Thanksgiving. My mother even tried to convince me to change my flight so I could be home early (did I mention that he is the Golden Child in our very large family??). Anyway, since I had booked my flights a few months ago and the surgery was only set a few weeks ago, I had timing on my side. Also, he'll won't even awake from the surgery until I'm on the ground in Chicago, so I've got that going for me too.

Needless to say, I didn't change my schedule.

But my mother changed hers.

She called this morning to tell me that she's having Thanksgiving this Sunday! While I'm still in Australia!

Wonder if they'll save me any turkey?

Does a stuffed shirt come with that?

SYDNEY, AU - - Freshly showered and prettied up after a day or two of sunning, I decided to tempt fate and head to an upscale after-work bar around the corner from my apartment (doesn't it sound cool to say I have a Sydney apartment?!?!).

I'm tempting fate because it was at this same bar that I met The Stalker last year. Remember him? The guy who invited me to lunch, changed it to a private meeting at some out-of-the-way place and then when I cancelled, proceeded to call my cell phone 25 times in three days???

Anyway, no Stalker this time. Yay! The bar was filled with men in all forms of business attire, primarily blues, grays and black suits and ties aplenty. My kind of scene! Apparently I'm not alone in my enthusiasm for the clientele as proven by this great line told to me by a lawyer fellow from New Zealand:

"They call this place the Dry Cleaners because girls come here to pick up a suit."

Alas, I left alone.

Must have forgotten my ticket.

PD is my MD

PORT DOUGLAS, AU - This place is my drug of choice. It's my relaxation medication.

I walk slower here (not SLOW, but slower).

Of course I walk slower here. Walk too fast and you miss the screeching blaze of rainbows as lorikeets race overhead. Swim too fast and you miss the amazing feat of glorious sea creatures that breathe water!

My breathing is slower here. My heartbeat, too.

The sky is much cleaner here and the colors much more vivid. It's like a life-sized allergy commercial where the views are blurry until the allergy medication kicks in and then viola! the world is brighter and clearer. I notice so much of nature here and it's because I'm moving at a slower pace that allows me to absorb all the beauty.

The only thing that doesn't slow for me is time and my time in PD is almost up. Tomorrow is my last day here and then down to Sydney.

sigh

My day on the reef

Port Douglas, AU - Yesterday was my 42nd birthday (today for those of you in the US and Canada - Hi Firecracker!!). I have been so unbelievably lucky to spend my birthday these past three or four years snorkeling the Low Isles of the Great Barrier Reef and this year was no different.

Wasn't sure Mother Nature would cooperate when I awoke to overcast skies but by the time the catamaran Wavedancer left the marina, the skies had warmed to a brilliant blue.

We had a small crowd, which suited me just fine, as my mind has been overflowing lately with thoughts of my horrible work situation (yep, couldn't quite turn it off, as much as I've tried). I did, however, meet a very nice British couple (Jilian and Rupert, how British is THAT?!?!). Julian was near tears when they came aboard, not knowing where to put her things, what to do on the boat or on the island, would they get lunch?, is it included? She seemed very rattled and her husband had no idea what to do.

"Are you a good swimmer?" I asked her, jumping right into her panicked world. She nodded.

"Then you're going to have a WONDERFUL time today," I said and smiled. "You can leave your stuff on the boat. The staff will watch over everything. You can either snorkel or dive or go on the glass-bottomed boat or just go and walk on the island with the marine biologist. And they serve a really nice buffet lunch here on the boat."

She smiled and dried her tears. Her husband smiled too and said "Thank you." He showed more tangible appreciation in buying me a XXXX Gold beer later.

One of the staff members offered to give me a Wavedancer employee outfit.

The outfit I did get was a blue Lycra bodysuit which is supposed to keep me from getting stung by jellyfish and getting too much sun. I woke up today with a swollen lower lip (apparently the suit didn't cover all of me and the sun hit me right in the face.) Oh well.

Sorry that I don't have photos of my fish adventures yet, but when I get home, I'll post them.

Of course, I had already used up all of my underwater camera's film by lunchtime, so the post-meal snorkeling would be just me...no technological crutch. You see, when I get nervous in the water, I tell myself just to concentrate on taking pictures of the pretty fish and don't think about sharks or jellyfish or any other aquatic dangers.

But yesterday, on my birthday, I wasn't nervous about losing my crutch. I was excited (and pretty sure I wouldn't be one of those people who die on their birthday. But wouldn't that be a fascinating way to die? eaten by a shark on the Great Barrier Reef??)

But I digress.

After securing all of my snorkeling gear on the island, I backed into the water and drifted through the clear, shallow water (the tide had gone out over lunch). The proximity of the coral reef made me a bit nervous as we'd been told numerous times that we'll kill the coral is we touch it.

Don't think, just swim and look at all the pretty fishes, I told myself.

And then I saw them.

Clams! Not your run-of-the-mill appetizer clams. These were HUGE, blue-lipped monsters that wouldn't even fit in my bathroom (post-remodel)!! My jaw would've dropped but then I would probably drown so somehow I managed to be in awe and keep my mouth shut at the same time (pretty big feat, huh?) How incredible!! And what a time to be without a camera!

Strangely, I wasn't disappointed that I couldn't document this sighting for my loyal readers (both of you, ha!), but you'll just have to trust me on this one.

And then it got better.

I had just decided that this snorkeling thing is pretty strenuous and I could use a break, or maybe even call it a day altogether when I lifted my head to locate the island. My mask had barely broken the surface of the water when I spotted the turtle (or 'tortuga' as our Spanish contingent said.)

She (I don't really know the sex, but still) seemed to be jammed partially under a section of reef. I couldn't decided if she was rubbing against the reef to reach an itch or maybe she really WAS stuck. Okay, that seems pretty stupid now, but at the time it seemed a possibility.

She was gorgeous, about a meter and a half long with a intricately themed shell. I didn't want to scare her, so I stayed back. I just floated there, occasionally lifting my head to see if any other snorkelers were around to show them my exciting discovery.

After at least 10 minutes, another Blue Man arrived at my side and I pointed to my lovely shelled friend, still wiggling around under the reef. We both held our ground (water?) and saw as she freed herself and surfaced.

I lifted my head and saw her grab a breath and submerge again. We played a bit of peek-a-boo for a minute or two and then she drifted away out of sight.

How fantastic!

Oh, and by the way, I asked the marine biologist and she said that turtles jam themselves under the reef to sleep (so they don't float to the surface). Apparently, I had arrived at naptime.

A walk in the park

ADELAIDE, AU - Decided that I'd check out Adelaide's Botanic Gardens, as is my habit in all Australian cities. Nothing like celebrating my first full day in South Australia (known on the license plates as The Festival State, for those interesting in that type of trivia) with a face full of kangaroo paw (strange but cool flower found in these parts).

The day opened as it closed yesterday, too cool for my liking. I left my hotel with several layers that included a scarf around my neck, but Mother Nature had changes in store for me and I returned several hours later with my scarf tied around my camera bag and my sweater wrapped around my waist.

Never made it to the Botanic Gardens, however, as the University of Adelaide's campus stood in my way. I strode through the huge wrought-iron gates and was somewhat disappointed to see very few students. All in class maybe? Nice campus, though.

Having a vague idea where the gardens began, I headed through the campus toward Torrens River. Now the place reminds me of Melbourne, where it gave me glimpses of Perth yesterday. Melbourne features the Yarra River dividing sections of town and one must find a walkway across the Yarra to get to Melbourne's amazing Botanic Gardens.

But I digress.

Having crossed the Torrens, I found myself not at the gardens but at the entrance to the Adelaide Zoological Gardens. Okay, that works. I love zoos!

Can I put in a plug here for the Animal Planet show called "Meercat Manor"? Seriously folks, I can watch those critters for hours and nearly did in Adelaide. For sheer entertainment value, they really do rival the chimpanzees - and that's saying something.

Having viewed my buddies the meercats and some odd African creature called a mara which looked like someone put a rabbit's head on a small dog, I decided that nature was calling. Is it strange or very creative that the ladies room at the Adelaide Zoo is built into an aviary? Yep, brightly colored (and noisy) parrets were watching us pee from above.

I devoured a croissant sandwich, doritos and a water and decided to call it a day (since I had absolutely NO IDEA how long it would take to get back to my hotel.) I had been meandering around since 10:30 in the morning and since all of the grammer school field trips had departed, it had to be late.

Time to go.

On the way back, I stopped for a breather on a park bench near the Adelaide...oops, sorry, the Royal Adelaide Hospital (not sure what's royal about it, but whatever). Anyway, while sitting there enjoying the first real sun I've absorbed in days, I saw a group of young boys in white short-sleeved shirts and a few in matching white hats run across the street in front of me.

A few minutes later, more boys in the same shirt (with a purple stripe across the shoulders) trickled by and raced through the parking lot across the street. And more boys, these a few years older, followed a few minutes later.

There's a game on!

White shirts and hats?? Would it be cricket maybe? I remembered seeing an area called the "parade grounds" on the map and it wasn't too far from here. Maybe it's Aussie Rules football? I don't know squat about either sport, but what a great chance to find out!

I raced across the street in the direction that the boys went and found myself back on campus, but this time it was the University of South Australia. Whatever. I headed toward the river and spotted the boys on the far banks of the Torrens, gathered with some men near a small structure.

One look at the equipment spread out on the ground and I knew.

Not cricket, not football, but crew!

To grocery shop or not to grocery shop?

Granted, I'm not one of those people that maintains a refrigerator stocked full of fresh vegetables and healthy snacks, but GEEZ!

A quick check of my 'frig last night revealed that everything in there (aside from a door full of condiments) is either chocolate or wine. If it matters, it's really good chocolate (Milka brand from Europe) and pretty good wine, too.

Guess I should feel bad about that, but I really don't.

Countdown to vacation: eight days!

A sunny Sunday

They might have been part of the congregation from the mass that just let out. The two of them, a couple, shuffled toward me with the peculiar gait that often marks a mental deficiency.

A huge smile split her cocoa-colored face as she walked hand-in-hand with him, her lips unable to conceal the misshapen mouth and bucked teeth. Through thick and wide glasses she looked not up, but across at her pudgy friend.

His hair a greasy mess across his pimpled forehead, he pulled at his wrinkled and baggy jeans as they stopped for just a moment.

They kissed.

And continued on their way.

God didn't give them physical beauty, but He gave them happiness.

And I couldn't help but be a little jealous.

Countdown to Opening Day 2008

People that know me, even the casual acquaintances that I see during my workday, know that I'm a Cub fan. To some of them, I'm sure that's my sole identifying characteristic.

"There goes that lady that's a big Cub fan" as if I walk around with a big red 'C' on my forehead.

But lately, with my team exiting the post-season with nothing but a whimper, I've been the recipient of many concerned looks.

"Are you okay?"

People, please! It's not like someone ran over my dog. As a longtime Cub fan, I've learned to temper any raging enthusiasm, any urge of "we're gonna win it all!" with memories of past disappointments. I've learned that Cub fans have thick skins. At least they should.

The cashier at my lunchtime spot gave me that mournful look of sympathy and it triggered a thought.

The Cubs last participated in the World Series in 1945, but since 1984, the Cubs have played in the post-season five times. FIVE TIMES!! Okay, they haven't won "the whole thing" in my lifetime (yet), but I've felt that rush of seeing the red-white-and-blue bunting hanging from the brick walls of Wrigley.

It seems that many so-called baseball fans are defining success in very black-and-white terms. Hey! Only one team wins the World Series. One! Does that mean that the other 29 teams in baseball are utter failures?!?!

Winning a pennant doesn't mean anything? How about taking home a division title? Or going from last place to first place in one year? Can you honestly say those aren't terrific accomplishments?

It's not all-or-nothing for me.

Would you tell your child that if they don't collect straight As on their report card that they must be stupid?

I think not!

Opening Day for the Cubs is March 31, 2008.

Save me a seat.

My boys

C'mon! You can't tell me these don't look like fun guys!

It's too bad I have to say goodbye to them...at least until next March!


Kerry Wood and Ryan Dempster having fun in the bullpen.

Dempster, ever the ringmaster, introducing the singing rookies in costume in Cincinnati.

I'm thinking Jacque Jones had a rough night following the Cubs' division clinching in Cincy.

We wouldn't have gotten this far without the LSU Connection (alias Ryan Theriot and Mike Fontenot).

And then there's speed demons like Felix Pie that keep things interesting!

Things to love...and not..about Great American Ballpark

-NEVER!!! NEVER!!!!! NEVER!!!!! NEVER!!!! NEVER!!!!! NEVER!!!! NEVER!!! EVER!


Cub fans know who's face is missing from this historic Reds interactive sign. Do you??

-The five-tool-player. Every general manager's dream.

-Nothing like the Ohio River as a backdrop, huh?

- The grounds crew prepares the field the old-fashioned way. Remind you of anywhere else?

Signs, signs, everywhere signs

Some of my favorite signs from the Cubs' final regular season games in Cincinnati...

- after the Cubs clinched the NL Central Division title!
- Yep, like I said.

- During the Cubs' final homestand, still just a few games ahead of Milwaukee.

- After the Cubs beat the Pirates, closing in on the division title.

- The first one is a loose Latin translation of "Go Cubs." The second? Well, you know!

- Yes, we brought Lou Pinella back to his old stomping grounds to celebrate good times.

- Love this one!

Are we there yet?

"The most exciting sounds in the world are train whistles, plane motors and anchor chains," said a wistful George Bailey to Uncle Billy in one of my favorite movies ("It's a Wonderful Life").

And I couldn't agree more.

I don't know what it is about travel- or at least the expectation of travel- that gets my heart pumping. Maybe it's the thrill of the unknown people, unique accents, unfamiliar food, and other mysteries that await at whatever soil my plane touches.

What to pack? Do I need my passport? Do they speak English where I'm going? Where will I stay? And, most importantly, what is there to do there?

To go or not to go?

It was with a thump in my chest that I tapped in my credit card details to make a spur-of-the-moment purchase of a very cheap (under $200) flight to Florida for next year's Martin Luther King long weekend. Okay, so Florida's no great shakes, but for me - in what will no-doubtedly be a frigid Chicago winter- it will be paradise in January.

So, let's see...I've got travel plans this month (Cincinnati for the Cubs' regular-season finale), next month (to Toronto to visit Firecracker) and November (to celebrate my birthday in Australia) and then to Florida in January. Over the weekend, I plan to cash in a free travel voucher for the Cubs' Spring Training in Arizona next March.

Don't anyone plan to come visit me in the next seven months 'cause I won't be here!!!!!!
(Cue hysterical laughter).

It was Judy Garland in "The Wizard of Oz" that said "There's no place like home."

Sorry, Judy, but I believe Jimmy.

Home and Garden TV/ The Travel Channel

For months now, I've been hesitant to plan my annual trip. Australia, Hawaii and Argentina are some of the places where I've celebrated my 'big day' (can people really call it that after the age of 9?)


Anyway, things have been really different this year. My new boss (who returns after 6 years) has not been as easy to work with this time around and I've been afraid to 'request vacation.' We've been discussing my contract on and off for eight months now and it's not going well. As a consultant, I'm not really entitled to 'vacation,' but I've been pretty sure my 'scheduled time off' would cause trouble.


Throwing caution to the wind last week, I sent my boss an email stating that I would be out of the office Nov. 1-24 on my annual trip. I would, of course, bring in an appropriate substitute and train him/her prior to my absence. There was no request, just a statement.


I took a deep breath, pressed SEND and then I waited.


No return email on Tuesday.


No email or verbal feedback on Wednesday either.


Every Thursday morning features a weekly meeting with my boss and I decided to just assume the situation was decided. As our meeting was ending, I asked if I should have my substitute attend our Thursday meetings and update the status report as I normally do.


"Yes, do that," came the reply.


So, it's a go!


Since my normal trip-planning is done before the summer even begins, I am a bit crazed as I think how to get everything done before November 1.


Oh, did I mention that my contractor suggested using my absence to remodel my bathroom (a plan long overdue)? He and I have been discussing my yucky, 1950s style (not retro, just ugly) loo ever since he installed the beautiful Brazilian koa wood floors in my bedroom last year.

These are the same beautiful floors that now include five or six gashes from the 'tornado' that came tearing through Chicago a few weeks ago. Yes, my contractor will fix them...for about $500.

Get your calculators out, folks. Add the floor price to the bathroom materials. Um, let's see now. There's not much to buy there, except wall tile, floor tile, a tub, shower doors, a new shower head and faucet, a new sink, countertop, vanity cabinet, medicine cabinet, toilet, lighting fixture, and probably a bunch of other stuff.

Be careful what you wish for...

A Donald in the making

He was shy as he approached me in the stands following the Cubs game the other night. He looked at his hands, which were holding a stack of business cards. He looked onto the now-Cubs-less baseball field where the grounds crew had started to water down the infield. He looked everywhere but at me.

"I have this website," he began, still not making eye contact. "It's about the Cubs."

If this was a different era, maybe the 1960s, I think his opening line might've been, "I have a band."

But I digress.

"I'm trying to get World Series tickets," he stammered. I looked around and saw there was no posse of friends to support this shy guy. My heart hurt for him in his solitary quest.

"If you click on the website, I get money," he said quietly as he handed me a business card. I looked at it and discovered that my awkward fellow baseball fan was blessed with a name more suited to rodeos than baseball diamonds.

He didn't ask for my name. In fact, as I looked up from reading his rather basic business card, he was quickly walking away, relieved of the torture of a face-to-face meeting with a complete stranger.

So, folks, I'm asking you to help Colton in his quest for World Series tickets. No financial committment required, just a moment of your web-surfing time.

Go to: www.kidscub.blogspot.com

Oh, did I mention that this quiet entrepreneur is about 10 years old?

Auntie Em! Auntie Em!

When I got home and saw that my bedroom door was closed, I knew there had been trouble. I knew I didn't close my door and I knew my roommate didn't close my door. I knew that because I have NO ROOMMATE.

Anyway, when I peeked inside, it was all I could do not to look around for Toto and shiny red pumps. Yes, boys and girls, a tornado had hit my condo (at least that's what the building management tried to tell me. Um, guys? a tornado in the city of Chicago would probably top all the Michael Vick stories on the news, doncha think?)

According to Mr. A-1 Numero Uno WGN TV meteorologist Tom Skilling, it was no tornado, but some pretty impressive 74 mile per hour winds that knocked out some windows in my building and quite handily tossed around my window air conditioner. In fact, I counted at least five deep scrapes in my fabulous new hardwood floors during the cleanup.

This is the type of stuff that homeowners' insurance is supposed to cover, right?

The return of Janis from the Muppet Show

Just got a haircut. Okay, it was just a trim, but the styling apparently was the difference. My flat-ironed 'do seemed to make me something of a guy-magnet at the Cubs-Cardinals game yesterday (not to be misconstrued as a complaint.)



I was chatting with the visiting Connecticut couple sitting on my left when five guys arrived to fill the row to my right. A big guy in a red shirt with what appeared to be a pig on it sat to my immediate right. (I later discovered that it was a razorback pig, the mascot for Arkansas.)



For a few years, I was fortunate enough to share baseball games with Firecracker. But now that she's back home, I've had to readjust my game-day attitude and try to see the bright side of going solo. One of my favorite things about going to baseball games alone (aside from an easier time getting a ticket) is the opportunity to meet new people. After an hourlong rain delay, the game began and I discovered that the Arkansas crowd was actually Cardinals fan (DUH! RED SHIRTS!)



In case you forgot, the full name of the St. Louis team is the rat-bastard St. Louis Cardinals (okay, it's not the legal monniker, but whatever!) Fortunately, I didn't mention my nickname for the Redbirds because my seat neighbor turned out to be a former Cardinals catcher!



We spent much of the game commenting on the action and Redbird Guy was impressed by my knowledge and said if he ever started coaching, he'd think of offering me a job. Hmmn???



Happily, my Cubs beat the Cards but his team's loss didn't diminish Redbird Guy's enthusiasm for the evening.



"So, what are you doing tonight?" came the not-unexpected question. "Wanna join us for dinner? What's your number?"



I gave him my cell digits and then headed to my usual post-game watering hole, not sure if Redbird Guy was planning to call or just doing the usual 'close the deal' routine.



Flatiron effect was in full force at the bar, as a young Cardinal fan wrapped his arm around me when I walked in and said to his friends, "If all Cubs fans looked like her, I'd definitely be a Cubs fan."



Fast-forward not more than 20 minutes later...A trio of other out-of-towners were taking off to a local restaurant and said I was welcome to join them. I had chatted with one of trio's members (from San Francisco) earlier at the back bar, so when they were leaving, he came over and kissed me on the cheek on his way out. The second guy, who I'd just been introduced to, did the same. The third, who I'd never seen before, must have thought this was the traditional departure ritual, so he kissed my cheek, too.



It's the hair.



Despite the lovely attention, I was ready to head home and by 9 pm, I was curled up on the sofa with an Abbott & Costello movie on when my cell buzzed. Redbird Guy apologized for not calling sooner, but his friends insisted on stopping to eat right after they left the ballpark (not a surprise since they had only one or two hotdogs between them.)



RG said they were heading out to a bar soon. I had already decided that I was done for the night, so he apologized again and said if the Cubs make the playoffs, he might be back. Could he call me?



Sure.

Gotta strike when the iron is hot.

Only 312s and 773s need apply, please

Some way, some how, the impossible-to-get ticket gods were smiling on me this past weekend as I was GIFTED two fantastic seats to the Cubs/Mets game on Saturday. Seriously folks, this was a game where a woman could rent out her uterus and not get a ticket and here I was with TWO TICKETS!!!

Whom to invite???

Firecracker would normally be my first choice as we've been partners in Wrigleyville crime for a few years now, but NOOOOOO!! She had to up and move to the Great White North...and before the end of baseball season, no less!!

Okay, next choice would be a pal from my volleyball team, another fun, single gal who knows her baseball. When reached on her cell, she was halfway to middle earth hoosierville to visit her family.

Next?

How about a client/friend whose foot I accidently drove over at a Cubs/Brewers game a few years back. Yes, he DOES still talk to me!

Nope - family obligations.

Left to scroll through my cell phone directory, it occurred to me that most of the people in my cell phone live in other cities, not to mention other countries!!!

Geez! I've got to make more friends in Chicago!

Ripple affect

You drop a pebble into a pond and after the kerplunk!, the water ripples away from the point of impact, settling into larger and larger concentric circles until the water is once again as smooth as glass.

But what happens when the ripples go backwards? When people who would normally be considered part of the very largest and most subtle circles of my world have more than the expected affect?

I've been trading text messages with Tall Southern Gentleman for a few days now and I was very happy to receive an invitation to dinner when he's in Chicago next (probably a few weeks). So, yay me! He emailed a photo to me and asked me to send one to him.

I sent a photo of me in Sydney, Australia (to give a hint of the as-yet-untouched topic of travel).

Two days go by. No texts. No calls.

Insecure little me starts thinking of scenarios where he wouldn't contact me: maybe he got the photo and thinks women that travel are snooty, rich bitches; maybe he's one of those divorced fathers that spends every other weekend with their kids and NO ONE ELSE!

And then, today, I got an email from him (sent on Saturday, my bad!) that says that his best friend and wife got into a terrible car accident on Friday morning and the wife didn't survive. The woman was like a sister to him and he's very upset by the whole thing. He wanted to let me know why he might not hear from him for a while.

On top of that, I discovered that the mother of another 'outer ring of friends' died late last week of lung cancer.

I just hope the circles don't get smaller.

Once more with feeling??

How much do I love novocaine?

"Scaling" sounds innocent enough, right? It's basically an in-depth cleaning and how bad can that be? After having half the teeth in my mouth sandblasted with gallons of water, scraped with an iron hook and poked with tiny harpoons, I left my dentist's chair feeling drained.

I grabbed a quick peek in a mirror and noticed that as a result of my favorite anethestic, I bore a striking resemblance to a stroke victim.

Stepping out the dentist's chair, my cell phone chirped and I thought it might be Firecracker texting her arrival at Wrigley Field for the Cubs game. Sure, she's having fun while I'm dying here.

But no.

"UR Cubbie run is only temporary. Dont get too confident" was the text message sent by Super Bowl Guy.

Uh oh!

Checking my swollen, drooling face in my mirror, I said a silent prayer, "Please don't be in town. Please don't be in town."

He wasn't. But I was curious as to why I'd hear from him after, oh, say three months? In case you don't remember, he's the guy from New Jersey with whom I went to the Super Bowl and then he fell off the earth.

And then, there was my answer... in blue and red. According to my pocket Cubs' schedule, my boys will take on the Mets (SBG's team) in early August. I couldn't resist the urge to bash the NY team and predict a big win for the Cubs when the Mets arrive.

"So the winner gets to choose the evening's activities?" came the challenge from SBG. Oh, so he is planning to be in town. Hmmn...

Obviously, Super Bowl Guy is a terrible choice of company for me, but fortunately, I have a possible alternative.

Firecracker and I attended the Cubs game last Monday night and ended up sitting next to three guys from North Carolina. Fun guys in their forties (my target audience) and actual baseball fans, too!

Tall Southern Gent didn't talk much at first, letting his pal dominate the conversations. Later on, when Firecracker distracted the pal, TSG and I got to chat. It was quite a scene as TSG is 6' 8" and I'm, well, not. He found a bar rail to lean on while I got to learn random bits about him, most importantly, that he does not live in Chicago but works here occasionally (sound familiar?)

When we finally decided to leave, we stepped outside the bar and into a torrential rainstorm. We huddled together under the awning in front of the bar, waiting for a break in the storm.

"Your hair smells nice," said TSG as he wrapped his arms around my waist in a backward hug. Surprisingly, I didn't jump out of my skin as sudden as this show of affection was, but enjoyed the warmth and strength of his long arms around me.

He never asked for my number, but those of you who know me won't be surprised to hear that I gave him my card anyway. Some guys need a push, that's all.

Finally, the rain let up enough for him to flag a taxi for me and for me to give him my umbrella for the walk to the train. The evening ended with a nice (and not inappropriately passionate, read: no tongue) kiss goodnight.

Oh, except for the call that came 20 minutes later. "Just wanted to check that you got home okay."

Yep, he's a Southern Gentleman.

Seems my stock is going up!

Gotta love these guys!

If you didn't see it, you've got to check out the helping hand offered by the Philadelphia Phillies when the Colorado Rockies' grounds crew had a wee bit of difficulty with the tarp during a recent rain delay.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99tGf8WWoRQ


Of course! That's what the hard-working, hard-playing people of Philly do when there's trouble - -they help! They're not afraid to get their hands dirty. Although I have to admit I'm pretty disappointed in the Rockies staff (save former Cub LaTroy Hawkins, who joined in), I couldn't help but join the home crowd and applaud the visiting Phillies.



But wait! How many of the Phillies players are actually from Philadelphia? Former Cub pitcher (and still ageless at 44) Jamie Moyer is from Sellersville, PA, but that's it for the Pennsylvania contingent. Of course, you've got the usual half dozen Californians and four guys from the Dominican Republic, but the remainder of the Phillies roster reads like a US atlas. Three players from Texas, two from Oregon and states like Nebraska, North Dakota, Missouri, North Carolina and Washington are all represented in Phillies colors.



Doesn't sound like a bunch of crybaby, can't-break-a-fingernail-or-I'll-go-on-the-DL guys, does it? Is it coincidence that they're wearing the Phillies pinstripes or do the Phillies like to recruit guys who do whatever it takes?



Go Phillies!!







(at least until you play the Cubs)

Bad accent contest

Yes, I've been gone awhile. I apologize. But for today's post, I decided it would be worth it to stay late at the office and get this down, especially since it just happened.

But first, some background.

For those of you that don't know, I work for a foreign-based company and over the years, I've worked with people from Germany, Ireland, Spain, India, Luxembourg, England, Scotland, Austria, China and, of course, some US folks. The mix often provides many humorous moments as we all struggle to understand each other's habits, cultures and languages.

Since I've been here the longest, I've taken it upon myself to start a secret 'bad accent' contest. It was inadvertantly initiated by a former colleague who is now back in the home office in Germany. Like many Germans, he cannot hear the difference between the letters 'v' and 'w.' Of course, this can be slightly problematic.

One day several years ago, my coworkers were trying to decide where to go for lunch. My contest-starter asked who wanted to go for "weggie burgers."

Let the game begin!

A few years went by and some co-workers left and others arrived, including one wonderfully lively fellow from Barcelona, Spain. The Spaniard returned from a lengthy vacation looking very tan and relaxed.

I welcomed him back and asked him how his trip was.

"Fan-tastic! I spent three weeks on a bitch."

Whoa! I think there could be an award in it for him.

And that brings us to today...about 15 minutes ago, to be exact.

Another German colleague, this one from a different area of Germany, stopped on his way out of the office for the night and asked me, "Did you order the bed wedder?"

What?

"Did you order the bed wedder?"

I mentally reviewed everything that had been delivered today - interoffice mail, computer equipment, fresh fruit - maybe someone had a bad reaction to the peaches??

"The bed wedder. It really looks like it's going to rain."

The Red, White and Blue

The bright white of the naval uniforms was almost blinding as I spotted the four sailors outside Wrigley Field today. Like the rest of us, they were waiting to see if any tickets became available for the Memorial Day game against the Marlins. Apparently it was a hot ticket with all the tourists in town for the long weekend.

"You guys looking for tickets?" asked a gentleman who, by his age, was probably no stranger to military service.

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

"Not anymore," he said, handing each a field box seat ticket and shaking their hands. "They're down the first base line. Have a good time."

I just LOVE when stuff like that happens!

Although they weren't free, I scored some pretty good seats for both Firecracker and myself.

I always enjoy the pre-game festivities on Memorial Day with Wayne Messmer adding "God Bless America" to his usual performance of the National Anthem. The Cubs really did it up right this year, as Challenger, a bald eagle, was set loose from a perch high in the center field bleachers. Magestic is the word that came to mind as we watched Challenger sail on the crosswinds before finally coming in to land on the arm of his handler just as Messmer reached the crescendo of the Star Spangled Banner.

One of the main marketing ploys the Cubs feature in the pre-game activities is the throwing out of the ceremonial "first"pitch. Usually, it's the assistant vice-president of some meat-packing company that wants some extra publicity. Pretty tiresome.

But not today.

Lt. Bryan Anderson had a baseball in his hand when he linked arms with his brother to take the field. A few people chuckled when Bryan knelt down to kiss the ground in front of the pitcher's mound. It was a completely different emotion that took over, however, when the triple-amputee Iraqi war veteran used his only remaining limb to throw a fastball to relief pitcher Angel Guzman.

Happy Memorial Day.

Peaks and valleys

You know it's a weird weekend when it hails during a baseball game in mid-May...even in Chicago. But I guess it wasn't all bad. After all, the Cubs did win two of three from their crosstown rivals.

I planned to go to the game on Saturday since it was such a gorgeous day. The baseball gods were definitely smiling on me as I scored a very good seat from a downstate kid whose friend cancelled on him at the last minute. Of course, then Derrek Lee came off the bench to hammer a grand slam and send Wrigley's faithful into bedlam and secure a Cubs win.

Yay!!!

During the game, I got a text message from Porsche Guy, saying that he just "caught a ball at the Cubs/Sox game and wasn't it a shame I wasn't there to split a beer with." Um, split a beer?
And, no, I didn't text back. But I did say a silent prayer that I wouldn't run into him.

Boo!

After the game, I met up with some friends at a nearby watering hole. They were being chatted up by a group of guys that included one kinda cute guy who, it turns out, is 42 and never been married (my mother's dream for me), used to play minor league baseball for the Phillies (not a bad resume, methinks) and wasn't bad looking at all.

Yay!!

An hour later, Phillies Guy is shit-faced drunk and using the garbage can as a bar stool. I remember his name, but I'm pretty confident he won't remember me at all.

Boo!

Having already bought a ticket to today's game, I wasn't about to let a little overcast sky deter me. I grabbed my glove (and my rain poncho, just in case) and made my way over to the park.

Late in the game, a strange scenary began to unfold (or maybe I was just letting my imagination get the best of me.) First the seagulls started to swarm in the outfield. Yes, I did say seagulls. Then Aramis Ramirez parked a three-run homer to keep the Cubs' hopes alive.

Yay!!!

And then came the hail.

It was all very biblical. And cold.

But a happy ending was not to be for my boys and the Cubs lost. The White Sox avoided a Cubs sweep and capped it off with a grand slam by their catcher.

Boo!

Strange sports note on the weekend series: both grand slams were given up by pitchers who, not only were traded for each other just a year ago, but were both doing very well for their new teams until they faced their old teams.

Hmmnn???

Stopping by a bar on the way home, I saw a guy drop his cell phone on his way to the loo. He didn't notice, so I pointed it out to a bouncer, who returned it to the guy. Cell phone guy offered me $20 in reward because the cell phone was actually a $400 Blackberry. I declined.

Peaks and valleys, folks.

Peaks and valleys.

For Sale: one soul

Oh, the interesting conversations one has following a day of baseball at Wrigley Field...

"So, what's wrong with Zambrano?" asked the vertically impaired stranger with a beard straight out of the '80s.

The Cubs' Venezuelan pitcher hasn't shown himself to be the ace of the staff so far this season and everybody has a theory of why this is so.

(me) "Well, I read an article that said that 'Z' has something like seven brothers at home (in Venezuela) and he's the sole support for his family. And I think he's married and has kids of his own here, too. That's really a lot of pressure to put on a guy when he doesn't know where next year's salary will come from."

Zambrano was negotiating his long-term deal with the Cubs when the Chicago Tribune (owners of the Cubs) were sold to real estate bizillionaire Sam Zell, so there's no deal and no telling when or with whom new negotiations can begin.

(shorty) "Well, he should just do his job. He's a professional and he's getting a ton of money this year. When he steps on the field, nothing else should matter."

(me) "Wait a minute, so what you're saying is that people who make a lot of money don't have to be human? What, they should just remove their hearts and their brains and their emotions and set them on the shelf when they go to work?

"Do you realize that as far as 'Z' knows, every pitch he throws could determine his family's financial future? That's a lot of pressure to put on a guy who's only 25 years old."

(shorty) "They're f-ing immigrants anyways, so who the hell cares?"

Um, buh-bye!

So, boys and girls, the discussion point of the day is: Should your income determine your humanity?

Nut magnet

When my cell phone rang, I was standing in the hair product aisle at Walgreens. My cell doesn't ring all that often, so out of curiosity, I answered it.

Big mistake.

Porsche Guy wanted to know if I wanted to meet him for dinner. Instinct told me to lie and tell him that I already ate. He downshifted into an invitation for a drink. Stalling, I told him I was in the middle of something and could he call me back in an hour or so?

Why didn't I just tell him to drop dead?

When we originally exchanged business cards at Wrigley Field, it occurred to both of us (to my initial horror) that we live in adjacent buildings! Okay, maybe my misgivings at his proximity should've prompted me to end things then and there. This nut job lives next door to me?!?! Why I let this flirtation continue, I'll never know.

In the time between his first and second calls, I formulated the wording for a polite, but definite "not interested" talk.

And then I chickened out.

The cell phone rang and I just stared at it from the sofa without moving. Maybe he'll get the hint.

Fast forward to this morning at 8:30. I'm finishing up my session with my physical terrorist, oops, therapist. My cell brriiings to tell me I have a text message.

"Does anyone want to play hooky? It's a nice day."

The nice guys fall off the face of the earth after one date. The crazies call me all the time!

I think Boston Cremes are out too

It always seemed weird to me when someone young (read: under 60) said they have a "bad back" or "bad knees" or some other "bad" body part. I kept picturing some black-and-white movie where the affliction is attributed to an old war wound.

Apparently, I now fall into the category of those with a bad back.

I must've slept through the anatomy part of my health class, because I was pretty sure I had messed up my right leg when it started to feel funky during my weekly volleyball game. Not a pulled muscle exactly, but more of a weird tightness and tingling.

After a week or resting my leg on the back of my sofa while watching TV (that's the best I can do for rehab since I've never so much as sprained anything before), it wasn't any better so I decided to ring my doctor.

My own personal diagnosis was that it was a circulatory issue since "the leg" (yes, I was referring to my body part as if it were someone else's) felt better while standing and worse after sitting for a while. Also, I have low blood pressure and occasionally suffer migraines with my poor circulation.

Uh, yeah, but no. It's a back thing. There's a very good reason why there are no letters after my name. I don't know what the hell I'm talking about in medical circles.

My doctor prescribed some physical therapy (and no volleyball or high heels, for that matter - - so I didn't even ask about volleyball in high heels), so that was my next stop.

Here's the layman's version of what's going on: a disc seems to have slipped from between my vertebre in my lower back, causing a disruption of the nerve signal to my right leg. The Food Network explanation would be: the jelly is coming out of the doughnut and we need to squish it back in.

eeewww!