Misery Accomplished

It's already been a busy morning in our house, as we've been reading all the coverage of Stephen Colbert's presentation at last night's White House Correspondent Dinner. There's even a video! This is some good stuff. Check it out.

Colbert Lampoons Bush...President Does Not Seem Amused (Duh. --ed)

The video is long but worth it. C-SPAN says they'll re-run it but I don't know when.

From Crooks & Liars.

Enjoy!

I Saw the Most Disturbing Thing

So, I'm walking down 34th Street yesterday (that's in Manhattan, you know). taking in the bright sunny day and window shopping. I'm taking in all the shoes, and dresses, and whatnot, when I come upon a sports store with this in the window.

I was really hoping it wasn't true.

::sigh::

Happy Bruce Springsteen Day

Springsteen's new album, We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, hits stores today. I got mine on Saturday--pre-ordered from Sony and I guess they figured three days wasn't enough time to pirate and distribute a gazillion copies. Little do they know. (I joke. I joke. Mr. FBI man, I swear it was a joke.)

It's fantastic. It's really rootsy with a good dose of zydeco thrown in. Heck, the Boss even makes Mr. Frog Went a Courtin' sound good. You can tell they had a great time making this one.

I'm a late-arriving Springsteen fan. I always liked him okay but it wasn't until my brother and I decided to go see him five years or so ago that I got it. I've seen him four times now and won't miss an opportunity to see him live, whether it's a stadium show with the E Street Band or a solo performance as he did for Devils & Dust.

The best show yet was when my brother and I took our parents to see the full band at the Pepsi Center. This was their idea--my 70-something stepdad saw in the paper that tickets were going on sale and he thought this might be something he'd like to do. Mom just happened to mention it to me. I said, "Hold on a minute" and within 15 minutes, my brother and I decided we would take them, as we were going anyway.

Two days before the show, mom called me and asked, "What if it's too loud? I suppose I could just leave." It took a minute to collect my thoughts but my response was, "It will be too loud. Plan for that."

We had great seats and they had a fantastic time. Everyone around us loved them--my stepdad made friends with everyone near him and did end up taking his hearing aid out because it was too loud with it in. They thoroughly enjoyed the show and the experience and even listen to The Rising (the tour we saw) now and again. My brother and I spent the evening looking at each other, shaking our heads, and laughing.

My favorite question of the night (and there were many....) was when mom wanted to know how Silvio Dante had time with his busy Sopranos filming schedule to join Bruce Springsteen on tour. What a great memory.

It's Book and Lover's Day

This was always one of my favorite events when I worked at Tattered Cover. We'd set up a flower cart and with every book purchase, the customer would get a flower, too. Here is some info from their website about the day:

"Every year on April 23rd, Barcelona erupts in a celebration of chivalry and romance, Book and Lover's Day. It all began in the Middle Ages with an annual Festival of Roses to honor St. George, Patron Saint of Catalonia, who as a brave Roman soldier allegedly slew a dragon about to devour a beautiful young princess. According to legend, a rosebush sprouted from the blood of the dragon and the soldier plucked its most perfect blossoms to give to the princess as a remembrance. In 1923, the Rose Festival merged with International Book Day, established to celebrate the lives of Miguel de Cervantes and William Shakespeare, both of whom died on April 23rd in 1616. Now, bookstalls and flower stands sprout up along the Rambla, a two-mile stretch connecting the city with the Mediterranean Sea. Thousands of Barcelonans crowd the streets to enjoy a festive atmosphere of readings, music, literature, and dance."

It's also William Shakespeare's birthday. If he were alive, he'd be 442 today. That's a lot of candles!

I Am Middle Aged

There. I said it out loud.

Yeah, I turned 40 about nine months ago, but I didn't feel middle aged until now. Clothes shopping in London will do that to you.

How can you not feel old when this is what you find in every store and on every Sweet Young Thing shopping in said stores?

None of it was made with me in mind. It was made for girls half my age. Girls who probably weren't born the first time this came around.

I came home with Marks & Spencer knickers, a lovely (yet conservative) linen jacket--just perfect for summer business meetings--and two silk scarves. No gold metallic ballet flats or mini-skirt/leggings combos for me this time around.

Pull up a chair, dearie, and I'll you all about the days when Bananarama and the Go-Gos were the rage and how we used to dance to The Cure and the English Beat at Pogos until the wee small hours while drinking 3.2 beer out of plastic cups.

Oh, and would you grab my cane?

I've Got the Jetlag Blues

and I don't think I've got anything interesting left to say. Wow, that happened fast.

It's been back to the grind (such as it is....) this week. You know, fall asleep at 7:30, wake up at 1am, wake up at 4am, give up and surf the Internets before going to work and falling asleep at your desk by 10am. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The weather has been gorgeous--everything burst into color while we were gone. There are cherry blossoms and shoots on the larger trees, the grass is green, and the peach tree is starting to leaf. All sorts of interesting things seem to be happening in the herb garden. I'm going out there this weekend to try to kill some lemon balm--why did I think planting TWO of them in the herb garden was a good idea? I'm not even sure I want one of the bloody things at this stage.

In other good news, my Rockies are 8-7 and second in the NL West (woohooo!). They're playing decent ball. I'm torn between dreaming of the playoffs and knowing it won't last. We baseball fans are a strange breed; deep down inside we really are optimists. We want to believe. You know, it could happen to us.... This could be our year. And my other boys, the Red Sox, are 11-4 and leading their division. Take that Johnny Damon. (::spit::)

Anyway, go enjoy spring and someone bring me another cup of coffee, yeah?

Reading is Fundamental

I love reading. I love books. I always have. I was the kid who woke up on Sunday mornings while it was still dark and read my All Of a Kind Family or Little House on the Prairie books over and over and over again by the dim glow of my nightlight. I'm the one who always has a book (or at minimum, a magazine) on her at all times "just in case".

I hit a dry spell this winter and I was afraid I might not ever read again. Yeah, I read stuff online and magazines and all of that but I was afraid I'd never find another book to wholly captivate me ever again. I'm past that. Thankfully.

What happens is this. You get a string of really great books--books that rock your world and suck you in so that all you do is read or think about reading when you can't. And then you pick up a dog. (Not literally, you understand....)

I had a great run in the summer and early fall: Time Traveler's Wife, Kite Runner, The Education of Arnold Hitler, Days of Awe, The Rug Merchant, The Sisters Mortland, The Brooklyn Follies, and The Space Between Us. I was on a tear. And then I read The Crimson Petal and the White.

Do Not Read This Book.

It was 800 pages long and I was enjoying it. It's a story about (among other things) a prostitute in Victorian England. It was a hefty book so not one you could easily read in bed. I devoted Saturdays and Sundays. Hours and hours I'll never get back. As it got closer to the end, it didn't seem to be wrapping up. Curious. Then, in the last page, Michael Faber (who I *will* see in hell) just ended it. Stopped. Said something like, "I'll bet you're wondering how this ends? Well so am I!" It just ended. What an emotional ripoff. I devoted days and weeks to this book and it just ends. No resolution, no conclusion, no "great ahhhhhh".

I was insulted. Offended. I took it personally. How dare he do that to this Dear Reader!

And then I was stuck. I didn't want to be suckered in by anyone else. Faber stole my trust. Would there be an author out there I could ever wholey trust again?

So, I read Cooking Light and the New Yorker. I watched TV and movies. I looked at books casually, picking them up, judging their covers (anyone who tells you we don't do that is lying), and putting them back down with a sigh.

But then I let Paul Auster in. I picked up Oracle Night on a business trip. I am a long-time Auster fan but somehow missed this book. I knew I could trust him, though he'd let me down before (there was a weird spell in there with Timbuktu and Mr. Vertigo, but he got past that, thankfully). Oracle Night wasn't the best book I've ever read but it helped me get my groove back. I do love reading.

On the plane ride home last week, I was thoroughly engrossed in A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian. I'm not done with it so no spoilers, please. I could picture Valentia and Nikoli so clearly--what wonderful characters--and they're not addicted to drugs, booze, or anything else that seems to be the prominent feature in the popular books of the moment! Hurrah! I was sucked in and little else mattered.

But the man next to me made me a little sad. I'm sure he paid me no mind during the 8 hour flight but I noticed him. He was traveling with his wife. She was reading and he just sat, looking ahead. No book, no magazine, nothing. He just sat there, virtually the entire flight. I wanted to pull a book (I always have a backup) out of my carryon luggage and thrust it in his hands, "Here! Read this! Lose yourself!" but I didn't. Maybe he is a reader and forgot his book. Maybe he's got a lot on his mind. Maybe he's memorized all of Shakespeare's sonnets and he was reciting the lines in his head. I don't know but he looked bored to me.

Books are magical. They are educational, they are entertaining, they can transport you. You know this. So, why aren't you reading more? Like me, perhaps it's laziness. It's easier sometimes to turn on the TV. But I've made a deal with myself to read more and I hope you will, too. Even just 15 minutes a day--I'm going to make it habit again, and I'm not going to let the likes of Michael Faber get me down. For every Faber, there is an Auster, a Moore (Lorrie, that is), an Estrin, a Nissenson. Buy their books, devour them, and share them with your friends.

Why Do You Hate England?

This is the answer delivered to me by my darling husband to the innocent question, "What is it with you people and toast racks?" We were having Full English Breakfast (mine vegetarian, his loaded with odd-looking meats) in the international departures lounge at Gatwick Saturday morning. "Why do you hate England?" was his reply and I nearly choked on my Heinz beans I was laughing so hard.

For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, this is a toast rack:

It's a nifty-looking little thing, I suppose, but entirely unnecessary in my estimation. Who wants cold, dry toast? You want warm, buttery toast, the slices nestled together on a plate, oozing their warm butteriness onto each other, not hard slabs of toasted and unbuttered bread neatly ordered, heaven forbid they should touch. I've been asking this question for years and I've never gotten a satisfactory answer. If you know why the English are mad for their toast racks, please do let me know.

So, we're home now and we're both back to work today though thoroughly jetlagged. That's another thing I don't understand. Going to Europe I hit the ground running. Sure, I go to bed early the first night generally and then wake up fine and ready to go. Coming home is a body clock nightmare. Nigel was up at 2am yesterday and I was up at 4. I fell asleep during The Sopranos around 7pm. It must be God's way of reminding us that we've just been on a lovely vacation and now it's time to go back to the grind. ::sigh::

Further Musings from W1

Yesterday (::cough cough::) was a nice day, once we found Nigel's brother at Liverpool Street Station. Not only did we not know *where* his train was coming from, we didn't have his cell phone number with us. It all worked out in the end, and we had a wonderful time walking the City (the financial district), climbing the Monument (all 311 stairs), visiting the Tate Modern, and finishing up at one of our favorite pubs, The Founders Arms, which has one of the best views in the city. It sits on the south bank of the Thames, facing St. Paul's. It was a beautiful day and a nice way to spend it.

Today Nigel is off with family and I got a pass. Yay!

I'm in an Easy Internet Cafe with a Subway inside and it smells like home. Strange.

Tomorrow is Good Friday, which apparently, is actually Bloody Miserable Friday since everything, pubs included, is closed. I guess Jesus wanted us all to suffer.

Speaking of religion, the only sign of Passover I've seen this whole time was a few minutes ago in a Sainsbury, where I saw two boxes of matzo. What's up with that? If you didn't know it was Passover, it would never cross your mind. No macaroons, no jelly (jam here) rings--nothin'.

This is a nation of low-talkers. Though Nigel says it's just that Americans are too loud.

Bird flu was all the talk here a few days ago when they found an infected dead swan in Scotland. They carried on and on about it for about three days and then suddenly nothing. A news reader stated that perhaps the fear was overstated. Really? Now the talk is Prince Harry and the terrible state of the National Health Service.

Tony Blair sure isn't popular here anymore. They'd blame the weather on him if they could.

Airing cupboards are a genius invention! Why don't we have them? And why don't we have electric kettles?

Strange to see muffins and cookies here--everywhere. Must be part of the Starbucks invasion. Strange also to see Roasted Guinefowl in Waggledance on a menu yesterday. Whatever that is. I'm not actually sure I want to know.

Boots (think Rite Aid but nicer) advertises free Chlamydia screenings for under 24s in their store windows. Interesting.

Public transportation remains inefficient as always. They've introduced plastic fare cards called Oyster Cards. Like a Metrocard in NYC, you fill it up for seven days or whatever. The problem here is that they still operate with travel zones, so our Oyster Cards are good for Zones 1 and 2, but if you need to go out to 6, as we have, you've got to queue to buy the additional fare. That makes an awful lot of sense. I hope by the next time we come over they've realized that the NYC way is the way to go (buy one card, good for the whole of the system and you're done with it). Even if the card ran out faster the further out you travel, that would make more sense than having to queue anytime you need to go to a different zone. Nutty.

Well, I'm off to stock up on provisions and such since everything is closed tomorrow. Did I mention that? Happy Easter, Happy Passover, and all the rest of it.

Random Musings from W1

Today was cold and rainy and we spent the day wandering around Windsor Castle (outside, of course) with Nigel's father, auntie, and uncle while the Queen remained inside, cosy and warm I imagine. While our jeans and hair got soaked and our teeth chattered, I pictured her snuggled up under a blanket, reading a book, and sipping a cup of tea with corgies at her feet.

Nigel is British and has lived in America for nearly 11 years now. Every time we come back to England we notice more and more changes--some for the better and some for the worse.

This time we're struck by all of the Subways and Starbucks. All hail globalization. The good news is that coffee is good, strong, and plentiful but it's odd to see a Fourbucks (Fourquid doesn't have the same ring but it's closer to the truth) at every turn. We've made a pledge not to visit a one while we're here, and we should need to with all of the other choices around.

Our flat has a drip coffee maker that takes about 30 minutes to brew. For some odd reason, the British can make electric tea kettles that boil water faster than a blink of an eye but coffee takes ages. And don't even get me started about the washing machine that takes an hour to do a load of clothes about 1/3 the size of an American load....

London has always been a very international city, much like New York. In years past there were many Africans, Asians, and people from the Caribbean. Now, on trains and on the street, you see a lot more Anglos, but they're speaking Eastern European languages. You actually don't hear *that* much English.

Very few Americans here right now, probably because spring break is over and it's not yet summer. Oh, and did I mention the horrific exchange rate? Ouch.

The Brits each chips (fries) with everything. Lasagna with chips. Chili Con Carni (sic) with chips. Chips with chips.

Food prices don't seem to be too bad (we've been eating a lot of meals in and shopping at the local Tesco's) but other prices are sky-high. And nothing is on sale. I guess we've gotten used to our "sale" culture at home where no one pays full price for anything because you don't have to.

We had a total "Cheese Shop" experience today. The restaurant we were in was not serving except in the bar. We sat down and promptly got scolded for trying to order off the restauarant menus--that were sitting right there on the table. Why not remove the menus if you don't serve any of that food in this part of the restaurant? Apparently that is far too logical an approach here and in the loo a few minutes later I had an epiphany that Monty Python's cheese shop sketch was actually based on reality. That is a very English way of approaching things and I can't believe it took me all these years to work that one out.

Tomorrow we're off for a boat ride on the Thames (that's the squiggly river), which is something neither of us has ever done before. Should be a good day and the rain should pass by then.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Or Colorado, or maybe not even England for that matter.

Yesterday was marvelous. We went to Southall, which is a predominantly Indian/Pakistani part of west London. We really weren't sure what to expect because Saturday is their big market day but we couldn't go on Saturday. What we walked in to couldn't have been better. Yesterday was a Sihk festival day, Vaisakhi. Unreal.

We got off the bus on the high street and noticed people setting up booths. As we got further in, we realized that *something* was going on. Within minutes, there were people everywhere and they were handing us plates of food. There were dals, bajhi, samosa, fried bread, sweets, fruit, Coke, water, and juice boxes everywhere--and all for the taking. The streets were getting progressively more crowded so we decided to walk up the hill towards the train station to see if we could get a good overview. On the way up, we asked what was going on and a young woman explained that this was one of the holiest Sikh celebrations of the year. She said the procession would begin soon. So, we placed ourselves near the top of the hill and waited and watched.

Within a few minutes, it began. First, barefoot men and women came through sweeping the street and picking up trash. Then a float came by. People ran up, offered a prayer and a donation, and came back to their spot on the street. I've never seen anything more colorful--the saris the women wore were every color of the rainbow and the sea of turbans that were orange, blue, and white primarily. There were thousands and thousands of people and you could not move. We stayed put and watched, and of course shot pictures. This went on for at least two hours. There is a good article on it here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/1915730.stm.

Once the crowd thinned a bit, we headed back to London on the train, rather than trying to go down into the crowd further. It was a beautiful day and something out of another world. Not the sort of thing you see in Denver, or really, anywhere else I've been. What a day.

Werein Our Heros Return to the Scene of the Crime

Our first day in London was fantastic. It only took us two days to get here, but here we are at last. Our six hours in PHL were wholey uneventful, unless you count seeing the Liberty Bell made of Legos. That was a lot of fun.

Arrived at our flat at noon. Dropped our bags, and headed out. We met Nigel's brother, who came from Shrewsbury for the day, at the Princess Louise, which is the pub we met in 12 years ago. It's a wonderful old pub; often voted as the most beautiful in the city. It's full of old wood, stained and eched glass, a fireplace, and lots of character (and characters.)

After 10 hours of sleep, today we headed out to Borough Market. Anyone who says the English don't know food and that there isn't a good meal to be had, is crazy. Borough Market is open on Fridays and Saturdays and anything you could want is there. We came home with sausages, pies (pork and chicken), fresh produce (the most beautiful tomatoes you've ever seen....), and Flower Marie organic sheep's milk cheese from Neal's Yard, and good bread. Beautiful.

Nigel's sister is now with us until midday on Sunday. They're off shopping for some things she needed in London, and then we're going to have dinner with some friends in North London.

The weather is coolish and rainy, which is just what we were wanting after a Denver winter. Tomorrow it's off to Southall (a predominantly Indian and Pakistani area) for the Saturday market and then to play tourist in London. Hurrah!

Greetings From the City of Sisterly Love

Ah, you thought Philadelphia was the City of Brotherly Love. You are wrong, my friend.

I don't know if it's a Hilton thing or if it's us, but the two times we've stayed in Hilton-Hiltons, there have been interesting conventions in-house. The Philadelphia Airport Hilton, where we are currently parked, is hosting a transexual conference today. When we stayed at the Hilton in Oklahoma City, it was monkeys and cowboys. Not together, exactly, but concurrently. Strange sitting in a bar in a hotel in OKC surrounded by cowboys and monkeys....

Anyway. The weather here is crap. The wind is cold and terrible and it is SNOWING. Yes, snowing. Whatever. So, our tour of Philadelphia will involve gazing upon lovely views out our hotel room window and searching for cheese steak at the airport. We're hoping we can find a cheese steak snowglobe, too.

Nigel wants to know why the Hilton family does not use Paris in their advertising campaigns. I do not have a good answer for this. He thinks it would be a brilliant move on their part. I'm not so sure. He also wants to know where New Jersey is and where we can find any Sopranos. ::sigh::

Well, we're off to kill six hours at PHL.

Roots, Rock, Reggie

When I was in college there was a party/concert planned on campus with bands playing "Reggie Music", as per the full page ad in the student newspaper. That still makes me laugh. No one ever did play "Sugar, Sugar", and I, for one, was disappointed.

Today's assignment is this. Go to your iPod, your CD player, your turntable, your 8-track player, whatever, and pop in some Bob Marley. Select "Three Little Birds", turn up the volume (to 11, if you please) and DANCE.

Feel better?

I thought so.

We leave on vacation today. Haven't decided if the laptop is coming or not. You might get travelogues, you might not. We're off to the Motherland to visit Nigel's family, by way of Philadelphia and who knows where else. Tomorrow we'll go eat cheese steak (they tell me Jim's Steak is the place to go) and that bell thing. We've been offered bonus points for any pictures taken with the Rocky statue.

So, cheerio, tara, toodle-pip, and all that rot. Catch you on the other side. Unless, of course, bail needs to be posted and then you'll hear from me much sooner.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things (About Spring)

I like to make lists. At the risk of sounding like a Playmate list of turn-ons, here are some of my favorite things about spring (and summer, too), in no particular order:

Baseball (duh)
Scott Simon talking about baseball
No football
Bare feet, pedicures, flip-flops, and Birkenstocks
Pro cycling racing season starts
Slurpees--Cola-flavored are the best
Iced tea with lemon
Clinking ice in water glasses
Reggae
Open windows
Napping on the couch, covered in my purple blanket with a baseball game on TV
The smell of sheets that dried on the clothesline
Eating dinner outside
Almond macaroons, matzo torte, and Reese’s peanut butter eggs
Gardening
Riding our bikes to Confluence Park
Walks in the neighborhood, especially going to Twist & Shout, just to see what they've got
Daffodils, tulips, lilacs, and bright green grass
The purple color of the Front Range with snow-capped peaks just behind it
Spring snowstorms that come in fast and heavy and melt just as quickly
Strawberries
The smell of rain
All the people out walking, running, cycling, and walking dogs in our neighborhood
The Chinese Garden in Portland, OR
Eating veggie dogs outside at Mustard's Last Stand
Taylor’s birthday
The return of birds and squirrels to our yard
How excited the cats get watching the birds and squirrels at the open back door
Gin and tonics on the patio at Streets of London Pub
Lunch in the garden at Maria's Bakery
Driving with the windows open and the Go-Gos on the radio
Sleeping with the windows open
Getting sprayed by people's sprinklers as you walk by.

Opening Day

Ahhhhhh. We've survived another winter. Today is the day we've all been waiting for--opening day.

I'm not gonna get all philosophical on you with the "time stands still on opening day" or "hope springs eternal" stuff. That, perhaps, is for another time. I'm also not going to share what I was originally going to post today--the story of my nephew's fight with leukemia. Alas, that is for another time, too. Today is about springtime and celebration, even if it's true my Rockies don't have a chance again this year. ::sigh::

In the last 18 months, we've lost three important people in our lives. Yeah, I'm going to share Nate's story another time but today is about Mark. Mark was one of my college friends; the sort of person I loved dearly but didn't always know what to do with or how to approach. He could send me over the edge like no one, but he had a heart the size of Texas, was a life-long Cardinals fan, and he was my friend.

It wasn't always that way. We didn't get a long at all when we first met in college. I found him to be brash, arrogant, and chauvinistic--and he was all of those things and would tell you that himself. Finally, Mark wormed his way into my heart. We did have a lot of things in common--books, music (including a deep and undying love for "Ladies of the Canyon" and Bruce Cockburn's early albums), movies, and of course, baseball.

Mark, as I mentioned, was a Cardinals fan from way back and one of those who could quote any record as far back as you wanted to go, and was a bit (just a bit...) of a baseball purist. His joke, which I stole (with his blessing) was that when he became Supreme Ruler of the Universe, the first thing he would do would be to eliminate the Designated Hitter. He hated the DH and wild card and anything else that took away from the purity of the game. Like Jose Canseco.

Mark and I decided we'd go on a date. I remember the conversation but I don't remember how it came about. We used to spend our summer afternoons and evenings (we were in college) going to Zephyr-Bear games. The Zs were our AAA team and it killed Mark just to call them the "Zephyrs" since the Bears had been our team before they arrived in town. One afternoon we decided we'd go on a date. Our first date would be at the first major league game in Denver--whenever that might be. We joked that our grandchildren might be in tow and we might live in different parts of of the country, but we would be there.

We got our "date" sooner than expected. Denver agreed to build a park (never, ever a "stadium" to Mark; a stadium is for football....) and we got the Colorado Rockies in 1993. Mark and our friend Jess traveled to New York for the first three games against the Mets at Shea. And then, on a sunny April afternoon, we got our date. Mark, Jess, Amanda, and I met for lunch at the Wazee Supper Club and walked over to Mile High Stadium, along with 80,000 of our closest friends.

Mark stepped away to buy programs for everyone and missed the historic first at-bat--Eric Young's dinger out of the park off of Bryn Smith of the Expos. We teased him about that for weeks, and actually years. Everyone was pumped up that day. Mark gave a lively interview to someone from a Montreal TV station, and announced to all who were in earshot that we were on our first date and that we were going to name our kids Javey Lopez and Elvis Lucifer (don't ask). That was one of the best days of my life and one of the best days of Mark's life.

We went to every opening day and closing day we could. It was one of our baseball rituals, along with never arriving late or leaving early. There was more than one freezing cold game where we sat huddled together, drinking hot chocolate, and praying that they'd call the game. April in Colorado is often cruel but baseball fans must remain focused and committed.

We also had the home plate ritual. We always entered Coors Field (or whichever park we were at) the same way. You must find the entrance closest to home plate, walk up to the top of the stairs (before the usher shoos you away....), stop, remove your cap, take a deep breath, and pause a moment soak it all in. I still do this.

Curiously, Mark never drank beer at baseball games--ever. He felt it made people act stupid and it took away from the details of the game. It was difficult to keep score and keep your focus if you were drinking beer. He also cursed Jeff Bagwell (Baaaagwell, you suuuuck!) and Jose Canseco at every opportunity.

And when Nigel moved to Colorado and we got married, Mark took him under his wing, teaching him everything he could about the game--the history, the rules, the nuances. (As a funny side note, Nigel's first baseball game was not with Mark or with me, but with my stepdad and my rabbi, about five days after he arrived in the country.... And still, he stayed.)

Mark died last summer. He was a long-distance truck driver and he was found dead in his cab just outside of Denver in mid-July, dead at 48 of a massive heart attack. I hadn't talked to Mark in more than a year. Our friendship was strained, for any number of reasons, but there was one constant: I did love him. I hope he knew that. He enriched my life and gave me so many laughs and great memories. Opening day was one of the things Mark lived for and I will always remember him fondly on this, the most important day of spring.

Play ball.

April is the Cruellest Month

Welcome to National Poetry Month. I suppose this post is a counterweight to yesterday's....

Lots of good info and poems are available here: http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/41

and I will leave you with an e.e. cummings gem my friend Maria reminded me of this week. I'll spare you the T.S. Eliot.

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having--
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
--it's april (yes,april;my darling) it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving--
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
--alive;we're alive,dear: it's (kiss me now) spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living--
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
--it's spring (all our night becomes day) o, it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing; are dancing)