Guess who...

...is going to the Jake Monday night for ALCS game 3???

Me!!!

Can I get an AMEN, somebody???

Gifts

It's been brought to my attention that maybe the dead animal gifts left on my doorstep are not specifically for me.

Maybe Mr. Big Fat Kitty Cat has a secret admirer. Maybe some nice neighborhood girl cat (or boy cat...there's nothing wrong with that) has a little crush on Mr. I Sleep In The Middle Of The Bed And I Don't Even Care Who Owns The Bed.

And I'm thinking Mr. I Can Eat As Many Sets Of POD Earphones As You Can Possibly Purchase better start learning to wield the Dead Animal Shovel (patent pending) and take control of the carcass situation...before he finds himself taking a little ride behind the garage on it, so to speak.

I'm just saying.

Dead

I watched baseball till midnight last night. Thank God we won and it's on to the division series or I'd be really ticked, instead of just tired, right now.

So tonight I come dragging home from work, half dead, the couch loudly calling me, to find a bird lying face down at my back door. And Jadn was in the house all day! There's no way he can take credit for this carcass.

I had to enter my domicile by the front door, for crying out loud. I wasn't taking any chances of the bird coming back to life and flying up my skirt, thank you very little.

So what does this dead bird mean? That some neighborhood cat is dropping dead gifts off for me? Or the poor dumb bird (I think they have brains as big as a grain of rice, don't they?) had a heart attack while he was flying toward my house and just dropped out of the sky? He was playing dive-bomber at my dinnette window and crashed?

Frankly, the whole thing is rather unsettling.

I kinda hate days that end with me getting the Dead Animal Shovel (patent pending) out of the garage and winging a carcass behind the garage.

Eewwww.

Wild Indians

It's my Pop's birthday. He'd be 78 today.

I spent the evening watching the Tribe in the Division Series and thinking about how my dad loved the Indians with this whole heart until they disappointed him one too many times and he just had to give up on them. He didn't have a choice; he had nothing left to give them.

I was hoping so much that they'd win tonight; on his birthday.

But the bastards lost, and so now we play again tomorrow.

I wish you were here, Pop. I wish you and me and D could watch it together; Mama would make the snacks and we'd have the sports sections from the Plain Dealer and the Vindicator, and we'd talk about who was hot and who is overpaid and over-rated. You'd tell us stories about when you used to take a bus to Cleveland Stadium on sunny Sundays in the 50's to watch a double-header. And about the time that you scored tix from Caterpillar and sat right behind the dugout; you were so close you could have called balls and strikes. And how the Indians coming off the field and into the dugout were looking you right in the eye.

You made it real for us...we were right there in the stadium with you, Pop.

You gave me so much. You taught me so much; not just about ERA's and batting averages and strategy, but about how playing a game can teach you so much about life. And you also gave that to my son.

We miss you every day of our lives.

But I miss you most during the Series.

Happy Birthday, Pop.

Love,
Betta