Buy Me Some Peanuts and Cracker Jack

Take me out to the ball game

Take me out to the crowd

Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack

I don't care if I never get back

Let me root, root, root for the home team

If they don't win, it's a shame

For it's one! two! three strikes! You're out!

At the old ball game.

Any baseball fan, or reasonably culturally literate American has already recognized that the titles to my last couple posts, including this one, refer to a great American sporting tradition.

It's called the seventh-inning stretch. 

While leaning back and enjoying a nine-inning baseball game, typically played at a leisurely three-hour pace, one can get a bit sore and stiff from sitting still so long. So it's a time-honored custom that halfway through the seventh inning, the players pause the game and the entire crowd stands up and takes a stretch break together. 

This stand-and-stretch routine dates way back to the mid-1800s, though its exact origin has been lost to the mists of time. 

Somewhere along the line, spectators began to sing as they stretched. "Take Me Out To The Ball Game," written in 1908 by a man who had never been to a baseball game, became the hands-down favorite sing-a-long during the seventh-inning stretch. Much of the credit for popularizing the tradition goes to Harry Caray, a longtime and dearly beloved broadcaster of Chicago baseball. 

The story goes that Harry would turn off his mic during the stretch and sing along with the crowd from the privacy of his broadcasting booth. But his gusto and enthusiasm for the song caught the attention of the team owner, who promptly had Harry's mic turned back on. The gimmick caught on. For decades, Harry's warm-hearted showmanship of leading the crowd in singing the song during the seventh-inning stretch was a highlight of any visit to the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, home of my beloved Chicago Cubs.

Harry Caray is gone from us now, bless his baseball-loving soul, but the tradition of the seventh-inning stretch lives on. I sang and stretched tonight at the Mariners game, and I experienced, as I always do, the swell of camaraderie, good sportsmanship and wholesome fun that sweeps through the crowd as we jump to our feet to belt out the song, and then mill happily together for a few moments after. It always happens like that.

This is one of the many reasons why we Americans are so crazy for our baseball. It's a game of honor, tradition, and good times. Not to mention the peanuts and Cracker Jack.

For more stories about stadium sports, check out:

Gomo Kelate Gomo!

GKG Glory

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Take Me Out To The Crowd

Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones

My Outing With Pjoe And Amy

As American As Apple Pie

#yolo
Hello At Last
My Twelfth Men
Tonight Is The Night
Face-Off

Take Me Out To The Crowd

Went back to Safeco Field tonight to watch the Seattle Mariners and the Boston Red Sox duke it out in the second of this three-game series. Although I was just at the stadium yesterday, I challenged myself to find some new photographic inspiration:

Look, I got new shoes!! I'm not the sort of person who typically buys a lot of shoes, but this pair was a necessity. See, I accidentally spray-painted my feet black today. While wearing flip-flops. Oops, not a pretty sight. And the only pairs of summery shoes I own are strappy, open, sandalish sorts of things and this was not the right look for my patchy black feet. So when I was making a quick Target run for some groceries before the game, I popped over to shoes and found these gems. I've been thinking about buying their ridiculous golden goodness all summer long, and in my moment of need, the price had dropped to a mere $12.48. I know. Insanity.

Before the first pitch, I entertained myself by trotting around my seating area at Safeco Field, looking for a good backdrop for a foot photo. I kind of love the way this one turned out.

Another glorious blue sky day for baseball, though this was a night game so the sun was dropping and the lights were on from the start. As a Wrigley Park devotee, I have mixed feelings about lights on baseball fields - the home of the Chicago Cubs refused to install lighting for night games until well into the 1980s. While I have come to love the drama and excitement of nine innings played under the bright lights, I still appreciate the spunk and resistance of the little club that held out against this form of unwelcome progress for so many decades. Go, Cubs!

Stadium seating satisfies a weird need in me for neat orderly geometries and crisp design. The spacing of these empty seats, the square wire grate, and the rhythmic row of cup holders just sing out to me. Love the OCD feelings that swell up in me when I look upon this perfection.

Alright, let's be honest. Cute new shoes aside, my feet always get cold at ball games. Which is why I always bring socks. I know, I know...I could wear warmer shoes to begin with, or I could throw on a pair of jeans, for heaven's sake. But there is something fun about pretending that it will be a nice warm summer's evening at the ball park, perfectly suited for shorts and sandals, when in reality, I know I will always be on the verge of hypothermia by the second inning. Which is why I pack woolly socks. And  two sweatshirts - one to wear conventionally, one to cover my legs.

A ball park is a hodge podge of multisensory bombardment and overstimulation. Flashing monitors, snippets of music spanning the decades, delicious smells from the surrounding grills, and opportunities for first-rate people-watching - I get distracted between pitches. In order to stay focused on the game, my secret weapon is the scorecard. By scoring the game, I obsessively follow each batter's turn at the plate, each ball put in play, each change in the line-up. I find it enjoyable and relaxing to use the clever code developed to record all this activity on paper, though I suppose that makes me a bit of a nerd.

But still, if I wanted only to watch the action on the field, I would be better off staying home. Going to see a game at the ball park is about so much more than just the game. There comes a time for putting down my scorecard to grab a handful of popcorn, spy on the people in the next row, try to guess which cap is hiding the ball, or be a part of the wave. Gotta love being part of that rowdy, good-natured, all-American baseball crowd.

For more stories about stadium sports, check out:

Gomo Kelate Gomo!

GKG Glory

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Buy Me Some Peanuts And Cracker Jack

Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones

My Outing With Pjoe And Amy

As American As Apple Pie

#yolo
Hello At Last

My Twelfth Men

Tonight Is The Night
Face-Off

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

Went to a Seattle Mariners baseball game today. Wanna see some pics?

Rolled up to Marinerland in a car bearing the Boston Red Sox's logo on the window. Oh, yes, I did. The Red Sox were the Seattle Mariners' opponent for the day, and while I've got nothing against my home team, I came to see the Bosox. Sorry 'bout it, Mariners.

{Yes, this shot is also a weirdly reflected self-portrait. Didn't intend to do that but there you have it.}

I parked south of the stadium and walked up this gigantic alley (or maybe it's a closed street) filled with tents full of hot dogs, sausages, kettle corn, peanuts as well as Mariner and Red Sox team jerseys and souvenirs; street musicians; sweet and savory scents; cool geometrically inspiring buildings; and baseball fans of every size, shape and social strata imaginable. I found it all intriguing, tried to take a billion photos, and eventually had to be dragged away to keep on my journey to the stadium. 

Yay, I made it. Such nice folks working at the stadium today - the bag checkers and ticket scanners were all chatty and genuinely friendly. As usual, my bag raised an eyebrow from the checker who took one look at its overstuffed shape and assume I am a pack rat; the truth is that I carry only my wallet, keys, phone...and clothes. Yep, I had a giant hoodie, wool socks and a hat crammed into my bag. Just in case. You never know when it might be freezing cold at the ball park, so I like to come prepared.

Once I made it past the checkers, my adrenalin surged. I always get super excited at this phase of entering any sports arena; I leaped up the stairs two at a time in anticipation of seeing this:

The first glimpse of the playing field! I always feel like I have stumbled on a magical secret..a huge, lush, green meadow inside of a steel forest, covered with tiny little sports-playing elves. I love the way the sunlight floods into the darkened stands, and I feel like I am peeking out onto a miracle. It takes my breath away every time.

Here's the view from my very own seat in the center field bleachers. I love the perfect symmetry of this seat, the fabulous lines of the mowed outfield, and the "Welcome to Safeco Field" sign. I am a diehard bleacher bum, going back to my roots at Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs. You can keep those shady grandstand seats - I'll take a bench in the sunshine any old time.

Of course, the big risk of sitting in the outfield bleachers is that an errant home run ball will drop down out of the skies when I am not looking and thunk me on the head. This is a very real problem, although with the Mariners and the Red Sox in the house, the odds of this catastrophe drop considerably. Heh, just kidding. Both teams are having a slow summer.

But still, I was greatly relieved to see that I was surrounded by noble protectors. Yep, two young men, one to my left and the other to my right, had brought their mitts to the game and were on guard, ready to snatch any home run balls that might come way way. Whew. Crisis averted.

Food and baseball go hand in hand, and it's fair to say that stadium food is always 1) overpriced, 2) high on the fats and oils, and 3) super-sized. Usually, I have a hard time finding the balance between starving to death or lapsing into a food coma, but today I got it just right. I ate exactly one half of this order of garlic fries, washed them down with a small Dr. Pepper, and then sat very still for about 45 minutes, feeling pretty darn stuffed yet able to breathe. I could hardly believe my excellent good luck. There were about 87 cloves of garlic on those potatoes, and untold amounts of oil, and honestly, they tasted like heaven. 

Glorious weather. Warm sun, gentle breeze, clear blue sky, nary a cloud in sight. When Seattle gets the weather right, you can count on having a PERFECT day. Today was one of them.

To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, the game was kind of a snore. There were only two scoring rallies, the pitching was okay but the defense was sloppy, and there were no memorable big plays, towering hits, or exciting showdowns on the bases. But what a great afternoon to sit in the sunshine and soak up nine innings of America's favorite pastime. I might just go do it again tomorrow!

For more stories about stadium sports, check out:

Gomo Kelate Gomo!

GKG Glory

Take Me Out To The Crowd

Buy Me Some Peanuts And Cracker Jack

Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones

My Outing With Pjoe And Amy

As American As Apple Pie

#yolo
Hello At Last
My Twelfth Men
Tonight Is The Night
Face-Off

Hope Is All Well And Good

Today, with many mixed emotions, I decided to rip out a huge pink climbing rose that was growing on the side of my house. It's a bit of an understatement to say that the beast was out of control, and yet, I am a little sad to see it go. 

However, after ripping it out, I found two lovely surprises:

Hidden away in that giant rose was this sweet little bird nest. After scooping it out of the tangle of rose canes, I gave it a new home in my Japanese maple tree. I don't think the owners would approve of this new location - it's now a little too out in the open for a family of baby birds. But I love to see it there, so cleverly and carefully made. Bird nests are full of hope, even when they are empty.

This is the view to the far right of my backyard, as seen from my kitchen window. Well, as seen now. Before today, that giant of a rose filled this corner of the window and when I looked out, all I could see was green. This is a nice enough view of my little back garden, but in another few weeks, I am pretty sure I am going to be able to see the sun set from this angle. Sunsets are full of hope too.

Although I will always miss my old pink roses, I am hopeful that I made this right decision today.

P.S. Don't worry, I still have another pink rose climbing up the back of my house, way better than the one I cut down. Hope is all well and good, but one can't live without pink climbing roses.

The Toasted Tomato Sandwich

When I was five years old, I met a girl in my neighborhood named Donica. We became fast friends, and spent many years running around our little country lake together. Like most good childhood friends, and especially one with older teenage sisters, Donica opened up new worlds for me. Hanging out at their house, I learned about the Beatles' White Album, Frank Sinatra (her dad liked to sing along), old reruns of Bonanza, why a striped skirt will probably make you look fat, Gone With The Wind, and chihuahuas. 

Perhaps most importantly, I remember the sunny summer afternoon, after we had been swimming for hours and thereby working up ravenous appetites, when Donica taught me about the glories of a fresh tomato sandwich.

To this day, I can think of no finer summertime treat.

And to this day, I think of Donica every time I eat one. 

Over the years, I have honed and perfected this technique to produce a warm, airy and delicate taste sensation. Here are my best tips:

Toast one slice of bread.

While the toaster is working its magic, slice up a home-grown tomato, fresh and warm from the garden.

Slice the tomatoes thin and cut lots - I usually pile on as many slices many as my bread can possible hold. Today, I only had one tomato so this sandwich is a little skimpy, but it was still fantastic.

Grab the mayo and the salt and pepper. Be ready to work fast.

The very instant that the toast pops, carefully divide the slice of bread into two skinny slices with a serrated knife. It's a tricky maneuver but worth the effort.

Quickly spread a layer of the mayo, then pile on the tomatoes and top with salt and pepper.

Smoosh the sandwich shut and eat it quickly, while it's still warm.

Experience the heaven.

When timed properly, the heat of the toast melts the mayonnaise just a bit, which then infuses the sun-warmed tomatoes and melds the whole sandwich together. With a good tomato, the flavors are delicate and sweet, and the thin layer of toast adds a subtle crunch.

Repeat many times. I usually eat at least two of these beauties, but in order to get that nice warm delicate flavor, the sandwiches must be always made one at a time.

Munching this amazing treat takes me back to my childhood, back to a time when 15-year-old girls seemed like goddesses and grown men singing mysterious songs on the record player filled me with confusion and awe. Gee, it's good to be back home.

Walking On Air

Ever have one of those simple jobs or quick chores that you just can't seem to get around to tackling? You're not exactly procrastinating, but it just keeps falling off the bottom of your To-Do list and there never seems to be a right time to get 'er done?

And then when you FINALLY bear down and accomplish this task, you feel like a million bucks. The angels break out a hallelujah chorus and you are soooo relieved and satisfied and happy with your efforts that you feel like you're walking on air?

Meet my walking-on-air project for today. Yes, it's a big orange ball. First I showed you the 'after' shot; now say hello to my 'before' big orange ball. 

Oh, isn't this a sad mess. Let me tell you how things got to be this way.

* * * * *

Once upon a time, I had a bright cobalt blue birdbath. But about a decade into its life, the 'bath' portion of the two-piece ensemble broke. I was devastated. Horrified at the sad prospect of throwing out the still-perfectly lovely pedestal, I decided to find a new life for it. 

I had recently conjured up the big red ball installation in my front yard, so I decided to try a big orange ball to sit atop the blue no-longer-a-birdbath. 

So far, so good. My problem was not one of conception but of execution. When I bought the white globe to serve as the big orange ball, I accidentally grabbed the version made of glass, instead of acrylic.

Big problem. My spray paint did not like that glass globe. No matter how many times I painted it, within a few days of life in the great outdoors, the bright orange color would chip away, leaving an ugly mess where orange bliss should have been.

The solution to this problem was clear: go back to Home Depot and buy an acrylic globe for eleven bucks. Drag out the orange spray paint and doll it up. Put the new beauty in the garden, throw the old one in the trash.

Despite the fact that I go to Home Depot at least once a week, it took me well over a year to fix my problem.

Oh, goodness. That's a long time to wait to solve such a simple problem, isn't it. 

And that's a long time to put up with either a chipped orange ball or a pathetically amputated birdbath in my backyard. 

And it's a super long time to have an item floating around on my To-Do lists. 

But finally, FINALLY, I can cross this one off my list, smile at the bright burst of color livening up a green corner of my garden, and rejoice in the birdbath's new life. 

Now you know why I'm walking on air. 

A Whale Of A Day

Who knew that today was the day for a cast iron mechanical coin bank of Jonah being fed to a whale to enter my life.

I never would have called that in a million years. But that's exactly what happened.

Found this gem at Value Village. There is a little dude wearing red robes in a yellow boat who is just about to toss his friend into the open jaws of a humongous black whale that is leaping up out of the green waves. Quite a concise and dramatic re-enactment of the story of Jonah and the whale, indeed; a story known to Christians, Jews and Muslims alike. Plus it's heavy as a cannonball too.

But this is more than just a sculpture or a shot put. Place a coin on the little black platform that is attached to Jonah's back, and push the metal lever on the side of the box. Suddenly, the man in the boat jerks to his left, and the coin shoots off poor Jonah and into the whale's gaping mouth. Just to add a realistic and slightly horrific touch, the creature's jaws move up and down too.

This mechanical storytelling bank is colorful and clever, ingeniously designed and more than a little bit creepy. Really, I have no words to describe how this creation fascinates me. But I'm very glad that it fell into my life today.