“Love You, Too.”

Posted on May 9, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

My mom’s last words to me were “Love you.”

That was seven years ago and she died – somewhat expected-unexpectedly – soon after.

I was her only child and we talked by phone every day. Those final words are especially comforting because we didn’t know that call would be our last.

She wasn’t very happy with me that day. But, no matter how angry we were with each other, or frustrated, or resigned to the other’s insolence, stupidity, or stubbornness, we always ended every phone call with “Love you.” “Love you, too.”

No matter what.

Here are four people and things my mom would love today if she were here …

1) Jose Altuve. My mom was nearly 5’11”. She enjoyed being taller than most everyone in her world. (“I don’t know how you ended up so short,” she would say to me since I’m just 5’6”. “Your weak gene pool,” was my answer. This would get me the silent treatment for a few hours.)

But, my mom would have loved Houston Astros second baseman Jose Altuve, because, although just 5’5”, he excels in a sport meant for taller, bigger, beefier players. She loved it when an underdog made good.

She would love to see Altuve do this …

Altuve starts an amazing double play on Thursday.

And, this on May 2 …

“How about this for the little guy!”

2) Adam Jones. Baltimore Orioles All-Star centerfielder Adam Jones doesn’t mince words – winning or losing – and plays hard every day.

When he slammed into an uncushioned wall at Yankee Stadium on Friday night, banging himself up badly, his words to his manager were only, “I should have caught that ball.”

My mom had a rare medical condition that kills most people it affects, but she lived with it for nearly 40 years. She lived in a lot of pain, but she rarely let on and never let it limit her. (She’s probably a little pissed that I’m even telling you this. But, now that I have, she would insist I also tell you that it wasn’t what killed her.)

She would love a gamer like Jones who could shake off a collision, not complain, and just keep playing.

3) Girls Playing Baseball. My mom was pretty clear on this – girls should have the same opportunities as boys. Period. My mom was all for women Presidents, women priests, and women playing sports at the same level as men.

Had she thought much about it, she would have been insulted to learn that girls are encouraged to play softball because it’s believed they aren’t up to the rigors of baseball. She would be all for girls playing baseball just to stick it to the idiots who think they can’t.

(I’m pretty sure she would enjoy the fact that blogging about baseball is mostly a guy thing, but I’m doing it anyway.)

NPR’s Only A Game shared a story this week about “Baseball For All”, a girls baseball academy.

4) This Blog Post. When I was in, I think, seventh grade, my mom was in a snippy mood one day early in May and said to me, “I don’t want anything from you for Mother’s Day.” I made the mistake, born of innocence and youth, to believe her. I took my allowance, went to Woolworth’s, and bought myself a record with the money I had set aside for her gift. This, as I’m sure you have guessed, was a mistake. I eventually realized that “I don’t want anything from you” was mom code for, “Don’t you dare forget this holiday.”

I haven’t missed one since. This is for mom. Love you, too.

Me and mom. (I’m the short one.)

The Japanese Maple On 33rd

Posted on April 17, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

Even flowers can bring you back to baseball.

Yesterday, Kassie, a massage client, walked into my office here in Virginia carrying a Mason jar of blooms.

(It’s one of the great joys of being a massage therapist and yoga teacher – clients and students take such good care of me … bringing fresh vegetables from their gardens in summer, handfuls of flowers, and countless other kindnesses. They are wonderful.)

But, back to baseball …

I asked Kassie about each bloom that she had just picked on her farm that morning.

There were full-blooming white dogwoods, yellow forsythia (a bush I never knew until I moved to Virginia, where it is as ubiquitous here as grits for breakfast) tiny juddi verbernum flowers which made our porch fragrant like cinnamon this morning, a twig of Japanese maple leaves heavy with seeds, and a feather that a resident peacock had dropped in their farmyard.

She explained why the Japanese maple was so special.

Kassie grew up in Baltimore. Specifically, I knew from past conversations, she grew up on 33rd Street. If you know your Orioles baseball history, you know that before there was Camden Yards, the Orioles played for nearly 40 years in Memorial Stadium. On 33rd Street.

Public Domain by Jmj1000 via WikiCommons

I’ve often teased Kassie about not being a baseball fan when the Orioles were playing just up the street from her. Instead, she and her siblings would sit on their stoop and wave to the fans walking to and from the games.

The Dogwood & Japanese Maple twigs.

The maple twig in the jar, she said, came from a tree that once stood in her front yard on 33rd Street when she was growing up.

When her family left Baltimore and moved to a farm in central Virginia in the mid-1970s, her father decided the Japanese maple would move, too. It wasn’t huge, but it already stood a few feet high, and he carefully dug out the enormous root ball beneath. It made the transition from Maryland to Virginia and has been growing here ever since.

“So, you’re saying that this twig is from a tree that watched people walk to Orioles games in the 1960s and 1970s?” Yup.

Those years included amazing seasons when the Orioles were more dominant than the Yankees and in which the O’s played in four, and won two, World Series. As soon as the tree moved, the Orioles faded. Well, for a few seasons anyway.

This twig is a lucky Orioles twig.

Kassie thinks I’m a little crazy, but I love these flowers in their Mason jar, especially the Japanese maple twig.

Her family tree was a seedling that came from their Baltimore neighbor who had a koi pond and formal Japanese garden in his back yard. I like to think that the original “mother” maple is still there on 33rd Street, even though the Orioles moved downtown 23 years ago.

Kassie has promised to bring me a seedling that is bound to sprout up underneath her family maple tree this season.

And, I will plant it and have my own 33rd Street Japanese maple in my yard.

This could be just the boost the O’s need to take them through October.

Thank you to Kassie for being a friend and for allowing me to tell this story, even though I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m loopy.

Photos: © The Baseball Bloggess

Waffles, Pete Rose, & Yard Goats

Posted on March 22, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

With no baseball, you’d think winter was simply a waste of four otherwise perfectly good months.

You could be right. But, I spent this past off-season productively – reading stuff and learning stuff.

Now, with just two weeks until Opening Day, it’s time to share some of my newfound expertise.

I’m here to answer questions with that declarative I-am-right-and-you-are-wrong decisiveness that comes when you’ve learned stuff (or think you know stuff, or can talk faster and louder than your friends at dinner).

Some of these questions came from real readers of this blog.

I made the rest up. Which is the prerogative of an expert.

Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?

No.

But, is Animal House still the greatest movie of all time? Sadly, probably not.

For years I’ve said that Animal House is the greatest movie ever made. And, I meant it. Trust me, I’ve watched it a lot.

That the San Francisco Giants remade its greatest scene in 2013 only made it greater.

(None of those Giants – not even Hunter Pence – had ever seen Animal House. Sad, really.)

I watched Animal House again last week and, in light of the horrible fraternity news that’s been spewing out lately like vomit at a college kegger, it sort of ruined it for me.

(This? Still funny.)

But, drinking too much, degrading women, sadistic hazing, racism? Not funny.

Leave it to the frats to ruin this movie for me. Losers.

When are you going to finish War & Peace?

I started Tolstoy’s War & Peace as the off-season began.

I read it because I wanted to know if it was really the greatest book ever written, as literary experts say … and if it’s so great, why haven’t any of my friends read it?

My goal? Finish the 1,200-page book by Opening Day.

I’m often a last-minute slacker … but, guess what?

I finished it last Tuesday.

The whole thing.

The booky part.

War.

And, Peace.

Both Epilogues. The Appendix. And, all the footnotes. Hundreds of them, from two different translations.

I don’t think I can be much done-er than that.

And?

It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read.

You should read it. Then, whenever someone asks you a tough question – about anything – you can pause thoughtfully, then say, “Well, as Tolstoy reminds us in War & Peace …” and then just answer the question however the hell you want. Who’s going to know?

Let’s try it.

Is Animal House the greatest movie of all time?

“Well, as Tolstoy says in War & Peace’s second epilogue, the present can color our view of the past. So, despite all the dreadful recent news from fraternities, it should not color Animal House’s overall cinematic greatness. After all, 1978 was a very different time.”

See?

You can make up all the crap you want. Chances are the person you’re talking to hasn’t read War & Peace, so you’re in the clear. They’re going to think you’re really smart. (And, a little annoying. They’re probably right about that.)

(Tolstoy would agree with me about Animal House, by the way.)

Waffles or Pancakes?

Waffles. Those little squares are absolute perfection … each one waiting to be turned into a delicious little syrup pond.

By Dvortygirl, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Waffles perfected the one fatal pancake flaw … “syrup slide,” where your syrup slides off the pancake and onto the plate, making it useless.

When we start eating ice cream out of “pancake cones” you can argue with me.

By MarkBuckawicki, CC0 via Wikimedia Commons

Until then, waffles.

This next question comes from WebMD – the popular health website – which really sent me this question by email:

No.

(See how easy this experting thing is?)

This post is just pretext to get us to ask about that tweet you sent last month, isn’t it?

I’m so glad you asked!

Here it is …

Orioles All-Star outfielder, and crossword puzzle clue, Adam Jones saw my tweet, proclaimed my puzzle “coo” (baseball, hip, twitter-speak for “cool”) and retweeted it to his 168,000 followers.

I was viral in a very small, but satisfying, way, for nearly an hour.

When not tweeting, Adam Jones plays center field for the Baltimore Orioles.

Yes, I ultimately finished the puzzle, but I needed brainiac Editor/Husband’s help to do it …

Finally, two baseball questions.

Should Pete Rose’s lifetime ban from baseball be lifted?

Of course not.

Rules are rules.

In 1989, Pete Rose accepted a lifetime ban from baseball because of his gambling.

In 2007, he admitted publicly that he bet on the Reds “every single night” when he was manager of the team.

Here’s baseball’s Rule 21(d) that is posted prominently in every major and minor league clubhouse:

“Any player, umpire, or club or league official or employee, who shall bet any sum whatsoever upon any baseball game in connection with which the bettor has a duty to perform shall be declared permanently ineligible.”

I think we’re done here.

What will Hartford’s Minor League team be called?

Earlier this month, we got to vote on a new name for the Rockies’ AA affiliate. I came around on Yard Goats, because it refers to the little engine that shuffles cars around in a rail yard.

Yard Goats won!

By Lexcie, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Just think, a steam whistle can blow for every Hartford home run!

Tolstoy coined the term “Yard Goat” in War & Peace, you know. Crazy isn’t it?

But, he did.

I mean, hey, prove me wrong.

Base-Ball. On Ice.

Posted on January 28, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

baseball on ice 1

“Games, you remember, go by a kind of immutable rotation – as much a law of childhood as gravitation of the universe. Marbles belong to spring, to the first weeks after the frost is out of the ground. They are a kind of celebration of the season, of the return to bare earth. Tops belong to autumn, hockey to the ice, base-ball to the spring and summer, football to the cold, snappy fall. … If you played ‘em out of time, they didn’t seem right; there was no zest to them.” ~ Walter Prichard Eaton in Scribner’s, 1911.

(Spinning your tops in the spring? Unzesty.)

There wasn’t much snow in Central Virginia yesterday. Just a splatter. Or, maybe someone just emptied a bag of cotton balls out in the yard.

You can’t do much with a snow like that.

By noon it was gone.

Time to get on with spring.

Some people argue that baseball season goes on too long, that games are too long, that everything should just be shortened up, speeded up, and wrapped up quickly.

They are wrong. Who wants more baseball-less winter?

In the 1860s, “Ice Base-Ball” was invented to keep the season going longer.

Ice baseball Washington Park 1884 by C.J. Taylor

“Base Ball On Skates” by C.J. Taylor in Harper’s, 1884

A few teams in Brooklyn – and later in Chicago and Philadelphia – gave it a go and you can find reports of it through the early 1880s or so.

Some games had 15,000 fans out in the cold watching players skate around the bases.

(Imagine this … Billy Butler. Stealing second. On skates.)

(You’ll be thinking about it all day, won’t you? Maybe this baseball on ice thing isn’t such a bad idea.)

Following a game between the New York Mutuals and Atlantics in January 1871, The New York Sun noted that the bases were drawn on the ice with paint and ashes, the ice “was in fine condition” and “[t]he play was good.”

The Mutuals lost, although the reporter neglected to give a final score.

The game’s highlight? “In the second innings, [sic] one of the Mutuals, Shreeves, took the bat and struck at the first ball pitched to him. The next that was seen of him he was lying in a heap on the ice, while his bat was flying over the heads of the spectators.”

Fun.

Just 21 days until pitchers and catchers report to warm places where the only ice is in drinks and wrapped around sore muscles.

In the meantime, here’s a hardy women’s team in Toronto playing baseball on ice in 1924.

The “latest in Winter sports – demands skill, speed and strong clothes.”

(Don’t forget your strong clothes … there’s still a bit of winter left out there.)

A Catcher, A Giraffe, A Wind Chillier Day

Posted on January 9, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

It is, indeed, a dark winter day when a forecaster on the radio says the “wind chill will get wind chillier” and the biggest move of 2015 in Orioles baseball is yesterday’s minor league signing of J.P. Arencibia.

“We signed J.P. Arencibia! We signed J.P. Arencibia!”

Now the Orioles have five catchers.

To go with their six starting pitchers.

(Who needs three outfielders when you have five catchers and six starting pitchers?)

And, look! He pitches, too!

It is, indeed, a dark winter day when you have no baseball to write about except J.P. Arencibia.

So, instead, here’s a picture of a giraffe.

Yes, he is old. Retired from an old carousel. He is wonderful. He is mine.

Wait, he’s missing something.

There.

Yes, that’s a real batting practice cap. It once belonged to the Orioles trusty, side-arming, submariney reliever Darren O’Day. He signed it.

(A giraffe’s horns are called ossicones, by the way.)

Welcome to Birdland, J.P.! (And, don’t forget to pack a parka, because I’m told the wind chill will get even wind chillier before this winter ends.)

Just In The Nick Of Time

Posted on December 31, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

This is true (and it reveals more about me than most of my posts). In 1999, I began to fret about the aughts.

Not that Y2K thing, because worrying about complicated techy things is well beyond my scope of practice.

Instead, I was genuinely concerned about how we were going to say what year it would be.

2000. That one was easy. Two-Thousand. Done.

2001. Two-Thousand-One. Or, Two-Thousand-AND-One? Twenty-Oh-One?

For that first decade, we pretty much settled into the Two-Thousand model.

But, for the past few years, it’s back to the back-and-forth. Here it is the dawn of 2015, shouldn’t this be cleared up by now?

Is it nearly Twenty-Fifteen? Or, Two-Thousand-Fifteen?

Did they have this problem 100 years ago? Or, was Nineteen-Whatever always the unassailable, easy winner?

Will we ever decide?

So Happy Twenty-Fifteen.

If that’s what you call it.

Here’s some of what I learned in 2014.

(Twenty-Fourteen? Two-Thousand-Fourteen? Your choice.)

** Things Change.

I don’t like change … just to change. It should serve a purpose.

Strangely though, things often have a way of changing on their own without asking my approval.

Like this year.

Nick Markakis, the Ever-Oriole, goes to the Atlanta Braves.

I’m forced to find a new home for my Yoga studio.

I didn’t approve either change. But, I’m stuck with them.

But, my new Yoga studio is now twice as large so people won’t have to press themselves together like ship stowaways anymore, huddled and smacking into each other whenever they twist.

It’s going to be great.

Maybe change is good afterall.

Unless your team just lost Nick Markakis, Nelson Cruz, and Andrew Miller.

Crappy change.

But, if Orioles GM Dan Duquette has an amazing January Surprise in store that will fill the outfield corners and bullpen, I might forgive him.

** Some Things Aren’t What They Seem.

I really like this photo I took in Charlottesville during the NCAA Super Regionals last June. It was the deciding Game 3, University of Maryland vs. University of Virginia.

That’s UVa closer Nick Howard (currently on the fast track with the Cincinnati Reds) on the mound looking a little harried. And, in the dugout, is a Maryland Terp, not troubled at all.

Which is funny, because it was the ninth inning and the score was 11-2, UVa.

Nick had it in the bag. And, that Terp’s season was two outs away from over.

But, you don’t get that from the picture.

In any event, I mostly like it because both players appear to be tipping their caps. Even though, that’s also not what it seems.

Other things that aren’t quite what they seem that I’ve written about this year?

The boy in Little League that turned out to be a girl – Tubby Johnston, the first girl ever to play Little League.

Photo Courtesy of Kay “Tubby” Johnston

And, Buttercup Dickerson, who’s credited with being the first Italian American to play major league baseball – except that I discovered he wasn’t Italian American at all.

Public Domain

** Be Prepared.

A photographer friend reminds me that a good photographer must anticipate where and when the spontaneous moment – and perfect picture – will occur.

I have yet to get my anticipation right at a game. Stolen base, breathtaking play in the outfield, close play at the plate? I’ve seen ‘em all and every single photo is just a little late. Never in the nick of time.

Except one.

It was right after that Nick Howard photo. One out, ninth inning, UVa is up 11-2.

What happens when a bunch of college boys are about to advance to the College World Series?

I knew.

So, with one out, I pointed my camera at the mound, fussed with the shutter, held it there, and waited.

True, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.

Maryland singles. Man on first. Pop out. Two out. I kept checking the camera to make sure I still had it right. More waiting. And, then, strike three. Three out. Game Over.

Cue, dog pile.

Finally.

** War & Peace Is A Very Long Book.

Unlike baseball games which are not nearly as long as you think they are, War & Peace is long. First there’s peace, then there’s war, then more peace, then back to war.

Look, I’m halfway through …

Stevie wishes she could read.

And, there is a central character named Nick. (Nikolai Rostov for you Tolstoy purists.)

Jeremy Brett as Nikolai in the 1956 film.

He’s an ordinary sort of fellow. Some pages ago he lost a bunch of money gambling. It was quite stupid of him and his ordinariness annoys me. When he shows up for a chapter or two, I find myself wondering what the more interesting characters are doing.

To be fair, Nikolai would agree with me. At one point, he tells his sister how tiresome and boring his life is.

But, there’s still a long way to go.

And, if there’s one thing I learned this year, things change and you gotta roll with it. Maybe things will change for Nikolai.

_______

That’s my 2014 wrap-up.

Done, just in the nick of time …

Now, I’m off to teach my first classes in my new Yoga studio.

(See, change is good.)

See you in Twenty-Fif … Two-Thousand-Fift …

See you next year.

(I’ll miss you, Nick.)

Posted on December 4, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

There’s a lot of “suck” in the world today.

Crime and riots and war and disasters and oppression and intolerance and Ebola and famine and corruption and apathy and terrorism and racism and, as John Lennon once said, this-ism and that-ism. Just a whole load of flat-out evil.

It makes my heart hurt.

I don’t write about that. So many people write about it much better than I could.

I just write about simple things. Like baseball.

I suppose you expect me to write today about how it sucks that Nick Markakis – old reliable, life-time Oriole, working man, no flash, do your job and do it well, Nick Markakis – signed last night with the Atlanta Braves.

Yup.

It sucks.

But, it’s just a game.

I sometimes use baseball like I use Yoga … as a little blanket fort to hide under.

Nothing really bad ever happens in baseball. Oh sure, the occasional PED thing. Some cheating. Bad calls. Some broken bones. John Lackey.

But, it’s just a game.

Nothing bad ever really happens in Yoga either. Except for this damn groin pull that’s been going on four months now. But, really … not so bad.

When it comes to doing business deals with friends (rarely a good idea), a friend once said, “Buddies are buddies and business is business.”

And, in baseball, “Business is business.”

And, that part of the game sucks for fans who have enough difficult “business is business” in our own world and look to baseball to be somehow above that.

It’s not above that.

Nick Markakis was drafted by the Orioles in 2003.

And, depending on who you listen to this morning, the Orioles shoo’d Nick away because their persnickety medical team was antsy over a neck issue … or Nick jumped to make a few million more and a longer contract.

Were the Orioles disloyal and cheap? Was Nick disloyal and greedy?

Maybe. I dunno.

There was a time when Cal Ripken played every game … every single day. Year in and year out, he played. Drafted an Oriole. Played as an Oriole. Retired as an Oriole.

But, that doesn’t happen much any more.

For any of us, really.

I changed jobs and careers.

Who doesn’t change jobs or put on a new uniform from time to time?

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average American has been with their current employer 4.6 years.

Nick was with the Orioles 11 years. We’re much flightier than he is.

I change things from time to time.

But not everything.

These things won’t change for me:

1) Cheese should never be served as dessert.

2) R.E.M. is the greatest band of all time.

3) The Baltimore Orioles are, win or lose, Nick or no Nick, my team.

When Orioles pitcher Mike Mussina left in 2000 to sign with the Yankees, I was devastated. I’m still pretty steamed about the Orioles letting him walk, although not at “Moose” (who deserves to be in the Hall of Fame).

I’m pretty sore about this Markakis thing, too. I’m gonna miss Old Reliable in Right.

And, I wonder how Orioles center fielder Adam Jones is going to cover his position – plus the now-empty left and right fields – next season.

Sure, the Oriole Twitterers are apoplectic today. (Yay, I got to use “apoplectic”!) And, the Braves Twitterers seem resigned in a “Really? We signed who, why … wait, how much?” sort of way. (Relax, Braves Fans … he’ll be fine.)

There is so much more in the world to be truly sad about than a baseball guy changing teams.

It doesn’t suck. Not really.

(But, boy, I’m gonna miss you, Nick.)

Thankful For This Moment …

Posted on November 27, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

The Baseball Bloggess: “Stevie wants you to know that the camera adds five pounds.”‘

Editor/Husband: “How many did she eat?”

May you have much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. I’m grateful for all the people who swing by this blog from time to time … who pepper my posts with witty comments … and who love baseball (and cats) as much as me.

muttscomics.com

… And, this moment. And, you.

Now There Are Only Three

Posted on November 8, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

Eleven cats and one dog have lived with us here over the past 15 years or so.

They just keep showing up.

Living on a farm – even if it is a farm in name only – attracts all sorts of creatures.

I have loved each of the 11 cats and the one dog who showed up, moved in, and stayed.

(Sure, there have been others who have stopped by for a day or a week or a month and just moved on. I don’t count them.)

I do not like the groundhogs who dig bowling ball-sized burrows in our yard and waddle all smug and nasty and fearless when I yell at them to stop eating the tomatoes. (You can call them woodchucks or whistle pigs and I still will not like them.)

Over time the numbers of animals who live with us has dwindled. The cats and the dog came, grew old or ill, and then passed on.

I hate that part.

Because it breaks my heart every time I have to say “goodbye.”

Now there are only three.

This week the “goodbye” was for Lamar. He was only eight or so.

He was the most feral of the feral cats we’ve taken in. And, because there was so much wild in him to begin with, it was easy to grow very attached to the sweetness that seeped out around the feral edges.

I like that a cat’s love for a person is not unconditional. I like that there’s some wild independence in there. I like that we humans are always on probation with cats, and they can and will withdraw their affection at any moment.

I’ve always had an issue with dogs. I don’t like the unconditional love thing with dogs. I want to earn your friendship.

Groucho and Bingo. (1999-2000-ish)

Bingo, the Border Collie, loved me, but she also loved Tim, the UPS driver, and our neighbors, and the vet, and complete strangers, and anyone with food.

I’m also not a big fan of that dog-breath slobbery thing and I don’t understand why, if they’re so much smarter than cats, they can’t learn to use the litter box and cover up after themselves. Using the cat’s litter box like a salad bar really doesn’t make the case for “We’re smarter than cats.”

(I loved Bingo and she would want me to add that she never bothered the litter boxes.)

I’m pretty much a cat person.

When Lamar showed up seven years ago, he was so feral that it took me many months of sweet talk and food to soften him up enough just to touch him, and a few months more before he would let me lift him off the ground.

He was tough and built of muscle, but one day when he came out on the wrong side of a cat fight, his front paw was injured and he was hobbling just enough that we were able to catch him and get him into a pet carrier. Antibiotics and neutering followed.

Lamar became our farm protector. He protected Oscar, a very old cat that had left our neighbor’s house to live in our barn.

Oscar

Oscar was too old to fight or protect himself, but refused to come inside. It seems odd to say Lamar tended to him, but that’s what he did.

In the same way that cats will sometimes bring their people mice and moles and other “gifts”, Lamar brought a cat to us a couple years ago and let her eat out of his food bowl.

“Look. I brought you a cat.”

She followed him like a shadow.

She became Stevie and, when she discovered the warmth and creature comforts of being inside, she moved in.

Not long after, Lamar started losing more cat scuffles than he won, and then, much to his initial dismay, we decided that, feral or not, it was time for him to come in the house. And, feral or not, he quickly settled in, and he was the one cat in the house that every other cat in the house got along with.

We enclosed our front porch this year just so Lamar could enjoy the outdoors safely.

Lamar was fine on Thursday morning, he slept with us on the bed the night before. (He always slept wideways on the bed, taking up a lot of space and forcing me to curl my legs up tight so he could stretch out.) He was fine when we left for work.

His heart gave out that day – as cat hearts often do, quickly and without warning. And, that night we said goodbye.

He was a good cat. Handsome, wild, and sweet.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

I’ll miss him. I miss every one of them.

Seven Gold Things

Posted on November 5, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

These things are gold.

1) This tee-shirt.

Golden Boy!

“The reason he’s the Iron Man is because he goes out there and he plays every game.”

2) Ponyboy.

pony boy

“Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold.”

What? Too obscure? Ask a woman between the ages of 40 and 60 to explain The Outsiders to you …

3) These mums.

4) This tree.

5) This glove.

J.J. Hardy, Shortstop

Gold Gloves – 2012, 2013, 2014

6) This glove.

Adam Jones, Center Field

Gold Gloves – 2009, 2012, 2013, 2014

7) And, this glove.

Nick Markakis, Right Field

Gold Gloves – 2011, 2014

The Baltimore Orioles have been awarded 70 Gold Gloves, recognizing defensive excellence, since 1957 – the most in the American League and second only to the St. Louis Cardinals.

The Baseball Bloggess

Loves the 4-6-3 and the Serial Comma.

Category Archives: Life

“Love You, Too.”

The Japanese Maple On 33rd

Waffles, Pete Rose, & Yard Goats

Base-Ball. On Ice.

A Catcher, A Giraffe, A Wind Chillier Day

Just In The Nick Of Time

(I’ll miss you, Nick.)

Thankful For This Moment …

Now There Are Only Three

Seven Gold Things

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