More Goodness
“Aaah! My itchies!”
“I don’t think the sea likes you, Rose.”
“It’s Poseidon,” Carrie added.
“No,” Rose concluded. “I already offered him a cow.”
Game Three: more billowing dark-white clouds, the sun catching Carrie’s shiny sequin ball cap here and there, but more sun burn. Once inside the gate, we made a run for the dugout. Shamelessly, I might add. And, no, we weren’t literally running in the ballpark. But we found four seats on cement steps while Carrie and Rose worked through raspberry and sour apple Blow Pops; Irish worked Sudoku in a free newspaper.
An hour later, the elite rockstar status gentlemen sauntered out onto the field in their red jerseys:
“WACHA! WACHA! OVER HERE WACHA!” the crowd crooned for one of their favorites.
The kid just gave a shy smile at no one and hustled back out of the dugout to the field. Irish’s favorites joined the group sheltered below: Robinson and Jay. But Irish wouldn’t yell for an autograph:
“No, no. I can’t do that to them. It isn’t nice.”
For her patience, four more impressively stoic Cardinals signed her game ticket: Luis Mateo, Kolten Wong, Stephen Piscotty, and Jhonny Peralta. We always debate whether they hate it, love it, or just don’t care.
When we joined Mom on the other side of the stadium, the game rolled out rapidly, including one of the Marlins getting hit in the face with a baseball, fracturing his nose. Other than that painful hiccup, and a narrow loss, I begin to wonder if I would ever get tired of this.
Empty Boston Market for a very late 4:30 lunch. Table packed with rotisserie chicken, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, gravy, and sweet cornbread. It had been years since we experienced it.
It was the best evening at the beach. Mansions, castles, gated on the other side of sand, jellyfish, and surging foam. The girls counted Mercedes-Benz, Jags, Bentleys, and other luxury vehicles on the drive through this elite neighborhood of multi-million-dollar homes. There wasn’t a storm, but dark sprawls of clouds and white clouds tumbling high over the Atlantic, reflecting rose and orange from the west. Crashing blue, soft sand.
Tired before nine, leftovers from the mini fridge, more “Which Cardinal…” games, more hair braids, and more HGTV.