The Stars Shine Bright

Rose was still mildly displeased with the “rogue wave” that had stolen her phone, but not enough to fail laughing at Carrie for mistaking a pretzel washed up on the beach for a “circular crustacean.” (The jury was still out on that one.) Rose had also gotten herself involved with the Pica-Pica, which around here is Spanish for Itchy-Itchy. Something about tiny snails invading the upper layer of the epidermis.

“Guess you’ll never be able to live by the ocean,” was Carrie’s scientific conclusion.

So while Rose tried not to paw at her “itchies” as she lovingly labeled them, the three girls and Mom careened off to their morning of rehabilitated sea turtles while I hit Game Two with a bag of bottled water and Naked Bee sunblock. I needed it.

Forty-five minutes I waited outside the gate, and sat another 90 on the cement behind the yellow line for a perfect view. Worth it. I was told more than once that I’d found the best standing-room-only spot in the stadium. So I privately congratulated myself and stood ground for five innings. In that time, John Mozeliak walked by a few times, still in white and pink stripes, just a few rows removed. Then skyscraper Chris Carpenter, the man himself, tattooed legs and all, walked his young daughter to the row just past Mo’s. I guess you could say it was surreal. I didn’t think about it at the time; too much to take in.

So inning 6 came around, and the elderly usher in white and orange Hawaiian shirt walked back over to me:

“You here by yourself?”

He passed me a blue ticket. Four rows back from home plate, the closest I had ever been. Close enough to see Matt Holliday grimace when he struck out and Yadi give his wife the “let’s go” sign in the box seats above us when he was removed from the game. And a win.

Jetty’s on the Water for an early dinner. Packed with fans. Another Cardinals – well, Adam Wainwright – recommendation.

“I don’t like that guy,” Carrie said slyly, before we ordered.

Mostly because she hadn’t been so impressed with the Thirsty Turtle, or the prices at Jetty’s. Although she did admit that she had never before seen a restaurant pack that fast at 4:30 on a Wednesday. Hawaiian chicken for me. Definitely the most expensive item I’ve ever ordered at a restaurant. Granted, admits the girl who orders grilled cheese at a Hermann winery. It just can’t be helped. My taste buds are truly warped.

Another beach, another sunset, and watching the light at Jupiter Head on the way back for more hair braiding and discussions, which – as is truly the Snicketts girls way – included nothing of a feminine nature in any fashion. I guess we deserve a medal.