Why We Can Never Send Wrigley to Public School

Today, Wrig used the word "spritzify," as in "I'll spritzify the toys clean." I have no idea-ification where the child learned such inappropriate langwamage, but I sincerely doubt that "spritzify" appears as the correct answer on any of the many Oregon State standardized tests she'll need to pass to graduate kindergarten.

I Love My Neighborhood

We had breakfast with Gus Van Sant today. Okay, okay. We had breakfast near Gus Van Sant today.

At Zell's, Gus sat at the very next table. It took every ounce of energy I had not to gush over Gus, but I managed to avoid making an ass of myself. I was kind of hoping he would notice how adorable Wrigley is and cast her as the lead in his next film, but no such luck.

So much for our brush with greatness.

Digital Takes a Lot of Juice!

My camera takes 8 batteries! 6 AA and 2 camera batteries. It's the AA that always give me trouble. I charged them a couple of days before we went to Seattle for Sue and Dan's wedding, but then I left the camera on. It goes into sleep mode after 15 seconds, but it still sucks up energy with 2 little symbols on the screen showing me I haven't actually turned it off. We have precious few photos of the goings on, and of course none of the bride and groom! Oh, and when the batteries are low, I usually waste energy by first taking each picture without a flash!





We picked up some batteries and got better pictures of our hike.
Juicy blackberries.

A teenager caught a bunch of grasshoppers and showed them to Wrigley. Wrigley's got two on her arm.



Typical Seattle Skyline

Three Things You Probably Didn't Need to Know About the Umpires' Locker Room at Safeco Field

1. The Umpires’ Room is stocked to the rafters with all the necessaries: lockers, showers, sun tan lotion, hair mousse, foot fungus spray and …
2. … the second bathroom stall has a crate (yes, a crate) full of Playboy magazines (hey ump! Don’t you know that’ll make you go blind!). And, coincidentally …
3. … the door to the Umpires’ Room is labeled, of course, in Braille.

Take Me Out to the Wedding

(As told by Dave Niehaus and Rick Rizzs)

It’s a beautiful day out for marriage, ladies and gentlemen. The temperature outside is in the high 70s and the roof here at Safeco Field in Seattle is wide open. We’re here to see an exciting match between Susan Carrell of Portland, Oregon and Dan Albertson of somewhere up in Washington and, Rick, you couldn’t ask for a better day.

That’s right, Dave, you sure couldn’t. This is the nicest setting for a wedding that I’ve seen since the Backyard BBQ of Ed and Christie Kline, way back in 1994. That was a wedding to remember.

Especially the brisket, Rick. Especially the brisket. Well, on to today’s wedding.

Here comes the groom and the groomsmen! They’re working their way across the field, headed for the home dugout. They’re followed in short order by the family members.

Take a look at that! Here comes the groom’s mom. She’s not three steps onto the field and she’s already crying.

This must be a very emotional moment for her, Dave.

I think everybody’s a little choked up today. As the family comes in, you can see the groom over there, waiting at the top step of the home dugout.

He looks ready there, Dave. Full of poise, confidence. He looks like he belongs where all the Mariner greats have waited to take an at-bat.

Let’s hope he gets up there and knocks one out of the park!

And at long last, here comes the bride! She looks great, dressed in the home whites. Talk about poise! She gives her mom a kiss and her dad a big hug. The groom comes down to greet the bride’s family. This is one of the big moments … and there’s a handshake with the father of the bride!

That sure looked like a firm handshake. I think he’s over one of the biggest hurdles and it ought to be smooth sailing from here.

Not so fast, Dave – he’s still got to recite the vows without his voice cracking. Many a man has lost control during the reciting of the vows.

A hush falls over the crowd as the ceremony begins. Dan escorts Susan to home plate, where the groomsmen and bridesmaids await. The bride and groom are addressing the crowd, thanking them and thanking their parents. Wow! Ninety-three years of marriage between the parents! That’s quite a winning streak!

And no voice cracking yet, Dave.

And now they’re set. And the vows! Right down the heart of the plate!

And the kiss!

My, oh, my! The crowd goes wild!

Scientist or English Major?

Part 1: A Basic Science Lesson

For as long as I can remember, I've enjoyed lying flat on my back while tossing a ball up and down and up and down and so on. There are plenty of variations on the theme, such as "Trying Not to Hit the Ceiling But Getting Really Close" or "Letting the Ball Get as Close to Your Face as Possible Without Breaking Your Nose." I've even mastered the art of "Juggling While Flat on Your Back."

Lately there's a new variation: "Toss a Ball Up and Down While Your Daughter Lies on Her Back on Your Belly." It's the giggliest variation yet! Today while I was tossing a bean bag with Wrig on my belly, we had the following discussion about gravity:

D: That's interesting. Every time I throw it in the air it comes back down. Why doesn't it just stay in the air?
W: Because it's not a lamp. (subtext: Duh)
D: Do you think if it were a lamp, it would stay in the air.
W: Yeah.
D: (Puzzled, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt) Why do you think lamps would stay in the air?
W: (A pause. This question is harder) Because ... they are sticky!
D: Lamps are sticky?
W: Yes!
D: Can you show me any sticky lamps?

And without hesitation, little Miss Newton points to the light fixtures on the ceiling of our living room, hanging in the air because, unlike beanbags, lamps are sticky!

Part 2: Grammar for Dummies

Back when I was still at DU, I took a road trip to Vegas with a long lost buddy of mine. During the trip he played a really cool song that I have never gotten out of my head. I never knew the artist or the title, but I can't get the chorus out of my head: My gal is red hot/ Your gal ain't doodly squat!

I have taught Wrig many horribly inappropriate songs to sing (Violent Femmes, anyone?), so I figured it was time to work on a new one.

D: Okay, I say "My gal is red hot" and you say, "Your gal ain't doodly squat." Okay?
W: My gal is ...
D: No that's my part. I say "My gal is red hot" and you say ...
W: ...
D: "Your gal ..."
W: "is squat!"
D: Good! "Your gal ain't doodly squat." Try it.
W: "Your gal is ... squat."
D: Doodly squat.
W: Dooooodly squat!
D: Right on. Now do the whole thing: "Your gal ain't doodly squat."
W: "Your gal ain't doodly squat."
D: Okay, here we go: "My gal is red hot ..."
W: "Your gal ... isn't doodly squat."

I think she spends too much time at the library, that's what I think.

Another Thought on Dogs

One of the most interesting things about our trip to Breck was the absence of Cleo, Grammy and Granddaddy's slobbery black lab. Cleo was a remarkably good natured pup - she even let Wrig play with her tail - and her presence provided a rhythm to the day: Cleo's evening walk was sorely missed. Throughout the trip, we kept finding things left behind (in Cleo's wake, as it were), so I guess you could call the following a "found poem."

Leftovers

I keep stumbling over this
dog shaped hole
which will not be filled
by these stray tennis balls,
dry as a bone,
that half empty bag of kibble
gathering dust,
or the single black hair
which I cannot brush from my sleeve.