My Lucky Day

One of the things I was really hoping to do while I was home was make it to Fenway Park. Alas, Red Sox tickets are expensive if not hard to find these days, and I'd resigned myself to watching games on TV during my stay here. And then around 2:30 or so yesterday afternoon I got a call from my friend Denny, casually inviting me to that night's game. Granted I had to blow off dinner with my uncle, but it took me about a second to say 'Uh, sure.'

Both Denny and his father own liquor stores here on the Cape, and if you know anything about liquor store owners, then you know that they often score tickets to desirable events from their vendors. This isn't the first time Denny has been kind enough to offer me dibs on extra Sox tickets, and the seats have always been far better than anything I've ever been able/willing to get my hands on.

It was a spectacular night for baseball, and the Sox did not disappoint. To boot, I got to see both Hideki Okajima and John Papelbon finish off the Bluejays, AND I ate a massive Italian sausage. Good times, with HUGE thanks to Denny for making it possible.

Here are some pics of the night at Fenway.










So I'm down to my last weekend here in America. I'll be flying out Monday morning, and shortly thereafter it'll be watermelon picking time for Chieko and I. Though it's something I've known and appreciated for a long time, I've just been blown away at how beautiful Cape Cod is during the summer. This has to be one of the best places to come home to.

In some sad news, my cat Buster still hasn't come home. It's been 3 days, and none of us here are really expecting him to be turning up. The picture of him in my previous post, along with the one below, was taken the day he disappeared, and had I know that, I would have picked him up and taken him back inside. Hindsight's a bitch. Buster was one of those cats who would get up on you and knead whatever part of your body he was perched on, and I used to love that, assuming I had some sort of blanket between myself and his claws. He'd been a part of our family for the last 14 years, no drop in the bucket. I've looked around the yard, under decks, at the old house, along the train tracks that run behind our house, around the cranberry bog across the street, up in trees, looking for some sign of him to no avail. I'm hoping he just knew it was time, and went somewhere and curled up. He was a good cat, and if our gut feeling proves true, he will be missed.