One week ago today, this minute, I was on the subway in New York City. We were on our way to Liberty Island. I saw the Statue of Liberty for the first time. Now I'm half dressed and switching between the Detroit Tigers and the PGA Championship.
Huh.
It feels odd. Reality feels odd, doesn't it, especially when it comes around again as it will?
It is serious business. It feels unusual. What's up with that?
I said back, smiling also, "Thank you!", and went on in.
She came in a minute later and happened to sit near me as I waited my turn. Apparently she was there to rent a car herself. I asked, "So are you from Boston?"
"No, Providence. But we're all Sox fans." We then went on to talk about baseball, the Red Sox, Fenway and its wall (the Green Monster), and about how we would each love to see a game from the seats atop the Monster. It turned out her family has had Bosox season tickets for years and they all love baseball. She goes to Fenway every time she's back home.
"Mr. Cosgriff?" the next available agent asked. I thanked the young lady for the conversation as I excused myself. "No, it was great seeing someone from Red Sox Nation so far from home!" she responded.
I didn't tell her that I had just gotten back from Boston, or that I had specifically went there because my beloved Detroit Tigers were the visitors and that I had cheered their 4-2 win. That would simply have been crass, given that she was so excited to see someone she thought was from Beantown and a fellow Sox fan. It was by any measure a great small world moment. No point even mildly ruining it.
But it further proves, as I said the other day, this baseball, it gets to ya.
These past few days have floated by far too quickly. Yet some moments stand out strongly.
Newark, New Jersey is surprisingly cosmopolitan. I had reserved that positive judgment for Manhattan Island. I am impressed by my error. Still, my presuppositions were confirmed to a degree when we had a drink in an Irish pub Saturday evening. So much for presumption. If there's an Irish pub, it's civilized enough.
After visiting with my son and his fiancee, which was the highlight of my adventure and I mean that despite what thou detractors shalt assert, I most enjoyed seeing Fenway Park in Boston. Yet New York impressed me in ways beyond simple prose. Liberty Island, Ellis Island; the reflecting pools where WTC 1 and WTC 2 once stood. Marvelous. We are one nation. It was quiet as we watched the water stream within the fountain, despite the thousands walking and talking nearby. You only heard the pools. You only heard the voices. They spoke powerfully.
Yet Boston. It's New York's sister, if they would both agree to the relationship. She has faced her attackers too. I'm not sure that I've experienced anything close to singing Sweet Caroline so deeply as the Red Sox nation sings it. Sweet Caroline, silence, then 38 thousand responses asserting "dun dun duh". Being part of it has scored me forever.
I wish I had taken Pops to Fenway. I think even he would have said, with his fist, dun, dun, dahhh. He loved the spirit of the game that much.
But it is what it is. That's all for now. There's more to come. And that's your bad luck.
This is Charles Martin Cosgriff reporting from home base in Detroit, Michigan.
My son took me to Fenway Park in Boston yesterday, and it was a great experience all around. We took a tour of the self proclaimed America's most loved ballpark (that might be hyperbole but it is one wonderful baseball stadium) and watched the Detroit Tigers triumph over the Boston Red Sox 4 to 2. It was a tense game which the Detroits tried to give away but didn't. Francisco Rodriguez earned a four out save as Jose Iglesias cleared the Green Monster with a two run homer in the 6th.
But to being drawn in. My first most wonderful ballpark experience was when Pops took me to old Tiger Stadium the first time. We walked down an enclosed corridor and turned left. That floor of that next, thinner corridor dipped slightly then rose, opening into a deep green panorama of seats, with an emerald green that I swear almost twinkled. To my young eyes it the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was hooked.
They've since torn Tiger Stadium down, leaving Fenway as the last classic baseball stadium in the American League. As a Father's Day gift, Frank took me there. We entered off the street and into a large corridor. Going right a few feet we then turned left into a smaller corridor which rose into a marvelous red, green, and blue panorama. Emerald green grass covered the field. I was solidly rehooked. There was a lump in my throat.
So now I think I'm the man in the middle. Between two gifts from family generations on each side of me I felt, as a 56 year old man, just like I had as an 8 year old kid. This game, it just gets to ya.
Yesterday I saw New York City for the first time. I had my first commuter train then subway ride; I didn't realize it was so hot down on the subway platforms, but maybe that was because it was so hot anyway. And there were so many people. Still, my son assured me that there weren't that many as it was the weekend. Wow. At that, we actually got around town rather easily.
Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed the day and left very impressed with New York and wanting to come back to see more. We went to Liberty Island and saw the Statue of Liberty, then Ellis Island to learn more about the history of immigration into the US. I took what I thought were a couple good pictures of the new World Trade Center, and the reflecting pools memorializing the victims of 9/11 were such a sublime, beautiful tribute that I found myself choking up. They are that powerful.
I also experienced my first NSA search, which was required to see Lady Liberty. It wasn't bad, other than having to remove my belt after emptying my pockets. As I has popped the button on my short pants I stood with some small fear waiting as my items went through the metal detector; if those britches gave way I would have faced charges completely unrelated to national security.
But it was a great way to spend a Sunday, and I do intend to come back and see more of Sinatra's kind of town. For today, it's on to Boston to see the Tigers play the Bosox at classic Fenway Park.
That's all for now. This is Charles Martin Cosgriff reporting from Newark, New Jersey.
Pennsylvania is one long state. It took forever for me to drive through it yesterday. Much of that no doubt was anxiety. Not the bad anxiety of worry but the one that's a kind on anticipation. I mean, it's as far to drive across PA as it is to drive to da UP, and that drive never feels long to me. But I had never driven across Penn's Land. Very mountainy, but beautiful in the lush green of summer.
I think all the city names were, like, 19 letters long. Every exit on Interstate 80 seemed to offer a glimpse of Franklinhillcountytown or Underhillandoverdale. I passed by Punxsutawny, where that obnoxious, all knowing groundhog lives. I thought of checking it out but that anxiety I mentioned kept me going. And had I stopped, I might have killed that overgrown rat and started an incident. It would have gained me laud and honor outside of Pennsylvania I'm sure, but could I have gotten outside the state? Besides, I have to re-cross it Wednesday, so maybe I'll do the deed on the flip flop.
The traffic in New Jersey hasn't been so bad as I expected. Rather light, actually. But we're going to try driving through New York City on Monday as we trek to Boston. Let's see how my car handles I-95 at mid-morning. Of course, it's a rental, so how much do I care?
This has been Charles Martin Cosgriff from Newark, New Jersey.
She eats, well, she gets a dish of food, at 5:30 in the AM and the PM. Period, that's it. Usually my daughter sees to that but she is not here this week so it's on Dad. And he, believe me, is a strict taskmaster.
"Meow," purrs the feline to me plaintively as I stumbled downstairs this morning at 5:23. No dice, sister, I respond mercilessly, coldly. Ya got seven minutes.
"Meow," she again laments. Yet I don't break. I stroll into the computer room, I log onto Facebook, I check my e-mail. I walk into the kitchen at 5:28 simply to tease her. I run the water in the sink until it's cold enough for me and I get myself a drink; she stares at me like Mr. Spock, expectantly, eyebrows raised. I stare in return. The clock is mine, animal. One more minute, I resolve.
The alarm on my phone rings; it is 5:30. I pour a scoop of hard brown kibbles into her bowl. She stares at me. I will eat as I am ready, she messages silently. I don't care replies I, you have had nothing until my will allowed it. So goes our conversation in anthropomorphic telepathy.
And I have won. She averts her eyes and eats. I have won.
So I have convinced myself after four hours in the ER for treatment of multiple deep claw wounds. The DNA under my fingernails, from the defensive measures, prove the cat struck first. But I have won, I have. There was no food for her before 5:30. Nor will there be tomorrow.
But my wife will have to deal with that. I'm O negative, if any of you care to donate.
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