Cleveland Sports Fan

It is difficult to be a sports fan in Cleveland.  If you want the home team to win, you will be disappointed more often than not.  If you like the Yankees or the Steelers or another out of town team, you will be harassed by everyone you know, and then some.

First, a word about the Cavaliers and LeBron James:  I hated to see LeBron leave Cleveland, and I think he did it in a repugnant and presumptuous way.  But I cannot blame him entirely.  If the Cavs owners and coaches, who had the luxury of having arguably the best player in basketball today on their team, could not put together a championship team, then shame on them.  That is not LeBron's fault.  And I for one cannot blame him for wanting to go where he has a chance of winning it all.

The Browns:  I will reserve any comment I have on them until the season gets underway.  Right now I am in the optimistic mood that usually precedes a losing season; but I can always hope.

Again this year, the Indians have broken my heart.  I have been an Indians fan as long as I can remember, even getting straight As in grade school so I could win tickets to games.  When the Indians were still playing at Municipal Stadium and were not very good, Den  and I would frequently decide at the last minute to go to a game.  Once we got to the stadium, we had adequate parking and our choice of almost any seat in the place.  We knew they probably were going to lose, but what the heck.  They were our Indians.

Now, it seems to me, the head honchos of the Indians have made a conscious decision to dismantle the team, put them in last place in their division (and maybe in all of baseball), and see what happens.  Is this a real life "Major League"?  Little by little, they have traded away the best pitchers in baseball -- two Cy Young Award winners in two years -- Sabathia and Lee -- and now Jake Westbrook.  When I heard about this last trade, my heart sank and I didn't think I wanted to listen to or see an Indians game ever again.  Not that Westbrook was going to win the Cy Young this year, but he was a good pitcher, the best on the team this year, unless you count Mitch Talbot.  And he was a team leader.  I have come to believe my reaction was to the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, me being the camel.

 For two days, I couldn't listen the the games, and I didn't care much who won.  But in the end, I am an Indians fan and always will be.  I know I will listen to the game tonight, and root for my team.  And even if they lose, there's always next year.

How Vacations have Changed

We just returned from a short, six-day vacation.   Years ago, well, not really that long ago, the success of a vacation was measured by how many books I was able to read.  How times have changed.  This last trip saw not even one book finished, and we were gone from Thursday to Tuesday.  Why the difference?  Was the book I was reading so boring that I just couldn't get through it?

Not at all. It was a very good book, interesting and not hard to read.  What has changed is me.  For one thing, my eyes are not what they should be, or used to be.  I cannot stare at a page of words for hours on end anymore; I need a break every 30 or 40 minutes.  Also, I have decided that Den needs me to talk to him to keep him alert as he drives; though, if you ask him, he will say it is not at all necessary.

Maybe the most important difference is that I have finally developed the ability to just let my mind go.   I can enjoy the scenery passing by the car's windows; or I can close my eyes, just for a few seconds.  When I do those things, it is amazing what happens in my head.  Sometimes, my thoughts go nowhere, or I may not even think coherently.  Other times, the wonderful world outside the car makes questions and observations just appear; things that I can share with Den.  But the biggest change of all is that I don't have to always be doing something, even if that something is reading.

Reunion

One of my high school classmates is coming into town in June to visit.  He has said that he would like to get together with as many classmates as can be rounded up in one place and at one time, so we are having a luncheon for him.  I know that I will end up going, although I will be uncomfortable.  It will be the same thing as high school -- everyone else will be so self assured and confident of doing the right things, of acting the right way, of saying the right words.  Then there will be me.  I never knew exactly what to say or how to act when we were in school a hundred years ago, and I know I will revert to that person all these years later.  Or maybe I still am that person.  I am afraid that I will sit by myself and not say much at all, and everyone will realize that I am as dull as ever.

 I also know it is important to keep in touch with people from your youth, but I'm not sure why. Maybe because they know you best -- scary thought.  Or maybe it's because they don't know you at all, and you want to prove that you have actually been successful in life, even if no one thought it would be possible.  Wouldn't that be the puzzle:  how could I, who is so dull and boring, have been fairly successful in my career?  How could I have had a career at all?

But I am going, and that is that.  I will get to see two or three people that I haven't seen for years; I hope I recognize them.  And, against all odds, I could even end up having a nice time.

Spring into Summer

Although technically this is still spring, it feels more like summer.  The last few days have been truly hot, in the mid-80s -- and Lake Erie has been warm enough to wade in, if not to swim.  The cottage is almost ready to use, but there is still some work to be done outside down on the beach.  The flowers have been planted, most of the lawn furniture has been cleaned and taken outside, the grass has been mowed several times, and the patio cleared of all of winter's debris.  However, the cottage windows need washing and the curtains put back up, the floors need to be washed, the porch needs cleaning, the steps need to be scrubbed with clorox,and the picnic table needs sanding and a coat of paint.  Every spring there seems like a lot to do, but every year it somehow gets done.  It helps that as we get older, so do the grandchildren and they help with the chores.

I'm not sure why we still need to do this every year, as we don't really stay at the cottage.  Our house is right on the lake, on the bluff above the cottage.  But every year we need this spring ritual.  When we walk down the steps to the beach, we seem to go from the hurly burly of every day living to another world.  Time stands still; there are no freeways, no malls, no traffic jams, no crowded stores; just us, the trees and the lake.  Of course, each year there are more and bigger boats going by, and more jet skis pretending they are mosquitos; but there are also ducks and geese that swim by daily, kingfishers that dive in front of us, blue heron seemingly floating by on air, myriad seagulls, and every once in a while a bald eagle or two.

This is truly a place to forget your troubles; they will most certainly work themselves out while you sit on the beach with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and just dream.

Voting in an "Off" Election

Den and I voted today.  We went to our polling place right at 3:00 PM, which was a mistake.  Our polling place is in an elementary school, which evidently lets out right after three o'clock in the afternoon.  At first we thought we would have to stand in line to vote, and I was surprised that so many people had turned out for a primary election.  Then I realized that all these people were here to pick their kids up from school.  This realization was both a relief and a disappointment.  A relief that we wouldn't have to stand in line; a disappointment that a lot of these people didn't care enough to vote.

While we were signing in, a poll worker from across the room asked one of "our" poll workers how many people had voted on that side of the room.  According to the answer, we were numbers 49 and 50.  This after 8½ hours of being open!  Granted, there were no high profile races being contested, but there were enough campaign phone calls and newspaper coverage that most people should have been aware that today was the day to vote.  And there were a few important issues to vote on, though why we need a constitutional amendment to move a gambling casino from one location in Columbus to another is a mystery to me.

Anyway, what I am trying to say, is how disappointed I am that more people don't take the time to vote, even in the primary elections.  I once had a political science professor who adamantly believed that a person could influence how this country was governed more by paying attention to the local issues and voting in local elections than sticking strictly to the "big" elections.  Today, we were choosing the Democrats and Republicans who would line up to fight for our votes in November.  If you didn't vote, how can you criticize who actually goes to Columbus and Washington?  Even if you chose to be a independent, there were still some taxing issues on the ballot that deserved your consideration.

Tally

If you know me at all, you know that I am a dog person.  My parents raised and showed dogs as far back as I can remember.  I have already written about Terry, our Airedale and the first dog I can remember, who taught me how to read.  Then there was Jack, our Dalmation, and a lot of Miniature Schnauzers.  The first Miniature Schnauzer puppy we purchased, when I was five, attached herself to me and thus became mine.  I'm sure it was because, the first night we had her at home, I somehow made her cry.  Everyone else in the family yelled at me, and I felt like the world had ended.   I ran up to my room and didn't come down until the next day.  From that time on, that dog rarely left my side.  I even showed her to her CD title!

This blog was not supposed to be about me as a kid, but about Tally, a Pekingese who now lives with Den and me.  Tally was a rescue Pekingese, and we adopted her because Tater (the other Pekingese) was such a cute and funny little guy.  Tally had a bad eye when we got her, and had to make several trips to the vet's office for treatment and watching.  A week ago Tally's good eye went bad.  It just seemed like it imploded.  Emergency trip to the vet's.  This time, they said we had to take her to a dog ophthalmologist if we wanted to save her eye.

Here we are a week later.  She has had surgery on her eye and is now trying to see through part of a pig's intestine.  The ophthalmologist said she put everything in the eye back together -- the cornea, iris, and whatever else is there -- and sewed a patch made from pig intestine over the top to hold it all in place until it heals.  It looks horrible!  But she can actually see a little, so it's worth it.

Now comes the hard part for us.  We have to keep Tally calm and quiet for the next two or three weeks so she doesn't tear loose any of the stitches.  She can't play with Tater or her toys; no walks through the neighborhood, no glimpses of the neighbor dogs.  She can only go out into the back yard on a leash for short periods.  She has to wear an e-collar, and has so many medicines that I had to make a chart on a spreadsheet to know when to give her what.

I think that we were meant to be Tally's family.  She was a throwaway dog that had five different homes before she was a year old.  Her right eye had ruptured and had become infected before anyone could or would take care of it.  Now we have her, and we have her for life.  She is such a sweet little dog, and she deserves to have a forever home.  With a little luck, she will be able to see a bit and enjoy life.

Perfection or Failure

One of the numerous problems I have, and have always had, is that I expect everything I do to be perfect.  If it isn't, then, by definition, I have failed.  I know I am not perfect, not even close, but I cannot get it out of my head that the things I try to do have to be absolutely right.

The latest example of this is knitting.  I am attempting to learn how to knit and crochet, and right now I am working on a knitted vest.  It goes without saying that I have made a lot of errors while knitting the back of the vest, but my sister has helped me to make it come out right.  Now I am working on the front.  The left front actually came out well, but the right front -- not so much.  I know I can do it, but I know there will be mistakes and that I will have to live with them.

This may seem trivial to someone else, but it is just an extension of how I have always felt.  I have always been competitive, but it has been just recently that I have realized it.  How could I have not seen this before?  Looking back, I now realize that this competitiveness drove me to make a lot of the choices I made as far back as high school, and maybe even before that.

On the other hand, being competitive, and having to be correct, may have helped in making me as successful as I was in my career.  This late in life, however, I don't care about being the best at something, and I'm trying not to get too upset if what I do isn't perfect, I just want to enjoy life.  Maybe I'll even finish the quilt my grandmother started 70 years ago.