Weurfel Park

Up in Traverse City this weekend, but I don't think there are any baseball games in the plans. Ric loves the Beach Bums. He goes to games regularly even if it's just him and a hot dog. So when we come up for weekends, it's not uncommon for the family to make a night of it at Weurfel Park. But the rain and cold wouldn't be bearable even for the die hard fans. August 29th and Ric had to turn on the furnace last night.

The Beach Bums are part of the Frontier League, a step below the Major League's farm system. It's really just a bunch of guys getting paid a few thousand dollars to play baseball for the summer. Sounds pathetic but it's kind of what I imagine professional baseball was like in its infancy. Young kids taking summers off from their regular jobs. Going around playing small parks where a PA system is barely justified. Trying to extend their high school or college athletic careers just a bit longer. Not bad for a summer evening's entertainment.

I've given up trying to be the amateur sports photographer. I don't have the patience to sit with the camera to my eye waiting for the moment of action to occur. Especially at baseball. I find no pleasure in watching the game through a viewfinder. So this is what I usually bring home.

Pippin & Grandma

Pippin loves her Grandma. She's Mom and Dad's dog really, but Franny also gets a lot of her love. She has the strangest habit of getting really, really close to your face but never licking it. You keep expecting a cold wet tongue but all you ever get are little short sniffs. It's sweet, but a bit unnerving.

Pippin isn't too sure about the man with the camera. She's gonna stay right by Grandma until he moves along. Grandma can carry on with her conversation. She's got the cyclops covered. When the situation has calmed down, she'll hop up in the chair and keep Grandma's lap warm.

On the table next to the chair (out of the frame) is a TV remote with buttons the size of postage stamps. I think my dad bought it for her as a joke but she liked it so much that it stuck around. It's her little control center.

Bridge Jumper

by Justin Kimball

Last time I was in Chicago I went to Bookman's Alley with Ric. I was browsing through their photo books and found Justin Kimball's Where We Find Ourselves. It's a book about the American vacation and it seems that Mr. Kimball has been everywhere I have been. Not Disneyworld or Rocky Mountain ski resorts. More like Muskegon River Camp & Canoe and Nordhouse Dunes. Sleepy state parks where hobo dinners are the standard fare. The scenery isn't awe-inspiring but I have more connections with these photographs than anything I've ever seen in a calendar or postcard. This guy could have been any kid at my high school and that bridge on any road in Osceola county. For some reason there's comfort in shared experiences.

In Bed

Laura loves naps. This is usually where I'll find her Saturday morning after she gets out of the shower. If we're supposed to be going somewhere that day, I'll go upstairs and whine at her a little bit to get her going. She'll roll over and let out a mousy moan, "It's so cozy". Hard to argue. The only thing missing is Olie, who, after eating breakfast, will usually come back upstairs and curl up on my pillow if the spot is available. She's very passive aggressive.

The painting we found in a thrift store in Albuquerque. It's a mess. The paint is chipping off, there are some holes in the canvas, and the frame is gouged terribly, but we still like it. I don't think it's ever going to get us on TV at the Antiques Road Show, but Laura and I are always keeping our eyes and ears open for the artist. The light fixture is actually an old gas lamp. When the house was wired for electricity, they retrofitted it with a light bulb socket and used the old tubing to run the wire. Ghetto. Goes well with the painting, though.