Lighting Candles: Jim Thome's 600th Home Run

As I plunked down on the couch with my dinner and turned on the Twins game, I couldn't help but think of what a bummer of a season this has been. I mean I try not to get all rage-y when sports-related things go awry...there are too many other real things requiring our energy in life. But it still sorta sucks to wait all winter for baseball season, only to realize I'll likely be turning my full attention to college football by no later than September 28, 2011.

I mean anything can happen, and I won't give up on my Twins...but we're 10.5 games out of first place with barely 6 weeks left of the season. Sigh. There's always next year.

Why do I not yet own this shirt?

Anyway. When I settled in tonight, I didn't anticipate seeing one of baseball's rarest feats. We've hardly been on a hot-streak of late...and though Thome was closing in on 600 home runs, we were all still waiting for 599. In fact, when he hit 599 in the top of the 6th, I said to myself, "Maybe we'll get to see him hit 600 when we're at the game on Saturday!" I may have even gotten into a little Facebook discussion with someone who's going to the game this Thursday. "I'll see it!" "No! I'll see it!" "NO! I'LL SEE IT!"

Thome settled that battle just an inning later.

With 2 on and 2 out in the 7th, Big Jim blasted the 600th home run of his 20 year career over the left field fence (and over the head of former Twin, Delmon Young).

The entire Twins team poured out of the dugout. The Detroit fans gave him a standing ovation (seriously classy stuff in Detroit...way to go, Motor City!). His family was ushered onto the field for hugs and kisses. It was fantastic.

But it wasn't just fantastic because he is one of only 8* men who have ever played major league baseball to reach this milestone. And it wasn't just fantastic because he's the first guy to hit 599 and 600 in sequential at-bats (even Babe Ruth had one at-bat in between). And it wasn't just fantastic because he's the first guy to hit home runs 300, 400, 500 and 600 with different teams. And it's not just fantastic because this pretty much clinches his spot in Cooperstown.

Everybody says so...

It's fantastic because he is one hell of an excellent human being. There is not a lick of press about this man, not a single anecdote, that isn't replete with praise. In fact, the multitude of adjectives used to describe his amazing character would be nauseating if it wasn't so damn inspirational. He truly is one of the good guys.

I'm not going to tell you all the stories. They're all right here if you want to read about him. I just want to savor this moment and shine a light on the fact that sometimes, the good guys do finish first. It's pretty heartwarming to see his integrity being celebrated just as much as his athletic accomplishment. It's wonderful to see that playing the game the right way and being a good teammate..and a good sport...isn't mutually exclusive to having great success.

Our world is choking on examples of people who are only looking out for #1...of people who may be successful, but they're also world-class jerks. Let's not even start making that list, okay?

Let's take this moment to honor a great athlete and an even greater human being. Let's use Jim Thome as a reminder that being a generous participant in this journey through life is as important (if not more important) than being a successful participant.

Here's the magical moment, in case you missed it:

Oh, and the part where his dad comes running out at the 0:53 mark? Yeah...I totally bawled. I mean I was already a little choked up and emotional. But watching his dad jog out? Bawling.

Speaking of dads and Jim Thome, can you indulge me for just another minute while I tell a quick story? :)

Last September, my husband, my brother and I took my dad to Target Field for his first game at the new stadium. Since all of my best childhood baseball memories were gifted to me by my father (wiffle ball in my Grimace slippers...baseball card shows/collecting Kirby Puckett cards...welcoming the 1987 American League champs back to the Metrodome on a school night, etc.), you can only imagine how excited I was to introduce him to Target Field.

These are the very best days...

When we walked into the ballpark (through Gate 34...you have to enter through Gate 34) that September afternoon, Dad looked all around and took it all in...the field, the concourse, the dimensions. Then he pointed to the flag pole that sits out in the plaza beyond right field and asked, "Is this where Thome hit that home run the other night?!"

It had been a monster shot. An absolute monster.

"Yeah," I smiled.

His eyes grew as big as saucers. "Whoa..." he said, sounding breathless as a kid at a big league ballpark for the very first time.

I could tell he was instantly in love with the new home of our Minnesota Twins. And guess who hit 2 home runs that day?

Yep...Jim Thome.

But I digress...

Congrats, Jim Thome! As a life-long Twins fan, I'm thrilled that it happened while you were wearing a Twins uniform. And as an ardent baseball fan, it's wonderful to see a person of your tremendous character accomplish such a wonderful feat.
_____________________________


I can't sign off without making sure you've all seen this one:

You're welcome! :)

*Some would asterisk that statement and say he is only one of five to do it without using (or being suspected of using) performance enhancing drugs...which makes it even more fun, huh? :)

Made My Day: The Home Inspector Who Broke My Heart

Normally, when I do a "Made My Day" post, it's in response to some little thing that brought a big smile to my face. Often, it involves an act of kindness by a stranger or witnessing some sweet, fortuitous scene. I usually try to post these observations right away, so I don't lose the warm, fuzzy feeling the experience provided. It's about celebrating the mundane little moments that brighten our days.

This post, however, is about an instance that took place almost 2 weeks ago. It has taken me that long to get to the point where I can appreciate it. It has taken that long for the pain to (almost) go away.

You see, we've been doing our damnedest to buy a house. And we've been trying, to the best of our my ability, to keep our yappers my yapper shut about it all because there seems to be so much mania and uncertainty to this process. We were looking over the winter, but then put our search on hold due to some aforementioned crud. A big drop in the price of a house we'd been keeping an eye on caused us to jump back in the fray, upon my return from Seattle. 

We went to see the house. We loved it

We took my parents. They loved it. 

We made an offer. The seller made a counter-offer. We counter-counter-offered. The seller gave a final offer. We accepted.

I sent our mortgage guy (who pre-approved us back in January) all the latest financial information. He sent us all sorts of information about all the next steps...especially since the house was going to need a few repairs.

It felt like we were so close to owning our first home. So close that I may or may not have stopped at the local Sherwin Williams and snatched up every last brochure of paint samples they had...even the ones titled "Coastal Cool" and "Color Pizzaz"...which are way outside of my comfort palette. 

WE. WERE. SO. CLOSE.

I asked Jay if I could put it on Facebook. If I could please, please, pleeeeeaaasssseeeeee tell the world that we found a great little 1950s gem with 3 bedrooms and hardwood floors and a finished-enough-for-now basement and central air and lots of storage and a cool kitchen with a red counter/breakfast bar that all looked through into a family room with a higher ceiling and a red, retro wood stove and big ol' windows that provided a lovely view of the fenced-in backyard...all one lousy little block from the Mississippi River. 

People were already planning fondue parties!

Did I mention the red counters?

Couldn't I please tell everyone? PLEASE?!

Per his usual wisdom, Jay said we'd better wait until after the inspection. 

So we had the inspection.

Sigh.

We knew that all the windows (and much of the trim around the windows) needed replacing and that the house needed gutter/soffit/fascia work. We were ready for that. We knew it wouldn't be a small undertaking.

We were not ready for the fact that water had totally been seeping into the "we-have-grand-plans-for-you" basement (behind some newish wood paneling that wasn't nearly as well-installed as it seemed)...and to prevent this from happening again in the future (like when the snow melts...or every time it rains), we'd have to rip up over half of the considerable driveway, regrade it all and then pour new concrete. Oh, and likely take out a huge old tree in the process. And did I mention that the "one-car garage" is really a shed that though it could fit a car, the floor wouldn't likely support it.

One large-ish project might have been okay. Two not-at-all small projects--likely totaling well over $20,000--was too much for us. Way too much.

Sigh.

Why am I talking about all this? Prying open these old wounds that were almost healed?

Oh right...so I could tell you about Bill, the super awesome, super great-at-his-job, super funny home inspector. Dear Heavens, do I love this guy! Let me tell you why:

Bill was an absolute expert. Bill wasn't just inspecting the house...he was teaching us about it. He gave us a binder with 70 pages of diagrams about house-stuff...like why you shouldn't insulate embedded joists and how swales can direct surface water away from the house. He showed us how all this applied to what we were looking at in real life. Bill didn't use the word "code" once...but he painted a picture of what life would be like in that house. He showed how things were related...how problems created more problems...and how before you could fix one thing, you'd have to fix another.

Bill was also hilarious. He managed to deliver bad news with credibility and expertise...but also with a great deal of wit. In an attempt to explain how the driveway sloping toward the house wasn't just about actual water in the basement, but also about moisture getting trapped in the structure of the house, he mused "See, mushrooms shouldn't grow on the side of your house... especially up by the shutters." Or when we asked which parts of the finished basement could be salvaged, he said "What you're going to want to do is get a huge dumpster...and then rip everything out and throw it all away."

Did I mention the cutie light-switches?

My eyes were wet with tears... some from disappointment and some from Bill's wonderful way of breaking all the terrible news to us.

Last but not least, Bill had a passion for his job...we could tell that he really loves the process of getting to know each house. "These houses from the 1950s are little tanks," he said "and if you take care of them, they can live forever. But this house has been abused. Really abused. It can be saved...structurally it is great...but there is so much water getting in that it can't go on like this forever." In some ways, I think Bill was as surprised as anyone to see the state of the house. It was all way worse than it looked.

That poor little house. I wish we had the money, or the handy-handy skills, to save it. And though he presented us with a bitter, bitter pill, we're awfully glad that Bill is so honest and so great at his job. It's better to endure a little home-buying heartache than end up with a swamp of a basement. 

So it's back to the MLS listings we go. Thank goodness we love our realtor so gosh darn much! I have a feeling we'll all be spending plenty of time together as this process continues.

A Goooooood Haircut

Ever look around at your life and feel like you're in charge of absolutely none of it? Like nothing terrible is going on, but there's a bunch of crud about which you feel like you can do precious little? At least for the time being?

We'd been going through some of that in our little corner of St. Paul for the last 4+ months. Nothing that anyone needed to get all twirly about...even though I did. It was just the kind of crud that made life seem a little drearier than it actually was. The kind of crud that made blog posts about world-warming stuff fewer and farther between. Perhaps you'd noticed?

The best stress-relief? Going HOME.

It wasn't like we haven't been enjoying life. We've been to plenty of movies and Twins games...we ran a 4K and have been engaged in our various creative activities...we've been home to visit Buster & the Ronnings numerous times. It's been a lovely summer. But the pervasiveness of stress was...well...pervasive.

Lucky for us, the fog lifted and the crud dissipated about half-way through this week. Life has returned (at least for the time being) to the lovely, lighthearted state to which we have become accustomed.

What brought an end to the storm?

Well, mostly just some good news...the peace born of certainty.

But you know what else helped? At least for me personally?

A kick-ass haircut.

That's right. A stupid, flippin' haircut. Even as I sneak up on middle age and the clutter of life piles up around me, there's something about an hour in the ol' barber chair that works wonders on a fragile psyche. 

Every. Single. Day.

Those of you who know me, know that I'm not much of a girly-girl. I couldn't use a curling iron or blow out my hair to save my life. My entire wardrobe comes from one mid-range chain store, and I've never met a grey sweater that I didn't like. The nail technicians try to hide their revulsion when I show up for my annual pedicure. I have the exact same pair of sweatpants from each of my almae matres and baseball caps for every day of the week...should life require it.

But haircuts? Yeah, that's a totally different story. While there are few gender-related beauty myths to which I subscribe, I have complete faith in the healing power of a great trip to the hair salon.

Especially when you find "your" haircut.

From some point in 1997 through early 2003, I rocked a super-short, super-fantastic pixie haircut. It was the final step in a gradual progression of styles that went from my high school/early college "Walk Like an Egyptian" coif (as Jay refers to it):

Senior pictures!

 through my late-college "Monica" cut (thanks to my infatuation with FRIENDS):

1995 Pilgrimage to the Mall of America with my Befri (not pictured)

 until we finally landed on the "do" that was meant for me:

1998 Shenanigans whilst visiting DeeBott in Whitewater, WI

Eventually, I started to grow my hair out again. I was well into the process of doing so when I was wooed by my present-day sweetie. I may have said something about cutting it short again and gotten the stereotypical  "Noooooooo! I like long hair!" guy response. So, like any conniving female, I used my hair to my advantage. I'm sure the conversation went something like this, 

EM: "Fine. I'll grow my hair out if you cut that floppy mess you've got going on." 
JAY: [Sigh of resignation.]

It worked out for the best for everyone, no?

 And while there were moments where I appreciated having longer hair...

For example...

I can honestly say that while I didn't mind it, I'm not sure it ever felt like "me." But this sure does:

Nothing like a good haircut to help you feel like you're in charge of your existence...to help you feel like yourself. And for what it's worth, I got the new do on Tuesday afternoon...and the aforementioned crud-ending good news came not 24-hours later.

Coincidence?

Before I sign off, I'd like to say thanks to so very many of you for your encouragement and kind words...Facebook provided me with a veritable gluttony of your generosity. It was actually sort of fun to be cheered on--and then cheered for--this week. All because of a haircut. Y'all sure do know how to make a girl feel loved.