I walked a marathon at Disneyland's 50th Birthday

I have distinct memories of trips to Disneyland with my parents, and later my friends, starting in 1956. If you asked me how many times I have been to Disneyland, I couldn't tell you. I'm sure there was a visit to represent each decade. Even as I served in the Navy, transferred jobs, etc., there was always a visit to Disneyland that fit in between life events.

One of the most frightening memories I have of time spent at Disneyland was riding the donkeys through the Painted Desert when I was seven years old. Yes, that ride and that desert are gone now, and there's a good reason for the former. Those donkeys knew where the edge of the trail was, and where the cliff was, but as I leaned over in the saddle toward the edge of the narrow road, I was sure that I was going to plummet off the side of the burro into that chasm at any moment. My understanding is that the Disneyland donkeys were always sure on their feet but not as sure in controlling their impulse to bite the customers.

I also have uncomfortable memories of my brother twisting the center knob on the Alice in Wonderland Teacups in order to make it spin violently. I was terribly ill after that, and he looked quite pleased with himself.

But the Spaceship to Mars ride was the real reason I wanted to go to Disneyland. I saw it on the Sunday Disney T.V. show, and had to go there. I had to have my trip into space. I remember quite a few details about that first ride, as my father took me up the long staircase into the pod. I remember quite distinctly being aware that there weren't enough g's on the ride -- and this was at age 7 -- but not being terribly distraught about that fact.

Our visit to Disneyland in 2005 commemorates the 50th anniversary of the park, and planning began about a year and a half ago. Plans have changed many times since then, and even a day before we left, but on Thursday evening, Brandon, Ricky and I drove from San Diego, where they lived, to Anaheim, and spent a night at the Worldmark resort in preparation for the trip.

Ricky, Brandon and I were joined by Joel, Rick's best friend, and Donald, Joel's friend, the next morning in the Disneyland parking building, and we transferred luggage to Joel's car, as we knew he'd be driving to the Desert Inn & Suites at 3 pm that day when we checked in the four guys. The Desert Inn was right across the street from Disneyland, right off Disneyland Way.

Friday, July 15th, we saw some unusually large crowds, many of whom were there for the Neil Armstrong Space Mountain dedication ceremony to be held at 10:00 am that day in Tomorrowland. Rick, Donald and I headed over to Tomorrowland, as we were very interested in seeing the former astronaut who made history with his one small step. Space Mountain was to be opened after being closed for over a year; it was to be transformed into a darker and smoother ride, a roller coaster in the dark.

However, we quickly discovered that they had moved the ceremony from the ground level to the rooftop of Space Mountain (and closed Space Mountain for the first few hours of the day). We couldn’t see anything from the ground level. And we couldn’t get up to the rooftop. Ricky and I suggested that Neil Armstrong's wish for privacy and security was at the root of this.

So, we went into the Innoventions exhibit, climbed the stairs to the 2nd level, and went outside from there. From there we could get a clean look at the festivities across the way. There were other fans there, gathering, but there were also huge camera set-ups, and within minutes, cast members were there to tell us we couldn’t stay there. They would not even allow us to stop on the ramp going down from that level. Since we couldn’t see anything clearly from any angle, we left Tomorrowland, which was growing denser by the minute. We grabbed a Fastpass for the new Buzz Lightyear game on the way out.

I rode Buzz Lightyear about six more times after that. While I really like the “ride,” where you shoot Zurg aliens (aiming for boxes with “Z”), I didn’t do well at all. The Disneyland ride seems to be a great improvement over the Disney World ride, as some of the targets are easier to see and you can raise your handheld blaster and point it wherever you want. It was proving to be a popular ride in Tomorrowland, but Fastpass (and the popularity of the newly opened Space Mountain ride) cut that wait quite a bit. I missed a few phone calls over the next few days on my cell phone, and found it hard to explain that I was shooting Emperor Zurg's robots in an important mission. "To infinity...and beyond!"

We spent the first day or so looking at what was different about Disneyland in an effort to commemorate the 50th Anniversary, including 50’s all around, lightposts with the gold 50, shopping bags and souvenirs with the 50th anniversary logo. Also, a very special treat: every original ride has a gold ride among them. For instance, the Autopia has a gold car, the railroad has a gold train, etc. So far we’ve accounted for 9 of the original 10, but haven’t spotted that gold train yet.

I made reservations for lunch and dinner for Friday and Saturday, believing that getting decent food in the parks would be difficult. Disneyland hamburgers are famous for their cardboard taste, and I have more expensive tastes these days. So, on Friday we ate lunch at the Blue Bayou, the best restaurant on the Disney grounds, located in New Orleans square overlooking the Pirates of the Caribbean ride (from the inside). All of us -- except for Joel, who, as usual, went for the kids' menu -- had the world-famous Monte Cristo sandwich. As Donald pointed out, when we asked him if he liked it, "I certainly should like something that's totally encased in fat." Oh, yeah.

Friday night we crossed over to the Dark Side and entered Disney's California Adventure. DCA has a terrible reputation with Disneyland fans, and for the most part, it's well earned. Never has so much real estate been devoted to so little. But I was willing to try its restaurants since I hadn't spent much time there. We had reservations at 6:30 pm at the Wine Country Trattoria, and after waiting some time in the heat, we were finally seated outside in pleasant surroundings. At the end of our meal, however, we all agred that the Trattoria has a limited menu with odd choices (lots of lasagna, for instance, but no spaghetti or other pasta), and terrible service.

Crowds were growing in the parks. Friday was manageable, Saturday approached about 100,000, and Sunday was expected to draw a capacity 112,000. Thank goodness it wasn’t terribly hot -- only in the low 80’s for the three days -- and thank extra goodness for DCA. The added park stretched the crowd out, especially during the Electrical Light Parade at night, held at 8:45 pm each night at DCA.

On Saturday morning we ran over to Space Mountain so that Donald and Joel could get a Fastpass. Unfortunately, on the second day of its opening, thousands of other people did the same thing. Whomever planned the exhibit, though, goofed and put the Fastpass booth in the same area as the initial boarding area, and the masses crowded in there, trying to find Fastpass. While Donald and Joel managed to score their Fastpass, it was a confusing mess. It turns out that most visitors really wanted to ride the re-opened Space Mountain, and within an hour, the Fastpass return time was pushed back to the evening.

On Saturday, the crowds were heavier but we could still cope with them if we pushed for our rides in the morning. By 11:00 am, the kids were beginning to arrive, though, and rides in the afternoon were difficult. Space Mountain was impossible. We had a pleasant lunch at the La Brea restaurant, right outside the gates in the beginning of Downtown Disney -- it was the first $11 BLT I’ve ever had, but it was delicious. And lots of peach tea. Dinner was at the Rainforest Cafe at the very end of DD. A long walk, but good food (also expensive). We shared a hot fudge Volcano at the end of our huge meal - whew!

On Sunday, July 17th and the actual birthday for Disneyland, everything changed. We had heard from various websites that they would be taking early arrivals between 2 am and 6 am and lining them up in Disneyland’s California Adventure. So Ricky, Donald and I agreed to meet at 5 am at the “O” in “California” at DCA. There was no way for me to get there by car or shuttle from my WM Resort, so I left my room at 4:30 am and walked 25 minutes down well-lit Harbor Blvd to Disneyland Drive. When I arrived, I couldn’t get to DCA at all, but I saw in the darkness that cast members were directing people to line up in the bus and shuttle parking lot. I got in line and then called Donald. They sent Brandon out to get me, and I happily discovered that they were about 200 people ahead of me, having arrived 20 minutes ahead of me.

We slowly went through security and they let us file into DCA, where they handed us our prized golden ears (with the date embroidered on the back) and a colored wristband, we walked and walked, trying to find the end of the long line. Finally we lined up and sat a little before Grizzly Rapids in DCA. We sat or stood there until about 7:20, when the line finally began to move in to Disneyland. We figured that about 10,000 of us early birds walked single file through a roped-off lane on the right into Disneyland, past the crowd who arrived after they capped the line. All the Disneyland cast members lined Main Street on each side as we entered the park, clapped for us, and shouted out, “Welcome home!” It was an unbelievable and moving experience.

Donald held out his hand and slapped the hands of cast members as he walked along Main Street towards the central hub. I merely looked at the cast members, thanked them, and took photos as I blinked back tears.

Ricky immediately went to the stage at the hub where the statues of Walt and Mickey are to see if there was any way we could stand to watch the ceremony live. The large speaker and screen blocked the view of the castle from almost any vantage point. It took a few minutes for him to determine that there was no chance to see the ceremony live, as about 4,000 people had gotten into Disneyland ahead of us, and many of them had the same thing in mind.

While he was doing that, I ran off to try to make lunch reservations. I got to the Carnation Cafe, and they said they were not taking reservations but that we could come back and stand in line. I ran over amidst thousands of early arrivals to the Blue Bayou in New Orleans Square, only to find that all the priority seating was gone until 4 pm -- since they weren’t taking any P.S.’s over the phone in advance, that meant that early arrivals booked all the P.S.’s in the hour before I arrived. I noticed a big, long line snaking around the river and asked a cast member what that was all about. “This is the line for exclusive merchandise, offered only today.” Oooh, I thought, but took one look at the growing line and decided it would be much like Celebration 3. I went back and rejoined Ricky and Donald at the hub/stage area.

Ricky went to the nearby Carnation bakery and got us the free cupcakes Disneyland promised. The cupcakes, of course, were the "birthday cake," a gift from Disneyland to all us, and available that day only in places that sold food in the park.

While we waited, we enjoyed the "Ken" show while I avoided people stepping on me in the roped off area (roped off soon after we planted ourselves there). Ken was a cast member who had the unfortunate duty of telling people they couldn't sit on the benches at the hub or even walk through there, as it was a VIP and Media gathering area. He used all of his skills as hundreds of people tried to sneak in, or yell at him to get in, or do anything they could, all to no avail. One of the people in our roped-off section said, "Hey, I know you! You're from the Tower of Terror!" Ken grinned, and responded that they all were, and pointed out the other Tower of Terror cast members who had been drawn over to work at this big event. "Who's over at Tower today? Nobody," he shrugged.

The show was brief and very nice. Art Linkletter, who hosted the original opening of Disneyland, appeared and kicked things off. Today was also HIS birthday!!! At 93, he was as quick-thinking and witty as ever, and had a ton of stories to tell. But he only told a few and introduced the two Disney CEO's, Iger and Eisner. Then California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger came out of the castle with Mickey, and said a few words about Disneyland helping the economy and creating jobs. Then, the piece de resistance appeared in the form of Walt Disney's daughter, Diane Disney Miller, who told us how Disneyland was created ("Dad reserved Saturday mornings, just for us kids, and would go to parks with us, sit on the bench and eat peanuts"). We really enjoyed hearing her talk.

After the ceremony, the crowd moved, slowly, towards the rides. I and my crew, however, went towards the Carnation Cafe. They were starving, as they were looking forward to their first meal of the day. We dutifully stood in line at Carnation, and I was pleased to see that it only took 50 minutes to get in. In the meantime, Joel had caught up with us and Ricky found Brandon over by the Star Tours meeting place.

Donald, Ricky, Joel and Brandon agreed to meet at their motel at 2:30 so they could drive home to San Diego. In the meantime, however, Ricky, Donald and I went over to the old Mr. Lincoln spot, and watched the Steve Martin/Donald Duck movie of how Disneyland was created. We also looked at the actual props and drawings for the park in the waiting area.

On the way out of the park, I grabbed several of the Disneyland programs, as this version was only printed on the Disneyland birthday, July 17th. I hugged everybody and waved goodbye, and headed over to DCA for one last look. I watched the Aladdin play live, a 45-minute show, and marvelled at it, but found myself falling asleep. But one last look at Crush, the talking sea turtle -- amazing interaction with the audience!! -- and I knew I had had enough. I went back to the WM resort on the van, and fell asleep at 6:30 pm, and wouldn't wake up until Monday morning.

Thank goodness for cell phones, or we would never have found each other over the three days. However, it was difficult keeping track of Brandon, our teenager who turned 16 in Disneyland on Saturday. I found myself wishing for an arm implant with a tracking device for him. He disappeared at least twice a day, and I wondered if we would ever see him again. We would quiz him on where to meet, where the hotel was, just so he would have a reference point if he found himself alone.

And I needn't have worried about keeping up with my exercise during this vacation. My pedometer showed me I walked, we walked, 4 to 9 miles a day. The most was on Saturday, which was an exhausting day of running from place to place. Sunday was exhausting just because of the hour at which we had to be there. This was not the time to see Disneyland to see rides. This was the time to visit Disneyland to celebrate its birthday. It's amazing to think I was there, 49 years ago, with my mother and father. I rode the Spaceship to Mars rocket, my dream come true, along with other rides that are no longer there. So many years later, I realized another dream as I visited with the next generation of my family. As the cast member told me on my entrance on Sunday, I had come home.

My Dream Vacation, Part 5: Villa Pisani and the Beach Boys

"Are you awake?" Val whispered to me at 11:30 pm. We were both lying there in the dark in our room at the Villa Pisani, listening to the dum, dum, dum of the bassline.

I said, "Sure." "Do you hear that music? What are they playing?" she continued.

"'California Girls,' I replied, absent-mindedly, since I'd been following the band over the last two hours. "'The midwest farmer's daughters really make you feel all right, and the northern girls...' I sang along.

"You hear words? I don't hear words." I could barely hear the singer, hearing instead the booming of the bass along with the upper-register twang of a guitar. But I knew all the songs. It was an Italian band doing really poor cover versions of songs from the '60's.

"You'd think Madame Scalabrin would have told us she had a party scheduled for tonight."

Indeed. But the maintenance on a huge villa dating back to the 16th century must cost a fortune every month. I was sure she was booking anything and everything she could to stay afloat. After all, that's how we became guests at a real Italian villa.

We found Villa Pisani in Vescovana, a hamlet 30 minutes south of Padua, after driving up and down highway 4 for half an hour. When we knew we were close, Val popped into a bar, and in her improving Italian, asked the bartender where the Villa Pisani was. He pointed up the road. We drove about three blocks but found nothing. We noticed that the numbers on the building, however, were getting larger, so we turned around. There was the bartender, standing outside his doorway, pointing next door. I think he was laughing...

Mariella Bolognesi Scalabrin met us at the huge gate, and welcomed us warmly. Without much fanfare or introduction to the huge estate, she showed us quickly under the grape-vined trellis of the patio to our room, which was on the 2nd level off to one side of the much larger and cooler salon.



The building was constructed in 1468, and went through several families over the centuries. When Evelina van Millingen took up residence in 1852, having married Almoro III Pisani, the last descendant of the Santo Stefano Pisani family, she transformed the villa into a showpiece by transforming the garden to a proper English garden. Evelina's villa became the base for American artists and royal visitors, among them Henry James, the Queen of Sweden, the Empress of Germany, the daughter of Queen Victoria (Frederica), Robert Browning and Lord Byron.

The garden is Victorian in taste and features a large formal garden with sculptures and boxwood hedges. The garden was reportedly inspired by "The Formal Garden in England," a book published in 1892 by Sir Reginald Blomfield. The park has centuries-old trees, old and knotted rose bushes, clipped hedges forming geometric designs, statues, fountains, a pool house, rock garden and family theater and chapel. It's a beautiful way to spend an evening.

The villa itself seems to stretch for blocks along the garden, and has an endless number of antique- and frescoe-filled rooms blending one into the other. Even our "simple" bedroom was adorned with antiques. The bed was new and comfortable, and a wooden addition within the room provided us with closet space and a small but adequate bathroom and shower. I felt like I was staying in a museum, but the only inconvenience I felt was the lack of air conditioning on a hot day.

We took our afternoon activities into the salon while waiting for the room to cool off. We sat on the cool tiled floor and played gin rummy while observing through the large open window the arrival of guests. We could also hear tables being set up nearby. Obviously there was going to be some sort of celebration tonight, but we weren't invited.

The next morning we went downstairs, and were greeted again by Madame Scalabrin, who showed us to the breakfast room. "We would normally eat outside," she apologized, "but it's so cold this morning." Cold meant that it was in the low 60's. Two menopausal women were thankful for that kind of chill.

We ate breakfast, just the two of us, in silence as we took in another breaktaking old room, filled with several sets of silver tea service and china that had obviously been in the family for many years. Breakfast was rather simple: cheese, mueslix with milk, yogurt, tea and coffee.

After breakfast, I loaded up the car with our bags while Val continued to talk with Madame Scalabrin. She related later that she told her the Villa Pisani website was lovely but lacking in information, particularly an adequate description of how charming her home was. Mrs. Scalabrin was delighted to see some of the digital photos in Val's camera and seemed to enjoy hearing that here was someone who could help advertise her home for future guests. Val left her after promising to write some copy about the estate in the near future, to be emailed directly to her.

I guess I don't have to tell you that the copy advertising the magnificent Villa Pisani will leave out the part about the Beach Boys...

My Dream Vacation, Part 4: Driving in the Bermuda Triangle

I had some nightmares about driving in a foreign country, particularly Italy. After all, during my first visit, our tour bus driver told us (as translated), "Red lights are merely a suggestion for driving in Italy."

So, it was with great trepidation (which I didn't hide very well from my traveling companion) that I approached the rental car counter as we left Firenze. Our scheme was to rent the car on our way OUT of Florence so that we didn't have to bother with driving around the big city. Florence is a walking city anyway, and that would've seemed a waste. However, the problem with renting a car IN the big city is that you have to drive the car OUT of the big city.

So, with all of that in the back of my rather negative attitude, we were waiting for the taxi outside the Hotel Adler Cavelieri at 10 o'clock that morning after 5 days in glorious Firenze, I twiddled with the rental car voucher....and just happened to notice that the dates we were to rent the car were all wrong. The travel agent had booked us to rent the car on the day we arrived in Florence, which was, of course, incorrect. We were screwed before we even started.

We both agreed that the best way to approach the rental car agency, Europcar -- a name which would subsequently produce terror -- was to allow them to tell us we screwed up. And they did. "You do not have a car, madame," said the very polite man at the reservations desk. After much fiddling and conversation between Val and the reservationist, he produced a car some 45 minutes later. As we were about to climb into the car, we noticed it was a stick shift. We politely informed him that we booked an automatic, and that we cannot drive a stick shift. He looked perplexed. This appeared to be a very grave problem.

It seemed that the only thing that could be done was to contact the U.S. Europcar agent, and begin the rental process all over. So, he dialed the phone, explained the problem in English to the person on the line, and handed the handset to Val. She did her best to explain the problem. The U.S. office promised to fax a voucher to Europcar in Florence immediately.

It turns out that "immediately" in the U.S. has the same meaning as "immediately" in Italy, at least in this case. Five hours later, we were still in the little cramped, non-airconditioned office. Val had the extremely bright idea to stay put in the office in the single chair provided patrons, so that when the staff went to lunch they would look at us and feel guilty. While I don't know if that scheme worked, something happened very soon after they returned from a rather lengthy lunch. Even though they had called three times for us, the voucher still had not arrived. However, one woman who took over for our reservationist suddenly said, "Madame, I have a car for you," even without the required voucher. She explained that it was a larger, more expensive car, but it was an automatic and air-conditioned. We mentally leaped for joy, and thanked the entire staff for their kindness.

The Mercedes was a 220, a shiny black testament to fine workmanship. Val sat in the driver's seat, and I surrounded myself with all kinds of city maps in the passenger's seat, and, with directions on how to get out of Dodge firmly in hand, we set off...

And immediately found ourselves in a speedy, rolling quagmire. We were in the steets of Florence, going this way, going that, and the map seemed to make no sense at all. After we crossed the Arno, I said, "I don't think we should be crossing the Arno," but Val took a right turn at the next bridge and all was well. When we passed the last Firenze sign (with a line through it), we breathed a sigh of relief. We blissfully had no idea that things would go downhill from there.

We selected the smaller roads rather than the auto strade because we wanted to enjoy the countryside during our journey. However, the SS road took us up into the mountains along a narrow, winding path, an effort that made me car sick the entire trip and that proved to be an intense effort for the driver. We did see some marvelous terrain when we reached the top, stopping at a local bar. The locals sat in the bar, watching us as we walked in looking for toilets and maps. We figured out quickly that tourists don't normally come through these little towns, even in the middle of the summer.

It took us 4 hours to reach Forli, the last big city before we would drive into Ravenna, and we knew the mappy.com directions wouldn't be good enough. So we pulled into a little gas station and looked for a better map. Val looked in her little Italian phrase book the word for "map", and tried using her limited vocabulary on the gas station attendant. He spoke no English, but tried to be as helpful as possible while gently correcting her Italian. We found the city map of Ravenna and headed off, knowing that in one hour we would be in that magical city.

As the navigator, it's my duty to assure the driver that (1) we're not lost, (2) I know exactly where we are, and (3) we'd be in town, safely ensconced in our hotel before dinner. Numbers 1 through 3 flew out the window quickly. As soon as we hit the borders of Ravenna, I was quite aware that we were very lost. I couldn't find a single street on the map, as I tried to make out hidden street signs that flew past the window. We finally gave up in frustration and headed for the city centre.

The city centre isn't large in Ravenna, but it's laid out in a fashion that defies logic. There is no grid, just winding streets that may have three names within one block. We could not find the hotel, Albergo Cappello on Quattro (IV) Novembre Street. After an hour of driving around, knowing we were late to begin with and fearing we could not check in if we were any later, we decided to just park the car in the John Kennedy Piazza (at least we'd remember the name), and hoof it from there.

Once we got out of the car, finding steet names was slightly easier, and with Val's map skills we found the hotel, which, as it turned out, was only about two blocks away.

The Albergo Cappello is located off a piazza where there is no parking. Guests are told to "park anywhere, there is ample parking close by," but fail to tell you that all streetside parking has a limit. However, the next morning as we re-parked, we followed some "P" signs and happened upon a garage. The large, gruff Italian man in charge seemed to understand what we wanted, and with Val's limited Italian, we understood that we booked lodging for our car.

Off to the side while they were talking I noted a cocker spaniel. He was asleep when we parked, but came awake and sauntered over to sniff the tires of the car, not us. Then he leisurely went back to his place in the stoop of the apartment a few feet away, and drifted back to sleep.

The Albergo Cappello is a delightful hotel in a terrific location (if you don't have a car) in the middle of town. There are plenty of restaurants and bars around, and the local sights are just a few blocks away. We had to locate the hotel clerk, as reception was empty, but we found her quickly enough in the bar down below. She was very friendly as she took us to the elevator to show us our room. However, once we got off the elevator, we immediately discovered another flight of marble stairs had to be climbed to reach the room. I was beginning to realize that almost all hotels in Italy involve stairs.

Our room was larger than the usual European hotel room (or a Motel 6, for that matter), with wonderful windows that let in the light. The air conditioning was termpermental, but we finally figured it out enough to coax a little cold air. The bathroom, while not as grand as the Adler's, was quite nice, and featured a large tub with adjustable shower nozzle.

The hotel has only 7 rooms, 7 rooms in an older building but with modern conveniences. The hotel is attached to the old medieval tower, which we could see from our window. The hotel featured a large reception room which offered a breakfast nook and many magazines and brochures about Ravenna.

But we were here to see Ravenna, specifically the old cathedral, the mausoleum and the baptistery. Val was quite focused, once we reached town, as she wrote her Master's Thesis at the University of Chicago on the medieval baptistery. She could see it in her mind but she'd never been there. As she was to discover in an emotional wakening upon walking into first the cathedral and then the baptistery, seeing photos in a book is not the same as being there.

And so it was an exciting moment to watch as we climbed the stairs that lowered us into the San Vitale cathedral. I was immediately struck by the fact that very few tourists were there. (Actually, there weren't any tourists at all in town. No, that's wrong -- it's just that most of the "tourists" were Italian. Very few Americans, it would seem, traveled to Ravenna.) The cathedral looked enormous and stark even though it was one of the smaller ones I had seen this trip, but the visitor is immediately drawn to the delicately formed mosaics which have made this region famous. The last supper in the dome was an amazing sight; it's hard to realize that workers spent their whole lives putting these mosaics together.

The mausoleum was located in the courtyard just outside the cathedral. This building is amazing, and its mosaics are just as powerful. Only a few are buried here, which means it's a building not used much, a fact which has helped preserve its art. When I entered, I noticed how dark inside it was and slightly claustrophobic -- I did not have to bend to enter, but I noticed how small the doorway was, a testament, I supposed, to smaller men in the 13th century.

After we exited the site of these two buildings, we found ourselves back down winding streets and came face-to-face with the baptistery. Or at least Val did, as she recognized the nondescript, octagonal stone building immediately. "This is it," she said softly, and we entered the lone doorway quietly.

The magnificence of the Neonian baptistery isn't immediately evident until you look at the details. Remember the adult men entering the baptistery once a year? The same rules apply here, and as they sink into the baptismal waters, they stare above to the ceiling and see a naked mosaic Christ being baptised in the River Jordan. When they rise again slowly to answer the bishop's questions, they would see his head surrounded by a large ring, almost a halo, painted onto the wall in back of the font. Gold and blues glitter as the light hits the mosaic stones. It is truly unbelievable to behold and find yourself wondering how the ritual went so many years ago.

We left Ravenna after two nights, after having seen those three magnificent examples of architecture and religiious belief in the Dark Ages. (The cathedral had been brought "up to date" in the Renaissance, with ungainly but modern paintings having been added in the blank spaces of the ceiling.) We agreed that we would take the auto strada to get out of town. Surely getting out of town wouldn't be as bad and lengthy as getting in?

It almost was, as we found ourselves having to turn contrary to the map. But we got back on the right road, and drove up to the ticket booth to begin the auto strade.

Except that I couldn't figure out what to do at the ticket booth. I couldn't pay money, it wouldn't allow for it. Finally the light went on and Val said, "Oh, we just take the ticket!" We then figured out that when we exit the auto strade, we punch the ticket, and the machine will tell us how much to pay according to how far we've traveled. Ingenious.

We hit the auto strade with renewed enthusiasm for our trip, having just witnessed what few have ever seen in Ravenna, and with a firm belief that "we can do this!" And driving on the auto strade in a straight line seemed a lot easier than finding your way in a little town. We decided that I would drive, for the most part, while Val navigated. The division of labor would save us, we were certain.

The auto strade usually has three lanes of varying speeds:

The right lane: Go the speed limit.
The middle lane: Go slightly above the speed limit.
The left lane: What speed limit?

I discovered almost immediately that if I stuck a toe into the faster lane, I would find a car driving up my butt, coming out of nowhere at tremendous speeds. So I learned to first, decide if I really do want to get into that other lane, and then, secondly, pull the wheel sharply and go like hell until I could get over into the right lane again. When that other car narrowly misses you because you're too slow, and you see the Renault's bumper just inches away from your own, you try not to take it personally. They don't. It's just driving.

So we escaped the Bermuda Triangle of Ravenna only to find ourselves in another of Dante's rings of Purgatory, the speedy auto strade.

My Dream Vacation, Part 3: Siena

We had planned to take a day trip to Siena and San Gimignano with a local tour company after a couple of days to recover from jet lag, so at 8:30 in the morning on Friday, we walked over to the train station and found the proper bus. We had two languages onboard, and so had the same tour guide speak in both English and Spanish. The drive to Siena, which was about an hour and a half south of Firenze, was very pleasant in the air-conditioned tour bus.

Roberto handed us off to Margarita, our Siena tour guide, as soon as we got to the city square. Margarita was a delightful woman in her mid-40's. She had lived in Siena for the past 20 years, but her husband is originally from Siena. He is actually a Snail, she told Val in a private conversation, from that local district.

When the group surrounded her, she pointed upward. "Do you see the flag waving above us?" We saw a yellow and green flag, and if you looked closely, you could see the caterpillar on the flag. "The horse race was just run two days ago, and the Caterpillars won. Therefore, the Caterpillars have the right to run their flag up all over town!" She also told us that various townspeople will have scarves of the victorious district around their necks, and in some extreme cases, some of the men will be sucking from pacifiers. "It's like they are reborn," she said with a smile but not a smirk. This is serious business.

Every few steps we walked in Siena, we saw different flags or markings of another district. The dragon. The rhino. Fascinating.

Although we fairly flew up the streets on the way to the Duomo, it was easy to see that this Roman city was full of charm. Full of tourists, too, although not overly so, now that the annual race was last weekend.

The Duomo was located next to the hospital. I learned that Siena was a natural town on the pilgrimage to Rome, and thus the hospital was born. Hospital in this sense meant a place that would take care of travelers by offering a bed to sleep in and food. The heat was beginning to be oppressive even though it wasn't quite 11 in the morning. The Duomo on the outside is large but not necessarily compelling. However, once you walk inside, you discover instantly that it rivals St. Peter's in terms of artwork filling up every single inch of space.

While we were looking at the mosaics on the floor, some of which were being restored as we were there, one of the teenagers in our party fainted due to the heat. They took her over to get some water and she seemed fine. When we sat with the family during lunch, the mother related that her daughter has often fainted. Here, however, it was obvious that she had no hat and carried no water.

Siena is a fascinating Roman city. The aqueduct system was the only thing that kept Siena alive in the Roman day, as it had no outside source of water like a lake or river. The sloping cobblestone streets spoke to me as I climbed my way through the city's alleyways.

At lunchtime, Val and I opted to join Roberto at lunch in the Black Rooster. The Black Rooster is a cavern, and its small eating area is totally underground, down some steep stairs. All the food, we noticed, had to be toted up and down the stairs by the wait staff. The food was marvelous! We had a four-course meal consisting of small portions of antipasti, vegetable soup, pasta with cheese and some flecks of meat, and cheese. And the bread was the best, but I found I was declaring that at every meal.

After this somewhat heavy meal, however, we followed Roberto quickly into the heat of Siena and to the large square where we would meet the rest of the group. Then we raced back down to where the bus was parked, a good quarter-mile away. In the heat, after the heavy meal (of which he partook), walking quickly when there were obviously some disabled tourists along was unconscionable in my mind. To make this personal, by the time I returned to the bus, I was flushed and my face was beet red. It took 30 minutes in the air-conditioned bus for me to return to normal.

And by that time, we were in San Gimignano, a medieval town totally behind imposing city walls that still stand. San Gimignano in my mind, however, was a complete bust. After climbing up the streets (about 3 blocks) to get to the gate, we found that the only thing that awaited us was a thoroughly modern commercial village, full of knickknacks and gelato. And it was hard to escape the heat.

Still, it was a great day for sightseeing and learning about Italy's medieval towns, towns which spent most of their resources defending against would-be attackers. I loved Siena. The time we had there was spent running after the tour guide rather than plumbing its depths. I would love to return.

My Dream Vacation, Part 2: Firenze

The Hotel Adler Cavalieri on the Via Della Scala allowed us to roam around Firenze all day, even in horrible heat. We would check the temperature on channel 10 every day (15 minutes in Italian, 15 minutes in English) and I would try to make the quick conversion to Fahrenheit. The first few days were blistering. However, even with jet lag, we jumped out of bed early the next morning, luxuriated in that huge shower, and headed for the Duomo with our little city maps in hand. We saw the Duomo -- or, actually, we saw Giotto's tower -- looming large before us as we walked down the narrow, winding streets.

I noticed immediately that cars did not have much respect for pedestrians. We are the enemy or even the targets. And narrow cobblestone streets didn't slow these little European cars down. And when we entered areas that cars couldn't reach, thinking we were safe, we were accosted constantly by scooters -- Vespa. Like mosquitoes, they would whiz past my ear when I wasn't looking, barely missing me by inches. And the bicycles were just as bad, just as fast, and could go where no man has gone before.

When we got to the piazza with the tower and Duomo, we immediately noticed an octagonal building right before the cathedral. In fact, this older-looking building prevented anyone from taking pictures of the cathedral straight-on; I remember hearing one American complaining about it, as he tried shooting his camera from different angles. The baptistery is centuries older than the Duomo, and yet only seemed to attract attention because of its famous doors: Ghiberti's bronze Gates of Paradise (supposedly named by Michelangelo when he first saw them). I understand Ghiberti spent over two decades carving these Biblical scenes out of bronze, just because nothing he produced was ever good enough.

But the story of the battistero is utterly fascinating. Since Val did a lot of graduate work on medieval religious art and architecture, I had my own personal guide to the baptistery. We had a seat at one of the wonderful outdoor cafes in the square, and I watched the round baptistery as she told the story.

In those days, baptism was performed on adult men. They would be rounded up at night in a raid, and one-by-one would be marched into the imposing baptistry, which was only used once a year. The bishop would ask the novice to swear each time, and each time he uttered "I swear", the priest holding him would kick out his knees so that he would fall backwards, face up into total immersion of the baptismal waters of the font. They would keep him down just enough so that he would wonder if he was really going to drown, rising only to see the artwork on the top of the ceiling: Christ welcoming him, it seems, to Christendom, except that some figures on the ceiling suggested that he was being welcomed into death. How frightening it must have been for them! After their baptism, they were marched straight into the opening of the cathedral, or Duomo, next door. Hence the closeness of the two buildings.

"With stories like that," Val told me, with a gleam in her eye, "who neeeds the Renaissance?"

I do. And so I insisted that we see Michelangelo's David. Luckily, we accompanied a tour, included in our Firenze city tour, so that we could skip the hour-long line wrapped around the Accademie. Since I had been here last -- 10 years ago? -- David has a barrier around him to protect him from well-wishers. And after I had gotten over my shock-and-awe at seeing this gorgeous sculpture, I could for the first time, notice some irregularities in the form itself, and enter into a thoroughly riveting discussion on why Michelangelo made the choices he did.

Val and I both agreed that this would not be a museum-seeking trip this time. We had little time to waste. Besides....Firenze is an open-door museum! Everywhere you turn, you find masterpieces in architecture all over the city, topped with its noted red tile.

Every day, due to jet lag and the sheer exhaustion of walking an average of 4 miles a day in the heat, we went back to the Hotel Adler to catch a nap in the afternoon. We began to notice how cold the room had become, although when we first entered the room, it felt delicious to us.

We discovered a restaurant close to our hotel. Amusingly it had the same menu, with the same English subtitle misspellings, as another restaurant we found close to the Accademie. This restaurant, air-conditioned inside, had helpful young wait staff and a variety of menu items. Each item we tried was delicioso. And we noticed that, when the patron next to us had finished, they were served a small glass of lemony-yellow liquid. This was limoncello, and we too were able to sample it. It's alcoholic, rather a shock after the pasta, a gift from the restaurant to our palate. Incredibly lemony with a bite to it. We would remember this.

What a wonderful custom in Italy, to consume languourously a large lunch consisting of multiple courses over the period of noon to about 3 pm. Indeed, most shops closed during that time, leaving the American tourist to find a bar that was open or go back to nap at the hotel. Or both.

One night, in our search for the meeting point of the Siena tour the next day, we found a restaurant near the train station, one in several chain restaurants throughout Italy. I have forgotten the name, but it's Pasta R Us -- well, not exactly, but you get the idea. The amazing part is that the meal we had there was delicious! And a great deal cheaper than others we had had. However, the limoncello afterwards was not gratis, and was a sickly yellow rather than a bright hue, denoting a drop in quality.

The food has great variety, of course, in Firenze but pasta is king, or at least is primi patti and for what I usually reached. No garlic is used in Firenze, however; you'd have to go farther north for that influence. Cream sauces were prevalent. And a lot of pesce, or fish, dishes, done all sorts of weird ways.

It was during this trip that I decided that Florence -- Firenze -- is my favorite European city. It's modern, it's medieval, it's Renaissance. Its people are curious, beautiful, fast-moving (and not just on scooters). Art is there to pluck like an overripe bunch of grapes off the vine. It has everything.

I became a little ill one night, and was hesitant to leave the hotel. George told me I should call the illness Luciano's Revenge. Perhaps an amalgam of jet lag and the heat, it nevertheless kept us in the hotel one night, wandering up to the hotel's bar on the highest floor. Unfortunately, the barman did not want to go downstairs for food, so we just ate a few of the h'ors doeurves available. Luciano disappeared by morning. And, as it turned out, it was time for us to move on as well.

Firenze even appeals to the fictional villain. One apothecary shop was notably included as a scene in the movie Hannibal. Dr. Lecter (Anthony Hopkin) walked into the store and ordered up several herbal remedies. The store itself is absolutely real. Originally a storefront for monks (and the monastery is still in the back), right on the Via Della Scala, it's a series of marble and wood furniture rooms with thousands of herbal possibilities, each of which is available commercially to the private citizen.

My Dream Vacation

My friend Val and I were talking about taking an international trip together during her break from school. What would be my itinerary, she asked, if I could go anywhere?

In the past two years I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I would no longer be traveling internationally. It's too expensive, it's too hard, and with iffy health it's not something to be taken lightly. However, my health has improved greatly in that time, and going with another friend is always cost-effective and just too much fun to ignore.

My favorite place, I believe, outside my homes of Oakland and Coronado is Italy, or rather, Tuscany and north of that. I have been twice to Florence, but frankly all I remember are little swatches of shopping and museums. I took tours both times, and I distinctly remember being placed in the middle of the piazza by the tour bus, never being able to find my way back. If I could go back, unescorted and - hey! maybe even by rental car so we could have the most freedom! - I will have died and gone to pasta heaven!

Since this was back in May 2005, we didn't have much time for travel that would begin at the end of June. After several email and a couple of visits, we nailed down our itinerary to Florence, Siena, Ravenna, possibly Venice, Padua, Verona and Mantua, with Bologna another possibility. After we got the serious Italy map out, we made Siena a day-tour from Florence, cut out Venice entirely, and streamlined our journey to these hotel stops:

Florence (aka Firenze): 5 nights
Ravenna: 2 nights
Vescovana (south of Padua): 1 night
Mantua: 1 night
Firenze airport for last night: 1 night

We worked with a Triple A travel agent in Los Angeles, a "brother" who had been to Italy several times and had sensible recommendations. He set us up with the Firenze hotels (coming and going), the rental car, and the airline tickets. We were ready to roll!

Okay, we all know what happens with dream vacations, or dream anything: reality finally sets in. Reality, unfortunately, hit us immediately. Our flight from Frankfurt to Firenze was delayed 5 hours due to rainstorms over Firenze. When we finally got up in the air, they announced halfway through the short flight that the storms would prevent us from landing in Firenze. Instead, we landed in Bologna, one of the smallest airports I have ever seen. Without any further pronouncements on where to go, we managed to file, like ants, into a bus at the curb for the 2-hour drive from Bologna Airport to Firenze Airport.

When we arrived at Firenze Airport at 7:30 pm instead of 2:45 pm, we discovered that the Baspi Bus, the prepaid transport to our hotel in Firenze, was nowhere to be found. I used my new Euro coins to call on the pay phone, but no one answered at the tour office. It was, after all, pretty late by then. We stood in a long queue for the taxi, and the driver got us safely to the delightful Hotel Adler Cavalieri, a 3-star hotel near the train station and a 20-minute walk to the Duomo, etc. We marveled at the air conditioning in the room, the huuuuge shower stall in the rather nice bathroom, and, sodden with jetlag, took the desk clerk's suggestion of a late dinner at a real Italian restaurant right down the block.

I say "real," because only one person in the restaurant (I believe the owner) spoke any English at all. This was our first experience with an Italian menu (without subtitles!), and we spent a good 20 minutes reading it over and over, looking for clues in Italian words. Val had her phrase book, but that was slow going. And we were hungry.

The owner took pity on us, approached us and was very friendly, explaining in limited English what it was we were ordering. We still felt like we were gambling, but we would often find that to be so on this trip. You may not get exactly what you ordered, but it will be a delicious meal. That turned out to be the lovely truth every day we were in Italy. Buon appetito!

The Fan of the Game

While Rick and I were sitting there in our seats,
right before the A's game started, an A's official
came and asked us if we had our tickets. We thought
it was just the ticket police, as usual. But then he
told me that I had been selected as the Oakland A's fan of the
game.

"You think it's random, but it isn't. We select the
person by seat number, then we tell everyone to act crazy in the
bottom of the 3rd inning. You wave your hat around,
then we pick you." I didn't have an A's hat on
(spring training one instead), so he gave me one. He
added, "Don't go anywhere in the bottom of the 3rd!"
He also told me to go to Member Services after the 3rd
inning to claim my prizes.

So, true enough, cameras showed up, and the announcer
told everyone to go crazy. I waved my A's hat, and
Stompy (that fuzzy elephant mascot) picked ME. He
shook my hand and then kissed me on the top of the
head, all in plain view of 15,000 fans on Diamond
Vision.

When I claimed my prize right after that, I had won
(1) a Rich Harden signed baseball! (2) A t-shirt
advertising their event, Play with the Pros;(3) A
chance to play with the pros (I filled out a card);
(4) a coupon for a 12-pack of Pepsi (I gave this to
Rick).

Rick told everyone in the section that we've been
coming to A's games for 15 years, and this is the
first time we've won anything.

The icing on this green-and-gold cake came the next day when I went to the post office. The teller, who has served me for several years when I mail out my eBay stuff, said, "Linda, was that you on Diamond Vision last night?"

Indeed it was. I tell you, you have definitely reached your 15 seconds of fame when the United States Post Office recognizes you.

My First 5K Walk

I did it!!!

The Oakland A's-sponsored 5K Run (well, Walk for us) occurred on Sunday, June 19th, on a bright sunny morning in the A's parking lot.

Shawn and I showed up at the start line, and walked
the whole 5 kilometers with about 700 other runners
and walkers.

As we walked up to the Start line, Shawn lit a
cigarette. I had to laugh. As we began to walk out
of the Coliseum (currently McAfee Stadium), everybody
seemed to be having a good time. The people who were
serious about it were up at the front a good 15 minutes before the walk started, jockeying for
a good starting position.

We were motivated and humbled by a guy walking with us
-- Pete, walking with two crutches, the kind of
crutches you put your hand through, the kind that are likely
part of his daily routine for the rest of his life.
He was awesome. While we eventually passed him, he kept us
with us for a long time on the path, and finished the
whole 5K.

As we were approaching the one-mile mark (and our
first water station), Molly Jones passed us going the
other way. Go, Molly! We kept cheering the other
women who were actually running in this race.

Shawn and I finished numbers 699 and 700,
respectively, out of about 712. Not last, but
definitely not in the race. Not a problem. I was
happy that the two of us were able to raise $300 for
the fight against violence against women and children.
We believe the whole event raised over $30,000.
Pretty nice. And the race marks a level of achievement for me in my exercise program. I am very proud about that, and I'm looking forward to meeting the next set of obstacles toward the next level.

Oh, and at the end of the race, we went in to enjoy
the A's vs. the Phillies (A's won, 5 - 2). Amid
promises of getting out there more often to walk as
exercise, Shawn bought a four-pack of Krispy Kreme
donuts. Can you believe that??! (I had two,
thankyouverymuch.)

I hope the next challenge like this is just around the corner.

Help me -- I’ve fallen into the buffet and I can’t get up.

I’m addicted to food. No, that’s not really true. I’m addicted to sugar, and all things that end up sugar in my bloodstream. Bread, potatoes. Ice cream.

I retired in December 2003. Back in the recesses of my mind was a slender thought that I would have to take hold of my health and strangle it back to life. I’m in my mid-50’s. It’s hard to get up in the morning with all that stiff activity. A back that won’t cooperate and is in almost constant pain. At least I stopped having cramps in my legs after the surgery in 2002.

So in February 2004, I joined a weight-loss group at my clinic on MacArthur. I saw the flyer, and impulsively wrote my name and phone number on it. I thought I’d never hear from them. But two months later, they called me to inform me that the group was starting. That was a year and some months ago.

I started going to classes every Tuesday afternoon with nutritionists Nancy and Andrea, and later Jessica. My initial thought was, gee, nobody must have a job if they can come on a weekday afternoon. But they were all late, always! Nancy kept hinting, loudly, that people need to be on time. Finally she took a poll. As it turned out, nobody owned a car. They all were waiting for a ride that may or may not be on time. Usually not.

That was my first inkling that these people were not my clones. These were people I didn’t know anything about. They were foreign to me. And finally, I thought, we have nothing in common.

That wasn’t true, of course. We all had medical problems. And there was the obvious: we all needed to lose weight because of our medical problems.

It certainly was a shock, though, to learn that some had no income, except for public assistance. Some of them, notably a woman recovering from a strroke with her very overweight (and distinerested) 18-yr-old daughter, didn’t have a clue about losing weight but were sure they couldn’t afford it. They could buy Kentucky Fried Chicken but couldn’t buy vegetables or rice. I didn’t buy their logic but I could see where they acquired it. And how they believed it. Wow.

I lost 40 pounds by following Nancy’s and Jessica’s program. I went from 227 lbs on February 10, 2004, to 185 lbs on Decembert 1, 2004.

The program was rather simple:
1. Portion control - e.g., a steak should measure the size of a deck of cards.
2. Fat control. Change the foods you eat to reduce fat. No more fast food. No more fried foods. Read labels.
3. Reduce sugar content. This was probably the most intuitive but the hardest for me.
4. Try to follow the food pyramid -- don't forget those portions of fruits and vegetables.
5. Exercise.

Exercise was the easiest. I had always had pain in my legs, at least in the last 10 years, but once the blood was getting to my legs (thank you, surgeon), I stopped having cramps or shin splints. I could walk again without pain. However, I had no stamina. So, to build up, I went down to Lake Merritt or the San Leandro Marina and started walking: 20 minutes then 30 minutes at a time, then 45 minutes, then one hour.

Courtesy of the MacArthur clinic, I received a pedometer, which sharpened my focus on walking. I now try to walk 10,000 steps, the goal for a diabetic every day. 10,000 steps a day translates to achieving at least 7,000 steps during my walk, which is about 3 miles, and the other 3,000 will come from other daily activities. Lake Merritt is 3 miles from end to end: perfect. And the Marina measures a 1 mile or 1.5 mile trek: easy. I try to walk 6 times a week.

So, according to my calculations, I figured I’d be able to get to my goal weight of 175 by February, a year after I started the program. Didn’t happen.

In fact, I went up, gained weight. Aarrrgggh! It would be easy to say that life got in the way, but it didn’t. Ice cream got in the way. Chocolate. Bread. Butter. All the things I love that I had not been eating kept inching their way back into my life, more specifically my mouth. I can cheat, I thought. If I gain a pound or two, I can lose it again. No, I can’t. I haven’t been able to get on the same chugging railroad.

So every week when I went back to the group at MacArthur, I would tell them my story of the week. I had some dessert a couple nights. I lost sight of portion control. (Yes, dammit, I know how large a steak should be. A deck of cards!? I’m hungry!) “I know the program,” I would whine at them. “I just can’t seem to follow it.” They knew exactly what I was talking about. These people are my truth barometer.

I seem to have more in common with them than I initially thought. There are a couple in there who have had strokes. They’re impaired now. They’re angry about it, and trying to use that anger to move toward positive goals. They’re determined. There are others who have diabetes, like me. Sugar is poison, but they can’t resist it. There are others who just can’t put down that Big Mac, like the stroke victim’s teenage daughter who didn’t think our program applied to her. There are different types of people in this group, that’s for sure, but we’re all here for the same reason, to improve our health. And we recognize by being here that we can’t do it alone.

I can’t do it alone. I find I behave better when I’m eating with a friend who is on the same general program. She won’t criticize what I do, that’s for sure. But we both seem more inclined to stick to the program because the other is watching. Maybe it’s the shame factor. It works, whatever it is. And I need the MacArthur group.

So here I am. I haven’t weighed myself today, but I believe I’m at around 188. I hover in the same 5 pounds, 185 - 190, hoping to God it’s not 190 today. It’s one day at a time. Working the program one day at a time. I have an addiction, you see. That’s what we addicts have to do to get to the next day.

Sitting in the Stands at an A's game...

An old(er) man and his wife (probably both in mid-70's) sat down in front of me today at the A's game. Field level seats, on the aisle, allll the way up the stairs behind home plate, well under the overhang (and since it rained today, that was okay).

It took him 3 tries to hook his cane on the seat. He almost got me, but I kept ducking. As I'm sitting there, pre-game, eating my Oriental chicken salad, a small wooden object hit me lightly in the shoulder and bounced off my jacket. I found a tiny red sharpened pencil on the cement floor and tried to hand it back to the old man, but he kept ignoring me. Finally his wife took it from me, thanked me, and handed it to him. I said to him, "You must've thrown it over your shoulder." He wondered why he couldn't find it, took it, and started making marks on his scorecard without acknowledging my existence.

I'm going to be like that when I get older, I thought. Except I'll have a better hat, an A's cap. But I'll have the cane, and I, too, will be sitting close to the exit so that I don't have to climb the stairs.

His scorecard was as old as he was. But since he hadn't gotten through all the sheets, he must not go to that many games a year. But when he does, by golly, he whips out his old scorecard book and keeps score.

He barely talked to his wife all game, intent on getting the plays down on paper. It didn't help either one of us that the scoreboard was obscured from view by the overhanging concrete. He kept leaning forward to see a sliver of the bottom part of the scoreboard, occasionally lifting the binoculars to his eyes so that he could pick up the details.

A woman in an official-looking A's outfit came to our section and started handing out surveys on how well the fans liked the stadium experience. She spoke to him but he didn't hear her. She spoke again, trying to hand him the survey, but he ignored her. Finally his wife reached across him and took the survey and pen. He leaned toward the young woman to see what she wanted. When she said, "We just want to find out how we're doing," he shouted, barely above a whisper, "Here's how you're doing!" and shoved the scorecard in her face. She laughed.

His wife seemed so patient. She watched the game as silently as he did. When they stood up for the 7th-inning stretch song "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," she had difficulty becoming fully erect. He helped her in the last millisecond, a good two-thirds the way through the song. I didn't think it was required of us to stand during this break in our pasttime, but apparently it is.

Yup, I'm going to be just like him. Tottering out to the ballgames. Using binoculars to aid my tired eyes. Keeping track of the players and the action in front of me and ignoring (and not hearing) the rest. If being put out to pasture means going to the ballfield, I'm halfway in the barn right now. Except I've got a better hat.

STAR WARS, NOTHIN' BUT STAR WARS...

My nephew Rick and I attended the Star Wars Celebration III in Indianapolis over the four-day weekend. What a disaster, both organizationally and weather-wise! We ended up scaling back our expectations, and still managed to have a good time. Here are the highlights and lowlights.

WORST PART: The organization, sure. But that lack manifested itself into horrible lines for everything, including an average of two hours just to get into the building (and we're talking about the special "fan member" line here). Once you got into the building, it took another two hours to get into any presentation (except George Lucas', which took all night or cheating or being-in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time) or an average of seven hours to get into the Celebration III store.

MOST UNPREDICTABLE: The Weather. I did forecasts every day for a month leading up. The last forecast, which was Tuesday for our Wednesday flight, showed rain only on our travel day, and mid-sixties for the rest of our stay. I didn't bring a jacket. When we got there on Wednesday there was no rain, and it was balmy. It rained the rest of the weekend, and even snowed on Sunday. The wind, which came in on Saturday, brought the weather down to the 20's.

SECOND MOST UNPREDICTABLE: Which line will they let in? When will they let them in? If we stand in the non-fan line will we get in any faster? If we stand in the SkyWay (leading to the hotels and mall), will we get in at a decent rate and be warm and dry? The staff did not communicate, and we had no clue from day to day as to what the rules are. The FAST PATH system, publicized so that you did not have to wait on line to get into the Celebration III Store, had an empty booth all weekend; they never employed it.

MOST DISAPPOINTING TO MOST FANS: The inability to purchase Celebration III exclusive merchandise. I predict that only about half the attendees, if that, made it into the store. The lines averaged 7 hours. We waited for the last day, Sunday, as we knew a lot of people would be going home; however, they were out of most things by that time (except the Darth Vader figures).

BEST THING ABOUT THE WHOLE CONVENTION: The fans....most of them wore costumes!! And we're not talking sacks on their bodies. Most of the costumes were outstanding! We couldn't walk 10 feet without wanting to take a photo of these walking advertisements for their favorite film(s)!

2ND BEST THING ABOUT THE WHOLE CONVENTION: The fans...we could talk to them and find out what they knew, compare notes, etc. We met one guy and his nephew right behind the woman and her nephew (us). We found several very short and young Darth Vaders out there. Lots of inventors standing very proudly next to their own constructed R2D2's. The guy who drove in from Tennessee for one day who wanted to know if anyone could get into the store for him (no).

THE BEST PRESENTATION: This is a tough one. We only made it to about 20% of the presentations, because we didn't have two hours to spare in line for each one. But I would have to say that the whole Behind-the-Scenes crew were incredible: The Art Department (all 7), the Visual Effects Supervisor (John Knoll), the martial arts expert who taught Hayden Christensen and Ray Park how to fight. The best was Executive Producer Rick McCallum, who brought an incredible visual opera with him to show us the new footage from Revenge of the Sith. Wow!

BEST COSTUME: Almost impossible to say. There was one woman with her blue tube-like structures falling off her head. Some very tall, very imposing Darth Vaders. A Chewbacca that made your hair stand up on your neck (and his as well). And a Slave Girl Princess Leia that made all the young men file behind her as she walked, bottomless, through the convention area.

BEST PLACE TO RELAX: The Touchdown Lounge, home of the season ticket holders of the Indianapolis Colts. The Lounge was an informal place for fan club members (yeah, right) to relax, eat a hot dog, and enjoy the crew members and actors who came by to review your portfolio or to have pictures taken with you, respectively.

BEST STANDSTILL EXHIBITION: The Exhibit of actual Star Wars props, which included the original landspeeder model from Episode 4, an array of light sabers from Episode 6, and several models of the Milennium Falcon.

SECOND BEST STANDSTILL EXHIBITION: The R2 fan room, a very small enclave with fan-constructed robot units. One very popular addition was the carbonite-enclosed Jar Jar Binks. But everybody loves R2D2 and the exhibit boasted one of the originals being in his own special spot, surrounded by about 30 fan-made R2's.

WORST FIASCO: Oooh, there were so many. But most would say the inability to get into the Celebration III store. No one really thought of eBay until you couldn't get any Darth Vader talking figures; once that happened, everybody who did wait the obligatory day to get in would sell their other three (you were allowed to buy four) on auction.

MOST HYPED EVENT: The Celebration Opening Ceremonies. It took three hours of waiting in line to get towards the front (we were off to the side in about the 6th row) only to be greeted by a salsa band that was too loud, and Steve Sansweet introducing a bunch of lesser stars. Not one major star came to the event. We hear, though, that the Celebration Party on Saturday night may have been worse...

I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO COLD while waiting in snow flurries on Sunday morning. Wind chill factor brought the temps down to 20 degrees. I bought hot tea and/or chocolate, not to drink but to keep my hands warm.

The force was not with this convention (or at least the organizers), but we still had a memorable time.

COMPRESSING BREASTS, PART 2

I was right, at least on the one score: they did call me back for a second mammogram. However, this time, the people at the x-ray and mammogram center explained to me what was going on. She even showed me the result on the screen. She told me, "There's something there -- you can see it right here. They want to do an ultrasound on you to see what's going on." So I followed her down the hall at this early hour on a Thursday, and lay there while the new technician squirted cold goop on my right breast and expertly wielded the wand over the area. She stopped when she found it. She said, "I'm going to take a picture of this," and "I'll be right back."

While she was gone, I took a peek at the screen. It was a large screen and I know I was looking at a small area enlarged, but there in the middle of the striations was a mass that looked the size of Jupiter's spot, although all in black and white. It sat there, imperiously. While I stared at it, I thought about what was going to happen next. Actually I couldn't stop that train of thought the entire time she was gone from the room -- it couldn't have been more than 5 minutes, but the train kept moving down the track and eventually off the cliff.

I would next undergo a biopsy, I thought. Then, if it's positive, they'll call me in for treatment. Probably some heavy-duty chemo pills. Maybe some radiation. Intense stuff. I could stand my hair falling out, I thought nonchalantly. That wouldn't bother me. When they do the radical mastectomy, I don't think I'd mind that either. However, it's the lopsided-ness, the fact that....could I ask them to do the other one, too? But just then my ghoulish thoughts were interrupted when the tech re-entered with Dr. Bain.

Dr. Bain chewed me out royally when I told him that Kaiser had found a problem about a decade ago, and kept sending me form letters to appear again and again. He moved on, though, to "We want to do a biopsy right away. We'll let your doctor know. But why don't we set that up today." I was very appreciative of a quick decision. I have always preferred to DO something rather than just sit there. When I made the appointment for Tuesday, I was only regretful that I had to wait the weekend.

And wait is right. It didn't sit well with me. I was really good, I thought, at being in denial during the colonectomy, during the time they found cancer in my colon and cut the damn thing out. I went in thinking it would be minor surgery and that I'd recover completely. It wasn't but I did. But now I was beginning to worry. The 2nd time with my history: doesn't bode well. Still, I'll deal with it.

How I dealt with is, I went straight to Trader Joe's and bought a bucket of chocolate. Chocolate-covered nuts plus three candy bars, all sugar-free but all chocolate. An hour later, I was rather sick. And I knew why.

Maybe I'm getting better at recognizing my fears and feelings. Maybe that's why I ended up telling, oh, six or seven friends. (Actually it wasn't that many, but Pam spread the news and then asked afterwards if that was okay. It was. I wanted a little sympathy, not a lot, and maybe even a few prayers floating my way.)

I took the early appointment again on Tuesday, and was there ahead of time with my newspaper. But they didn't waste any time and I didn't get half into how the A's lost their home opener miserably when Dr. Bain appeared and explained the procedure to me. I love it when they explain things to me. She had had me mark the correct breast with a sharpie (boy, that stuff doesn't erase easily), just so, she explained, they don't explore the wrong breast. Since I was awake the entire time, I doubt that could happen. Actually, I couldn't even watch the doctor do his exploration, aided by the ultrasound, which was guided by the technician, as my right arm had to be placed over my head. That was the worst pain I felt during the entire procedure, forcing this seldom-used arm over my head for a period of about 45 minutes.

Dr. Bain told me that the item/mass/structure (he never really called it anything, but I have to pick a noun) was small but deep. I liked "small" even if I didn't like "deep." His plunger picked out 4 samples, and I was done. What a professional job. Now my own job was to wait two days for the results to come in.

At 1:08 pm on Thursday I called the doctor's office, knowing I would never get through to Dr. Schweitzer. But her nurse talked with me, said there was nothing in my chart, but would call the mammography center to check things out and call me back. She did within 5 minutes. "The report was on the doctor's desk," she sighed, and told me the results: "It was benign."

Hey!! What good news!! I thanked her, then hurriedly got on email and told everybody the news. I regretted a bit that I had told these people. Nephew Ricky wrote me back instantly that the news was wonderful and that "I can stop worrying now." That broke my heart. I wrote him back that I never wanted him to worry. "But I realize I didn't do a good job of telling you about the colon surgery last time. I think I was in denial." I promised to do better next time.

Will there be a next time? Two-and-a-half years out of colon cancer. A blip in my right breast. Perhaps. Maybe even probably. I'm going to pay better attention in the future. This denial stuff can get me into real trouble.

I called my friend Rick, who was back in Savannah for his mother's funeral. "I'm so happy about your autopsy results!" he exclaimed happily. "It was a biopsy, not an autopsy. I'm not dead yet," I laughed.

If you're reading this and wondering if you should (1) have a mammogram, and (2) have a colonoscopy, the answer lies in discussions with your doctor. If you're at all at risk -- have a history of cancer in your family, or are over 40 -- the answer is definitely "yes." Please consider having a simple procedure that will put your mind at ease.

Resist denial. It's futile.

Spring Training, Day 1: March Madness of Our Own

I awoke eager and ready to go at 2 a.m. on Wednesday morning, March 16th, Shawn and I picked Rick up at 4 a.m. at his home in Fremont, and sped off to Oakland Airport, where Shawn dropped us off at the deserted curb, a full two hours before the flight.

Standing in the Southwest “A” line, we met a very tall, portly gentleman who, due to the green outfits we were wearing, immediately spotted us as Oakland Athletics baseball fans. He said that he was going to Phoenix on business, but that he was also meeting some of his family. “We’ll go to some spring training games, but the part I’m excited about it seeing my granddaughters, who are 8, 10 and 14.” He said that the eldest was a fast speed softball pitcher currently being recruited by Cal.

When we got on the Southwest flight, we thought we had a half-empty flight. However, right before they were about to close the doors, 20 very tall men in uniform walked onboard: the St. Mary’s basketball team. The team was ranked 20th, and was headed for the national championships in “March Madness,” the great basketball tournament in Oklahoma. They looked too tall for the plane, and kind of confused at 6 a.m., but they finally found seats and we took off.

The guy sitting next to me was from St. Mary’s, obviously thrilled to be going to the tourney, but a bit older and seemingly wiser than his mates. I figured he was an assistant coach, not a player. He mentioned that the reason they were delayed in boarding was because all 20 had had their airline tickets purchased for them at the last minute, meaning yesterday, which is a security alert for TSA officials. Also, he said, “We have a guy from Morocco. They stop him every time.”

I handed him the Sports section from USA Today, as I never read it. (Not enough local sports, mostly Yankees and Red Sox.) As we were being served our drinks on the flight, he said, “Cool! There’s something about one of our players on Page 1.”

When Rick mentioned Moneyball in our conversation, my seatmate said quietly that “we do a lot of the same things when we recruit.” I countered, “Okay, Billy Beane and the A’s look for players who score a lot of walks. How does that equate in basketball?” He answered that walks equals stats in basketball that aren’t tallied, like passing. A player who passes well, moves the ball down the court, would be prized by a team like St. Mary’s. I don’t know much about college basketball, but I assume that St. Mary’s, then, is like the Oakland A’s in that they don’t have the money or reputation to get the hotshots when they recruit, so, as my new friend told me, “We look for players no one else wants, maybe they’re 5 foot 2 or something but they play really well.”

We wished the St. Mary players well, and went on to our own sports adventure. When we got off the plane at 9 am, we talked about whether we should go and check in at the hotel or go straight to the stadium. We decided quickly, hell, let’s go straight to the ballgame even though they don’t open until 11 a.m.

We followed mapquest for the 5 miles in search of the stadium. “It’s gotta be here somewhere,” I said, looking rather worried, as all we could see were one-story industrial buildings. “Where are the signs? Where is the place?” Finally we found the parking sign. The stadium was right next to the parking, but it wasn’t very large. Rick told me, “Linda, this isn’t Candlestick or the Coliseum. It’s small.” And so I’m learning to think “small” for all things related to spring training. The park itself is wonderful, an amalgam of steel and concrete. It only seats 9,000. We arrived two hours early, and watched the place fill in.

We immediately got a hot dog, because, when you wake up at 2 a.m., you get hungry by 11. We were climbing the two steps to our level when Rick slipped and his hot dog wienie flew out to the left, above his head, into an arc, and landed on his back. The bun, filled with mostly mustard flew out to his right and landed on my shoe. I quickly cleaned the mustard off my shoe, while Rick, muttering to himself, went off to find a new hot dog. When he returned, we settled in and watched batting practice. There were still only about 3 people in our section at that point. But one of them crept quietly up to us, handing Rick his napkin. He said, in a hushed tone, “You have a lot of mustard in your hair…”

Rick started yelling at the players right away, as he often does during the regular season. “C’mon, Ruby!” “Blue, punch a hole in that mask!” But I noticed people in our section were staring at him. Apparently games in spring training are a bit laid back, and the players as well as the fans are mellower. There’s not much intensity, no tension, if your team is behind by a run. The games don’t mean anything. The game is a mosaic of the veterans getting ready and the rookies struggling to make the team.

This particular game was a demonstration of the A’s superior pitching and hitting, at least against the hapless San Diego Padres in this instance. Kirk Saarloos, who was the starting pitcher, was hit hard a few times, but only gave up one run, the only run of the game. We then saw a slow parade of pitchers from both sides, including a few I’ve never heard of. Eric Byrnes, playing stellar left field, put on a hitting display. Jason Kendall, our new catcher, seems unstoppable, getting at least two hits before he came out. All of the boosters in our section were interested to see who would end up at 2nd base, as Mark Ellis was back, and apparently so is his bat. However, we are also Marco Scutaro fans. And there’s a third in contention, but he’s not a fan favorite. The A’s, in toto, looked ready to start the season today. But this was just one game.

Spring Training, Day 2: The Wearin’ of the Green

We immediately agreed upon seeing each other the next morning that we were both having fun and just as eager for this second day of spring training to begin.

At the Embassy Suites breakfast that morning, a buffet affair that is really pretty marvelous, we saw Candi. Candi arranged this whole outing for the Oakland A’s boosters, something that arose several years ago simply because her husband refused to do spring training unless it was cheaper. I was amazed to hear that 142 boosters had come to Arizona under her plan! Candi is a high-energy woman of 60, large in life in personality and body, with glorious white hair in a pixie cut. “The hair is just beginning to come in. It used to be blonde,” she said, almost wistfully. “I just ended my year of chemo. My next operation is the day after we get home from Phoenix.” When we said how sorry we were to hear that, she added quickly, “Oh, well, putting this trip together was wonderful therapy. I’d sit at my computer in my underwear at night when I couldn’t sleep or eat, and pound out the details of the trip. It kept my mind off my body.”

The boosters were quite upset when the Oakland A’s decided to abandon the Embassy Suites for the Marriott. The Embassy Suites gives a free breakfast, a suite containing two rooms and two T.V. sets, and free happy hour (for 2 hours) plus snacks. It was hard to beat. So, the boosters just let Candi do her thing in putting the package together and went with her rather than the official Oakland A’s program.

We weren’t exactly celebrity hunting at spring training, but one fan in our section pointed out Peter Gammons, the sportswriter and columnist, sitting in the press box just above our section. He was obviously by himself, working hard on his laptop. I was wondering what he was doing at a spring training A’s game. Which player caught his interest? I looked up at the press box in the 7th inning, and he was gone.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, and apparently it’s a celebrated day in baseball. There are actually St. Patrick’s Day hats issued by the teams. I had a fun time trying to spot the different ones, all green with the team moniker on the front and maybe a shamrock on the back. But the surprise for me was that the Cubs had green hats on when they played! The A’s, of course, already wear green hats, so no change for them. When I mentioned to Rick that I had never seen this nod to the Irish before, he said, laughing, “Well, you’ve never been to spring training before.” That’s right – St. Patrick’s Day would only occur during spring training.

Everyone at Phoenix Municipal Stadium today seemed to be in a festive mood. It was a little warm at game time, but the sun disappeared behind the clouds in a couple of innings, and the game went on during coolish weather, still in the high 60’s. The stadium seemed bursting, and they were mostly Cubbie fans.

We actually witnessed a real game this time. We were impressed that the A’s were able to get 2 runs off Greg Maddux in the 3rd, but disheartened that the Cubbies scored 5 runs against Rich Harden, one of the stalwart starters for the A’s. The Cubs won the game, 6-4. I was thrilled to see that we would watch Keiichi Yabu, a Japanese player that the A’s picked up during the break. The reliever told us at Fanfest that “I am not afraid to pitch inside.” However, he was hit a bit during the two innings we watched him today. Closer Dotel came into the game in 9th, and shut them down, but the A’s players, who were mostly invitees at this point, could not make up the two-run deficit. Still, seeing new guys Bobby Smith and Jermaine Clark, two minor leaguers who have been running around in the league for a good nine years apiece, was worth the price of admission. And rookie Bocachica made a spectacular catch in the outfield.

There were frequent conversations in the section today about the A’s players, which ones should stay, who should be sent down to AAA. The woman in front of us, Norma, was probably in her 70’s with a hairdo that reached for the sky and never moved. I figured she would never place a cap on that hair. Her opinion was that Byrnes should stay, because she liked him, and that we should definitely keep Marco Scutaro, one of the three vying for the 2nd base position, because he was the best looking guy on the team. Rick really stirred things up, though, when he mentioned that Eric Byrnes was on the chopping block, that he’s being shown in spring training as trade bait. The fans in Section K were really angry about this, and fought to keep him. However, Rick’s argument was that we have three established players in the outfield; in fact, the A’s brought up right fielder Nick Swisher from Triple A at the end of the season in 2004, and transferred in outfielder Charles Thomas from the Braves. Norma thought that Nick was lame and should be sent down….maybe even to Double A. She would be a cruel but swift manager, and didn’t see the need to wait and see what each player could do.

But in fact, we’re all managers. The average age of the Boosters is probably 65+, and they’re all opinionated about each player’s abilities and place in the A’s organization. We’re all experts, and we take these things personally. We get personally involved in these players’ careers. We may not know all the information revealed in Billy Beane’s office, but we act as if we have all the facts when we have an opinion about his moves. Hey, we can read stat sheets, too.

We attended the buffet dinner in the Embassy Suites Courtyard, put on by Candi and her committee, after the game. We found the table with our names, and helped ourselves to the free drinks which are served in the Embassy Suites bar every night between 5:30 and 7 pm.

During dinner we all talked about the players we had seen. Ken, the A’s Booster Club President, sat at our table and had tons of opinions about the players. Ken, in his longish graying hair and prominent mustache, used to be in law enforcement, a cop in Washington State, for over a decade when, as he put it, “I just burned out.” He is now a biker, and proudly showed us his business card which featured a picture of him on his Harley.

After dinner, they had a raffle of at least 30 items, and Rick won an A’s watch while I won a Mark Ellis-signed baseball cap. By the time we got back to the room at 9 pm, I was exhausted.

Spring Training, Day 3: Maryvale Tries Harder

Everyone in the breakfast line this morning had an opinion about the Congressional hearings on steroids. That is, the men seemed to have opinions about it, while the women were talking about comfort issues (the hotel, the food, complaining about the line, etc.). The man behind us felt strongly that all sports should adopt measures similar to the Olympics, because “everyone can make a mistake” once, but after that, they should be banned from the sport. Actually, most people we talked to about the steroid scandal leaned this way. The younger male fans were definitely interested in the testimony of the players, while the older male and most of the female fans thought the whole thing was an irritant, a plague on the sport, and wished it would just go away.

Today’s game was against the Milwaukee Brewers at their own stadium. So today Rick and I would venture out with mapquest directions in hand, looking for Maryvale Stadium. It’s thrilling to me that we’ll be able to visit four ballparks while we’re here: Phoenix, Maryvale, Scottsdale (where the Giants call home), and Surprise (Texas Rangers). It’s good to have a rental car, although most of the senior citizens on this trip do not. Candi is taking care of them: she has arranged for vans to take them to the game for a small fee. “I’m going to be switching to motorhomes next year,” she said, proudly. She wanted to make sure the boosters would make it to the stadiums in comfort.

We found Maryvale pretty easily, driving along 3 freeways past downtown Phoenix to a flat neighborhood along 51st Street. The stadium is recessed into the ground, and doesn’t rise above the walk-in level, except for the press box. We waited a good 45 minutes, however, to get in and have our bags searched, as security didn’t open the gate until 11:45 am. We had been told at the dinner last night that Maryvale security members really search the bags, and don’t allow food or water in. “You might be able to get a small water in,” said one booster who had been to spring training many times before. But that’s it. Security members looked into the bag, but didn’t disturb the two small waters we had. We were among the first ones in.

Maryvale Stadium is only used six weeks a year, just for spring training. It’s a wonderfully small, compact park, but the playing field and players seem much more accessible than Phoenix Municipal. Foul territory is skinnier, and those fans who pay $6 a pop can sit on the grass, a hill right beyond the outfield wall which goes around the entire stadium. We were able to walk completely around the stadium. While Maryvale seats 7,000, it seemed much smaller. About 7300 showed up for this game, but it didn’t seem completely full. This is so far my favorite baseball park. Warm, friendly, small like a minor league park.

They try harder, too. During every inning break, they threw t-shirts or bobbleheads or batting helmets into the audience. They passed out trading cards and certificates for a free ice cream sundaes to many fans as well. And the piece de resistance was a race between sausages. Women in huge sausage outfits ran by the fans (Polish won), and then signed autographs for the little kids on the concourse. Welcome to Milwaukee West.

The game itself was a pretty good one, especially if you’re an A’s fan. As before, we got to see several starters in the beginning, and they were gradually replaced by the 2nd string and then the Invitees. The starting pitcher today was Dan Haren, and he gave up only 3 hits in five innings, no runs, an outstanding performance. Another error was made by 2nd baseman Keith Ginter, who must be feeling the pressure. Eric Byrnes had a couple of hits. Huston Street did very well, pitching two innings of relief.

Every time number 22, Eric Byrnes, came up to bat, or even to the batting circle, the little old lady next to me, who was probably 75 years old or more with a Lucy Ricardo red-frizzy hairdo, would yell, “Yeah! You go, Byrnes!” Then she said to her friend sitting next to her, “Doesn’t he have the cutest tushie?”

I told Rick as we were watching that I was pulling for Jermaine Clark to make the club. He, like Bobby Smith, has been batting around the minor leagues for about 9 years. Time is running out. At that moment, a younger A’s fan sitting behind us said that he saw Jermaine at the bar at the Embassy Suites last night. “The Embassy Suites?” I said in disbelief. “Yep,” he said, “he even bought me a beer. He seemed like a nice guy,” went on the young fan, who seemed to be in his early 30’s and used to be a ballplayer himself. “He’s been around awhile. He seems to be treating this like a job. Which is too bad.” Jermaine was put in as a pinch runner, scored a run, and then had a hit two innings later.

The announcer told us that Prince Fielder was coming to bat in the 8th inning. “Prince Fielder,” said Rick, “had better be a good player with that name.” The young man in back of us told us that he was Cecil Fielder’s son, trying to make it to the big leagues. Cecil, of course, was the spectacular first baseman for the Detroit Tigers.

Rick was kidding with several members of the section about Prince Fielder. Rick told the group, “There’s no way he’s going to steal. He’s built like his father.” The fan in front of us turned to us and pointedly told us, “He’s going to steal second.” The A’s fan in back of us retorted, “Yeah, he’s going to steal….his lunch.” However, at that moment, Fielder took off from first and stole second, easily. The Mariners fans in front of us started howling and pointing at Rick, and Rick was a good sport about it. They loved it! It was a great moment in fan bonding.

After the game ended, we found Candi, who told us that she was going to run by Tony Roma’s for ribs tonight. If we wanted to join in for $8 apiece, she would purchase the ribs and bring them to the hotel pool tonight. “After all,” she said with a wink, “we wouldn’t want to take the boosters away from their happy hour.”

Spring Training, Day 4: Giants Vs. A’s

This morning after breakfast, we’re going to look for an internet connection. Although the Embassy Suites advertises wireless in every room, their server has been down the entire time we’ve been here. Rick also wants to look for a neutral or Giants sweatshirt; we’re going to a Giants vs. Padres game today, and he thinks wearing an A’s pullover would be a mistake. It’s rather chilly today and threatening rain.

It took us awhile this morning to find the Kinko’s I thought I saw on Thomas Road yesterday. But the Walgreen people helped us out. We both logged onto the internet in Kinko’s – what a neat deal. And they’re open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for 20 cents a minute. I’ll have to remember Kinko’s when I’m traveling.

The mapquest directions for Scottsdale Stadium, home of the San Francisco Giants during Spring Training, took us east on McDowell Road, and then north on Scottsdale Road. It was only a few blocks from Scottsdale Rd, and we parked in a makeshift parking lot and walked across the small street to the stadium. In fact, we walked all around the stadium, as it wasn’t quite 11 a.m., too early to go in. Once we were behind the stadium, we climbed the “grassy knoll” and were treated with a view of the entire diamond. That grassy area was completely filled with squatters by game time.

We were seated in Section 121 lower box, which put us just off 3rd base, but only two rows from the smallish fence separating us from the field and the players. The Padres were warming up next to us, and a couple of them came over to the fence, right in front of us, to sign autographs for the small crowd: Klesko and Nady. One pitcher, Otsuka, was very friendly, and stayed until every last person at the fence had his or her autograph. We didn’t get any autographs, but if it had been Giants players, I know I would have stepped up with the unsigned baseball I kept in my bag.

As soon as we sat down in our seats, we recognized a couple of A’s boosters in the row. One gentleman, who was still decked out in his A’s bright green colors, was probably in his 80’s. He took one look at Rick when he said hi to him, and instead of returning the greeting he said, “Are you going to be quiet today?” Rick, somewhat taken aback, answered honestly: “No.”

The weather seemed iffy. In fact, it did drizzle a bit, and we felt a few drops all through the game. It was overcast all day and a bit windy, with the temperature in the low 60’s. But still good baseball weather.

The game itself was entertaining, but we both felt we were too far away from home plate, and the ability to accurately call balls and strikes, to really stay in the game. It was a hitfest. There were over 30 hits in the game, with the Padres winning, 6-4. Starting Giants pitcher Jerome Williams struggled, and was taken out during the 3rd inning after giving up three runs. Almost all of the Giants pitchers met the same fate, with several hits being charged against each of them. David Franklin pitched one-and-a-third inning and gave up 1 hit, the new closer Benitez gave up 1 hit and 2 runs in 1 inning, and Christiansen really got shelled, like Williams, with 4 hits and 2 runs given up in 1 inning. Eyre looked a bit better, but Brower gave up 1 run in 1 inning.

On the offensive side, however, things looked promising. J.T. Snow looked ready for the season with two hits out of three tries, including a double which ricocheted against the center field wall. Moises Alou looked good defensively but whiffed during his two opportunities. Infielders Edgardo Alfonso (1 hit) and Ray Durham (2 hits) looked effective defensively and with a bat. However, the absence of Bonds, who is out for several weeks due to more surgery on his knee, really showed in that there was no one with the big bat to knock runners in and protect Alou.

We kept getting line drives coming to our section from mostly left-handed hitters. In fact, I can easily say that most of the foul balls today landed squarely in our section, on someone or next to someone. The kids, so noisy at the start of the game, scrambled madly for the errant balls, but for the most part could not beat the 40-year-olds trying to recapture their childhood with a dive to the concrete. However, there was one touching moment when a 12-year-old boy, one of the rowdiest of the kids, caught the foul ball right in front of a little old lady. He stood up, turned, and handed it to her, and she hugged him to much applause from onlookers. There was one scary moment, however, when one man three rows above us took a line drive in the chest. The paramedics responded quickly to help him recover his breath, and gave him a cold compress for the bruise that was about to pop up on his chest.

Scottsdale Stadium was built in 1955 for about $72,000. The Giants announced at today’s game that they signed an agreement to spend spring training at Scottsdale Stadium over the next 20 years, through 2025. When I looked out at the field, I could imagine Ted Williams playing there so many years ago. But the stadium holds 10,000 people, 3,000 more than Maryvale, and with its old fixtures it reminds you more of Candlestick than a smallish modern spring training facility. It is definitely not my favorite of the parks we’ve visited.

After the game, we stayed in old Scottsdale and went hunting for a restaurant. We parked and walked over to the Pink Pony – a restaurant where legends Barry Bonds and Ted Williams had both eaten -- but they were booked until 9 pm. So we took a chance and walked across the street to the Italian restaurant called Buca di Beppo. We waited in Buca’s lobby for an hour while they waited for one of the limited numbers of tables that seated two, but finally we got in. The restaurant was quite a sight, with Italian memorabilia and photos pasted all over the walls. You walked through the kitchen to get to the restaurant rooms so that they could show you the specials. The rooms in the back were crammed with family parties, including little kids screaming for attention. The menu was filled with old-fashioned Italian favorites which felt like you needed an Italian interpreter to order. We took the advice of our waiter and split the chicken cacciatore along with the garlic bread. It was the best I’ve ever tasted