Game Three Fallout

                                  Red Sox vs Cardinals                                   

Game Three, World Series

October 26, 2013

   

      From the bathroom I heard, "Holy S___! Obstruction??  What was Middlebrooks supposed to do...roll over so the runner could sashay home?  He was sprawled in the dirt.  Are they serious?"

     The T.V. room went dark.  Stomping his way to the bedroom, Charley reached around the corner and switched off the bathroom light, where I'd just popped two vitamins into my mouth that could have fed a horse.

     I had to make an instant decision:  grope my way to the end of the room for the switch or grope my way along the counter for my cup of water.

     The water won.  Till it landed on the floor and I started choking on one of the horse pills lodged in my throat.

     Charley returned to the bathroom and flicked the switch.  I was bent like a pretzel, coughing and gasping.  

     "I'll get some water," he said.  

     I shook my head, but he'd already poured a cup.

     He walked toward the wet spot on the floor. I put up my palms to stop him.  "I'll dislodge it with the Heimlich," he said, putting the cup down and stepping into the water.

     As he raised one knee onto the rim of the tub to get me into position, he slipped.

     "Damn!" he said as his elbow hit the floor.  I imagined a night in the emergency room after the Red Sox had been robbed of a World Series game.  It wouldn't be pleasant!

     He lay beneath me, one leg still hooked on the edge of the tub.  I lay on top of him.

     The pills dislodged down my throat.  "You OK?" I rasped.
     "Yeah.  My elbow got it."
     "It isn't swelling, but I'll get some ice.  I take it they lost?"
    

     Sox fans, please...keep calm and believe!

     Full disclosure:  we're New Englanders and our two sons played in the Red Sox farm system during the '90's.  One of them will be in attendance with his wife for Game Six at Fenway.

     

The Monster Has Invaded!

 

   

     It's Halloween and a monster has invaded. It's been slow and insidious, and I'm to blame.  I've invited the species in. They've crept from my computer screen to my brain.  
     I don't mean vampires or parasites or flesh-eating bacteria.
     I mean SOCIAL MEDIA WEBSITES.  I want to opt out, but it's impossible.
     I'm a writer and love what I do...when I can do it.  A writer is living in the best of times (for self-publishing) and the worst of times. Too much promotion on social media means too little writing!
     I just attended the annual Florida Writer's Conference.  It was three days of nonstop seminars, information sessions, and networking with dinners and more networking.  Fun, exhausting, and now I'm on information overload.  The monster inside my computer waits for me every day.  "Interact, interact, interact!" it tells me, before I begin writing substance.
     I took twenty pages of notes at the Conference. I already had a website (www.minorleaguemom.com), a Facebook presence (Pamela Carey), a LinkedIn presence, a Goodreads presence, and a Pinterest presence.
     Now I'm supposed to add a Twitter presence.  And post on it four times a day.  And contribute to Goodreads, LinkedIn, and Amazon discussions.  And post a blog at least once a week and answer my loyal followers who respond to my blog.  All of these sites should lead back to my website, where my book is sold.  The website must be updated regularly.
     My work is stored on "clouds" in the sky.  For my new book (ELDERLY PARENTS WITH ALL THEIR MARBLES:  A SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR THE KIDS), I'll need a video trailer that is titillating and informative.  I'll need CD spinoffs and e-book supplements.
     At the Conference I met publishers and agents.  One agent gave me a blank stare when I described my presence on the web.  "How many followers do you have?" he said.
     "Five hundred and a data base of twelve hundred from the sale of my first book."
     "You need 100,000 for national presence.  Why don't you become a spokesperson for a national caregiver or geriatric association?"
     I gave the agent a blank stare.  The monster was creeping out of this man's mouth!
     I know people who are great marketers.  They aren't writers.  I'll do what I can, until I find a publicist who works for nothing.  Halloween will be over soon.
   
   

The IPhone and the Over-Fifty Set

 

     "Mom, I already programmed your address book into the new phone,"  Julie said to her seventy-something mother.  "All you have to do is hit PHONE, CONTACTS, AND THEN THE NUMBER THAT POPS UP.  It's three steps."
     "Julie, I tried and it doesn't ring.  I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
     "Do you have your glasses on?"
     "Yes, I have my glasses on."
     "Well, that Jitterbug phone has a four-inch screen and the biggest letters of any phone on the market.  The functions are alphabetical, so you don't have to hit an icon.  Can you find the paper where I wrote down the steps?"
     "I don't remember where I put it."
     "I'll be there after work, Mom.  Try those three steps again and dial me.  Hit PHONE, CONTACTS, AND THE NUMBER THAT POPS UP FOR ME."
     Julie did not receive a call.  She dialed her mother, but got a busy signal.
     Later, she tried again.  This time her mother answered.
     "I didn't hear from you, but your line was busy," Julie said.
     "When I dialed you, I got some internet site for young men.  They were all in speedos.  I must have hit the internet by mistake.  Then my hearing aid started shrieking.  I thought I was gonna go crazy, but I didn't know how to shut the speedos down.  I thought you said this thing is compatible with hearing aids!"
     "That's what the customer rep told me, Mom. Glad the thing was good for something."
     The next day:  "I picked up another phone for you, Mom.  It's much simpler and has no internet.  It's called the 'Jitterbugplus,' and it's a voice speaking to you.  All you have to do is say 'Yes' or 'No.'  It has big, huge numbers.  And I got you a surprise, too."
     "What?"
     "It's a little box you wear around your neck.  In case you can't reach the phone or you can't dial in an emergency.  It's called the '5StarUrgentResponse.'   It dials into a central number when you press the button."
     "At least I'll have somebody to talk to."


     The other side of the coin, for savvy over-fifties, is a Twitter account using the Iphone.  Creating a Twitter bio can be daunting, however.  A younger family member should probably handle this, or a co-worker - someone who can string several words together that are witty, self-deprecating, and concise in 160 characters, while summarizing the over-fifty's professional and personal accomplishments.  In the NY Times on Sunday, October 6, 2013, Teddy Wayne posted Hillary Clinton's Twitter bio:  "wife, mom, lawyer, women & kids advocate, FLOAR, FLOTUS, US Senator, Sec-State, author, dog owner, hair icon, pantsuit aficionado, glass ceiling cracker, TBD..."

     And for those over fifty who are even more adept on their Iphones, there's always Match.com, Ourtime.com, or ChristianMingle.com.  Just beware of speedos!
   
   
   

Rum Runners in Our Town?

We live in the coastal town of Westport, Massachusetts, almost half the year. Charley grew up not far from here, and I grew up on the coast of southern Connecticut.  Both states were rum-running territories during Prohibition and the temperance movement of the 1920's.  In fact, the entire east coast was rum-running territory.

Slatted wooden folding chairs pressed against each other on the floor of the Westport Methodist Church hall one night last week. Standees lined the walls.  In front at a table with three other panelists and a moderator sat Carlton Macomber, aka Cukie. Cukie reminded me of a diminutive ninety-something Santa, but when he took the microphone, his unassuming voice transported us into black ships' dangerous waters.

"Boys doing the rum running outfitted their boats to meet the mother ships beyond the three-mile limit, in Rum Row. Those ships came from the deep south, overseas, and Canada.  Without lights (hence, the name "black ships"), the Westport boys tried to outrun the Coast Guard cutters.  They delivered their loads to trucks signalling from Horseneck Beach or up the Sakonnet River. Later on, when things really heated up with the Coast Guard, the mother ships anchored twenty-five or thirty miles out.

"I knew the guy who was the most successful," Cukie said.  "He put two 300-horsepower aircraft engines on his boat, the Star.  No Coast Guard cutter could ever catch him, 'cause he'd disappear into the Devil's Pocket.  From outside the harbor at Half Mile Rock, it looks like there's no opening.  Then his buddy would turn the big wheel to open the rotating bridge over the East branch (of the Westport River), and the Coast Guard thought he'd vanished into thin air.  But he saved his money, and he was generous.  If anyone needed cash, no matter who it was, he'd give it to him on the spot."

"Would you say that half the town was in on the action?" Dawn Tripp, local author and moderator, asked.

"Half the town heard the trucks go up their dirt lanes from the beaches and then up Main Road.  They just kept their shades down.  It was the middle of the night and those trucks never put lights on till they got out of town.  They went to Fall River, Providence, New York, Boston.  Heck, Mayor Curley of Boston sent people down to pick up his shipments."

"Were the syndicates involved?" Dawn said.

"If Mayor Curley was into it, my guess is a 'Yes,'" Cukie said.  "What started out as a cat-and-mouse game between local boys and the Feds turned cut-throat.  More and more money exchanged hands, and everyone wanted a payoff.  More violence, too."

"Since we're talking about federal laws being broken, did local law enforcement get involved?"

"Oh, there might have been one or two arrests with a fine in Fall River court, but it was a slap on the wrist, really.  You've got to remember, there was only one constable here in town.....and he didn't have a driver's license.  If an accident happened, he called his son to take him to the scene."

Whitey Bulger and Aaron Hernandez: An Imaginary Encounter in Bristol Co., Mass., Corrections Facility

Hernandez:   Wassup?

The usual suspects

Bulger:  You talkin' to me?

Hernandez:  I don't see nobody else sunnin' in this resort, 'cept those two guys with rifles.

Bulger:  Nice 'toos.  What's that snake going round yr neck?  Looks like it ate a few pigs.

Hernandez:  That's my gang.  It mean, "Don't mess with me," but it came out like balloons together.  The guy doin' it was zonked.  I got 'toos all over.  My woman, Shayanna, she liked 'em.

Bulger:  What kinda name is that?  She from Wyoming?

Hernandez:  Watch y'r mouth, gran'pa.

Bulger:  She rat on ya?

Hernandez:  Like those FBI stoolies did to you.

Bulger:  Got that right.  Whadda they get you for?

Hernandez:  Murder.

Bulger:  How many?

Hernandez:  One.  Can't find nobody else.

Bulger:  That's nothin', man.

Hernandez:  How many they get you for?

Bulger:  Eleven convictions.  Can't find the other eight.

Hernandez:  You Bulger, right?  What kinda name is that?  Ain't it a wheat or somethin'?

Bulger:  That's "bulgar."  I'm Irish, nothin' else.

Hernandez:  Lotta luck you had, Mr. Potato Head.

Bulger:   You a mongrel, right?

Hernandez:  Y'u'r a wise ass.  I's American, just like you.  Land of opportunity.  Where's the $25 mill you hid?

Bulger:  Say what?

Hernandez:  Hey, man, ya'll never see it.  How old 'r ya?

Bulger:  Eighty-three.  Ya'll never see it, neither.

Hernandez:  Wha' else they got on ya?

Bulger:  Extortion, money laundering, weapons.  How'd they get ya?

Hernandez:  Dumped the body too close to home.  Shoulda put it in the cemetery, where it belonged. Wudda looked natural.  What'd you do with 'em?

Bulger:  Made a pit for all of 'em.

Hernandez:  An' I thought I was stupid!

Bulger:  You callin' me stupid?  How much you get a season?

Hernandez:  Three mill.

Bulger:  And you callin' me stupid.  I didn't get my ass kicked for chicken change.

Hernandez:  We both got 'cuffs and shackles, way I see it.

Bulger:  You been out here 'fore?

Hernandez:  You the first I seen or talked to in this country club.

Bulger:  What they got up their sleeve, throwing us two out here?  Ya wired?  Cuz if ya' got a wire, I'll break every bone in yur body, 'cuffs or no 'cuffs.

Hernandez:  I'm a mean, lean, runnin' machine.  Wires would show on this manchunk.

Bulger:  That's prob'ly what they want.  Us to kill each other. Save the state some dough.

Hernandez:  Only one'd come out alive, and it ain't you, old man.

Bulger:  Well, least I'll be famous.  They made a movie 'bout me with Jack Nicholson.

Hernandez:  Nobody could play me.

Bulger:  Yeah, you're one-of-a-kind.  The Pats are real proud a ya and Belichik's prayin' for your soul.

Hernandez:  Coach didn't pray.  He just made us run a thousand times.  I miss his yellin'.

Bulger:  Yeah, he misses you, too.



           

A Bedroom Scene

     Frank is ninety-five.
     Rita is eighty-eight.

     Frank and Rita and their spouses were best friends.  They all immigrated from various regions of Italy and ended up within five miles of each other in Florida.  Every Sunday after mass they went to breakfast together. They alternated Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter holidays at each other's homes, and visited each other's relatives.
     Frank still drove.  After his wife, Maria, and Rita's husband, Tony, passed away, Frank stopped by every day to visit.  He changed light bulbs, tightened screws, and took Rita for groceries or appointments. Every Saturday he delivered her to the hairdresser and picked her up afterward for a matinee and early dinner.  On Sunday after mass and breakfast, they visited Perpetual Gardens Mortuary, where Maria lay on a slab directly above Tony.
     Five years after Maria had passed and nine months after Tony had passed, Frank put his house on the market and moved into the guest room at Rita's.

     Frank (his first night in the guest room):  Rita, I can't find my glasses.
     Rita (in her bedroom):  Look on the kitchen table.
     Frank:  Where?  I can't hear.  I took my hearing aides out.
     Rita (louder):  In the kitchen.  Put your ears in.
     Fran (with loud squeal from his hearing aides):  OK.  Where the hell is the light switch?
     Rita:  Next to the phone.
     Frank (fumbling):   There they are!  When should I shower?
     Rita:  When you want.
     Frank:  There's no shower in my bathroom.  Now or in the morning?
     Rita:  In the morning.
     Frank:  Do you eat, then shower, or shower first?
     Rita:  Do what you want.  I have coffee, juice, Italian bread toasted.
     Frank:  I always have oatmeal with bananas.
     Rita:  Too bad.
     Frank:  What?
     Rita:  Never mind.
     Frank:  What can I put my dentures in?
     Rita:  A glass from the kitchen.
     Frank:  I'll get it.  I forgot my Polident.  You got any left from Tony?
     Rita:  It's in my bathroom under the sink.
     Frank:  OK.  What time you get up?
     Rita:  Seven o'clock.
     Frank:  Seven o'clock?  Why so early?
     Rita:  I say the rosary.  Sleep, if you want.
     Frank:  Yeah, I don't say the rosary.
     Rita:  Do what you want.
     Frank:  Can I come in for the Polident?
     Rita:  There's no-thing exciting here.
     Frank (going through Rita's bedroom to her bathroom):  I heard on TV Dentu-
               cream poisons people.  You might find me dead on the floor.
     Rita:  You no wear them enough to get poison.    If I find you dead, I scream for
              Dolores (next door).
     Frank:  Call 9-1-1 after you scream.
     Rita:  You check the stove?
     Frank:  Why should I?
     Rita:  I check at night to make sure no gas.
     Frank:  We had cold sandwiches tonight.
     Rita:  Oh, yeah.  You check the front door?
     Frank:  I locked it myself.
     Rita:  Then go to bed.
     Frank:  I'm trying.  Night, Rita.
     Rita:  Good night, Tony.  I mean Franco.


   

   

From the Grandkids

Our daughter-in-law parked the new white SUV in her driveway to surprise the girls when they got off the school bus.  Here are their reactions.
Emma:  "Is that the only color they had?"
Hannah:  "Does dad know about this?"

We had the pleasure of a granddaughter's visit for four nights.  We went to the beach, attacked each other in bumper boats, played tennis, visited a church fair, shopped for school clothes, went to the movies, and got a pedicure.  Hannah called her parents to report in.
Her mom:  "What have you been doing?"
Hannah:  "Oh, nothing much."

Charley (aka 'Papa') on the phone to Olivia:
"How are the twins (her brothers) doing with potty training?"
Olivia:  "Not too well.  Will runs and makes it, but Ryan still poops in his pants."

Papa to Will on the phone:  "What did you like best about your first day at (pre)school?"
Will:  "Lunch."

Emma after her birthday:
"Thank you for the check.  I can't buy anything because Dad's putting it in the bank.  That's OK, grandma.  The school clothes you got were nice."