Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.
A black squirrel leaped, rather acrobatically off the porch, as the meathead and I set off this morning.
And I thought of the White Sox.
(OK, maybe you have to be at least 50 years old or a baseball aficionado to catch that glancing reference to the Cubs, 1969, a black cat and Ron Santo.)
After the gut-wrenching loss Thursday put the Sox two games out, I swore I was done wasting time paying attention to them.
But with most of the family off to the Princess Pageant Friday evening, I flipped on the game. In time to watch the Sox put together a nice lead. Well nice at 3-1 for the games of recent vintage.
Other than the squirrels, not much in wildlife this morning. No doves. Only two Canada geese swimming by the neckdown by the bridge between the two old clay pits. Only a few wisps of fog lifting off the water.
When Sox relievers put runners on first and second and Robin Ventura went to change pitchers, I couldn’t take it, sensing doom and switched to Food Network to watch Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives.
But like itching a mosquito bite, when I went to bed, I had to turn the radio on to see how they were beaten. And found out Addison Reed had saved the 3-1 game, instead.
There’s more color every morning in the trees around the town pond–deeper yellows and more oranges–and the reds are darkening on the vines.
Two gray squirrels and two black ones rooted in the yards of the neighbors on the corner as we returned home.
It’s a squirrelly time.