The Ol' Ball Game

I gave up baseball in the fifth grade. I don't remember all my reasons (I'm sure my motives were complicated) but I know it had something to do with (a.) my fear of hard, spherical objects being hurled at me by wild-armed eleven-year-olds and (b.) the fact that baseball is boring. Very boring. Standing out there in right field*, I wanted little more than to take my glove of, lie down, and take a nap.

All that's to say that I'm not Denver's biggest Rockies fan. True, I had a mild case of "Rockies Fever"--just like all the other fair weather fans in Denver last fall (sorry for the mixed metaphor). But that passed fairly quickly (about half way through game three of the World Series). It's also true that we've gone to a few games--but that was primarily about (a.) the food and (b.) the culture up in the cheap ($4) seats. In addition to being mooned several times one pleasant evening last spring, we also got to listen in on some "interesting" conversations. My personal favorite was the twenty-something sitting ahead of us--a guywe'd seen spend at least fifty bucks on Coors Light--attemptinig to pick up a girl by giving her several innings worth of free financial advice. I think that's called irony.

Well, pal Pico (actually pal Pico's wife) had an extra ticket Tuesday night--so I went along. By most counts, they were great seats. Okay, they were phenomenal seats. Not only was the food as good as ever, we were also seated three rows behind the home dug out, meaning that we could hear Clint Hurdle yell at the umps and see Matt Holiday's glistening dome, and yes, the streaker in the 7th inning (Hey, I'm just reporting the facts.)



*Okay, reason (c.) I wasn't good at baseball. Everyone knows the worst players get stuck in right field, except when lefties are up to bat...

**Yes, this post means no baby news. We'll let you know.

39.5 Weeks

If I'm counting correctly, Jill is at 39.5 weeks--the due date is Friday, but our Doc has suggested that may be a false hope.

Here is Jill this morning, dressed for her work as a pregnant ninja.

She's smiling for the picture, but really, she'd just been yelling Come out of there already!

I like it when Jill laughs and the whole belly shakes.

I think this is around or before Christmas. We were so proud--thinking that Jill looked so very pregnant. Silly us.

In other news: signs of spring include the bird nest on our back porch. I thought it was cool at first, but Momma bird has taken to dive bombing my head whenever I walk out the back door. Now I'm considering the purchase of a bb gun. (Not really.)

Trouble

The trouble with skiing with Luke (pictured) is that he regularly says things like this: Hey, don't worry about it...it's only a double black this time.



Yes, that means I went skiing again today. With 14 inches of new snow (sorry, freshies) and an invitation from a parishioner, how could I say no?



And yes, I'm fine..despite a day of double blacks, and double black e.x. (I think that's what they're called--I tried not to dwell on them too much) runs . Perhaps my ego is bruised, but I'm fine.

Freshies

I went to the mountains and found some "freshies" today. At least that's what the kids say. If you're over 26, hold a full time job, and don't call everybody "brah" (that's "Bro", as in "brother"), you might say that I went and found some fresh snow. You might also call it "powder".

This is the second week in a row that I got to ski the previously mentioned "Freshies". It was fantastic in both instances. Last week, however, I experienced the odd sensation of losing the distinction between ground and sky. It's a strange sensation to be sliding down a mountain and not know when it's going to take a sudden dip.

I find that skiing the "freshies" means that I have more wipe outs--but also that they're less painful. Last week, I ended up sliding down a rather large bump on my back with my skis straight above me. I'm sure those who were riding the lift directly above me were greatly entertained. Today, I took a good face plant, dropped a ski, and watched it slide 200 yards down the mountain. Thankfully, no one else was around to watch me hike/slide down after it.

Today, while eating my $9 piece of pizza and trying to not think about how I was being extorted, I was doing some counting. Apparently, I've skied somewhere between fifteen and twenty days this year. Perhaps I should be embarrassed by that. But more than anything, it strikes me (not for the first time) that I have a great wife. Not only did she let me go all those days (and that's a huge sacrifice since I'm so much fun to spend time with), today, when I told her I might come home early, she encouraged me--nay, insisted--that I stay longer.

This very well may be my last ski day of the year. I'm hoping to get a few in next year, but we'll have to see what Fatherhood brings. I know nothing is going to compare to having a baby, I'll never look back, and all those other things things that people say--but I also know that

I'm going to miss the skiing, the biking, the reading, the napping...

Prego Pics...4.6.08

Under three weeks to go (we hope)...Jill and Baby are as glorious as ever.

We had intended to take one of these together comparing Jill with baby under shirt to Joel with basketball under shirt. However, we didn't want to ask the neighbors to take a picture--they probably think us odd enough already. For the record, the two would have been very similiar (although, depending on what Baby is up to, the belly is sometimes more the shape of the deflated/lumpy basketball in the back corner of my garage)

The view from below.

We still like our dog.

Fumes...

Seems to me this blog is running on fumes (if that). I guess I'm settling into life in the bigdirtycity--ski days and bike rides no longer seem blog-worthy. Thankfully, we have a baby coming in a month (give or take) so I'll be able to keep it going with a few thousand pictures of the little person. I know that's what folks really want anyway.

Until that time comes, a few random thoughts from on my bike ride yesterday. Read them at your own risk. I can't guarantee your entertainment (you get what you pay for).

1. Pregnant ladies can't be trusted--at least not about the weather. They have a core temperature of approximately 187 degrees and will tell you it's warm enough to bike without gloves--even when it's 35 degrees. For the record, that is not warm enough.
2. Homeless guy playing trumpet. I saw one yesterday--he wasn't very good, but at least he was practicing. I had a flashback to fifth grade trumpet lessons--sitting next to CL in Mr. VH's garage on hard steel folding chairs blurting out our rendition of "Oh When the Saints." And then I wondered what life was like for him in fifth grade, pictured his mom signing him up for music lessons, wondered about the dreams she had for him, he had for himself. Just a reminder that the homeless are people. And that they never pictured life turning out that way for themselves either.
3. The creepy guy in the white van. He's been showing up on a daily basis this week, parking on the street--just in view of my office window. I think he lives down the block. I also think he's a drug dealer. I'm basing this on the fact that strange people pull up next to the white van, in their zippy little Civics, he (the driver of the white van) gets in the car with them for about five seconds, something happens (I haven't gotten out the binocs yet), then they both drive away. I'm wondering when this necessitates a call to the cops--I hate to waste their time. Plus, I enjoy watching him--this keeps me entertained at least ten minutes a day.
4. Ethical dilemmas. As every Seinfeld fan knows, we (cyclists, drivers, humankind) are supposed to have a deal with the Critter Kingdom--especially pigeons and squirrels. The deal is: we approach, they move. Well, the pigeons on the bike path haven't been cooperating. One nearly hit me last week. So, I've been trying to help them out--when I get close, I bark like a dog (this works well for squirrels, geese, and deer as well). So here's the dilemma. These particular uncooperative pigeons are under the bridge--right by a homeless guy. I don't want the homeless guy to think I'm barking at him--but I also don't want to get hit in the face by a lazy pigeon. What should I do?

That's about it. Hey, it was a short bike ride.

St. Patty's Day

Our latest (not really that up to date) pics of Jill--these taken on St. Patty's weekend (2 weeks ago?). A friend commented that her belly looks "glorious". The Doc insists she's really not that big. I, of course, agree with both.

In other prego news--one month to go. This week, we took a tour of the hospital where baby will (hopefully) be born . I think it made Jill more, rather than less, nervous. Other than that it was good. (Although it wasn't very nice of them to make all those pregnant ladies ride the freight elevator. They claim it was for convenience, but I don't know...)