The Fenway Fall

It's about 75 degrees as we walk into the coolness and shade of Fenway Park last Sunday.  The Sox are out of town playing in Houston and the previous year's Championship Season is just a nice memory.  But that afternoon we were there to watch the Lowell Spinners (Red Sox minor league team) play the Mahoning Valley Scrappers (Cleveland Indians minor league team).  The idea is to see some young guys play in the beauty and serenity of Fenway and you can get seats that are like this:

Fourth row on the aisle right behind home plate.  Oh, yes.  Tommy was a happy boy.  We moved down the steps, and my right leg just went boink, and by the time I stopped rolling down the walkway, I had landed in the lap on a eight year old boy, actually on his water bottle (by the sound of the plastic crinkling) and the first view I saw was:

which was actually pretty neat because, well, I'd never been that close behind home plate (but the day before we had taken the Fenway Park tour, and the first thought that came into my already fractured brain was "Hey, I was up there yesterday.  Sat in those seats and could look down on to the field:

But for now I just apologized to the family and slowly skulked over to my seat.  We watched the game and the minor league hi-jinks on the sidelines (Suggestions for minor league teams - have a "Baseball Only Night" - no t-shirt giveaways, no mascot races, no dogs catching frisbees, no walkup music - just the game, and the food, of course). 

We shared a Cherry Coke and watched a very tight 1-0 game.  At the same time I could feel my leg muscles tightening up like plaster of paris, so that when we stood for the seventh inning or the excuse me-pardonme-sorry families to go by us to get in the aisle and dash for yet another soda and do the whole thing again. I was actually waiting for the family the next row over to explode with their group 33rd hot dog triggering the deluge of consumed weeniers, sodas, cotton candy, popcorn would flow unencumbered over the backstop and onto the field, stopping the game before the Spinners' relief corps would do their own exploding in the ninth.

Final score: Spanners 6, Spinners 1.

We stayed awhile after the game as the Red Sox showed "Field of Dreams" on the big screen.  I just took it in - those seats and watching the movie - OK, actually, I didn't want to make the walk back to the hotel. My legs had stiffened right up, my right leg more of a wood post.  Is this how Long John Silver felt in Treasure Island?  Step, clop, step, clop.  Arrrr, matey, get me to me ship. Can't remember where I put it.  Arrr.

Tuesday I stopped over at the library and dropped off a due book.  Before leaving, I walked over to the shelves that held the free books, and there's always a surprise or two.  It was down on the bottom shelf.  So I got down there, slowly, using my left leg to support, and my right on an angle for stability.  As I stood up, the right leg gave out and I fell on to the shelf, trying to grab it for support, but the shelf gave way, spilling me and the books on the floor.  Get up. Put the books back on the shelf.  Okay, skulk out.

I went home where I can fall over any time I want.  The Boston trip set a good frame of reference. I can walk as far as I wish, as long as I wish the place to be about a block away.  What is needed? The Acceptance of pain, treat when you can.  We did everything we planned to in Boston, and a few things more. But stairs are just, uh, no. One or two, fine. Anything more? It better be worth it.  We shopped on Newbury Street, and many stores are one floor up or down from the street. Sometimes it was.  But Boston is always worth it.  We've talked about moving there. If you want life filling culture and history, and beauty, I recommend the Dirty Water City. And the Red Sox. And Fenway.

And as Dylan said, "you better walk right." Doin' my best.  Thanks for reading.