Weekend Video: Dancing

Bursting

A whirlwind! That's what we've got going on around here. Don't worry, the grape leaves are all washed and dried and packed snug as bugs into freezer bags. And I am in Portland, so I have accomplished quite alot of the things I said needed to get done before I could set about stuffing and rolling dem bad boys.

For now, however, I am having a hell of a time swyping this drivel on my tiny phone's keyboard. Yes, I have an ipad with me. May I say that I *hate* the ipad that never connects to anything and is stupid and dumb? Thanks. Anyway, all I really want to do is show you a photo. I've been dying to show you this ever since I came across it a few days ago while collecting photos of my girl to showcase on her birthday.

You guys know Ellie, right? Don't you love Ellie? She has a phrase she sometimes uses to encompass her frequent feelings of overwhelming bliss. She says: "bursting with love and joy!"

It's just an expression, right? It's not possible or practical for one to *literally* burst with love and/or joy, right?

If such a thing were possible, though, I'm pretty sure it would look like this:

Happy Graduation!

Steve Fest

Friday night was a Love Fest for our ol' friend Steve.

This town was reeling from such a huge loss, but this town did what it does best: rally, organize, get together, raise money, and play music. And drink a lot.

All the stars came out that day and night . . .

. . . from near and far.

I was on beer cooler duty for the musicians. I know! That is how important and trustworthy I am.

Important. And Trustworthy.

People manned and womanned their stations and worked for hours and hours and hours for the cause.

Dibble Fraternal Love.

Kat and her Girl . . .

. . . and Kat and her Man and her Girl . . .

. . . oh how I adore this photo.

The stage was set . . .

. . . the friends were in the house . . .

. . . and the peeps poured in. Met by Bruce selling raffle tickets.

Oh, an awful lot of this went on that evening.

Neighbors!

Friends!

Neighbor-Friends!

Newlyweds!

And some seriously kick-ass raffle loot.

But mostly, it was about the music.

It was an incredible night. And best of all, tens of thousands of dollars were raised for Steve's family, by the most generous, thoughtful, devoted, loyal and enthusiastic group of peeps you'd ever want to meet.

Rave On, Steve.

do you know what this means?

You know what this means, don't you?

Wait... do you?

It's a pile of grape leaves, that much is clear. It's a pile of freshly washed grape leaves drying on my ping pong table.

It's not a very pretty photo, though. Nor does it necessarily tell the right story.

You know what this means, don't you?
 

If you've been playing along, you might think this means that I'll soon be heading back to the ol' C.T. for a lesbian lebanese feast.

That is true, it is valid and certain and inevitable.

But in a dizzying cosmic tweak of reality, it seems that I have yet to actually purchase actual airline tickets. Who am I?

I don't know. I don't know what's going on. All I know is that I keep eyeballing those gorgeous, bodacious green leaves on the grape house at work, and I've had wada on my brain, yo.

I incited an awesome flurry of emails among my family last week about recipes and mystifying measurements and grades of meat, and in the midst of that flurr I began to get excited about stepping up and taking on the rolling of the grape leaves.

It's on. Like donkey kong.

I just have to host a birthday slumber party and go to portland and close the fiscal year and buy some freaking plane tickets.

Then it's on.

Play ball!

Many of my posts of late have featured my oldest girl and my youngest girl. But what about my middle girl? Where the hell has she been? Have I been ignoring the poor dear? Well, no, no I have not. She's just been incredibly busy. Really, really busy, especially for a 7 year old.

She decided to try softball this spring, and boy, has it agreed with her. She loved the regular season, and made some terrific hits along with a lot of new friends. It being her first time ever playing, she had a lot to learn -- quite a few of the other girls were playing for their fourth year, not their first. Apparently though, not many people from the league went out for the All Star team, because my girl made the team! She was the last one added to the roster, mind you, but she was among the 12 girls on the All Star roster. She was thrilled -- really, really happy and proud.

Then we got the practice schedule. Oh-my-word-in-heaven! The first email said 5 days a week of practice for the first three weeks, then down to four days a week once the weekend tournaments started. In reality, the coach was tired after the first 5-day practice schedule, so he cut out the Friday practices.

Truth be told there were a few other days that practice was cancelled, and once the tournament started there were typically 3 days of practice a week, but boy did it seem as though that girl was on field 3 ALL THE TIME!

She was such a great sport about it all. Being the least experienced girl on the team, she was also the worst player. No matter - it did not bother her in the least. She was playing softball, every game. She loved it. She was the trusty right fielder who could be counted on to catch every, some, a few of the pop flies that came her way. She got  a few hits, and seemed to get hit, herself, quite often. But hey, getting on base is getting on base, right?

But most of all? Most of all she liked being part of a team.She loved all those softball chants and cheers and rhymes those girls seem to scream out ALL GAME LONG. She loved the group huddles, and runs and drills.

And she loved the gear. She loved the regular season uniform, it was cute indeed, but the All Star gear? Wow, the All Star gear was amazing, and very personalized and she loved every. single. item.

Let's take a look. We'll check out a few regular-season action shots first.

Nice form.

Love that face!

Look at that concentration, wouldja?

What happens?! Does she get her out??

Girl power!

Okay, fast forward to May, when All Star season is in full swing. Tournaments are every weekend, when my girl will play anywhere from 3 to 5 games.

Suiting up

The thing to do for softball tournaments. Who knew? Window paint in team colors is the shit.

Pose her mother forced her to strike. Jaunty visor, no?

Personalized, of course. Hair ribbons in team colors, another softball tradition that we were introduced to.

Giant jacket that she will use year after year provided she sticks with softball.

Awesome All-Star bags

Personalized, of course!

Dug out helmet line up

My girls hitting gear, sans bat

My girl not watching the game as she should be.

My girl's favorite new friend suiting up in her catcher gear.

Right field!!!

Right on!

She'll be missing next weekend's district championships, because we'll be out of town. And chances are that her team will not advance, so she's very likely played her last tournament of the season. She's a little bummed. But, never fear, there is always fall ball. Sigh.

Steve

New London lost a good one this week.

We've talked about the Reducers here before. Many times.

We lost Steve Kaika, talented bass player, talented contractor, beloved all-around great guy this week, and nothing will ever be the same.

The Reducers are an institution in New London, and nothing was more institutional than their annual Labor Day Show at Ocean Beach.

OB!

Mistah took all these groovy, fog-filled photos at the 2008 show.

Our boys were having fun that night . . .

In the meantime, back here in 2012, this town is reeling.

And this town is showing its love.

It's been a continual Parade of Love for our ol' friend Steve since he died Tuesday morning.

We'll miss him . . .

. . . and we thank him . . .

. . . and we love him.