Yesterday's plans for a picnic in Madison were a washout, so a whole mess of us from the family gathered on Grandma's big screened-in back porch instead. We had tons of food and caught the rest of the Yanks-Sox game that Ian and I had been watching all afternoon. If I was out of the room and Ian cheered, I knew the Yanks were in trouble. If my brother Jack cheered, I knew they were in good shape. If my Uncle Danny made a noise at all, I didn't know what to make of it, since Danny is a born Sox fan who has lived in New York for almost 30 years.
The Yanks eventually took it, but only after a rocky ninth inning. Still, after losing two in a row to the Sox at Yankee Stadium, it was ABOUT TIME. And it was a nice way to cap off the afternoon, especially since my Grandmother, a lifelong Sox fan, chided me yesterday: "I'm really sorry about your Yankees, Moira. What's going on with them?"
Merciless, I tell ya.
I grew up on that porch. When I was a kid I loved to sit out there during thunderstorms, watching the lightening, counting the seconds between flashes and thunderclaps, and feeling the mist of downpours through the screens. The whole family would hang out on the porch--my grandfather, who has been dead for almost 10 years, and all my aunts, uncles and their friends. For a small little cape, Grandma's house has always seemed to be filled with people. Party central.
Sean held sparklers in the backyard yesterday, too. And I joined him. For a moment there, with my mother cracking jokes from the porch and the game echoing from the den, I was brought back about 30 years. Then again, I'm always brought back about 30 years there. But considering one of my earliest memories is of holding a sparkler in the backyard for the country's bicentennial, standing there with Sean yesterday and jousting with sparklers was extra special. Not reliving old memories. Just making news ones I never expected. Given Grandma's initial prognosis last August, it is the greatest gift that Sean and I were playing there in the twilight, with a wall of tiger lilies behind us and Grandma's laughter skipping across the grass out toward the apple tree.