What's left to write? His induction to the Hall of Fame? Kid comes into the league through last year's draft having his slimy agent spout "you've never seen a kid like this before" and....less than a year later, all the smart folks are saying "I've never seen anything like this before.
Oooooooooo....k.
He was amazing, a must-see pitcher for at least the balance of this season. As for the encomiums...we'll see. Ego, injury, misfortune, salary disputes....anything could derail that future enshrinement in Cooperstown. But, for a Nationals game, it was more fun than usual.
Anyhoo.....
Spent the past weekend, the first weekend in June, working on my grandmother's old beach house. Built in 1959, or 1960, it's 4 blocks (or so) from the ocean, and the salt air wreaks havoc on the paint - every summer sees some scraping and painting. Plus, the humid Tidewater climate breeds vines that clamber all over the shingled siding. We rent out the upper apartment and visit occasionally to do the beach thing or just get a change in scenery. It's my grandmother's legacy to us. My younger brother and I spent alot of every summer between 1980 and 1986 in that house with my grandmother and her husband, John. I think both of us still love the place, I know I do. And when I'm there I miss my grandmother and her Italian accent, her great cooking, and how she doted on me like the sun shined outta my ass.
What I wasn't expecting was a tough job. I'd resolved to dig a trench and lay some drainpipe to move water from the outdoor shower (thus next to the house) and help the area near the house dry out more efficiently. I think it was, by job's end, about 70 feet. Normally, this is hard work but no real problem for me - the ground up here in Maryland is soft I guess. Down there? The first 2 inches are soft and then I hit solid clay for the next 6 inches down. I'm guessing, I didn't measure. It was all pickaxe territory. In nearly 100 degree temps....not fun. That was Friday's job.
Saturday got better, my dad and brother (plus my little nephew) showed up to help, and my younger brother was a huge help getting the trench across the finish line. One thing about my brothers and I - we may bitch alot but we can (and sometimes will) work like a bunch of Irish mules.
So, alot got done.
In between all the work and various "improvements" there was the whole father-son dynamic being played out. My dad was there with my brother and I, my brother there with his son (I was all solo, having left my 4 at home). I felt bad for my brother, as my dad spent alot of time either getting on the kid's nerves or critiquing my brother's parental skills (ie- "you've gotta toughen that boy up"). I think my dad thought he was being funny, or he was simply running his mouth too much, idunno.
For the record, my brother's a doting father and the little boy is 4 and a good kid - but he's 4. I saw nothing unusual. I guess that's what happens as you get older - you don't remember the petty annoying things kids do because you haven't been around them for year and years. By the end of the weekend, I'm sure my brother would have liked to have left the kid at home (he was driving my brother a little crazy, like my 3 year-old does to me).
We all went swimming, 3 generations of Blackfords splashing in the Atlantic at about the same place my grandmother took us while we were growing up. Because it was us - and not some family where everyone gets along without arguing - no Hallmark moments were had. Which is actually OK by me, I don't think I'd like phony Hallmark moments anyway.
It's fun, I like going down there alot. But it's not the same, I still miss her, her voice still echoes in the walls.
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