Just a guy who loves to cook

Do not feel slighted Dear Reader. I started a new blog. One with a purpose. As opposed to this one? The new one, Chez Paul, is devoted to food. Preparation, preservation, etc... Certainly I am not an expert. In this or any other area. But I do love to cook. Chez Paul is simply a journal of what I do in the kitchen. There will be no recipes. There are enough of those out there already. Instead of wading through Pedestrian Subjunctives to find something edible, you can go to the new place. Yeah. Right. I mean to say, I can go to the new place. Link at left.

Saying goodbye...

Some memories, connected only in that they are from Civic Stadium. That, and that they are mine.

When we were pre-teens, my brother and I found some chewing tobacco in a dugout after a game while my dad was conducting an interview. We smuggled it home and the next day, while playing catch in the yard, tried some. We didn't know what we were doing so just crammed our mouths with the stuff and chewed it like bubblegum. You can guess what ensued Dear Reader.

There once was a mechanical cow on the right field fence. When an Emerald hit a home run, the cow would light up and "gallop." Prance?

One time I sent the boy for some nachos. This was a first. Not nachos, but sending the boy. He came back and, handing me the plastic tray, told me that he didn't know if I wanted relish on them so he put it on the side. Good boy.

A few years back, a pitcher threw a pitch, the batter hit a line drive foul into the stands. For the first, and only time in 41 seasons at that stadium, I caught it. That ball still has not touched the ground.

One of the last best things from my childhood, and one of the best connections I feel with my dad, is ending tomorrow. Tonight I am going to the penultimate game at good old Civic. By myself. I am going to spend some quality time with my old friend. Dad will be there too. I just know it.

Points with the wife. I mean runs.

Venerable Civic Stadium. There are so many memories for me here I couldn't begin to relate them all Dear Reader. It is sad that minor league baseball in Eugene will be moving to the University's new facility beginning next season. I am sad. Part of me, a big part of me, is being closed. Fading with time into increasingly blurry yet still golden memories. Then anecdotes. Then passing thoughts. Then just fragments of same. Sure, I have memorabilia gathered over the 41 years that I haunted the bleachers. An autographed program from the 1969 season. The foul ball the boy retrieved, breaking his arm in doing so, the blood now almost brown. That's enough. I can't go on. There are three games left and that will be it. The stadium and the players are all a lot smaller now than when I was a kid, fetching RC colas and fudgesicles for the sports writers in the press box and hanging out in the dugouts and the locker rooms after games while my dad interviewed players. July 15, 2006. Without a doubt this was my favorite game. You see Dear Reader, it was on that day that Susie and I had our first date. I don't even remember who won. Oh wait, I remember now. I did.