the horsey tree

My Dad is a Redskins fan.  Growing up, I was very proud to be a Redskins fan, too.  We watched the games on Sundays.  And, when my oldest brother moved to Florida, I got to fill his spot in the annual trip to watch our team play the Cowboys.  We’d drive up to D.C., meet my other two brothers for lunch at Ledo’s pizza, they’d all eat the anchovies, and then we’d drive over to the stadium, grab some peanuts from an outdoor vendor and head to our seats for the start of the game.  We had two sets of two seats, a few rows apart.  My dad and I (oldest and youngest of the four-some) got the better seats, against the wall, under cover, behind the lady who wore the dangling redskin helmet earrings, red and gold beads around her neck and chain-smoked the whole game through.  We’d sit bundled up in scarves and blankets, with little heat packs stuffed in our mittens and freeze for 3 1/2 quarters. We’d always leave in the middle of the fourth quarter, chasing my dad through the crowd in his desperate race to beat the traffic out of the stadium.  Occasionally, we’d hear the best plays of the game on the radio in the car driving away.

I have good memories of "the game."  I liked being part of the action and joining in with the boys in their grand sports tradition.  My dad is a Redskins fan.  He always has been; always will be.  I think he has mellowed over the years in his Redskins fervor, but as long as I have known him, he’s been a quiet fan.  He sincerely cares about the outcome.  He’s content to sit at home with his cheese sandwhiches and pickles and watch–maybe letting out a grunt now and then….He rarely even catches one live game a year anymore.

So, this is what I knew of sports fans, until I married my dear husband.  Joshua comes from a deep tradition of baseball fans.  And, for some reason (partly, Ozzie Smith’s antics on the field), as a child, he picked the St. Louis Cardinals to be his team.  He grew up in Virginia. He is a DIE HARD Cardinals fan.

I have sweet memories of getting aquainted with the sport during our first year of marriage.  Josh bought this deal where we could listen to the Cardinals games via the St. Louis radio station, through the internet.  So, for hours on end, that summer our phone line would be tied up so we could listen to good ol’ Mike Shannon describe each swing, steer-ike, and fly ball.  During the World Series (void, unfortunately, of Cardinals) we decided make the grand effort to watch the games on TV.  We lived out in the country and didn’t pay for cable, so we couldn’t even get network channels clearly.  We bought a fancy antenna a really long cord.  We moved the TV into the kitchen (closer to the back door) and, each night, would yell back and forth–Josh holding the antenna up on the roof out back and me inside watching the static lessen and intensify–until we got the games in focus.  We’d stay up late, sitting at the kitchen table watching the games with the back door slightly cracked for the antenna cord.

So now, here we are in St. Louis.  And, the Cardinals are in the World Series.  Up 2 games to 1 against the Tigers.  We’ve got a little Mark McQuire doll hanging on the front door. The mood is tense in my house on game nights.  The cheering is loud.  I figure it’s the one time of year I’m not going to worry too much about the baby being awakened from a good night’s sleep.  His Daddy has every right to cheer.  He’s a Cardinal’s fan from Virginia, in St. Louis during a very good year.

It’s been a long night. It is time for Ice Cream and Chocolate and time to revisit the long-neglected blog.  It is time because the benefit of having a long night is coming out of it with a story to tell, or, as the case may be, a story to post on one’s blog.

Tomorrow, I am supposed to take a meal to some friends who just had twins.  Their second set.  In less than two years.  My sister-in-law, who is living with us, is working for this family and so I had planned to have the meal ready in the morning to send in with her.  I went grocery shopping today for the ingredients I didn’t have for the meal I planned to make.  But, as evening came around, I thought about this meal I was going to make and decided that, after several days of dealing with a sick and very needy little boy and running on less-than-usual sleep do to several late-night events recently, I needed to crash early and therefore opt for something easier.  So, I decided to switch my menu and make a quiche.  I have a really good quiche recipe that I got from a friend and it is the easiest good meal I make.  I knew that I had recently bought some refrigerated pie crusts (note that they come in packages of two–this will be important). I just assumed that I had everything else on hand.  This was mistake #1. 

I had already begun the quiche-making process when I realized that I was a bit short on Swiss cheese and did not have a can of evaporated milk. It was late enough in the evening now that there was no way I was going to go back to the more complicated meal I had originally planned.  Besides, I had four eggs cracked and waiting and a pie crust layered with onion and bacon on the kitchen counter.  So, I called my good friend a few doors down and she came through with the evaporated milk.  (She didn’t have the cheese but I decided I could make do with what I had.)  I left my good dog, Rolen to guard the house (and the sleeping babe) while I walked to my neighbor’s to pick up the milk.  We chatted for a bit. I checked out the door a couple times to make sure no one was lurking by the house and trusted my faithful, protective pooch.    Mistake #2?  Well, he didn’t let in any strangers.

But, he did eat my pie crust. And onion. And bacon.  Which he pulled right off the kitchen counter.  He cleaned out the pie pan and was downstairs hiding when I got home.  

So, I cooked some more bacon, and some onions.  I pulled out my second pie crust (Thank you Pillsbury for forcing me to buy two of your refrigerated pie crusts in one package.) and started over. My old faithful easy recipe is usually much easier than it was tonight.

I have one minute until the quiche comes out of the oven.  Then, I should probably take the dog out.