Out of the darkness.

The other day I was commenting about how quickly our kids have grown up. Sure all parents say this, and we all think it’s only our kids, but the moment they come into this world, it seems like you can never look back because in the blink of any eye, they are grown and out the door.

Within the next year, actually starting this weekend, one of my daughters will be out on her own, and another will soon be heading off to college. This is truly hard to believe. Our oldest daughter, the one who lives at home, came into my life when she was about 8 years old. Obviously I am not her biological father, but I do play a very active role as one of her Dad’s. How large my role is depends upon a few factors: Her mood, my mood and our moods. All in all, we get along as well as one parent and a 17 year old can; multiply this by sleepovers, oversleeping and sleepless nights, and you can imagine it’s a very interesting home life.

The title of today’s blog is appropriate; as we move from one stage of our life to another, we often find we are in the dark until we’re through it. It’s when we experience these new and different life stages, and suddenly “see the light,” is when we really begin to understand. I still believe the lights are often very dark during the formative years…these would be from the ages of 11 or so to say 21. After that, it’s pretty much a given if you haven’t seen the light at the end of the tunnel, you may want to re-think the tunnel you have entered.

I am very proud of my children; they all have much different views of their world, and live it to their fullest. Sure, we may not always like the way they look at it, but in the end we find a brighter light and that hopefully doesn’t cast too many shadows.

The photo above was taken this past weekend. One of our neighbors just became grandparents; when I knew their daughter was coming to visit I asked if they would be open to our taking pictures of her. They said “sure.” Who wouldn’t, there was no charge. I did it for the practice because I know if I get it right taking pictures of new borns, there could be another opportunity to get it right for someone who would like to pay. I showed this photo to my neighbor (the wife of course) and her reaction was just what I was hoping. Similar to today’s blog title, she was no longer in the dark as to how beautiful her granddaughter is.

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Meet Aunt JoAnn---my sister.

I have only one sister, however she is someone who has taught me so much in life, and about life. Because she is 6 years older than I am (actually 5 ½, but I round up) her knowledge of life when I was growing up was well beyond where I was at the time. I also have a brother, but this is not about him, he has been the topic of a blog already and mentioned numerous times on other days.

Meet my sister JoAnn. I would have to travel way back in time, because many of the stories are so far back that only pictures have uncovered the role she played in my life, that I really don’t remember many specifics. What I do remember, and photographs confirmed this, was how she was like a Mom to me. In pictures I would often be standing by her side and you could see she was holding my hand; the role of a big sister to a little brother can be one you either want to take on or is forced upon you---she was very willing to take on this role, it’s part of her DNA.

We actually have a lot in common…from our creative way of thinking, to our love of looking for hidden treasures at garage sales (she is more into it than I am, but it is fun) to the way we have battled such fun topics as weight and hearing issues. As they say, two out of three ain’t bad.

Besides being my big sister, JoAnn is the Aunt to my kids and my brother’s kids; of course she is also the Mom of two great sons. (I can’t call them kids because one is in his 30s and the other is leaving for college next year.)

A few summers ago, we went to visit JoAnn and her family; while we were there, she made sure our kids were going to make this a trip to remember. It included a visit to the Mall of America, nearby Lake Harriet, and to a special tree where a troll actually writes “personalized notes” to boys and girls. We also went to a special event in town where for the first time I experienced cheese curds--they were really good. One of my favorite moments from the trip is when Aunt JoAnn and one of our daughters put on “face masks”---the kind that enhance your skin, not the ones you wear on Halloween. If pictures are worth a thousand words, these were worth millions.

Move ahead a few years and Aunt JoAnn, my sister, has moved into a different role. As my Mother became ill, she became the Matriarch of our family; in this new role she provided us with the necessary handrail to move from one month to the next as my Mom’s illness progressed and to this day has continued this special role since my Mom’s passing.

One of my most special memories occurred the day my Mom passed away. My sister, who I love very much, was the one who said, “Mark, we don’t have much time, and if you are going to be able to say good bye in person, you will need to get down here right away.” At that point in time travel was not an option, but talking to my Mom via her cell phone was; for nearly 15 minutes, my sister held the phone to my Mom’s ear for me to talk with her for the last time. (When she interrupted me as I was talking to my Mom--- and I said, “I’m not done yet” she put the phone back to her ear for a few minutes.) If she had not done this, I never would have been able to say goodbye to my Mom as she died a few hours later.

The photo above was taken on April 4, 2009; on this day it was confirmed my Mom was sick. In her usual manner, JoAnn held it together and showed the love she is known for to my youngest daughter. Thanks JoAnn for being who you are and who we love so much---you are the best.

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Not again.

This past weekend some very horrible memories were brought forward that I was hoping we would not have to discuss again. In the middle of a crowded area of New York City a parked car had one objective--to kill innocent people. It’s still hard to believe that it’s been almost 10 years since September 11, 2001, I am very happy May 1, 2010 was not the new date we would all be referring to for years to come.

As is the case with most of us, we could never see doing the type of harm a bomb in New York City would do, or Atlanta, Oklahoma City, or any other city in the U.S. or around the world. Normal functioning people do not think this way. But there are people who have no respect for the human life and are trying to prove a point; there are many easier ways to accomplish this feat, I guess they don’t necessarily agree.

Having recently spent two days in New York, I know exactly the area where that car was parked. I have been there during the day, the night and the one consistency is the number of people who are in the area at all times of the day. You have to keep in mind not only is this a congested work area, but it’s also the theater district. There’s a reason they call New York the city that never sleeps and this is one area where the lights are always on.

What’s difficult for me to understand is why someone would feel this was the way to make their point. I know this is not a profound thought, but for someone to think they are really making a difference except the killing of an innocent person just boggles my mind; I am sure the majority if not all of the readers of “Snap. Shot.” feel this same way. I sure hope.

The photo above is of the cranes located at Ground Zero; they have yet to begin building the World Trade Center structures, but other buildings are beginning their rise from the ashes. We don’t need to be reminded of the horrific day we experienced in 2001, but if we are going to, it’s important stop the destruction before it happens. They will catch this guy I would not want to be in his shoes.

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The rivalry.

It seems like just yesterday when the Chicago Cubs won the World Series. Well, if yesterday were 37,065 days ago that would be the truth. Sorry to say for Cub fans, but it has been a long time since they hoisted the winning pitcher in the air and walked off the field as champions.

Now in all fairness the Cubs have come close---it happened nearly 55 years ago when they last played in the fall classic. It’s not as if these two times were the only apparences the team has made, they have been there a total of 9 times, but unfortunately they lost 8 of them. Oh well. (Something, however, has stuck from the 1908 season--- the song, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” made its debut.)

To be fair I have to let you know I am a Cardinal fan; I am not sure if I can hold back my bias, but will give it my best shot. Consider Wrigley field; there is little doubt this ballpark has seen its run of some of the best ballplayers the National League has ever seen. Sure, they may have played for other teams, but they did play in the “Friendly confines.”

Up until August 9, 1988, Wrigley Field had never played host to a night game; it was supposed to have taken place on 8/8/88---however it was rained out. Maybe that should have been a sign of things to come. Probably the most memorable World Series near miss happened 95 years to the day when a fan in the stands by the name of Steve Bartman “interfered” with a fly ball. He was literally banished from Chicago. Now, to be fair, I believe anyone would have done what he did---and more important, the Cubs ended up making errors, misjudged plays and other flub ups that evening causing them to lose the game. They had a chance the next evening, but lost the final game---ending any hopes of making it to the World Series that year.

Probably the funniest note of this incident was when Governor Rod Blagojevich suggested Bartman join a witness protection program; funny how the tables have turned on former-Governor Blagojevich as his trial approaches for trying to sell Senator Obama’s seat.

The photo above was taken at Wrigley Field when the Cardinals played the Cubs a couple of seasons ago---the Cubs were heading into post season and the Cardinals were not. But as confident as the Cubs were at that point in time, the Cardinals wanted them to know---don’t even think we are going to roll over. As you might guess, once the Cubs went into post season, their days were numbered.

In 2010, the campaign for the Cubs was all about starting over in year 1; it’s because they have new ownership, they figured they could put the past 102 years behind them. Unfortunately it looks like year 1 is going to be a bust---the Cardinals are moving ahead quickly and the Cubs, well there’s always next year.

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You make the call.

In the 1985 World Series, the name Don Denkingers was not one you would have known unless you make it a habit of following the game’s umpires. Most of us do not. But after game 6 between the St. Louis Cardinals and Kansas City Royals, he became a household name along Hwy. 70. (It was known as the I-70 Series). In the western part of the state, he was a “hero,” in the eastern part, he was a “zero.”

What happened? He did his job. But in this instance it does not appear he did it right.

This defining moment in the game changed the course of World Series history. With 3 outs to go, the Cardinals were leading the Royals and if all had gone as planned, they would have walked away as champs. But things don’t always go as planned and one call, in combination with misplayed balls, hits and runs, changed the outcome of the game.

Of course you play the best of 7 games in the World Series, but game 7 turned out to be a blow out and the Cardinals lost what many thought should have been theirs...the championship. But, that’s sports for you; just ask countless teams who were on the verge of winning and then a call happens and things change. Whether you agree with instant replay or not, in some instances it does confirm the truth; but sometimes it just blurs it further.

When you are taking photographs at sporting events, sometimes the fans become so convinced of a play that they are sure their point of view is the right one. They saw it with their own eyes after all and it’s what they believe. The ball hit the bat, didn’t hit the bat, he made the catch, it hit the ground, he stepped out of bounds, you name it---it’s when you have the photo, you believe you know the truth. Or at least the camera is indicating what it has captured. (But there are angles that can distort the truth…it’s just a game right?)

The photo above is a perfect example of fans knowing they are right when they just might not be. The Cubs were playing the Milwaukee Brewers at Wrigley Field. An infield grounder, which should be “routine,” becomes a lot closer than it normally would. The fans were sure the runner was out, the umpire made a different call---who was right?

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The garage.

For most people, a garage is a place where you park your car, bikes, and store odds and ends that you can keep out of doors. That’s true for this garage, but it has other stories to tell that you won’t see on its surface.

If you look on the left-hand side of the garage you will see a brick wall with a downspout affixed to it; more years than I can remember ago, my Mom was parking her car, and “accidently” as she claimed, “touched” the brickwork. Although it was a “light touch” it caused all of the bricks in the wall to fall down. Oops.

It just must be the left-hand side, but if you look at the window in the back, you will see a board on the floor. I am not sure when this was added, but it wasn’t soon enough because one of our cars went right through the window when someone pulled in too fast---I was not driving I am happy to say. Oops.

Now this is not part of the garage, but the blue containers on the right-hand side, one time a snake was waiting to completely scare the crap out of someone who walked by; that would be me, and it did. Although it has been more than 30 years, I still look at that sight every time I walk over by the door, you can’t see it in the picture, just to make sure Mr. Snake is not there waiting for me.

One thing that is missing is the second car that used to be in the garage; after my Mom passed away, my Dad decided to sell it and my brother purchased it from him. Now, I am not blaming my Mom again, but apparently there was quite a bit of damage to the bumper that was not visible to the naked eye. I know why. When you park in this garage, you have to do multi-point turns before you can pull straight into it. You back into the driveway, turn your wheels to the left, then to the right, and then pray you are straight enough to pull into the garage. If the wheels are not straight, you make adjustments so you don’t hit a wall or the other car for instance.

There were many times when I parked the car in the garage, and had performed the multi-point turns; however you would have had to be as thin as a piece of paper to get into the car parked next to the car I had just parked. Now, and this was not my fault, here's why it was a problem with the cars and not my parking ability; back in the days when no one really cared about miles per gallon or the cost to fill up the tank (my Dad’s company paid for gasoline back then anyway) we had what would be described as two “boats” that occupied the garage. That would be Si's "Dingy" and Barb's "Yacht." Have you ever tried to park a boat? Not easy. So I am not taking any blame for dings, dents, or scrapes---if we had smaller cars, we wouldn't have had this minor issue.

The photo above says it all---look at the walls and you will see the tools, mowers and shelves that made our garage when I was growing up different than the one we have “unattached” to our home. My Dad’s is organized, ours is not; no matter how hard you would try to park a car in our garage, yet alone two, you would have to move all of the junk that has taken over this space. For me, I am fine with it, because as I see it, it sure beats having to explain how I “gently touched” the sidewall when all of the bricks are on the ground.

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The greener thumb.

Right after the New Year, my Dad plants his garden. Not outside, but down in his basement. With tender loving care, he places the seeds of his one-day to be tomato plants under lights that make them start their journey to the garden located outside his home. I have often smiled when I have gone downstairs wondering if a surveillance plane were to fly overhead, would they suspect my Dad is growing something else in his basement? (Nothing to worry about here.)

As spring approaches, the plants start to emerge and grow toward the lamps that shine constantly above; it’s kind of hard to imagine in a few short months not only will these puny plants be several feet high, but will begin to produce the first of hundreds of tomatoes, peppers and other vegetables that are a lot better than you will find in any store.

Why are they so much better? Because my Dad grew them.

"Si’s Garden" is at the end of the house I grew up in. Located right outside the bedroom where my Mom and Dad called “their room” for nearly 47 years, I have to assume this location was ideal because it allowed my Dad to look outside when he wanted to make sure his plants were okay. There have been some bad seasons of what I recall; like any farmer, whether in Iowa, Nebraska, or Chesterfield, MO, rain, disease and animals can wreak havoc on a garden. Most years the bounty is incredible.

If my memory serves me, sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t, I think there was a year my Dad tried to grow watermelons. They exploded. I guess you need very special conditions to grow this huge fruit, and when the conditions aren’t right, bam. (No, I did not blow them up with firecrackers if that’s what you are thinking---I was long gone from the house by then.)

My Dad has always enjoyed taking care of his parcel of land; whether it’s the garden, back or front yards, this was, and continues to be, my father’s pride and joy. When I was a kid, my memories of pulling weeds amongst these pesky black pointed stones--- they would dig into your knees---continues today. I hate to pull weeds and as far as I am concerned they have every right to live on this Earth instead of my pulling them and tossing them into the trash.

Now with my Mom gone, who was known for making great tomato sauce, and giving away hundreds of tomatoes to friends and family, it’s up to my Dad to deliver the harvest. I am not worried, there is no one I know who is more giving than my Pops. However, he is going to have to learn how to make sauce or it’s off to Dierberg’s (grocery store) for the jarred stuff. Not going to happen---he will learn to make sauce just like my Mom did.

The photo above is a stone you’ll find leading into the garden where Si, my Dad, performs his magic every year. Sure there’s a lot of help from sun, water, and the climate he lives in, but if it weren’t for his yearly determination to grow some of the best damn tomatoes, I wouldn’t be writing about this right now.

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