Resetting The Clock

Eastbound on I-90 in south Chicago, Marcia notices a man urinating on the side of the highway.  She registers her disgust, to which I agree by saying the guy should have waited to pull over in Gary, Indiana, where that sort of thing is expected.  Chicagoan to the core, it is the despoiling of my beloved birthplace that I take offense to.  

On the topic of Chicago, we were on our way to a baseball game in Cleveland.  Amanda lives there now, doing non-profit public ed work while chemical engineer husband Andy does periodic table of the elements stuff for Sherwin Williams.  Technically, I am the one going to a baseball game.  Marcia is along for another purpose.

On the topic of Chicago baseball, if there has ever been a better MLB half inning than the top of the 10th of Cubs v. Indians in Game 7 of the 2016 World Series, I’ve not seen it.  The Supreme Being herself stopped the contest with a little rain so the Northside boys could regroup and execute a textbook team offense attack.  Schwarber’s heroic in-season rehab has him leading off.  He gets on base.  Almora replaces him to run and then makes it to second with a smart tag-up on Bryant’s deep fly.  They intentionally walk Rizzo to get to Zobrist and set up a double play.  Professional hitter Zobrist delivers the most consequential double of the franchise’s long and to that point - slightly less than satisfactory - most recent century of history.

I was 3,000 miles away in Seaside, watching the game on the tv in the conference room of City Hall.  Some random guy knocked on the door of City Hall, and watched the game with me.  If the Cubs never win another game, it won’t matter at all to me.  They won it all once.  I saw it, and I really can’t ask for more.

And so my life has gone.  Winning the big one.  Winning lots of immensely fun ones with Colin.  Being in THE oval office.  Visiting THE locker room at 1060 W. Addison.  Being offered multiple jobs by THE mayor (the one who took back Miegs Field for the people).  Pulling off the national triple crown in the day job.  Standing atop the tippy top of the lower forty-eight.  Watching the kids graduate.  Walking Amanda down the aisle.   What more could there be?  

Working toward a certain newspaper corporation acting consistent with their professed standards, I suppose.  Not holding my breath, though.     

With the life complaints countable on one hand and the delights overtaking all the digits including the inoperative left toe, I’ve thought I was done with moving the beads on the life abacus for more than a few years now.  It has been a grand trip, full of challenge and adventure.  Son played in a World Series.  Daughter handed off at the end of the aisle.  Both through school with no debt.  Forever house built, occupied with hand-crafted furniture and festooned with piles of awards the kids picked up along the way.  On the downslope of career difficulty, joyously offset with the upslope of learning firefighting.  Coasting a bit, there really was not another life checkpoint on the horizon (maybe Denali?) and I’ve been lowkey ok with the concept of meeting the grim reaper without anything on the “to-do” list undone. 

Of course, whether Mr. Grim is up for the fight is still an unresolved question. 

But then the son goes to law school and there’s three bonus years of American social mobility to joyfully support.   And the daughter has a baby and everything resets.  Marcia is coming along not to count the guys with swollen bladders on the side of the road (2) but to baby sit.  Maeve; a healthy happy, roly-poly drooling and giggling little bundle of magic delivered by the one and only Sweetpea needs tending while mom and dad take “Pops” to a Savanna Bananas game (awesome, by the way) for Father’s Day.

 Lou Gehrig miscalculated.  I am the luckiest guy on the face of the planet. 

Big blue eyes and bigger smiles when I make funny faces, read her “Go Dog Go” or inadvisably lift her into the sky on a full tummy.  THE Sweetpea has her own Sweetpea and oh, my goodness.  I am smitten.  

Mr. Grim can kiss my stair-climbing glutes, cuz I ain’t going anytime soon.  There are birthday parties and dance recitals and a law school graduation and big fun with Maeve ahead.   We never know how many more trips round the sun we have, but I ain’t coasting through any one of them.  I have a granddaughter to take on adventures and giggle with.