A Few of My Particular Things

As I get older and crankier, I get more particular about the things that I like and dislike.

I like Circle-K coffee, not Starbucks
I like Church's Chicken, not KFC.
Satellite, not Cable.
My mom's pancakes, not IHOP.

I like sneakers, not hard shoes, and definitely not pointy toed high heels. They're ugly no matter who is wearing them.

I don't like the misuse of the apostrophe, although according to Roxanna, I overuse the comma, and I thank her for helping me cut down.

I like vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup, not chocolate ice cream.
I like chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream icing, not chocolate icing, not whipped cream icing.

I like my food cooked, although this has a bit to do with food allergies. But still... everything happens for a reason, and the discovery of fire was no different.

I don't try to be cool and pretend I like modern music. I prefer classical music and modern literature, not the other way around.

I like Star Wars AND Star Trek. And Stargate, and Eureka. I hate politics.

I like warm weather.
I don't have a landline.
I don't write checks, but it seems I'm always stuck in line behind someone who does.

I hate shopping, unless it's for fabric. I don't buy shoes or clothes for fun, unless it's a Star Wars T-Shirt.

I like playing in the creek. I like looking at the stars.

I like to take photographs, although I never do anything with them anymore...

I don't like to cook because it makes a mess, although I've been known to bake occasionally.

I can't live without a dishwasher.

I like sno-cones, cotton candy, cherry lemonade, A&W root beer, skim milk, and both milk and dark chocolates.

I like huckleberries but not strawberries.

I like Southwest Airlines. In fact, I like them so much I won't go anywhere by plane that they don't go.

I avoid Apple products. (Electronics, not the fruit)

I like my cheeseburgers grilled, not fried.

I've seen some really good food ruined by peppers and/or chiles.

I only eat chili with pasta and cheese.

I haven't sent out Christmas cards since 1978.

I like email, snail mail is so quaint, yet I still have to trudge through the snow to the mailbox everyday... sigh...

I mentioned on FB that I don't like Christmas movies.... Well, I don't like the TV specials, either, except for "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and this year the "Eureka" special. If I see one more version of "A Christmas Carol" I'm going to puke and scream at the same time...

I like the ellipsis...

And that be all... at least for now!

And may the Force be with us all!

When the Giants Come to Town

When the Giants come to town, it's "Bye-Bye Baby!"
Every time the chips are down, it's "Bye-Bye Baby!"
History's in the making at Candlestick Park!
Cheer for the batter, and light the spark!

If you're a fan of Giants baseball, sing "Bye-Bye Baby!"
If you want to be in first place, call "Bye-Bye Baby!"
Listen to the broadcast on KSFO.
Turn up the volume, and hear 'em go.

With the San Francisco Giants, it's "Bye-Bye Baby!"





The Giants came to town in 1958... I don't remember that since I was only 2 years old, but I've seen film of the parade down Market Street... and in 1962 they went to the World Series, and lost. I don't remember that either, but I've read about it.

Historical note: Legend has it that Walter O'Malley, owner of the Dodgers, convinced Horace Stoneham, owner of the Giants, to move to California over drinks at the bar of the Hotel Westward Ho in Phoenix.

My first memories of the San Francisco Giants come from my late father, who used to listen to games on the radio while he worked around the house and yard. We didn't listen on KSFO, it was too far away. Instead we listened to the local station. But we still heard the theme song.

I thought Candlestick Park must have the biggest candles anywhere.

I knew the Dodgers were bad. I didn't know why, but I knew they were the enemy.

Historical note: The Giants have eliminated the Dodgers in 1951, 1962, 1971, 1982, 1991... and in 2002 they won the Pennant, while the Dodgers finished third in the division. The next scheduled elimination is in 2011... only time will tell.

By 1971, I was hooked. I listened to games, and watched the rare TV broadcasts on Channel 2. Then one day in June of 1972, my Mom asked me if I wanted to go to "The City" the next day, and I said "Sure!" I mean, who wouldn't want to get out of the small town and see San Francisco?

Little did I know that my Dad was plotting in secret... and shortly after arriving in The City we were exiting towards Candlestick Park! I'll never forget walking through the doors into the field area, seeing all those seats and all that fake grass... it was breathtaking! It was like walking into a cathedral. Only better!

I followed the Giants over the years after that, not as fervently some years as others. In the early 90s my hubby and I went to a lot of games before we moved away from the Bay Area.

In 1992, we sweated out the possible move of them team to Florida. In 1993 we went on a roller coaster ride of a season. In 1999 we went back to say goodbye to the 'Stick as the Giants prepared to move into their new home in downtown San Francisco.

But never did they win a World Series.

In fact, they went 27 years in between Pennants, from 1962 to 1989... and in 1989 I sent my Dad a Giants T-shirt, which he claims he wore and caused them to lose every game of the World Series! It became a joke about which one of us was the bigger jinx!

It must have been me, because after he passed away, the Giants lost another World Series in 2002.

This year I found my Giants jacket in storage, and got it washed up... and hung it on the back of my bedroom door to finish drying. And while it hung there, the Giants won the division title. So I left it alone. They took the Division Series easily. Not much surprise there. And still I left the jacket alone.

Then they won the Pennant! My grandson told me to leave the jacket alone. And now they've won the World Series!

May I wear it now?

I wonder what my Dad would say tonight... Probably, "Who are these guys?" They are a bunch of self proclaimed castoffs and misfits. No superstars, no bloated egos. Just a team, playing a team sport the way it's meant to be played.

Now finally, for the first time in my life, I can say the Giants have won the World Series.

Goodnight, San Francisco. Sweet dreams!

Get Your Kicks in Nineteen Sixty-Six

I was ten years old in 1966, and on top of the world! What could be better than to be in double digits? No longer a little kid, I was yet to experience the yearn to grow up. Life was good.

I didn't have to wear makeup, a bra or shave my legs. Boys were just friends who had short hair and wore different types of clothing.

I had a blue bicycle, a transistor radio and a cassette tape recorder. I loved "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." and wanted to be a spy when I grew up.

Vacations with my parents were still fun. We had a pickup with a camper shell that had a bed, and that's where I rode, with my dog and an endless supply of reading material. After all, I had my own library card.

My family wasn't rich, nor were we poor. My parents worked and we had nice things. We'd moved into a new house in 1964, and we had a color TV, a fridge with an icemaker, and a garbage disposal. High tech!

We lived in the last house on the street, and in the open field next door that was a mound of dirt. After the winter rains, a nice round depression appeared in the mound, and through the imaginations of all the neighborhood kids, it became the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.

In the summer we'd all stay out late, playing at the school across the street, riding our bikes through the corridors and trying to shoot baskets by the glow of the nightlights. Sometimes bats would fly over and we'd run screaming towards the streetlights.

In the fall it rained again, and the fields behind our houses turned into fields of ponds. We'd take off our shoes and socks and splash through the water, never telling our parents. The creek behind the school would run, after being dry all summer, and again, we'd take off our shoes and socks and splash through the water, and again no one ever told their parents.

It was good to be ten. We were living in the Space Age. My parents liked to watch westerns on TV, but I pish-poshed at anything "old fashioned". Who would want to wear all those clothes? We had mini-skirts and go-go boots. "Mod" was everything.

We had four channels on that color TV, not including the educational channel, because we only watched that at school when we had to. TV was captured by a huge antennae on top of Cow Mountain and rebroadcast on VHF across the valley. Tuning those channels in was an art form. There were fifty-six minutes to an hour show.

There was no designated hitter.

And now I am ten years older than my mother was in 1966, and yet, despite her best efforts, I am not nearly as grown-up and mature as she was then.

But nowadays there are so many things we didn't have back then. Microwaves, satellite TV, the Internet, cell phones, and of course, no Star Wars. Would I trade all that to be ten again? Sure would. After all, I'd have it all to look forward to!