To Boston!

 My dear friends and hosts John and Hodge, chatting as they wait for me to record a spectacular evening sky on Mass Ave. We all agreed that the hour when the sky goes peacock blue is the best hour of all. We'd walked all the way back to Cambridge from Fenway Park. Which isn't really all that far; it just sounds far. Ill-kept secret: I enjoyed the walk more than the baseball game. The Yanks hurt the Sox badly that day. Even though it was the 100th Anniversary of Fenway Park's Opening Day. Seems like they should've let them win, but I guess that's wiffleball, not baseball.

There was a lot of red and white in the stands. And Hodge pointed out that when you use the binoculars, nearly every shirt says RED SOX on it somewhere.

John showed me the Morse Code on the vertical white stripes on the old scoreboard. It's code for the first owners' names. 

I had fun with my telephoto for awhile. This is NOT Daisuke Matsuzaka. It is Junichi Tazawa. Thank you, Hodge.

Even Big Papi couldn't slam the Sox to a victory. 

And Saturday's game against the Yankees was an even worse rout. Oh well. It was great to be there, smack behind home plate with my friends John and Hodge on that auspicious day. Thanks to media commitments (I'm on a mini-book tour for The Bluebird Effect), I missed the opening ceremonies where past greats walked or wheeled out onto the field, and only was able to get there in the 7th inning. 

I have some Cambridge blogposts coming up. Most of them are of birds and flowers, predictably. I told Hodge that taking me to Fenway Park is a bit like taking a dog to the Louvre. I appreciate it, it has interesting sounds and smells, but I'm sure I don't get it on the deep spiritual level that true baseball fans achieve. I find myself watching the flight patterns of mourning doves, who repeatedly enter the park from left field, fly along the top tier of seats, dip over right field, then exit at extreme back right field. What are they doing? Why would they enter a stadium crammed with yelling people? Do they have a nest up in the rafters? and before you know it I've missed the double play. Linus in the outfield with his blankie getting hit on the head with a baseball, that's me.

But I do see some interesting things in the city.

Big Cat Guy near Harvard Square. I think about him making his own big cat pants and sewing on a tail, and I wonder.

More anon.