Yesterday was game day. Colin came home early to take us to the day game. Red Sox vs. Kansas City Royals at Fenway. We hurried to the park with half an hour to spare. Enough time to load up on 2 Fenway Franks, 1 Italian sausage, 2 fries and 2 fried dough. No, not for me. For the girls - I keep telling myself.

Game day temperature is 75 degrees. Beautiful. Considering the day before it was 98. Slight breeze, clear blue skies, under the cooling shade and the green field before us. Beautiful.

As the game progress, Colin tries to get me to change my seat once again (as always). Two of our seats have obstructed views. We look out over the right field towards home plate (in other stadium it is in the boonies, but in Fenway there is no such thing). Yes, I can't see the pitcher- only the ball being hurled disembodiedly. I can see everything else except whatever is behind the green steel beam in front of me. Do I care, am I bothered by it, is it necessary for my enjoyment? From my seat, there is a tv monitor to the left which brodcast the game on local cable 1.5 seconds behind real-time and on the right the jumbotron which replays any key plays. I have everything I need: my girls sated with fries and french dough, Colin explaining the nuances of scoring the game to Lauren, Emma scanning the park with binoculars, me volleying between the tv, the field and the big screen. Sweet Caroline chorus. Our boys 1, them 0. Beautiful. Even with 2 too many hot dogs.