These kids are good drivers, all three. And they kept us informed all the way, with those new HTC Incredible Android cell phones. Tyler is so jealous

But we mostly reflect on the wonderful time we all had while they were here for their 16 days. What a treat! We got to really take Molly into our family, got to realize what a man Tyler has become, and saw Spenser in a new light, ready for his senior year at Michigan.

It’s frankly hard to see them go, but with Spenser finishing his AB degrees at UM, Tyler starting his MBA degree in Ann Arbor, and Molly looking to establish her residency and begin her classes toward what will become an advanced degree in Physical Therapy, there is so much to look forward to, and not very many years to look!

Lots of memories and futures are flooding our house at 1801. And plenty more to come.

As a quirk of fate, Matty is going back to Missoula the same time we travel to get the other kids, along with his new car, a Toyota Camry. He’ll have his own loan, which will begin establishing credit for him, and he’s very excited. He’ll be back for a weekend in the middle of August.

The only weird thing is that we probably won’t be going to any baseball games while the folks are home. But plenty more folks are coming to stay, at least for a part of the month of August. Swimming and camping and general relaxing enjoyment are a part of the plans. Should be a warm and bustling house, that’s for sure.

I love summer …

I was with a lot of my closest friends and family in the pressbox, and we watched a resurgent Chargers team blast their way into the State tournament, which will be held at the end of the month in Medicine Hat, Alberta.

I would say that I understand where the most important baseball is being played these days, at least in the Great Falls area. We have some trips planned to see minor league ball in Missoula, Helena, and Billings. Not when those teams are playing the Voyagers, though. Too close to the pain …

It was great fun to be in Spokane, a city that’s easy to fall in love with, even though the weather was breezy, cool, and sometimes rainy. No rainouts, though, which was a relief.

The Chargers played especially well, their only defeat coming in the championship game, a 1-0 affair against a very good Edmonton baseball academy. All-in-all, a fine weekend.

Most of my family will be going (I’m the only newbie from the immediate family on the trip). Of course, I’ll be keeping statistics and calling in stories to the Tribune on a daily basis.

Someone asked me yesterday if I ever tired of baseball. I guess the answer is evident, given my father’s passion for the game. The fact that the entire rest of my family is practically rabid about it is my greatest support.

Spokane should be fun … tune in toward the end of the week for more details.

But I decided to mow my lawn today, a really therapeutic task for me. So, donning my headphones, and listening to the Best of Al Jarreau on the mp3 feature of my cell phone, I strode onto our new lawn.

The sun came out right afterward—probably due to my entrance onto the yard. I set the cutting height up a couple notches so as not to hurt the new growth, and off I went.

“Agua de Beber” was the song that really got me. I memorized the Spanish a long time ago, and it was still fresh. And the sun was shining!, so I launched into its first verse. Driving rhythm, driving lawn mower, happier guy, getting out of his doldrums—what could be better than that?

As I rounded the corner, a mother and her 9-year-old son stopped just beyond our fence to stare quizzically at me. I waved (what a beautiful day!), but they didn’t wave back. Well, unless you call pointing to one’s ear and making a funny circular motion a wave.

My audience grew by two, a master and his dog, and the four members of my audience had a conversation, pointing and laughing. Didn’t they know how long I had been in a funk? No, probably not.

Making a route around the lawn and returning to where I first saw these folks, Al launched into “Mornin’,” and I took his lead, singing and dancing as much as the mower allowed me to shimmy and shake. They all shook their heads and moved onto their next scene.

Nothing like a few rays of sunshine, a little Al, and a little audience to lift a person.

“Need I tell you that everything here is just fine …”

Joe Posnanski of Sports Illustrated, perhaps the most eloquent sports writer these days, posted a tribute to Galarraga in his blog Thursday:

Galarraga pitched a perfect game on Wednesday night in Detroit. I’ll always believe that. I think most baseball fans will always believe that. But, more than anything, it seems that Galarraga will always believe it. The way he handled himself after the game, well, that was something better than perfection.

Dallas Braden’s perfect game was thrilling. Roy Halladay’s perfect game was art. But Armando’s Galarraga’s perfect game was a lesson in grace.

And when my young daughters ask, “Why didn’t he get mad and scream about how he was robbed?” I think I will tell them this:

“I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s because Armando Galarraga understands something that is very hard to understand, something we all struggle with, something I hope you will learn as you grow older: In the end, nobody’s perfect. We just do the best we can.”

Amen.

Andres Galarraga, who was sent to AAA Toledo after spring training and who has just recently been called up and has now assumed the starting position after Dontrelle Willis was sent packing, had been masterful through 8 2/3 innings. Sure there were those typical great plays that define the no-hitter, or in this case, the perfect game, but Galarraga had thrown a maximum of 11 pitches in every inning, and was in masterful control.

Too bad the same can’t be said of the umpire at first, Jim Joyce. With two outs in the ninth, Galarraga induced Jason Donald to hit a weak bouncer between first and second. Miguel Cabrera fielded the ball cleanly and tossed it to Galarraga covering first base. The throw was handled cleanly and beat Donald by at least a full step.

But Joyce called him safe. It was a dreadful mistake that Joyce later verified. But the damage was done.

As Tyler said later, “That was the worst call we’ve seen in our lifetime.” Worst in my lifetime, too.

Baseball, as life, sucks sometimes.

1. what we had just been through; and
2. why the weather was like this in May, for Pete’s sake!

We stopped  briefly at Tammy and Mark’s (Carol’s cousins) house to change into concert-going apparel, jumped in the car again, and made it the rest of the 22 miles into Cherry Hills, a suburb of Denver, where the Glee Club concert was to take place.

We had been in contact with Tyler’s friend, Tom Lucie, about a place to meet, and Tom suggested a restaurant only a few minutes from the concert venue. Tyler called to tell us he was in on the planning from D.C., another testament to the wonders of social communication and mobile technology. He made the bridge between Tommy and us in the car, being our tour guide, and informed us of times and directions. Of course, with our GPS (built into my Droid), we had turn-by-turn instructions for how to get to VeauJo’s, a pizza and pasta place with an incredibly diverse gluten-free menu.

We arrived there ahead of Tom and his girlfriend Kate, so were waiting at a table for six when always-attentive Aunt Sue looked out the window and remarked, “That looks like Tyler!” I went to her table window for a better look at whom she had seen, and remarked, “That is Tyler!” The stinker had flown in to surprise not just Spenser at his concert, but all of us.

Our table for six was quickly turned into a table for seven and our mood, already light for having survived a killer storm, was turned into giddy happiness.

We found the church without difficulty, and went in to get ready for the concert. We saw Carl Ciarmitaro, whom we had last seen when we made our way to Michigan and Comerica Park last summer, exchanged hugs, and made him promise not to say a word to Spenser.

We went into the worship space, and sat in the front row house left, directly in front of Spenser’s position on the top row, stage right on the risers. When the Glee Club ensemble came into the hall and assumed their positions, Spenser’s face was one of amazement and surprise, happy to see us, delighted to spy his sneaky bro.

The concert was  magnificent: they began with songs of America in the first half and continued with songs of the world in the second, interspersed with a performance by the Friars just after intermission. Very satisfying. For all but me, it was their first time seeing and hearing the Glee Club in person.

Spenser stayed that night with Tyler, Tommy and Kate at their downtown apartment, and they took him to his bus for their Friday morning departure.

The four of us Great Falls travelers decided to wait another day for the storms to pass, and had Friday to visit the Denver Art Museum, have lunch with Tyler, drop Jo Ann and Sue back at Tammy and Mark’s house, and run back into Denver to have Mexican dinner out with Ty and his friends before he left on Saturday morning. Great fun!

The 13-hour trip back on Saturday was long and dry! And safe.

What a magnificent trip!

The first leg, 210 miles to Billings, was simple. We checked into a Comfort Inn around 8:00, had delicious sandwiches with wedges of tomato, cheese, and lettuce to accompany the sliced turkey, and fell asleep quickly.

We awoke at 5:30 to a winter-like storm that blanketed our Odyssey with two inches of snow. It would become worse.

As we slid out of Billings by 6:45 and made our way south on I-94 and on to I-25 South, we remarked at how, despite the snowfall, the roads were remaining wet but easily passable. Then, just outside Sheridan, on an uphill jaunt with the snow blowing from the west, our speed suddenly plummeted from 70 to 40 mph in about 2 seconds. Stunned and frightened, we were immersed in what seems like a big white blanket, which cut our visibility to nothing. Slowing more, we searched for any point of reference and found an occasional, out-of-focus guard rail to our right. I nudged the car  toward the center of the highway (who could pass us at this point?) when suddenly we heard a car horn blasting us as a pickup truck blasted past us on our right.

We used that pickup, which had three blue horizontal stripes on its attached camper, as our new reference, and did our best to keep up with him. Since we couldn’t see the pavement in front of us, and only occasionally spied  tire tracks for additional guidance, this ghastly winter wonderland set Aunt Sue to praying the rosary in the back seat. The pickup slowed down a bit because, we found out later, it had come upon a UPS truck, with attached trailer, who was handling the whiteout as well as he could. The three of us limped along in the right lane, passing stranded motorists in the left lane, until there was a gradual clearing.

As Sue peeled off the rosary beads that she had pressed into her palm out of sheer fright, we continued on to Denver …