* Sorry for the poor quality of the photo!
I’ve commented on several posts that I am the product of a couple of packrats. Because I grew up the child of packrats, it pretty much obliterated any possible “packrat” genes I might have possessed. If anything the opposite is true.
However, I am married to someone with packrat tendencies. Yesterday, I got tired of looking at the boxes that are still sitting in what is supposed to be my scrapbook area. They are sitting in the house, still, because we haven’t built a garage yet…a garage is where this crap was stored in Vegas, and where it will be stored here in Mott. But, like I said, I got tired of looking at them…and when I get tired of something I decide to tackle it and probably get rid of it. I have to do this while the hubby is not around because, being a true packrat, he will go through everything I trash and will pull stuff back out…WHICH PISSES ME OFF TO NO END!
As usual, I’ve gotten way off track. So as I am plowing through boxes and sorting into piles, I run across a plastic file box that I had assumed was Brian’s. Turned out it was my Dad’s and it was filled with crap! I did manage to find my Dad’s old Minolta camera…the camera that started my love of photography, but I also found the attached ticket stubs.
Talk about something bringing back memories. Porter and I practically grew up in Dodger Stadium…and we always had the same seats…Loge Level, Aisle 115, Row J, seats 1-6. These tickets were for game 3 of the 1978 National League Playoffs against the Philadelphia Phillies…the ticket price was $12 each…Parking was probably another $2. This was the era of Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Bill Russell, Ron Cey, and Steve Yeagher…the players I remember the best and fondest, having HUGE crushes on both Steves!
I’m glad we got to watch so much baseball growing up. Porter and I hauling our mitts along for every game even though our seats were VERY RATELY ever in foul ball territory. Couldn’t wait to get our “Dodger Dogs” and to see Roger hurling bags of peanuts to the crowd. Usually spending the game eating so much crap that it was a wonder we didn’t get a bad case of what Dad called, “picnic stomach”, except on Sundays when we would usually head over to Chinatown for dinner. Then leaving the stadium, if we were ahead, at the beginning of the 9th inning to get a jump on the traffic. The voice of Vin Scully lulling Porter and I to sleep in the back seat. Ahh, the memories.
I had to send the ticket stubs off to Porter…my baseball loving little brother, who with his best friend has been on a quest to see a game in every major league park in the Country, and they are probably over half way there. The Dodgers will always be associated with my youth and so many fond memories.
Filed under: Family, Observations
