for the Journey

a family huddles together in the basement, as the house is torn apart around them by a great storm.  incredible winds shake their home to its foundations - the roof above is ripped away, exposing them to the violent assault of nature. 

but they are together and not even the winds can tear them apart.  the family stays close and clings to this one thought: that every storm passes.

it gets worse before it gets better.  fear and emotion flood over the unprepared souls as the rainwater begins to pour in.  the deluge lasts for what seems ages and mercilessly destroys all that it can find.  a lifetime of shared memories and irreplaceable history are washed away.  the family can do nothing but observe, wait, and weep.

the noise eventually subsides though occassional crashes echo around them.  they numbly climb out of the wreckage, blinking bleary-eyed at the destruction that was once their life.  they mourn for their losses and do the only thing that they can.  they begin to rebuild.

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over the years this reality transforms into a metaphor, an identity, a way of life.  time after time, the family gathers close against the wind and the rain and endures each storm together.

for my sister,

-louie-

“Humans live best when each has his place, when each knows where he belongs in the scheme of things. Destroy the place and destroy the person.” –Frank Herbert

as much as i admittedly hate the Yankees, it’s sad to see Yankee Stadium go.  baseball is above all else a game of deep history and myth, and some of the greatest baseball legends were born and baptized inside that famous Bronx colosseum.  Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, Reggie Jackson, Mickey Mantle, Lou Gehrig.  and the list goes on and on.  no matter how i feel about the current villains of the diamond, there’s that sinking feeling that we’re losing yet another important American artifact.

the gravity of the loss has settled in profoundly over the last two nights, as i watched the final All Star Game and Home Run Derby in the old arena.  both new and old legends were gathered for one final farewell.  while Josh Hamilton belted ball after ball into the upper deck, Whitey Ford stood reading his plaque in Memorial Park.  Yogi Berra had to throw the first pitch from a quarter distance, but applause roared as he hit the mark all the same.  Derek Jeter received a standing ovation when he was retired from the game.  Willie Mays got a longer one, just for taking off his cap.  i’m sure most of the hall of famers didn’t make it all the way to the fifteenth inning, but the rest of us stood guard for them until the deed was done.

i was lucky enough to visit Yankee Stadium earlier this year, during one of my renowned “in-between” times.  as many negative things as i have to say about the franchise itself, the building and its history are beyond reproach.  looking out on the famous arched facade, hearing in person the voice of Bob Sheppard…and witnessing the hush as the scoreboard declared “60 games left” at home field.  for me it was a touch of legend.

oh don’t get me wrong- they were nosebleed seats, several fans called me a jackass (for wearing my Cleveland cap), and i spent a small fortune on crappy beer.  the crowd really turned on me when the Yanks fell behind 11-4 and one particularly obnoxious neighbor reconfirmed my feelings of animosity toward the pinstriped gang and its followers.

but i was there.

someday i will tell my children about New Orleans before the flood.  i will show them pictures of the World Trade Center.  i’ll recount tales of the gas-powered car, the dial-up modem, the five dollar movie.

and i will tell them about the house that Ruth built.

for the Journey,
-louie-