Trade ya?

I'll trade ya this '56 Frank Robinson for your '61 Boog Powell? ARE YOU CRAZY, Frank is a bonified HOF'er, Boog is some modicum, overweight, proably over-rated first baseman?

I liked Boog Powell. He was, yes, kinda round. Not protocol. I liked that. I'm intrigued by likes, dislikes, the diversity therein.

Just saw a Macy's commercial. Classic. Handsome young man walks in, is looking at some clothes - from behind the rack, he catches the eye of the beautiful sale's clerk... It was one of those flirtatious moments we've all experienced. The eyes meet, "hubba-dah-hubba-dah" happens, and in a millisecond you're in love. Mom saw this. Christmas came. Gifts traded. The young man, probably 5'10", 175 llbs, opened his package from his mother.. Size XXL sweatpants. "Mom? These won't fit!"...Slyly, she answers "Maybe you can trade 'em in?" His eyes light up, yes, he's soon back in the store face-to-face with "hubba-dah-hubba-dah." Life, and this commercial, is/are good. (I ain't really sure which to use there, IS or ARE? I try to be real careful, as I've got a wonderful cousin - retired English teacher, happens by on occasion, and I don't wanna disappoint... or is that dissappoint? Eh, you get the point.)

An old girlfriend. Well, she's younger than me, but, still, she's old! A recent trip to Italy - she bought her mother a very fine black leather purse. The very beautiful 83 year old mother opened it - knowing where it was purchased, said "I think I'll take it back." HA.

WHY? WHY? WHY? One ring on the ladder above Boog Powell was my favorite baseball player Charlie James, left-fielder, St. Louis Cardinals, circa 1964. I was 12. Twelve year olds are maybe the very best baseball fans. Twelve year olds are perked by "same ole, same ole", such as, reciting the batting order of your favorite major league team frontwards and backwards. You know: Flood, Groat, White, JAMES, Boyer, McCarver, Javier...etc... Trades? Trades, at age 12, are maybe worse than divorce... Then one day....

The Cardinals trade pitcher Ernie Broglio to the Cubs for some guy named Lou Brock. WHAT? He's a LEFT-FIELDER? No more Charlie James in leftfield?... NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Maybe this is where the saying "be careful what you wish for" originated.

A four bedroom house with a nice pool. A one bedroom apartment in an old two story house, split into three apartments.. paper thin walls, three very active rugrats living beside me, two young men living above me who very loudly Pandora nightly (morningly?) between 1am and 3am. (And you ask "whyinthehell are you up at 4am?")

Re, the above: Then/Now. It's ok. I wouldn't trade yesterday for the world. When the 'trade' happened, a 20 cube dumpster adorned the driveway. A large chunk of future "whatinthehell do we do with all this stuff now that dad passed?" was tossed into this dumpster. It's all good - it gave me a chance to re-visit every past memory.

Buck O'Neil. Former baseball player, coach. THE most optimistic outlook on life I've maybe ever witnessed. You could NEVER wipe the smile off Buck's face. Buck, due to the idiocy the day/people within, was denied the opportunity to play in the major leagues due to his color. He did become the first African American Coach in the Majors, still, ain't/wasn't fair. His take? "I was right on time." Translates, to me, to, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

There's a personal reason I abhor ALS.. but I will never forget Lou Gehrig's "Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." Yesterday - I'll keep.

Long story, hopefully shortened - our family moved to Liberty around 1959. Looked at two houses. One, nice house, on Ridge by old HS, the other, nice house, across street from William Jewell College. Each, $17,000. Mom/dad opted for WJC house, a blessed place to grow up - nine Flanigan kids next door to play whatever game, whenever we wanted. No regrets.

Found out some years later, the house on Ridge included 14 acres behind it which is now Seaport, Westowne (high dollar commercial real estate property.) To think, I coulda been somebody! Wouldn't trade it for the world.

I write too much here. Frankly, I don't care. All given the opportunity to never eva' open - or, to simply bypass or delete. A nice friend recently wrote "You put feelings and thoughts right out there for the world to see that many of us are not willing to explore." I kinda liked that. Then the friend upped the ante even better with "Makes us see ourselves a little better Mr. Blogger."

Ya hear things like "we are what we eat," - "I'm a product of my environment," - "I am a part of all I have met." Farm out.

We've all messed up, made some goofy choices, messed in our skivvies (Don't lie to me, I know you have), turned left when we shoulda turned right, opted for that one when it shoulda maybe been the other one, took wrong job, college, path, house, neighborhood, town, State, yada.

As I/we age, I so delight in reading things like "Congrats on your 41st anniversary, we just had our 45th!".. Seeing concerned, lifelong mates, wish/pray/hope their loved ones back to good health. I don't/won't have that, and that's ok. At one time a former mate and I decided we'd add up all the years of each of our marriages (including to others) and at some point, celebrate a "50th"... hell, I forget where she went, so that one ain't happening, ha.

Bottomline, I wouldn't trade my life for anything. It's my hope you feel the same way.

Long live Boog, "hubba-dah hubba-dah", Charlie James, Buck, Lou, Miller Street, the Flanigans.

Love, Victurd.