boston commoner.

welcome home

The Yankees have Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” to play when they win a home game. Boston has a song about dirty water. Somehow it’s fitting; somehow, we wouldn’t–couldn’t–have it any other way.

They did it. They DID IT!

It was a great commute today. I imagine everyone was just a little nicer, a little less pushy on the crowded city streets; people looked you in the eye and nodded ‘good morning’ to you on the sidewalk; even the sun seemed to shine a little brighter this morning, pushing out the recent gloom and streaming over the green side of Fenway Park–and the Sox’ logo–facing the turnpike.

This doesn’t happen everyday. Not in Boston, and not even in the history of baseball. To come back after a 3-game losing streak in the American League Championship Series, not just to WIN that series, but to go on and SWEEP the World Series and OWN the team with the best overall-wins record in the regular season that year? AND, for that winning team to be the Red Sox, who haven’t won a World Series since 1918? When people say they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this, most of them actually mean it. I don’t even know what to say about it, accept that, as one radio announcer pointed out, it’s indeed a “great day to be alive and to live in the city of Boston.”

I know, it’s just a game. And there are more important things. But these are simple joys we can be thankful for… So, Yankees? Cardinals? Deepest thanks from the heart of Boston!

‘Cause I “love that dirty water… Boston, you’re my home.”

Well, I managed to snag a few pictures of my new apartment this weekend. They’re sub-quality, admittedly, but at least you can get an idea of where I’m at ;o) Now, if I can only entice a few of you to visit…

My living room before moving in: My living room after:

My little kitchen before moving in: My kitchen after:

I visited the International Baptist Church of Boston for the first time back in March of this year. It was a dry, fridgid day in the city; what should normally have been a short, pleasant walk from the subway station to the old brick school building in which the church held its Sunday worship service seemed more like a long and painful death in an arctic wind-tunnel. I walked in the wrong direction that Sunday. Twice. So the walk took a little longer than it ought have, anyway. By the time I made it in, I was once again cursing skirts and hoes and heels and long hair, my own of which was now wrapped in some massive, gravity-defying web of snarls around my head, thanks to the wind. But I made it indoors, brushed the tangles out before anyone could see them, cursed static electricity instead, and then tried to look pleasant as I made my way into the “main hall” (a small inner foyer where people meet between Sunday School and the regular service for food and fellowship).

I’m usually a little shy when initiating myself into a pre-established group of people for the first time. I usually prefer to stand at a distance for the first few meetings and observe, to get an idea of what people are like before I’m thrown into conversation with them, to have time to mentally prepare. But I’m finding that the more I get involved in ministries of various sorts, the less possible it is to opt to stand on the sidelines or disappear into the crowd until I’m comfortable enough to step out on my own terms. And I was quick to find out that the group at IBCB was small, but uncompromisingly friendly. I was immediately spotted by Pastor Bill, and then introduced to his wife, Deb, who refused to let me off the hook until I agreed to join them and another member at their home for lunch that day. Deb is the kind of person who is gifted in hospitality, and manages to make invitations without being pushy. She is utterly sincere and real. I immediately liked her, so she didn’t have to press hard. (more…)

Compared to games 5 and 6, last night’s final stand-off at Yankee Stadium was almost a snoozer. In the bottom of the 9th, when Sox victory seemed, at last, imminent, an announcer reminded us that our team had never managed to actually beat the Yankees when it mattered ; but for once, it was the Yankees in a funk, who couldn’t pull their act together at the crucial moment. They didn’t gleam like the winning machine they usually are; they fumbled. They seemed disoriented, like they weren’t sure why they were playing, after all. Meanwhile the Sox let a calm and collected Derek Lowe do the defense on the mound for the better part of the game, and rode in high on an offensive victory set off early with a 1st-inning 2-run homer by Ortiz (series MVP) and Johnny Damon’s surprise grand slam in the second. Damon was the next player up for redemption last night; he’s been taking media heat for weeks, now, unable to deliver the slightest advantage at the plate. If there’s ever a time to prove you’re worth your contract, it’s in a historical game 7 in the ALCS series, against your all-time rivals, and on their turf.

So without extra innings or torturous late-game dramatics, the Sox won the pennant and are bringing the World Series home to Boston for the first time since 1986. If they manage to clinch the World Series, it’ll be the first time since 1918. As it is, they’re well on their way to breaking major losing streaks: the Sox haven’t won a pennant in New York in a game 7 for an entire century.

But could Boston handle that? Boston, in the true sense, certainly could. But what about these “knuckleheads” (the reigning media term for college-age fools who use major and improbable, exhilarating sports victories as an excuse to set cars on fire and embarrass the city in front of the entire nation) who insist on turning a good thing into a source of fear and humiliation? (more…)

Today I found out that my old German Class buddy, Lisa Knies (“Liesl,” seen above wearing pink, posing with Rebecca Linville in Salzburg), will be having surgery within the week for the removal of a brain tumor found beside her pituitary gland and behind her optic nerve. This is obviously unexpected and difficult for all of us to take in, but must be particularly excruciating for her immediate family, and of course for Lisa herself. Her remarkable attitude astounds me, rebukes me, encourages me. She would appreciate your prayers. The following is an excerpt froma recent e-mail:

“Please pray for the following specific requests: that the surgeon will be able to get out the whole tumor, that there will not be damage to the optic nerve and pituitary gland, and that the recover process will be smooth. Thanks again for your prayers. Also, keep my mom [who fell and broke her foot while in Michigan helping Lisa through this process] in your prayers. Being here in Michigan has made it difficult to get into doctors that won’t cover their Wisconsin insurance. She is hoping to get into the one surgeon that will take our insurance. He will be able to determine if she will need surgery.”

Thanks in advance for taking this on in your prayers.

Liesl, wir haben dich Lieb. Gottes Segen wuenschen wir dir. Der hat dich ja in seinen Haenden.