AUGUST 7

At 5:30 am there was a knock on the door. Ray bolted upright and peered through the peephole to see some woman mumbling something outside the door. We couldn’t go back to sleep for some time despite our road weariness, but eventually rolled out of bed in the mid-morning and had breakfast at Lindy’s next door. (One omelet--$21—'Y’all better bring yo’ wallets.')

Afterward we walked to and through a portion of Central Park to the John Lennon memorial. (No, the theme is not funereal architecture, but after last night’s observations of so many less fortunate people we agree on our mission.)

I must say that past journeys by us have had a common theme, “Touching Lives” being the most frequent. But now we are in a different stage of our lives, and while touching lives still rings true, we expand it to . . .

. . .“Sharing our Good Fortune”

How this manifests itself remains to be seen.

We train it down to Little Italy for a late lunch/early dinner at another concierge recommended place--La Mela. The food was good, although, without sounding too elitist I still have not had any Italian food that comes close to what Ann and I had on the Amalfi coast this spring.

The street was right out of a Godfather II movie set with a parade of people to match.

Then we take the subway to Shea, Ray suitable adorned in his Wrigley Field hat. The first people we see on the platform are a young couple from the Chicago area and the guy says to Ray, “Hey! Cub fans!” In my dream of dreams I wish I had a picture of Ray’s reaction, a combination of horror and chagrin. He was quick with his disclaimer. “I’m a Sox fan.” The guy said, “So am I!” So Ray spent the bulk of the trip talking to him and I spent time talking to her, a CPA, with an accounting degree from NIU.

The train went through a neighborhood with the most beautiful graffiti I have ever seen until we arrive just outside Shea. Our new friends take a picture and we head inside.

Shea is much better than I had been lead to believe, but it’s still a mid-60’s ballpark with 21^st century prices; our seats, waaaaay down the left field line on the mezzanine level were $41 each. But we’re here safely and, oh yes, did I mention the Cubs were playing—it’s Zambrano vs. Zambrano—no relation even though they both are from Venezuela and wear the same number 38.

To be precise, the Cubs (Motto: ‘This Year is Just Like All the Others’) didn’t play tonight; they just showed up, losing to the Mets (Motto: ‘Next Year is Now’) 6-1.

On the subway platform we thought a fight was going to break out between a Yankee fan and a Mets fan. It got really loud; a cop had to come and did a great job of calming things down and one of the guys and his posse got on our car. A Mets fan near me said that ‘they were just having a conversation.’

I was mourning because the Cubs season appears over. Ray was mourning because he didn’t get a Pedro Martinez bobble head doll. Some kid on the subway had already sold his for $20 to one of Ray’s competitors.