Day 9: Last stop

Some people have the push, the drive, the determination to drive 18 hours in one day to get home.  We are not those people.  We did that once and it was dangerous.  We were driving through Pennsylvania at 4 am, each of us terrified to nap in the passenger seat for fear the other would fall asleep driving, being passed by semis barrelling down the hills.  We slept for an hour in a rest stop and then made it to New Jersey, staring into the sunrise with eyes that we could barely keep open and swore we'd never do that again.

So, remembering that we suck at driving all night, we decided to take two days coming back from Boston.  It worked out that Pittsburgh was about the halfway point and the Pirates were home.  We had something to look forward to after that first day of driving.  More importantly, the kids had a reason to get up early and get into the car: we wanted to be there when the gates opened so we could watch batting practice and hopefully get one more MLB ball.

We were on the road out of Boston by 7:45 am, a minor miracle for us.  With luck, we'd be there by 5:00 and if the construction horror stories we heard about I-80 were true, we'd definitely still make the game.

It was a beautiful drive.  The kids slept for the first 3 hours.  I took adorable pictures of them, but since they are teens, I will respect the fact that they'd be mortified if I shared them.

The drive was beautiful, save the orange construction cones.  We lost about 30 minutes when it went down to one lane for miles and there was no construction in sight.

Driving out east makes you appreciate what a pain it must be to actually build roads out there.  And be grateful that we only have to push around dirt in the Midwest, vs. blowing up mountains.

The camera does a really crappy job of showing you how pretty it really is.  This was my favorite for a sense of the size of the hills. 

In order to get into Pittsburgh from the south, you have to go through the Squirrel Hill Tunnel.  Pardon the bug guts on the windshield, but imagine that, for superstition and fun, you try to hold your breath for the entire 4,225 ft length.  Going less than 55 mph.  We failed.  

We made it to PNC just as the gates were opening.  It was all I could do to get the family to pause for a forced-family-fun selfie before we walked across the Clemente Bridge to the park.  It was no Golden Gate Bridge, but I still got a little emotional.  I am such a weirdo.

We were in the front row, just like Bob Uecker.  The front row of the outfield that is, but it was a fun place to sit.  The kids got to play ring toss with the fun crew that was walking around.  We did not get a ball during BP though.  The Nats just weren't hitting them out, at least during BP.  They hit plenty out during the game.

The Pirate Parrot was giving this Nats fan the what-for.  You can see the Pittsburgh Skyline in the background.  It's a gorgeous park.

View from our seats.  Starling Marte was right there.  The Nats left-fielder, den Decker took a little heat from the Pirates fans for that name of his.  The two Ks got a bit of an education.  (I'm sure they've never heard anything like that at school.)

The Pirates hhold Pierogie races for entertainment.  The night we were there, it was a relay race against the National's Presidents.  That dirty Teddy Roosevelt took out one of the Pierogies.

Although we never did get a ball, nor did the Pirates play well, it was still a fun night at the ballpark.  I will always recommend PNC to people.

Day 8: A Day at the Ballpark

After a long day and late night, we slept in a bit on Friday. We headed out about 10:45 am, hoping to catch the 11:00 tour of Fenway.  (Our hotel was a block and a half from the park.) Of course, the 11:00 and 12:00 were sold out. We got tickets to the 1:00 and walked up to Kenmore Square to shop and have lunch.

After spending way too much time in the Boston University Bookstore, perusing Boston Terrier merchandise, we walked across the street to Eastern Standard for lunch.  The bartender at our hotel had recommended it, so we just had a seat...didn't even look at the menu. That was a mistake, but the kids took it in stride.  They even tried the fried shrimp.  Kyle got a cheeseburger, Kyra got a grilled cheese (both fancy schmancy versions) and we survived a menu filled with unpronounceable food items. This is the server's station, for crying out loud.

The tour at Fenway was worth it.  The history is great as is the fact that they've maintained the stadium.  I didn't realize it was slated to be torn down recently. The blue seats are original from 1934.

It's a nice view of Boston, but I don't think it compares to the view at PNC or Busch Stadium (it pains me to say that.)

Fascinating little tidbit: in the original stadium design, the bleachers were actually a separate building.  Fans had separate tickets and were not actually in Fenway Park.

The other bit of history that I found especially interesting was the single red seat out in right field.  It is there to commemorate the longest home run hit at Fenway, a 502-ft shot by Ted Williams back in 1946, and it hit the guy who was sitting there right to on the head. It's just a normal seat; anyone can sit there.  It was left empty for the remainder of the season after Williams died, in honor of him.  It's stories like that that make me love baseball.  

At the end of the tour, we had the chance to wander through a museum, which among all sorts of Red Sox stuff, houses a collection of baseballs, signed by each World Series Champion team from 1920 through the present.  Can you guess which year this is?

After our Fenway Tour, we decided to just go sit back at the hotel and relax for once. Plus we had to do the dreaded packing up because we needed to leave early on Saturday to make it to Pittsburgh in time for batting practice at PNC.  

We got to Fenway as they were opening the gates. The crowds were crazy.  The streets we filled with people and the random person who was crazy enough to try to drive through there.  It was really a fun atmosphere. We sat out in center field, right next to the Green Monster.  The people around us were friendly and fun. Jason managed to snag a home run ball during batting practice, which made my night. 

Yes, beer is expensive at Fenway ($9 for a 12-oz Bud Lite, or surprise IPA when the concessions lady gets annoyed with the guys in front of you who are trying to buy more beer than they are allowed.). But a helmet of popcorn is $8 with free refills all night, and the souvenir soda also has free refills all night.  And it was good popcorn.   

The Red Sox won it in 11 with a dramatic play at the plate.  It was a good thing too, because it was late.    We walked back to the hotel and I was so glad that we hadn't driven.  It was a zoo.  

We had a great experience at Fenway.  I'm so glad that we can check that one off of the list!

Photo Recipe: Faking the Golden Hour

You've heard of it, The Golden Hour, that magical time of day just before sunset when the light is warm and bathes your subject in the most flattering light.  Perhaps you've even had the skill, or luck, to capture it beautifully.  I've been lucky once or twice.  My very favorite golden hour photo is actually of my daughter, in the softball dugout, with a giant welt on her shoulder after she wore a pitch.  Is it wrong that I love it?
Two weeks ago, my son had his first baseball game of the season and it was beautiful (a bit windy, but hey, it wasn't snowing.) As the sun set, and I realized there were no artificial lights, I was giddy about the quality of the light.  By the way, I am fairly certain the other parents think that I might just be certifiably insane, but whatever.
I got home and looked at the photos and was kind of disappointed.  They weren't nearly as golden as I had hoped they would be.  (Um, it would probably have helped if *some* people didn't leave their white balance on auto all of the time, but it was too late to deal with that issue.)
I was disappointed until I remembered my most favorite Love that Shot photo veil ever.  It's called "Fire" and it's found in the Simplicity Collection.  I pulled it up and added it to my two favorite shots of my son from the game and I fell in love.

Here are the before and after of my son at bat:



And one of my son after he caught a fly ball (the center fielder is ducking down so as to not take a baseball to the face.)



Isn't it amazing how that single, simple veil changed the photos?  They now look like they had looked in my head.  And the slight vignette does a great job of placing the focus on KJ.

I first fell in love with Fire back in the fall when editing some senior photos.  It was another case of the photos not matching what I had remembered.  They just weren't as warm as they had been in my head.  I added a little fire (and some other senior-type edits) and voila!



So, to test my theory that Fire is amazing and can give photos that nice, warm glow, I tried it on a photo that I took of my daughter's softball team at about 11:00 am.  No warm glow from the sun at that time of day.

Here's what I started with:



Then I added the Fire veil from the Simplicity collection, in Overlay mode at 50% and here's what I got:



The shadows give it away that this was not taken at sunset, but I love how warm it makes the photo.  I may just start putting it on every photo I take. ;)



P.S.  I tested it again today on my daffodil.  I still love it.

Photo Recipe: Using Textures to disguise a background

I am attempting my 4th Project 365 (I made it about 75% through the first one, completed a second and then let's not talk about the third time.)
Some days, I am inspired. Other days, I look around my house for something-- anything-- to shoot. This was an "other" day. An, "Oh, crud, it's time for bed and I didn't take a photo today." I looked at my dining room table, covered in the paraphernalia that broadcasts, "Two very busy kids live here" and saw my son's new baseball glove. I took one shot, didn't like it, re-positioned the glove and ended up with this:
 I liked it, but then again, I like photos that document my kids' lives. What I didn't like was the warmth of the glove against the cool white window frame, green curtains and that chair on the right.  I went to my favorite textures from Love that Shot, the Old World Collection, and chose "Madrid."
I have a penchant for the dramatic, so even though I toyed with taking the opacity down a notch, I ended up keeping it at 100%, soft light. I love the brick texture on the left and how it made the photo seem more artistic.
 

 I decided to apply a layer mask, though, and remove the warmth off of the baseball a bit.

 

Finally, I added one last texture from the Old World Collection, "Salerno."  I applied it at 50%, soft light, to give the photo a little more vignette and to draw focus to that ball and glove.
  I really liked the way that the photo went from being a snapshot in my dining room to something a little more artistic. The warm background isn't as much of a distraction from the glove and ball.
If I can do it, with no formal training, you can too! Misti and Michelle at Love that Shot have taught me all that I know. If only they could end this long, drawn-out winter so we can play some ball!

 

My Boys

What is it about baseball that keeps us young? That allows men to feel like boys? That creates this bond between father and son? Bryant Gumbel said, "The other sports are just sports. Baseball is a love."

I never thought that I would feel that way, but it has this quality of being something bigger, something to be revered. I love going to my son's games, learning the strategy involved, watching these 11-year-old boys turn double plays and steal second and lay down beautiful bunts. I'm afraid it is getting into my blood.

This photo was entered into the I Heart Faces photo challenge

Eleven

This child, my first-born, eleven years old, lover of sports, speaker of a million words, maker of random noises, is going to be the death of me. I adore him. He is a good boy. He is smart. He has fantastic manners. He is kind-hearted. He is goofy and makes me laugh. He is also competitive. I won't say where that came from. It certainly wasn't from his mother. (Ahem.) Yesterday, we were out in my mom and dad's backyard, playing catch. Now, I'll be honest with you: until a couple of years ago, playing catch was not exactly fun. It consisted of me tossing the ball to KJ and praying that it didn't hit him in the face. And then he would chase it down then throw it back to (nowhere near) me. Lather, rinse, repeat. As he has gotten older, catch has actually become fun. We are able to both throw the ball and catch it. It's a miracle. This year, KJ is playing travel ball for the first time. So, we've ramped up the competitiveness just a bit. Let's go back to the bakyard, where mother and son are enjoying a nice game of catch. I finally feel confident enough in KJ's ability to catch the ball that I don't need to throw nicely with him. So, after we warmed up, I started throwing a little harder. I let loose with one and his eyes got all big and he said, "Mom, I didn't know you could throw the ball hard." What's a mom to do? I started throwing a little harder yet and he kept making these faces at me like he was absolutely amazed. I'll admit, it made me smile. I love the fact that my throwing ability impressed an 11-year-old boy. What more can a mom ask for than to amaze her kids? We kept throwing and it didn't take long for me to get a little wild. KJ thought I was doing it on purpose: throwing risers and curveballs. He kept asking me how I did it. I don't have a clue. I just grab the ball and throw and it does wacky stuff (just ask my sister, who played first base to my shortstop for several years.) But I kept throwing because I was impressing my kid. And that made me happy. And I woke up this morning with a seriously stiff shoulder. All in the name of winning the adulation of my eleven-year-old son. Yes, it was worth it.

Look Mom, I'm spitting

At what age do boys start this whole spitting ickiness?

Here's my son, getting ready for baseball practice with a wad of sunflower seeds stored in his cheek. I asked him to pose for me and as I shot this one, I caught the spit flying out of his mouth.

And he was proud. And he wanted me to take more pictures of him spitting. And I did.

But, I must ask again. When do boys start spitting? He certainly didn't learn it from me.