the littlest dog

Dodger dog, that is. Though I don't pay attention to baseball anymore, I still have so many favorite memories of the 1970's team that boasted Steve Garvey on first base and Dusty Baker on third. Or was Baker in centerfield? Well, maybe I'm lacking some details in this rusty memory of mine. Fernando was pitching in the best year of all. I was in 5th grade. I am certain that my mom used to jump up and down on our corduroy sofa and yell "Go, baby, go!" and "All the way home!!", when we watched the games on TV. I loved sitting in the stands and singing Take Me Back to the Ballgame and eating as much of the footlong that I could manage. My cousins and I would crash in the back of the car on the long ride home, each toting a miniature wooden bat or a small, blue plastic batting helmet that might later be worn by someone's cat, or a giant foam hand with an upraised index finger. When I met B's grandmother Lois, affectionately known as Grammalo, she showed me a photo that she had taken of him at J.J. Newbury's in Glendora wearing only a diaper and the L.A. ballcap. She is 76 years young today, getting ready to celebrate by travelling to Alaska, one of the few places she hasn't yet seen. Happy Birthday, Grammalo! You are such an inspiration to us.