The House That Ruth Built

I grew up with baseball. Along with my father I have four brothers. There was no contest in my house when it came to who got to watch what on TV. I always lost. Now a days there is a TV in every room but when I was a kid, we had one. Yes, just one TV! Last night I had the honor (on TV of course) of watching the Yankees play their last home game. I have only actually been to Yankee Stadium twice in my life. It felt like being in a museum to me. All that history packed into one place. Hallowed ground it is called. Yes, I find Yankee Stadium beautiful. It's all that history and memories that made it such a special place.

My husband grew up in the Bronx and he has memories that stretch back more than fifty years. His favorite player was Mickey Mantle. The day he died my husband cried as if he had lost a family member, or a dear friend. In a way he had. He had lost a piece of his personal history. Something that cannot be replaced but lives in our minds and hearts long after the person or place is gone. That is the beauty of memory. We always carry it with us.

Yesterday was also the last day of summer. My husband and I went to Spring Lake one last time. The beach was crowded with plenty of sunbathers and surfers. I said to myself, though this is probably my last day here this year, God willing I will return next summer. There is a comfort in that thinking. Next April, baseball fans will enter "the new Yankee Stadium" to watch their beloved team. Comparisons are only natural. Perhaps Derek Jeter said it best last night. He reminded us that we will make new memories to accompany the old. That's the secret I think. Sandwich the present between the glorious past and a promising future.

You can't go wrong.