-Gramps-

I look forward to hearing more about your travels and seeing some pics of your kids on the road too.

If you getting power from shore power but not from the generator you could have a transer switch problem. If there is no power from either shore or gen than the first thing I would check is that the battery disconnect switches have not been engaged. In my old Bounder the switches were located over the door. I don't know where they are in your PA.

Skipping Thanksgiving. (A running blog entry) Wednesday: Diane and myself are skipping the traditional Thanksgiving this year. We are presently sitting in site 41 at the Anvil Campground in Williamsburg, Virginia. Skipping the traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings, along with all the work that involves, didn't sit too well with some family members. I say too bad! Diane and I need some time to ourselves. Time with less stress, less responsibility. We need a time to heal from the loss of our dog. We need some couple time. So the plan is to hit the shopping outlets on the morning of Black Friday, then to come back to the coach, and take a break. Friday night we have reservations at The Trellis, one of the best restaurants in town if not the best. Saturday morning we might explore the Colonial area some more or Yorktown or somewhere. Around noon on Saturday we are going to Richmond to visit a copper colored Cocker Spaniel named Beasley. He is presently in the care of a dog rescue group. Beasley, according to what we have been told, is three years old, in good health, has a great personality and he needs a home. Thursday: We arrived at the Anvil CG around one o'clock on Thanksgiving day. It was an uneventful morning getting the rig packed up. We didn't need to load up much food or clothes but we did pack some doggie stuff. That stuff included treats, a Kong, a collar and leash and some dog food. All this is a just in case thing. The most excitement was over some lost cash, that Diane put someplace safe, so safe she couldn't find it. After some intensive searching it was discovered in a file cabinet drawer. Once our mad money was stored away and the car hooked up we hit I-64 for Williamsburg. Forty minutes later we were in the campground looking at a white board in front of the office door. The white board had a list of Thanksgiving day arrivals and site numbers. Site 41 was the same site we were assigned to the last time we were here. It did not take long to make camp and soon after we found ourselves walking on Dog Street in Colonial Williamsburg. It is not really Dog Street, but Duke of Gloucester Street. Dog is the name the locals give it and Diane and I consider ourselves locals. The street was quite crowded with tourists, most of them toting cameras and many walking dogs. We could not help but notice that. We talked to a mother and daughter walking a couple of Springer Spaniels and visited a couple walking a pair of PBGVs. We bought a couple of ten dollar large souvenir mugs of hot cider (which come with free refills ) and I played Quoints, a game related to horseshoes, with one of the park interpreters, who played the character of Mr. Randolph ESQ., attorney at law. We were back in the coach around five and had Chinese food followed by a viewing of Eat, Love, Pray or is it Eat, Pray, Love? We also watched The Crossing, a great movie about the Battle of Trenton, that I paid too much for at the Visitor Center gift store. Oh well. Friday: Diane and I woke up early this morning with plans to drive a short distance to the Williamsburg Premium Outlets. Unfortunately I discovered that the hot water heater had not been turned on so I could not give my face a quick shave. I flipped on both the 12 volt and the 120 volt switches in order to do a quick warmup. The hot water heater would not ignite its gas burner. I spent the next half hour troubleshooting that problem without success. So off to the Outlets we went. The hot water heater problem would have to wait. The Outlets were not that crowded when we arrived at nine thirty in the morning but sixty minutes later the whole scene changed. The placed became a mad house. Some stores had lines of people waiting to get in. Well the Coach store did anyway. The crowds, I didn't mind them, but the lines I avoided including the ones where the final place in line was in front of a cash register. Diane stood in a couple of those lines but not me. We purchased a few gifts for ourselves, and I mean that literally, including a pair of Sketcher Shape Ups for each of us. I put mine on in the store and wore them the rest of the time we were shopping. Those things really will make your rear end and legs sore. We visited most of the stores and found a bunch of really good bargains but bought none of them; however I may go back and buy a one hundred and thirty dollar Tommy Bahama shirt for forty bucks. But maybe not...I am feeling kinda cheap this year. We walked around the place until dead tired, then back to the coach where I found a loose connection in the hot water heater compartment. Problem solved, we will now have hot water for showers before dinner. Dinner at the Trellis was really good. Diane had half a grilled free range chicken. I had crayfish fritters and Idaho Rainbow trout and hot cider spiked with really good Bourbon. We ate a lot. Afterwards we made another walk down Dog street and visited a few shops. I didn't buy a thing. After our walk we made a visit to the local Wal-Mart with its Red Box to return Eat, Pray, Love. The titile of the movie seemed very appropriate for this little venture. Richmond tomorrow. We shall see what happens. We could end up with a new four legged coach companion. Stay tuned, so to speak. Saturday: Diane and I woke with the dawn. Actually I woke much earlier than that. I tend to wake every hour on the hour. I don't need an alarm clock anymore. I have not used one for years. After Diane had her morning coffee, she made a frittata with Portobello mushrooms, onions and green peppers. I sprinkled some grated cheddar cheese on mine. After breakfast we got dressed and loaded up the car with our just in case doggy supplies, which included a blanket, water bowl, treats and a leash. Then we headed over to the Yankee Candle Outlet. The Yankee Candle outlet is a great place. It is not only a place to get really good bargains but it is just a lot of fun. We watched kids making hand candles. A hand candle is a wax model of a human hand, to be precise the hand of the person making the candle. With the help of a Yankee Candle employee, the hand is dipped into a number of containers holding warm paraffin each in a different color. After all colors are selected the form is removed from the hand somehow.....I didn't get a chance to see that part of the process. I did see a finished product and it is quite interesting. The Outlet is quite large and has one section dedicated to toys, another to clothes and one just for Christmas Villages. We both enjoyed roaming around the place a lot. After leaving Yankee Candle we visited the Orvis Sporting Goods outlet. I bought a shirt there that was marked down from ninety eight bucks to nineteen dollars with an extra thirty percent off at the register. Diane bought two tops that were over seventy bucks each originally. Our total bill was just over fifty dollars including the tax. I want to go back tomorrow and buy a dog bed and another shirt. Yes, we need a new dog bed for our new pupster. As I write this he is asleep on the coach couch. He has had quite a day and he is "dog tired". It is a one hour drive from Williamsburg to Richmond. We had arranged to meet Becky, who runs Angel Dog Rescue and Transport otherwise known as ADRATI.com sometime between one and two pm at her house in Richmond. We had to skip lunch in order to get there on time, but neither of us cared. We called Becky and let her know that we would be arriving just before one thirty. We arrived at the said time and parked in a school parking lot just past her house. As we walked up the street to meet her, we saw Beasley zipping around at the end of his flexible leash. It was obvious that he is a high energy dog. That turned out to be more than the case. Beasley loves to walk and when given the opportunity loves to run. He is extremely social and loves people, other dogs, cats and children. Once Becky filled us in on Beasley's history, and we watched him run around the back yard, we both had no hesitation about taking him back to the coach. We are now in the first day of a one week trial. At the end of that if all is well, he will stay with us. Day number one has gone very well. He rode in the car well, and loved his walk down Dog Street. Many people, once they saw his cheerful face, long blond legs, and curly floppy ears, came over to take his picture and ask if they could pet him. One lady in a wheel chair just fell for him and loved it when Beasley gave her a big sloppy kiss. Diane had always wished that Nickolas had the disposition to be a therapy dog. But he was just to shy around strangers. Beasley, however, is not shy at all. He might just be able to fulfill Diane's wish. It will take a bit of time for us to get to know Beasley (his full name is Mister Beasley) and I am sure that his transition to a new home will have a few bumps, but a few is all we expect. He appears to be a dog with a lot of confidence in people. His first owners may have given up on him but it is obvious that the people who have looked after him since have given him good care. We are very thankful to have this opportunity. Tomorrow we head home. We shall see how Beasley travels in the coach. I think he will do just fine. Diane and Mr. Beasley (His name will be changed but that is another story!)

The ending of Toy Story 3 was really hard for Diane to watch....it is so hard to say goodbye and move on with one's life, but not impossible.

It is very quiet around the house. There is no tapping of little doggie nails on the hardwood floor. No tinkling of a metal dog tag against the side of the food bowl. There is no cheerful crunch of the doggie eating his breakfast. Life continues to go on. Diane will laugh at a joke, e-mailed to her from one of our friends, when it arrives in her mailbox. She will cry when a sympathy card, snail mailed by one of our friends, shows up in the standard mailbox. She also cries after taking a phone call from family or friends. Diane was really moved when Miss Vickie, owner of Salty Dog grooming, sent a card and a dish garden. I mostly mope around, feeling sorry for myself. It obviously isn't going to be easy to recover from this loss. I find myself googling puppy sites, wondering if we should consider another dog. Wisdom says it is too soon. Exercising wisdom, in and of itself, does not remove the pain of loss. I have heard that chocolate makes one feel better when one is hurting. If we stocked much chocolate around here, I would eat it all. I am hitting the Chips Ahoy pretty hard. Prayer is better for me than chocolate or cookies. It is easier on the waistline. I look out my office window at our motorhome and I can't help but think how much we will miss our pup the next trip out. Nickolas was such a large part of our life in the coach. He spent his last good week with us at a motor coach rally. Diane and I hosted the event. It was for the Workhorse Chassis Motorhome Club. WCMC is a FMCA International chapter. The rally took place at Camp Hatteras, in Rodanthe, North Carolina, the first week of October. Fifty nine coaches were in attendance. We called it The Sound and the Sea Rally. The rally was a lot of work for me and Diane. Fortunately we had a lot of help. We planned all the events for the week, decorated the tables with shells, hung large kites and windsocks from the ceiling and on the wall, provided printed name tags, ran the fifty/fifty lottery and we were a two-person complaint and problem department. We catered most of the meals, had lots of seminars, (including a Wi-Fi and computer security Q&A session provided by me) and, on the last night, my son's band "Long Division" played.Their set started out a bit rough, but once they adjusted the volume for a bunch of non-college folks, it ended up sounding really good. I booked an absolutely hilarious comedy lecturer who had the audience eating out of his hand! I happened to be the lecturer and my subject was my Rules for Owing a Motorcoach. Actually, I was pleasantly surprised at how well the whole week went. The formal surveys turned in by the attendees were mostly positive. The last day, I helped some people with coach problems get their jacks retracted, their steps in, and watched them pull away. I then went kite flying, four at once, with Nickolas sitting by my chair. Unfortunately, about half way through the week, we noticed that Nickolas was not feeling very well. We were not alarmed, but by the day after the rally, he was not doing well at all. After we returned home he just got worse until the end. Sometimes the two of us find ourselves just sitting and staring at each other. We both know what the other is thinking. Diane is holding Nickolas' favorite blanket, I am looking at his favorite spot on the floor wishing that my four-footed special someone could still fetch my slippers for me. I don't bother to go fetch them for myself. Diane and I continue to move forward. Each day gets a little easier, but our hearts are still raw to the touch. Today my daughter Christine is over with our grandsons and Bella the sweet Bulldog. Tonight we will watch Toy Story 3 and have a few laughs. Tomorrow, well, it will just have to take care of itself. This weekend we are hoping to return to Camp Hatteras. We will be attending our Good Sams Chapter Christmas/Thanksgiving party campout. Diane and I are looking forward to being with a lot of friends. It always helps to be with friends, especially RVing ones, when trying to get over the loss of a friend. I should know. This makes two for me. Gramps

This was a premonition.....

Nickolas is gone to the place where good dogs go. His life on this earth ended just the way he wanted it to end. In memory of him I reprise these words: The Human Whisperer Nickolas, the family pupster here! I asked Dad if he would let me post again. Last time, I hijacked his blog and posted on the sly. This time he said okay. I wanted to leave him and Mom a note. They may need what I write here one day. I am almost 85 years old now, in relative terms, and so I can say that chances are I have a little bit of time left, but only a little. I don't worry about the end of my life. Mom and Dad do that for me. They comment on how white my face is compared to how it used to look. They talk about how slow I am to get up from my nap in front of the TV. They don't like for me to wear myself out going up and down the coach steps. They concern themselves with how hot I am, because I pant a lot. Mom bought me this slick blue water-filled pad to help keep me cool. I am not crazy about it but I sleep on it, and that makes her feel better even if it doesn't do much for me. They really worry about a tumor that is growing on my left side. They talk about how much they hope it isn't cancer, but if it is, what they can do about it? Mom and Dad, especially Dad, could stand to learn a bit about life from me. Like I said, I don't worry. I don't worry about that lump or much of anything else. I don't give much thought to the squirrels that I can't chase around the back yard anymore. Actually, I never worried about them when I was younger, either. The moment one takes off up a tree, that's it for me. I find something else to think about-like breakfast. I can say for sure that life is far too short to spend time worrying about anything, except dinner. I love both of my people a lot. They have always given me a good life. I still have a good life even if things are changing. I can't hear much of anything anymore. I used to hear the brakes on Dad's old truck three blocks away. Mom was always amazed when I went to the door to wait for him, long before he pulled up in front of the house. Now I am sometimes surprised by him at the door instead of the other way around. But that is okay. I still follow him to his office desk, furiously wagging my tail, and he never fails to give my back a good scratch. Sometimes Dad is so tense when he gets home at the end of the day. I know it is my job to do something to help him, so giving the dog a good back scratching does as much, if not more, for Dad as it does for me. There was a time when Dad and Mom were saying something about Dad having a kidney stone. Dad was in pretty bad shape. I saw him on his knees next to his bed. He was sweating and moaning. The pain was so intense that Dad was starting to panic. I jumped up on the bed to be near him. I kissed his nose and then lay down. He put his hands on me and buried his face in my side. I did what I was supposed to do, I soaked up his pain. It took a little while but Dad calmed down and I could sense that he started to feel a bit better. I usually stick close to Mom, but Dad needed me, so I stayed right there with him for the rest of the day. During our last trip out in our coach (I like to call it the Bus) Mom and Dad watched this movie about a person who helps to heal horses. This person is called a horse whisperer. Dad says that I am a Human Whisperer. I am not sure what that means, but if being a Human Whisperer means being there for my people, reminding them that life should be lived mostly in the present and that love and kindness are what keeps us going, then that is what I am. I love my people. They are like gods to me. They are bigger and stronger than me and I trust them to look after me. I hope my love for them is a reminder that there is a greater power that is stronger and bigger than they are who loves them, too. I think it does. Many years ago we were on a camping trip, in a tent; this was before we got our fancy bus. It was a beautiful fall day and Dad grilled T-bone steaks for their dinner. The smell was great. I knew that they would share the best part of these wonderful smelling things with me. They would give me the bones. I was so excited to get one. Dad looked at me, happily chomping away, and then he looked at the mountains around us and the woods with all its bright colors. "This is just a bone", he said. "What?" Mom asked. "What are you talking about?" "This life and this world is just a bone" Dad said. "This is just a taste of what God has in store for those who love Him. We should learn to love life and Him more." When the end of my life finally comes, just before I take my last nap, I hope the last thing I see is the love for me in the eyes of my people. I hope the last thing I feel is my Mom rubbing my head and my Dad scratching my back. I hope the last thing I do for them is to whisper that I love them and that life is good, keep on living it well, and thanks for giving me such a good one.

This is a very strange thing to report, but Nickolas is back at the small animal hospital at NC State School of Medicine. It has been a long and very weird night. It seems that the pain pill I gave our dog, a dose big enough to knock out a full grown man, didn't do much to our dog but allow him a couple hours of very deep sleep. Diane who had been keeping vigil beside him, out on the deck the whole time wating for him to finally slip away, came to the door to speak to me. I was looking out the door and suddenly Nickolas popped up his head, turned and looked at Diane, then got up and came to the door. She and I just stood there in shock. I opened the door and let him in, and he went immeadiately to his water bowl and slowly drank from it. Then he looked up at us, laid down and went to sleep. A real sleep. Diane and I looked at each other. I had no idea what to do. About an hour earlier, just after we decided to end his suffering, I went out to the coach to get my camera for one last picture. While out there I thought of how empty the coach would be with out Nickolas in it. I lost it and told God just what I thought of my pup dying. I hope the neighbors didn't hear what I was saying, coach walls are not all that thick, but at the moment I was reminding God of his abliity to heal a small dog, of all the prayers that had come from my wife and myself and if nothing else, I still needed Him to get me through this. I looked at Nicolas sleeping peacefully, obvioulsy there was still some life in him and he was not as ready to leave us as it appeared. I just stood there in a kind of stupor and then I told Diane, " That's it, we are going to take him to the animal emergency hospital right now.....grab your purse." I made a phone call to the hospital, told them of our situation and they said bring him in ASAP. We did, and to make a long story short, after a lot of fluid, a pain injection, and blood work and some other things, we took him back to NC State where he is presently in a good but guarded condition. With medication to treat his pancreas, iv fluids, and iv supplements, he has the chance for a surgery free full recovery. What else can I do except thank God. I will keep all of you, the members of my Coach Family posted.

As I write this our precious Nickolas is fading from this world. I gave him the pill that will allow his suffering to end. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, but I had to do it. He has been sick for five days now. He could not hold down any water or food. This thing came on so suddenly. We rushed him to the vet where they could not find the cause. It would take blood work, more needles more pain and maybe even more surgery to even begin to find out what is wrong. . It was impossible to put our loving dog through that again. Something just didn't come out right after the surgery to remove that awful lump from his side. He couldn't control his bladder, he started to loose muscle tone, and he drank water by the cupfuls. We put him on PPA, a very powerful incontinence drug and that seemed to help. For awhile he seemed to make an effort to be his old self, but I could sense he was depressed and he started to fade before our eyes. I prayed constantly for him. I have not had a conversation with God like the ones I have had the last couple of days since my son was born. I almost lost Joel and my wife back then, but God answered a sinner's prayer and because of the combined work of God and the doctors, my son and wife were made well and whole. This time my prayer is not getting the response I hoped for. Nickolas just got worse. Does that mean that God is not listening? Does it mean he doesn't care to exercise just a little bit of His universe creating power to fix my little dog? I can't answer that in words. God is who HE is, faithful to the end. I know that He loves me, my wife, and my dog. Sometimes, in the midst of a tragedy a bigger thing may be happening. Our dog is so, so, sick but once again Nicolas is giving something special to me. He looks me in the eyes and I can see appreciation and love. I know that its there. I cannot make him whole but he trusts me and Diane to look after him. My prayer changed from "God heal him!" to God help me to help him. I will admit that I do not understand why my simple prayer is not given the answer that it asks for, but I have to look to God the same way Nickolas looks at me, with simple trust. That's all I can do. I am grieving, but if I get angry, then I loose more than just my pup; I loose my relationship with The God of the Universe who sent His Son to make things right between the Father and me. This will be Nickolas' last gift to Diane and me. She and I have held hands, held each other, and prayed together with more passion than we had in years. That is surely a good thing. We will rise above this loss, this huge loss. It will not be easy but it is what Nicolas wants us to do. A few minutes ago Nicolas asked to go out into our yard. He layed down in the grass, which is something he never does. I could see him smelling the air, the birds were singing and suddenly there were more of them than usual and Nickolas just watched them fly around him. I think he was saying goodbye to this life. He was preparing himself to leave this earthy place. Right now he is asleep on our deck. Unless God does work a mircle I do not expect Our wonderful dog to wake again. It will be so hard to live without our Coach Buddy, our friend, my wife's shadow, her constant companion. But live we will. So help me God. Goodbye Friend, you were so loved.

If your chassis battery is good and fully charged the Trik-l-start will not go into charge or maintaining mode so no lights at all. I had the same thing happen with mine. I had a chassis battery with a bad cell, and the TLS would light up but once I replaced the battery it has not lite up since. I did check it by "faking" a low charge by connecting the TLS to one six volt house battery. The charge light came on.

Thanks Todd. Just to update eveyone, Nickolas's medication, which is a minor dose of PPA, seems to be working. He still drinks a lot of water but he is holding it. He still can't make it through the night but he lets us know he wants to go out. That's okay, I can't sleep through the whole night anyway. Derrick

I know someone must be asking that question. I have asked it myself. I don't have a good answer. The bad answer is that there have been lots of distractions the last few weeks. The first distraction being caused by the need to look after a pup named Nickolas. Diane and I decided to subject him to some pretty extensive surgery that, thank the Lord, appears to be mostly successful. He is missing part of three ribs, some chest wall and a big malignant lump on his side. I have been amazed at how quickly he has recovered. However, a problem still remains. The shock of surgery seems to have made an old dog older. Since coming out of recovery he has an extreme thirst, and as a result of that, well, he doesn't always make it outside on time, and he can't make it through the night at all without waking up wet the next morning. That has required us to put him to bed wearing some special waterproof doggy jockey shorts. Nickolas doesn't like the idea that he is wearing diapers, so we don't use that word around him if we can help it. Our pupster looked awful after surgery. His back and side were shaved and he had staples running from his belly to his back. People looking at him just cringed. When I looked at him, I just hurt. We lived full-time in the coach for almost 10 days at Deer Creek after he came home. He spent four days at NC State School of Veterinary Medicine in Raleigh, North Carolina. We needed to keep him in a confined space. No, running, no jumping and no climbing stairs was allowed. He went in and out of the coach on a portable ramp. It was not fun for him or us. Things improved rapidly and he received a good report on his last visit to the vet school, which took place on our way home from Galax. We spent the night in the State Fairground campground. We were all alone in that huge place. It was just across the street from the school, so staying there could not have been more convenient. Since coming back to our stick house, things have been very busy. Lots of phone work and customer service calls (nothing new there). We have also had to make lots of follow-up calls to vets, trying to cure our dog's incontinence problem. Now we are looking at the possibility of Cushing's disease, or Addison's disease or diabetes or maybe just old age. No one knows for sure, even after a lot of blood work, urinalysis and other things that keep draining funds from our retirement account. Poor Nickolas remains in an agitated state, never knowing when the leash being clipped on means that the car will take him to some location where unpleasant things happen. I have a theory that Nickolas needs to be left alone. Let him get over the loss of ribs, muscle, and having a lot of pain and confusion. Treat him like a normal dog and he will heal himself. No one really liked my theory, for awhile. Finally the decision was made to treat his "leaking" problem with drugs and see how that goes. We have a FMCA international rally to attend this weekend. It is the Workhorse Chassis Motor Club rally and I am the host and rallymaster. I have been working on this rally for over a year and I know that Nickolas is looking forward to it as much as I am. The rally takes place at Camp Hatteras in Waves, N.C. Nickolas loves a good romp on the beach and, by golly, I'm going to see to it that he gets one. He has comtributed so much to our lives. The whole point of his surgery was to try to make Nickolas' life last a lot longer. I am praying that his life continues to be a good one. I owe Nickolas at least that much. Gramps

8/18/2010 We are back in our stick house in Portsmouth. Nickolas is doing very well, and who knows, he might just post his own update sometime soon. I did install the new Wifi transmitter at the resort. It works quite well. Not long after a conversation I had with the manufacturer of the access point, they added client isolation. Now that is good customer response!

I sure am glad to see the site back online. I missed it.

When I write a blog entry about a current trip in our coach, I tend to just write it in a matter of fact style, like the following: Well a lot has happened in the last week. Diane and I hosted an FMCA chapter rally at the Deer Creek RV Resort in Galax, Virginia during the last weekend of July. The campground Is located just across the golf course from our home at the Deer Creek Motorcoach resort. Some people call the golf course Derrick's Nine Holes, because I am the person who plays there the most. We had fifteen coaches from the Colonial Virginians show up for the rally. The rally went great, for the most part. We arrived on Wednesday evening and our fellow Colonial Virginians started arriving on Thursday afternoon. Thursday morning Diane and I did a lot of shopping at the local Wal-Mart (where else would we go?) for lots of stuff to provide a full meal for everyone on Friday night. We left the store with hamburgers, hot dogs, sausages, potato salad, cole slaw, baked beans, cookies and a lemon cake. Our co-hosts Bob and Stephanie planned breakfast for Saturday and Sunday Mornings. For Saturday morning breakfast, we had French toast sticks, pancakes, sausage, and fruit. Sunday was a continental breakfast with Danish, Bagels and Saturday's breakfast leftovers. Saturday night everyone went to a wine and cheese party at the Deer Creek Motorcoach Resort (Not the one in Florida) clubhouse. That was followed by a pot-luck supper. We had a golf tournament planned for Saturday Morning but due to drizzle and fog we had to cancel. Those who planned on playing didn't mind. We all enjoyed the cool mountain weather, which was a nice change from the terrible heat back home. Not much emotion or story in the above. Let me try to add some of that for you. I have been working pretty hard lately. No days off for some six weeks and that includes July fourth. Even with all those work days I have still been under quite a bit of stress to get it all my projects done. I know, that seems to be a recurring theme in my blogs: Stress. It seems to be the nature of my business and my nature to let stress sometimes get the best of me. I am working on correcting that. I would like to save the best of myself for my God, my dear wife, my kids, my rving friends as well as other friends and of course, my dog. Unfortunately there wasn't much of the best part of me on the day we left for the rally. We pulled out a bit late in the morning, and just as we hit the road I discovered, actually Diane informed me, that she turned off the fridge because it was alarming. There was no propane flowing to it, even though our tank was full. At the same time I discovered that the dash air was not cooling. These two problems started to make me hot. I asked her why she didn't tell me this before we left. She said she didn't want to bother me, I was getting customer calls all morning and she didn't want to add to my problems. Add to my problems? No dash air, the propane is not working? How could that add to my problems? I knew that the immediate, but temporary solution to this was to turn on the generator. This would allow us to run the fridge and the roof air, but all I could think about is how much is this going to cost me to get these problems fixed? I stared to over think this situation and this fueled my soon to get worse state of mind. After all it was going to be one of the hottest days of the year with no dash ac. I just got back from a long trip to Elkhart to fix the slide and now two more problems. When will it end? Maybe my blood sugar was low from skipping breakfast. Maybe I was just worn out from all the work pulling cables through hot fiberglass insulated ceilings for days on end. Maybe it was because this has been a tough year to find work, get it done and then get paid for it. Maybe it was because I was worried about our dog, who was scheduled for surgery the Friday after the rally. Maybe it was all the above. I lost it. I ranted about my business, the coach, and only God knows for most of the drive to Galax. Diane, bless her heart, just sat there and hardly said a word. She just let me vent. I don't remember most of what I said. I am sure it wouldn't be worth repeating anyway. When we started to climb I-77 just north of Winston-Salem, North Carolina, I finally calmed down. I looked over at Diane and apologized for being such a jerk. She had tears running down her cheeks and she managed to mouth the words, "its okay" to me. I didn't say another word until we reached the gate to the Motorcoach Resort. Diane pushed the remote, the gate opened, we drove through and it was like a switch was thrown. I started to feel better. We set up "camp". It was after six thirty by the time we finished. We went to dinner with our neighbors Judy and Gordy. They both noticed that I was looking a bit ragged, and Diane calmly told them I had been working hard lately, to put it mildly. For most of the night I lay awake thinking about the day's drive. The next morning I was swamped with phone calls from multiple offices belonging to one customer. Diane and I were at the Wal-Mart at the time, I was shopping for golf balls when the first call hit me. The problem was not with my equipment, it was with their internet provider. I told them that, but they wanted me to take care of it because they didn't know how to talk to the great big nasty internet company. It took me until eleven pm that night making phone calls, but I did get the ball rolling to solve the problem for them. Friday I was determined to give all my attention to the rally. I managed to do that. I helped people check in, set up tables, did a bit of decorating, set up a sun canopy and my grill. I cooked forty some hamburgers while Bob did the dogs. We had a great meal for everyone. The food was good and the service was quick. Afterwards we talked about the golf and mini golf match, and reminded everyone where Saturday's meal would be served. I was beat and left for the coach while Diane played tiles. Saturday's breakfast was great. Saturday's weather wasn't. It rained all day. Actually I think it rained the next three days off and on. I wanted to have the golf match but what's a little rain when you are in the Blue Ridge Mountains? We all made the best of it. Some people went sightseeing; some just sat around and talked. I sat around and listened to the people chat. I wanted to be reminded that the world isn't just about me. That is one of the ways owning a coach has improved my life, by allowing me to be involved in other lives outside of work. It's like medicine to me. I need to remember that. Saturday night we had the wine and cheese party. I answered questions about Galax and the surrounding area. I also answered questions about the resort. After dinner I provided some minor entertainment. I told them all about my FMCA blog with its rules for owning a motor coach and then I read rule four to them. I will remind you that rule four is "Owing a motor coach is a never ending learning experience". Rule four also includes a bunch of one liner, truisms, that some people find quite funny. Fortunately all the guests at dinner did the same. Sunday morning was foggy but not for long. By noon most everyone had left. Everyone said they had a great time and hoped to return next year. Monday, August second, was my fifty seventh birthday. The best thing about it was that I wasn't working. We didn't do much that day but sit around the coach, do a bit of walking, and we went to dinner in town. The food wasn't all that good but the company was great. The next day Diane and I drove into Sparta North Carolina and found something that we both liked. A store with Columbia clothes on sale for half price. I bought a bunch of nice things. We came home and ate leftover hamburgers, watched a bit of TV and called it a day. Wednesday had a different feel about it. Diane wanted to do laundry and clean up the coach a bit. She planned on leaving the next day for Raleigh, NC to stay with her cousin Elaine. From there she would take Nickolas to the NC State School of Veterinary Medicine. Nickolas was scheduled to have a malignant tumor removed from his side. This could be an extensive operation with loss of some chest wall and some sections of ribs. I planned on staying behind to work on the Motorcoach resort's WIFI. That was okay by me considering how much I dislike hospital waiting rooms. I had already ordered a new high powered access point that hopefully would broadcast to the fartest end of the resort. Diane left with Nickolas just after lunch, so I found myself all alone. I made arrangements to borrow an extension ladder and so just after Diane left I was at the top of it mounting the new transmitter. All was going okay until a big thunderstorm came out of nowhere. Lightening chased me off the ladder. The rain started coming down in buckets and then we lost power. I managed to mount the transmitter but without power I was done. My WI-FI install would have to wait. Fridays are usually pretty quiet for me. Not many phone calls. The Friday of Nickolas surgery was no exception. This was a good thing. I wasn't in the mood to talk much anyway. I thought our pup was going to be in the OR early, but it didn't happen until six that night. He came out around nine. Diane called me to say that everything went well. The doctors wanted to keep him there until Monday. My time in isolation would be a bit longer than expected. I didn't do much the next two days. I finished a book, watched some movies, made some minor repairs to the coach roof and unstopped the propane line. That was about it. Diane and Nickolas arrived back here at Deer Creek about two hours ago. The poor pup looks a bit scarred and stapled but he is doing well considering. We will be here a few more days. We need to give the dog a bit more time to recuperate before we head back to the heat in Tidewater. Once we get there its back to business, the coach will stay parked for a couple more months. I do need to get some Freon for the dash AC. Didn't I mention that? According to our resident RV doctor, there is nothing wrong with the dash AC that a good dose of Freon can't fix. It seems I got upset over almost nothing. I am working on that.

Hey Todd, Not that I remember. Some parents did video some games, as a matter of fact I have footage of Joel pitching that I have not looked at for a long time. I found the the old score pad for this game in old file cabinet in our garage. Diane had marked every pitch, and every out with notes about the plays. Joel and I just reviewed each inning. Between the two of us we relived the whole game and I wrote it down.

It was an amazingly (is that a word?) fun thing to watch that ball zoom over the fence, but I, we, still have a game to win. The Last Inning (The Giants and the Phillies-Part Two) Once again, I have to corral all my players back into the dugout. They are still whooping and hollering and Chris is really pleased with himself. "Did you see that coach, did you see that? Blam! Right over the fence. Sorry I hit your van, coach." I hadn't noticed that the ball bounced off MY car! "Hey, that's okay," I said. "I'm just glad that you hit it out of the park, it was great. Now take a seat and let's win this game." Chris ducks inside of the dugout, but before he sits down he grabs the wire fence, gives it a good shake like a caged animal and yells at the Giant's pitcher. "Hey Pitch! That's what you get for laughing at me!" The whole park hears that outburst. I can't let that go, so I turn around. "That is not necessary, Chris. We don't gloat. It is not good sportsmanship. You will apologize to the pitcher now." "Sorry Pitch!" Chris yells again. "Coach, you need to get your team under control!" "No problem Blue, I am taking care of it." I ask myself, "What is the ump's problem? He seems to be a bit slow today." "Chris, after the game you make sure you shake the Pitcher's hand. Understand?" Chris, looking a bit deflated, sits down. The ump walks over and hands something to Chris. It is the home run ball. "Great hit, kid." Chris's face lights up. "Thanks, Ump!" The ump nods and says "Batter up!" I send Jeffery to the plate and tell him to go get a hit. Jeffery, grinning, jogs over to the batter's box. "Play Ball!" yells the ump as he pulls down his mask. Jeffery stands there and takes six pitches, three are strikes, without moving his bat a bit. Bottom of the fifth Phillies 8, Giants 2 I do not want to let my team relax too much. This is Little League. Earlier in the season the Cubs scored seven runs on us in the top of the first. We beat them 20 to seven. We could have scored more if the 13-run mercy rule had not stopped us. Things can happen, so I just want to shut the Giants down and end this. As Joel heads out to the mound I tell him to keep on pitching the same way he's been doing it. He nods at me. The Giants leadoff is a big lefthander. Joel throws the first pitch a bit outside, and the batter fouls it back. Joel throws to the same spot. This time the kid looks at it. Ball one. Chris, who is now catching for Joel, shifts and gives Joel an inside target. Joel throws; the batter swings and takes it for a base hit over CJ's head to right-center field. Both Jeffery and Ian make a mad dash for the ball. I swear, because they argue over who is going to get it. By the time they figure it out, the runner is way past first. Ian tosses to CJ, who turns toward third, but there is no play. The leadoff is safely on third. "Shake it off Joel, no big deal, just get the batter!" Giving up a triple does not faze Joel. He throws his next three pitches for strikes. The batter goes down looking at the third one. One down and two to go. Play is at first but we have to guard the plate. The next batter goes for the first pitch. He hits a high pop over the first base line. Chris is on his feet in a second, follows the ball and catches it in front of the bleachers. He turns and looks at the third base runner. Two outs and one to go. I don't know how Joel is doing it, but he bears down and throws three hard inside fastballs. He makes the batter look like a deer caught in the headlights. Three pitches, three strikes, backwards K. The Inning is over. That triple was the best hit the Giants have had all day and Joel made sure it counted for nothing. Top of the Sixth The Score is still Phillies 8, Giants 2. Shawn leads off. He fouls the first pitch (good for him!) and then takes four straight pitches, all balls. Jonathan is up next. First pitch is a ball, second pitch outside for ball two. The third pitch hits my batter right in the helmet. It doesn't bug him a bit as he jogs happily to first. The pitcher and Zac get into a bit of battle. Zac fouls off the first two. The pitcher throws two for two balls. Zac fouls off another one and the pitcher heaves two more pitching errors. Zac heads to first. WC virtually repeats Zac's at bat and earns a walk with no place to put him. Shawn comes home. Phillies 9, Giants 2 TJ walks on five pitches, and Jonathan scores run number 10. Ian, well Ian just stands there and swings and misses the last pitch he gets, the third one. The Giants have one out on us. They are now facing the top of our order with bases loaded. Not good for them. Not good at all. The Giants pitcher knows things are not good and that knowledge must make him really nervous. His first pitch hits Matt in the side, and he reaches first as Zac crosses home plate. Phillies 11, Giants 2. Matt is on first, TJ on second and good ole WC on third. CJ, who is on deck, moves to the plate. I am standing behind the backstop just in front of the first base side dugout. I can see WC on third base and I am watching him and my other runners. They are set and ready to run on contact. CJ can hit and I know he wants this one bad. He fouls the first pitch. He hits the second one to the outfield past first base but it lands foul. Everyone on my side of the field is yelling so loud it hurts my ears. The next throw is in the dirt. The catcher scrambles for the ball. The pitcher runs in to cover the plate. My third base coach is waving WC home, but he hesitates. What is he waiting for? Run! WC breaks for home but that seconds hesitation may cost him. The catcher throws the ball to the pitcher, who steps in front of the plate just as WC runs into him. They go down together. The pitcher comes up showing the ball. "He's out!" Yells blue. WC gets up and starts arguing with the ump. "He was holding me!" I walk over as my third base coach comes running in, grabs the umpire and points back to the Giant on third base. "Ump, he grabbed my runner's shirt! WC would have been safe!" The Giants coach is now out of his dugout and we have a real "situation" here. "Come on, Ump, this is crazy." My base coach is not going to take this. "Ump, I am telling you. My guy was interfered with." The Ump looks at everyone. "I didn't see it. The runner's out!" WC looks very unhappy. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it toward third base. The Ump takes one look at that and tosses him out of the game for unsportsmanlike conduct. My base coach just shakes his head. My parents and players are booing the umpire. I tell everyone on the bench we still have one out left and the bases are loaded. I tell WC that he did great the whole game, but he should not throw his helmet or his bat. He tells me he is sorry. I was feeling bad about the Giants situation, but after treating WC like that, I have lost my sympathy. First base is open, with two outs. I grab CJ. "Look, it's 1 and 2, with two outs. Get on first anyway you can." "You got it, Coach." CJ is a team player. I know he wants the big home run, but now he settles down to business. The pitcher doesn't. He throws four straight balls. CJ is on first, bases are loaded again. "Way to watch em CJ!" Joel is up. He wants to round the bases and he will wait for the pitcher to make a mistake again. It is a battle, but Joel has the first pitch advantage. It is a ball way outside. The second one Joel fouls off. He fouls off the third. The count is 1 and 2. The fourth pitch comes in, low and inside, ball two. Joel steps out of the box. He adjusts his gloves, takes a couple of swings and steps back in. Here comes the pitch, way high for Ball three. The Giants coach calls time. His pitcher walks over to the base path. I can't hear what is being said but both the coach and his player look agitated. They don't want another walk, they only need one out, so they need to put the ball in play and get the easy out. Here we are again, 3 and 2. Pitcher throws and Joel fouls it. Pitcher throws again, same result. The tension is thick in the air, spectators on both sides are yelling to their players. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next pitch. This game is really fun. My son is up to bat. What could be better than that? The next pitch is slow and hangs over the plate. Joel hits it and runs for first. My base runners take off at the same time. It is a long, slow fly into left right field. It lands between the two outfielders; both are running for the ball. By the time they get there Joel is halfway to second base. TJ crosses home plate. The Giants second baseman is frozen on the base path. Joel pushes him out of the way and crosses second. Matt, between second and third, needs to pick it up or Joel is going to run into him and CJ. I see the throw coming in as the second baseman wakes up. He takes a couple of steps into the outfield to catch it. Joel is almost at third. Matt and CJ make it home. My players start pouring out of the dugout. The Giants bench is yelling to the infield. "Throw it home! Throw it home!" Joel rounds third. He might not make it! The throw comes in but it is way too high. It sails over the catcher's head. The Phillies rush home plate and surround Joel as he crosses it. The folks in the bleachers are jumping up and down. The guys practically carry Joel off the field. Phillies 15, Giants 2. We have a 13-run lead. Mercy Rule is in effect. The game is over. Not quite yet. The Giants coach rushes out of the dugout yelling at his catcher, who has retrieved the ball, to tag the plate. He is claiming Joel didn't touch home. Joel says he did. Joel's team was all around him, so I couldn't see the plate at all. The Ump just stands there. "Blue, I'm telling you he didn't touch the plate." says the Giants coach. I am thinking that I would never pull this kind of stunt on his team. There is no way that the ump is going to call out a kid who just scored an inside the park grand slam. "Runner's out!" The Ump yells. "Come on Ump, he ran all over that plate and everybody knows it!" My third base coach is getting mad. The Ump has made his call. "Play Ball!" Back in the dugout I lean down to Joel. "You did step on the plate didn't you?" "Yea coach, I did. I know I got a home run ... but its okay, we are having fun, let's just play ball." "So what you are saying is; let's give them one more at bat and show em what we are made of?" "Yea, coach, we don't let up, Joel will get em!" says Matt. I am very proud of my team and we are having fun. What could be better than that? "Okay. Phillies hit the field!" They run out of the dugout with a yell. A couple of parents come over to me, including Diane. I walk with them back to the bleachers and shrug my shoulders at the parents. "Hey coach, what are going to do about that?" one father asks me. "Nothing, the guys want to keep playing." They did. With his team yelling the whole time and the Phillies fans adding to the noise, Joel worked three Giants batters, including two from the top of the order, to a 2 and 2 count before he struck them all out. The last two went down without swinging. With the last out the team gives Joel a hugh cheer. The game between the Giants and the Philles is now officially over. Phillies win 14 to 2. The scorekeeper from the Giants walks over to Diane to compare scores. Diane looks at him. "I don't know how you are scoring it, but my son got a grand slam." "Yeah, he did and he also got three up and three down, quite a kid you have there." "Thank you" is her smiling response. Joel got his grand slam (off the record), and Chris got his big home run. I coached a game that, obviously, I would never forget. Years later, a few days after Joel was graduated from William and Mary, Diane, Joel, Nickolas and myself were staying in our motor coach at the Stone Mountain RV Resort outside Atlanta, Georgia. One day, during our stay, at around 5 p.m. Joel and I were sitting just above first base at Turner Stadium (named for my old boss) in Atlanta. We were watching the Braves take on the Florida Marlins. It wasn't a very exciting game but it was a beautiful June night. Like that time from years before, I was at a baseball game with my son. We were having fun. What could be better than that?

One of the things that is on my Motor Coach Bucket List is to travel to as many Major League baseball parks as I can. I love the game of baseball. Like motor coaching, baseball has many metaphors for life. I have loved the game much, much longer than I have loved the rving lifestyle. I have been to a number of major league games. My first one was a weekday night game in late spring of 1989. It was the first home game of the Cincinnati Reds after the Pete Rose Scandal hit the news. There was another big story about him on the day of the game. Although he was a player as well as the manager of the Reds, he never came out of the team's dugout the whole night. The Reds were playing the Mets that night. The highlight of the game for me was a high and hard Darryl Strawberry foul ball that landed a few rows behind me, bounced off an empty seat then careened off the left arm of my seat and landed in a bucket of popcorn belonging to a young lady a few levels below me. I still regret not catching that ball that the young lady never saw coming. I know she never knew what hit her by the volume of her scream as the ball knocked the bucket off her lap while scattering popcorn over everyone seated next to her. I would have liked to take that ball home to Joel, my four year old son. Nine years later, Joel, then thirteen, my oldest daughter Christine, her then husband Brent, Diane and I were sitting just above the left outfield wall at Yankee Stadium. We were munching on hero sandwiches and drinking ginger ale as the Yankees played the White Sox. We got a kick out of the Yankee fans heckling left fielder Albert Belle, at that time the highest paid player in baseball. The sound of "ALbert...ALbert!" coming from some forty thousand voices at the same time made it pretty obvious that he was not popular in New York. We got a bigger kick witnessing then Yankee Darryl Strawberry hit not one, but two, two out-two strike home runs. The shouts of "DAR-RYL DAR-RYL!" from the same forty thousand voices made it obvious that he was very popular in New York. The Yankees won that night. You got to love the Yankees. You got to love their fans even more. Some may argue, but I believe the Yankees have the best fans in the world. Two days earlier we were at a night game in Philadelphia. The Phillies were still playing at the old hot and stuffy Veteran's stadium. The Braves were in town and I swear there were more fans rooting for them than for the Phillies. After watching the way Philadelphia played that night, I understood why. In 1998 it was hard to love them Phillies. In 1997 Joel, Diane and I attended a Baltimore Orioles game and watched Cal Ripken keep his teammates entertained during a rain delay. The Orioles were playing Oakland. Mark McGwire was a member of the A's then and what a batting practice display he put on that day. In just a few weeks he would be traded to the St Louis Cardinals and go on to lead the majors with 58 home runs that year. Before the game Joel and I visited the Babe Ruth Museum. That is a place you should not miss when in Baltimore. In 1998 I was at an Arizona Diamondbacks home game and watched Randy Johnson, throwing a lot of nasty side arm sliders, strike out fourteen Padres in a row and hit a standup double. It goes without saying that he won that game. May 24th 1998 Diane, Joel, Christine, Brent, and I were sitting in the mezzanine section of Shea Stadium watching the New York Mets play the Milwaukee Brewers. At eleven that morning the game was sold out. It was the first Mets sell-out since the last time they were National League East champs ten years earlier. The reason for the sellout was that this was the first home game of the newest Mets player...Mike Piazza. History says that it took some time for Mets fans to warm up to their new catcher. Not so. They loved him from the first moment they saw him on the field just taking questions from news people. The first time he came up to bat, the place went berserk. It was the beginning of a seven year relationship that included two playoffs, one pennant and a World Series against the Yankees. And I was there with my family when it started. All these games were great. A couple of them had some real history being made. But none of them were as exciting to me as a game that I was at one hot Saturday in June of 1996. It was the game between the Phillies and the Giants. Not the big league ones. This game was a battle between the Phillies and the Giants of the Churchland Little League. Joel, my son, was on the Phillies. I was the manager of his team. I had some experience coaching a team before I took on the job of managing the Phillies. I found out that some experience was better than none but not a whole lot. The part I didn't know about was that managing was a full time job even when you have a full time job. I spent many evenings at practice, putting together my lineup, calling parents to remind them of the Saturday game and where it would be and at what time and most importantly; making sure of who would be there. All this was in addition to giving my son individual Dad time. I threw a lot of batting practice pitches to him in the big grassy church lot next to our house. I also caught a lot of pitches from him in our back yard. I tried to be a pretty laid back coach. Winning was not the most important thing to me. Helping my players do their best and make their best better was my goal. I figured if I did that then we would win, hopefully a lot, of games as a result. I had four rules for my players. Be on time for practices and games. Trust the coach. When behind don't give up. When ahead don't let up. That was it. I thought that with those rules that all involved would have fun. I had to pick up players, drive them to practices and to the games. This was the part of managing that got to me the most. Chris, my catcher, lived with his single mom. She worked very long hours and so it fell upon me to drive to his home, pick him up, take him to practice, and bring him back to our house for dinner. If I didn't do that he would end up at home, alone, eating Fruit Loops or something just as healthy. Chris was twelve years old, tall for his age, with bright blond hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face that turned red quick from exposure to the sun. He had a fast swing and a faster temper to go with it. Chris resented being on the Phillies. He really didn't like being "down here with the little squirts" to use his words. He gave the impression that the only reason that he was playing was because his mother wanted him to. I didn't believe that to be the only reason. I could tell that he loved the game, although he felt he was out of the league he should have been in. You see, Churchland Little League was divided into three divisions; T-Ball, Minor League, which was comprised of teams made up of mostly eight to ten year olds, and the major league, which had ten to twelve year old players. The idea was that the Major League players were ones with a bit more skill. From the major league teams came all our All Stars. The All Stars would make up the dream team that would play in the district tournaments and then if successful go on to the Little League World Series. That is the way it was supposed to work, but in reality the coaches sons, and players that coaches really liked, or friends of the coaches sons, or sons of the coaches friends, you get the picture, ended up in the majors and on the All Star teams no matter how good they were or were not. Every now and then an "exceptional" minor league player could get called up to one of major league teams if a spot became available. Chris was a good player, better than most, but he had no one to go to bat for him. He had no father to be seen. His mother moved around a lot so even though he had played some organized baseball before, no one in Churchland knew him, so he was never considered for the majors, and being that this was his last year of eligibility to play he was unlikely to be called up. As I said, Chris was a good player. He had no fear of the ball at all. Most of my players would back out of the box as soon as the pitcher released the ball. They rarely swung at a pitch. Right handed Chris crowded the plate. His size scared the opposing players, especially the pitcher. Chris gave a look that dared any pitcher to throw it anywhere near the plate. If they did he would quickly smash the ball. He would smash it long and high over the third base side into the outfield. Unfortunately it was the outfield of the T-ball field which made that screaming hit a foul ball. The coaches of the T-ball teams didn't care for unseen round white orbs raining down on their dirt kicking outfielders. More than once they told me to do something about it. I asked one coach if he would like me to shout "Fore!" when Chris comes up to bat. He called me a wise guy. I did want to do something about it believe me. Over dinner I would try to coach his attitude, tell him to not crowd the plate. He had a long reach. Give the pitcher some room and he would get a good pitch to hit. I moved him back in the box and told him to wait before swinging and to go for the outside pitch. When Chris hit one into fair territory, it was usually a line drive that went like it was shot out of a cannon right at third base or to the shortstop position sometimes resulting in an injury to the unfortunate kid who tried to knock it down and extra bases for Chris. Soon the pitchers for the other teams, on coach's orders, all started pitching away from him. This frustrated Chris even more and he started swinging at junk, hitting more fouls and finding himself in many 0 and 2 counts. I told him to take more first pitches. He would try, and he could get the count to 3 and 2, but a sharp pitcher would take advantage of him and he would end up with a backwards K next to his name on the score sheet. After hitting two fouls, looking at three balls, looking at a third strike, he would turn even redder in the face, and if he could have he would have broken his aluminum bat in half. He wanted more than to just hit the ball. He wanted that big major league home run. He wanted to prove that he should be up there with the big boys. He wasn't the only one. Joel was my closer and played second base and shortstop when needed. He batted right handed in the forth position so he was my clean up man in more ways than one. He was patient. Joel would drive the other pitchers crazy because he instinctively sat back in the box and waited. He would take pitches that he knew were balls and foul off the pitches that he knew were borderline. Chris was doing great to get six pitches. Joel would get eight, eleven, or more and still walk, but most of the time it only took one to get on base. If the ball was close to the plate, Joel was swinging for first base. He would take the knob to the ball and punch it where the infield defense was the weakest and then use his speed to beat it out to first. He was so fast that the infielder would rush, juggle the ball or make a bad throw, and Joel would usually end up at second, if not third. Soon pitchers tried to throw around him as well. But it didn't matter, Joel walked when he wanted to and if the pitch was reachable he used his great bat speed to take it to the opposite field. If it was an inside pitch, he tucked his hips in, leaned back and then pulled it to left. They could not keep him off the base paths when he got on. His attitude was two bases are always better than one. When it came to pitching, Joel was one of the most accurate pitchers on the mound, major or minor. He threw strikes. Worse yet for the batters he faced, he threw inside strikes. The problem was, that chased the batters out of the box and young umpires would lose their reference and call a ball. This bugged Joel. He knew the umpires up in the majors would not do this to him, but he learned to adjust. He would throw low to the back corner of the plate and get the batters to chase and if they were not swingers, just throw hard and fast right down the middle. Most of the time Chris was his catcher and he knew how to catch a pitch and make it look pretty. Both of those boys could have played with the big kids. We won a lot of games as the season progressed. Three games we lost by one run. The third game of the season was our first loss. We got killed thirteen to nothing. For some reason, I think it was a muddy field, we had to play on the T-ball field with a bad pitcher's mound. Unlike the other team (The First Place Mets) we could not adjust. My team was upset with that loss. I was upset because they gave up on me three innings in. I did not scold them. Instead I had them all over to my house on practice night for some Nintendo Home Run Derby. My plan was to get some bats moving that usually stayed still. It worked. The kids had a great time. They competed against each other. Boys who had poor timing found out that they could swing and hit a virtual ball. I told them that if they could hit what the computer tossed at them, they could hit what a pitcher threw. They just needed to decide to do it. I also reminded them of rules three and four. To make it easier to remember, those rules would now be rule one and two. Before each game I would give my little pep talk about teamwork and strategy and then ask my two questions. "What's rule number one?!" "DON'T GIVE UP!" "What's rule number two?" "DON'T LET UP!" We won our next six games. Many years later, after one of the other coaches of the Mets became a next door neighbor, I found out that the Phillies had a reputation for being relentless. I was told that other coaches thought we were mean because we pounded the other team. We never let up on them. We didn't. I told my boys that life is like baseball or vice versa, play fair but play hard. Don't cheat to win but make the other guy beat you, and never surrender. When you lose, and you most likely will, you still have no reason to feel bad if you did your very best. My team took all that to heart and always played like we were one run ahead or one behind. By game fourteen out of sixteen, we were 11 and 3. Game fifteen was the Phillies against the Giants. I didn't know it then, but this would be Chris's last game. His mother would move again before the month was out. Chris still wanted that big home run. The rules of Churchland Little League state that all players who show up for the game are in the batting line up for the whole game. Substitutions in the field are unlimited and pitchers can throw for three consecutive innings only, but they can play other positions. For this game I had ten players out of thirteen show up. A couple of them, including TJ who normally batted first, arrived late so I shifted my line up one place. Joel was batting in the third slot and Chris in forth. TJ was in the tenth position. I hated not having him at the top of the order during our first at bat. He didn't hit a lot but he didn't flinch either, so he tended to get a lot of walks. Matt, leadoff and my starting pitcher, and CJ were both good hitters. Together they gave Joel a really good chance to hit in some runs. The day of the game we were the visitors. I can see it in my mind, not like it was yesterday, but like it is right now. I watch my players arrive. When the Ump gets there I give him my lineup and a copy to the Giants' coach. We do some warm up exercises. Since we are visitors we hit the field for some quick infield practice first. After we are done, the Giants take the field for some quick drills and then the starters take their positions. It is time to play ball. My summer boys are up first. Matt leads off with a first pitch double to center field which he tries to stretch into a triple and gets thrown out. CJ strikes out on a 1 and 2 count. Joel comes up to bat with nobody on and two outs. This is not the way I want to start out against the Giants. Pitch comes in and Joel takes it to the far right field and runs for first like his life depends on it. He doesn't stop until he is standing on third. His pants are still clean. Now it is Chris's at bat. I don't know what to expect. I know that it could get ugly. Joel, standing on third, had better keep his eyes open and not get hit by a rocket. Chris takes a vicious swing at the first pitch and misses so hard he spins like a top. The pitcher grins at him. Chris turns a bit redder. Next pitch and Chris knocks an ankle breaker back to the mound. It bounces off the rubber and flies past second as the pitcher jumps. Chris makes it to first, Joel scores. Little Jeffery comes up to the plate and manages to take it to a full count before he goes down looking. Bottom of the first Phillies 1 Giants 0 The Giants are a pretty fair team so I am going to play my normal game but take nothing for granted. Before Matt heads to the mound, I tell him and Chris to be smart, no fancy curve balls, just play catch. The Giants leadoff batter and Matt get into a classic battle of hitter and pitcher. It goes to a full count with a bunch of foul balls. Matt walks him. Okay, he will shake that off. I hope. The next two batters both hit to my second baseman. CJ makes two great throws to first. Matt now has two outs and starts to get a bit anxious for the third so he throws one in the dirt that Chris can't smother. The runner who was on third makes it home. The batter goes down looking with a full count. Man, my players sure know how to make a coach anxious. Top of the Second, score tied 1 to 1 Shawn leads off for us. He does not like to stay in the batters box. I cured him by laying bats on the ground behind his heels. If he steps backwards he steps on the bats and takes a fall. I know this seems like a mean technique to cure bat fright but it works. This day he stays right there, never takes a swing but ends up on first. Jonathan, Zac, and WC are my next three batters. All three of them strike out. Jonathan and WC go down looking at the third strike. The Giants's pitcher throws nine strikes and three balls. Three of those 12 pitches end up at the backstop allowing Shawn to work his way from first to home. Bottom of the second Phillies 2, Giants 1 Matt walks the lead off batter after a 3-1 count. I am hoping that he will settle down a bit. Chris jogs out to the mound to talk to him. I don't know what he said but it works. Matt strikes out the next batter, and then takes the second one to a full count before getting him too. The third batter goes down with a backwards K on four pitches. Top of the Third we are ahead 2 to 1. TJ, last in the lineup, leads off with big stand-up double on a 1 and 0 pitch. Now we are back at the top of our batting order. Matt takes a ball and then puts a hard grounder back to the mound. He gets thrown out on a not so close play at first but advances the runner. CJ is up. He is a smart hitter and almost always takes the first pitch. He does just that this time as well. It is a ball. He smacks the next one to third base, it will be a long throw to first and he beats it out. It is a bad throw that scoots out to right field, CJ pushes it all the way to third while TJ makes it home. All my parents are screaming now. Things are getting hot. Joel is up, and everyone is yelling at him to bring CJ home. Joel works it to two balls and two strikes and goes down swinging hard. Two outs, with a man on third. Chris is up and the pitcher just stands there looking. Chris takes a couple of hard practice swings. Chris gets five pitches. Two of them are foul balls, one of which takes off behind our dugout, into the woods, never to be seen again. The other one scares the poop out of the T-ball parents sitting in the bleachers on the third base side of the T-ball field. They have their backs to our field and never see what drops from the sky. He takes two balls that are so outside even he doesn't swing at them. The third one that he doesn't swing at is a strike, in the opinion of the umpire anyway, (who, in my opinion must be drunk or blind). Chris is really red now. I tell the boys to hit the field. Bottom of the Third Phillies 3, Giants 1 Again Matt walks the first batter. This is getting monotonous. I once asked my pitchers and players this: "What is the most important first pitch in baseball?" I got all kinds of answers. "Curve." "No-fastball, its gotta be a fastball!" "Breaking Ball." I told them it is a strike. The answer should be obvious. Pitchers need to throw first pitch strikes. I don't care if the batter looks at it, swings and misses it, or fouls it off. I just want the first pitch to be a strike. A pitcher still has the mental advantage, even with a three two count, if the first pitch is a strike. Matt has the advantage with the second batter. He throws two strikes and then three balls but the sixth pitch freezes the batter. One out, two to go, play is at second. The third batter is the same sad story with one different player, another walk. Now the Giants have runners on first and second. Hot and Cold Matt, you never know which one is throwing next. The hot one hurls the next five pitches. He gets another one looking. Two down, one to go and we are back at the top of the Giants order. After the next three pitches, I know Matt is trying to kill me. They are all balls. The batter has the brains to take the next pitch. Matt fires it down the middle for strike one. Next pitch is off the corner on the outside. Chris never moves his glove. The Ump calls it a ball. It looks just like the last strike he called on Chris. As the batter is trotting to first and the bases load, I am reminding myself that it is against the rules to kill an umpire. Matt throws a high ball to the next batter, and Chris stands to get it. He tosses it back to the mound while my parents and players are yelling encouraging things to Matt. I could use a few good words myself about now. Matt throws a low outside pitch. The batter golfs it back to the mound and it makes this high bounce straight up off that darn rubber. Matt can't field it. Runner is very safe. The Third Base runner scores and we still have bases loaded. "Play is at any base!" Joel, at short, yells to the rest of the infield. My outfielders are asleep, because nothing has gone out there yet. Matt fires off another pitch, inside, at the knees of the batter. He hits it right back to Matt who gets it on one bounce and throws to first. Thank God, inning over. Joel needs to start warming up. Top of the Forth Phillies 3, Giants 2 Little Jeffrey is up again. I can count on one hand the number of times Jeffery has been on base. He plays outfield and I am lucky if he is looking at home plate when the batter hits the ball. Today, however, he seems to be getting into it a bit more. I just wish he would swing the darn bat. He hits the first pitch. It spins high up on the first base side and smacks the bleachers right next to his dad...You would have thought it was a home run. Every one rooting for the Phillies starts yelling like they have lost their minds. I think the noise must have unnerved the pitcher because he throws four straight balls. Jeffery struts to first base like he owns the world. Shawn is next. He takes the pitcher to a full count then goes down looking. Jonathan stands by the plate and glares at the pitcher while he takes three balls, two strikes (in some kind of order) and then stares at the last pitch, a pretty strike. Two down. Man the bottom of my order doesn't help me very often. Zac is my last hope. Sometimes things are hopeless. Five pitches later, Diane my scorekeeper draws a backwards K next to Zac. Three down without trying to foul off the last strike, come on, give me a break guys! Bottom of the Forth Phillies 3, Giants 2 Joel is nice and warmed up. I watch the players as they move out on the field, grinning as they run. They believe in Joel. He rarely walks a batter. He makes them work for it. I hear the Parents saying "We got em now." Maybe, but I don't want to let up. Joel knows that and he reminds his team not to let up as they run past him. "Good boy," I think to myself. Joel wastes no time. He hurls at the Giants number 4 hitter, three inside fastballs waist high. He freezes the guy in his cleats. His bat never moves. The Second batter takes a swing at all three pitches but gets nothing but air. Two down, one to go. The next batter up catches everyone by surprise. He bunts to the first base side (it could have been an accident) on the very first pitch. WC, now catching, can move pretty fast when he wants to, scoops it up and throws it to the stretched out TJ at first, just in the nick of time. The forth inning is over, pretty darn quick if you ask me. Top of the fifth and my summer boys are up again. I look though the dugout fence at their hot and sweaty faces. I tell these great kids of mine that Joel needs some protection. Get him some runs. Chris yells "What's rule number 2?!!!" "Don't let up! Don't let up!" WC leads off. WC is a short stocky kid who doesn't like batting in the bottom of the order. Most of the time I put him in the ninth spot. He can hit and he can get a walk. The only bad thing is that he has a habit of throwing his bat. The first time the umps will issue a warning, the second time they will call him out. WC throws his bat at least once a game but if he gets a hit and controls himself he can get us back to the top of our order and when that happens WC will usually score a run. Today WC is not batting at the bottom but we still need him to do his magic. WC likes to swing his bat, so he fouls a few pitches and makes the pitcher work until the count is three and two. On the next pitch he sends a blooper over the third baseman's head, runs three steps, drops his bat and makes it to first base. It is obvious that he likes the sound of his team's cheers. TJ comes up. TJ gets more walks than anyone on the team. He knows that it his job to get on base so he is an extremely patient batter. He forces the pitcher to go to another full count but comes out on the losing end this time. Ian, who came to the game during previous inning is up now. Ian is my youngest player and is scared stiff of the ball. If he stays in the batter's box and gives the pitcher any kind of challenge we will be doing good. He manages to get a piece of the second pitch. It is the first time he puts the bat on the ball during a game. I am proud of him even when he misses the next two. Two outs with one on, but we make it back to the top of the lineup. As Matt steps out of our dugout I stop him and call Joel over. "What do you guys think of the pitcher?" I ask. "He's throwing a lot of pitches, most of them balls. He looks nervous or something," is Joel's response. Matt nods in agreement. "We will try to make him work a little harder." I look over at Matt. "Play with his head a bit, step out between pitches, fix your gloves, or adjust your helmet, make him think about his next pitch longer than he wants to. Got that?" "Okay Coach." Matt walks over to the plate just as my friend the ump impatiently yells "Batter Up!" Maybe Matt didn't get it, I don't know. He hits the first pitch for a single. Okay, I'll take it anyway I can get it. CJ is up next. He fouls the first pitch and then takes the next two. The count is 1 and 2 when the next pitch comes straight at him. I know he's going to duck but he turns around and takes it right in the middle of his back. He drops his bat, bends his back one direction and then the other, groaning and moaning. The ump asks CJ if he his okay. CJ says he can still play. He hobbles to first. I swear he gave me a sideways grin as he passes me. That did it. We now have the bases loaded with two outs. Joel is now in the box. He has that look in his eye. He wants more than just a base hit, he wants extra bases, as many as he can get. I know what he wants. He wants the biggest home run you can get. Joel wants a Grand Slam. Sometimes you almost get what you want. The Giants pitcher was just too nervous. His first pitch is in the dirt, the catcher scrambles and WC steals home while Matt and CJ advance a base. We have a two run lead with one inning to go, plus there is a time limit, but at this point that is way off yet. The Giants coach calls his pitcher over to the third base path. I can guess what he is saying. "It's okay; this is still anybody's game. Just go out there and throws strikes." Yep, that's what I would have said with all the confidence that I could muster, while hoping that it works. It does for awhile, sort of. Joel looks at two close balls then fouls off two pitches in a row and then looks at one more ball. It's a full count. He then hits the next pitch hard down the third base side where at the last second it curves foul. I think to myself that the pitcher better not throw one there again. He does. Joel kicks and slams it hard. It's a rope over the third baseman's head and keeps going until it rolls into the farthest point in left field that it can go. Joel does not look where that ball lands. From the moment he makes contact his feet start to move toward first. He glances at the first base coach who yells at him to keep going. Joel flies around second, all the time watching TJ's father who is coaching third base. His arm is spinning like a windmill and Joel gets the message. All of us are yelling at him. "Run Joel, Run!" He rounds third into foul territory and keeps on pumping for home. I see the throw being relayed from the outfield and it is going to be close. Joel looks at me for the slide sign. I give it to him, better safe than sorry. He slides across the plate with an inside the park homerun, beating the throw by, well, quite a bit. His teammates are yelling at the top of their voices. It is quite a moment. The score is now Phillies 7, Giants 2 "Don't let up!" "Don't let up!" I did not remind them of rule number two. Chris or someone started that cheer themselves. I don't stop them. They know it is still anybody's game to win. I look over at the Giants dugout and almost feel sorry for the coach. The pitcher looks dejected but not defeated. That is good, after all the game ain't over till it's over. I herd all the guys back to the dugout as Chris heads to the batter's box. Chris is really pumped up. I can see it in his face. The first pitch comes in low and outside. Ball one. The pitcher winds up, lets go and the ball follows the same path. Ball two. Chris steps out of the box, glares at the mound, takes a swing and steps back to the plate. The pitcher throws a high breaking ball. It looks like a softball pitch. Ball Three. Chris gets red in the face and yells. "Come on, give me something to hit!" I have to do something and do it fast. "Time, Blue!" The ump calls time and I motion for Chris to come over. I lean in close to him. "I want you to show a bunt." "I don't want to bunt." He responds. "I want you to show a bunt and if the pitcher puts it down the middle pull back and kill it. Can you do that?" "Fake a bunt? I don't know coach." "Hey, batter we don't have all day." I push Chris back towards the plate...the ump wants to go home. Chris steps back in the batter's box. The throw is a fastball outside. Chris drops his bat and heads for first. "Hey batter, that was a strike." Slowly Chris turns and looks at the Ump like he is out of his mind. The pitcher starts laughing at him. Chris's face becomes as red as a tomato. He goes back to the plate. He takes his stance. Then something clicks. He squares off for a bunt. He shows this great big and very ugly wiggy-waggy bunt. The pitcher looks at Chris like he has gone crazy and fires a fast one right down the fat part of the plate. I know what is coming next because I can feel it in the air. The hair on my arms stands up as Chris gets this unmistakable look on his face. It is the look of complete victory. He pulls back and smokes the ball harder than he has ever hit one in his life. PING!!! That ball heads for dead center field, climbing the whole time. Every eye, both on our field, the T-ball field and the major league field, where the sound of the bat hitting the leather can be heard, is following the path of the ball. They watch it as it bounces off a car in the parking lot way beyond our centerfield fence. Chris makes his victory lap around the diamond. My team is going crazy. They meet Chris at home plate, slapping his back. Chris finally has his Major League Home run. Phillies 8, Giants 2 But it ain't over till it's over.

In a word...yes!

You know what someone once said: "Motor coaching is a never-ending learning experience."

Me too Todd. He has helped us get through a lot of stones that get tossed our way, and not just kidney ones.

Nickolas, the family pupster here! I asked Dad if he would let me post again. Last time, I hijacked his blog and posted on the sly. This time he said okay. I wanted to leave him and Mom a note. They may need what I write here one day. I am almost 85 years old now, in relative terms, and so I can say that chances are I have a little bit of time left, but only a little. I don't worry about the end of my life. Mom and Dad do that for me. They comment on how white my face is compared to how it used to look. They talk about how slow I am to get up from my nap in front of the TV. They don't like for me to wear myself out going up and down the coach steps. They concern themselves with how hot I am, because I pant a lot. Mom bought me this slick blue water-filled pad to help keep me cool. I am not crazy about it but I sleep on it, and that makes her feel better even if it doesn't do much for me. They really worry about a tumor that is growing on my left side. They talk about how much they hope it isn't cancer, but if it is, what they can do about it? Mom and Dad, especially Dad, could stand to learn a bit about life from me. Like I said, I don't worry. I don't worry about that lump or much of anything else. I don't give much thought to the squirrels that I can't chase around the back yard anymore. Actually, I never worried about them when I was younger, either. The moment one takes off up a tree, that's it for me. I find something else to think about-like breakfast. I can say for sure that life is far too short to spend time worrying about anything, except dinner. I love both of my people a lot. They have always given me a good life. I still have a good life even if things are changing. I can't hear much of anything anymore. I used to hear the brakes on Dad's old truck three blocks away. Mom was always amazed when I went to the door to wait for him, long before he pulled up in front of the house. Now I am sometimes surprised by him at the door instead of the other way around. But that is okay. I still follow him to his office desk, furiously wagging my tail, and he never fails to give my back a good scratch. Sometimes Dad is so tense when he gets home at the end of the day. I know it is my job to do something to help him, so giving the dog a good back scratching does as much, if not more, for Dad as it does for me. There was a time when Dad and Mom were saying something about Dad having a kidney stone. Dad was in pretty bad shape. I saw him on his knees next to his bed. He was sweating and moaning. The pain was so intense that Dad was starting to panic. I jumped up on the bed to be near him. I kissed his nose and then lay down. He put his hands on me and buried his face in my side. I did what I was supposed to do, I soaked up his pain. It took a little while but Dad calmed down and I could sense that he started to feel a bit better. I usually stick close to Mom, but Dad needed me, so I stayed right there with him for the rest of the day. During our last trip out in our coach (I like to call it the Bus) Mom and Dad watched this movie about a person who helps to heal horses. This person is called a horse whisperer. Dad says that I am a Human Whisperer. I am not sure what that means, but if being a Human Whisperer means being there for my people, reminding them that life should be lived mostly in the present and that love and kindness are what keeps us going, then that is what I am. I love my people. They are like gods to me. They are bigger and stronger than me and I trust them to look after me. I hope my love for them is a reminder that there is a greater power that is stronger and bigger than they are who loves them, too. I think it does. Many years ago we were on a camping trip, in a tent; this was before we got our fancy bus. It was a beautiful fall day and Dad grilled T-bone steaks for their dinner. The smell was great. I knew that they would share the best part of these wonderful smelling things with me. They would give me the bones. I was so excited to get one. Dad looked at me, happily chomping away, and then he looked at the mountains around us and the woods with all its bright colors. "This is just a bone," he said. "What?" Mom asked. "What are you talking about?" "This life and this world is just a bone" Dad said."This is just a taste of what God has in store for those who love Him. We should learn to love life and Him more." When the end of my life finally comes, just before I take my last nap, I hope the last thing I see is the love for me in the eyes of my people. I hope the last thing I feel is my Mom rubbing my head and my Dad scratching my back. I hope the last thing I do for them is to whisper that I love them and that life is good, keep on living it well, and thanks for giving me such a good one. Nickolas

Another good reason to use a good surge protector.

Brad,, Nice to have a new blogger on board. I look forward to more. Gramps