Chapter 83.5: Meaningful Games in 2011?

My Mets are so done they're using the lines from the grill as their pinstripes.

Remember April? Back then, this Mets team was supposed to be the one that fans would look back on and say, "Remember that '09 club? Johan, Cy Young Award. Reyes, MVP. Wright, a Gold Glove and the solid gold leader of the team. Gary Sheffield came in and hit his 500th homer in April and then Carlos Delgado did the same in September, like Hall of Fame bookends. Even Billy Wagner, expected to be gone for the entire year, came back in August to solidify the bullpen with the best late-inning one-two punch the game had seen in a decade. That was the final ingredient that perfected the recipe. New York Mets, World Champs of 2009."

But no. Not even close. The Mets haven't had a meaningful game since before the All-Star break. Every single one of their so-called "core players" went on the disabled list: Reyes, Wright, Delgado, Beltran, Santana. Add to them Brian Schneider and Angel Pagan, John Maine and Oliver Perez. (Don't get me started about Perez!) Hell, even Alex Cora was lost for the season!

Abysmal. Thank God for the Washington Nationals.

Back in March, I had meant to do my annual season predictions. I had expected the Mets to come in second behind the Phillies, win the wild card, and advance to the World Series. But I didn't write it. There just wasn't enough time. I'm glad. It's bad enough that I'll admit that I thought this was going to be a good team. What's worse, Omar Minaya was signed to a three-year contract extension that hasn't even begun yet. This team is bad. The mechanic hasn't proven he can be fully trusted after several years under the hood. What's a fan to do?

Chapter 83.4: A Few Moments Alone

The classical music has soothed the savage babies. The wife is out for an hour or so. And the coffee still tastes good. I will try to keep from wasting too much time from the one day when I can accomplish something on my own.

Later, in between diapers and bottles, I'll mow the lawn, which has grown once again to jungle lengths. Till then, however, I'll enjoy the skirl of the cicadas and crickets from my air conditioned home — pushing back the annoying question of how I'll pay for such amenities — and see what else I can accomplish in the time allotted.

How's your day?

Chapter 83.3: Summer in the City

The streets of New York City stink of garbage this morning. Scents of fish and piss and withering whatchamacallit grab onto the sticky humid air and embed themselves deep into people's nostrils. The occasional open door at this hour already has the air conditioner blasting out onto the sidewalk — an all too brief respite as I continue walking groggily to work.

I slept well on the train this morning as a pretty woman in a sundress read her Jodi Picoult beside me. Dreams of babies crying and parents consoling them. Diaper and feed.

I need my coffee. I need to sit for a minute or two. I need to clear the air. Welcome back, summer.

Chapter 83.2: Re-Emerging or Just Shifting?

It has been too long since I posted anything other than a new poll question here. Indeed, it used to be unusual for me to go two weeks between published posts much less the two months it has been.

Those who know me know why that's happened, and while I have shifted the dexterity in my hands to diapering the girls, my fingers and my mind remain quite able to type and think. Ok, the fingers still work, the brain's not always there without enough caffeine to fuel it. This is my coffee cup, after all.

As July ebbs in the rain-drenched streets of New York and New Jersey, I pledge to post more often in August — both here and at The Elephant's Bookshelf, where I've posted a tad more regularly. I know these posts won't come frequently, but they will occur. But I've got a first novel to re-re-revise and a new novel to continue writing. After all, these characters in my soul don't stop bugging me when I'm not writing about them.