It took about two months, but the nail finally came off. A young nail has grown underneath and is mostly protecting the quick. It was completely painless, although I’m sure it looks more gruesome than it actually is. One down, three more nails to go.

After about a month, things haven’t improved a great deal. The nail is becoming loose, though. After trimming the ends, there is now more white at the end of the nail than there was before I trimmed it.

After an 8-mile downhill hike, wearing boots that were sized to fit my feet, I was left with this little shiner on my right foot. The big toe on my left foot isn’t much better, and the second toe on each foot are also bruised. Lesson learned, I bought a new pair of boots that were a half size larger than my shoe size. I have low arches, so going up a full size seemed like overkill.

For some background, a couple of weeks ago, I made a sale on eBay. The item sold is not especially important to this story. It was able to fit inside a Priority Mail Flat Rate envelope. I paid a little extra for insurance and signature confirmation (I didn’t fully trust my buyer).

The Postal Service touts 2-3 days for delivery of Priority Mail, which is the same as standard First Class mail.

I dropped the package off at the post office on 11/16/09. Delivery should have occured by 11/19/09. As of 11/20/09, the only information available through the tracking system was that Shipping information had been received. So I called the USPS Customer Service. The only thing they could tell me was that I had dropped off the package in Alpharetta, GA… the one thing I did not need a tracking number to know. As far as anyone knew, my package could still be in Georgia instead of on it’s way to Massachusettes. Frustrated, I hung up after being advised to see if it was delivered over the weekend.

On Monday 11/23, I checked the tracking information again. There was a new update. Apparently my shipment had made it’s way to a sorting facility in Opa Locka, Florida on Saturday 11/23. 6 days after shipping to Massachusettes my package is in Florida? I call Customer Service again. Apparently the 2-3 day delivery time frame is “just an estimate” and I can file a claim if it is still undelivered after 21 days.

So I have a buyer that I had to struggle with to get paid accusing me of not sending the item because the USPS can’t deliver mail or provide decent tracking info. Nobody knows where the package is. Prior to this sale I have a perfect rating on eBay (only at 63, but 100%).

So, from now on FedEx & UPS are my preferred methods of shipping anything worth more than $20. 8 days without delivery on Priority Mail is just not acceptable.

http://tinyurl.com/r43y4m

To our surprise, the food was really pretty good barbeque. Granted there are differences to what I am accostomed to. For starters, the pork was sliced, not chopped or pulled. The meat, while flavorful, did not seem to have been marinated. And finally, the sauce was a little overly sweet. Overall, I thought it was good food, even if it was not quite what I am used to.

The factor Brook’s had in our ultimate decision to eat there though, was their sign. My brother had noted during the drive up, that just once he would like to see a barbeque sign that instead of having a smiling pig, had one being chased by a man with a cleaver. I guess a cicken and a hatchet will have to do.

I became a Red Sox fan at a young age, in no small part because of my father. Growing up in Chattanooga, TN, I was firmly within Atlanta Braves territory and by all rights, I probably should have been a Braves fan. But my father had a passion for the Red Sox unmatched in Tennessee by even the most ardent Braves fans. And that passion was infectous.

My father had spent a portion of his childhood growing up in Boston during World War II. During that time, most of the Red Sox stars were enlisted in the armed forces, but baseball went on and my father grew up within walking distance of Fenway Park.

As the star players began to return, he initially became a Bobby Doerr fan, but all his friends could talk about was Ted Williams, in anticipation of the return of the Spendid Splinter. And when he did return, the Red Sox were as much a part of my fathers life as water is for a fish.

Although my father returned to Chattanooga with his parents soon after the end of the war, the love for the Red Sox never waned. In the days when only one baseball game a week was on tv, any game featuring the Red Sox became a family event. Spring Breaks became trips to Spring Training, just to have an opportunity to see the current teams, even if the games meant little. A VHS highlight tape of the 1975 World Series against the Cincinnati Reds was viewed regularly until the tape itself began to wear out. And the 1978 playoff game against the Yankees, my initiation into Red Sox Nation, is still a sore subject.

During those early Spring Break/Spring Training trips, I had several opportunities to meet many Red Sox players and Legends. Among my prized autographs, I had collected Johnny Pesky, Ted Williams, Carl Yastrzemski, Dwight Evans, Bruce Hurst, Jerry Remy, and many others. But one autograph that had eluded me was the man who, at the time, was my favorite active player, Jim Rice.

Rice had never been known to be a prolific autograph signer. In several trips to Florida, I had never seen him sign anything. But being a child of 10 years old, I wasn’t about to let that keep me from getting what I wanted.

On the final day of our vacation my family had attended a game. I can no longer recall the outcome of that game, but I remember the stadium had a practice area between the field and the clubhouse. The practice area was separated from the stands by a chain link fence and a small hill. I knew if Jim Rice crossed this area, any hope I hade of getting his autograph would be lost forever. So I did exactly what any level-headed 10 year old would do. I hopped the fence.

Looking back, accomplishing this was significantly easier then than it would be today. But I am still amazed not a single security team member did anything to stop me. I ran right up to Jim Rice, and in my bravest voice said” Mr. Rice, will you sign my ball?”

The next five seconds seemed to last forever. To this day I am conviced he was contemplating between signing the ball or eating me. He was a giant of a man to me and was considered large for a ball player at that time. Finally, though, he took my ball and pen and gave me his autograph. I was so excited, I can only hope I said “Thank you” as I ran back up the hill to my father.

I still have that ball today. It was a new ball at the time and only has four other signatures on it. But Jim Rice’s signature sits right on top, prominantly displayed in my home.

I look forward to my trip with my father and brother beginning tomorrow. I’m sure our conversation will include reliving this tale at some point. I don’t expect to be able to meet Mr. Rice during the trip, and he likely has no memory of this event, but it was a big moment in my life. I’m thrilled to be present in this moment for him.

The Red Sox lost the game 2-1, but won the series, so it was still a good weekend.

Tomorrow the Sox come to Atlanta for three games against the Braves. I’m looking forward to it. I get to go to all three games.