Such a beautiful afternoon at Fenway Park: not only did the Red Sox win and get a lot of hits, but I sat in the best seats I've ever had, next to an affectionate and concentrated 13-year-old, and we cheered and laughed and ate sausage sandwiches together, and had a wonderful and for some reason exhausting afternoon. Plus, after the game, as a Mother's Day treat, fans were invited to walk down onto the field and around the warning track, which was surprisingly wonderful . . . to get to touch the outfield wall known as the Green Monster and to see all the dings in it from the thousands of wall-ball doubles that have nailed it; to peer at the actual "phone to the bullpen"; to watch excited little kids offer to high-five the grounds-crew guys and then to watch the grounds-crew guys cheerfully high-five them back. It was all so sweet. Fenway is a reason to love baseball, even if you don't care about the sport. Just ask my older son, who could care less about baseball but kept remarking with amazement on how much fun he was having.

The long drive home was somewhat gruesome, however; and today we're all wiped out, which is unfortunate for everyone else in the family since they have to go to school and work and one of them has his own opening-day baseball game this afternoon. At least I get to stay home . . . though I do have to plant peas and muscle through a ridiculous amount of housework and grass mowing.