Hello Again My Darling Beloveds. It’s been too, too long.

Tonight is the Twins home opener—and just now I accidentally typed “hope opener,” which, in a way, it is as well. Because the Twins’ first two series in Toronto and Cleveland were, let’s say, disappointing. But tonight they return to our own glorious Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome, to face Oakland on the home Astroturf, before legions of fans who adore them unconditionally. The fans who love them even when they are plagued by both a weak offense and, remarkably, a less-than-stellar defense. The fans who continue to choose to ignore the 2005 season, and also the eerie similarities between it and the last six games.

The Twins will bask in all of that unconditional love and will be inspired to turn it around and begin fulfilling the potential that we insist they have. Tony Batista will become a third-base powerhouse. Designated hitter Rondell White will actually, you know, get some hits. And Brad Radke will strike out every batter in the first inning. And the second. And the third.

I need this blind optimism. I need a “hope opener” to counteract the growing sense of inadequacy I feel when I look at my poor, chaotic kitchen. Because, in spite of having completed painting the ceiling yesterday, late last night as I looked around at the mess, as I thought of the days of work that still lie ahead, a horrible thought came to me. A tiny voice inside my head asked, “What if, when all this work is done, this kitchen is just as ratty looking as it was before? What if it ends up just as ratty looking, only in a different color?”