Throwback Pitcher

     

     I rarely will sit and watch baseball on the tube anymore, though I have been to a few D-Backs games at “whatever the hell they call it now” Field in Phoenix. It really is much more enjoyable in the stands than on TV because you realize there is more going on than what the camera can show you at any given moment. My baseball on TV watching is pretty much confined to catching some of the World Series. There are two memorable examples for me of catching just the World Series at seasons end; now I have a third. The first was when our local Diamondbacks beat the Yankees on a bloop single in game 7 back in 2001; it was great to finally have a championship for an Arizona team. The other was an even bigger deal for this New England mutt. I could have sworn there was something in my eye watching the Red Sox finish a sweep of the Cardinals back in 2004; I couldn't help wishing some of the die-hard Red Sox fans I knew could have been there to witness what I did that night. Many of them have passed on, including my dad, so the end of the game was thoroughly surreal and bit overwhelming. Now if the Cubs could just get there and do the same, it would probably stop global warming.

     Along comes this past Wednesday night, and I managed to catch the last few innings of Game 7 of the World Series, which was the first bit of baseball I watched all season. I’d had kind of half an ear tuned to the series, so I knew the teams were taking turns kicking the crap out of each other.

     I was surprised to see a one run game in the 6^th inning, so I decided what the heck watch the last few innings and see which team self-destructs.  What I saw was a pitching display that will be written about for years to come, especially with the current way pitchers are handled.  As I watched I was amazed at how he gave those guys nothing to hit, and could still turn it loose when he needed. The network flashed a graphic across the screen showing what the Giants Madison Baumgardner was doing hadn't been done in over a 100 years; a few weeks ago I wrote a piece about something similar :

http://theholeinthepaper.blogspot.com/2014/09/where-are-all-guys-with-rubber-arms.html

   

     Being a failed Little League pitcher myself, that lead the league my last year in plunking kids in the head, I am prone to admire a pitcher that has command of a game the way Baumgardner did the other night.  Being witness to a demonstration like that for a part time baseball fan was definitely a happy accident.  My hope is some real baseball fans got to partake as well. 

Mixed Nuts

     This past week has been more about writing words on actual paper instead of in the air, which is how I think of typing on the keyboard.  Don’t ask me to explain it, that just popped out of mind and refused to go back in. Most of my posts I type out before I post them, rarely do I hand write them first, usually I can sit at the keyboard and just go. There are times though when the keyboard isn't quite real enough for me, it doesn't seem to engage enough of my senses to make the words flow; some thoughts just tell me they need to be written by hand. Most of the handwritten stuff I've put down over the years hasn't seen the light of day. If you asked me to give you a reason why I would probably say I simply wasn't ready to share it, which accounts for the recent silence from this chair.

     Lately I've taken to reading things written by other writers, other than their books. I've found a lot of interesting thoughts and observations about the craft along with a glimpse in to their own writing life. The paths each of us has taken to reach the point of putting ourselves out there on paper are as varied and unique as the individuals themselves. I've found it interesting to see how other writers view their writing, what it’s meant for them and the struggle with trying to find their niche. Apparently in today’s world a lot of writers feel pushed to have a niche. I guess if you’re a retailer trying to sell books it makes sense to be able to categorize the times you have to sell.  For a writer I can thoroughly understand how that niche can feel too confining, almost like someone else is trying to force you into a box.

     Boxes are for keeping shoes in, or little keepsakes like granddad’s broken watch and that penny you left on the railroad tracks when you were 12. I imagine most folks don’t like being pigeon-holed, I know I sure don’t. I guess that’s why I've done so many different things over the course of my life, though it sure has put me in some strange places. I know others don’t seem to mind those definitions since it gives them a sense of structure or some boundaries to work in. I have no issues with boundaries, they are so necessary in so many situations and without them what we may see now as chaos, would be even more so. 

     I tried to sit and think what my niche is, I really spent some time and mulled over the idea, and being resistant to creating a box for myself I will just keep chewing on that one. I looked over the things I've posted here and it’s rather a big can of mixed nuts, a magic can with the type of nuts changing each time I open it. I never worry about spilling any, there is always more where those came from.For the present I suppose I’ll just let the world and all its wonder furnish me with nuts to keep that magic can full. 

Leaving on a Jet Plane....Nope not yet.

     

     I do not have a fear of flying; I just don’t like to do it. Short flights of two, maybe two and half hours or less I can tolerate fairly well, though anything much longer than that I dread the thought of; it’s akin to that one unpleasant task that you don’t really want to do. You know that one thing you finally decided can’t be avoided and just need to follow through on. I know flying is the most time efficient way to travel long distances, I just don’t like that post-flight feeling of being beaten with a phone book; there are no bruises though it sure feels like there should be some. I basically walk out the gangway like I’m wearing a blindfold and only one shoe; I usually end up walking into something. I pretty much have figured out that ugh feeling has a lot  to do with the fact I can’t at any point say “Hey, Pullover, I want out”, like you can on a long car ride; one can’t really do that at 35,000 feet up.

     I count myself among the fortunate ones that can fall sleep almost anywhere; I learned as a kid long trips mean lots of naps. Take me on a long road trip by car and you get pretty much the same; if you want someone to keep your company let me drive a for a while, otherwise I’ll be leaving you with your own thoughts as the miles melt away.  However, it is not so handy a trait during those often pointless meetings at work; that’s me standing up in the back there so  I don’t snap my neck nodding. Plane trips usually turn into several 20 minute cat naps which definitely make the time go faster, however I occasionally miss out on those bags of 9 peanuts the flight attendants toss at you.

     I also experienced my first peanut free flight when the flight attendant announced over the PA that we would only be given pretzels during one leg of our journey. I wasn't aware the airlines even did that type of thing, though it makes sense in recycled air 6 miles up for folks with peanut allergies.  I’d sure miss my peanut butter if that ever happened to me.

     I've come to the conclusion that airline seats and Japanese motor cars are made for midgets. If you are taller than 5’10’ and weigh more than 160 lbs. you feel like a breakfast sausage; that same feeling you get when you put on the suit that has been in the closet for 5 years and the pants…are…a…little…snug! Phew! After the combination over the past decade or so of some airlines going bankrupt and a few others merging, it seems that the airlines that are left have pushed the seats closer together to stuff a few more people in; I don’t remember flying coach as being quite as cramped years ago. Then again I could just be a cranky old man that doesn't like to fly.

     There have always been PA announcements in airports, though the post 9/11 announcement that runs on a loop makes me wonder what we have done to ourselves. You know the one I mean, it starts off with, “If any unknown person attempts…”, then repeats itself 5 minutes later. I guess it must be geared towards the folks that don’t heed the warning on the back of those sun shades we put in our windshields out here; "Do not attempt to drive with sun shade in place". If you need to have that announcement repeated to you ad nauseum you probably shouldn't leave the house.

      

     Another aspect of the changes implemented by the airlines over the past decade or so has been the decrease in the number of non-stops. Now most flights have at least one stop and those layovers often are so short you have to almost run from gate to gate depending on the airport. Sometimes, like the layover we just experienced, they seem to never end; ours did eventually since I’m writing this at home instead of Southwest gate A10 in Baltimore.  Our layover in Baltimore was supposed to be only 35 minutes and we were supposed to stay on the same plane and continue to Phoenix: I should have known that was too good to be true. Fortunately for us we had no connecting flight to catch in Phoenix since it ended up being a 3 hour wait, though I hoped no one else on our flight had to make a connection.

     We were told we needed to get off the plane and wait in the passenger area for further instructions. So off the plane we troggle to sit in the chairs by the gate and wait, about 10 fidgety minutes later with no updates the ornery goat that doesn't like to fly decided he needed some instructions. As I walked up to the gatekeeper at his little podium I overheard him tell the man that had beat me there by 3 steps to “please go sit and wait sir there have been some changes to your flight and we will let you know more shortly.”  I previously worked for a small commuter airline so I really didn't want to be “that” passenger so I went and sat myself back down. I waited another 10-15 minutes during which I saw several people attempt to elicit information from the gatekeeper; he just stonewalled each one and shooed them away, then eventually disappeared. I decided to try my luck at another desk and the woman behind the counter at least was kind enough to tell me they were giving our plane to a group that had theirs delayed and our delay would be about another hour, adding also they would have to find us another crew as well. Really?  Another trip through Baltimore airport had turned into a delay. Why should I be surprised its happened every time I've gone through there? It is the airport equivalent of the Hotel California – you can never leave.

     The situation evolved from the ridiculous to the sublime a very short time later. That plane we came in on, the one that was supposed to be used by the passengers that got hosed right before we arrived, well that one was taken away so they had to wait for another one, which turns out wasn't ready to fly either. I stood up to go look at the board to see what time they had moved our flight to and it had disappeared from the board! Right about now I am doing a slow burn, I really didn't want to leave New York and I didn't want to have my next birthday at the airport in Baltimore.  I walked up to the desk and asked a woman standing behind it, wearing makeup by the pound, what was going on.

“Well sir it seems the plane we were going to give your flight isn't ready, and it looks like we are short a crew as well.”

“Why is it every time I go through here there is an issue with the plane? Do you bring all your broken planes to Baltimore?”

“Oh no sir Southwest doesn't bring all its broken planes to Baltimore.”

Standing to my right is another woman with a twinkle in her eye and a bit of grin who pipes in with, “Well Baltimore is a maintenance hub for Southwest.”

“Ahh. Okay I get it now, all the broken planes DO come through Baltimore.” 

Queue the crickets. The woman to my right, shrugs, as a smile tugs the corner of her mouth. The woman behind the counter looks at me like she doesn't know whether to shit or wind her watch. I thank the lady to my right and tell the Maybelline ad to drink some more Kool-Aid, do an about face and head back to my seat.

     Eventually we managed to find a plane and a crew and made it into the air for the last leg of our trip home. The attendants passed out free booze to those indulging and broke out the good stuff from the snack bin - packs of cheese filled Ritz and mini Lorna Doones. I wolfed down my share and settled in for my usual nod.  We finally arrived home a few hours later than expected, grateful neither of us had to roll in to work the day.

     I hope my next trip to Baltimore is to see family and not as a stopover. If it is I’ll remember to bring a pillow and a blanket in case the Hotel California is doing a thriving business.

    

     

Have a Stinky Day

     During my recent sojourn to upstate New York I discovered an interesting little shop along the main drag in downtown Saratoga Springs. While my wife and I were on an afternoon stroll, checking out the shops and the sights we happened upon a bright blue awning with a picture of a cartoon-like dog, inside a logo that said, "Stinky Dog”. Seriously how could we pass that up? We walked in the store and were greeted by a pleasant bundle of energy of a woman we found out later was the owner, Samantha. Her greeting? “Thanks for stopping in, hope you’re having a Stinky Day.” Needless to say we both giggled.  We spent some time talking with the owner and being one that is curious to a fault I asked her about the origins of Stinky.

     She told us he started out as a doodle that graduated into drawings of Stinky  that she ended up selling, which lead to more artwork showing Stinky in various spots around the globe selling, which eventually grew into an entire line of Stinky products. The store was definitely an extension of the owner; they both were bright and cheery. It was filled with all manner of Stinky paraphernalia. Of course we had to indulge.

     My wife picked up a couple of those smelly things you put in closets and bureaus; these were filled with pine so we could remember our trip every time we opened our dressers.  She also grabbed a sweater for her folk’s Yorkie. Of course when we got home later he had to try it on and being a Yorkie he already had the adorable thing going for him and the sweater just added to it. However, the look on his face reminded me of Ralphie from “The Christmas Story”, during the scene when his mom made him try on the bunny footy pajamas that his grandma made for him. Little Bailey stood in her parents kitchen and looked at each of us in turn like he was wondering if he was being punished. I imagine if he could talk he would have told us something along the lines of, “Yo, dude I don't do sweater vests.” I can relate to the feeling, I managed to conveniently lose several of those homemade sweaters vests back in elementary school. As cold as the winters get there in upstate New York he may change his mind.

     For myself, I had to add to the myriad of t-shirts and coffee mugs we have already; can you really have too many of those? I think not.

     I am really glad we decided to stop in to check out the store, since it was a fun little interlude in the midst of a fabulous vacation. The store and its owner were great examples of taking a dream and running with it by doing what you love and the rest will somehow manage to take care of itself.  If you are ever in Saratoga Springs and on the downtown stroll take some time to experience the Stinky Dog.

     Oh, one more thing. Have a Stinky Day.

 Website: http://www.stinkydog.com/default.asp

Original art by Samantha Norwood McCullough

Six Days in Heaven

                                                                            

     If any of you out there that read my words have noticed a decided lack of new posts, I apologize for not stopping amid the wonders that have assailed my senses the past week, though suffice it to say I was in heaven for six days. My wife and I took a trip to see family in upstate New York, where the air is clear and dirt free, the trees didn't come on a truck and the bodies of water you pass weren't made by a bulldozer. I gathered many ideas and threads to pull and though I took time to scribble a few notes I pretty much spent the time walking and drinking it all in. Note to self; it is time for some new walking shoes.

     Today was spent unpacking and putting life at home back in order after spending most of the past week just enjoying being out of the city and in among the trees. If I simply said I had a great time that would be an epic understatement. I think I OD’d on nature, not a bad way to go I’d say. This trip was a collection of firsts, as in first time meeting a big portion of my wife’s awesome family. The other “first”  really wasn’t a first, just a real long time in coming.  I was able to spend some time with one of my oldest friends from way back, the first time we’d seen each other in over 30 years.  Our conversations were spent remembering our days of glorious idiocy and some of the crazy things we did, but mostly we talked about what has gone on for each of us since we last sat in the same room. It was really good to see him and it sure didn’t feel like it had been 30 years since we’d seen each other; it felt more like 30 days. One could surely make this kind of stuff up, Hallmark movies are made with less material, though it most definitely happened to me and it was fantastic. I struggle for words as I write this knowing all that is contained on this page barely scratches the surface in describing the depths of feeling the past week or more has meant to me.

                                                                           

                               

     30 plus years gone in a flash, times change but good friends are forever. 

      My wife’s parents are both just real good solid folks, they are both warm, generous and have been welcoming to this old long-hair and made me really feel part of the family. They threw my wife and I a dinner party slash reception, hence the reason for our trip, so the rest of the family could celebrate our wedding with us,though a little late and I could finally get to meet them face to face. I must admit I was more than a little concerned beforehand, though any trepidation was quashed upon meeting them all. Each and every one made me feel a part of the family in their own way and the best part was being able to get a few minutes to talk to each of them in turn either at the party or over breakfast the next morning. Lots of genuine warm fuzzies were passed around.

     A whole host of things went through my mind over the course of those six days, including another note to self. When traveling to Saratoga Springs in October the next time bring more warm socks: I froze my ass off the first couple of days. It was definitely not easy to get back on the plane to come back here since I didn’t want to leave and because I don’t like flying, which is a rant for another post.

                                                                             

     Saratoga Springs has a really nice feel to it, when you can walk around downtown you notice the town has a lot of character. Most of the buildings are old and many of the ones that aren’t old are made in such a way that at least on the outside they keep to the general style of the area. If I needed to put that feeling I get walking around town into one word it would be homey; that cup of hot chocolate, old comfy sweater, curled up in front of the fireplace with a good book kind of homey feeling. I think this trip really drove home hard for me about how much I miss that feeling of hominess that is not easy to reproduce living out here in the desert, where 10 years old is old and there is no sense of permanence. Sure I may be romanticizing a bit, the winters would freeze the ears off a brass monkey and the snow is ass deep to an elephant in the dead of winter, though I still have the yen to put up with that again if I mainly because I can get the payoff in the spring, summer and fall. 


                   

The Adelphi Hotel in Saratoga Springs, just one of many cool old buildings.

With a world famous horse racing track in town many horse related items to see. 

Morning coffee view from the porch.

     Fall was always my favorite time of year when the leaves start changing color and littering everyone’s lawn.  Fall still is my favorite time of year, though here it just means I finally reached the point in the year I don’t feel like a boiled owl every time I go outside. We took a drive one day up to Jay to see relatives and I don’t think I said much, though per my usual, when a car trip starts, Gregg falls asleep before the odometer registers a mile. While I was awake I spent my time drinking in the leaves on the trees and watching the river flow by as we followed it for part of our journey. We stopped a couple of times to enjoy the scenery and the river, the highlight of which was the old covered bridge: the kind of place I could stay all day.

                                                                               

No description needed.

The Jay covered bridge. We spent some time hopping around the rocks in the river, just like a couple of kids on a holiday.

     A great trip for sure that was fulfilling in many ways and fantastic in its simplicity: Just spending time with really great people all the while surrounded by an amazing backdrop. Going back again won’t happen soon enough. And the answer is yes to those who are wondering; the when is the question, so we here are leaving all the windows and doors open for opportunity to present itself.

                                                               

                                                                               

Down by the river, pondering the possibilities.

Another One From the Vault

     I have a tendency to hang on to things that stir me within, occasionally during a bout of rummaging I’ll find them and read them once again. What follows is one of the many I've collected over the years. I found it a couple of days ago and gave it another read. Enjoy.

                                                                    

                                                                       

DISCOVERED HANGING IN A GHOST TOWN POST OFFICE IN THE MOJAVE DESERT

     Youth is not a time of life…it is a state of mind. It is not a matter of ripe cheeks, red lips, and supple knees. It is a temper of will, a quality of the imagination, vigor of the emotions. It is a freshness of the deep springs of life.

     Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity-of the appetite of adventure with the love of ease. This often exists in a man of 50, more than a boy of 20. Nobody grows old by living a number of years. People grow old by deserting their ideals, Years wrinkles the skin- but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear, and despair…these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust.

     Whether 6 or 60, there is in every being’s heart the love of wonder, the sweet amazement of the stars and the star like things and thoughts, the undaunted challenge of events-the unfailing child-like attitude for what is next…and the joy for the game of life.

     You are as young as your faith…as old as your doubt…as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fears, as young as your hope, and as old as your despair.

     In the central place of your heart, there is a wireless station. So long as it receives messages of beauty hope, cheer, grandeur, and power of form the earth, from men and from the infinite- just that long and no longer are you young.

     When the wires are all down - and all the central places of your heart are covered with snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism – then you grow old indeed.

                                                                     

I had an epiphany when I passed 30. Anyone who is alive is young. Namaste.

                                                                            

                                                               

                                                       

Horizon

On the road towards a vision, the end not in sight,

fighting fatigue I drove through the night.

The blacktop unending, its white line in spurts,

my eyes glaze over with a film of road dirt.

Over the flatlands with sweeping tall grass,

the horizon seems infinite, unending and vast.

Down the valleys both luscious and green,

through counties and cities most losing their sheen.

Over the mountains past boulders and curves,

Destination is certain, an arrival time not so sure.

Scorched by the desert with its stately cacti,

the horizon still beckons as it touches the sky.

Journey’s end comes of a morning while tired, and spent

asking is this trip’s inspiration really heaven sent?

Over breakfast and coffee I admire the view,

And wonder of discoveries as I plunge into the new.

(Found this among some of my scribbles, dated 1994. I wrote this not long after arriving in Arizona.)

A Stack of One

     

     There is an odd sort of kinship that exists among avid readers, and I count myself among both those groups;odd and an avid reader, a certified proud member of each group for many a year.  Many hard-core readers cannot let go of a good book we've read: it seems almost sacrilegious, like you are kicking a good friend out of the house. I considered myself among the keep every book group for quite a while until moving too many boxes of books too often lead to us finally parting ways. It dawned on me that I had so many I was using boxes of books for an end table or a night stand, and though it sure saved money on furniture here and there it didn't make a lot of sense keeping them all anymore. During one stretch I even had a stack holding up the broken corner of a waterbed pedestal, until the bed went to the best place for all waterbeds to go - to someone else’s house.  I’m sure if I had kept every book I had ever owned and read I would probably have at least one room in this house I could no longer use. I wonder how many books can fit in a 9’ x 10’ room with a 8’ ceiling and still allow you to open the door? Is anyone up for the challenge? Yeah, me neither.  I don’t keep a lot of books around anymore, most of them are specific niche type stuff, I have a few others that are out of print and several reference books, including an 1858 Webster’s Dictionary reprint and 1931 Webster’s unabridged edition that could inflict some damage if it was thrown at you; it weighs about 15 lbs. After being accustomed to having several hundred books stacked all around for so many years it feels like practically nothing.

     I began to use the local libraries quite a bit more after I moved here to Arizona.  We have some good ones locally, and they became a source of good free entertainment; a library card is free and I didn't have to find a lot of room for the few books I carted home, plus I discovered some authors I had never read before. The one drawback of course was dropping off the ones I had read, fully intent on not picking up more. Then I'd hear that little voice say “just take a quick look” to see if there is anything new, which inevitably lead to another stack going home under my arm; just like a kid in a penny candy store with a 5 dollar bill in his pocket.

     Books and reading were the catalysts to the prologue of my relationship with my wife. I happened upon her one day, just sitting on a bench, reading, in the smokers alley behind where we both used to work. I noticed she was reading one of P.N. Elrod's Vampire Files and mentioned I liked that series too. The conversation got around to authors and books we were both fans of, like Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Conan Doyle and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I thought I had overstepped my welcome when she told me that we shared a similar pet peeve; why do some people feel the need to start a conversation with you when you are trying to read?  We decided they must be none readers and don’t understand the concept of, “I’m reading a book leave me alone.”  Our story unfolded as any good one does, though this one we just keep writing it as it goes along. She has read a lot of the classics, myself I watched a lot of classic cartoons and really only read the classics that were stuffed down my throat in public school. We both have rather eclectic taste in our reading and we each have ventured into genres that neither of us expected too.  That is one of the great aspects of liking to read there are always authors to discover.  It is not uncommon to end our days, each with their own reading or to spend the start of a lazy weekend day sitting side-by-side each with a book over morning coffee. It is great just sitting next to the person you love and both doing your own thing together.

     A few years ago at Christmas my wife asked for a Kindle Fire and being one that liked books that I could hold in my hand I was not entirely convinced this was a good thing. When E-readers and the Kindle appeared on the scene I bemoaned the change on the horizon, which in hindsight I must admit was rather short-sighted of me. Needless to say from day one her Kindle has been by her side and she keeps it handy on Sundays to track Fantasy football online. She said it’s one of the best presents I ever got here, other than me. When Father’s Day rolled around the following June guess what I got for a present?  Yep, I got my very own Kindle Fire. Watching me futz around with the touchscreen was a great source of hilarity for her: hell it still is any time I am near a touchscreen.  The “I like to hold a real book in my hands” argument at this juncture holds water like a colander.  I’m hooked and mine goes everywhere with me too, though I admit I've surprised myself to say the least at how often I use it. This definitely is not a device for someone that likes coffee table books and since I use my coffee table as a place to put my feet on while I read for me it’s a perfect fit.  I like that it is backlit and there is no need to go fumbling for the bedside lamp after I fall asleep with it on my face: I just turn it off and set it aside in its nightly resting place. I think the book size and feel of it made it easy to adapt to, being a bit different than reading page after page on a computer screen, which I do not care for in the least. 

     The best part, well the two best parts, are it was gifted to me by my lady love and I can have a stack of books to read at my disposal at all times and they all fit in this one little space. Since I have no concern about finding a place to stack them, my list to be read is rather large at this point in time, though for all intents and purposes it remains a stack of  one. As I pen this missive I see by the clock on the wall, and the yawn’s floating across the keyboard it is fast approaching that feet on the coffee table time here in paradise so I am off to the couch with today’s choice tome. Good Night and Happy Reading.