Bits and bobs . . . and baseball

Sitting here, 11 a.m., watching the Red Sox and the A's play baseball (at sweet, long last) in Tokyo. It's a tape-delay from the live game, which aired this morning at 3-something, but tape, shmape, I don't care; it's BASEBALL, and the winter-long drought is mercifully over. Perhaps its resurgence will presage my own. Herewith, the dribs and drabs of the few days past . . .

Gave some tips on editing to a UC Davis staff development class a week ago. Three hours is scarcely enough time to teach anything, much less editing, but I make no promises except the hope that the students will leave with one approach they hadn't thought of (which may well be the realization that editing ain't for them) . . . Ate a wonderful meal with my havurah ("havurah": Hebrew for "group of friends"); the star of the menu was chicken breast with a cranberry-port wine sauce. Fabulous . . . A potluck birthday celebration for my friend Phil, also fabulous; all Phil's friends are wonderful, inventive cooks (i.e., seafood paella, a meatball dish, white beans seasoned with Portuguese olive oil, steamed asparagus, beet and feta salad, chocolate cake from Just Desserts, and lots of good wine) . . . I have a new neighbor; he was born two weeks ago to Hillary and Conor, who live downstairs. He's been named River (his 7-year-old brother is called Granite), and a most adorable little guy he is. Quiet, too; I thought my feeble hearing might be why I never hear him crying, but Hillary says his cries are scarcely more than whimpers, which may atone for the struggle Hill had getting him to appear in the first place . . . Helped serve dinner yesterday evening to about 50 people who came to the weekly community meal. Bet Haverim takes the fourth Tuesday of every month, alternating between setup/serving and cleaning up. Last night's menu a bit different than the one at Phil's dinner: Southern supper (sausage, rice, tomatoes, green pepper, onion), cole slaw, mixed vegetables, macaroni and cheese, fruit salad, rolls, and an array of baked goods for dessert—cookies, cupcakes (with an Easter theme), coconut cream pie, triple chocolate mousse—milk, coffee, juice, water. The dinner guests were a mix: some obviously from the local homeless population (I recognized several, including one sweet man who has the most beatific smile and who doesn't speak, whether by necessity or choice, I don't know; I see him and his loaded-up bicycle often at the Co-op), some elderly people, some whom I couldn't categorize. More men than women, though. The tables looked nice—colorful tablecloths, flowers (donated by a local florist)—and there was live music, courtesy of a piano player and a violinist. Coversation was lively, the guests were cheerful, and a good time seemed to be had by all. There were no leftovers; as people finished their meal, many came up to the serving table to request a container or two of food to take home (clean, empty quart yogurt containers were on hand for this purpose). I had a good time shmoozing with people as they came through the line (I was serving the Southern supper) and will make this a regular date.