Swatting Fungoes

Torture, Giants style

2010-10-10T20:29:00.000-07:00

Back in the summer, after one of those games the Giants won by squeaking their way into the win column, broadcaster Duane Kuiper said, "Giants baseball—torture!" That boy nailed it. This whole season has been torture for us fans. Consider: During the 2010 regular season, the Giants played in 52 games that were decided by one run. They played in 28 more games that were decided by two runs. And they won 33 times after they entered the seventh inning either tied or behind on the scoreboard. And in the postseason, against the Atlanta Braves, all three games in the series have been decided by one run. All three have come down to the final pitch with the outcome in doubt.

Personally, I need life support. Or at least a brown paper bag to breathe into during the games. I am absolutely sure the Geneva Convention doesn't allow Giants games to be broadcast at Gitmo—way, way too cruel and inhumane for even the most hardened suspected terrorist.

So, before today's game, I did what I could to call forth good spirits and exorcise the torture demons. The Giants won, 3-2, but not before being down two runs and down to their last out in the top of the 9th inning—so torture lives on. Guess it's got to be that way; those guys are at their best when they're waterboarding the rest of us.

Bicycles, baseball, life

2010-10-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

At the Public House before Game 1, NLDS

Some weeks ago—seven, maybe eight; I've lost track now—I tripped on uneven pavement while carrying a basket loaded with clean laundry and dislocated some bones in my right foot. The extent of the injury took a while to determine, but it's now clear that surgery is needed to put it right again. In the words of the old philosopher, crap! Meantime, I've been limping around and not able to ride my bicycle because the foot was so swollen. But the swelling has diminished (though not the pain, thus the continuing limp), and this October weather is so beautiful and so perfect to ride in that this morning I said, the hell with it, I'm getting on the bike and I'll pay whatever consequences arise. So, for the first time since Aug. 21, I was rolling again.

And it felt wonderful. Weather warm, breezy from the north, and I took the dump road and had a lovely ride. Saw three hawks, big guys, and two previously quite large but presently very flat coyotes (poor things). I scarcely cracked 14mph, but every mile felt terrific. And the foot didn't bark, and it still feels OK, so maybe I'll make it, after all.

I needed that ride after last night's crushing loss to Atlanta by the Giants. (The injured foot hasn't kept me from going to the games, though anyone who says crutches are glamorous or fun, I want to speak to said lunatic. Especially on BART.) Thursday night's game was such a gem, with Lincecum striking out 14 batters and looking like he could have kept pitching for another hour or so, that last night's game was a HUGE tub of ice water over the head. But that's baseball, and if you want to see the game as metaphor for life, that loss is just another example of how the game is the great leveler; that no matter how high you get with a win, or two, or four in a row, sooner or later the loss will come. The encouraging coda: The wins will come again, too. It's just one loss.

We had a good time, though, hanging at the Public House before the game, meeting new people who are instant friends because, well, hey, we're all Giants fans.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes, it rains. GO GIANTS! Praying for a win tomorrow . . .

Public House, Game 2, NLDS, with new friends the Blackwelders:

mom Lola, sibs Casey and Jamie

A happy day

2010-10-04T23:57:00.000-07:00

Today has been a happy day. Happy as in, I’ve had a smile going all day long and it’s not showing any signs of fading before the day comes to an end and I fall asleep, still happy. What has brought this on? Did I win the lottery? lose 10 pounds? (hah!) hear the Tea Party has been dumped into Boston Harbor? No, something much sweeter and long-lasting—yesterday, the Giants clinched the National League West championship for 2010, and I got to be there to experience and share in the joy. Joy made manifest by a team that all season long has teased, thrilled, and tortured me and all the rest of their besotted fans.

I’ve been a baseball fan all my life, but for much of it, my fan-ishness has been pretty casual—pay mild attention during the season, get to a game or two (or most likely, none), and when the season is wrapping up with the World Series. This year, I’ve been with them all the say, every game, seemingly every pitch—all 162 games.

I know it’s only baseball. It’s a meaningless activity compared with real life and the day-to-day grind. But watching and reading about politics, the horrible, hateful Republicans, Obama’s futile attempts to bring compromise back to governing, war, death and destruction, did nothing but make me anxious and depressed, whereas baseball, though it often makes me anxious and depressed, is, in the end, still baseball—a beautiful game played by talented, spirited, and amazing young athletes who are just a treat to watch and each of whom has his own interesting, quirky, inspiring story.

So the Giants will now play Atlanta Braves for a shot at the National League Championship. I have no idea how this will all turn out, and I have no doubt that there will be torture involved before we’re done. But today was about not thinking ahead. Today was about enjoying being a fan whose team has accomplished what it set out to do. It took them all 162 games to do it, but really, how perfect was that? I hope I get my voice back by this Thursday—I’m going to the first playoff game. And tonight, still, I’m going to bed happy.

Playing by the rules

2010-07-21T12:36:00.000-07:00

San Francisco Giants manager Bruce Bochy doesn't get a lot of credit from the fans. In fact, what he mostly gets is grief, and a lot of it. Fans criticize his lineups, his tendency to play veterans instead of younger guys, mock his lugubrious tone when giving interviews, ridicule the size of his head (really, the size of his head? Seriously?), as if he had as much control over that as he does the lineup.

Caught up in the drama of the action on the field, I usually don't even think about Bochy except when he pulls what I consider a bonehead move, like putting Denny Bautista on the mound in crucial innings. I don't think much about the manager at all. But last night's game against the Dodgers was a textbook case illustrating how one manager out-managed his opposing number to get a win. Taking advantage of an inexperienced substitute manager and invoking a little-used (and even less-known) section of baseball's Official Rules, Bochy got the Dodgers' closing pitcher removed from the game, with no warm-up time for the new pitcher before he had to take the mound.

It was classic, it was epic, and it was an education for me. While I knew that managers strategize throughout a game, watching Bochy outfox the Dodger management was a huge eye-opener. Wily, cunning, sharp, take-no-prisoners Boch—you da man! Go Giants! Dodgers suck!

Fruit, fruit, glorious fruit!

2010-06-25T12:58:00.000-07:00

A trip to the strawberry stand just west of town yielded not just strawberries but blackberries and cherries, too. And it's a shame this blog doesn't come with scratch 'n' sniff (or even better, taste 'n' savor). The strawberries are incredible—sweet, full of strawberryness. Ditto the cherries and the blackberries, only it's cherriness and blackberriness they're full of. But the strawberries are the piece de resistance. I'd offer you one, but by the time you read this, they may all be gone. (The loquats are courtesy of my friend and neighbor Dave, who invited me to help myself to his loaded tree. They, too, are chock-a-block full of everything that makes a loquat a loquat. Yum.)

No. 24 is 79

2010-05-06T17:17:00.000-07:00

In honor of Willie Mays turning 79 today, the California State Senate issued a proclamation declaring him "the greatest baseball player ever." Politicians—always with the hyperbole . . . but Willie is definitely up there in the pantheon. Best thing about it? He still comes to the Giants clubhouse when they're at home, talks to the players, inspires them just by walking into the place. So say hey and happy birthday to the Say Hey Kid! Hope that proclamation is just the first of many kudos you receive today.

P.S. And yes, dear Susan, I do have a life, just writer's block . . .

One down, 161 to go

2010-04-05T19:18:00.001-07:00

The Giants won their first game of the 2010 season, defeating the Houston Astros 5-2 in Texas. Tim Lincecum got the win in decisive fashion, Giants got good hitting and defense from the guys, and, right now, all is right in the baseball world.

Tomorrow, of course, is another day and another game. It's a long season, and a good start is only that—a start. Too, too often, these euphoric moments are followed all too quickly by the thud of a four-game losing streak. But today, right now, the Giants are winning. And that feels just fine to me. Baseball is back—woohooo!

Now impersonating an actual ballplayer, your AL pitcher!

2010-04-04T13:33:00.000-07:00

American League managers have instructed their pitchers to take every pitch when playing in a National League game. "Take" as in "stand there with the bat on your shoulder and watch the ball as it crosses the plate." Whether this is a dictum only for these final Spring Training matchups or, as I fear, something that will endure throughout the season, I don't know. What I do know is that it's a travesty, a mockery of baseball as it should be played, a disrespecting of the AL pitchers who at least at one time were real ballplayers, and why I HATE HATE HATE the whole idea of the "designated hitter." Bah! A pox on all those AL houses. Shame on you.

Spring's denoument

2010-04-02T15:56:00.000-07:00

The Giants compiled an impressive Spring Training record down in the Arizona desert, the best in the Majors. The boys looked good. Hitting had improved. Pitching great. Great vibes in the clubhouse. High hopes for the upcoming season arise! Then yesterday they played an exhibition game at AT&T against the Oakland A's and got—there is no other word for it—clobbered, 9-zip. Starting pitcher Zito looked completely out of whack. Fielding was laughable. Hitting nonexistent, or nearly so—4 hits in 9 innings, compared with the A's 14, including their two dingers and assorted doubles. It was so awful that I did something I thought I'd never do—I turned it off. Couldn't watch, couldn't listen. Dipped back in late in the game to watch the seagulls circle the field. Their calling cards pretty much summed up the whole thing.

True, it's still Spring Training; the season doesn't start for the Giants until Monday, when they play the Astros in Houston. But last night's game was a cruel reminder that Spring Training victories mean nothing. The only thing that counts is the numbers in the win-loss column come Oct. 3. Here's hoping last night's debacle really was just a Spring Training game.

Toys of the times

2010-03-29T16:24:00.000-07:00

Twitter account pending . . .

Birthday gift to Addy, my just-turned-2 neighbor

Blues for a Dodger

2010-03-13T15:04:00.000-08:00

Willie Davis, 1940-2010

Willie Davis died this past week at age 69, in his apartment in Burbank. A terrific ballplayer who won several Gold Gloves as a centerfielder and who was Speedy Gonzales on the basepaths, his personal demons led him into some dark places both during and after his baseball career was over—a fate that all too often overtakes major league athletes no matter what their sport.

I'm a SoCal transplant and was for many years a devoted Dodger fan. I saw Willie play in quite a few games and listened to many more on the radio. I loved those 1960s Dodgers—Maury Wills, Tommy Davis, and, atop my own personal Mt. Olympus of baseball players, Sandy Koufax—and struggled to stay loyal to them after moving to Davis, but one day realized the team and organization I'd loved had been replaced by something I didn't recognize any longer. And, after spending a couple of years in baseball limbo, embraced the Giants as my own. Now, you couldn't pry me away.

Funny thing, though; despite my now-fierce love for the orange and black, I can't bring myself to hate the Dodgers. Hope to shellack them each and every game, hope to see them in the cellar at the end of the season, boo Manny til I'm hoarse . . . but hate them? Can't do it. No matter what happens as time passes, first love is always special.

Who knew?

2010-03-11T16:51:00.000-08:00

Judy (one of the hairdressers who works where I get my hair cut): "You can wear your hair short like that because you have a good skull."
Me: "Really? Gee, thanks . . . I guess . . ."

The sounds of spring

2010-03-03T13:48:00.000-08:00

Rain hitting the windows. It's chilly and looks like winter. But not inside; here in my house, it's definitely spring. The voices of Jon Miller and Dave Flemming describing the play-by-play; the crack of bats hitting balls comes through crisp and clear; the voices of cheering fans—music, sweet music to my baseball-starved ears. It's spring training on the radio! The visiting Giants are playing the Seattle Mariners at the Mariners field in Peoria, Ariz. The Giants lead 7-3 in the bottom of the 5th. It's the beginning of a beautiful season . . .

So long, Vancouver

2010-03-01T21:04:00.000-08:00

I've spent the past two-plus weeks engrossed in the Winter Olympics, and I've had a fantastic time. Thanks to the twin luxuries of spare time and a new, big-screen, HDTV, I've seen winter sports like never before, and became a fan of way more than figure skating. Like halfpipe, and freestyle aerial skiing, and snowboard cross. And Nordic combined! In fact, all of the cross-country ski events were thrilling to watch—the stamina, aerobic conditioning, strength, and just plain guts are beautiful to behold. I've done a tiny, tiny bit of cross-country skiing, enough to be slackjawed with admiration for those athletes. All of them, all of them . . . the Alpine athletes hurtling downhill at unearthly speeds on two skinny pieces of fiberglass . . . the lugers (and that sad, tragic boy who died before he even had a chance to compete), the bobsledders, the skeleton (too aptly named, in my opinion) . . . curling, such a quirky and whimsical but hugely serious sport that was on TV nearly all the time . . . the skating, of course, figure and ice dancing, always lovely to watch, but didn't this year hold my interest as much as the short-track did, Apolo Anton Ohno with his impish twinkle and his astonishing talent and moxie and the wild and wooly action on the ice . . . The athletes are so fit, so incredibly well conditioned, and they're all amazingly beautiful, healthy, strong; they glow. Inspiring stuff; makes me realize if all of them can train with that much determination and discipline, I can manage to get to my aerobics class at 7 a.m. every day.

And the hockey! I've never watched hockey, never paid any attention to it at all. But this Olympics, I watched a lot of hockey and have become a fan. Where else this side of roller derby can you witness the barely controlled chaos that is ice hockey? Wahoo! Add in the gorgeous images of Vancouver (a beautiful city where I was once lucky enough to ride through on a bicycle trip) and the mountains and water of British Columbia, and all those wonderful Canadians, it was a total treat. I even learned the words to "O, Canada."

Anyway, all this is still swirling around in my head as I gradually come out of the Winter Olympics fog and come to terms with the end of the games. It was swell, I loved watching and agonizing and cheering along with everybody else. And tonight, it's all gone. Good thing baseball starts soon.

Ski shoot

2010-02-13T17:50:00.000-08:00

I'm watching the women's biathlon, which in my book contends with curling for the two most peculiar—and opposite—Olympic sports. Curling is silly, but sweet, with teams of people trying desperately to make a "stone" slide farther than their opponents' stones by sweeping the ice in its path. Biathlon, on the other hand, looks to be lifted straight from a 007 vs. Blofeld novel; i.e., cross-country skiing interrupted at intervals by the skier stoppng, unhooking what appears to be a lethally high-powered rifle from her back, firing at a target, then restrapping the rifle and continuing along the course.

There must be some historical reason to justify including both of these, um, sports in the winter Olympics. I feel a Google search coming on . . .

OK, the Norwegians take credit (or blame) for this shoot-n'-ski thing. According to Wikipedia, the sport has its origins in an exercise for Norwegian soldiers, as an alternative training for the military. (Wikipedia doesn't reveal whether this jolly event was ever used in actual combat.) Due to some squabbling over the rules amongst its proponents, biathlon didn't become an official Olympic sport until 1960, and women—those lucky devils!—at last were allowed to compete in 1992.

Further adventures in name- (and also gender-) changing

2010-01-29T17:13:00.000-08:00

Christine Elizabeth Terry wants to change her name. So does Daniel Robert Spalding. Christine has asked the court to allow her to be known as Christopher Aaron Terry. While the court is at it, Christine is asking for a decree changing her gender from female to male and that a new birth certificate be issued declaring same. That same day, in the same courtroom and at the same time, Daniel hopes the court will allow him to henceforth be known as Sarah Elizabeth Spalding, legally change his gender from male to female and provide him with a new birth certificate that says Sarah was always a girl named Sarah.

That these two petitions will be heard on the same day may just be coincidence. But I'm kind of hoping that Christine/Christopher and Daniel/Sarah plan to leave the courtroom hand in hand, head straight for for the county clerk's office and plunk down the fee for their marriage license. I'll be watching for the wedding write-up.

Purity polluted

2010-01-28T09:45:00.000-08:00

The American League was founded on this date in 1901. Who then could have imagined that, 71 years later, the league's honor and dignity would be tossed onto the trash heap of craven pandering to slugging over strategy when it adopted the designated-hitter rule in 1973. Ben Johnson must have wept in his grave.

What's in a name?

2010-01-27T15:20:00.000-08:00

I was perusing the public notices in last night's Davis Enterprise. (You don't read these? Riveting stuff; I recommend them.) Businesses old and new file fictitious business name statements with the county (the Richardson Group/Richardson United is really just Tobin Richardson; a group of one, apparently; and nice to see the Pincushion Boutique is still opening its doors here in Davis.)

But the most fascinating listings are the ones headed "Order to Show Cause for Change of Name." Quite a few people want, or need, to change their names, and to do it legally, they must go to court, get a case number and a hearing date, and run a public notice in the newspaper of record (in Yolo County's case, the aforementioned Enterprise) to alert everybody that, unless someone objects, the bloke they used to know as Joe Smith will hereinafter be known as Joe Jones.

The fun lies in musing on why Joe Smith now wants to be Joe Jones. Last night's paper printed several name changes, and by and large they were pretty straightforward. Joseph Vincent wants to change his name to Joseph Vincent Calabro. Was Calabro a family name that got dropped someplace along the family tree? Maybe Joseph Vincent married someone whose last name is Calabro, and felt the thoughtful gesture would be to tack his spouse's name onto his. Slightly more enigmatic is Earl Thompson's petition to become Ej Thompson. I've never seen "Ej" as a name before and wonder, among other things, how it's pronounced: "Edge," maybe, or perhaps "Eej." "Ej" could be the name of a popular rapper, or have some religious significance. Curious.

What's in a name? Whatever the court decrees.

What They say

2010-01-17T08:47:00.000-08:00

They say we're going to get rain. A lot of rain. They are pointing to maps of the jet stream to back up their prediction. Maybe even enough precipitation to cause the Sacramento River floodgates to open, sending excess water into the Yolo Bypass. And, They say, lots of snow, too.

But They have been known to disappoint. The maps, the isobars, the El Nino effect, the historical record—these are the tools They use to make their forecasts. But They are never the Final Arbiter of what, eventually, goes/comes down. Ma Nature always has her spoon in the soup, and She, not They, decides whether it's a good, thick, chunky bowlful or the Oliver Twist special.

I hope They are right this time. I'm hungry for rain.

Dinner with friends

2010-01-12T21:49:00.000-08:00

Just back from Fuzio's, where I had dinner (and at least one too many glasses of wine) with JC and Teeb, my former UComm colleagues and dear friends. All told, we worked together more than 15 years, and when I think about work and what the best thing about it was, I always think JC and Teeb. Good minds, good hearts, good people, witty and smart and committed to doing the best job they could. In truth, this was true of nearly all of the people I worked with. But for whatever reason—the fact that we worked so closely together for so long, that our senses of humor meshed so well, that our astrological signs were compatible, or something equally intangible—JC and Teeb and I became friends as well as co-workers. And even though we don't work together any more, that friendship has lasted and still feels solid, reliable, steady. Dinner was tons of laughs and good conversation and connection. I needed that. It felt good. And we will do it again. Soon.

I see blue people.

2010-01-10T17:51:00.001-08:00

Went to see "Avatar" yesterday afternoon, and a better antidote for a gray, fogged-in day (just like the previous umpty-ump days) would be hard to find. Never mind that the script is really bad and the acting over the top (even Sigourney Weaver struggles with it), and that the action is so slow the first hour that I began to wish I'd bought popcorn just to have something to keep me occupied. Because the visuals make up for everything. Everything. The color is so vibrant, so rich, the detail is so splendid, the graphics so amazing—and all of this is squared and trined and ratcheted-up-to-the-nth-degree by being in 3-D. It took a few minutes for me to get used to the 3-D sensation—a bit of motion-sickness effect, though not at all severe—but it didn't take long to get my sea legs, so to speak, and by the time the film was rocketing toward its conclusion, I'd forgotten I was seeing something different, effects-wise. It simply was gorgeous. Worth the premium price the theater charges for 3-D action ($11.75) because I can't imaging seeing "Avatar" in anything other than 3-D. So, even if you don't like science fiction or animation or outer space or clunky storytelling or James Cameron, see this movie. You will like it. Really.

First you hear it, then you don't

2010-01-08T21:50:00.000-08:00

My venerable 1985 Honda Accord started making an intermittent squealing noise a couple of weeks ago. I'd notice it when I'd first start it up, couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, and, up until earlier this week, would shortly forget about it because it would stop after I'd driven for a bit. But last Sunday, it was really making a racket and that time it didn't go away, so Wednesday evening I took it to my mechanic so that on Thursday morning, he could start it up, hear the noise, find it and fix it. Except he couldn't hear it. The car never made a peep.

There must be a name for this kind of phenomenon. It's the same one that causes that twinge in your back that's been bothering you for weeks to disappear totally when at last you make it in to see your doctor about it, or that alerts your cat to the fact that you plan to take him to the vet later in the day and even though you haven't even gone near the cat carrier and have acted perfectly normally around him he crawls under the bed to the very center and can't be reached no matter which side you try.

I've dug out my tape recorder and am going to keep it in the car. Maybe Click and Clack can figure it out.

Another one bites the dust

2010-01-03T15:10:00.000-08:00

The Naturalist is closing. That beautiful store, where I go first when I'm looking for a birthday present or a Christmas present, and where I often stop in just to browse because there are so many lovely things to look at. Wind chimes, jewelery, pottery, calendars, children's books, puzzles and toys, guide books, greeting cards and notes, bird feeders . . . the list goes on. The two women who own The Naturalist have wonderful taste, and have continued and expanded on the types of merchandise featured by the store's former owners. We came close to losing The Naturalist some years ago, when the original owners wanted to retire, but were saved by Cheryl and Patty, who bought it, moved it to its present spot on Second St., and continued to offer not only a beautiful variety of merchandise but their own involvement with what they sold and with the community. Special sale nights that supported the Yolo Basin Foundation were just one of those. They chose their wares with care and a discerning eye, offering beauty and functionality at a reasonable price. The store at Christmas was a feast for the eye, with the decorated tree, sparkly lights and ornaments . . .

They've been trying to sell the business for months, but despite interest from many, no one has come forward at the 11th hour to rescue The Naturalist. So, along with dozens, probably hundreds, of other Davisites, I will have to say goodbye. There are so few shops left like The Naturalist, businesses owned by the people you see behind the counter and stocking the shelves. Sadly, the Targets and Wal-Marts are the order of the day, made sadder still by the fact that, once the small, independent places are gone, the children of today will have nothing to compare to their "big box" shopping experience.

The Naturalist's doors aren't closed just yet; they'll be selling off their stock, and I'll go down to wish them well and maybe pick up a few last things. As I was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping a couple of weeks ago, a necklace caught my eye, a small silver oak tree on a silver chain. I was stretching my gift budget, but I bought it for myself. I'm glad I did; it will always remind me of the one-of-a-kind store it came from.

Christmas wrap

2009-12-26T17:22:00.000-08:00

Relaxed, friend-filled Christmas holiday. The annual Davis Holiday Meal served probably more than 800 people with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, vegetables, cranberry sauce, rolls and butter and a huge variety of desserts. I hadn't been for years and years, and it was fun to be there. Saw lots of people I knew, many I didn't; a cross-section of Davisites.

My dining companions (below)—Bill, Pica, Numenius and Susan (not in the picture):

A better picture of Pica and Numenius:

And yours truly, forking in turkey stuffing:

After dinner, Bill and Susan and I gathered 'round my bottle of Bailey's (still drinkable even though probably 7 years old—maybe it's like brandy), opened a few presents and chatted about this and that, simply enjoying one another's company.

Come Christmas morn, I wallowed in bed staying warm and toasty, then up for a breakfast of French toast with bananas, yogurt and maple syrup accompanied by good strong French roast coffee. Around noon, broke out of the house and went for a Christmas walk in the Arboretum, which seemed to be an idea that had occurred to a number of others—couples, families, folks walking their dogs. Weather had warmed up and the sun was out; still a bit chilly but fine for walking. I stopped to sit for a bit on one of the benches in the native California section, one of my favorite spots.

I was surprised to find this California poppy blooming along the path. It's December, fercryinoutloud!

Fall/winter still in evidence, though . . .

My return route took me up to Voorhies Hall and through its lovely (and largely ignored, it seems) courtyard, planted with roses surrounded a burbling fountain. Another favorite place.

Then it was off to Danville with Susan to her sister Jane's house for Christmas dinner.

Susan and Jane attack the cooking.

This Brussels sprouts-cauliflower concoction tasted even better than it looks.

The festive meal:
Pork roast, dried cherry relish, brussels sprouts-cauliflower dish, mashed potatoes, applesauce

I came home with leftovers. Perhaps tomorrow, I shall fast. Or not.

Eve afternoon

2009-12-24T13:55:00.000-08:00

Just finished cleaning house, leastways my version of cleaning house—picking up all the newspapers and vacuuming the floors—and am looking out my back window at a sunny but crisply cold afternoon. There was ice on the fountain again this morning, confusing the birds. Susan and Bill are coming over around 4:30, and we'll head up to the annual Davis Holiday Meal, given these past 24 years by the Davis Food Co-op as a way to bring the community together to celebrate the season and one another. After dinner, it's back here to crack open the Bailey's and exchange Festivus tributes. As for tomorrow, I've been invited to join Susan at her sister's house in Danville for dinner. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm not in fear of my earlobes freezing off, I'll get in a bike ride beforehand.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a warm night!

Thanks. A lot.

2009-11-26T22:28:00.000-08:00

For lots of things, I'm thankful. In no particular order . . . Barack Obama. Davis, a town still small enough to have edges to ride my bicycle beyond. Baseball in general, the San Francisco Giants in particular, and the proximity of AT&T Park. Netflix. UC Davis, which gave me 31 years of employment and now provides me with a pension and health insurance AND dental insurance AND vision insurance (how did I get so lucky?). Trees. Dear family, great friends, good neighbors. Movie theaters within walking distance. Ditto bookstores. The Co-op. The Perfect Chair, and a warm bed, which I am now headed to.

P.S. Speaking of fall color, as I was yesterday, here's the view out my back window . . .

Riding to Vacaville

2009-11-25T23:51:00.001-08:00

Stu and I have been talking on and off about doing a ride to Vacaville while this fall weather is still with us, and I don't think we could have picked a better day than today. It was still a bit chilly when we started off around 9:30, but we hadn't gone 5 miles before I was stripping off the knee- and arm-warmers, and even the vest on the return trip.

We've had no real rainstorms to speak of so far, so the trees still have most of their fall color—the brilliant yellow of the walnut, the orange and red of the Chinese pistache, and the garnet of the ginkos, arrayed against the greens of olive and valley oak. Coming back into Winters along Pleasants Valley Road, the sun slanting into a grove of mature walnut trees made me think of light streaming through a cathedral window, filling the space with gold.

Bonus points: a 36-mile ride banked against tomorrow's highly likely overindulgence in mass quantities of food.

Cy x 2 x 2

2009-11-23T16:43:00.000-08:00

The Giants' starter Tim Lincecum won his second Cy Young award in as many years this past week, a historic achievement—never before in the 54-year history of the award has a pitcher won back-to-back Cy Youngs in his first two full seasons in the majors. He's also only the fourth National League pitcher to have won in back-to-back years. The first to do so was Sandy Koufax, back in the 1965 and 1966 seasons.

I was lucky enough to get to see Sandy Koufax pitch a few times at Dodger Stadium. Like Timmy, Koufax combined power, athleticism, and huge talent in equal measures, making him one of the most exceptional pitchers ever to play the game. Koufax and Lincecum couldn't be more different as men and even as ballplayers, but they share that ineffable, undefinable but unmistakable "something"—electricity, charisma, a compelling presence—whatever it is, I'm on board with it.

So here's to you, Timmy. Congratulations—you are in august company, right where you belong.

P.S. Don't cut your hair!

Better than sliced bread

2009-11-13T15:38:00.000-08:00

I like ice cream. A lot. I especially like good ice cream, by which I mean the kind made with a whole lotta cream and other tasty globules of fat-type ingredients. Why eat the stuff, I say, unless there's that yummy, rich, creamy texture sliding from spoon to mouth, full of the flavor of chocolate, or coffee, or dulce de leche, or caramel?

But because its blessings are also its curse, I don't often buy the stuff. A pint of Haagen-Dazs dulce de leche in my freezer can disappear faster than those funds you invested with Bernie Madoff. So imagine my oh-boy-oh-boy joy when I spotted these teensy-weensy half-cup cartons of Haagen-Dazs in the freezer at the new Target. Portion control! Exactly the right size! And in my favorite flavors to be mixed and matched! So much better than buying a whole pint of just one flavor.

I'm sure there are people out there working on a better mousetrap, but until they find it, half-cup cartons of Haagen-Dazs will do.

Packaging perfection

Saturday walk

2009-11-07T17:59:00.000-08:00

Took a walk in the Arboretum this morning and did the entire loop, east to west and back again. Yesterday's rain must have washed everything clean, because it was a beautiful fall day—bright blue sky, plants and trees sparkly, ducks' backs glistening. Thought about taking my camera but didn't want to be burdened with any accoutrements so left it at home. So the images are in my head, and you can get some of your own if you go there, yourself.

I hadn't done the whole Arbo distance in a while, and my cranky right hip is definitely grouchier tonight, but I don't care, it was worth it. Tylenol is my friend.

2009-11-05T09:04:00.000-08:00

The 2009 baseball season ended last night, Yankees 7, Phillies 3. Two great teams, six skillfully played games. Personally, I was pulling for the Phillies, the National League in my book being the league that plays real baseball, but props to the Yankees for fielding a team chock-a-block with supremely talented ballplayers. Yes, they're paid well, but they still have to play well. The money didn't create their greatness, it only enables them to play with others of their ilk. A harrumph on my part, though, re the Series MVP going to Matsui, the Yankees' designated hitter. Please. The most valuable player should be a guy who does more than swing a bat. He should be out there turning a brilliant double play, or making a diving catch of a vicious line drive in left-center field, or being the most dazzling and feared closer in modern baseball history. The MVP to the DH? Bah!

Bottom line, though, baseball is over for this year. More than any previous season, this one, for me, was a whole lotta fun. I went to 10 Giants' games, I listened to or watched all the others, and rediscovered the complexity, the passion, the joy of baseball. Yes, it's flawed, but so is the world, so am I. And flawed though it may be, there's a whole lot to be said for nine innings, 27 outs, the hit and run, the sacrifice fly, the stolen base, the unhittable curveball and the Big Fly. What will I do this winter? Read some baseball books, try once again to learn exactly what the waiver, Rule 5, and the option are all about, and watch Bull Durham again. And again.

Pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training right around my birthday, the rest of the players a week or so after that. I have my hotel room booked and my plane ticket purchased. Hey, it's already November—spring is right around the corner.

You're never alone at a ball game.

The largest thing I've learned is the enormous grip that this game has on people, the extent to which it really is very important. It goes way down deep. It really does bind together.
—Bart Giamatti

Coincidences

2009-10-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

My son John died shortly after midnight Oct. 12, 1986. He was a huge fan of the Miami Dolphins and the Dolphins' quarterback, Dan Marino.

This past Sunday, Oct. 11, I was up late; the TV was on. Just after midnight, a Jim Carrey movie came on. The cast included Dan Marino.

This past Monday evening, Oct. 12, the Miami Dolphins played the New York Jets. The game was televised. The Dolphins won, 31-27.

In today's mail, I received a letter from the San Francisco Giants, thanking me for the donation I made a couple of months ago in John's memory to the Jr. Giants Fund. The date on the letter was October 12.

I'm sure these coincidences are just that—coincidences. John would probably say that's so.

A winning season

2009-10-06T10:20:00.000-07:00

The regular baseball season is over for the Giants, who—surprisingly, improbably—were in the hunt up until the 158th game. They ended up with 88 wins, 74 losses, some of those wins spectacular, some of the losses crushing, all of them entertaining.

I had a winning season, too. I'll remember the 2009 season as the one in which I went from being an interested and engaged fan to becoming a passionate and more knowledgeable one. So, in no particular order, here's my season wrap-up:

I went to 10 home games, almost three times as many as I've ever gone to in one season. I began with Opening Day (a win against the Brewers) and ended with the last home game of the season (a win against the D'backs). In between, I saw the Giants win four other games and lose four, giving me a .600 season—definitely a winner!

I got to see those games with lots of old friends (Gishi, Wayne, Liese, Alison, Allan, Phil) and one new one (Heather). Thanks, guys; there's nothing like the company of friends at the ballyard, having a beer and a cha-cha bowl, talking baseball.

Opening Day in the bleachers, April 7, 2009

Gishi, Liese, Wayne and me

Heather and me, Jon Miller Bobblehead Night
Giants v. Cincinnati Reds, August 7, 2009

I learned to (more or less) keep score. Printed out scorecards for myself and scored the games as I watched them on TV. Doing this helped me to believe I wasn't just sitting lumplike in front of the TV, and it also gave me something to do with my hands other than tear my hair when the Giants once again hit a weak grounder into a double play. I still have trouble figuring out what to do with double-switches and pinch runners, and I almost never toted up the final results, but I'll work on that next year.

I figure I watched or listened to nearly every one of the 162 games the Giants played. I paid attention, I learned stuff I didn't know before, I got better at seeing a curve ball or a slider (though I'm still baffled most of the time at how the guys in the broadcast booth can tell a two-seam fastball from a four-seam fastball).

I collected five more bobbleheads to add to my small-but-growing collection . . .

Four of them I got on Bobblehead Days—Tim Lincecum on May 17 (a win vs. the Mets), Brian Wilson on July 12 (a loss to the Padres), Jon Miller on Aug. 7 (a loss to the Reds), and Randy Johnson on Aug. 30 (a HUGE win over the Rockies!)—and the fifth, Matt Cain, I got as a "mystery gift" for making a contribution to the Jr. Giants on Opening Day . . .

Thanks to "Watching Baseball Smarter," I learned that pitchers, when they're throwing their warm-up pitches, tell the catcher what's coming by signaling with their glove! Wow. I started watching for this, and I felt like I'd discovered a secret code that let me in to an exclusive "in the know" group. No doubt lots of regular fans know this, but it was news to me, who's been watching baseball since the age of 4. It took me a while to remember which gesture indicates which pitch, but I think I've got it now (I cemented it into my brain by actually practicing the gestures myself). It's interesting to see how different pitchers execute it; some are really subtle, others much more emphatic. Way, way, WAY cool, and possibly the most exciting thing I discovered this year.

I discovered Andy Baggerly's blog on the Giants, "Extra Baggs." Baggerly writes for the San Jose Mercury News, and I found his writing and his observations to be the best of those who write regularly about the Gnats. Good stuff; I hope he keeps it going next year.

Making good on an idea we'd had for a couple of years, Liese, Wayne, Gishi and I went to a San Jose Giants game, and I'm here to tell you, it was way, way more fun than any RiverCats game I've ever been to. Here's how good it was: If I ever found myself in the god-awful position of having to move to the San Jose area, the horror would be tempered, perhaps even alleviated, by the knowledge that I could go to SJ Giants games a lot more often. I could even be a host family to a young player (does a family of one count as a family?). Anyway, I hope to go to a few more of those games next year.

Mostly, I just learned a lot, absorbed a lot, read a lot, talked a lot about baseball. I discovered I could talk knowledgeably about my team, the players, back up my opinions with something other than, "well, I just like the guy!" comments. One big thing I learned is that I have a lot more left to learn. I'm not good at remembering stuff; things like batting averages, ERAs, who we were playing when such-and-such happened, seem to float into my head and out, whereas things about the players, themselves, sticks more readily and stays around longer. But I think my 2009 season may have sharpened my skills a bit. We'll see next year.

And speaking of next year . . . I think it's time for another visit to Scottsdale and a Spring Training trip. Last one was in 2005, and I want to go again. As for now, I'll watch the playoffs and the World Series, then refresh my skills at some neglected things—reading, listening to NPR rather than KNBR (THE sports leader!), inviting friends for dinner, getting myself to the gym. The end of the season is always bittersweet, but pitchers and catchers report to Scottsdale in February, and it's nearly the middle of October already. I can hardly wait. Yet as Tony Bennett always reminds us after every Giants home game win . . .

"I left my heart in San Francisco . . ."

I took me out to the ballgame

2009-10-04T20:04:00.000-07:00

As wrapped up in the Giants as I've been this year, I wanted to finish the season off right, so a few weeks ago I bought myself a ticket for Thursday's 12:45 p.m. game against the Diamondbacks, the Giants last home game of 2009. Left home about 9:30, made excellent connections on BART and Muni, and arrived at AT&T Park right at 11 o'clock.

It was a gorgeous day, more like a day in July than the first of October. Most of the time when I go to a game, I'm with at least one other person, and we're usually goal-oriented—get to the park, get to our seats and/or get something to eat. On my own on Thursday, my goal was to take my time, really see and enjoy every bit of being there. I walked around to the McCovey Cove side of the ballpark and looked at all of the plaques embedded in the walkway, something I'd never done. The newest one commemorates Jonathan Sanchez's July 10 no-hitter against the San Diego Padres

and there are maybe 10 or 12 more, quite a few of them celebrating a Barry Bonds milestone, others commemorating last year's All-Star Game and the opening of the park itself.

After duly admiring the plaques, it was time to shop! Went into the Dugout Store and bought a spiral-bound book of scorecards (yes, I know the season was nearly up, but there's next year to plan for), a Giants license plate frame (installed on Friday; it looks swell), a Giants magazine, a Sharpie pen, and two postcards for sending to my granddaughters. Saw an orange shirt I liked but decided not to get any more clothing items yet (maybe hold out for Spring Training . . .).

Then it was time to head into the park. My seat was in the first row of Section 323 of the View Box level, right above the Giants dugout. Great seat except for two things: a) the railing in front of the seats bisected the view, so next time I'll choose either row C or row D, and b) the seat was in the sun the entire day, and because it was so danged hot, I did a lot of sweating. Luckily, I brought a lot of sunscreen, and I used it liberally.

Time to eat. And drink! I'd considered getting my usual Cha-Cha Bowl from Orlando's, but the stand on my level was closed (usher said due to the low attendance numbers—low compared to the earlier part of the season, that is), so I decided to go ballpark traditional and got a kielbasa (sp?) with sauerkraut and washed it down with a Stella. Yum. Around the 6th inning, I fell into the hands of the Ghirardelli hot fudge sundae people, for which I am not ashamed.

The ballgame was wonderful. Lincecum on the mound, Rich Aurelia's last home game as a Giant, Randy Johnson coming in as a reliever in the 9th inning, and Timmy getting his 15th win. Plenty of fans wishing the team well, feeling a bit (but only a bit, on my part) disappointed that we didn't make the playoffs but happy and thankful for the hours and hours of entertainment we'd been given over the course of the season.

As the players came off the field after winning 7-4, ballpark staff handed them baseballs and pens. The players signed the balls, then tossed them into the crowd. I was up too high for one to reach me (though Lincecum hurled one pretty darn close), but next year, I'll remember this fun bit and maybe get closer. Didn't matter; I didn't need a souvenir baseball to remind me of a terrific day and a terrific season. I lingered at my seat, watching the players drift into the dugout, watching the grounds crew begin their post-game work, wondering if they stay on over the off-season and work the football games or if the football folks bring their own crew (a new football league will be playing in AT&T this year; hope they don't trash it!). Walked slowly out and down the ramp, checking out the stretch black limo waiting for someone (a player? front-office type? the investors?) and the team buses that were waiting to transport the Giants to the airport for their flight to San Diego. The season had ended at AT&T, but it wasn't over; there were three more games with the Padres starting the next night.

So, au revoir, AT&T; thanks for lots and lots of good times this year. See you in 2010!

(More on the end of the '09 season coming in the next post . . .)

L'shanah tovah, Mr. Clean!

2009-09-18T17:48:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of two hours today cleaning my bathroom. This undertaking was partly to have at least one part of the house clean for the new year, which begins today at sundown, and partly because, well, it just needed it.

Those of you who have seen my bathroom may be wondering how it could take so long to clean a space so small (visual hint for those who haven't had the pleasure: think Amtrak's Coast Starlight, coach class). The irony is that the room's very smallness makes cleaning it take extra time; the amount of backing up, backing out, opening and closing the door, moving cleaning supplies hither and thither and general running into myself every other minute adds time as well as frustration.

But the real reason it took so long is that I scoured every inch of the place, an undertaking involving sponges, scrubbies, cleaners, and brushes large (toilet) and small (tooth, which I used along the baseboard and around the base of the toilet). Did you know that the underside of a toilet tank gets dusty? News to me, but indeed, it does. No dust there any more! Tub, toilet, walls, sink, baseboards, floor Washed the insides of the windows (have no idea when I last did that, wiped down the tiled windowsill. Scrubbed out the aluminum window tracks. I even washed the toilet brush holder.

When I got through, I took down the rather tattered rice paper/bamboo roll-up windowshade and put it outside on the deck to be taken downstairs to the trash. Then I got on my bicycle and rode to Cost Plus to purchase a brand-new one, the piece de resistance, the finishing touch to my sparkling clean bathroom. Except that Cost Plus didn't have any of the dang things. Seems the FDA or some other meddlesome guvmint agency recalled all of them, apparently over a concern that children would become ensnared in the cords that raise and lower the shades (and if someone could please tell me how any of us boomer-aged types managed to survive our childhoods I'd be grateful), and until the manufacturer(s) figure out some other probably more cumbersome and less attractive method, I am outta luck. Not completely out, however, as my old shade was still there on the deck. So I retrieved it and hung it back in its spot. It's still tattered, and a bit dusty, but what the heck—the rest of the room looks swell. Happy new year!

They're the Topps

2009-08-23T22:56:00.000-07:00

My friend Numenius gave me the best present yesterday evening—a set of San Francisco Giants baseball cards, tastefully (and thematically) wrapped in a newspaper story about Tim Lincecum. Wow! Baseball cards! Despite my love of the game and the many years I've been a fan, I've never owned a single baseball card. Not a one. And now I have a whole set featuring the 2009 San Francisco Giants. The team as it was constituted when those cards were printed, that is; I've noticed the absence of a few who were acquired recently and the presence of some players who have since been sent back to the farm. But the pitchers are there, and Pablo, and Bengie, and Aaron Rowand, and . . . well, see for yourself—here's today's starting lineup (click on the image for a really good look):

Giants starting lineup, Sunday, Aug. 23, 2009, vs. Colorado Rockies: 2B Velez, LF Winn, 3B Sandoval, C Molina, RF Schierholtz, 1B Garko (Ishikawa in for Garko), CF Rowand, SS Renteria, RHP Lincecum. Final score, Rockies 4, Giants 2.

With cards like these, they should have won the game. Thanks, Numenius! You're the best!

Prenuptial angst? The harpist is in . . .

2009-08-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

From a wedding story in tonight's Davis Enterprise—

"The couple walked down the aisle accompanied by harp music played by harp and piano teacher and psychotherapist Karen Patterson."

You can't make this stuff up. Check that . . . you wouldn't make this stuff up.

Baseball rules

2009-08-13T20:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's Giants-Dodgers game was tied 2-2 when Juan Uribe came to the plate in the bottom of the 10th inning with Travis Ishikawa on first. Uribe swung hard at the first two pitches he saw, missing both by a mile. Not so the third pitch—Uribe hit it hard and deep to left, where it landed in the bleachers amid deliriously happy Giants fans. Final score: Giants 4, Dodgers 2.

Huh? Four runs? It was the bottom (home) half of the inning, and Ishikawa crossing the plate should have been the winning run, making the final score Giants 3, Dodgers 2, right? So what's with that fourth run? Did the Dodgers have three runs, not just two? Nope; box score showed 2-2. Quick! Check the Baseball Field Guide (a present from Pica and Numenius on my becoming bat mitzvah). And there it was, the exception to the rule that when the score is tied in the bottom half of the inning, the inning ends as soon as the run that puts the team ahead crosses the plate. Except when the game ends with a winning home run—aka a "walk-off." Then all of the runners ahead of the home-run hitter, and the hitter, himself, score. Thus, Giants 4, Dodgers 2.

There's always something new for me to learn about baseball, and the win made the learning sweet. Baseball rules!

Good teams are hard to beat

2009-08-11T22:05:00.000-07:00

And whatever one may think of the Dodgers (and as a Giants fan, my opinion should be self-evident), it's undeniable that they are a damned good team. Every single man in tonight's lineup can hurt you, and most of them did, including the pitcher, who has so far not only held us to one run on three hits but got a hit of his own. First in hitting, second in pitching, third in defense in the National League . . . let's face it, what other team deserves to win the pennant? Certainly not the Giants, love them though I do, fiercely and happily. Terrific potential, plenty of youthful energy and joie de vivre, arguably the two best pitchers in the Majors, but the cohesion isn't there yet. Next year, maybe; almost certainly. But for now, it's good just to see these surprising kids play. But a 9-1 loss is tough to watch, especially to the Dodgers.

More buckaroo pix

2009-08-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

A few more images from my visit with Heather . . .

Living room:

Tiny cowboy boots:

I had a Hopalong Cassidy thermos and lunchbox when I was 8 years old:

Bathroom:

I think this is my favorite—a teeny-tiny cowboy shirt.

Baseball, buckaroos, ferry boats and friends

2009-08-09T17:13:00.000-07:00

A great two days in the Bay Area. Two Giants games! I went to Friday night's game with Heather, whom I met back in May on BART on the way to another game. After exchanging numerous e-mails these past few months, we finally spent some "face time" together, talking baseball, learning a bit about each other's lives. (In addition to baseball in general and the Giants in particular, Heather's two big passions are cowboys and gardening; her landscaping business is called "Buckaroo Gardening." She has tons of cowboy-obelia; check out this lamp . . .

We had a great time at the game, the only downside being the Giants' meltdown in the 8th inning, leading to a loss. Should have known something weird would happen with a moon like this one . . .

Saturday, another game, this one with Pica and Numenius, and this time got a win. Waiting for the ferry to take us back to Vallejo and home, ran into John and Jim, two friends with whom I went to a Giants game years ago, back in Candlestick days; that day, we'd taken the ferry from Jack London Square. Stood out on deck with them, in the wind and the salt spray, til we arrived in Vallejo.

Gathering my gear back downstairs and about to disembark, a woman approached me. "Are you Barbara? I'm Wendy Hammond." Wendy Hammond?! Holy cow. Wendy and I worked together a good 35 years ago in Shields Library, and I probably haven't seen her in 30 of those years. Funny thing is, I was looking for her on Facebook not a week ago. True story, cross my heart. I have no idea how these things happen, but that they do is certain sure.

Good friends, good baseball, good times, good memories. I feel pretty darned lucky.

Invasion of the padded people

2009-08-05T23:27:00.000-07:00

Summertime is baseball time, the time when teams that are in the hunt for the playoffs (and their fans) begin to kinda maybe sorta believe that this year could be The Year. Why, then, here in the early days of August, when the Giants have been playing well (even on the road!) and have added a couple of new bats to the lineup, why, I ask you, are the KNBR morning guys talking about football? Interviewing Oakland Raiders second round draft picks, heading to Napa for a visit to the Raiders training camp . . . no, no, no. Football is for the fall, mid-September at the earliest, better October, when OK, the World Series is being played but the season is winding down and it's OK to have That Other Popular Sport step in to take up TV time and space on the sports page. But geez, even this morning's New York Times devoted a full page to the Giants (the football ones).

It didn't used to be this way. The lineup went like this: Summer, baseball; fall, football; winter, basketball; spring, swimming, water polo, track and field, whatever other non-baseball sports they could cram into the short period before spring training begins and baseball starts anew. But not now, oh no. Now we have football talked about late in July. Basketball goes on forever. Really, forever; their playoff season is just shy of the 100 years war.

It's not that I don't like other sports; I do. And when the Olympics come around, I'm riveted to the television coverage, be it winter or summer games. And I can appreciate the skill and physical stamina required to be a wide receiver for an NFL team. But I don't want to watch football, either in person or on TV. What I really don't like about football in August, though, is that it reminds me of how soon the baseball season will draw to a close, bringing with it the annual need to go through the painful withdrawal symptoms—no game broadcast, no postgame wrap, no Kruk and Kuip on the KNBR morning show, no anticipation of a well-pitched game, a great catch up against the wall, a home run hit into McCovey Cove, another trip to the ballpark where all that matters is runs, hits, errors, the final score. Baseball movies help a bit, but only a bit; there's nothing like the real thing.

Le Tour

2009-07-24T21:47:00.000-07:00

The closest I've ever come to riding anything remotely resembling the Tour de France (and bear in mind that "remotely" is the operative word here; "remotely" as in "not even close") was a three-week, 1,000-mile tour I did in 1988. We rode from West Yellowstone to Jasper, Alberta, averaging more than 80 miles a day, riding over Logan Pass in Glacier National Park and up through the Canadian Rockies. Plenty of climbing, plenty of altitude. Throw in the couple of times I rode the Tour of the California Alps (aka the Death Ride) for high mountains under time constraints, and there you have it.

I'm not a fast climber, not even a particularly fast rider. Despite that, and despite my paltry riding experience compared to Tour riders, when I watch the peloton snake through the countryside, or the riders in the breakaway attack on a mountain, I experience it not just visually but viscerally. No matter the discrepancy in age, strength, training, experience between me and Team Astana, my body has a cellular memory of what it felt like to push the pedals over and over and over, grinding over a hill when it's hot, staying in the saddle and on the bike when I've been tired and dehydrated and wishing it were over, but staying the course.

Tomorrow, Mont Ventoux. Bonne route to all!

Goodbye, Walter

2009-07-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

Walter Cronkite, 1917-2009
"And that's the way it is."

An exceptional journalist, an honest, dignified, intelligent, decent man, who helped millions of Americans, me included, interpret our world. Gratitude abounds; thank you, Uncle Walter, for sharing it with us.

Confirmation testimony we'd like to hear

2009-07-15T09:25:00.000-07:00

Random Republican senator: "Judge Sotomayor, will your ethnicity allow you to be an impartial Supreme Court justice?"

Sonia Sotomayor: "Senator, my ethnicity will not have any more bearing on my decisions than my fellow justices' ethnicity has on theirs."

Independence Day

2009-07-04T16:58:00.001-07:00

The 4th of July is my favorite holiday. It's nondenominational, nonsectarian, nonreligious, and, in Davis, it's a community celebration. All day long, there's stuff going on—Little League pancake breakfast, softball tournament, the kiddie parade featuring tiny children riding their crepe paper-decorated trikes, the fireworks in the park, and, downtown, the bike club's annual criterium, where I worked this morning from 6 o'clock until 8. After my corner marshaling shift was done, I went to the farmers' market, where I bought tomatoes, basil, nectarines, blackberries, yellow corn, dino kale, curly parsley and what Jim Eldon at Fiddler's Green Farm dubbed "cosmic" carrots:

The inside is a surprise, too:

Walked back downtown, met Stu and Linda for lunch at Bernardo's where we sat outside and watched the women's race while we ate. Then home to listen to the Giants beat the Astros 9-0 (a nice follow-up to last night's 13-zip Giants win) while kind of more-or-less napping. Don't know what I'll do later on; some bike club friends are hosting a Tour de France watching gathering around 8, so I may head over there. Word has it that the fireworks are visible from the end of their street. Or I may just stay home; sometimes, if they shoot them high enough, I can see the fireworks from my deck.

The power! The passion! The produce!

2009-06-23T09:10:00.001-07:00

Robin and I took a road trip to Oroville on Saturday. Stated purpose, to meet with the owners of the fitness center that will be one of the controls on the upcoming Davis Bike Club's Gold Rush Randonnee. Not-so-hidden agenda purpose, all those produce stands along Hwy. 70.

Not much to say about Oroville except that it's original downtown appeared utterly deserted. Storefronts vacant, the only open shops a couple of antique stores, the only lively appearing human a skateboarder taking advantage of the empty streets. The name of the business center kind of says it all . . .

Time to leave. On to . . .

!!!

First stop, a smallm open-front stand, where we netted some blackberries, cherries, lemon cukes and cherry tomatoes.

Then we found Tony's, clearly the winner in both produce and ambience . . .

Tomatoes, nectarines (yellow and white), peaches (ditto), cukes, jams, olive oil, berries, potatoes, corn, melons, and Tony's famous sweet red onions . . .

Definitely sweet!

(N.B.: The corn, we were told, is trucked in from Dixon. What this implies about other items at Tony's is anybody's guess, but for sure the tree crops are local; we saw the trees.)

Robin's haul

. . . and mine

Don't buy more than you can carry!

So far, the tasting experience has been as good as the shopping experience. This may have to become a regular road trip.

Stars and stripes

2009-06-14T16:10:00.001-07:00

Today is Flag Day. Back in the late '60s and into the '70s, the American flag became hugely politicized, with the left scorning it and the right wrapping itself in it. As someone who has always loved my country's flag, I found myself hesitating to say so, fearing the label of "hawk" or "super-patriot." But several years ago, during George W. Bush's tragic reign, I decided to reclaim my flag. I bought one, and on patriotic holidays, I fly it at the front of my house. I like its crisp red and white stripes, I like the blue field with those white stars, one for each of the 50 states, and as I put it in its holder I think about what my country has given me, what it offered my immigrant grandparents, and the hope this grand experiment holds for my granddaughters and the world. Flawed? Sure. But all I have to do is consider whom this country chose as its president this past November, and I take heart. Three cheers for the red, white and blue.

Reading baseball

2009-06-12T17:45:00.001-07:00

I'm reading three books about baseball (while I'm not actually watching, that is). One is OK, one is good (and a keeper) and one is terrific (and also a keeper).

The OK one is Ron Darling's The Complete Game: Reflections on Baseball, Pitching and Life on the Mound. Darling is the former Mets pitcher, now a broadcaster for SportsNet New York. To give the reader the "feel" of the pitching experience, Darling organized his book using specific innings of games in which he was the starting pitcher. So, for instance, Ch. 1 describes the first inning of his first major league start, against the Phillies on Sept. 6, 1983; Ch. 2 is Game 4 of The 1986 World Series, Mets vs. the Red Sox; etc. The intro chapters (before we got to actual games) were so-so, but it's improving, and the descriptions of Darling's game-day preparation (he took a nap just before going out to warm up) are interesting. How these guys handle the pressure is mind-boggling to me.

The second book is called Watching Baseball Smarter, by Zack Hample. (Hample's other claim to fame is having grabbed more than 3,000 baseballs from major league games, including Bonds' 724th home-run baseball; his first book is titled How to Snag Major League Baseballs.) He's played professional ball himself, which gives him street cred to describe various aspects of the game, from the different grips pitchers use and the effect each has on a pitched ball to details about fielding, base running, and the answer to the question all baseball fans ask: Why do those guys grab their crotches all the time? (Ans: Those cups are uncomfortable, dammit!) Hample includes a glossary of terms, which are italicized in the text, so you can look stuff up as you read, or just read the glossary through all at once. It's a good dip-into book while watching a game and some play is a new one on me or Mike Kruko uses a term I haven't heard before. (This book was recommended to me by Heather Hafleigh, with whom I've been having an e-mail conversation about baseball in general and the Giants in particular.)

The best one, though, is As They See 'Em: A Fan's Travels in the Land of Umpires, by Bruce Weber. Weber is a reporter for The New York Times, and he brings the same clear, well-written, literate style of that newspaper to this book. I'd recently become intrigued by the enigmatic nature of the umpire, curious about not only the nuts and bolts of umpiring but what motivates a man (the female umpire is rare beyond rare) to want to be one in the first place. Weber interviewed dozens of current and former umpires, players, managers, and Major League baseball execs, and also trained as an umpire, after which he spent a season working games, from Little League to Spring Training. ("Just about the first thing they teach you at umpire school is ow to yank your mask off without upsetting your hat." Talk about your great lead . . . .) I checked this out from the library, but it's too good to let go of, so I've decided to buy it, to have the time to read it at a slow, delicious pace. Get this book; it's good.

Rubber ducky, you're the one

2009-06-06T09:07:00.000-07:00

From the wires of the Associated Press . . .

Woman, 90, is rescued after three days stuck in bathtub

WALNUT CREEK — A 90-year-old Northern California woman too weak to get out of her bathtub was rescued after three days during which she drank water collected in a rubber duck to stay hydrated. Shirley Madsen was found in her Walnut Creek home by her daughter after the family became concerned that she hadn't returned phone calls. . . . Madsen had climbed into the tub May 27 after returning from a seniors group trip to a casino. She had not eaten since breakfast and found she was too weak to get out, authorities said. . . . She was also too weak to cup water in her hands, so she used a rubber duck as a cup. She repeatedly added hot water to the tub to stay warm.

Senior citizen emergency first aid kit

Unit-y

2009-06-05T10:03:00.000-07:00

When the Giants signed Randy Johnson this spring, my reaction was to roll my eyes and cry, "Why?!" How was a 45-year-old pitcher supposed to help a team ostensibly focused on shucking the old guys and looking to bring on younger players? Moreover, pitching wasn't exactly where we were lacking in talent.

Well, I can eat crow when it's well prepared, and Randy Johnson is about as well prepared as it's possible to be. The Big Unit got his 300th win yesterday, only the 24th pitcher in the 140-year history of Major League Baseball to do so and one of only a small handful of leftys to do so. But what impressed me most about his achievement is what he had to say about it; better, how he said it. Following the game, in interviews and at a news conference, he was articulate about the game of baseball, the art of pitching and his role in what it takes to win a game. A thoughtful guy, grateful for the chance to be where he is, and gracious in his acknowlegement of his teammates, past and present, whose skill at the plate and in the field made those wins possible. And oh, yeah, one more thing: He didn't come to the Giants to win five games, he signed on to help the team win, maybe even make it to the playoffs.

This morning, on KNBR 680 (THE Sports Leader!), Mike Kruko talked about last night's plane ride down to Florida following the games (yes, there were two games, a double-header due to the rainout Tuesday, and Matt Cain got his 7th win of the year in Game 2. Way to go, Matty!). There was a champagne toast, and somebody brought out a cake. And Randy Johnson was on that plane to accept those tributes. He could have headed to Arizona for four days, spent time with his family, relaxing until the Giants get there next week. Instead, he got on the plane with the rest of the team. When he was asked why, he said it just wouldn't have felt right not to be there.

Thanks, Randy. I am glad you got No. 300 wearing a San Francisco Giants uniform. It's a privilege to watch you pitch, a pleasure to hear you talk about the game. Here's to your next win.

Rockin' robin

2009-06-01T21:03:00.000-07:00

For probably the past two weeks (one doesn't notice when things like this begin, only that they've been going on for quite a while), a robin who hangs out in the trees to the south of my house begins singing at first light (I hear him—I assume it's a him—at 5 a.m or earlier). And he continues to sing. All day. Really. All day long. He doesn't stop. It's now just after 9 p.m., and, probably because it's finally dark, he's quit for the day. But he'll start in again tomorrow, just as he has for days. And days.

I mostly like hearing him, especially when I first wake up; much nicer than waking to the sound of trash trucks. But quite honestly, he's beginning to make me twitchy. Why does he sing all day long? Is he trying to entice a mate? Warn other birds away? Obsessive-compulsive? Does he not eat? Or drink? And why isn't he hoarse by now? But I don't really want him to stop; I'd just like to know why he doesn't seem to be able to.

A morning's work

2009-05-24T16:29:00.000-07:00

In early spring, the fence in my front yard is a-bloom with a flower called crocosmia. And for about six weeks, from their first budding 'til full flower, they're quite pretty:

The rest of the year, however, they're either dormant or dead. Once they've finished blooming, the leaves turn pale brown and papery and look, well, dead. So every year, I get out there and clean 'em up. This morning's weather felt more Portland than Davis, a good day to do yard work, so I started at 9 o'clock, pulling out crocosmia leaves. Fortunately, they come out easily, so the only drawbacks are a) the dust and b) the fact that the darn things are multiplying like crazy and have spread from the fence into the yard proper. So there are lots more to pull out.

I didn't think to take a "before" picture, but here's the "after":

And here's the proof, awaiting the Davis Waste Removal "claw" to come get it Wednesday morning:

I finished by 12:30, in time to shower and catch the start of the Giants-Mariners game. (Giants lost, 5-4. Sigh . . .)

Last week into this

2009-05-21T16:24:00.000-07:00

I'm recovered (I think) from the frenetic activity and corresponding lack of sleep I incurred beginning last Friday evening. The Double Century rider check-in began then, followed closely (and way too soon) by the rider check-in that began at 4:30 a.-of-the-m. on Saturday, then monitoring the action on the course, helping Robin, the director, with whatever needed doing all day long, greeting the thank-god-you're-finally-here riders at 1:30 a.m. (that would be Sunday, folks), and at last getting to bed at 3.

Arising refreshed (NOT!) at 7 Sunday morning, I got myself to the Amtrak station and onto the 9:25 train for Richmond, then caught BART to Berkeley to attend a picnic for my friend Nora, who was receiving her PhD that afternoon. Nora, bless her, still had access to her office on campus and took pity on me, letting me in to zone out for about 40 minutes on the couch, after which I got myself up and back to the BART station, catching the train to SF, then on Muni, down to the ballpark for a 5:05 Giants game against the Mets.

Some anxious-making moments occurred: It was Tim Lincecum bobblehead day, and the game was sold out. Rumors ran wild that since only 20,000 bobbleheads were available, all of them had been given out AND I WOULDN'T GET ONE. Oh, well, I thought, at least I'll see the game. But hooray! When I got to the Willie Mays Gate, the ballpark crew were tearing open carton upon carton of Timmy bobbleheads and handing them out to the throngs pouring through the turnstiles. Score!

Tim "The Franchise" Lincecum

(Some folks didn't get 'em, though, including Heather Hafleigh, a fellow Giants fan I met on BART and with whom I exchanged e-mail addresses. She's a photographer who has spent the last 18 years documenting contemporary ranchers, horsemen and craftsmen in California who are carrying on the Vaquero tradition. Nice work; you can see some of it here.)

Finally made it into the ballyard and found Gishi, who had actually ridden the 200 miles of the DC on Saturday. Grabbed a couple of Stellas, a couple of dogs, and got to our seats. Watched Matt Cain pitch a beauty, and the Giants managed to score some runs to back him up and give us a win, thus avoiding a four-game sweep by the Mets. Home by 10 p.m. via BART and Gishi's car.

Monday I scarcely recall. On Tuesday, I was again up early (though not as early as on Saturday) so I could be at my precinct by 6:30 to be a poll worker for the special election. Our precinct had a total of 256 voters—puny beyond paltry by ordinary election standards, but for this one, we were waaay out ahead of all other Davis precincts, not to mention the rest of the county.

Yesterday, I rearranged the living room furniture, so I could put The Perfect Chair in the spot I originally had intended it to be. The new arrangement opens the room up and gives me much more light on The Chair during daylight hours. It's also the perfect venue for TV watching, and unblocks Phil's painting from behind the table lamp. See for yourself:

Of cantaloupes and cats

2009-05-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

I bought my first cantaloupe of the season, and as I sliced into it I thought of how, whenever I'd start cutting up a melon, Ernie would be immediately in the kitchen, meowing his "give me some of that, and make it snappy" meow. He liked all melon, but cantaloupe was his fave.

This was a pretty good melon, as melons go. It would have tasted even better if Ernie had been here to share it with me. Miss that boy.

The road north

2009-05-10T22:23:00.000-07:00

In mid-January I began working three mornings a week in Woodland. It's only 13 miles from my house, but the drive has been possibly the job's best feature. Three miles north, five miles west, then north again, past fields and orchards that every day look different than the day before. Sometimes the difference is big (one morning, bare ground, the next day thousands of tomato plants have appeared, seemingly sprouted overnight but actually having been unpacked from the large, white boxes that had been sitting in that field); other times, what I notice is just that a particular field is being irrigated that morning. In January, an entire orchard went in. I noticed the field because it was filled with low, regularly spaced mounds which one day sprouted white tubes, acres and acres of them, so uniformly set that it reminded me of Arlington National Cemetery. There were sticks in those tubes, and as the weeks have passed, those sticks have gotten taller and sprouted leaves. The two established orchards across the road from one another have gone from winter-bareness to pink blossoms to full leaf. The earth beneath the orchard on the east side of the road is clean, brown soil, not a weed or any other vegation to be seen. The orchard on the west, though, has grass and other green plants growing under the trees. Is one an organic orchard, I wonder? Or is it just the personal preference of the orchardists? (is that a word, orchardists?)

Then there are the mountains to the west, always different depending on whether the light on any given day is harsh or mellow, sharp and clear or hazy with windborne dust. I've seen some spectacularly beautiful skies on days when we've had rain showers; the rain stops falling but the clouds stay around, sailing through the vast expanse of Yolo County blue. Hawks, sometimes two or three a morning, each sitting atop his own utility pole. 'Good hunting!" I say to him, "mazel tov!"

When the wind is at its fiercent, blowing from the north, it's difficult to keep the car at 55 mph, it's so strong. And now that it's spring and planting season, no day goes by without encountering a piece of exotic farm equipment trundling up the road. I have no idea what their functions are.

City streets are dynamic with traffic, people, and the cacaphony they create; country roads are quieter but no less dynamic than their city cousins. Friday was my last day at that Woodland job; I shall miss the drive the most.

Rogers & Hammerstein

2009-05-03T22:09:00.000-07:00

Went to the Mondavi last night with Pica to see the UC Davis production of Rogers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma! I saw the movie years ago but had never seen it on stage, and this staging was a good one, with plenty of really excellent dancing and mostly fine singing voices, especially from the guy who played Curly. Watching good dancers always thrills me; I have to restrain myself from bouncing up and down in my seat. In my "yout'" I wanted to be a dancer, but alas, dancing lessons weren't in the financial picture, so despite my best efforts to teach myself ballet from library books and pretending to tap dance, that fantasy never materialized. Still, it's a thrill to watch. And any time I hear a Rogers and Hammerstein score, I remember my high-school friend Janie, who had all the LP recordings of all their musicals—Carousel, Flower Drum Song, South Pacific, and of course Oklahoma! I'd go over to her house and we'd sit in her room and play those records; I knew all the words then, and mostly still do.

It's here! It's here!

2009-04-13T19:28:00.001-07:00

The Perfect Chair has arrived! Not even a month since I ordered it, and it's here in my living room, looking as handsome as I'd hoped and sitting just as comfortably as I remembered. It was a bit of a tussle getting up my stairs, especially since Davis Ace sent only one delivery guy (I'd told them emphatically and repeatedly that they'd need two people to do the job), but between the valiant Ed and the determined me, we got it up here. Lucky Ed got double the tip he would have received if he'd brought a buddy, so I think he was happy.

And heeeeere it is!

Baseball is back

2009-04-07T21:38:00.000-07:00

The Earth has righted itself on its axis once again with the 2009 baseball season well and truly launched with a grand Opening Day game at AT&T Park and a win for the Giants, who scored 10 runs to the Brewers' 6. The weather forecast was dire—rain, thunderstorms, possibly even hail—and indeed, it rained on our way down to SF, and poured on our way home. But not a drop fell during the game. Rather, we were blessed with beautiful clouds mixed with blue skies and almost no wind, making our bleacher seats very pleasant. The fans were happy, the beer and cha-cha bowl were delicious, and a good time was had by all (except possibly by the Brewers).

The day in pictures . . .

I got a Matt Cain bobblehead in my Mystery Grab Bag!

These two know how to show their love.

The four fan-atics

These guys call themselves the Rat Pack and sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch. The one portraying Dino was truly bizarre.

Matty's got his game face on.

March Fools' Tour

2009-04-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

Back home from a wonderful, four-plus days of bicycling through Yolo, Solano, Napa, Sonoma and Marin counties, with a brief stay in the city and county of San Francisco last night and this morning before heading home via ferry and Amtrak. The riding was tough, particularly the first two days as we fought a vicious north wind—imagine climbing a steep and endless hill, mile after mile after mile, and you'll have a vague inkling—but by Day 3 we had a tailwind as we rode southwest from Cloverdale toward Bodega Bay, and the climbing along the coast from Bodega to SF was made a lot easier by that same wind. All told, I rode 268 miles; not bad, if I do say so, myself.

It was a terrific trip, with great accommodations, excellent food, congenial companions and outstanding scenery. The wildflowers were at their peak, and now that I have some distance between me and those horrific windy days, all I really recall is how beautiful the route was. Riding amesia: Like giving birth, once it's over, the pain is forgotten as you contemplate the incredibly wonderful outcome. Lifted my spirits immeasurably.

Lupine, Suisun Valley Road, Solano County

March 30, 2009

Behold, the perfect chair

2009-03-17T20:16:00.000-07:00

A year or so ago, I test-drove The Perfect Chair at Davis Lumber (aka Davis Ace). It fit me exactly, it glided and swiveled and reclined, and one of its best features was that the back was high enough to keep my head from whiplashing if—make that when—I fell asleep reading. It wasn't cheap, though, and I didn't have the money to buy it. But every time I went into the store, I sat in it again, even showed it to my sister when she was here last year; she concurred that it was, indeed, The Perfect Chair. I have wanted a good reading chair for years. And I vowed that if I ever could afford it, I would order it.

Today, thanks to a story I wrote for UC Davis Magazine, I went to Davis Lumber, plunked down $614.16, and purchased The Perfect Chair. Here's the fabric:
It'll be ready in 5 or 6 weeks, according to Kyle, the very helpful guy at Davis Lumber, who put up with my hovering over the order form to make sure he got it right. I will probably have to rearrange my living room once it arrives. I can't wait.

Kosher ham

2009-03-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

The Purim spiel was performed last night, and it was a hoot and a half. Purim commemorates the rescue of the Jews from being annihilated by Haman, the right-hand man (think Dick Cheney) of Ahasuerus, king of Persia, back, oh, a really long time ago. The entire story is recounted in the Book of Esther, which is read in its entirety from a scroll (a megillah) on the 14th day of the Jewish month of Adar. (And now you know where the expression "the whole megillah" comes from.) It's a very festive holiday; people dress up in costume or wear silly hats, and every time Haman's name is mentioned, it's greeted with boos and twirling "groggers," noisemakers that make a "rrrr-rrr-rrr" sound.

Until this year, the only Purim spiels I'd seen were performed by our rabbi with the aid of kids in the congregation—cute, and always corny (the rabbi being an inveterate punster) but mostly for the kids. Not this time. We now have a cantor, and he directed this year's production of The Megillah According to the Beatles—the story of Esther set to tunes from the Sgt. Pepper's album.

I wish I had photos to post here, but I didn't think to take my camera along, and I don't know if anybody in the cast got any pictures taken, either. Oh well; suffice it to say I made a lovely ’60-style serving girl and, following a quick change into black pants, an overlarge dark gray suit jacket, brown shirt, red tie, black hat and black gloves, I made a downright intimidating-looking Mafia hit man, especially if you saw that hammer in my hands. Then it was back to the serving-girl outfit.

I never used to think of myself as someone who enjoys performing, but I always surprise myself with how much I like getting up on stage and hamming it up, particularly in these sorts of "silly" things, where exaggeration is part of the whole idea and it's done before a sympathetic audience who can scarcely complain, particularly as they didn't pay any admission and didn't volunteer, themselves. How I'd be in a "real" play is a whole other question. But I did have a grand time last night.

Tush training

2009-03-06T16:56:00.000-08:00

Getting back into riding shape involves more than building up endurance in my legs and hands and arms and lungs. The part that's in contact with the saddle also gets soft with disuse and requires toughening up. Bag Balm* helps. A lot.

*Bag Balm: A thick, viscous ointment which comes in a square, green tin and whose primary ingredient is essentially Vaseline. It's manufactured by the Dairy Association Co., Inc. (since 1899!), in Lyndonville, Vt., to "help keep dairy cows from becoming chapped from the harsh Vermont environment." The instructions read, in part: "After each milking, apply thoroughly and allow coating to remain on surface." It's equally good as a tush protectant. Ask any long-distance cyclist.

Doin' the overcommitment tango

2009-03-04T22:12:00.000-08:00

I've got way too much to do for too many projects. I'd like to say I don't know how I manage to find myself in this predicament, but it happens too often for me to play the innocent. I don't think ahead, I don't say "no" often enough, and I fail to ask for details when someone says, "Oh, this won't take a lot of your time" or "This will be fun!" Uh-huh.

So I said yes to being in the Purim spiel. Fun, sure, but I should have considered I'd need to go to rehearsals as well as show up for the performance. And nobody mentioned the need for getting costume and props together until after I'd agreed to be a serving girl/assassin/woman in the crowd, and that I had to write my lines on 3x5 cards because it's likely I won't remember them so need something to prompt me besides an 8-1/2x11 script. The show is this Saturday evening, and though it is, indeed, fun (most of the time), I'll be glad when it's over, and I can get on with all the other stuff I've committed to, like getting all the Davis Double Century registration information up on the Web site so riders can actually sign up, working with the bike club's Web guy on the site's redesign, working three mornings a week, preparing my friend Lisa's manuscript for self-publishing, and oh yeah, getting on my bicycle and riding so I can make that 500-miles-in-March goal. This doesn't even take into account errands, laundry, getting my bike repaired, all the usual "gotta-get-those-things-done-soon" stuff.

I realize that for many people (you know who you are, Pica), this list will seem paltry. But the fact remains that I really don't like having so many things to do. Or, rather, I do like having lots of things to do, but I don't want any of them to be tied to specific times, dates and places. Having something on the calendar that requires my presence makes me nervous and looking for a way to get out of it. Most of the time, though, I can't bow out gracefully, so I go reluctantly, and then have a perfectly fine time once I'm there. So it's not the thing, itself, that I dislike, just that it's scheduled. Ad hoc is my friend.

Après moi, le déluge

2009-03-03T15:00:00.000-08:00

I was awake and up at 5 a.m., and by 7, it wasn't raining. So, since I'm behind on my daily quota of miles (a paltry total of 3 since March 1), I decided to head out for a quick 15 or so on the Tour de Trash. Wind from the south was muscular, and the sky had plenty of clouds, but nothing dire-looking, so riding north up to Rd. 29 was a literal breeze. A bit more strenuous once I turned east on the dump road, but the sun was shining through the clouds ahead of me, and I stopped several times to watch a couple of raptors hanging around the slough (a kite, I think, and what I hoped was an osprey but was probably just a redtail). Discussed the news of the day with a couple of young bovines . . .

and goggled at the swarm of gulls roiling above the landfill, giving it the appearance of an enormous disturbed anthill.

Then I looked in my rearview mirror . . .

OMG! Quick! Ride! Ride fast! You're still 7 miles from home!

I almost made it. If I lived east of the dump instead of west, I might have outrun it, but as I had to ride into that dark maw, I started getting wet about 2 miles from home. Luckily, the real downpour didn't start until I was safely in the house. (I tried to get a picture of that, too, but it's hard to take a photo of rain.) (It's pouring again—hard— as I write this. 9 hours later.) So I got my 14 miles, getting only a little wet, and even survived being chased by a couple of dogs—naturally, I was riding into the teeth of the wind at that point and wasn't able to outrun the black one, who nipped my right shoe befoe heading back to his lair. I really do not like dogs.

Oh, and somewhere out there on the road, my cyclometer turned over 7,000 miles. I was so focused on getting home, I didn't even notice and so missed the fist-pumping opportunity.

It is dumping out there. Mr. Noah, call your office . . .

Marching on

2009-03-01T15:47:00.000-08:00

March means March Madness—not the NCAA basketball kind, the bicycling kind, in which Davis Bike Club members pledge to ride a whole lot of miles in one month, the total miles ridden translating into a penny per mile to purchase helmets for kids whose families don't have the money to buy them themselves. This year, I expect there will be more kids needing them.

In any event, I've committed to ride 500 miles this March. Seeing as how I've been on my road bike exactly four times since the beginning of 2009, racking up a whopping 83 miles in toto, I will be challenged to make it. As incentive, I've signed up (and paid for. so I can't back out) a four-day tour beginning Sunday, the 29th. There will be hills, so I'll have to train. Hope the rain stops pretty soon, otherwise I could be in the same fix these guys were in a couple of weeks ago . . .

Amgen Tour of California riders crossing Stevenson's Bridge in the rain
Feb. 15, 2009

Rude awakening

2009-01-21T22:07:00.000-08:00

The first thought that entered my head when I woke up on this Day 2 of Barack Obama's presidency was, what if he can't do it? What if, despite his best and sincerest efforts, he is too young, too inexperienced, the problems—and the world—too big and complex? This, of course, is what I would be feeling were I were the one who had found herself elected President of these United States, stepping into the Oval Office and thinking, oh my God, what the hell am I doing here? (Come to think of it, this is similar to what I was feeling the day after I got married—the wedding was fun and kind of a fairy tale-come-true thing, but it didn't take long for the finality of the whole business to sink in in a decidedly uneasy way.)

I didn't invite that thought into my head this morning, but it was there, and it hung around for a bit after I first got up and got the coffee started. Then I listened to NPR and heard that the President had already begun working on the country's business, getting right to it in his quiet, smart way, and I knew he, and we, were going to be OK. Yes, we will.

N.B.: Alison gently reminded me that Aretha Franklin sang "America" (aka, "My Country 'Tis of Thee") at the Inauguration, not, as I said in yesterday's post, the National Anthem. I stand corrected, and plead special leniency, as I think "America" would make a fine replacement for our current anthem, almost as good as my first choice, "America the Beautiful."

What a day!

2009-01-20T19:44:00.000-08:00

And now, we have a new President! Barack Hussein Obama was inaugurated this morning before about 2 million joyous Americans who filled the D.C. Mall, and 11 more who filled my living room, sitting on the couch, on dining chairs and folding chairs, eating lox and bagels, English muffins, and toaster waffles, watching MSNBC and hanging on to every word of the ceremony.

When the Oath of Office had been administered (John Roberts managing to scramble it) and nevertheless gracefully taken, we raised our glasses of Champagne in a rousing toast to our new President. Some of us cried buckets as Aretha Franklin began to sing our National Anthem. We sang along with her! We cheered! We talked! We laughed! We said a few less-than-complimentary words about the 43rd President as he—at last!—left the building, decided that seeing his Vice President being wheeled away in a wheelchair couldn't have been better scripted, and were grateful beyond words to see the back of them.

And once again, I was struck by the elegance of our system of government, by the wisdom of the Framers, who crafted a Constitution that allows such an orderly transfer of power from one leader to the next. No coup, no disruption, no chaos. We have a new Chief of State, a new Commander-in-Chief, we changed from a Republican to a Democratic President, and yet after all that, I could leave my house to walk downtown, and everything was peaceful and orderly, people riding their bicycles, driving their cars, shopping, eating, going about their business as usual. I am so lucky, and so grateful, to be an American. What a country . . . and what a wonderful new President we have been blessed to elect. Mazel tov, Barack!

The E Street Inaugural Ball

(Standing) Phil, Joseph, Milt, Allan
(Seated) Dorothy, Gishi, Lorna, Stacy, Alison, Robin

Inauguration eve

2009-01-19T23:43:00.000-08:00

Nine more hours, and we'll have a new President. I'm filled with anticipation, delight, excitement, gratitude, joy, thanksgiving . . . and a small frisson of apprehension. My prayer tonight, as it's been every night since Election Night: Baruch haShem, please keep him, and us, safe. And let tomorrow bring a new day of hope.

I am not making this up

2009-01-13T13:44:00.000-08:00

According to a story in yesterday's New York Times, President Bush's stand-in at Sunday's Inauguration rehearsal was Army Sgt. Bruce Cobbeldick. This cannot be mere happenstance.

Julie

2009-01-11T17:58:00.000-08:00

The headline in today's Davis Enterprise read, "Farewell, Julie," over a 1999 photo of six mayors of Davis, Julie Partansky in the foreground. "Oh," I thought, "Julie's leaving Davis; that's a surprise." Then I read the story's subhead: "Former Mayor Partansky, a seminal figure in Davis politics, dies at 61." Of stage 4 lung cancer, diagnosed just five weeks ago.

Fey, funny, talented, dedicated Julie. For me, she occupied that more than a casual acquaintance, less than a friend place, our circles overlapping owing mostly to our mutual connections to others: Davis' progressive, lefty politics, or sometimes at the synagogue. I didn't see her often, but when we'd encounter one another at the Co-op, or downtown someplace, or at the Farmers Market, we'd always say hello and chat for just a brief moment. She had the sweetest smile.

Julie was ridiculed, maligned, dismissed by many in our town, but her seemingly whimsical or impractical ideas have been shown to make perfect sense: a dark-sky ordinance to keep light pollution from blotting out the stars; riding our bicycles instead of driving. Her first foray into the public eye came because she protested the city's plan to pave the alleyways that bisect several blocks here in my Old North Davis neighborhood. "We like our alleys," Julie said. "We have flowers planted there, and vegetables. Leave them alone." She won that battle, keeping the alley behind my house from becoming a shortcut speedway for cars. It was the alleys that launched her campaign for City Council.

She didn't have pots of money, she didn't have influential connections, she wasn't a career politician, using her city council seat as a launching pad to bigger and better things. She just loved this town, cared about its future, could see where rampant growth would take it, and in her own quiet, determined way, she kept the council, and us, focused on what mattered. I never heard her be mean. She just knew what was right.

So long, Julie; you left us way too soon.

Changing the decor

2009-01-09T17:29:00.000-08:00

The West Sacramento office of Social Security has two photos on the wall, one on either side of the agency logo. The one to the left is of George W. Bush, the other is of Dick Cheney. Both of them look impossibly, improbably young, W. the more so, who looks like the frat boy he was (in some ways, still is; Cheney not so, but the trademark smirk is there, front and center.

I'd already noticed in recent days, seeing Bush on TV, how much he's aged in the past eight years; not just looking older but tireder, worn out. And seeing him and Barack standing next to one another in the Oval Office, along with the three ex-presidents, revealed again, in high relief, Obama's youthful vigor compared to the rest. But it makes me wonder . . . what will he look like when four years have gone by . . . or eight?

Regardless, it'll sure be nice to have some new photos up on the walls of federal offices. Ten more days . . .

Christmas, and a birthday

2008-12-30T21:41:00.000-08:00

My son and his family being off to Santa Fe for the holiday to celebrate Fred and Jen's 10th anniversary, I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my friend Dorothy in Santa Cruz, at the home of Dorothy's ex-husband's third wife, Greta (and no, I'm not going to elaborate on this), along with Greta's daughter, Alison, Dorothy's son and d-in-law and granddaughters, and a couple of other folks related distantly and not-so. And although I had no family there, myself, I couldn't have felt more at home nor had a nicer time. Weather was cold and unsettled, shifting from rain to bright sun and back again, but inside the house it was warm and cozy, with lots of good food and conversation. Christmas Eve dinner was salmon; Christmas Day, we had a pork tenderloin. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring along my camera on Christmas Eve, but here's Christmas . . .

Pork tenderloin, with fennel and fuyu persimmons

The really beautiful dinner table

Just before we sat down to dinner, we lit the menorah for the fifth night of Hanukkah . . .

Today, December 30, would have been my son John's 45th birthday. No way to know what he would have been like had he lived, but I'm betting by now his hair would be gray, just like his father's, grandfather's and uncle's was at that age. Happy birthday, son; you're always in my heart.

Stormy Sunday

2008-12-14T22:16:00.000-08:00

First real winter weather came in this morning; not a hard rain, but kept up all day, and cold, much colder than it's been. A good day to stay inside, which is exactly what I did, bundled up in two sweaters, tights and wooly sox to stay warm while I read the paper. All day long. It was a treat I don't usually allow myself, and it felt just fine.

I did venture out this evening, though, to a gathering instigated by the Obama campaign folks and organized by a woman here in Davis. About 20 or so of us met at her home in North Davis to discuss how we want to help the President-Elect both now and after January 20. After offering information on who we might know in national and/or local politics and in media (the idea being to compile a source list of influential contacts that may be helpful in moving Obama's agenda forward), we listed the issues we think deserve attention by the new administration. It was a long list, headed by the Iraq war and continuing on through health care, closing Guantanamo, education, the economy, food policy, and national service. There were more, and though all are important, it seemed pretty clear to us that if we can stop spending $10 billion a month in Iraq and get the economic recovery program jump-started, there might just possibly be some money for the rest of the stuff to happen.

It was a smart, involved group; many of them had been quite active in the campaign and a number of them are folks who have been rubbing elbows with local pols for a long time. Despite having lived in Davis for more than 30 years and being active in a couple of city council and ballot issue campaigns, I've never been among the politcos here in town. It's never interested me much to be that "connected." But it's good that some people are, I guess. Anyway, this particular meeting this evening was one of 4,000 taking place all around the country this weekend, a start by Obama to fulfill his commitment to involve us, the citizens, in working for change. It's been a long time since a president asked us to do anything other than shop, so this is both an opportunity and a challenge. Obama is right in saying he can't do it alone. If it's change I want, I need to help make it happen.

Moonshine

2008-12-10T17:47:00.000-08:00

After what has felt like weeks and weeks of foggy and overcast days, with only moments of soon-disappearing sunshine, today began clear and stayed clear. All day long. Bright blue sky. Crisp air. And topping it off, the celestial cherry on the cake, an almost-full, almost-Winter Solstice moonrise.

Going green in flames

2008-12-03T06:23:00.000-08:00

Coming home from Woodland on Hwy 113 yesterday afternoon, a pale green Prius approached me from behind. "Nice color," I thought, putting the mottled-looking hood down to my less-than-clean rear window. Then the Prius passed me and I saw the real reason for the odd-looking paint. Flames, gold ones, painted on the hood and front fenders.

Prius as hot stock car—Detroit, are you listening?

Bias

2008-12-01T14:04:00.000-08:00

My cousin sent me a good piece from the Los Angeles Times on confirmation bias, which you can read here. I've been aware of confirmation bias in myself (one of the perils of living in Davis, where "everybody" is a Democrat). And I've made vows to myself to read opposing (i.e., Republican) opinion and viewpoints, but so far, the only opposition voice I can stomach is David Brooks. Will it be different once He Who Regrettably Is Still President is finally gone and Obama is in the White House? And if so, will it be because my President is a pragmatist who wants diverse opinion or because at last MY guy is in charge and I can be charitable toward those who are no longer running things?

Thanksgiving weekend recap

2008-11-30T18:37:00.000-08:00

As promised, photos and notes from Thanksgiving Day, plus the rest of the weekend . . .

The pre-dinner "hike" (a walk, really):
Despite the cloudy, overcast day, lots of other people besides Susan and me thought this was a good idea, but it wasn't anywhere near as crowded as Disneyland, and everyone seemed to be having a lovely day—grandparents, parents, kids, dogs, boyfriends and girlfriends—and though the vistas were limited, it was still a beautiful walk, especially the eucalyptus, with their peeling bark . . .
I turned around at the 2-mile marker, knowing I would have done 4 miles by the time I got back to the car and happy to have made it that distance despite the creaky hip and only a bit of limping . . .
Susan is a much stronger/faster hiker than I, so when I turned around she sprinted on up the trail a bit farther to check out whether the Nike missile site was still there (the missile site being the reason for this paved "trail" (a road, really). She didn't find it, but only because she'd miscalculated our location and the thing was much farther on. Here's Susan; it's astonishing how accomplished she is despite having no hands . . . ;-)

So, back to the car and on to Marilyn's, who is Susan's stepmother. Her live-in helper, CeeCee, and CeeCee's neice, Olla, were joining us for dinner, but first we had wine and a delicious crab mold made by Marilyn. Alas, no photo of the crab mold and its accompanying Ritz crackers, but here are CeeCee, Susan and Olla . . .

and Susan and Marilyn . . .
Time to go to dinner, which, as has become tradition, was at Hs Lordship's, a restaurant on the Berkeley marina.
(N.B.: This is pronounced "His Lordship's" even though there is no "i" in the "Hs"; note also the absence of an apostrophe in "Lordship's." I have no idea what these people were thinking.)

This is a buffet-style place, with just about every style of cuisine you might fancy: freshly made sushi, omelettes, cracked crab, peel-and-eat shrimp (my personal favorite), innumerable salads, plus the traditional roast turkey, roast beef and ham and the not-so-traditional catfish and shrimp in a tomato-y sauce (yummy), and of course mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, mixed steam veg, stuffing, gravy . . . and then there's dessert, again ranging from the traditional pie, cake, bread pudding, flan, to the odd (individually packaged Rice Krispy Treats—a perennial kid favorite). But the food's decent, and there's certainly plenty of it. We had a table next to a window facing out across the bay toward the City, where we could watch the light change on the water. The clouds didn't obscure any of the views, and it was a lovely evening.

Looking west, Golden Gate Bridge across the bay

San Francisco, Thanksgiving evening

As for the rest of the weekend, did a couple of bike rides, walked in the Arboretum, and saw the latest James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, which was predictable, but who cares—it was fun, and you always know that Bond will come out OK in the end. I think I like Daniel Craig's Bond best of all the ones who've played the role; he's got a less-than-perfect face, which I find interesting. Two surprises from this one, first, none of the usual-issue "gadgets" that ordinarily are in evidence, and (best for me) some of it filmed in Siena, in the piazza. A treat to see it—it was one of my favorite cities when we did the bike tour in 2006. Ciao!

Thanks, giving of

2008-11-27T22:24:00.000-08:00

A good Thanksgiving Day, with much to be thankful for. Pictures and tales of my day will appear tomorrow, as I'm too sleepy to write or fiddle with pix tonight. So, taking the easy way out, I give you Gail Collins, in today's New York Times. Count your blessings, as we have many.

A day in the hills

2008-11-13T23:35:00.000-08:00

Dorothy and I drove to Apple Hill this past Tuesday, Veterans' Day. In years past, she and a few othr friends who had that day off did an annual bike ride in those hills. Time has taken some of the friends, and Dorothy doesn't ride much these days, so we drive up, wander through the scenery, eat apple crisp and finally buy some apples before heading back down the hill.

We stayed off the main road for quite a while, so there was little traffic, and we could just putt-putt along and look at the lovely trees.

The day was overcast, with once or twice a hint that it might rain (though it never did). But it was warm, and the leaves were turning yellow and gold, the apple crisp (a huge serving) was delicious, and I found some Braeburn apples at a bargain price.

Ended the day with split pea soup, Waldorf salad and corn muffins at Dorothy's, with apple pie for dessert.

Confession

2008-11-07T17:43:00.000-08:00

It's happened. I'm glued to the television. From being a person who watched TV rarely (a baseball game, maybe, if it happend to be on broadcast TV, and sometimes the Nightly News on PBS), I'm now an MSNBC groupie—Keith Olberman, Chris Matthews, Rachel Maddow—plus a daily dose of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. And Jim Lehrer is still at the top of the list.

I got cable to watch baseball and in this election year I figured it would be fun to have some of the all-news, all-the-time channels. Well, baseball is over, but the election and its aftermath are keeping me tuned in, turned on, and dropped onto the couch. I expect it won't let up much until after January 20. Good thing it's getting to be less-favorable cycling weather.

Yes we can

2008-11-04T23:36:00.000-08:00

Oh, yes . . . we can!

President-elect Barack Obama
Vice President-elect Joe Biden
November 4, 2008

The cookie vote

2008-11-03T22:25:00.000-08:00

This e-mail came this morning from my cousin Joe, a self-described "born again Democrat" who lives in Torrance, in Southern California. On this eve of what is, beyond question and for so many, many reasons, the most significant election of my life, it's a good note on which to head into tomorrow.

"The good old Torrance Bakery has been taking a cookie poll (instead of a straw poll, a much more accurate poll because people prefer cookies to straw 10 to 1) and at last count Senator Obama is leading Senator McCain 5732 to 5213. Very encouraging for Senator Obama given that Torrance tends to Republican. I know that the Obama/Biden camp is following this poll very closely."

Live your values. Love your country. Vote.

D-Day minus one

2008-11-03T06:52:00.000-08:00

Went up to Dem HQ yesterday morning around 11, figuring I'd spend an hour or two phoning voters, then go do some grocery shopping, come home, make some soup, finish reading the Sunday papers, maybe even get some real work done on transcribing those interview tapes that are sitting there. Some seven hours later, I finally got home. No groceries bought, no soup made, no tapes transcribed, but a whole lot of calls made to voters in Kenosha, Wisconsin, and pages and pages of what we callers learned entered into the Wisconsin Democratic Party's voter info database.

The office was jammed with volunteers, people at phones in various nooks and crannies, all with their lists, all asking, "Have you voted yet? Are you going to vote? May I ask if you're supporting Sen. Obama? Do you know where your polling place is? Do you need a ride to the polls?" When I went outside to take a break, I discovered there were callers out there, too, sitting on the curb, or on a folding chair, cell phone in one hand, the list in the other.

Most of the numbers called don't reach a live person, but we reach some. I talked to about 10 people, and was lucky—they were all voting for Barack, and quite a few said they, themselves, were volunteers for the campaign, along with their husbands, kids, maybe even their pets.

I've mentioned this before, I think, but for me, the best thing about doing this calling and volunteering is the connection I feel with all those other people, both here where I live and all across the country, who care as much as I do about our country, feel dismay at how terribly we've been governed these past eight years, and who are working so hard, putting in so many hours, to change our direction. I've talked to people in North Carolina, in Florida, in Colorado, in Michigan, in Washington, in Wisconsin, and worked alongside old friends (and now some new ones) here in Davis. There is strength—and reassurance—in numbers. One more day.

Rainy Saturday

2008-11-01T21:26:00.000-07:00

It's rained most of the day and into the evening, at times coming down hard for several minutes at a time. It was a good day to do nothing at all, and that's pretty much what I did. Nothing "productive," that is, unless you count as productive the thoroughly enjoyable two-plus hour chinwag Susan, Alison and I had this morning at Crepeville, sitting at a back table eating scrambled eggs, drinking tea and coffee, and talking politics. We never seem to run out of fodder on that topic, each of us immersed, saturated, obsessed, and anxious.

For an hour or so this evening, I watched MSNBC's Chris Matthews and Keith Olberman's recapitulations of this long, long, campaign season and once again found myself becoming emotional watching clips of Barack Obama's steady progress toward Nov. 4. There are so many of us who want this man as our president so deeply, so desperately. I've already cast my ballot, so now I wait, along with everyone else, for Tuesday.

Possessed

2008-10-31T21:55:00.000-07:00

Election Day is now just four days away. And not a moment too soon. Unless, of course, it is too soon, and Barack Obama needs still more time to convince the majority of the American people that he's their best, really their only, hope to start turning this oil-tanker ship of state in another direction. There isn't any more time left, though; and if people haven't gotten the message, his message, by now, I don't think they will. I'm trying to remain positive and hopeful, trying not to worry, not to think what it would mean if he loses. But it's almost impossible. No matter what the polls say, or the talking TV heads, or the New York Times, the Washington Post, hell, the Davis Enterprise—I've been around the political campaign/election day block a few times, myself (most of us over the age of 40 have been similarly), and I know all too well that Charlie Brown-Lucy-and-the-football syndrome—every time, Lucy convinces Charlie Brown that this time, she'll keep the football right where he can kick it, and every time, just as he swings his foot forward, she snatches it away and he falls flat. So, I worry, read the paper, listen to NPR, worry, talk to my friends, fret, watch Jon Stewart, worry some more.

It's the voting that will determine the outcome, of course. All of our votes, whether cast by mail, or in an early-voting polling place, or on Tuesday. Barack Obama has done all he can, and he'll continue to campaign right up until the last possible minute. But, come Tuesday, when he enters the voting booth and marks his ballot, he, like all the rest of us, gets one vote. Just one. It gets counted along with all the rest of the one votes, and, God willing, there will be enough ballots marked with "Obama/Biden" to push him over the top. But, until that's a certainty, I'll worry.

********

Postscript: Tony Hillerman died this past Sunday. His mystery novels introduced me to the Navajo people and their culture; his Navajo Tribal Police officers, Lt. Joe Leaphorn and Sgt. Jim Chee, were as interesting as the plots of the stories, themselves, and they grew as people with each succeeding title. I don't recall exactly when I read my first Hillerman, but it must have been in the late 1980s, and by the time my friend Robin and I took our epic three-week car camping trip to the Four Corners region in fall 1991, I was eager to see the territory and its people that Hillerman's stories had described. When, sitting in a little cafe in Tuba City, eating a Navajo taco, a Navajo Tribal Police vehicle pulled up outside and two uniformed officers came in, I was beside myself with glee. So thank you, Tony Hillerman; I'll miss you.

Winter ball

2008-10-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

The fifth game of the World Series is currently under way in Philadelphia. It's 40 degrees and dropping, the wind is blowing about 20 mph, and oh yes, it's now started to rain.

This is the World Series, people. It's the culmination of 160 regular-season games played IN THE SUMMERTIME. Baseball is a summer sport. That's "summer," as in warm days and nights (OK not necessarily in San Francisco, but the ballpark is so lovely who cares if it's a bit chilly?). Pitchers should not be required to pitch in pouring rain. Batters should not have to try to hit that slider when it's wet. And the infielders and outfielders shouldn't be playing in all that water. And the fans in the stands are heroic; at least the players are reaping monetary reward for their slogging, whereas the fans have paid dearly for the privilege of getting wetter and wetter. And think of the umpires, and the base coaches! And the hotdog vendors in the stands! Is anybody having any fun?

I don't know what's to be done about this dopey situation, but somebody should figure something out. Baseball played in the waning days of October just doesn't make for good baseball. Harrumph.

Street scene

2008-10-24T21:48:00.000-07:00

It hasn't been cold enough to make it feel like fall is really here (and I'm hoping the warm days last at least through tomorrow, when I'm doing a 60-mile bike ride). Nevertheless, the trees in my neighborhood are beginning to turn color—not dramatically yet, and they certainly never do anything resembling the blaze of glory back East, or even in Boise, but still, they're changing. I took a few pictures today around noon; you can see for yourself . . .

This is the hackberry in front of the house . . .

And this is the little Japanese maple (at least I think that's what it is) in the front yard . . .

Out on the deck, in the back of the house, you can see the crape myrtle through the railing . . .

And here's the lovely wind chime gong Fred and Jen gave me for Christmas a few years ago . . .

Warm days, blue skies, clear nights. Is this Indian summer?

Degrees of separation

2008-10-23T21:40:00.000-07:00

Just back from the annual UC Davis Quarter Century Club dinner, which was, as usual, a lovely and fun event. Lots of old friends to reconnect with, including Teri Bachman, for many years my editor and mentor at UC Davis Magazine and a new initiate this year to the Quarter Century Club; my former boss, Jan Conroy; and the rest of the new 25- (and 50!) year initiates.

After dinner (and many glasses of quite fine wine), I found myself in conversation with Warren Roberts, the superintendent of the UC Davis Arboretum. I've known Warren for years, know something of his family's history in this part of the world (I think they arrived about the same time Father Serra did), and we've had some lighthearted exchanges now and again. But tonight I discovered that he and I lived in Burlingame in the '50s, both attended Burlingame High School, and both were in the band. Prof. Brose was the band director; Warren played the French horn; I was a second (or possibly third) clarinet. We managed to summon up the BHS alma mater ("On our city's western foothills, reared against the sky . . .") (This is a highly fanciful concept, by the way; while the city, itself, does nudge against the western hills, the high school itself is conspicuously planted in the flats, not that far from San Francisco Bay), and recalled the not-so-lovely band uniforms we wore to the football games.

My family moved away from Burlingame following my freshman year at BHS, so my memories of that place end when I was 14. Funny now to realize that Warren, this grown up, mature, funny, intelligent, accomplished man is someone whom I once sat near in third-period (or was it first-period?) band. I'm tempted to say I wish I'd known him then, but maybe not; maybe it's more fun (and more magical) to learn our shared history after an evening of celebrating our communal history.

Cheap chicken

2008-10-22T22:07:00.000-07:00

I'm working on being thrifty, partly because of the general economic malaise but mostly out of sheer necessity (my only freelance project is a story for the magazine, which won't produce any $$ until January, and then only if I manage to get it written and submitted). So Monday for dinner I roasted a 4-lb chicken, along with some potatoes and carrots and turnips. I must say, it was delicious, and I've been eating the leftovers in various ways—just reheated, in a sandwich for lunch, and tonight I made rice and bean burritos with a bit of chicken added in. I was surprised to realize that I'd never roasted a chicken before. Turkey, yes, but not chicken. I intend to see just how many meals I can get out of it; I even froze the bones and will see if they'll manage to work into soup at some point. Should have followed Susan's example and taken a picture of it to post here, but at the time I didn't even think of it. But it looked very presentable.

Boise travelogue

2008-10-16T10:38:00.000-07:00

Arrived in Boise yesterday afternoon to be here for my Aunt Reba's memorial service, which is this afternoon at 4. Dinner at my cousin Susan's, with just about all of the rest of her side of the family: Susan's husband, Bill; her brother, Fred (the Texas prison warden, now retired) and his wife, Vicky; Susan and Bill's kids (Josh, Stacy, and Andrew) and Stacy's kids (Noah, Nicholas, and brand-new baby Alexis); the only ones not present was Stacy's husband, Fred (yep, another Fred), who was at school, and Josh's wife, Rachel, who was home vacuuming, mostly, I think, because I am staying with them while I'm here. Hope to have a family photo to post before I leave.

I just went out for a walk in Josh and Rachel's neighborhood. It's cold today, certainly colder than it's been in Davis (though not as cold as it was here a week or so ago, when it snowed, and it'll get a lot colder before the winter's over). I saw one cyclist (mountain bike), one mailman, four in-motion vehicles, and no pedestrians (the mailman was in his mail truck). Also, no campaign signs of any kind or persuasion. Yesterday, though, driving to Susan's from the airport, I saw lots. Most were for candidates I've never heard of (there must be several other offices in contention here in Idaho and Boise) but what I was on the lookout for were signs for presidential candidates. Being as it's Idaho, I expected a lot for McCain, and I did see one. And two for Obama. Yes! Josh says while he expects McCain will carry the state, he reckons Obama will make a much stronger showing than a Democrat would have done in earlier elections. Stay tuned.

P.S. As promised, here are at least some of the Boise clan:

Josh, Susan, Bill, Vicky and Fred, suited up and ready for the Boise State-Hawaii game. (Boise won.)

Look! Up in the sky!

2008-10-12T09:56:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the Daily Overlook, I discovered Amazing Space, produced by the Space Telescope Science Institute's Office of Public Outreach. The site has lots of info that's been gathered by the Hubble telescope (which, in August, completed its 100,000th orbit around the Earth), and looks to be targeted to school-age kids. The best bit is called Tonight's Sky, a Flash movie highlighting the October night sky. What's fun about October is the Great Square of Pegasus, which Amazing Space has turned into a baseball diamond, befitting this month of Major League playoffs and the World Series. There are the bases, the pitcher and the catcher, even a manager arguing with an umpire. Check it out.

And here's to my sweet son John, who loved all sports, but especially baseball. I miss you every day, but especially in October. May your memory be a blessing, and may your beloved Baltimore Orioles have a winning season in '09.

John Folsom
Dec. 30, 1963—Oct. 12, 1986

The cookie has crumbled

2008-10-10T13:54:00.000-07:00

Mother's Cookies has declared bankruptcy and closed down. I don't follow the cookie industry, and it's been years since I ate one of Mother's pink-and-white circus animals (or any of Mom's other varieties), but I don't think I'll ever purge my brain of the advertising jingle they used years ago:

Mother's
are like no others;
They're the cookies
in the
passionate purple package!
Mammy!

(I could be wrong about that final "Mammy!" being part of the original, but that's what we always added when we sang it.)

R.I.P.
Mom
1914-2008

A Yom Kippur prayer for my country

2008-10-09T21:34:00.000-07:00

If we are worth saving,

Give us strength.

If we are worth saving,

Give us patience.

If we are worth saving,

Give us determination.

If we are worth saving,

Give us humility.

If we are worth saving,

Give us insight.

If we are worth saving,

Give us imagination.

If we are worth saving,

Give us fortitude.

If we are worth saving,

Give us creativity.

If we are worth saving,

Give us ingenuity.

If we are worth saving,

Give us tolerance.

If we are worth saving,

Give us cooperation.

If we are worth saving,

Give us leadership.
If we are worth saving,
Give us resolve.

If we are worth saving,

Give us hope.

Amen.

Blast from the past

2008-10-07T16:40:00.000-07:00

Lloyd Thaxton

1927-2008

I hadn't thought about Lloyd Thaxton in years—make that decades—then, in today's L.A. Times, I read his obituary. Living in the L.A. area in the '60s, I was a modest fan of Thaxton's "Dance Party," by modest I mean that I watched occasionally and enjoyed it when I did. He was wacky in a smart way, exaggerating the characters he dreamed up in a genuinely funny, yet genuinely decent way. The video clip that's included with the obituary illustrates that far better than I can . . .

What surprised me most was discovering that rather than fading into obscurity after "Dance Party" ended, Thaxton went on to do lots of other creative stuff, including co-producing "Fight Back!" on (I think) CBS. Even more surprising was learning he had a blog. Some nice stuff there, too. I often feel a tinge of regret when I learn of the death of someone who played a role in my early life, even such a minor role as the one played by "Dance Party"; regret that I'd just pretty much forgotten all about that person. In the case of Lloyd Thaxton, it's even stronger; I think he would have been someone worth keeping in mind.

Lloyd Thaxton, singing in the rain

All the news that fits, we print

2008-10-07T08:28:00.000-07:00

Succumbing to its "half-off for 26 weeks (and four more weeks if paid by credit card!)", I've reupped my subscription to the New York Times. There's so much good stuff in it every day, and I just don't want to read it off my computer screen. Headlines, yes; but when it comes to an opinion piece, or an in-depth news analysis, or almost anything in the Sunday magazine section, I want paper, dammit!

So now I get three newspapers, the Times, the Bee, and the Enterprise. The Enterprise is a necessity for anyone living in Davis (once, in a fit of outrage at Jon Li's vitriolic screeds, I cancelled my subscription, then felt like a self-imposed exile from the community until some months later I quietly resubscribed; gotta read the letters to the editor and the wedding news). I just paid for eight more weeks of the Bee, but I'm less and less inclined to continue it (this morning's front-page photo again featured a grieving survivor of some tragedy, this time the bus crash up near Williams; I'm thoroughly weary of the pandering to maudlin sympathy that seems to be the Bee's guiding editorial policy these past few months. But I think local newspapers are vital, so I hate to bring another nail to the coffin party by cancelling).

I probably won't be able to keep up with the Times, but even if I don't read all of it every day, I feel better having it here in the house, my newsprint security blanket in this chaotic period. But I may have to get a bigger recycling bin.

But what about menudo?

2008-10-04T22:44:00.000-07:00

Quote of the day: "All they're selling is food. Carne asada is not a crime."

(Phil Greenwald, attorney for Los Angeles taco truck vendors who successfully fought a law requiring the trucks to move every hour or face $1,000 fines and possible jail time. The law was passed last spring after restaurateurs complained that taco trucks parking on the streets near their businesses were drawing away customers. A judge threw out the law in August.)

Winky-Dink and us

2008-10-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

I've been harboring a suspicion this past week or so, and now that I've seen Sarah Palin's performance in the Vice-Presidential debate, those suspicions have been confirmed: There is no Sarah Palin; Tina Fey is Sarah Palin. This ruse will be revealed two days before election day and will be judged to be such a hoot that the McCain-Palin/Fey ticket will win the White House by a landslide.

If you think this idea is completely wacko, take a look:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Y7E235ujJ4

Murder of crows

2008-09-25T19:16:00.000-07:00

The clouds this evening made for a nice sunset, so I stepped out on my deck to watch. The color faded quickly, but I stayed out anyway, watching the crows come home from work. There must be as many of them during the other seasons, but they always seem more numerous as fall draws near. My house is surrounded by big trees, and watching the crows cruise in, wheel around and find a spot in one of them is a sight I never tire of. They jostle each other, caw raucously, always reminding me of people meeting up after work at the local pub. They just keep coming and coming; watching over the roof my house, it seems as though there's a crow-generating machine just to the west, cranking them out and sending them sailing over my rooftop. If I ever moved away from Davis, I'd miss a lot of things, but I think I'd miss the crows the most.

Aaarrrgh!

2008-09-24T07:23:00.000-07:00

Lost my wallet yesterday. Getting ready to leave the house on yet another errand, couldn't find it. Go downstairs, look in car. No wallet. Call Neil, where I'd been just 30 minutes before. "Is my wallet at your house, by any chance?" Neil looks around in all the places I'd been. "No, it's not here." First intimation that this will not have a happy ending. Next, I call Nugget, where I'd stopped before going to Neil's, to get flowers and an almond croissant for Lisa (it was her birthday). "Did anyone turn in a wallet? It's dark gray, Eagle Creek or some such brand . . ." "No, I'm sorry; if you'll give me your phone number, I'll call you if it does show up." Second intimation . . . Hoping against hope (and even reason), I get back in the car and drive up to Nugget to look in the parking lot, on the off chance (Hah!) the wallet got kicked under something and no one (Hah! Hah!) had seen it. Guess how that went . . .

OK, so now I know I'm in for it, "it" being cancelling my debit/check card, trying to remember what, exactly, was in my wallet, what else do I need to cancel and/or replace (driver's license, library card, UCD retiree ID card, Triple A card, and on and on). Go to bank, cancel debit/check card and order a new one. (Golden 1 staff person: "Do you have your ID with you?" Me: "Um, I lost my wallet. That's why I'm here, remember?")

Back home, call Triple A, order a replacement card. Call my gasoline credit card company to cancel the card in my wallet and order a replacement. (Automated system: "Please enter the number embossed on the card." Me: "Hello?! I don't HAVE the card, you @%?!*&! idiot!" I do finally encounter a human . . .)

Now the real chore: I pay many of my recurring expenses by means of—guess what—my debit card, things like my public radio/TV pledge, my Sierra Club and other organization dues, my monthly contribution to the Obama campaign, my copper.net account . . . I now have to contact each of them and give them my new debit card number. It's a lengthy list. And I can't start calling until I receive the new card, because I don't know the new expiration date. But I begin making the list and finding phone numbers.

About three hours later, the phone rings. It's Neil: "Found it!" Me: "Oh, no! I mean, oh, good!" Neil: "I suppose you've already cancelled your cards." Me: "Uh-huh. Guess I'll still be making all those phone calls . . ."

Oh, well; at least I have the wallet back, and my library and Co-op and retiree ID cards, AND my driver's license, not to mention my "frequent eater" card from Mariachi and "frequent shopper" card from Avid Reader. Those are way more valuable than the $2 I had in there.

Home again . . .