Baseball: an Appreciation

Baseball: what a season. The Houston Astros, one of the last among the  last teams of "Lovable Losers," won the World Series. I have been privileged to see the Boston Red Sox, Chicago White Sox, Chicago Cubs, and now Astros, finally win the trophy. Baseball: what other sport compares to it: the Fall Classic, best of seven wins, the bottom of the ninth  of game seven. Will the starter be relieved, can the American League pitcher hit the ball, and no designated hitter in the National League town.

Now the Series is over, and an unofficial beginning of winter is here. What else can be said of baseball? The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn, and the poem by A. Bartlet Giamatti of baseball breaking one's heart: how can anyone else do a better job describing baseball? The season ends as the winter chill of November's eve arrives, and reminding everyone of the months to come without the playing of ball. We have our memories, baseball cards, caps, and other memorabilia to sustain us until the warmth of spring comes with the aroma of hotdogs and peanuts, dawning the arrival of a new season when the umpire steps out to implore the players to "Play ball!"

The Me in Social Media

Social media revolves around ego, as well as the digital world in general. Facebook is about our accomplishments, likes, friends, and then ability to post whatever strikes our fancy: old flames, feuds, beefs, or whatever gripes we have. Seldom is it being thankful for something.

Every act of kindness, bravery, chivalry, and good behavior is recorded for the world to see, rather than handling matters quietly. Humility and seems to be a premium these days. The same for what were once intimate and private moments in reunions and engagements. Today when we see any trouble brew, all too often are instinct is to grab our cellphones and record instead of helping.

Andy Warhol famously exclaimed we will all get 15 minutes of fame. Little did I know how prescient he would be decades before social media. Then, it seemed he was making an Orwellian comment on technology. George Will lamented that the good thing about the internet is that it gives everyone a voice, and the bad thing about the internet is that it gives everyone a voice. Today, all someone needs is a camera, Twitter feed, or another social media account, and they become their own content publisher, free to comment and post on anything they want with very little accountability, other than blasted in a Twitter war. To turn back would require checking our egos to do so, and I'm afraid we're not ready to that, if ever.

The Joy Stealers

One day when driving, a car coming up behind me passed me after tailgating me awhile. It angered me for some reason, until I thought about it more. Why was I really mad? Was it pride in being passed for not traveling fast enough (what red blooded male wants to be passed when he thinks he's the fastest driver around?)

After stewing about it awhile, I thought about it more and realized  that what I should really be mad about is how I reacted, and letting it get to me. we come across issues like this throughout life; we get mad at things we shouldn't really get angry about, and it becomes a joy stealer, and ultimately affects our witness. Now I try to shake my head at them and laugh it off, and then pray for them (sometimes, unfortunately, but I'm working on it!).

The Cross

Walking along the Allegheny River, I stopped by my favorite spot. Dwelling on personal issues, I contemplated on what to do. As the river slowly flowed by around the eddy, I glanced up at the azure sky. Parallel to the land was a streak of a jet. Vertical to me was another streak of jet wash, with both forming a cross. I guess when you are looking or answers, you interpret things in any attempt for help or validation. Whatever was behind it, Providence or chance, I chose it to be a sign everything was going to be right in the end. Sometimes a cross is permanent and made of wood, sometime it can be a momentary and fleeting that disappears with no trace, like from the jets.



But it 's a symbol of something bigger and infinitely more lasting. The seasons can be like years of your life, and each season holding a special place in your memory. Life is akin to the seasons.

Some say it's akin to a parlor trick; that you are looking for a sign and anything will suffice to satisfy my search. Perhaps it's true. Despite all that, I choose faith.
  

Autumn

As the leaves turn golden yellow, days sparser, and nights colder, I cannot help but think the turning of the season is like life as I turn 50. As the slow days of summer ends, time accelerates like life, and you wonder where time has gone. Life can be akin to the seasons,

As summer drags on like youth, time is still, but as the season changes, so does life. Enjoy it and grasp every day of life with as much appreciation as you can. And as summer ends, and you get older, you can't help but have a little sadness that in a wisp it is gone.

The Tire Pump Ministry

I found myself at an air pump of a local convenience store, and encountered some travelers looking for information. I was able to Google the question and provided it to them pertaining to an address. A month or so later, I came across a family trying to change a tire due to the valve stem bursting open when the man was pumping air. He was struggling to turn the lug nuts with the wrench, but couldn't budge them. I came along, and managed to loosen them by standing on the wrench arm, and continued to assist in the changing of the tire. I was happy that the family was not stranded and to be of help.

It was funny how I could help people at an air pump station, but everyone has a ministry. It may not be a cathedral with giant spires, television with millions of viewers, a fancy title, or recognition. There's another ministry out there in the shadows, in plain sight, with people in need. The area by the air pump has become a ministry of sort, and glad I was able to help. Remember to look out for people reaching out in the least likeliest places.

Farewell to the Circus, Farewell to Childhood

The Clown Cries


Records, tapes, payphones, film, are but a few reminders of my childhood. Who knew such things would disappear from our landscape within a few decades? Now I hear the news that Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus will be closing down, as other circuses have dropped their tents for the last time.


An entertainment mode that relies on live acts of trapeze artists, clowns, and animal acts have fallen to virtual reality and on demand movies.


I think we lost a little, perhaps: our heritage, tradition, and memories of families and communities gathering together for entertainment.


Long gone are the days of the circus troupe arriving by train and parading through town marching among the cheering town folks who seen exotic animals for the first time. Now, no more ringmasters and their ballyhoo, the big tops, dazzling high wire artists, and of course, the clowns. The disappearance of the circus is another thread of our lives we cannot pass along to the next generation, but in stories. It is the time the clown cried for the last time.

A Good Summer

During the year, I listened to lot of campaign vitriol from pundits on cable tv, Twitter wars bashing opponents, and a definite unsocial vibe from "social media." In the electronic bubble, we can get caught up in the belief that this represents the world we live in: anger, hate, and yelling.

When I was able to take some vacation time, I took advantage of the beautiful country, its people, and visitors. The village of Foxburg has a lot of hospitality and culture in its small borders, with an inn, pizza shop, library/performance hall, art gallery, winery, trailhead for biking, and ice cream, coffee and gourmet chocolate shop, all on one block.

I enjoyed a night at a restaurant along the Allegheny River, enjoying the breeze off the water, and making new friends. The troubles of the day and the job disappeared as the laughter of new friends rang out. A chocolate and ice cream store was visited, inhabited by the delightful  young daughter of the owners and dressed in her Cinderella dress, and enticing others with her playful nature. Walking through the little village afterward, I was invited to come into a church for refreshments  and mingle with the parishioners. Finally, a walk along a trail across an old railroad trestle and meeting travelers from all over as they came on bikes and segue ways, or jogging.

There is joy and real pleasure away from the "social " media world and internet in general. We need to embrace it and the people in it.