Baseball, Life, and Other Stuff

Everyone Have a . . .

Merry Christmas!!!

A Gift That Will Last a Lifetime

Christmas is one week from today and I already know one of the gifts that I am receiving:  Sarah has agreed to feed baseballs into the pitching machine at Extra Innings Hagerstown, which is offering free tunnel time on Christmas Eve.  Now, I enjoy snow when it's here, but my idea of a "white Christmas" is having the ole horsehide come at me while I have a bat in my hand.  We are hoping that a couple of Sarah's friends can join us that day; one reason being that the more the merrier and another being that someone else better take a few swings because if I spend an entire hour swinging at baseballs, I may not be able to lift my arms on Christmas.

More than the fun that will end in a hour is the memory that will last a lifetime.  Sarah is a senior in high school and our nest is about to empty; an hour doing nothing special together becomes a special hour indeed.  My Christmas wish for everyone is that you see how special every ordinary hour may be.  Then truly, every day will be like Christmas.

Saturday Night Fever

Thirty-two years ago tomorrow, a movie was released that continues to reverberate down through the generations.  Starring John Travolta as Tony Manero, Saturday Night Fever is, perhaps, the defining film of the 70s in the same way that Rebel Without A Cause is the defining movie of the 1950s.  Travolta was nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of Manero and the soundtrack was, for a long period of time, the best selling album of all-time.  The late movie critic Gene Siskel listed Saturday Night Fever as his favorite film, according to the official Gene Siskel website, and he even went so far as to purchase one of Travolta's famous white suits used in filming the movie.

The film's message has been muted by the weight of its own popularity.  Upon SNF's release, discos opened all over America and the soundtrack played endlessly.  The kid who lived in the last dorm room on our hall at Western Maryland College, played that album from the time he arose in the morning until he went to bed at night.  If he was in his room, that music could be heard throughout our hall.  Immense popularity soon breeds parody, which soon breeds contempt.  However, we continue to be very culturally aware of SNF.  Any time some fool on the dance floor points his finger up and then down, everyone knows that he is mimicing one of Travolta's famous dance moves.

The question really i, Why does this movie continue to resonate?  The answer is simple, really for in spite of the fact that the clothes, music, and attitudes are firmly grounded in 1977-1978, the movie's theme is timeless.  We can all identify with Tony Manero because we watch him up there on the screen as he comes to the awful (and awe-full)realization that the pursuits of his youth--in his case disco dancing--must inevitably come to an end.  His friends seem to think that they will go on forever, but when Manero's friend Bobby discovers that he faces the very adult reality of fatherhood--he has impregnated a girl whom we never meet in the film--he kills himself.  After the suicide, Manero descends into the subway, riding it all night, and emerges in the morning, realizing that refusing to grow up is indeed, death.

Tony Manero might grow up to become "nothing more" than the manager of the hardware store where we see him at work when the movie opens; Manero strutting down the street carrying that paint can, his mind on a new shirt that he'd like to buy.  When the movie ends, however, childhood pursuits have grown into the hopes of manhood--and we are left to root for his success.

Check out the following clip of the scene in which Tony and Stephanie perform for the dance contest.  The moves are slow, rhythmic, sensual, and expressive.  This is dance at its best and in it, Tony Manero seems to be giving his youth a thoughtful good-bye.

Never Forget

I think that you have 3 minutes and 25 seconds to spare today in order to reflect on the fact that the terrible final moments of the dead, and the life-long nightmares of the survivors have been endured for us; and that boys continue to risk both for the love of their fellow citizens.

Black Friday Lunacy

Does anyone else out there feel that "Black Friday" has gotten out of hand?  Stores in the Prime Outlets in Hagerstown opened their doors last night at midnight.  Kohl's will open at 4:00 a.m., the Christmas Tree Shop at 5:00, the Martinsburg Mall at 6:00.  Last night I saw a commercial for PetSmart stating that they were opening at 7:00 a.m.  Are people so shopping mad that they burst forth before sunrise to buy their dog a chew toy?  Is there a dog out there somewhere who will be upset because, come Christmas morning, he was forced to settle for a blue chew toy, when he really wanted a red one; but because you didn't get to PetSmart until 9:00 a.m., they were all sold out of the red ones?

If you want to get up early on Black Friday for a "spectacular event" go to a place where you have an uninterrupted view of the eastern skyline and watch the sunrise.  There will be no lines and at "free," it's a real bargain.  If it's cloudy, then get up and get out and take the dog for a walk.  He's colorblind anyway and won't care what color his chew toy is.

Be thankful for the little things, folks, and the big things will take care of themselves.

Happy Birthday, Becky!

Happy Birthday to Becky, who turns 22 tomorrow, November 10th!  She has certainly had a momentous year, graduating from college in May, getting married two weeks ago, and of course, a birthday.  When I was young, it annoyed me that old people were always saying "Where does the time go?" because as a child, it never seemed to go fast enough.  Now, all I can say is, "Where did the time go?"  Allow the following two photos to illustrate:

 

This is Becky and Sarah's first trip to Winchester, VA.  They are standing in front of Stonewall Jackson's headquarters.  I think this happened some time last week.

 

This is Becky and Sarah's most recent trip to Winchester.  They are standing in a courtyard at the George Washington Hotel immediately after Becky's wedding.  I think I might have dreamed this.

So, to Becky:  I can't wait to see the photo of you and Sarah 10 years from now--but there's no hurry, all the same.

To all parents out there:  Go stare at your kids.  Lock into your brain what they look like on this, No Particular Day.

To all kids out there:  Just humor your parents.  They probably stare at you a lot as it is.  And not just because you did something incredibly stupid, either.

Happy Birthday, Becky!

Happy Trails

Tomorrow marks the 98th anniversary of the birth of Leonard Slye, whom members of my generation know better as Roy Rogers, the "King of the Cowboys."  One of the vivid memories of my childhood was watching reruns of "The Roy Rogers Show" on our black and white television on Saturday mornings.  Roy and Dale with sidekick Pat Brady in his jeep (that he named "Nelleybelle,") Trigger, and their dog Bullet roamed the range making wrong right.

It is a bittersweet thing to me to remember those days of my youth, because those days seem to be as long gone as the Middle Ages.  Roy Rogers and the other cowboy heroes were the embodiment of the American ideal.  They were independent, respectful, resourceful, and they instinctively knew right from wrong.  Today, we respect nothing, we increasingly depend on the government, and we need 8 lawyers and 4 psychologists to tell us what is right.  They in turn, will remind us that "right" is relative.  And the last thing many of the elite leaders of this country want is a bunch of independent people who work for themselves, protect themselves, and scariest of all, think for themselves.

We have no heroes such as Roy Rogers anymore, I suppose because we believe that no one is worthy of that status since no one can possibly live up to the American Ideal.  And since no one can live up to the Ideal, then we have cynically abandoned that, too, and so we lower standards in all kinds of endeavors and wallow in our mediocrity.  As long as there's beer in the fridge and something on TV, we're all happy.

Except we're not.  We spend money on trinkets that wouldn't entertain a monkey for more than 10 minutes in an effort to fill our empty souls.  We drink until we pass out for at least we're oblivious to the emptiness when we're unconscious.  Our kids do drugs, because we haven't taught them that the sunset reflects as beautifully off the windows of the alms house as off a rich man's mansion.

We've lost sight of the fact that doing right makes a person happy, but doing right is hard and we can't have that.  We need things to be easy.  Easy credit.  Easy classes.  Easy living.  Happy trails aren't usually the easy trails.  Gene Autry once sang in "Back in the Saddle Again":

Where you sleep out every night

And the only law is right

Back in the saddle again.

The morality of a civilization is inversely proportional to the number of laws that it enacts.  Simply lifting our tax code would give a strong man a hernia.  We better get back in the saddle again before it's too late.

I like to think that Roy Rogers would be pleased with this entry, knowing that he is still inspiring the little boy who used to watch him on Saturday mornings.

The Music of Love

We will get back to baseball on Monday, but as I am still basking in the glow of Wedding Week, I thought that I would share an observation inspired by Becky and Jesse's wedding.  The music that they selected for the reception was a wonderful blend of eras and moods.  Their first dance was to "Lucky," a current love song for lovers of any age; and indeed, there were lovers of many ages at the wedding from Becky and Jesse up to Martha's Aunt Alice and Uncle Jack, and Aunt Jo and Uncle Bob who have been married 51 and 52 years respectively.

What was interesting to me was that when the DJ played Rod Stewart's version of the classic "These Foolish Things," I looked around the dance floor to discover that it was Martha and me, and the 5 groomsmen and their dates.  Just us and the kids!  There is something about the songs, particularly the love songs of the '30s and the WWII era that command attention from the grandchildren of the vets who fought that war.  I think it is the fact, that so many of those songs were written for adults.  They contain images and suggest moods that only those who have lived some and loved a great deal can truly appreciate.  We can continue this discussion of music in the future.  For now, however, let's end Wedding Week with that classic song to which I referred and dedicate it to lovers of all ages, most especially the newest pair, Becky and Jesse.

As I Looked Into My Angel's Eyes

I've never seen my little girl look so happy.  "Stunning" is a word often used to describe the appearance of brides, and I was stunned all right, but not by her beauty.  Her beauty is familiar to me on a daily basis.  It was the happiness that radiated from her heart and through her eyes and her smile that made her so stunning.  I'm still in awe and so grateful that she found a man who makes her feel this way.

Never was her happiness more apparent than when the officiant reached that part of the ceremony that began with the words, "And now by the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Virginia . . ."  As these words were spoken, Becky's smile broadened even further, which seemed impossible, and even more light came into her eyes.  She seemed to rise up on her tiptoes anticipating the words that would follow, signifying the very moment that she would become Mrs. Jesse Dice.  It was as if--and I know she will appreciate the analogy--she had risen to watch a soaring, game-winning home run; the kind that you know is going out, but is hit so high it takes a bit longer to leave the park.  The kind that allows you to enjoy a moment of anticipation before the moment of joy.  I've never seen that reaction in a bride or a groom before.

I had said in an earlier entry on October 9th that I didn't think that the ceremony would be emotional for me, but that the traditional father/daughter dance might be, especially since the song we chose was "The Riddle."  I didn't want to become overwhelmed on the dance floor because I wanted to stay in that moment.

The batter swings and the summer flies

As I look into my angel's eyes

And I did, as those words floated through the hall.  If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the look that Becky gave me at that moment was worth a million.

Of course, reflecting on that moment and so many others from the wedding is a different story, and should "The Riddle" start playing on the radio when I am driving down the road, I'll need windshield wipers for my face.  And they won't be set on intermittent, either.

Then there was Sarah's toast, telling her sister that she loved her and telling Jesse that he is the big brother that she always wanted.  I could go on and on, but here.  I probably should have just posted the following photo with no commentary.  It says it all:

Photo courtesy of Aunt Terri.

The Fisherman

Good morning, faithful readers!  There has not been any time (or energy) to put down any reflections about Jesse and Becky's wedding yet; expect them in my next entry.  Suffice it to say it was wonderful and while I remember very little about my own wedding, I'll recall a thousand moments from theirs.  Therefore, I'll present something that I haven't presented, heretofore:  a poem.  If you like it, I did indeed, write it.  If you don't, the author is anonymous.

The Fisherman

Cigar, solitude, and a day off work;

The fisherman had it all

Except a fish.

I watched him as he cast his baited hook into the languid Potomac

And I realized that he was, indeed, a wise man

For clearly, he didn't care about the fish.