Life of Wry

Palos Verdes was all about June gloom this trip. It even rained today. Harry the Super Shuttle driver–whom I really enjoyed talking to and who gave me a hardy handshake when he dropped me off–confirmed the South Bay’s weird, but predictable, June weather.

Here’s LAX through the plexy window.

Clouds over who knows where that produced a very bumpy ride (enhanced by the four-year old boy behind me going at it on my seat back.. which I have to admit I enjoy.. kind of like a massage):

And a couple flying into Sac. While I was gone, Davis was having 100+ weather. Today, the temperatures dropped, it clouded up and rained, just in time for my return!

Definitely not complaining.

These are like photo versions of Phil Gross paintings:

Extremely nice to be home.

Mom and I went to see the Beach Boy’s Brian Wilson bio pic this afternoon–a pretty fascinating trip into his sometime-drug- and maybe-schizophrenic-influenced process of song writing. I was thoroughly entertained. Mom not so much. I always like tragic stories, especially true ones that involve mental illness, genius, love/betrayal… double especially those set in the 60s that include music of the era. I was particularly touched by the credit roll; if you see it, stay for that.

Other than the movie, it was 3,495,332 games of gin rummy, all but one or two of which I lost. (The real statistic, because I count: over five days, we played 133 hands and she won exactly 75% of them). I am more than a fine gin rummy player, trust me. I am mystified by this losing streak.

It’s been too foggy and cold down at the beach almost the whole time I’ve been here. We drive down, but opt out of walking… so heck. Also, mom’s not very mobile right now… could be a new normal, could be a virus. Either way, it’s been a quiet few days.

All I have for photos today is this very pretty flower. Found it outside Trader Joe’s in Hollywood Riviera (excuse me, now called Riviera Village). Long and bell shaped; sure somebody’ll know what it is. No filters even.. just a breeze-challenged iPhone macro shot.

I did apply a filter to this one, shot between small gusts of wind.

Big doings in the Peterson family.

My sweet, easy going, wise, hunk of a great guy nephew, John Edward Peterson, III and his forever girlfriend, now wife, and soon-to-be mom, the wry and witty Alexis, had the first of several baby showers for a little boy who shall be arriving in late July.

These guys are made for each other and ready to roll with whatever comes next in their charmed, always-a-riot life adventure. They are at the center of a huge network of friends and supportive family on both sides and everyone’s pick for hilarious couple most likely to take child raising to new heights. 

River will be his name (in case you thought it might be John Edward Peterson, IV).

Here are a few shots of family enjoying the afternoon:

Mom (for whom River will be her first great grandchild), man of the hour John, Bob and Silas….

Uncle Bud (90), Mom (86) and Aunt Ellie (82)…

Chris and Ryland…

Kate and Courtney…

Aunt Ellie and Diana…

No good pictures of any other family… and no picture of guest bearer of honor Alexis.

Two things I really liked about this shower besides lots of people, a beautiful day and great food: Entire families were invited to join in the pre-birth celebration, not just women. I think all three of Peter’s baby showers were coed affairs, so it’s a long standing trend, but it’s definitely welcome, after all: dads, men….def part of the greater and supportive community. And secondly, I liked that everyone was asked to bring a package of diapers. Easy to do and makes a huge dent in an expense that is not insubstantial, to be all double negativy about it.

Or maybe it’s Sea Chrome, or California Secretary..

I am just going to sound way too cynical if I keep this up …

Let’s just say horse racing is not my thing. It is less my mom’s thing, made worse by the fact TENNIS is actually HUGELY her thing and one of the biggest tennis tournaments of the year was on today–the FRENCH OPEN–but was given extremely short shrift by the networks, SO short, we were able to see NONE of the only match played today–the WOMEN”S FINAL–because coverage began at 6:00AM which is just beyond ridiculous. But omg, the hours devoted to a very quick mile-and-a-quarter horse race….

My mom was fit to be tied.

(And tomorrow’s French Open MEN’S final features her all time favorite tennis player, her favorite since before anybody else knew or cared about him–Novak Djokovic–but his final also starts at 6:00am and that’s just not happening.

Fit to be tied, tied, tied,

Anyway… it was a lay low day, which happens a lot more these days…therefore horse racing.

We had the good sense to keep the TV on mute, and busied ourselves with gin rummy because, good lord, there was a lot of this:

She’s pretty, but what the hell is that on her head? Must be a race track fashion thing. Mostly it confirmed for me that I am absolutely not their target audience.

TWO HOURS into the coverage, the race was actually run. To spice things up, mom put a dollar on American Pharoah, and I put a dollar on anybody else.

We took the TV off mute and, for two and a half minutes, things got reasonably interesting.

Who doesn’t appreciate a gorgeously groomed, stunningly muscled horse? I will admit American Pharoah is a beautiful animal and from what I now gather, quite talented. (Everything I know about horse racing, I learned in that couple of minutes. Ask me anything you’d like.)

Anyway, shortly after that big event, and I mean really shortly, we returned to our gin rummy series, now in its third day. I am getting creamed, so, in addition to winning a buck on America’s new triple crownee, my mom’s day is looking up.

You can’t get away with a sea-foam-colored condo in too many places. Sea foam as a condo color–apartment, or house–may only work when your place is near the ocean.

I saw it work really well on the Florida panhandle, in a place called Seaside, near the white sands of Fort Walton Beach and Destin. A trip east sometime in the 80s. All pastels–in the soft, humid air of the gulf.  It was just lovely.

Here’s a picture (I didn’t take it, found it on a Google image search):

Their paths to the beach were pretty charming, too (I also did not take this, though remember taking a similar shot):

I bring this up because I came across a sea-form-colored condo along the Esplanade in Redondo Beach this afternoon…

I love this color.

And here’s its beach view. The fog is in the end stages of lifting and everything is soft and sea-foamy. It’s perfect.

Anyway, we’re (I’m) contemplating house colors for a someday paint job on our valley home. I like sea-foam, but I think it belongs at the beach.

We shall see.

(Wish I could bottle that air.)

My knee jerk reaction to just about any suggestion my mom makes to me is usually no. Sometimes it’s polite and diplomatic and sometimes it’s not. I’m not proud of this, it’s just the way it is. It’s either the two-year old me being defiant, or it’s the teenager me trying to differentiate and become independent, or it’s the young adult me trying to stake out and claim my place in the world.  Or, most likely, it’s the senior citizen me who never did any of that with any success at the age appropriate time, for whatever reason, and is really screwed up because of it.

I’m only slightly exaggerating.

We’re talking pretty trivial things here, like, “That would taste better with some honey,” to which I might reply, “No… I don’t really use honey,” (I do). Or, “You haven’t eaten anything yet, there’s some roast beef in the icebox,” “No, I’m good,” (I’m starving).

It’s weird. But whatever.

Sometimes our dynamic is pretty challenging (I’ve written before about this), but thankfully these episodes are fewer and farther between. More often I summon a very adult version of myself and it all works out. She does too, actually. Grown ups are far easier to deal with.

Anyway.

Another trivial example is that for years my mom has made the suggestion–literally a million times–that I take a taxi from LAX to her house. I never do. I’ve been content, when not otherwise picked up by a brother, to take Super Shuttle. My SS phone app makes it very easy and at $35 plus tip ($42) I assumed it was cheaper. Part of it is laziness on my part–I’m accustomed to the whole procedure with SS and just don’t feel like changing it–and part of it is obstinance.

This trip, for the millionth and oneth time, she said, “Take a taxi, it’s faster, I’ll pay for it,” which she always says. And… you’re not going to believe this, but I finally acquiesced. I thought, what the hell.

And I’m sure you can also anticipate the punchline: The taxi was great–easier, quicker, far more convenient, and only slightly more money ($47).

Whattaya know.

You’d be proud. I totally gave her credit for being right and told her I should have listened to her a long time ago. She liked that. It was a good way to start the visit.

Here is Mr. Taxi backing down the driveway after dropping me off:

The greens are true in this picture. Guess that’s why they called it Palos Verdes.

For another color… here’s a shot I took from the plane that I liked. The blues are true, too:

This is Margaret and David.

We three are the team putting together the Compassion Tour. I’ve written lots about the tour here and here and here. For most of this time, Margaret’s been living in Keene, just outside of Lake Placid in upstate New York, deep in the Adirondack mountains. (When she’s not learning how to make cod liver oil in Norway.) But now, it looks like she’s back for awhile, so she and I will get to work face to face.

David, on the other hand is only here for a week. He returned to Davis to participate in the annual Compassion Marathon…. a tradition he started to honor the day in 2009 when he began his compassion journey, right there on the corner of Third and C in downtown.  He takes off again in a few days to resume the Tour, heading for points north–Boise, Portland and Seattle. That will conclude his year on the road.

We got together today to celebrate that we were all in one place at one time (!), and to celebrate compassion on Compassion Marathon day, and the Compassion Tour, and Compassion Corner… but really just to talk and enjoy one another. We brainstormed, too, on next steps, post tour…

Stay tuned for that.

Tired of my endless baseball posts yet?! It’s not like I write about all the crotch scratching, spitting, indelicate language and whatnot, but if you’re not that into baseball, maybe it’s just as unappealing. My apologies.

So, change of pace?

How about high teas? Because that’s probably the most unusual thing I did today. I dressed up (not really, but I didn’t wear my usual workout clothes… mostly I put on a hat)…

…and joined Parto at The Tea List between D and E Streets… and together we ate these:

Which, you can’t go wrong with mini, crustless sandwichettes; scones; napoleons; cookies; and fruit. All so very, very tiny.

We chose some sort of vanilla tea that came with its own 7-minute timer for optimal steeping, complete with pink sand:

Surprisingly, the place was packed. Surprising only because I was utterly unaware of this place until today, more or less, and was surprised to find it so popular, especially on an ordinary Tuesday. It was a super nice day to sit beneath colorful umbrellas, next to a babbling bird feeder/fountain. A few moms and grandmas were there with little ones, like this table:

That is a tiny pitcher of lemonade just for her, and she brought her own stuffed bunny to the party. We were bunniless at our table.

All in all: fabulous. I plan to return for a normal lunch; I saw some great looking dishes being served.

~~

Okay, so…. may I indulge in a little baseball talk?

I actually did go to a baseball game today… matter of fact, it was the very first game of the varsity’s summer season–the kick off to a whole new year of baseball–so in some ways it is a very important game to report on.

Except that they played Woodland–these days not much of a match. They even suspended the game after five and a half innings because Davis was up 15-3 and Woodland had burned through its pitchers already, had no dugout left, and well… five and half was enough.

But, that aside, there was something that was very notable about this first game: no older guys. The juniors are now at the top of the food chain. All the guys they’ve looked up to and chased for practically their entire baseball careers–twelve years for most of them–are gone and now THEY are the top dogs. They get to wear all the attitude, make the younger guys do all the heavy lifting, and basically enjoy finally arriving as seniors on the Davis High School varsity baseball team. It’s a LONG ROAD from T-ball to this place!

I don’t know a lot about team culture, but I know that there is something very cool about earning that seniority. Proud of them for making it.

It’s also weird to go from last night’s banquet, where everything was as it’s always been–players, families, pecking order–to this whole new season suddenly with all these new people. Overnight, literally. Like starting all over again.

I gotta hand it to Dan. Last night he was basking–very emotionally–in the final high school baseball moments of this year’s crop of seniors. There was a mountain of goodwill, much back slapping, and man hugs all around. It has to be hard to let go of your well-oiled machine. These relationships are finely tuned, everyone’s in sync, speaking the same language, in on the same jokes.

And then he’s back to square one. About half of his team are well-worn shoes, but the others are all new. And there he was today, beginning that whole molding process all over again. As far as I could see, he was as enthusiastic and invested as he always is. That’s just impressive.

The new players probably not so relaxed.

I so remember the beginning of last year’s summer season. It was just a tad stressful. (Ha.) Some kids are shoe-ins for slots on the following year’s varsity squad, but for others, summer begins a nearly year-long tryout. The non-shoe-ins (like Peter was for most of last year) have all summer and fall to show what they can do and try to earn one of the few slots that are up for grabs. Nothing is ever certain. (Hey…like life.)

And, of course, always remembering: it’s all good. Life goes on, and adjustments are made, whether they make the team or not.

Anyway, today’s baseball game was yet another first day, another start. Prepare yourselves… lots more baseball drama to play out in the coming year.

(Yay!)

It was a very perfect evening for an end-of-year baseball banquet, must say. It was held at the home of Ian’s grandparents in one of Woodland’s historic downtown neighborhoods. The backyard was massive–large enough to serve and seat about 100-125 people under large easy-ups, ample enough for a large boulder-bordered pool and spa, with tons of room left over for multiple games of whiffle baseball. And I don’t even know what was in the fourth quadrant of the yard. It was just huge. And pretty, shady, full of flowers….

….. and baseball players. Lots and lots of them (it was both the varsity and junior varsity banquets).

The coaches made presentations and told stories about all the players. Of course, it was a sports banquet. They gave out certificates, awards, pins and letters. As you do.

Below are some of my mediocre iPhone pics and one great Wes Young black/white photo (again, Wes to the rescue). This first one includes a portion of the varsity squad: Peter, Drew, Q, Ray, Brendan, Ian, Tyler, Walker #1, Daniel, Walker #2, Mason, Solly, Jared, Ryan and Kris.

Here are Coaches Robbie, Kenner and Ariola performing ceremonial duties, …Nate and Walter looking on:

Here’s Peter getting his. I liked Ariola’s comments about Peter:  “threw some good innings for us,” “hard worker,” “will get a lot of innings this summer,” stuff like that. Kenner left, Ariola right, Nate offering up a fist.

Here’s Wes’ shot.. Kris, Jared, Mort, Tyler, Peter, Solly, Mason, Ray and Ryan, most having just received their first varsity letters. Peter is now officially a letterman. Cool huh?

Kenner presented the big awards of the night to a couple of graduating seniors, the John Riggins Most Inspirational Award to Kris Prince and the Bobby Jones MVP Award to Drew Gnos. The coaches get pretty emotional during these awards; it’s nice to see. Selected players made presentations to the coaches, which were also moving.

Nate shared his collection of sunflower seed wrappers–representing seeds opened & consumed while sitting in the dugout for his four years of high school baseball. He had 99 of these now empty package wrappers! He even created a small ceremony around the opening of the 100th package, which was kind of … unique. And very sweet.

I mean who does that?!  Nate The Great, that’s who. (Off to USC on a full academic scholarship.)

Here’s some beanbag tossing and whiffle balling (they may look like men, but they are still kids as it turns out):

I’m left feeling like this whole baseball thing is pretty damn great and an awesome experience for Peter, much better, actually, than I ever expected. Dan’s built a solid program here; grateful that we are all a part.

The ride home featured a nice full moon rising over unidentifiable baby trees: