Life of Wry

I just spent the last thirty minutes or so reading through stories about the cancelation of a D. Trump rally in Chicago this afternoon. Security felt the crowd was too unstable, they feared riots. Apparently, thousands of University students and others mobilized and gathered, inside and out, in peaceful demonstration. Their message: there is no room for Trump’s vitriol in their community. But it quickly became not peaceful. Hundreds of police called in, fights broken up, event canceled.

I’m wondering where all this is going to go. Like everyone else. I’m seeing months of ugly confrontations between Trump diehards and protestors who are soon, I imagine, to ramp up their presence at all of his events. And why not? It’s time to mobilize, people. This bloated ego of a guy and his hysterical minions have been sucking up way too much airtime. What better way to show that, in fact, the country is actually made up of people who care about human rights, civil rights, income equality, the environment (and some of them are actually brown). Trump’s is not the only story here.

Trump, bragging about the size of his rallies, says that he’s generating newfound interest in the presidential campaign which will increase republican voters, and that the party should thank him. We shall see. Republican operatives seem not to want his particular brand of angry, uneducated guys, but maybe they’re desperate enough to take what they can get.

In any case, I think we’re in for lots of scuffles and skirmishes. I wish I could say it was fun to watch. But, it’s just not.

Oh.. anyway. Blechh.

In other news, Trump’s strategy to “look presidential” at last night’s republican debate, to quiet things down and to behave civilly (he even had to draw attention to the fact because, damn, he was working hard at it),  was a good effort. Utterly, laughably transparent, but fine. A few weeks back, he said he was going to tone it down and boasted that he could look more presidential than anybody (direct quote). He trotted the new him out last night. The media bought it.

And the other guys responded by also toning it down.  Their strategy was to stick to policy points, some sillily pandering, and for the most part, a quiet night ensued.

Which sure took the wind out of Kasich’s sails as the other guys, behaving adultly, undermined his best feature. Kasich’s I’m-the-only-guy on stage-acting-like-a-grownup fell flat in the subdued, relatively polite tone of last night’s event. But the truth is, while Kasich has seemed so reasoned and experienced, he’s really only attractive as a candidate because the rest of the field is so bonkers.  And now that the others have assumed these civil demeanors, Kasich’s pretty much got nothing left. He just sounds whiny now. He’s prolly done.  Hoping he kills it in Ohio, though (and Rubio in Florida). That would make things interesting. I want Trump stopped. He could be the best thing ever for the democratic party, but I just can’t stand this.

~~

So, a few weeks back, David Brooks, writing in the NYT, said the below. I know Brooks is considered pretty moderate for a conservative–which is why he’s one of the few conservative commentators I can listen to–but I think it says a lot that he expresses this:

Agree wholeheartedly. No doubt in my mind that history will ably sift through all the hysterical, reactionary, fear-based (and yep, bigoted) garbage and tell an amazing–THE amazing–story about the Obama years.

Decided to punt to a throwback picture today. Thank goodness for Thursdays.

Kindergarten. Chavez. The playhouse. Mmmm, popsicles.

From left:

Maya: After kindergarten, she and Peter ended up in the same 1st-2nd grade combo class. Then, so advanced was she, she skipped ahead a grade and we lost touch a little. She went on to be wildly popular in high school and was a star of the volleyball team, and is now at UC Santa Barbara. She works at Crepeville when she’s back in Davis, so Jim and I are able to keep tabs on her.

Peter: We know his story.

Anna: She was a scrappy tomboy then, super athletic and one of Peter’s best buddies. They had lots of play dates together. I have a favorite picture of them in the backyard, swinging together on the hammock, deep in conversation. Can’t post quite yet. She is an amazing athlete at DHS, star of both the basketball and lacrosse teams. Not sure yet where she’ll go to college.

Jack: Still one of Peter’s best and closest friends. Like his dad, he’s an accomplished musician, and a very independent guy. By junior high, he’d already left mainstream school and enrolled in DSIS. He was the first of Peter’s friends to get a real job (Nugget). He graduated early, too, and these days he focuses a lot on body building and fitness. He and Peter still get together regularly to talk.

Today was the last day to drive for the shelter. For this year anyway. The Interfaith Rotating Winter Shelter will be back next year and I’m sure I’ll be a driver again, but now that it’s March, the program is wrapping up.

This year, of course, it could be very useful to remain open for another few weeks, given the weather we’re predicted to get, notably the rain. But the infrastructure isn’t in place to do that, unfortunately, which means a lot of folks will be scrambling for covered places to sleep.

I just can’t imagine.

In the three years I’ve been a morning driver, I wouldn’t say I’ve gotten to know anybody really well, but I’ve gotten to know a lot of people a little. It’s given me the chance to talk with a lot of Davis’ homeless over the years. I’ve found it helpful in connecting with not only the people, but a little with their experience of being homeless. It’s not like I say, “Hey, man, what’s it like to live on the streets?” I don’t do that. But in the course of the drive from one church or another, to downtown, a lot comes up…during conversations I have–usually with whoever’s sitting in the front seat–or conversations they might have among themselves. I always make a point of wearing my hearings (my new name for my hearing aids) because I like to hear all the dialogue going on in the back seat. So many have some degree of mental illness, so the conversations can be interesting (and enlightening). It really runs the gamut. Some are really sweet, some surly, some totally checked out.. but by and large, good to talk to.

Anyway.

Here are a couple pictures I took a few weeks ago, when the shelter was out at the Unitarian. That meant a lovely drive along Russell at sunrise (see the sun?):

I remember getting very wet walking through the grass to get these pictures.

Those young ladies are members of the high school Advanced Treble Choir. They traditionally sing a beautiful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner to open all home games.

This being the first home game of the 2016 season, they were there. And, yep, they sang beautifully. Good start to the home season!

Dan and the high school field maintenance crews were able to get the field dry enough after the weekend’s hellacious storm to actually play today, and we managed to get a whole game in–though drops fell here and there–before the next storm hits. Not expecting to get any more games in this week. We hear March is supposed to be just one storm after another. Anticipating lots of canceled or postponed games this early season.

Peter got to be the opening pitcher for this game, which was so nice. Definitely enjoying the fact he’s getting so many outings. He pitched well (5 innings, 2 hits, no runs, 2 strike outs, 2 walks) and had three assists. Yay! They won 9-0 (and have won all six games they’ve played so far).

Soon as he got home, he checked a few election returns, then turned around and left–off to play chess with Solly, who also had a great game today (3 for 3, including a beautiful double and a 2-RBI single).

I hope these guys appreciate what a good life they have. This really is the good stuff, isn’t it?

[Smiling]

It was a significant day. I’m processing it…. and may write about it later.

So as not to tease, it has to do with my receiving a more or less confirmed diagnosis of arthritis (osteo) which will likely mean a hip replacement down the road a spell. If that sounds like old news, it sort of is. Except that I wasn’t buying it when it was proffered as an explanation for my limpy, painful symptoms a year ago (by the same orthopedist). And now I’m pretty much buying it.

The orthopedist is Dr. Haight, respected, sharp and reportedly an ace surgeon. I should have liked her, but when she delivered her opinion a year ago, it made me cry and the appointment went very downhill from there. I needed lots more opinions. Four or five orthopedists, a couple of physical therapists, a trainer, an acupuncturist, a massage therapist and a physician’s assistant later, I had a multitude of diagnoses. All the MDs went with osteoarthritis (what do they know?!). From the others I got things like torn labrum, hip dysplasia, ruptured tendon. I pursued all kinds of strategies to deal with all of those things.

A year later and no real progress to speak of, I decided to return to Holly Haight. Which was a surprising move on my part. I usually have a hard time overcoming harbored grudges.

Different vibe this time–largely because Jim came with me for reinforcement–but same diagnosis. Worse now, but still your basic age-related bone degeneration.

It’s one of those good news bad news things. Bad in that the diagnosis now seems so very certain and who wants stupid osteoarthritis in their hip?! Good in that the certainty liberates me from chasing down all these other theories, constantly dealing with raised and dashed hopes, and never really knowing what it is, exactly, that I have. Also liberating in that I don’t have to be stubborn anymore.

This takes me to so many places emotionally. I’ve lost, at least for awhile, something I totally took for granted–easy mobility. Tough for someone who sort of thinks of herself as the athletic type. I’m only 60 with decades of plans that involve being mobil. I’m also thinking about, you know, aging, and all that we, as aging people, will face. This little arthritis thing, I’m sure, is but a tip of the iceberg. Not a small topic. I guarantee I’ll deal, and have a good attitude about it. Soon. I will. And perhaps I’ll write.

In the meantime, here are some nice photos taken on the drive home from Sac this morning:

A very nicely swollen Sacramento River (hey, just like my hip!), shot from the road that follows it along the west side–River Road, I think.

Railroad trestle along Road 22, aka Hwy 16, aka Main St (Woodland):

And wild mustard along Rd 102:

All shot with my iPhone from a moving vehicle, as usual, and slightly processed.

I asked permission from Peter to post a picture of him teeing off the back porch, swinging a 5-wood, sending an orange ping pong ball deep into the yard beyond.

No, I may not do that.

It’s still a nice picture, but will have to wait for another, less bashful time.

Instead, I got an eye-rolling “go ahead,” for this one… a photo I came across while looking for something else. He’s 7 1/2 here. It may or may not be his first lost tooth, but it’s classic, no?  We’re out watching the sandhill cranes in the Yolo Wildlife Area with a bunch of friends, one of whom had arranged a guided tour.

It was also my 50th birthday, so yeah, these are really old pictures:

As I recall, it was a great tour and a beautiful afternoon/evening. It started with a classroom session at the visitor’s center:

No idea what’s going on here, but I like Peter’s look. Weird of me, but maybe I’m modeling good classroom behavior.

We did a lot of this:

And a lot of this:

(That is a great picture of Susan and Jim.. the guy with the beer was the naturalist, whose name I cannot remember.)

(Heidi, Jim J, and Rick.)

And even saw a lot of these:

I can’t tell you, at this point, if those are the cranes or garden variety geese.)

Day ended with a nice one of these:

Sorry for the decade-old pics.

File this one in the Wow, They Sure Do Grow Up category.

Darlene and I went together this afternoon to Sharon’s house for a celebration of Sharon’s mom’s life. Mostly it was Sharon’s family who had come in from all over, and it was lovely. While I only met her mom once or twice, I’d heard a lot about her over the years, and enjoyed the stories and slides. Sharon clearly gets a lot of her smarts, talents and generosity from her mom.

But what really got me today was spending a little time with her sons: Eli–who was, for most of Peter’s earliest years, one of his closest buddies–and Jem, a couple of years older.

Here are Eli and Jem, in that order.

Eli’s rockin’ the sports coat and jeans, and Gem’s rockin’ the glasses and beard. Very men-like!

As I sit in my office this evening, typing this blog, I’m looking at a giant photo montage–the kind you assemble when your kid is Student of the Week in elementary school. It takes up massive wall space high above my desk. Among the photos depicting (at the time) Peter’s life, there’s a sweet picture of Eli and Peter looking very silly together. I’m taken back to that time in Eli and Peter’s life when school, birthday parties, Little League, trips together to Yosemite and the snow, playdates, a million other things, were the center of our universe. There was a multi-year span when Sharon, Darlene, Jim and I would to go out every Friday night with our boys (Eli, Jacob and Peter, and sometimes the older Jem). We talked and laughed over many dinners and many glasses of wine about [many things, but especially] our sons–what they were doing and where they might be going. As you do.

It is just wild to be in this place, now…. their last year in high school, college ahead (and I suppose a lot more beyond that, right?). They are nice young men who have all found their passions and tribes. We’re almost to the where they might be going part.

Yeow.

At the memorial, I had an opportunity for a long, deep, floaty reflection. Eli and his musician pals played a couple of pieces by Antonín Dvořák, in honor of his grandma; I think one was the  American, Op. 96 for string quartets, but don’t quote me on that.  For about twenty transporting minutes, I closed my eyes and was carried back by the music to those years. Time traveled back and forth, looking at their seven-year-old selves and their seventeen-year-old selves, and other selves in-between. It was just such a precious moment.

Darlene took this photo:

Returning home, I spent a good part of this rainy afternoon lost in an immense rabbit hole of photos… I found lots of Eli and Peter over the years, but wanted one of all three of them. So here are Jacob, Eli and Peter.. it was Peter’s 10th Birthday.

The title of the blog refers to the song they closed the program with this afternoon. Eli picked Cat Stevens’, “If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out,” (from Harold and Maude) and led everyone through a clumsy but joyful sing-along. It was quite moving.

Here are the lyrics, which were meant to represent Sylvia’s life, but also seem so fitting for the day:

Well if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
‘Cause there’s a million things to be
You know that there are

And if you want to live high, live high
And if you want to live low, live low
‘Cause there’s a million ways to go
You know that there are

You can do what you want
The opportunity’s on
And if you find a new way
Well you can do it today

Well you can make it all true
And you can make it undo
You see, ah ah ah, it’s easy ah ah ah
You only need to know

Well if you want to say yes, say, “Yes”
And if you want to say no, say, “No”
‘Cause there’s a million ways to go
You know that there are

And if you want to be me, be me
And if you want to be you, be you
‘Cause there’s a million things to do
You know that there are

You can do what you want
The opportunity’s on
And if you find a new way
Well you can do it today

Well you can make it all true
And you can make it undo
You see, ah ah ah, it’s easy, ah ah ah
You only need to know

Well if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
‘Cause there’s a million things to be
You know that there are

You know that there are
You know that there are
You know that there are
You know that there are

I don’t have anything today, so sharing this, sent to me by a friend this morning:

I find copyediting very rewording. 

I just love it.

I also don’t have a picture on the day, so how about this one…

We are selling my old laptop on eBay. Maximizing our chances by eliminating the propaganda.  What a mess, huh?

Last I heard the bidding was up to $11.

Oh my.

It was a very long, back-to-back-scheduled day. Came home about 9:15, finally, and sat down to listen to the republican debate–their 11th.

I know, what a glutton for punishment.

As if his utterly juvenile, inarticulate, pompous pronouncements–consistently devoid of substance–were not bad enough, Trump, always keepin’ it classy, actually boasted about the size of his genitals tonight.

I kid you not.

Nothing subtle or veiled about it, either. Just pure egotism.  That was in the first five minutes. For the next hour and a half (it went on longer, I just couldn’t take it any more), Cruz and Rubio pummeled Trump. It was relentless and effective. In response, he just called them names.  Such an embarrassing display. I also have to hand it to Fox for coming up with a number of very damning quotes and video clips of Trump saying some truly whacky things and contradicting himself all over the place. It was quite an assault, and of course so deserved.

The audience for this debate sounded like they were at a boxing match. The crowd was unruly and raucous through most of it, cheering at one thing or another, sometimes drowning out even the moderators.  One big class act.

I can’t imagine any of this does the self-destructing republican party or any of its desperate candidates any good. Eager to hear some calm analysis in the morning.

The media must be having an El Nino of a wet dream over this election.

Another first day of the last xxx. I told you this year could get a little weird.

Today was the first day of the last season… meaning… today’s game against Vacaville was the first official game the season (not to be confused with the first four games we played which were all scrimmages and don’t count for nuthin.)  But today’s goes into the official record, counted and measured and reported. Yeah… I know.  Who’s counting?  Well, we are. The newspapers are. MaxPreps is.

(And just so you know.. the first league game doesn’t happen until April 11. At which point, I’ll probably make a big to do about that, as well.)

All just excuses to post pictures.

So without further ado:

We went to Vacaville, aka cowtown:

Mort was the starting pitcher.  He’s our ace, but has been injured so the coaches have been very careful, so’s not to risk his health over the long haul. He went two innings, then this happened:

When there’s a pitching change, the infield comes in and stands on the mound with the new guy as he warms up. Ritual/protocol you know. This is the A squad (at least for now): Gib at 3rd, Ryan at short, Reed at second and Danny at first. Lagatutta’s catching.

Oh, and Peter’s the new guy.

He had a great outing: he held the Bull Dogs to just one hit over his 4 1/3 innings, struck out a few, walked a few, and allowed no earned runs. He threw a greater percentage of balls than we (Jim and I) like (authorities on the game that we are), but looked confident and in control. He was backed up by a hot hitting bunch of Blue Devils (15 hits in the game!) and some hit-saving defense, which pitchers and their parents really appreciate. Gib came in for the final 3 batters. DHS won 14-6. Their official record is now 1-0.

And here he is just before heading across the street to blast more golf balls into the night air…

Looks a bit whooped. (But isn’t it nice he lets me take a picture…)