Life of Wry

Sometimes, when you’re a pitcher, your contribution to a game may only be three pitches. Today was such a day.

Peter came in in the top of the seventh with two out and a runner on second. The number two batter was up, who’d flown out three times–twice with big boomers to center, and once on a blooper over the Tyler’s head at third. On his last at bat, he’d lined a nice one into the gap for a double. Guy’s a hitter.

Turns out, he’s also Dusty Baker’s son. Dusty was a hard hitting outfielder himself, who played for the Braves in the seventies and the Dodgers in the eighties (which is how I knew him), among other teams; coached and then managed the Giants, Cubs, Reds, and, some months ago moved over to the Washington Nationals. He grew up in Sac and was a Sac-Joaquin Hall of Fame player (Sac-Joaquin is OUR section!), and now lives in Granite Bay (when not working, I guess).

And his son Darren is sort of famous himself. As the story goes, Darren, was yanked out of harm’s way during the 2002 World Series, when, as a three-something “bat boy” (how does that work?), he wandered obliviously from his post and into the region of home plate, where a major play was about to occur (worth looking up on YouTube, it’s pretty funny).

So, yeah, that kid.

Peter threw two strikes (I can’t remember if they were swinging or called strikes), and then forced a grounder to second. Reed made a nice, routine throw to Daniel for the out.

We were not able to score any runs in the bottom of the seventh, and lost the game 5-0. Big bummer. We’re starting to worry our playoff chances are less certain, but they will rally.

Thankfully, Dianna reminded me to get a photo:

Warning: This is a stretch.

Being as it’s an action hero kind of day, thought I’d share a couple of favorites in our household (not Star Wars guys, but heroes nonetheless):

These action figure magnetized finger puppets adorn the pole of this floor lamp, sorta like totem pole. We have Einstein, Pope Francis, and I’ll need a little help remembering who hero #3 is…

Pope Francis is a new addition. I picked him up about a week ago, stuck him on the pole, and nobody noticed.

They are fairly subtle. Unless you were really looking, you might miss them.

I know. Random.

As of today, it looks like that narcissistic blowhard reality TV show host who brags about his sexual conquests, plays fast and loose with facts, behaves like a petulant adolescent, and whips his supporters into frenzies by stoking their fears of people who are different, is going to be the one to represent the former Grand Old Party in the upcoming presidential election.

Unless something wild and unpredictable happens, he’s actually going to be running for PRESIDENT of the United States. We are going to have to deal with this sad, undeveloped man for another six months.

I couldn’t believe it would happen. It did. I can’t believe he will win. He won’t. He’ll have a hard time finding a sane running mate, for one thing, so good luck with that. He’s also failed, at least so far, to convince anyone with even the tiniest bit of grey matter that he can magically transform into someone who is presidential… like it’s simply a character you might assume, as in a play. Idiot line of the campaign, “I’ll be so presidential you won’t believe it, you’ll get bored I’ll be so presidential.” 

What is he, 8?

And just who does he think we are? Idiots who would buy it?

Cringe.

He has no business being in this race. This is a bad joke that nobody took seriously and now look. It’s a messy mess that nobody wants.. they are now stuck with a major liability. They can’t rebuild their party as long as he’s got them by the tail. The smart ones will take the very long view, let this one go, make sure nobody currently sitting in seats gets any of this muck on them, take to the back rooms where they can reinvent themselves and wait out this tsunami of a shit storm. Anybody with hopes for a role in the future of their party will put as much distance as they can between themselves and Mr. Goofball. He will lose this election, and when the media finally stops obsessing over him, and people come to their senses, the politicians who tried to hitch their wagons to his will look just ridiculous. And unelectable.

But we have six months of some really ugly stuff to get through first.

Oh, yeah, did I mention Trump won Indiana? I think by a lot, which forced that sleezeball Cruz to–quote, suspend, unquote–his smarmy campaign. Not before a bunch of ridiculous and desperate last ditch hail Marys to try and salvage his chances at the convention, though.  Ugh. Can you please just go away now Ted?

On the other side of the house, Bernie won Indiana this evening. Not sure what that means. I’m not displeased, but I’m a bit dubious that this goes much further. Has he earned the right to continue? Of course. Has he generated great gobs of enthusiasm among voters old and especially young and inspired millions to believe that we can begin to address the fundamental corruption that has profoundly undermined our democracy? Yup. Has he reframed the debate and moved the party leftward by shining a big bright light on an ugly underbelly and informed us that most modern nations serve their citizens better than we serve ours and that a more humane quality of life and a more civil society are possible? Totally, and I’m so hugely grateful.

I still think Hillary’s got this one, but her vision and priorities have shifted, thanks to Bern.

So.. anyway, I imagine this guy’s happy today:

The DHS Varsity Baseball team’s back in a nice little winning streak. We beat Monterey Trail twice (19-1 and 8-1) to take the series, which is no accomplishment whatsoever–they just don’t have much of a baseball program–and we are now, officially 19-3. Our national and state rankings are still way, way up there, but not in the top ten, and certainly not #1, like it was a few weeks ago. But hey. Twenty-three wins and only three losses (this includes our preseason scrimmages) is still damn impressive!

Here are a couple shots from this afternoon down in Elk Grove:

This is Hunter’s little brother who embodies every Norman Rockwell theme ever. Sitting in that chair, he couldn’t see over the backstop, so he found a crack through which he could watch the big guys play.

Terrible resolution because I was sitting in the top row of the bleachers and had to zoom way in… but I still like the image.

And here’s the team on the long walk back to the parking lot:

All in a day’s work.

I’ll give me this: when I fail, I really fail.

Related: I’m pretty sure I’m the only person on the planet without a go-to lasagne recipe.

So yeah, I failed dinner, specifically Jim’s birthday dinner, in spite of working really hard on it. (Jim’s birthday was actually yesterday, but we were a bit preoccupied that day with the task of getting our soon-to-be-college-kid to visit–ahem, for the first time–the school he’s likely to attend.)

I had decided to try a new lasagna recipe. I really am dying to have a reliable version of this comfort-food standard that I can fall back on when in the mood for something rich and heavy and cheesy. It’s so the perfect dish in so many situations. And I so don’t have the definitive recipe.

Have tried so many over the decades.

[Hangs head.]

This one billed itself as, “Healthier World’s Best Lasagna.” The weird word construction should have been my first clue.

It might have been tasty, I suppose, but for a couple of things:

1) I cooked, as directed, a nice combo of tomato sauce, tomato paste, crushed tomatoes, onions, garlic, spices, a variety of ground turkey & turkey sausages, and fresh herbs over the stove for hours. Hours. As directed. By the time I began to layer the lasagna, the sauce had thickened into a paste. I could have thinned it with some water, wine or broth to get it to a better, more lasagna-like sauce, but, first time through, I like to stick faithfully to the instructions. So I just went with the paste-like concoction.

2) They said I could save time by layering the lasagna with raw noodles, rather than pre-cooking them. They said the noodles would cook to PERFECTION if I added water halfway through the baking process. So I did this.

But, this was not true.

The noodles far down toward the bottom and middle cooked sufficiently, but toward the outside and top of the dish did not. They were hard or shoe leather-like.

So disappointing.

3) And they did warn me about this, but I forgot, so this one’s on me: Once fully assembled, with the cheesiest layer (mozzarella and parmesan) on top, I covered with foil. There was not, however, sufficient space between cheese and foil and when I went to remove the foil, the entire top layer came with it.

Very messy. Disappointingly messy.

So shit. The whole thing was a disaster. About 4 1/2 hours worth of disaster. With no back up plan.

I should add, the salad I made, the SALAD, was horrible. I don’t often fail at salads, but this one was an unfortunate combination of things that didn’t really go together. I don’t really want to go into it.

Okay, so then the dessert. Jim’s usual birthday request is pecan pie. And here I DO have a go-to recipe that I’ve been making for nearly two decades. It’s from the Five Star Recipe Collection of Southern Living and it is just fantastic. The recipe’s got a few gotcha points in it, and I’ve made all the mistakes one can make on this pie, but after making it so many times over so many years, I’m rarely tripped up anymore. My crust is pretty no fail these days, so no worries there, and I’ve perfected the a) oven temp and b) cooking time, both through so much trial and error, and have made such careful notes, I just expect the pie’s going to set up perfectly. Old problems. Totally overcome. Until today.

Everything seemed perfect to this point:

The pecans sat nicely atop the filling (it would be fully covered, as usual). And when I went to pull the pie out, after the perfected 45-minute plus 10-minute baking time, it jiggled only the slightest amount. Just the way you want it.

But a couple of hours later when we went to cut into it… too soft and nearly runny.

Not the way I want it. Jim will eat it any how, any way, and seemed to like it just fine, but I was very disappointed.

And just felt like a schmo for blowing every aspect of this dinner.

Peter, in my opinion, saved the whole night by giving Jim the nicest birthday card ever. I kind of want to take a picture of it and include it here… but I think it’s too personal. The printed portion said, “You are my Hero,” and that was lovely enough, but what he wrote on the inside was very moving and genuinely heartfelt.

He also gave Jim two certificates for dinner, which he drew onto some notebook paper and then perforated himself using a perforator we gave him for Christmas one year when he was about 5 years old and very obsessed with perforating everything. I was delighted he still had it and that he thought to use it to make the certificates. Charming, that kid.

The dinner certificates, he clarified, are an offer to join Jim and me for dinner in a restaurant of Jim’s choosing. He won’t be paying for dinner, because he’s broke he said, but will join us.

Which is actually great.

~~

And….. we’ve hit another milestone in the Peter-goes-to-college project. Tonight, with 90 minutes to spare on the May 1-midnight deadline, Peter: 1) confirmed with UCSC that he was accepting a slot; 2) indicated his top three college picks; and 3) paid $257 to hold said spot and, I presume, go on to the next step(s) (orientations, dorm assignments, class schedules…).

I might best describe his mood as inwardly resigned, outwardly indifferent, and mine as outwardly relieved, inwardly ebullient. Jim is remaining low key so as not to trigger reactionary comments from Peter.  (For example, I say, “Congratulations Peter, it sure has been a long road on this college thing.” He, not meeting my eyes, says, “If San Diego comes through I’m going there. Or Irvine.”) Before pulling the trigger tonight, Peter wanted to check NYU to see if they’d offered any more money… but alas, their deadline had passed earlier due to the three hour time difference. Desperately grasping at straws? Yanking our chain?  Being petulant…who’s to say?

He is definitely making it known, at least to us, that he is not happy with his choices. To what end, I’m not exactly sure. But one thing is absolutely clear, he wants this to be his own choice. If we seem too positive and encouraging about it, he goes the other way. If we like it, he does not (at least not that he’ll ever admit). He is very hard headed about it all. As Paul said, he clearly wants to be the master of his own experience–even if he currently possesses the wisdom of an unworldly 17-year old. It’s his biggest jump yet into the world of separation and independence. I admire him for this, even as he’s been quite surly.

His olive branch lately, especially when things have gotten especially tense, is to suggest we all sit down and watch an episode of Seinfeld…. all squished together on the futon in my office…I think it’s his way of trying to connect again, and it’s a nice break from whatever’s going on in the teenager-parent battle zone.

So, after he completed the Yes, I am accepting your offer to go to Santa Cruz thing, we did just that.

This was quite a day in the Frame:Peterson family. Highs, lows, some very tender spots. Too late to sort through all of it, so I shall just post a few photos and debrief maybe tomorrow.

Good with that?

Good.

We went to UC Santa Cruz..

(Apols to whoever’s car this is.)

Neither Jim nor I, and certainly not Peter, had ever set foot on the UCSC campus. Given it’s Peter’s choice for COLLEGE, a choice that is to be made official TOMORROW, it’s a good thing we made it down there. You hate to get out too early on these major life decisions.

This was our first gander at the campus:

This was the first of many times I said, “Whoa.. I had no idea…” referring to the campus environs.

I’d of course heard of the redwoods. They are not kidding when they say this campus sits in the middle of a forest, a very hilly one at that:

This is driving from one part of campus to another…

I swear, it was like driving in the mountains.

This is returning to where we’d parked our car, down near the so-called East Field.. part of the athletic complex where I hope Peter will spend a lot of time in non-academic pursuits:

So, yeah, vast pastoral plateaus, dense redwood forests, “infinity” fields that look out to the great Pacific ocean.  Ho hum.

We walked around a lot of residence communities–each its own college (there are ten). Because it was Saturday, we saw very few people anywhere. That didn’t feel so good, but I imagine during school time, it’s a little more energetic.

At one point, Jim and I went to look around “Science Hill.” Peter stayed in the car. (Part of the very difficult time our sweet son is having with this process.) We asked a young man if he could tell us where the physics building was. Jim mentioned we were looking on behalf of our incoming freshman son. He let us know our kid would love it here. I burst into tears (still bursting).

But seeing this part of campus turned everything around for me. Suddenly I could actually see Peter here.

This is the building, we think, that houses the physics department:

This is the library across the way:

We somehow missed some main part of the campus? Maybe a plaza, maybe the main library, maybe a more traditional-looking campus center?  Not quite sure where the energy hub is or where students gather, but we saw a good portion of the school anyway.

It’s pretty.

It’s not Manhattan, New York, New York. But college is about relationships, right? Oh, and classes.

We went down to Santa-Cruz-the-town and had dinner on Pacific Street. Lots of energy there. Peter’s still a little out of sorts (maybe you can tell), but starts to thaw out about this time…

Honestly.. it was just so difficult. I’ll try and articulate this later. But we all held it together pretty well, and gradually, he opened up.

On Paul’s recommendation, we got ice cream at Marianne’s:

And then checked out a random golf course (DeLaveaga), which definitely interested him. That was fun.

Then drove along W. Cliff  Drive, which was, of course, lovely, and watched some surfers:

Now, reasonably genuine, more or less relaxed smiles:

The ride home was sweet and good.

I’m just dyin’ here. I want him to be excited about his choice. But I’m sure it will all be fine.

Oh. And it was Jim’s birthday today.

One for the record books.

I dunno.. this funny spoke to me today.

I’m not that guy, don’t expect to be that guy for quite a while, but I’m definitely noticing the effects of aging. And I admit to wondering if I’ll ever return to that time when I completely and totally took my health and mobility for granted.

Honest to god, as I sit here, I can identify three significant areas on my person that are seriously fubar:  1) right hip’s been messed up for well over a year now and we are most certainly heading toward a hip replacement fit for a card-carrying AARP senior citizen; 2) left thumb sure doesn’t seem to be coming back.. no idea what to do about that.. probably chop it off (more likely surgery) but damn it’s tender and, sadly, remains out of commission; and 3) right shoulder’s ridiculously sore.. thought I’d tweaked it lifting my bike onto the bike rack on the back of my car, but it’s been about three weeks and there’s been no improvement.. not sure what to make of this, but I swear, if it’s another manifestation of arthritis, like the hip and thumb, I’m going to have to rethink this whole damn thing. Not sure what that means–to rethink this whole thing–but this is a trend I was not prepared for. Not now. Not yet.

For now, I’m going with the coincidence theory.. that none of this has anything to do with aging, arthritis, turning 60, being out of hormones… whatever… it’s just an unusual blip on the chart, some kind of strange coincidence, and we’ll return to our regular programming soon. I mean, I understand bodies wear out, but not for PE majors, not at 60.

To me, that’s the irony. I work hard at this health and fitness stuff, but I also expected to be able to have my cake and eat it too. I have earned all the guilty pleasures precisely because I work hard to stay healthy. I’m not that guy on the table, I’m not.  But yet…hip, thumb, rotator cuff.

Sweet universe, I’m only 60.

Which brings me to another thought…

I understand there are things in life best avoided if one wants to maximize one’s chances for a long and healthy life. We can agree that cigarette smoking is one of those things. But life’s too short to deny the pleasures of, let’s say, a late evening splurge on dark chocolate and port just because those things did not make it onto the FDA’s food pyramid. We can be sensible people. We must enjoy.

Eat what you love. Eat it in moderation.

Or, doesn’t it make sense to travel in your sixties–even if looming college expenses make it financially precarious–because deferring travel until your seventies, when you are far more financially hearty, but far less mobile, will be a lot less fun. Doesn’t it make sense to loosen those straps just a little now … because–and this brings us back to that other thing–arthritis?

So, that’s what I think. Do what you love. This is life we’re talking about.

So, I’m at the gas station today.. fueling up.. and did a bit of a double take when I saw this:

I usually choose the cheapest octane gas, the 87 at Shell. But as I was fueling up, I suddenly noticed the 68 octane.. I thought, whoa, when did they get that?

Noticed pretty quickly that it was a button placed upside down.. which I tried, but couldn’t fix. And of course Ms. Goody Two Shoes had to go in and tell somebody.

The guy, Senik I think his name was, came out and, when he saw the pump labels, laughed… said some Shell people had just been by the station to fix some goofy pumps and replace a few worn panels. They obviously boo boo’d on this one. He was so glad I pointed it out.

Oh, the pleasure’s all mine.

We won’t get fueled again.

~~

In yesterday’s news: So, that game yesterday? The one I thought might be rained out? Well, it wasn’t. We got a full seven innings in under a dramatic blue sky with enormous white thunderheads looming. Well..not exactly a FULL seven because Daniel hit a walk-off double in the bottom of the 7th with three guys on, including Peter who was pinch running for Hunter who’d gotten a nice single up the middle, Griffen, who’d also managed a nice grounder through the 5-6 hole, and Gibson, whom their pitcher had intentionally walked. We were down 1-0, with one out, and it looked like we might suffer our second loss to Elk Grove, but Daniel, who was behind 1-2 in the count–making things look very grim, indeed–ripped an absolutely gorgeous line drive down the left field line to bring Peter in (tying run) and Griffin (winning run), at which point pandemonium broke out and a giant dog pile ensued. And, announcer Peter Fuqua was quick on the PA system and queued up Daniel’s walk-up song–Hendrix’s Purple Haze–and, well, it was just an incredible moment following an incredibly well-played, and particularly well-pitched, game, and especially sweet after losing to that mean Thundering Herd on Monday (14-1.. did I mention? Probably not, it was so awful). Anyway, a great game, and lovely Peter got to play even a small role. And we were all SO glad the storm eked past us because this game was So. Much. Fun.

~~

And, in case you wanna sing more of that Who song:

I’ll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I’ll get on my knees and pray
We don’t get fooled again
No, no!

Currently in the hood: Thunder is rolling and booming dramatically. Here’s a shot down the road:

And above the house:

We have a game in about two hours. Think it’ll happen? Best case, this thing drops its load and moves on in time for a 4:00pm start.. cross your fingers.

~~

In other news, Peter’s Callaway clubs (used, 6-iron and up, including a pitching and sand wedge, no putter) arrived via eBay yesterday evening, so guess who’s out at the driving range at the moment? He spent some time in the waning light last night, carving a few new divots in the back yard lawn.. what’s left of it (golf is hard on the landscape).

That boy is so driven.

For no reason whatsoever, I’ve decided my theme tonight is reading.. more particularly, favorite pictures of Peter reading.

Here’s an early one.  Peter’s (and every six year old boy’s) hero for so, so many years…

This one’s of Peter standing on a corner in Rome… Magic Tree House, as I recall:

Here’s one in a mountain town–will have to look up the name–in Brazil…

It’s not even like he’s a voracious reader or anything, at least not books. Kids today, I think, read a ton, but mostly stuff online. That’s certainly Peter’s experience.

And a poster I saw the other day that pretty much describes me and my propensity for acquiring books, with every intention–but no chance–of reading every one of them: