Life of Wry

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…)

Today’s notables:

• Peter’s taken to golf with his usual level of obsessiveness. He’s been watching golfing videos and practicing with a spatula and whiffle ball in the house. Jim picked up a couple of clubs at the thrift store yesterday–a 5-iron and a 5-wood. A buck apiece. Tonight was the second in a row of going across the street and hitting balls. Not sure exactly how, but he broke the iron in two, which I think pleased him. He does think he’s improving rapidly.
• Super Tuesday. Eleven states up for grabs. Trump won seven. His nomination seems a foregone conclusion. More disgust than I have words for at the moment. Hillary also won seven.
• Trying something radical in my attempt to decrease hip (and now thumb) inflammation. I tried gluten free for a week last fall and tried sugar free for a month post Christmas. I had good reasons for both experiments and good reasons for suspending them. Now I’m combining the two. I know mileage varies on these things, but I’m up for seeing what happens. At the very least, I’m hoping that dropping my fifteen surplus pounds will ease the load on my hip. I’ll report out after three months.
• Pretty sky this afternoon, no?

Not too much to write about today, so will offer a small reflection of the last few days with Jay.

First, a pic:

Jay is a very nice guy. His is a soft footprint, said Jim today, and I agree. He is easy going, helpful, kind and agreeable. He’s mellowed a lot in the five-plus years he’s lived in Thailand.. and he was largely mellow to begin with.  His life is simple and satisfying. He seems at peace.

We enjoyed his three days here.

~~

Next time: golf (that, chess and Trump are Peter’s latest obsessions).

It was a pictureless day, in spite of worthy subjects. For example, Davis’ Old North was just aburst (that should be a word) in color from flower beds spilling over sidewalks, mounds of yellow sour grass crowded around sycamore trunks, and trees popping pink and white blossoms all over the place. After brunch and before driving down to Pleasanton, I decided I had to show Jay how luscious and charming Davis can be in on a sunny day in late February. He was impressed (or polite) and agreed it was lovely. This neighborhood in the spring just makes my heart soar. I’m serious.

For another example, Aunt Joy’s fabulous chili with many bowls of fabulous fresh embellishments. T’was truly fabulous.

The hills on the drive down to Aunt Joy’s were their usual springtime luscious green. My friend Bev wrote on her blog that the deep velvety color lasts about an hour and half, so it’s good to enjoy it while you can. I borrowed a picture she took… hoping that’s okay!

Between those hills, the verdant marsh, the blooming orchards, the sparkling delta and towering peaks of Mt. Diablo… well… it was all just stunning.

Nice afternoon, too, with Aunt Joy.. lots of talking and catching up. She served up all kinds of wonderful things to eat (ie., the aforementioned chili) and we even watched the Oscars.

I left Jay there to spend some extra time with Aunt Joy, and drove home on the late-ish side.

This is what I’m talking about:

A real live family member is getting to see Peter play baseball. (That’s Jay in the middle, as people were arriving and settling in for a pair of games out at Jesuit today.) And not a moment too soon… as this is Peter’s final season of baseball (as I may have mentioned a thousand times before). Because we are up here in Northern California and most of our family is far away, almost nobody from either the Frame side or Peterson side has ever seen Peter play. Aunt Joy made it to a game down in San Jose last summer, which was grand, and that may be it! There is a chance that during Peter’s Little League years, somebody was in town for some game, but for the most part nobody’s seen an inning.

Nobody’s fault. Just the way it is.

However, today Jay got to see a fantastic double header–DHS v. Jesuit, and DHS v. Granite Bay. We won both games handily (we are now 4 and 0). The boys played solidly–lots of hits, great pitching, tight defense. As I said, a perfect day for some great baseball.

Of all the family, Jay is definitely the baseball fan I value most… since he actually played baseball, coulda/shoulda been a youth baseball star, and really knows the game. Peter pitched three innings in the first game and Jay was there to appreciate every nuance.  It was a great outing. It’s fair to say this is absolutely the last opportunity Jay (or anybody) will have, so I’m glad he threw strikes, didn’t give up any runs and made a super crisp pickoff move for a dramatic inning-ending out… the duo of Frame-Henrickson; they are perfect. The whole thing was most excellent.

This is the view from the terraces… (Jesuit has such a nice stadium)… Peter on the mound:

Hard to beat that.

Well, unless you have puppies. Tobin and Tara brought their eight-week old ridgeback (forget the full name of the breed). They make dramatic-looking adult dogs.. and extremely cute puppies:

Sweet, huh?

All dressed up for surgery and nothing to surge. That was me today.

And I mean: I was outfitted with a gown, a nice paper hat, paper booties.. the whole nine yards. They’d taken all my vitals and had me tucked under a heated blanket, all prepped for trigger thumb surgery.  But then…

The surgeon came in and started asking questions about my thumb. He asked me to demonstrate range of motion and the positions it would get stuck in. He palpated and manipulated and kept asking over and over “in what position does it lock up?” It doesn’t lock up, I said. Sometimes it clicks as it moves from one position to another but mostly it just hurts like a sonofagun. He kept asking me about the locking. No locking. Finally he just outright challenged me on my diagnosis.

Not my diagnosis, I felt obliged to point out. It was the physician assistant guy I spoke to a few weeks back who came up with my diagnosis and a plan of attack.

He studied my x-ray and showed me all kinds of abnormal protuberances, misaligned bones and fuzzy areas that he said were signs of arthritis, and emphasized over and over (one over would have been plenty sufficient) that the surgery he was prepared to perform on me would do absolutely nothing to address any of it.

Well… to make a frustrating and slightly embarrassing story short, I forwent the surgery and left instead with this:

(I’ve since trimmed all that extra velcro and it looks a lot nicer.)

I’m to ice, immobilize and consume whatever I’m comfortable with in the oral anti-inflammatory category (having turned down the far more powerful injected anti-inflammatory solution… that godawful, painful cortisone shot that I was very motivated to avoid and apparently willing to substitute surgery for…much to his obvious dismay) and see if that does the trick.

And this is all more than fine with me.