Wanna have a catch?

 SO the topic of Ray Kinsella's father came up.

I loved Field of Dreams from the moment I first saw it. As an idea, as a look at things lost and things found. The story was wholly original, and in some ways almost corny.

But wow, it still works. What's wild to me now is how different my life is than it was 33(!) years ago. I'm nowhere near the same person I was in 1989. But the movie is the same. 

There always seems to be a fabled quality to baseball movies. M shared the idea that most everything you do in baseball is failure. The greatest hitters since antiquity have never attained a .400 batting average. Which means 60 percent failure is ... unquestionably the best player in baseball history.

Statistically every time you go to the plate you know you're going to make an out. That's the most common outcome.

I keep thinking about this.

Christmas 2020

So it's just weird this year. No one's going to miss 2020.

In Boston there is a rainstorm, high winds, and temperatures near 60. That's incomprehensible except in the context of (lol) everything else this year.

The sabotage of the USPS means a lot of gifts didn't make it on time. I'm still waiting. I feel for parents having to deal with this. I feel for people worried about making ends meet. I'm luckier than a lot of people, even though I have actually already spent roughly an hour doing work duties. 

Sigh.

The holidays are notoriously difficult for people anyway; it's easy to get blue. Last night the streets were eerily quiet. Stores are closed, but no one is traveling ... at times like this, the noise abates and that "monkey brain" can get to prattling. You can only outrun your thoughts for so long.

So most won't see family this year, which is sad. And many think of the family they'll never see. Christmas in America is a memory factory. It's a conditioned response.

My mother loved Christmas. She went all-out for it every year. Decorating the house. Special dishes just for the season. Insane amounts of gifts. She was born in rural poverty in the 30s so when she got to a stage in life where she could blow it out, she did. It was charming and came from the right place.

My dad was probably even more disadvantaged as a child. He didn't respond to that the same way as my mom. An interesting psychological study no doubt.

My brother, once we grew up and branched out, we grew apart. I have great Christmas memories spent with him, because when we were kids at some point it became an annual tradition to fly to Michigan on or around Christmas Day to spend a week visiting my late crazy aunt. Those trips in a lot of ways became the best Christmas gift of all because of the amazing adventures we had experiencing a week of winter activities in a foreign land.

An example: ice skating on a frozen pond, followed by a trip to a cider mill. Exquisite.

All memories now, though. Those people are almost all gone. So it's natural to be a wee bit wistful about it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad today. Wistful is indeed the right word. I've been not only blessed to have those memories but blessed to have new ones... it's literally all (or at least mostly) good ...

One of my favorite Christmas songs ... and the tears are now falling as I look at the lyrics ... is "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" ...

"Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

So hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now"

No one really knows where our lost people go, or if they go anywhere at all. But today let them all be together in your mind, and in your heart. That's the real gift.

12:18 am EST 3 Nov 2020

If you're like me Christmas has a specific feel to it that often hits on Christmas Eve ... it really must be what it's like to be in the eye of a big storm.

There's been all this buildup and finally, at last, here we are ... the momentum toward the main event is now right before us. Nothing can stop it, but here's an all too brief respite ... likely no more than a few hours, max. 

At Christmas, the excitement and rush of it has worn off like any other high. It's usually around this time of day. The world has fallen quiet, as if enveloped in a snowfall. 

Sometimes you can get introspective about this time. It should be a joyous occasion but instead it can feel joyless, maybe a little artificial, and in that horrible moment, despair pulls at you.

I feel like that a little right now. Technically, it's Election Day 2020. 

But there hasn't been a joyful buildup to this day as if it were a celebrated American Holiday. Nope, it's been a grind, a literal death march for closing in on a quarter-million of us. Lies, cheating, deceit, banality, selling out to (not even!) the highest bidder(s) ... encouraging and feeding trolls. Sleeping with the enemies. And now a deadly disease. That's the "pre-game" before Election Day 2020.

So now it's here, and I was one of the 100 million who already voted. About 130 million total voted four years ago. Apparently on the way to record turnout, not including the untold number who will be disenfranchised by the efforts of the GOP through degrading the USPS, eliminating polling sites, throwing people off voting rolls, gerrymandering, intimidation ...

Christmas: Happy, excited buildup.

Election Day 2020: Almost four years of dread; pestilence; famine ... that's the buildup.

And now we're in the "wait for it" part of the proceedings.

So when we ultimately theoretically fall into an unreliable slumber tonight, what will we wake up to?

That question makes me not want to sleep.

***

For a lot of today (yesterday) I felt cautiously optimistic. But I also remember that I don't bet on sports teams I like. Because subjectivity hurts your objectivity. It's much harder to keep a clear head when you have an emotional attachment to something. 

This is why you haven't thrown out that Penn State sweatshirt.

But still: The polling looks good. The numbers have been steady, and they say the same thing -- it's gonna be a blue wave today.

Yeah, like they said four years ago.

***

It's like we're all passengers in a car piloted by a drunk driver. Death is one possible outcome. Being terrified is guaranteed.

***

After that guilty, thirsty liaison with hope I waded through typical WFH problems as the evening unfolded. 

I hate the time change, despite that cheat-code extra hour on Day 1, because at 4 p.m. you're in darkness. It just pounces. 

You find yourself restless ... needing to do certain things but unfocused, barely together at all ... what should take 2 minutes takes 5; what should take 25 minutes takes 2 hours ... and everything could be impossible so does it even matter where to start?

I worked out for 20 minutes. Checked in on work. Washed the dishes. Checked in. Let the dogs out. Checked in.

Just bouncing from task to task ... running, really. Do not let your mind sit with the heavy weight of this moment, now 29 minutes nearer to ... what?

What?

***

I've been lucky to live in this time, because there are some things that to me seem immortal, and I experienced life alongside these histories, good and bad ... 

But the Trump years have been too much. We are corroded from where we were. We are not better. We are hateful, divided, and some people are scary stupid. We need it to be over.

Writing

Must. Do. More. Writing.

I obviously haven't been doing that. I think I've been lost in the desert somewhat. Trying to find my bearings. I have to say the last couple of years have been the most strange.

So maybe writing will help me break some of this confusion down. It feels so foreign right now. Like trying to speak Sanskrit or something else super difficult.

Something Big

So, Oct. 2, 2017, is a shit day.

I'm sick. So sick I didn't go to work. I went to sleep last night about 10.

Sleep was awful. I woke up at 5:20 and checked my phone. Saw the alerts about Las Vegas. I'm officially tired of all this winning.

And now we learn Tom Petty has died.

***

Almost exactly 36 years ago -- Sept. 23, 1981 -- I saw Petty at Reunion Arena in Dallas with my brother and one of my best friends. It was a great show.

The concert was six hours away from our college town. We drove in that Wednesday, saw the show, came back the next day. Killed Chuck's car on the return trip, a hilarious story in its own right.

The next day, four of us were in another car, headed for Jackson, Miss., via New Orleans. Steed's car had only one cassette in it ... "Damn The Torpedoes." We wore it out.

***

I'm kind of burying the lede here. "The Waiting" is a song that literally changed my life.

When I met M, we were living a country apart. As we fell for each other -- and yes, I know this is cheesy, but bear with -- we did typical young couple things, like have touchstones.

One was Tom Petty's "The Waiting." Because when you're in a long-distance relationship, there's a lot of waiting. The song fit our situation. (BTW: We have two coffee mugs now with lyrics from this song on them.)

When we finally met face-to-face, it was fraught with tension. What if it didn't work?

It seemed like it might not.

We got into an argument. To blow off steam, she was on roller blades, I was on my bike, and we rode along the beach. Together, but apart. (This is my interpretation, maybe hers is different.) There was a lot of concern. It didn't seem like we were going to be able to accomplish this massive thing of our relationship. We lived 3,000 miles apart. There was the age thing. Different -- WILDLY different -- backgrounds.

We stopped for a moment, at Redondo Pier. Frustrated. Pessimistic.

***

Music is a soundtrack. I think all of us have songs that take us back to certain times, situations.

There were some shit bars at the pier. One of them had a live band. In the distance, we heard them play the opening notes of "The Waiting."

I'll never forget the look on M's face when that happened. Never.

It was kind of an epiphany. The story's so corny no one would ever pitch it to a Hollywood studio. But it really happened.

***

We were in LA and wanted to catch a show of his at the Hollywood Bowl. We drove right by it as the show got going but decided not to go. They were in Boston a couple of months ago and we passed again. Regrettable. My brother saw him a few months back, said it was a great show.

Thanks for everything, Tom.

My Old School

Well, I guess it was time.

I hadn't been to a HS reunion before. Got close once: For the 10th, I'd pledged to go with one of my oldest friends. The day before, we scouted the location in case we wanted to make a quick escape. I'm not kidding ... we went to the hotel ballroom where it was going to be held, found all the exits in case we needed to high-tail it outta there.

The day of, we were on the way over. I remember it exactly. We were at a stoplight overlooking White Rock at Mockingbird and Buckner. I looked over at D, and we just knew.

His HS experience was worse than mine, apparently. When I was in HS I was on a varsity athletic team, involved in some student organizations, was on the newspaper staff ... I didn't feel like I was one of the "cool" kids but also didn't feel I was with the outcasts. I liked having a foot in both worlds but identified less with the popular people.

I had typical HS-age issues. Was more unsure than sure, used occasional bravado to mask the insecurities. But never really felt like I was "special" or one of the Chosen Ones. Honestly, I just felt like I was an unremarkable person then.

So it took me a while to feel like I could expose myself to that again. But, at this stage in life, what did that matter? That was a long time ago.

I asked D to go and was a little surprised he opted out. Maybe I should have? But enough of those old acquaintances that I gave a damn about wanted me to go, so go I went.

It was harder than I thought it would be. There were a handful of people I wanted to see, but barely 15 percent of my graduating class showed up. Our senior class was big, so honestly, some of those people I just didn't remember ... not because they weren't good people, it's just impossible to have relationships with almost 1,000 people.

Additionally ... time the avenger. I didn't recognize a lot of people. Most people, in fact. And for me, I felt it would be awkward and invasive to walk up to folks, peer at the sticker with their name affixed to their chest, and say ... what?

"Nope, don't remember you." I think that would be uncomfortable for them as well as for me. I would never willingly make someone feel uncomfortable in that setting.

"Wait, *you're* so-and-so? When did you get so ... bald?"

Now, I would never say that, but ... after the event, I saw some posts IDing people and they were completely unrecognizable. I'm sure I was too ... I don't have that "David Cassidy" hair I used to have, but I do have an additional hundred pounds. Anybody want some?

I'm also an odd duck compared to the majority of people from back there as far as their political views. I consider myself left of center, but not "crazy librul" because to me wanting equality and peace aren't crazy ideas.

There was one guy there who is a stone RWNJ. He just is. I avoided him as much as I could but he veered close to our table once and I just wanted the seconds to elapse swiftly so it would be over. The political world is so fraught right now, I welcomed the idea of a few hours away from that.

But honestly, I just didn't know what to do. One guy I wasn't super close with, but lived nearby, I knew him a long time, and we were on the team together and we sweated together, bled together, shared that special camaraderie of a team ... I ventured to engage with him, and after less than two minutes of small talk, he was done with me and basically turned his back. He couldn't even feign interest in learning anything about what time had wrought.

It was disappointing, though not entirely surprising. He was always kind of aloof and an odd duck, but it was almost like memories of a cold and distant relative ... couldn't you put aside your ego for a moment? Nope. He wanted to go back to his Circle of Adulation, where there were willing supplicants.

It kind of triggered me a little, I think. All those old HS-era fears and longing for approval flicked me upside the head.

It had happened with another teammate about 15 or so years ago. This person had become a coach and I was covering their game. Afterward I approached him but stood a respectful distance away while he spoke to someone else. We made eye contact and maybe he didn't recognize me, but as the minutes ticked away and glances were exchanged, it seemed he just had no interest in reconnecting. He never motioned me over. I left.

I've thought back on that and on the weekend: Should I have been more bold in seeking out people? Perhaps, although the original issues remain. To me it is respectful to give people the space they may want to approach a middle ground. I simply will not force myself on someone.

I was fortunate to be able to visit with a few people who meant a lot to me then; although I wished I could have spent more time with them. They were able to navigate this situation much better than I did. I envy that. They were able to circulate and dive into it, I guess. I didn't really know how.

I carry a great sadness about all of this. We all just want to be accepted. Despite my running in some "in-crowd" circles in HS, I felt that was someone else's perception. I didn't play football to sit at the front of the auditorium at pep rallies ... I played because I loved the game. I wasn't that great at it; I was a lot better playing on the front green at Gaston than I was on the field at Forester.

I wasn't on newspaper to see my name in print, I was on it because I loved journalism, as more than 25 years in this cursed business will painfully attest.

There was a slide show during the event showing old images from the neighborhood and yearbooks. It was a delight to see those fresh young people so full of life and so ... hopeful. But that experience wasn't everyone's. It wasn't D's experience, and truthfully, it wasn't always mine. And it's possible it wasn't those of the more than 80 percent who didn't show up. It wasn't always a happy time. A lot of people grappled with the stereotypical worries and tribulations of being a teenager. Am I OK?

It's an enduring question. Sometimes it's still a concern.

What's new

I haven't written since mom died. I mean to. I want to. It's just very hard to do it. She was my staunchest advocate her whole life. Missing her is the hardest thing I've ever had to overcome.

Something interesting happened during this time. The day she died, someone sent me a letter. It has opened a door to a part of my life that now will be explored. There will likely be more about this at some point as well.

Beyond the personal, I've felt a great deal of worry and concern about our collective fate given that we all now are apparently under the control of Vladimir Putin. That doesn't seem a situation that will end well.

Seriously: I just hope we all live through it.

Sigh.

Life is a crazy beautiful mess. It saddens me there are people who don't accept this and instead are motivated by greed, fear, hatred, shallowness and many other strange behaviors that are inherently inhuman. Some people don't want to see to it that other people have a fair shake. Never thought that'd be the predominant thought in this country. The country has an ugly side I thought we were growing away from. But enough, with the aid of selfish political ideologues, foreign intermediaries, traitorous government representatives and just a dash of dumbasses, have managed to hijack the country.

And I don't think anyone can fly the plane.