A WRITTEN WAVE OF THE OL' WING

As you may recall, I'm a new Facebook member. I like it. For reasons I'm about to share.

First, as the title suggests, it is nice to re-connect, people whom I haven't communicated with for some time. Just a written wave. Maybe a little more. A little catch up. When I first heard of Facebook, maybe two years ago, maybe three. For some reason when one gets my age, the time gets as distorted as the reflection in those carnival mirrors. Five years become ten and ten become twenty. I can't fathom that 1995 was 15 years ago, for instance. But when I first heard about it, a friend running for governor asked to include him as a friend on Facebook. I didn't want to offend or act naive, so I agreed though I really didn't know what it was. So Len, now that I'm in the loop I'm doing it today.

Secondly or a continuation of the first reason, it's nice to hear where and what the friends are doing. Many of my friends are former students (it won't be too long that I can say old students because when I started teaching, a few of my students were only 5 years younger than I, which almost officially makes them old) and as they have matured and married and moved, they're as far away from MTV as I.

One of my Facebook friends was a former editor of JAVA, the high school's literary/art magazine that I sponsored for 25 years. A few years after graduation, she stopped by to see me and had her baby niece with her. Since I last had contact with her, Ashli added 4 of her own children. So it's that kind of catching up that has been enjoyable.

Many of my other friends were high school classmates. While I have attended every reunion we've had, it's still nice to chat once in awhile with some of them. Some I haven't talked to since our Sub days. No deep conversations; just a chance to say hi in the form of a wave, written. And while I mentioned chatting, that's available, too. When you keep tabs of who's on Facebook line, you are able to click and begin a brief dialogue if you so desire. It's not as intimate as hearing a familiar voice, but it's another wave with maybe a stop to share a brief story on the way to class, as it were.

There's even more. But I'll have to use another entry to sell you on the fullness of Facebook. So I'll wave good-bye this morning and head to FB.

WEAR THEM
All kinds of people have all kinds of excuses for not wearing sunglasses. Distortion seems to be the biggest hindrance. Maybe the next biggest reason is simply that they're a chore to put on/take off/put them away/take them out again/leave them some where. The third reason is abuse and breakage. Toss them, pitch them and then complain about the scratches. And if that's not enough, there are the fingerprints or smudges.

So, you knew all that. What you don't know is how to remedy 3 of the 4. They're still a chore. Taking a wing and shoving it into my shirt next to my bare chest is the best I have to offer for what to do with them when entering a store, for instance. Others put them back into the case, but they're mostly females because then what do you do with the case sans purse? I see some still wear them inside, but then I'm not sure how they can see. Sorta like the rock and movie stars who wear them to the Oscars. Yeah, they're cool, but blind behind those Foster Grants.

Now Foster Grant may still be in the sunglasses business but what you need to know is the best sunglasses bar none are Maui Jims. The have almost no distortion, they're stylish, and they're expensive. What else could you want in a pair?

Of course they keep out the harmful rays, but they're also light weight, come in a nice case with cleaner. They should, because you won't find a pair for under $159. And that's at the low end. But I think they're worth it. If you live where I do and face the sunshine 320 days of the year.

They're probably not worth the cost if you live in Seattle. You'd be better off spending money on a quality umbrella. I'd suggest a big old golf umbrella. But I'm not an expert in that accessory.

CHEERS

Some I remember or remember hearing about:

Cannonball, cannonball, bis boom bah, Edison Grade School rah, rah, rah.

The Redbirds are coming their sails are in sight, Redbirds are coming, they're coming tonight.

Oh when the Field School boys all stand in line, they're gonna win this game another time, For the basketball boys we love so well, we're gonna yell, and yell and yell and yell and yell.

Rah rah ree, kick 'em in the knee, rah, rah rass, kick 'em in the other knee.

We will, we will, rock you (or stomp you)

Ill...ini

But my favorite is "Rah, Rah for ______, Rah, Rah for________. Someone in the bleacher's yelling rah, rah for _______. 1,2,3,4 who ya gonna yell for _______ that's who."

Man, tell me that doesn't get the old adrenaline flowing. Now I'm diving for loose balls on the floor. Just to think someone (anyone) would be yelling for me... Well, I guess I had a need back then.

Fans in the gym were great. Whether a few or a packed house, I didn't care as long as someone was there to watch me. Except when I screwed up as I did in our Little League championship game.

My Dad was there with lots of other folks. I mean it was the championship game. And just as we were rallying, I got thrown out trying to steal 3rd base. I put a sudden stop to that rally as I was the 3rd out of the inning.

Coaches and teammates weren't too pleased with me. I was certainly disappointed, but I felt the worst for my Dad who had to witness it.

You know, I never recall him saying anything to me about it. No, "what were you thinking?" No, "what a bad break." Not even a "I really let one fan have it when he got on you." He just supported me and left me alone.

He was a smart guy, my Dad. He knew we didn't have a chance to win that game anyway. You see I played for the Cubs.

LITTLE PUJOLS, A.J. NUMBER 2 1/2

That is he. He with head down, clearly eyes on the ball. Hip turned before the hands pass through. It's a classic swing. Upper cut, but classic. Patterned after his famous father no doubt. Fathers and sons and baseball.

It just doesn't get any better. Well, fathers and daughters and baseball are pretty special, too. Grandfathers and grandkids and baseball work also. Even hotdogs and baseball.

What doesn't go well with baseball? Well a lot actually, but that's not what the focus of this rendition of On The QT is about today.

For, you see, today is our son's birthday. He's about as old as I feel. I don't know what that means exactly, except I've really been blessed to feel physically and mentally as well as I do. Considering that he turns 36 today.

I feel a little older than he. Maybe 43, but no more than that. Yet at that age I was jogging. I really logged the miles in those younger years. My best was 1,215 miles one year, with my favorite distance 4 miles. Today I walk 3 miles.

It's funny. I jogged for maybe 8 years until I would see people who would say they had seen me walking early that morning. I would correct them, saying I was jogging. Some kind ones would not respond, some would look at me as if I were joking, some as if I were crazy, and one who said definitively, "No. When I saw you, you were walking."

So I quit. Some years past before I started walking. Comparatively I walk no faster than when I jogged. But our neighbors, at least the kind ones, think I walk fast. So I'm considering quitting. Just kidding.

It is strange what self analysis will do for you when an adult child of yours tacks on another year.

I recall some really good times with him and baseball. Including going to the All-Star Game with him in St. Louis. This Summer we have a Cooperstown trip planned. Aw baseball, you may not be a common denominator, but we lean on you. Just like Albert and A.J.

Well, maybe not just like them. Happy birthday, son.

LMAO

So just when was the last time you had a good laugh? I'm talking a belly laugh. One that brought tears to the corners of your eyes? If you're having to strain your brain to remember, that's not a good sign. If you're expecting me to provide one for you, well, you still won't have one in recent memory. But I suspect that laughter is, indeed, good medicine as The Reader's Digest told us years ago.

Six of us went out to eat a few nights ago and were interrupted by the table of six next to us with explosive laughter. Normally, I wouldn't have minded. But some guffaws are just that. They sound like the word guffaw, which really doesn't connote the best description of a good laugh.

There is never as good a laugh as that of kids. When they get tickled, not physically, but happily (and tickled does connote happiness to me) their laughter is the sweetest music. It spreads out my smile just to hear them. If I can see them, too, well, I'm just even more pleased.

Long time readers might recall that I had an eighth grade English teacher who didn't much care for me and my joie de vivre attitude in her class. Until I became an English teacher, and then we were good buds. Certainly I forgave her because I always liked her and knew that she was right. But she scolded me once in class telling me that it didn't seem to take much to entertain me. Even as a 13 year-old I knew that was right, and it remains so to this day.

But she wanted me to feel bad. I did. But only because I had gotten caught doing something I shouldn't have. I was just hoping she didn't tell Coach Thompson who had given me a petty stern (and very helpful) lecture earlier in the day. Only one flaw in my junior high character should be addressed in one day.

The laughter, I see I've abandoned for a sentimental swing to 1961. So I'll end with one more observation. All my family have great individual laughs. They're as different as their personalities, but they're all great. No guffaws, no jackass eating thistles laughs, not even a ganarf, ganarf.

I'm glad, too, because the only thing worse than a bad laugh is no laugh at all.

CONGRATS AND KUDOS TO MY HOMETOWN

It mat have just hit 55 degrees yesterday. If not, surely today. You see, it had been 94 days in a row when the temp never saw double nickels. Now that stinks.

When that gray curtain drops over the sky like a dark scrim in the theatre, it has a tendency to stick around. Similarly, when El Midwest Nino sets its Winter pattern over your area, then it's likely to repeat itself tenfold or this year, forty-or-so-fold. It's as stubborn as Midwest farmers who continually attempt to plant early Spring crops only to re-learn that their tomatoes still won't be ripe until July 22 whether planted in early or very late May.

So what does 55 feel like after a long, wet Winter? A heat wave. Shorts and short sleeves are in vogue. We were in Ketchican, Alaska, once in the Summer when it was a bright, sunshiny day. The people were in such a good mood. They only have 18 days a year, according to a waitress whose smile looked pasted on, of mostly sunny skies. I'm figuring good old MTV must be like that currently.

The only other comparable good-feel is when the Rams defeat arch rival Centralia in any sporting event. But neither lasts, so enjoy, enjoy. And don't forget to slap on some sunscreen.

SNOTSDALE SCOBS



Now there are lots of women in Scottsdale who are not snobs. But somehow Snotsdale, as some of those who don't denizen here call it, has earned that honor. Never have I heard Mesa, Chandler, Avondale, Peoria, Gilbert, Fountain Hills, etc. been referred to in that vein. Or should it be vain.

More than the elevated nose, some Scottsdale women just have that look past. Not look as in the past, though we have our share of those, too, but the look that you are not there. You're invisible. Or so repugnant that to have even a glance in your direction would validate you. And they wouldn't want that.

It's a little like seeing a person have food on their face. You can't bring yourself to look at them, at least that part where the linguine lingered. Looking at one beneath them might remind them that there people in their immediate world that they would rather not acknowledge, certainly never associate with. Even in a casual setting.

So if they deny your existence by acting as if you're not there, then they have in effect eradicated you from the face of their world. Wow! Such power! Bill Bryson used to do that as a kid in The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. But, of course, he was young and childish. Or is it childlike. Whatever, it seems that that word could also apply to the Snobs.

If I sound bitter, I'm not. I'm disappointed that I live in a community so known. But if they want to look past me, I have no problem with that. As long as they really don't eradicate me.