Chapter 15: Time for a Movement

I had to switch offices, which meant I had to dig through years worth of crap. I ended up spending hours sifting through folders I'd not viewed in as many as perhaps eight years. Faded faxes, forgotten phone numbers, scribbled "off the recond" interviews with people who have died, handwritten notes from people I wish had died... Out it went. Now I cower deep in a cavernous, fluorescent-lit room. We're likely to move again to another building next year. I guess I've had a head start.

Chapter 14.7: Air Conditioning

It's not the humidity, it's the need to combat it. Wash me in cool air and my lungs freeze, but it's more comfortable than sticking to the furniture or feeling the sweaty seams of my pants through each hair on my legs. Can't the weather just find a state of equilibrium and hold stable for a few days? Why must it change by the hour?

Chapter 14.45: Another Tricky Day

When the rain came tumbling down today, it rolled all over the grass. I wasn't quite prepared for the mudslide that ensued, and my pant legs became quite slick with chunky bits of moist ground. I slopped some of it back onto the ground, yet there could always be remnants of the earth in my jeans. So much for casual Friday.

Chapter 14.4: Be aware!

One of the most frightening articles I've ever read arrived in my email box today:

Everyone should read this and be aware.

Chapter 14: Working Writers

The novel moves faster now and time goes herky-jerky in real life. So much to do, so much to want. The trappings of words stop me from feeling too secure. Is it all like this?

Chapter 13.6: Time Zones

A decade ago I worked for a place an hour away from my home. I'd intended to get an apartment closer, but within weeks of starting the job I realized I wouldn't be working there for long. So I didn't search for an apartment and saved money for the prospect of being unemployed.

When work is an hour away, everything feels rushed. I wasn't sleeping well because I hated my job, and an hour on the Garden State Parkway, twice a day, day in day out, is enough to make anyone's skin crawl. It was like working in a different time zone than where I lived.

These days, when I travel I like to keep my watch set to my home time zone. It's where my heart lives.

Chapter 13.5: Coffee

When I started to drink coffee I used to count how many cups I'd ever had. Among the first couple were Irish coffees, imbued with a shot of Jameson and topped with whipped cream and Crème de Menthe. Coffee was something I didn't expect to be a major part of my life.

For years now, however, I've started my mornings with a cup or two. I look forward to it. It's not the flavor, though I have become aware of what strikes me as bad, weak coffee. It's not the sweetness of the spoonful of sugar I drop into my cup. It isn't a way to wake up, though I'm not above using common phrases like "I'm just having my coffee, I can't think yet." It's more the routine it provides. It's a stalling tactic. Coffee is an accessory.

Coffee is still not a major part of my life, though it's become a usual segment of my mornings. When I worked in New York, I spent a few minutes picking up my coffee with a cinnamon-raisin bagel. The Indian guy at the deli knew exactly what I wanted and had it waiting for me by the time I'd gotten to the register. We exchanged smiles in addition to the dollar or so it cost. Those were tall cups of coffee. I loved how the hollow stirrer shot out little balls of coffee that skimmed across the surface when I tapped it on the rim of the Styrofoam. It was like a science experiment to me: how fast do the circles of coffee exist before they become part of the whole?

These days, I have a small pad where I sit my coffee cup, marked with my alma mater's name, and sip at the morning. I go through the hundred or so emails I receive each morning, read the headlines of three or four newspapers, an article or two, and get into the day. Within a half hour, I go for another cup of coffee. Sometimes, rarely, I grab another cup later in the day. It's an extravagance, and it usually ties up my belly.

I don't count the cups of coffee anymore. When they're a dessert, it usually means I want a drink of alcohol more than a caffeine fix. It's only at 5 a.m. when I can't sleep that I miss the days of early "coffee-hood." And I do look forward to putting on my shield, armed with my coffee cup to face the increasing vagaries of work. Still, coffee is not enough.

Chapter 13: Watching the Markets

A person I work with looked despondent on a rainy day. "Bad breakup," she said, when I asked how the weekend had gone.

After that came the usual comments about how you keep going on and telling yourself it's going to get better.

It occurred to me that relationships among the single are like the stock market. It's an old metaphor, of course. Relationships go up and they go down. Sometimes you sell lower than you'd like. But I realized when the co-worker related to me her situation that I was decidedly off the market and had no desire to be back in it. Watching the markets from the sidelines isn't all that bad, perhaps, but I see little purpose in spending much time thinking about it. Metaphors can only go so far.

Chapter 12.6: Different Position

The Summit Squad played the Springfield Squad in softball today for the first time in my 19-year tenure. It was our first road game in many years -- at least a decade.

I'm glad to say we won, 19-15. And I got my first pitching victory since I played Little League. I just didn't know who else might be able to pitch, so I took the responsibility on myself. I actually was able to throw strikes, which somewhat surprised me. What helped immensely was our scoring 10 runs in one inning -- several of them on small hits that barely reached the pitcher. At that point we were up 16-3 and I wanted to make sure we didn't embarrass anyone. I almost embarrassed ourselves by letting up too many runs.

They came as close as 16-15, but we scored three in the top of the 7th inning and I didn't give any more up in their last licks of the game.

I've not felt so "loved" on a baseball field since I was a kid. I'd forgotten how pleasant it is to hear teammates cheer for me and congratulate me for throwing a strike. It seems cheap and easy, but I got a thrill out of it. Not as much as I got when I hit a home run today in our 10-run inning, but a good feeling nonetheless.

I might have to pitch again.

Chapter 12.5: Softball and Hardball

Last night we lost a tough game in the modified league. We only had three hits going into the final inning; one was my infield hit. But in the last inning we got the bases loaded and were down 5-2. I was up and no one was out. I lined a 2-2 pitch off the pitcher's hand. The run scored, but I was thrown out in what I still insist was a bad call. Still, at 5-3 with second and third things weren't completely bleak. Our next hitter lined out to the third baseman. Unfortunately, the fielder picked off our pitcher -- who'd hit a homer already -- at second to end the game. It was a bad play on his part, but we wouldn't have been close without his strong pitching.

Tonight and tomorrow I'll be umpiring baseball. I don't know if I'm by myself tonight or not. That could be difficult, though I trust everything will go fine. I've done it before.

Chapter 12.3: Growing Old

I read that James Doohan, who played Mr. Scott on the original Star Trek series, has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. While it's sad that the 84-year old actor is facing this terrible malady, I'm sadder still for his 4-year old child. It's difficult enough to have so little time with one's father, but for that father to possibly not know who his small child is... I couldn't imagine how tragic that would be to a child.

Chapter 12.2: Next Challenge

For what it's worth, I'm glad Sen. Kerry chose Sen. Edwards on the ticket. I'm looking forward to a debate between Vice President Cheney and Sen. Edwards, though I doubt it'll show much about policy and will be more of character assassination attempts from both sides. Political theater at its best!

Personally, I'm not sure which is more dangerous, a crafty veteran pol like Cheney who will stand at nothing to attack an opponent, or a trial-tested lawyer who is considered a gifted speaker, quick on his feet, and sharp of mind who really has little to lose.

Obviously, the next few months will be where the election is won or lost. I expect it to be as tight, electorally, as it was in 2000. One state could be the difference yet again. Personally, I think that state could be Ohio with its 20 electoral votes. But there's much more to see.

Chapter 12.1: A Win from Right Field

The squad played a makeshift team of retired police officers and members of their families on July 4th. Since they still didn't have enough players, I "traded" some of our players to them to make two teams. These weren't bad players, either. I put a father and son on the cops, and both of them are decent players in this context. "Traded" isn't the right term of course, since we didn't get people back. But what we got in return was a pleasant game on a sunny holiday.

Normally, I make sure I'm in the center of the game, because I believe I can make a difference. This time, however, I put myself in right field. I could manage the game much more easily there, but there was little to manage. We won handily. I think the score was 15-2; they didn't score a run until their half of the sixth and final inning.

At the plate I hit two doubles, a single, and a home run in my final at bat. It was a little overkill, perhaps, but I rarely hit home runs, so I take them when I get them. Afterward we adjourned to the squad building for a wonderful picnic with our members, several police and firemen (including active squad members among them) and family and life members we tend to see only at this picnic and the annual dinner. Also there was our umpire, who cares as much about this summer tradition as any of the current squad members.

I'm glad to have finally won a "mayor's trophy" game; I've done it as a player and "assistant coach" with my brother, but though we've come close since he moved, this was the first win on July 4th since my brother moved. Perhaps I should retire now from running the club. I just don't have much time for organizing it. I'll worry about that some other day. We've got another game against the Springfield Squad next Sunday. Time to put together a winning streak!

Chapter 12: The Kid in Right Field

After a decent game at third base on Tuesday, I was asked to play right field last night. No problem. I'm a good enough fielder to handle that. Our 3-2 loss wasn't related to any play at third or in right.

I used to always play the outfield. I enjoyed it. A decade ago I still had some speed and my arm was stronger than most opponents. Now it's not quite as strong. My legs are in shape for endurance runs, not short sprints over bumpy outfield grass.

But things change. I made the plays when they came to me. I thought about where I'd throw if the ball went to me, where I'd run if I needed to back up a throw elsewhere. It's what I do; I play softball for fun.

On Sunday, I'm managing the squad's game against the police department. Usually the biggest challenge is getting everyone who wants to play into the game. That will still be the main stumbling point. But I want to win this game. It means something to me this time. It's not a life-changing moment. If we lose, I won't fall into a fit of depression. But I want to win.

I've been a graceful loser for too long. Time to step up.

Chapter 11.7: Cat of My Dreams

I had a bit of a nightmare last night, and I was planning to file a lawsuit. I was told that our cat Riley was not going to remain with us -- that the shelter where we adopted him nearly four years ago still retained legal custody and they were planning on sending him to another family.

I was extremely upset, even crying and threatening to sue the organization for not explaining the entire situation to us. How could we have been so misled? I was shown a paper with Latin terms I couldn't completely translate, but I was told they meant we were only caretakers for our boy, not the legal owners.

I ripped myself away from the dream. The blur of time on the clock indicated it was after 4 a.m. Our furry sentinel was standing watch at the window observing the night life, but he'd not seen the nightmare slip past. I went back to sleep.

An hour or so later Riley was awake and in a playful mood, meowing for attention. He does that a lot -- usually around 5-5:30 as the first hints of dawn break through and the birds awaken. I wasn't quite as annoyed this time. Eventually he joined us at the foot or our bed and snoozed. Nice life.

When I got up a couple hours later I petted him and told him how happy I was he was there. He'd left a nearly beheaded mouse toy at Maureen's side of the bed. I picked Riley up, cradled him in my arms, and he placed a paw up to my nose. He nibbled at my wrist and I placed him back on the bed. It amazes me how important a pet can be in life.