The timelessness of baseball is a mysterious and wonderful thing. I'm looking out my window and I see my son and his friends playing a game of pick-up in the backyard. Something I would have done 30-some years ago. I've tried doing other things I did when I was a kid with my son, playing certain board games, but really, they all pale in comparison to today's video games and come off as dated. But baseball, well, it never really changes. It's still pitch and catch, and bat. I remember the catcher's gear and the mitt were favoriates of mine as a kid - we always used my neighbor's dad's old softball equipment. I picked my son up some old stuff at a sale and on eBay, and he's wearing it right now. Yup, I guess, some cliches are true.
Cheers.
2 comments:
Nice entry, Ralph. It seems you are using your current stomach virus to reach some sort of intuitive clarity on various issues.
I'm hoping it's not taking too much of a toll on you, old friend.
Let me know if you want to go for a walk.
D
I believe Proust was bedridden when he wrote Things Remembered or whatever his masterpiece was. Morgan just copy-edited a story I wrote for DIR and was also very complientary. Not being able to eat seems to enable great powers of concentration.
Cheers.
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