These days it seems mainly about trying to catch up. In many ways, including with regard to this blog. Catching up and undoing. And redoing. Undoing an overgrown garden, undoing boxes. Redoing connections, offices, accounts... Maybe the most delightful moments right now are spent puttering around in the garden, pruning back plants in my unartful and somewhat brutish way. I wish I had been here the past few months to experience this incredible growth. Water! It's also a delight just to be recentered with the family. Before Alma and Cristina head back to Cornell, we hope to have a few days all together. It's frustrating how little time there is to be all together. Last night Manny DelCarmen pitched out of a bases loaded, no out jam. But for naught: the sox had blown their opportunity in the tenth and the Rays went on to win in thirteen. Longhoria, of course, with a game-winning homer. That guy is a real Sox killer. Sox. I just bought myself some new socks, so I'm feeling pretty good. And remembering that I'm not really a sox "fan", I feel even better. I can "follow" the sox and get great enjoyment from the unfolding of their adventures, but I don't suffer like a fan anymore. I gave that up after the 1986 fiasco. And I was reminded of that at the conclusion of the game we took in last week at Fenway. Right after the game ended, I found myself next to a little boy on our way out of the stadium He must have been around eleven or twelve years old. The sox had blown a three run lead in the ninth and gone on to lose. This kid was really distraught. Angry. I felt bad for him. Sonny, I feel your pain! Some adults never really move beyond that kind of childish reaction to sporting events. Maybe I didn't until 1986. Neuman had it right: what, me worry? None of this makes too much sense, but I know I enjoy watching Pedroia. And any ball game for that matter.
