Dec. 30

Salad

Dec. 30

Main course

The Art of Fielding: A Novel by Chad Harbach

"He already knew he could coach. All you had to do was look at each of your players and ask yourself: What story does this guy wish someone would tell him about himself? And then you told the guy that story. You told it with a hint of doom. You included his flaws. You emphasized the obstacles that could prevent him from succeeding. That was what made the story epic: the player, the hero, had to suffer mightily en route to his final triumph. Schwartz knew that people loved to suffer, as long as the suffering made sense. Everybody suffered. The key was ti choose the form of your suffering. Most people couldn't do this along; they needed a coach. A good coach made you suffer in a way that suited you. A bad coach made everyone suffer in the same way, and so was more like a torturer."

History of the West by Larry Spears

Tom Mix was a v. big cowboy star in the 1930s. He was a real cowboy. I saw him in one movie that must have been a rerun. He wore a hat that was more pointed than Gene Autry's. He was a friend of Wyatt Earp until Earp died. Mix cried. In my time, little girls skipped rope to "Who you gonna marry?...Tom Mix; what you gonna feed him....hot bricks." Tom Mix was killed in an automobile accident when a heavy object in the back seat flew up and broke his neck or maybe crushed his skull. Don't recall. But I still remember that when packing the car. Put the heavy stuff in the trunk. Everybody know to do this, but I remember Tom Mix when I do it. Tom Mix died so that Sharon might live.

communication studies

Dylan Schear in the Aug. 28 Tahoe Daily Tribune:
" Now mind you, I am not one to inhabit the grave. But, as of late it has been more frequent. When I sit by the headstones of the departed and ask a very specific questions of them, I get answers to my questions. I start by treading lightly and asking for a sign that they know I have visited them. As time passes, my questioning will get more intense.

"On this particular day I was off to my mother-in-law's grave with a few stops along the way, one of which was to get gas at Costco. After gassing my car, I noticed a woman who drove by. I peered into the car and I swear she looked like my mother-in-law. I even wondered if it could have been her sister. However, the lady who was driving was very old and I wondered if I imagined the whole thing.

"Off I went until I reached the mortuary and found where she was buried. With flowers in hand, I sat down beside her and told her that I had come to visit. I felt she was talking to me and wanted to hear my husband, Blythe's, voice. So, I did exactly what she wanted. I pulled out my cell phone and called him.

“'Hey, Blythe,” I said. “I'm sitting by your mother at the grave. I'm going to put you on speaker so you can talk to her.'

“'Hello, Mom,” he said. 'Mom, if you know that we are here please give us a sign. Please let us see two green Volkswagen Bugs.'

"Driving home I made a wrong turn at a Honda dealership. There sat the first green Volkswagen. A rarity. On the freeway I saw the other. I believe in signs and Tomokio unmistakably acknowledged me from the other side. Blessings."

Choosing: LaVona's passport photos

The day after

Today, the day after the massacre and bombing in Norway, I wonder why I and other people I know tend to feel less anguished about similarly horrific events in, say, Rwanda, Afghanistan, Mumbai, Pakistan, Darfur, and Mexico. Are Norwegians less the Other than the others? I wonder what my Somali neighbors are talking about this morning.