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- A Good Night
If you have read several of my posts, they probably revealed my loyalties in sports. i follow Vanderbilt sports of any genre, San Diego State’s football and basketball, and the San Diego Padres. To a lesser degree, i root for Middle Tennessee, Texas A&M, and the Chattanooga Mocs (but oh, how i wish they had not cut it short and still were known as the “Moccasins”).
Last night, a bunch of those came together in a beautiful way. Of all those teams listed above, i have followed the Padres most frequently. We had full season and then half season tickets shares with friends for over a dozen years, and i retained 20-game season tickets for a couple of years until they priced me out. Maureen and i still watch almost every game they play. As previously noted, Maureen has become a knowledgeable fan.
Then there is Vanderbilt. i didn’t graduate, but i attended for two years back in the early 1960s. i graduated from MTSU in 1967 and am glad as i received an education and a learning experiencek that remains a highlight of my academic record. i am fortunate that Vandy considers me an alumnus. i am a huge Commodore fan.
The reason: i have become friends with Candice Lee and Andrew Maraniss, the Vice Chancellor for Athletics, i.e. Athletic Director, and the resident writer (an an excellent one) in the sports department. i have seen them operate and know without a doubt, they are “doing it the right way, the Vandy way.”
That quote was coined by David Williams, the former head of the athletic department who unfortunately passed away shortly after his retirement. What he meant and what Candice still believes as do all of her head coaches is Vanderbilt wants to excel while ensuring every athlete is truly a “student-athlete” and receives one of the finest degrees in this country along with well-rounded experiences that prepare them, as much as possible, to be successful and contributors to the good for society.
Other universities may seek to do the same. i don’t know. i suspect that many drop the “student” from that equation and seek athletes, period.
i am delighted with the Commodores recent successes in many sports, but my fandom is based on them working to make sure success is achieved in the right way…the Vandy way.
Now, back to last night: Walker Buehler was the Padres starting pitcher last night. He was a star at Vanderbilt, 2013-2015, with a 20-7 won lost record including being part of the Vandy Boys that won their first College World Series championship in 2014. He was a great starter for the Dodgers before suffering injuries and ended up in the Southwest corner this year. He is the first Vanderbilt player on the Padres since Joey Cora was a Padre, 1985-87 (Jonathan Vastine, Vandy 2022-25, is in the Padre minor league system.
Finally, one of my favorite Padres is Ty France. Ty played for San Diego State under Tony Gwynn, and has returned home this season after winning a gold glove last year.
The stage was set. The Dodgers seem to think they own the Padres and their record against San Diego indicates it’s close to accurate.
But not last night. Walker Buehler pitched three-hit ball over 5 1/3 innings, allowing only a home run by Mookie Betts. The Padres won, 7-1. Ty France was a major contributor with a 3-run homer and superb defensive play.
And fans, it doesn’t get much better than that.
- Abenezer Fouts
Abenezer Fouts was,
as they called it,
of an advanced age;
he watched the days pass
like chaff on the wind;
he walked through the chaff
doing what needed to be done
or
what really did not need
to be done
as if it was the most important thing
on earth to do it right;
Abenezer scoffed
at all of the changes in his world
that was good perhaps
but
replaced what was better
like living your own life,
like dealing with people personally,
and
the world kept right along a’changing;
so, Abenezer died
leaving many things undone
he meant to do:
you know: chaff on the wind;
they say
if you walk by the graveyard
on the south side of the village
in the deep dark of the night,
you can hear a laugh
near Abenezer’s grave
and
feel the chaff on the wind
touching your face. - Fate
his fate
was written on the white caps
of the vast, vast sea,
not blue, not green, not black, not gray,
but
her hue determined by her mood;
not calm, not tempest brewing,
not a fury showing her anger,
but
her emotion displayed reflecting her mood
just like his fate;he did not choose his fate,
the sea chose him;
he answered the call
little realizing
what his choice would require;
what the final result would be:
he left loved ones,
family, friends, women, his home
to ride those waves so far away:
the Atlantic, the Mediterranean,
the Pacific, the Indian Oceans
continued to beckon to him;
he answered
to spend his time there,
a pilgrim converted
until the sea told him
“you are now an old man;
“you have been a good mariner, a good seaman,
but
it is time for you to leave the sea.”the old mariner lives in a cabin
on a hill with a view of the sea;
he often walks to the coast
at the bottom of his hill,
especially when the day
is gun metal steel gray
with an offshore chill wind;
his old, gnarled bare feet
that used to walk those decks
stands in the sand
with the tide
blowing soft white foam
on top of the gray sea
lapping around his legs;
he talks to the sea;
she responds;
he retreats to his cabin
alone
before a large wave
crashes on the beach
before ebbing away. - It Was Close
it was so close one could see
the bloodshot emptiness of their eyes,
one could hear
the rabid screech of their hideous yell:
it was not mad; it was not madness;
it was the wildness of a beast
from the forest from whence they charged.In the village nestled in the hills above,
both nobles and peasantry
peered down on that field of savagery
in fear of the raging hoard
and
in hope their proud boys
standing in their unflawed straight lines
with fine uniforms with perfect gig lines
and
matching visored covers
would prevail.the canon and the line of muskets
lit the early morning
with bolts of fire,
disrupted the silence of the morning
with piercing blasts of canon
and
crackle of musket balls,
cutting those immersed in beastliness
to smithereens,
decimating their ranks
to screaming whimpering piles
of decimated beggars
pleading for aid, mercy,
even merciful death by the blade.
the prince who ordered the maniacal charge,
himself a victim of the carnage,
lay under the carcass of his noble steed,
moaning in the throes of death.the nobles and the peasantry
looked down from the village hills
not with joys of victory
but
in silence,
viewed the bloody field.the generals in their castle high
cheered and toasted with glasses of sherry
for a victory they had not won.The opposition stood
with canon, musket, bayonet,
their weapons at their side,
they were men of military precision,
not a thread harmed;
they did not cheer
but
stood ramrod straight
with tears running down their faces
in silence, perhaps mournful.the bards back then wrote with praise
of the glorious enemy defeat,
of the heroes on their side;
the minstrels sang the same.those men removed their regalia
and
went back home to farms
to work the fields, tend the livestock
but
more silent and reflective
than they had been before.later on, the historians
wrote of gallantry, futility, death,
making the event of legend,
heroes of those that stood and fell
before the writers’ time.dust and rain fell on that field
grass began to grow
with wildflowers sprouting in clusters
and
the earth absorbing the blood.years later, a young lad
frolicked in the field with his dog
chasing butterflies or an occasional bird
when
he stumbled upon a relic,
a worn wooden religious symbol
where one of the wild men fell;
the lad did not know its meaning,
but
something in the breeze struck him then;
he gazed to the wood in silence
wondering what had happened
way back when.No one remembers the whole story
what really happened is obscured
but
then and now, it should have been remembered
there are often those vanquished by war,
yet
there were only those who still stood
by those who fell;
no winning, no victors amongst them,
only those who lost something. - Second Summer Respite
Things have been a might hectic with plethora of ranges for our emotions for about two months for the Jewells in the Southwest corner. That is my excuse for not having many posts. i have at least a half dozen in the hopper, unfinished because…i just flat ran out of gas, both the literal and figurative kind. Now that we are home for a while and things seem to be settling down (as if they ever really settle down), i plan to complete those unfinished posts.
We have had two summer respites thus far, trips to places and people dear to us. The first one had some serious ups and downs. But the one from which we returned Saturday was pure joy and relaxation.
We spent almost a week in Sonoma. Alan and Maren Hicks again were our hosts. As usual, they were phenomenal. The couple and i go back to Vanderbilt days.
This venture to either San Francisco or Sonoma has been an outgoing outing for us. Maren and Maureen are simply amazing together. Their likes, their tastes and their grasp of the world fit perfectly. Alan and i are like…or rather are brothers since we pledged Kappa Sigma at Vanderbilt in 1962.
Their home in Sonoma is my other “briar’s patch.” It is a perfect size with wonderful landscaping and a backyard that faces a Sebastiani vineyard, which we can and do walk through. As usual, the weather was perfect.
The bayside of the Marshal House oyser place on Tomales Bay. This trip included a beautiful drive to Tomales Bay to dine at The Marshall Store featuring fresh, i mean fresh, oysters, and other seafood. Dining is outside, often chilly from the wind off the bay. Incredible place, wonderful views.
The Hicks also took us for a day trip to the De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park where we saw an amazing exhibit on Claude Monet’s Impressionist works. Awed, i was.
But the best part was being with these two folks: just like having 60-plus years roll back.
Friday evening, Alan picked up some barbeque for dinner, rivaled Texas BBQ. Before hand, we retired to a backyard corner and enjoyed each other’s company with a pre-dinner cocktail.
The respite, for us, was much needed. We headed back to the Southwest corner on a great flight, just to make it all as good as it could get. Alaska Airlines flies a non-stop from San Diego to Santa Rosa, a small airport with no jetways. We walked to and then from the plane on the tarmac.
Later tonight after a day of unpacking, i will abscond to my retreat by my chiminea. i will start the fire and reflect on the trip and relax.
It’s even good in my new memories. Thanks, Alan and Maren.
