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- A Short Note on a Typical Evening in the Southwest Corner Summer
i remain incredibly lucky in so many ways even for an old man. i recorded that in my mind once again this evening.
After Maureen served another incredible meal, this one with her recipe for pork chops, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and fresh tomatoes, i cleaned the dishes and retreated to the chiminea seating area in the southeast corner of our backyard.
It was one of places for being thankful, a retreat where in the cool evenings, i light off the chiminea, put on some soothing music, and let the Southwest Corner take me where it wishes. Sometimes, i write. Sometimes, i read. Sometimes, i just sit back and listen to my music, not, mind you, the music Apple and all of those other electronic wizards think i want to hear, but mine, scratches in the grooves and all.
Tonight, it was a bit warm early for a fire in the chiminea. As it became cooler, i opted against a fire and found a throw to keep me comfortable. A chiminea fire would require me to be here until the fire burned down to embers. You see, this is high desert; it is dry, and i am a disciple of Smokey Bear. i do not wish to even remotely be the cause of a wildfire, however unlikely.
i sat down with my bluetooth soothing me with the intention of working on a piece of fiction. i think it will eventually be a novella, not long enough to be a novel, but we will see.
But the reason, i’m writing this was caused by my several walks to and from the house. i was barefoot. i chose to walk around the flagstone walk to the chiminea. Instead, i walked through the grass.
The walk took me back to… oh, about 75 years ago. Back then from late May until September, i wore, except for church and Sunday school, of course, underwear and shorts. Period. Now, you shall not catch me in that get-up. But walking barefoot in the grass tonight took me back. After supper, we would go out into our yard, chase lightning bugs, run, laugh, and be free, unencumbered by the weights we have on us today. It was freedom. That very brief walk tonight took me back to serenity.
You know when you are my age, memories, precious connections to my worth, are an essential part of what remains.
May you, too, take a walk in the grass in the cool of the evening and remember.
- 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.