I recently subscribed to the Sunday print edition of the New York Times. It now lands with a whomp in the front yard. At least it must, though I haven’t beaten the carrier to the driveway to witness this event. The circulation department offered the print edition for less than I was paying for digital-only access, the fodder of which is required for my modest freelance sideline writing editorials.
It takes the entire week to read the paper. Despite the calamity that has struck my former profession, the Gray Lady is still thick enough to kill a squirrel if it lands upon one in the pre-dawn...
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As I write this, the Boston Red Sox made it official: they can finish no better than .500 this season. To do that they will have to win their final 14 games, which appears about as likely as Mitt Romney winning a Friend of the Poor award. The team’s management effectively threw in the towel in August and started dealing off players. Look for more to head to the sale barn when the season ends — as well as the usual sacrificial offerings to the baseball gods of manager Bobby Valentine and other front-office personnel. Heads will roll. After last season’s spectacular September collapse, followed...
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The freshman volleyball team clearly was new to the game. The match was a last-minute schedule change. Someone overhead one parent remark that the girls on this squad had never played volleyball until this season. By ninth grade, most girls have competed at least three years, starting in sixth grade.
The team came over from Shreveport, an hour’s drive away by car, a bit longer on a school bus. Only a few parents drove over for the 5 p.m. match. The squad contained only six players, the minimum necessary to field a team. The bench was empty. The team they were playing — on which our daughter...
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I was walking Rosie the Wonder Dog last week along the Boorman Trail, listening to NPR and pining for autumn. The oak leaves have begun to fall in our yard. That is one of the few signs that summer is considering a departure. It will leave, I know, but not soon enough for me.
My Beautiful Mystery Companion called in the midst of this reverie and asked where I was. We walk in tag-team sequence now that school has begun. She walks first while I rouse the child, who is slowly adapting to getting up early enough to get to high school in time. I walk with Rosie while my BMC gets ready for work, then...
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