Respect for Ryne Sandberg, the newest MLB Hall of Fame member.

I am feeling sentimental because Ryne Sandberg, my idol in the world of baseball, was inducted into the Hall of Fame today. Not only was he inducted, he gave a speech that was so pure and solid and right--just like him--that it made me nod my head in agreement. During his speech, I shed tears of joy for his moment and tears of sadness because I miss seeing him play every day. Showing how well he rolls with the punches and the sincerity of his appreciation for the fans, in response to a fan who yelled, "We love you, Ryne," he said without missing a beat, "I love you, too!"

Just as Ryne did not waste opportunities as a baseball player, he did not waste a great opportunity as a Hall of Fame inductee. The opportunity he seized was the chance to make a statement bigger than the moment. While appreciative of the honor, Ryne reminded us, humbly, of why he received it. In a word: respect. His respect for the great game of baseball, and for his managers, his teammates and Cubs fans. Ryne said he was astounded throughout his career when people expressed admiration for the things he did, such as showing up at the ballpark regularly and on time, the Gold Glove defense, the full-scope offense that included the long ball as well as the ability to bunt and otherwise get on base. He was astounded because in his view, that was just his job and he owed nothing less to the sport, his team or himself.

This is a message as foreign as the Greek language to players like Gary Sheffield, who threatened any team that receive him in trade from the Yankees that he would dog it if he was acquired involuntarily. Likewise, the message of respect is totally foreign to a player like Kenny Rogers who, despite making millions of dollars every year to play the game he supposedly loves, is an angry, violent bully who threatens and try to intimidate news cameramen who are merely doing their jobs, for much less money. It is foreign to players like Sammy Sosa, who was poised to become the "next Ryne Sandberg" in Chicago Cubs history, but instead corked his bat and , when the team was eliminated from playoff contention on the next-to-last day of the 2004 season, refused to play, left Wrigley Field early and lied about leaving. Ryne knows about these guys, too. He spoke not very subtly about how the players of this great game are different today, asking when it became enough to hit home runs without contributing to the offense in other way, or caring more about spotting "the little red light on the dugout camera" than turning a double play.

The question is, will the Sheffields or the Sosas or the Rogers of the world hear about Ryne's speech and take it to heart? So far, I haven't been able to find a single story online about that aspect of his speech, other than perhaps a Jerry Crasnick story on ESPN.com. I don't know if Crasnick wrote about this because his story is only available to "insiders" who pay extra (how appropriate). Nonetheless, I hope Ryne's message gets out and that players take it to heart. Because the respect that Ryne exemplifies, and of which he spoke so eloquently today, is what will preserve the game for years to come. Without it, baseball will become nothing more than the NBA or the WWF, despite the feeling one gets when emerging into the sunshine on a beautiful day at the ballpark and the devotion the game inspires in generations of fans who love nothing more than to watch their favorite players chase that little white ball with 108 stitches.

Update: It took a little while, but here is a pretty good story by Barry Bloom of MLB.com that at least mentions this aspect of Ryne's speech. Looks like Phil Rogers of the Chicago Tribune got it, too.

I received a very important communicae tonight.

And I want you to keep it close to the vest, but I feel I must share it with you, most trusted internet reader:

Dear Friend,

I am Ivan Yarovoi, I represent a top company executive in Russia. I have a very sensitive and private brief from this top executive to ask for your partnership to re-profile funds over 15,000,000.00 euros. I will give the details, but in summary, the funds is in a bank in Russia and Western Europe, and this is a legitimate transaction. You will be paid 5% as a management consultant to our company, if I am able to reach terms with you. If you are interest, please write back by email (EMAIL ADDRESS OMITTED) and provide me with your trusted personal telephone number, and email address and I will provide further details. Please keep this close to your chest as much as possible; we cannot afford any political problems.

Write me back. I look forward to it.

Best regards,
Ivan Yarovoi(Mr.)

I ask, what girl would not be totally flattered by being chosen to assist with such an important mission?

At the Homestead . . .

While I try to make time to write about the sordid tale of my employment history during what I shall fondly call "the school years," some things have been happening around my house . . .

I entertained my friend Jill:



and her mother-in-law Pauline (visiting from England):



We drank wine and laughed on my much-loved upstairs porch. (I have no explanation for the ghost-like effect on these pictures, other than perhaps the wine?) We had a fabulous time! It wasn't too hot, despite being July in Dallas, and the sunset was gorgeous. We swapped interesting tales of our lives; rather, they provided interesting tales and I offered mere stories. Pauline told an excellent story of her one-year move to Scotland and all that involved. I especially loved the part about how her postman did not understand that a red flag sticking up on the mail box means there is mail there to be picked up by him; instead, he raised the flag after leaving mail for Pauline and Mick. This worked out well, as they could look out their window down the hill and see when there was new mail to retrieve. Genius!

Also, my dogs have become Houdini wannabees. On a near-weekly basis, Mr. Lopez, who tends to my lawn like a magician himself, comes up with creative ways to fortify my back fences to withstand my dogs' tireless efforts to escape. They have repeatedly broken through Mr. Lopez's Alcatraz-like renderings. Given the tenacity of their endeavors in this regard, one would never know that they lead the lives of luxury that they do.

DO THESE DOGS LOOK UNHAPPY, I ASK YOU????



Unhappy looks or no, Kip and Orley apparently think there is something out there in the wide, wide world that would appeal to them more than the raggedly landscaped place that is my back yard. This week alone they have twice broken through near-fortresses erected by my neighbor, Patti, apparently after she has captured them and returned them against their will to their rightful home. What I can only guess (based on the newly built pile of rock) was today's foiled escape effort resulted in extreme exhaustion:



I feel somewhat sheepish regarding this recent escape attempt. I did not think my pets were capable of breaking through Patti's fortified pile of clay planters, bricks and driveway rocks, so I did not even attempt to improve upon it after she erected it during the most recent escape. But upon my return home tonight following a not-bad day at work and a sushi dinner, I found an even more elaborate combination of planter, rock and brick. Thankfully, my dogs were panting on the other side of the fence, apparently having been freshly repenned by the saintly Patti. I interrogated them in an effort to find out who the instigator was, but Orley just looked at Kip and Kip pretended to be sleeping:



So the mystery continues.

P.S. More than anything, I am grateful to Patti for capturing and returning them. I don't know what I would do without these scoundrels.

Jobs that won't make my resume

Something I heard recently made me think back on all of the jobs I held before I became a lawyer. The list made me laugh, even without writing snarky comments about each job. I continue to remember other jobs, but here is the list as I recall it right now, in semi-chronological order:

Babysitter
Newspaper thrower
Detasseler/Crew Leader/Bus Supervisor
Photographer’s “Girl Friday”
Waitress at the Golden Coins
Tourism and Convention Bureau temp
Winner’s Circle (off-track betting place) temp
Poolarama clerk
State psychiatric hospital intern
Juvenile probation intern
Nanny for an FBI agent's family
Juvenile detention center worker in central Texas
Barbeque sauce factory worker
Bennigan’s hostess
Catering assistant

I plan to write a bit about these jobs, but first I wanted to sit with the list as it is.

My love affair with a baseball team.

No, this isn't a sordid tale typically found in Triple X movies . . . it is a sentimental little piece I wrote on my favorite Cubs blog tonight. I thought I would save it here, too.

Being born into a family that lacked baseball fans, I was a bit late in finding my way to the roller coaster we call life as a Cubs fan. I now find it strange to think of how many of my life events match up with big events in the life of the Cubs. I was born in the Western suburbs of Chicago in September of 1969, just in time for the Mets' late-season comeback to crush our team out of contention. My Dad was a car-racing fanatic and my Mom liked football, so no one introduced me to the Cubs at that time. Milt Pappas' no-hitter v. the Padres, in which he missed a perfect game by one strike, came on my third birthday. I played girls' softball as soon as I was old enough, and started thinking about baseball, too.

I began watching the Cubs games every day on WGN during the summer of 1983, just before I began high school. I remember this because my mother had just returned to work and it was the first time I was allowed to watch TV for hours on end. I hung on every pitch of every game, fell in love with Ryne Sandberg and honed my skills at second base on my summer traveling softball team in his honor. The next year, the Cubs went to the playoffs, Ryno was MVP, Sutcliffe won the Cy Young and the Cubs lost to the Padres in the NLCS. It was my first taste of the disappointment that comes with being a Cubs fan. But I stuck with the team, loving the infield combination that was Durham, Sandberg, Bowa/Dunston, Ron Cey and Jody Davis. Andre Dawson won the MVP the year I graduated from high school and moved to Texas for college.

After I left the Chicago area, the Cubs started night baseball and lost another playoff round to a California team, the Padres. I followed them the best I could from Texas, without WGN and in the pre-internet days, by going to my college's library to check the newspaper for the baseball scores. My Dad began keeping up with the Cubs a bit so that he could keep me up to date during our weekly chats, even though he wasn't very interested in baseball.

I did not do as good a job of staying in touch with the Cubs during the early 90's, when I was immersed in law school. But I did my best to keep my hand in the world of baseball by catching the occasional "Two Dollar Tuesday" Astros game, at the Astrodome in Houston, and tried to see at least one game a year at Wrigley during quick visits home. The baseball strike cut the season short the summer after my law school graduation, so instead of doing a post-bar exam tour of baseball parks, I backpacked overseas with some friends. During the trip, I eagerly purchased a copy of "USA Today" at the newsstand of every train station we visited to see if the strike was over yet. Upon my return, I was working so hard as a young lawyer that I had neither the time nor the funds for cable TV. But I started to get the hang of my new career and splurged on a cable subscription, resuming my helpless love affair with the Cubs just in time to see the early years of Sammy Sosa's time on the North Side.

Of course, 1998 brought Kerry Wood's 20-strikeout game, the great Sosa/McGuire home run race and a first-ever Cubs tiebreaker win for a playoff spot. These exciting events were the subject of many of my Sunday evening talks with my Dad, in which we continued to bridge the 1,200 miles between Illinois and Texas. By this time, I think he was a little in love with baseball, too. The year of 1998 is now burned in my memory as beginning with Harry Caray's death and ending with my father's death. But the baseball moments we shared in that magical season are among my fondest memories of time spent with my Dad.

My time spent watching the Cubs--whether they were having a good season (2001) or a bad one (2000)--was a bright spot in the rough years that followed. My brother and I tried to support each other and he attended the Cubs game with me whenever I was home for a visit. He is no sports fan, and I realize now what it meant for him to spend 3 hours with me at Wrigley when he could not have cared less about what was happening there!

Then, in the glorious year of 2003, things fell into place, both for me and the Cubs! Finally, I stopped being annoyed by Ron Santo's interminable stories during the broadcast and instead began not wanting to experience a game without him. I listened to every game on the internet, and remember vividly that last day of the season, the double-header day when the Cubs finally clinched their playoff spot. My best friend had her first baby the same day, and I excitedly purchased a plane ticket and playoff tickets the moment the spot was clinched. I flew home the next weekend, greeted my friend's new baby and attended 2 of the Cubs' games against the Braves. I had never seen Wrigley in person with a playoff spirit before, and the feeling was electrifying and emotional and almost holy. After the 2nd game I saw, which we lost, I even had the good fortune to meet Carrie Muskat (I explained to her how she had my dream job, just before she walked into the Cubs' interview room) and to rub elbows with John Cusack (there to offer moral support to the team after the game) and Michael Jordan (who accompanied the team on their plane to Atlanta). What a surreal time that was.

We all know how that season of 2003 ultimately ended. I was devastated . . . so much so that coworkers sent flowers! But the next year, the Red Sox won it all, almost as if the universe was sending the message to all Cubs fans that it is too soon to give up. And I found myself captivated by the Sox's run, enjoying every game almost as if it was our team bringing tears to the eyes and a head shaking in disbelief with each amazing win.

I don't know what the future will bring for the Cubs or for Cubs fans, including me. But the history of the Cubs is so intertwined with my own life history in my memory that I don't know how I could ever separate the two now. I think we're stuck with each other for life.

Random Thoughts

Here are a few things I have been pondering recently:

On writing: I think half the battle of writing is having the discipline to make a mental note of the interesting things one encounters, so as to be able to write about them. I run across a million interesting things a day, but in the chaos that is my life, most of them fly right by and are never noted here. In contrast, a hallmark of the blogs I love to read is that the writers of those blogs pay excellent attention to detail, then write about it in an interesting way.

On working out: Today was supposed to be the second consecutive day of my actually visiting the place to which I pay a chunk of money every month and then, upon my arrival, working out. As you can see by the fact that I am still sitting here typing, that is not going to happen. Why not? Well, when I worked out yesterday, it felt great both during and after, and I was really glad that I graced them with my presence once again. Shouldn't that make you want to work out, you say? Well, yes, it should. But I woke up later than I wanted today, then let myself become sucked into my computer, which meant I did not get out of here in time to work out. I am now slightly panicked regarding all I must accomplish at work today. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I will work out tomorrow, mark my words!

Pajamas: I have a confession. I am addicted to pajamas. Not just any kind . . . the kind with pants and a top that are so cute you could almost . . . almost wear them out in public. I say this because there have been many occasions when I have wanted to wear my pajamas in public, but maybe once when I actually did. This is because I think that no matter how many times one tells oneself, "No one will know these are my pajamas," yes, they know. So instead I am the guilty owner of a gajillion pair of pajamas, the newest of which I purchased yesterday during my visit to Target in the Hood. (Pink--not usually my color of choice, but I was feeling girly--and made of the softest knit ever). As much as I love the Super Target, there is an indescribable satisfaction one finds in shopping at the Target in the Hood . . . I wish I knew what it was. The only thing this Target lacked was a wading pool for my dogs . . . something I have had a tough time locating this summer. Please do not make me go to Wal-Mart in search of this item . . . please, I beg of you. No Wal-Mart.

In the spirit of the real name of my blog,

which is "eyebrow-raising folk," I have an observation to make. There truly is a job for every possible interest and for every possible person with every possible interest. Yesterday at the airport I met a man who sells asphalt plants for a living. Not asphalt--asphalt plants! Who would have thought this was a specialized job? And he doesn't even sell franchises for asphalt plants . . . just the plants, individually.

Introspection.

Today I had another day trip out of state for work, once again to the site of my epiphany regarding what I want to do with my life (at least for now). I was lucky enough to dash back to the airport and catch a flight that brought me home at a decent hour. I even found a seat in the front row, and had little enough luggage that I could sit there! While the two men next to me conversed, I immersed myself in the surprisingly interesting in-flight magazine. Apparently, my immersion was so total and noticeable that after I replaced the magazine in the holder, my seatmate actually pulled it out to see what I had been reading.

I landed just in time to have creative thoughts about what to grab for dinner, dash home and become nicely settled in to listen to tonight's Cubs game. Thankfully, I was here in time to here my once-annoying, now-beloved Ron Santo (a Cubs radio announcer) say, "he wore a piece, and he looks great." I will let you imagine what story led to that remark--it is more fun that way.

So while I was waiting for my business meeting, I made some calls related to my new life plan . . . references and networking and such. My efforts were quite fruitful! This was very uplifting and it seemed especially appropriate to take care of these tasks at the site of my epiphany. Tonight I feel a bit dreamy about the new plan. . . and I am feeling a bit wistful, as I wish my Dad and Grammie (also known as my maternal grandmother) were still here so that I could talk this new plan over with them. It is at times like this that I miss them especially deeply, so much so that I have tears in my eyes just thinking about them. But thinking about them also empowers me. I know my Dad would not want me to spend a moment of my life not doing the work that will make me happy, or at least working toward doing that work; I know my grandmother could not imagine me failing at anything I take it in my head to do. It is amazing how powerful the memory of two people can be.

One of the most important events in the dark age the US has experienced since 2000--and WHAT YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.

You may have heard today about U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's resignation. After you have moved past the sharp-intake-of-breath-and-sinking-feeling phase, with which I am familiar due to personal experience, you may ask yourself, as I did, "What can I do?"

Well, David NYC at the Daily Kos web site has some ideas:

Whatever happens with the Supreme Court nomination battle that is about to ensue, it's going to happen fast. Here are some things you can do right now:

• If you have a cell phone, sign up for People at the American Way's Mass Immediate Response site. This way, you'll be able to receive text message action items instantly as events break. (If you signed up during the nuclear option fight, you'll need to re-sign up.)

• Also sign up with the Save the Court, another PFAW website devoted specifically to this issue.

• Recruit friends and family members to the cause.

• Write to the President, telling him he should choose a consensus candidate to replace O'Connor.

• Contact your Senators to tell them the same thing.

• Sign MoveOn's "Protect Our Rights" petition.

• Contact members of the media and tell them you think Bush should nominate a consensus candidate. PLEASE be polite, be brief (200 words or less), and don't do copy-and-paste jobs - put things in your own words.

• Stop by Hunter's thread and make suggestions for potential nominees.