One of my favorite people - and also one of my favorite baseball fans - celebrates a birthday today. Gracie was raised a Baltimore Orioles fan. Her father, Thomas, who imparted his love of the Os to his daughter much the same way Dad saddled me with my irrational, and often unrequited, love of the New York Rangers, raised her well. Through thick and thin (and there have been years within the last ten to fifteen years where the Os have been wafer-thin), Gracie has passionately supported her baseball team.
Perhaps it is her stalwart support of a perpetually lost cause such as the Orioles that explains the secret of our friendship two decades further on up the road from where it began. I long ago learned to not question it. I simply appreciate it. I appreciate her.
You have made it to the final Friday - and the final weekday - of July. If you have spent the year to date, or any portion of it, consumed by hatred and anger, then make today the day that you let it go...
Among the many talents I do not possess is “television programmer”. Thus I have no clue why Amazon Prime decided more than one year ago that the seventh season of its finest show, Bosch, would be its final one. Presumably there is a good reason. Then again, maybe MacKenzie Bezos had a crush on Titus Welliver and Jeff “No One Calls Me Space Cowboy” Bezos wanted to stick it to her in the divorce by pulling the plug? I know not.
I do know that the show’s final season, which Margaret and I finished watching Monday night, was as well-acted and as well-written as the six that preceded it. While I am heartened by the fact that a spin-off is in the works, which includes several of the central characters, I am saddened knowing that I have seen the last of the men and women of Hollywood Division, including J Edgar, Lt. Billets, Sgt. Mank, Crate and Barrel, and Detectives Pierce and Pena…not to mention Chief Irving.
Time spent with these characters was time well-spent. I am sorry that it has come to an end but I am glad that I invested it.
On the back cover of "The Premonition: A Pandemic Story", the oustanding book written by the consistently excellent Michael Lewis, there is a blurb from John Williams of the New York Times Book Review, "I would read an 800-page history of the stapler if he wrote it." While I do not know if I would go that far - no disrespect to Mr. Lewis but if the stapler's history cannot be exhaustively recounted in 400 pages or less I for one am waiting for the Netflix limited series - it was the references Lewis made to Norman Maclean's "Young Men and Fire", his examination into and his investigation of a historical event of which I had never heard - the Mann Gulch Fire in Montana that on August 5, 1949 killed thirteen United States Forest Service firefighters, including twelve of the fifteen members of the Smokejumper crew who had parachuted into Mann Gulch to fight it and did so within an hour of the Smokejumpers' arrival - that prompted me to buy Maclean's book.
It was nothing short of extraordinary. Maclean's use of language and his style are extraordinary. Over the course of reading it, I found myself transformed from a person who thirty days ago not only knew nothing about it but had never heard of it into a person who was moved equally by the story of the thirteen young men (some of whom were teenagers) and the three who survived and lived thereafter with all that they had seen and all that they had experienced on that explosive August afternoon.
Far back in the impulses to find this story
Is the storyteller's belief that at times
Life takes on the shape of Art.
"Young Men and Fire"
-Norman Maclean
It is, indeed, "A haunting work." It is also very much something worth reading, whether you are a woodsman, as the Smokejumpers were and as Norman Maclean was, or not, as I am not. Its lessons - and its cautions - are transferable...
Their crosses are quiet and a long way off, and from this remove
Their influence is quiet and seemingly distant.
But quietly they are present on every fire-line, even though those
Whose lives they are helping to protect know only the order
And not the fatality it represents.
For those who crave immortality by name, clearly this is not enough,
But for many of us it would mean a great deal to know,
By our dying, we were often to be present in times of catastrophe
I will make a trip I have not made in several years. The LBI Commemorative 18 Mile Run returns this year - after having been a COVID-19 casualty in 2020 - for its 49th Annual Edition. It is a point-to-point race that begins at LBI's southern end in Holgate and wraps up at its northern end at the Barnegat Lighthouse.
Four Sundays after the LBI 18 Mile Run is the New York City Marathon. The LBI 18 Mile Run will be one of my last long runs prior to the Marathon and because it is (a) a competitive event; and (b) a point-to-point event it is an invaluable prep for the main event. I went to law school in large part to stay away from hard math but even I can figure out that if you intend to race 26.2 miles on a Sunday in November, then you damn sure better be able to race 18 miles on a Sunday in October.
My sister Kara, one of the world's truly beautiful souls, celebrates a birthday today. I know not how the innate cynicism with which all Kenny siblings seemingly were born never made its way into Kara's genetic material. I know simply that it did not.
For Stel, my most fervent wish is not simply for a happy birthday. It is for a happy life. She deserves nothing less.
Never had I read a single word of Jack Thomas' work until yesterday morning. It was at that time my brother Bill sent me the link to this piece that Thomas, who has been a journalist for sixty years and who has written for The Boston Globe since 1958, wrote for a recent issue of The Globe Magazine. I cannot recommend it enough. Be prepared to shed a tear or ten. Its title tells the tale, "I just learned I only have months to live. This is what I want to say."
Today, the youngest of my Fab Five, Shea, is one year old. As Jack Thomas prepares to bid this world farewell, the littlest of Pop Pop's little darlings completes her first lap around the sun. My wish for her is that she has many, many such trips ahead of her. Inasmuch as I have a fifty-four-year-plus headstart on her, I reasonably anticipate that her race shall be run long after mine has ended. As it should be.
Not knowing how many tomorrows remain in the reservoir reminds me to enjoy my todays as much as I can. It was a week ago Wednesday when Shea, a Colorado kid, made her maiden voyage into the ocean. She made it in the arms of her Pop Pop.
There is of course no chance that Shea will recall this moment. There is equally no chance that I shall ever forget it.
Happy Birthday, Shea! Your Pop Pop loves you very much.
I am my father's son, which is to say that I operate on very little sleep. When I was a little boy and used to ask my father why he awakened well before dawn seven days a week, he used to say, "I'll sleep enough when I'm dead." Admittedly, it was a much funnier line before he dropped dead forty years ago...at age fifty-seven.
Nevertheless, I am who I am, which is why my father's youngest child, who is fast approaching the age my father was when he died, awakens before dawn seven days a week. It is a lifestyle choice that is not for everyone, which is 100% fine. It is not meant to be. It does not need to be.
I have no idea whether this season will be a success, a failure, or something in between (which is Buff-speak for "two out of three ain't bad", but I do know that barring something terrible occurring in late July and/or August, my Colorado Buffaloes shall begin their 2021 season on Labor Day Weekend.
While I had hoped to make it to Boulder this fall for a game, it is not going to happen. A work commitment put the kibosh on my thought of watching the Buffs play Arizona on Family Weekend and a little thing called the New York City Marathon, which this year is happening on Sunday, November 7, will keep me from Folsom to watch the Buffs battle the Beavers on Homecoming, which is Saturday, November 6.
Did I mention I am participating in the New York City Marathon this year as part of the Team Stomp the Monster charity team? Are your ears starting to bleed yet. Rhetorical question.
If I am still standing to cross the finish line in Central Park this November, then maybe I will make it to Boulder next November.
Also, a not-too-subtle reminder to Yours truly to thank again, in this space, all who have contributed to "Pop Pop's Final Stomp Through The Five Boroughs" in support of my efforts for the good people of Stomp the Monster in this year's New York City Marathon. If you want to check out what this mission is all about, here is where you may do so. It occurred to me while I was running the other morning that the last time I ran the New York City Marathon, Maggie was my only grandchild. This November, as I begin my trek on the Staten Island side of the Verrazano Bridge, I shall do so thinking of my five grandchildren, since Cal, Abby, Rylan, and Shea have filled out my Fab Five.
Five boroughs. Five grandchildren. I believe that is what one calls symmetry.
Now, if I could only figure out which one to bribe to run the 59th Street Bridge for old Pop Pop.
It is only mid-July. I have a bit of time to figure it out.
Today is the 34th Annual Sandcastle Contest in Belmar. Not gonna lie. I have seen exactly zero minutes of the first thirty-three editions. This year, however, all five grandkids are currently here in the State of Concrete Gardens and are all going to be in Belmar this morning to watch the Contest. So, Pop Pop is taking his first-ever Kennedys day off to spend it with the Fab Five.
Full disclosure demands that I fess up to having only started at Kennedys five and one-half months ago. It is not as if I am the linear successor to Lou Gehrig of Cal Ripken, Jr. I am certainly no Rob Darden either. Not even close.
Thankfully today I do not have to be. I simply have to be present to enjoy watching my grandkids spend the day together. Whether they watch five minutes of the Contest or we are the last ones walking off the beach matters not.
Tonight in Denver, Colorado the Major League All-Star Game shall be played. While I used to watch the Midsummer Classic faithfully every summer as a kid, I have not watched it in more years than I can remember. While I make no promise that I will watch the entire game, I will do my level best to watch its start. Shohei Ohtani of the Angels, who has in fact been better than advertised since coming to America from Japan, shall bat leadoff and be the starting pitcher for the American League.
In an era in which baseball has seemingly been reduced to a regurgitation of "Who gives a shit?" statistics such as "exit velocity" and "launch trajectory", Shohei Ohtani is the type of player who reminds me why I have watched baseball my whole life. He plays the game beautifully and reminds me that baseball is a beautiful game.
Inspired by my recent viewing of the absolutely terrific Breslin and Hamill: Deadline Artists on HBOMax, from the pen and the mind of the late, great Jimmy Breslin:
To the best of intentions and the worst of desires,
We'll leave by the Gulf Road in the grey dawn.
"Gulf Road"
-James McMurtry
Sometimes, even when you know how a story will end, when the end arrives it cannot help but fill you with sadness...
...and perhaps reflect a moment or two on the life and legacy of an extraordinarily brave little girl named Jackie Minchala, whose valiant battle against cancer ended on July 3. When I learned of her death, I smiled at the memory of last summer when lemonade stands popped up around Belmar and Lake Como, manned by her friends and her classmates, to help Jackie's family pay her medical bills.
It is a disturbance to the Universe's natural order when a parent buries a child. It simply is. Condolences to Jackie Minchala, those she loved, and those who loved her most of all.
Gabrielle Thomas is one who creates it. She creates it on the track, where she recently won the U.S. Olympic Trials in the 200 meter dash by running the second-fastest 200 meter time ever. Only the immortal Flo Jo has ever run it faster, which Florence Griffith-Joyner did in winning the gold medal in the 1988 Olympics in Seoul, Korea. In a few short weeks, Gabby Thomas will take her shot at Flo Jo's world record and immortality when she competes in the Olympics in Tokyo, Japan.
2020 Olympic Track-and-Field Trials
(c) Getty Images
Were Gabby Thomas simply a record-setting track-and-field athlete, she would be extraordinary. She is so much more. For starters, she is a graduate of Harvard University from which, in 2019, she earned her degree in neurobiology with a secondary in global health and health policy. These days, when she is not blazing down the track in an eye blink, she is working on her Master's Degree in epidemiology and health care management at the University of Texas, Austin.
Today, Abigail is three years old. She is Jess and Rob's first-born. She is also the second member of Nana and Pop Pop's Class of 2018. She arrived slightly more than one day after and slightly less than two thousand miles west of her cousin, Cal. Geographic limitations being what they are, I did not meet Abigail for the first time until she was slightly more than three months old when she accompanied Mom and Dad east to New Jersey for her Aunt Beth's wedding, which was held on Long Beach Island.
Nana and Pop Pop motored south on the Parkway to LBI so we could spend Friday night hanging out with Abby while her 'rents were at the reception. Her introduction to me happened at some point that afternoon when we met for the first time.
Later that night, as the reception-goers partied on a couple of floors below, Nana and I were having a little difficulty getting Abby to sleep. Whether it was the excitement of the day, the unfamiliarity with her surroundings, the fact she was fourteen weeks old, all of the above, or something altogether different, she would not go down. She laid in her crib fussing and crying. Nana (a/k/a "the Baby Whisperer") could not soothe her, in spite of her best efforts. In a fit of what was most likely desperation she asked me to try.
Having zero baby-whispering experience, I did the only thing I knew how to do, which was walk around Jess and Rob's hotel room carrying her in my arms, rocking her every so often, and singing the only "lullaby" to which I know all the words. The "lullaby" in question happens to be Tom Petty's Alright for Nowfrom his Full Moon Fever album. Unconventional? Yes. Successful? Absolutely.
Jump forward in time slightly more than three Halloweens and you see the unimpeachable and irrefutable evidence of the importance of a good night's sleep as in that short time Abigail rose to the dizzying heights of earning a seat on the Supreme Court of the United States...or at least dressing up as one who did for the purpose of acquiring candy and other assorted goodies. I am her Pop Pop. I am allowed poetic license in bragging on my grandchildren. Consider it an unwritten Pop Pop Rule.
To the first-born of Pop Pop's two Colorado princesses, I hope that today is a very, very happy birthday. Moreover, my hope for you, Abigail, today and every day is that your life is never anything less than alright for now.
I am truly blessed to have five grandchildren. Four of my grandchildren are girls. The outlier is my man Cal. Cal is Suzanne and Ryan's little man, their middle child, and their only son. Today he is three years old.
I love my grandson and his tranformation from baby to, well, to little man in three years' time has been nothing short of extraordinary. He is a little boy with an enormous heart, a seemingly bottomless reservoir of patience for his sisters (big and little), and a soul so big that his Pop Pop is envious.
Happy Birthday, Cal-i-o! Pop Pop loves you very much.
The Independence Day Weekend is upon us. Perhaps one of the things that makes summer summer is that it has long holiday weekends that serve as its navigational beacons. Memorial Day Weekend harkens its arrival. Labor Day Weekend signals its departure. Independence Day Weekend represents its spiritual halfway point.
Far more summer days lie between this weekend and Labor Day than did between Memorial Day and this weekend. Nevertheless, this is the summer weekend that always serves to remind me just how quickly these beautiful summer days pass and how important it is to embrace them and to enjoy them. If you live - as do I - in a region that experiences all four seasons, then summer serves as the season in which you build up your reservoir of Vitamin D, upon which you shall rely to deal with the inevitable days of autumn and winter.
However, wherever, and with whomever you spend this Independence Day Weekend - and the summer days and nights that await you on its other side - embrace it and enjoy it. If you are traveling this weekend, be patient, be smart, and be safe.
