The plan today was to do the final fallen leaf mowing of 2025. The leaves turned and fell very late this fall, so this facet of lawn maintenance has run deep into November and December. (Note: The garden also had an extended growing season, i.e., I ate the final tomato of the season today on my roast beef sandwich at lunch. That’s never happens.)
However, a cold front (a polar vortex if you listen to the weathermen) moved in, and it’s 20 degrees. Add to that a steady northeast wind and damp, humid air, and it’s not the most pleasant of days to work outside.
I’ve never been a person who shies away from cold weather. Hell, I’m usually in shorts and short-sleeve shirts until the temps consistently fall below the 40s. But as I’m firmly into my sixth decade of life, I don’t nearly enjoy the cold weather like I used to. Old man problems.
So, on this cold, dark, and damp Saturday morning, I began to prep for the task at hand when I stopped to look at the weather app on my phone. 23 degrees with a wind chill of 5. Cold.
Perhaps to delay my trip to the outdoors, I risked a look at the 10-day forecast. Guess what? The weather for next Saturday is partly cloudy and 50 degrees.
Boom!
The decision was quickly made. The Saturday plan rapidly shifted. The coat, the hat, and the gloves were put back into the closet. Those leaves on the ground are probably not going anywhere over the next seven days. Mowing and raking in 50 degree weather sounds much better than mowing and raking in single-digit wind chills.
With age comes wisdom, at least that’s what old men like me want to believe. Wisdom says, “Work smarter, not harder.” But today, I’m going with the wisdom of “Work smarter, not colder.”
Next Saturday, I might even get to wear shorts to mow the leaves. Win!
Thirteen years old and I’m playing right field late in the game on a late weeknight game at Liondotte Field, Kansas City, Kansas.
It’s hot.
It’s mid-June humid, and there’s a haze in the air, which, for once, is not caused by the 1970s-era parents chain-smoking in the stands trying to stay awake.
The coach has thrown me out in the field as a defensive substitution so he can sleep better knowing he played every kid on the team and still got the win. There’s hardly a sound around the mostly empty field. The little league field next to us is empty and dark. Those players and their families long cleared out. Our best pitcher is on the mound, throwing his usual gas, so the baseball probably hasn’t seen the outfield grass all night. I feel safe out in right field.
Being thirteen is tough. Things are changing. Life is changing. I am sitting the bench for the first time in my life for two reasons. The first reason is a new coach with new rules. Our new head coach was also in charge of the program’s fundraising and implemented the rule that nobody who did not sell at least one box of 25 World’s Finest chocolate bars would start on his team. I, even the 13-year-old me, do not sell things with much joy or success. I sold only four chocolate bars out of my box of 25, and I sold all four of those to myself.
The second reason I was sitting on the bench that summer was that I knew when we got back to school that fall and the nurse ran us through the compulsory vision and hearing tests, my parents would hear the four words that sent shock waves up most parents’ spines, ”Your kid needs glasses.” I couldn’t see very well. I was nearsighted.
We were as far away from being rich as you could be without being called poor. I knew we didn’t have the money so I’d spent most of the spring and into the summer adjusting. When I was at bat, I saw two baseballs. The trick became figuring out which one to hit. Eventually, I figured it out pretty well, but it took some time.
That night in right field, looking up, I saw swarms of bugs flittering around the outfield light pole. It’s like a natural light show with the light reflecting off the wings and bodies of the insects. I also noticed black shadows streaking across the field of illuminated bugs. Bats.
They were mesmerizing to watch. Zipping around the globe of light in the sky. The crack of the bat brought me back to the baseball field as a check-swing pop fly descended to foul ground down the right field line. The coach yelled at me to wake up. I did not get there nearly in time to make the sure out. The coach yelled some more. I jogged back to my spot in the right field, thinking about echolocation and how the bats found their food in the dark night sky.
Echolocation is when an animal, like a bat, sends out a sound wave. The sound wave reflects off an object back toward the emitting animal, who then processes and determines distance, shape, location, etc. from the rebounding waves. Humans have an innate, but underdeveloped, ability for echolocation. Since most home sapiens have spent eons not using this innate skill, it is hidden for most of us. Many blind people learn to use their innate sense of echolocation to help them navigate their place in space.
Settling back down in my position, I watched the bats work over the last few innings. They zoomed in and out of the light, following the navigation maps constantly being updated in their tiny brains, and never giving up on chasing a meal. It hit me that I could take a lesson from those bats. Not to become a caped crime-fighter in downtown Kansas City, but to trust my senses and keep trying even though my vision was failing. I vowed to keep swinging the bat and using my version of echolocation to make each swing count. Instead of a cape and cowl, this bat-inspired human would don a batting helmet, spikes, and uniform. The struggle would be real, but the journey now had ample fuel.
I found my way eventually. Down the line, over the next school year, my parents calmly accepted those four dreaded words from the school nurse, and I got glasses. I tried to be thoughtful at all times, knowing how much of a financial burden it had to have been, so I took care of those glasses like they were gold. I only wore them when needed and never had them on when it came to an activity where the potential for hard contact was possible.
I did wear them for baseball, though, and it changed everything. When you’ve been trying to hit two baseballs and all of a sudden there’s only one, the success rate of every swing rises. I fell in love with baseball again. I wish I could say the same about selling fundraising chocolate bars, but alas, not all in life is as easily remedied with lenses and frames.
Even though the 13-year-old me couldn’t fully appreciate this at the time, the adult me fully appreciates how my parents handled the baseball disappointments that summer and beyond. They could have jumped in and helped sell my candy bars. Many parents do this; mine did not. They could have complained to the new coach about me being relegated to the very end of the bench. Many parents do this; mine did not. My parents let me navigate through these issues. They let me deal with the situation and, even though it was a blind step, they let me find the way forward. That was pretty cool.
Echolocation. No matter where we are in life, there are times when a step becomes a blind step. Times when the sky is black as night and/or there’s a blinding light ahead. Times when everyone needs to trust the gut and the mind instead of relying on the eyes to move forward in life. Trust your experiences and lessons learned to pick the right ball to hit. Trust the fact that even if you miss, odds are you’ll get another swing on the next pitch, the next game, or the next season.
Baseball bats can help show the way.
I’m now in my early 60s, and I still love baseball. I also still love bats of all kinds.
And it all started on a baseball field.
Baseball at Night by Morris Kantor, 1934 (Photo credit: American Art Museum on Visualhunt.com/)
The wind of the Spirit hasn’t stopped blowing. Have a good journey, brothers and sisters.
My reading for Lent this year was Pope Francis’s autobiography, Hope. The Pope says in the introduction that this book was scheduled to be released after his death, but he felt the current state of worldly affairs warranted its release before his death and before he fell ill and was hospitalized. It makes me wonder if he knew his end was near and the flock would need guidance during these difficult times we are experiencing.
I am blessed to have experienced the papacy of Pope Francis. His teachings, his kindness, and especially his smile are spiritually transforming influences.
This line above is from the end of the book. It’s the perfect and concise 15-word piece of life advice any Christian needs.
The deepest, happiest, most beautiful reality for us, for those we love, has yet to come.
My reading for Lent this year was Pope Francis’s autobiography, Hope. The Pope says in the introduction that this book was scheduled to be released after his death, but he felt the current state of worldly affairs warranted its release before his death and before he fell ill and was hospitalized. It makes me wonder if he knew his end was near and the flock would need guidance during these difficult times we are experiencing.
It’s an exceptional book. Pope Francis tells his history, his background, and always ties the past into the relevance of following Christ and taking our faith into the world. Hope is a book I will keep on my shelf. I will add it to my essential reading list to reread at least every five years.
As I type this, we have a new pope! Pope Leo XIV, the first American-born pope. I’m very hopeful and excited to witness and participate in, as Pope Leo XIV preached in his first homily of his inaugural mass, a plea for unity, peace, and a missionary spirit. With the words of Father James Martin of the Jesuit Order, when asked to define Pope Francis’s lasting legacy. Fr. Martin thought for a few seconds and said Pope Francis’s greatest legacy is that he lived in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.
Pope Francis walked the Christian walk. His whole life was dedicated to living his faith both inside and outside the physical church. He lived his faith above and beyond the strict ceremonies and procedures as Jesus himself did. Christianity is a living faith. Christianity is a community. To live as Christians, we must all follow Pope Francis’s spirit and walk with Jesus Christ among our brothers and sisters from the least to the greatest.
I highlighted four quotes from the book that hit hard. Here’s the third in which Pope Francis addresses the power of hope and prayer in living the Christian life. When I look around the world and our country now, we all could use a recharge to what Jesus called us to do and to be as His followers.
Be sure of it: The deepest, happiest, most beautiful reality for us, for those we love, has yet to come. Even if some statistic tells you the opposite, even if tiredness weakens your powers, never lose this hope that cannot be beaten. Pray with these words, and if you are unable to pray, murmur them to yourself, do it even if your faith is weak, murmur it until you believe it, murmur it also to those in despair, to those with little love: The best wine has yet to be served. So long as we continue to find cheer in the gaze of a child and in the infinite possibilities of goodness, so long as we allow mercy to dwell within us, everything will always be possible. Clinging to the anchor of hope, we can say with the lines of the poet Nâzim Hikmet,
The most beautiful sea hasn’t been crossed yet. The most beautiful child hasn’t grown up yet. Our most beautiful days we haven’t seen yet. And the most beautiful words I wanted to tell you I haven’t said yet…
My reading for Lent this year was Pope Francis’s autobiography, Hope. The Pope says in the introduction that this book was scheduled to be released after his death, but he felt the current state of worldly affairs warranted its release before his death and before he fell ill and was hospitalized. It makes me wonder if he knew his end was near and the flock would need guidance during these difficult times we are experiencing.
It’s an exceptional book. Pope Francis tells his history, his background, and always ties the past into the relevance of following Christ and taking our faith into the world. Hope is a book I will keep on my shelf. I will add it to my essential reading list to reread at least every five years.
As I type this, I am watching Pope Francis’s funeral procession through the streets of Rome, and I am struck by the words of Father James Martin of the Jesuit Order when asked to define Pope Francis’s lasting legacy. Fr. Martin thought for a few seconds and said Pope Francis’s greatest legacy is that he lived in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.
Pope Francis walked the Christian walk. His whole life was dedicated to living his faith both inside and outside the physical church. He lived his faith above and beyond the strict ceremonies and procedures as Jesus himself did. Christianity is a living faith. Christianity is a community. To live as Christians, we must all follow Pope Francis’s spirit and walk with Jesus Christ among our brothers and sisters from the least to the greatest.
I highlighted four quotes from the book that hit hard. Here’s the second in which Pope Francis addresses the fundamental task of a Christian to build a better future by building a better now.
It occurs to me that young people never run the risk described in the Gospel of Luke: “Woe to you when all speak well of you” (Luke 6:26). But above all that, instead of judging or complaining, each generation is called upon to not ignore its crucial challenge: that of educating. The fundamental task that is required of men and women is to make good use of their time on earth and to build the future. In the words of the sociologist Zygmunt Bauman, who I met in Assisi in September 2016, when he was already ninety, and who gave me valuable food for thought, especially in his analysis of the “liquid society”: “If you are thinking about the next year, plant corn; if you are thinking about the next ten years, plant a tree; but if you are thinking about the next hundred years, educate.”
My reading for Lent this year was Pope Francis’s autobiography, Hope. The Pope says in the introduction that this book was scheduled to be released after his death, but he felt the current state of worldly affairs warranted its release before his death and before he fell ill and was hospitalized. It makes me wonder if he knew his end was near and the flock would need guidance during these difficult times we are experiencing.
It’s an exceptional book. Pope Francis tells his history, his background, and always ties the past into the relevance of following Christ and taking our faith into the world. Hope is a book I will keep on my shelf. I will add it to my essential reading list to reread at least every five years.
As I type this, I am watching Pope Francis’s funeral procession through the streets of Rome, and I am struck by the words of Father James Martin of the Jesuit Order when asked to define the lasting legacy of Pope Francis. Fr. Martin thought for a few seconds and said Pope Francis’s greatest legacy is that he lived in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.
Pope Francis walked the Christian walk. His whole life was dedicated to living his faith both inside and outside the physical church. He lived his faith above and beyond the strict ceremonies and procedures as Jesus himself did. Christianity is a living faith. Christianity is community. To live as Christians, we must all follow Pope Francis’s spirit and, from least to greatest, walk with Jesus Christ among our brothers and sisters.
I highlighted four quotes from the book that hit hard. Here’s the first.
“We must feed hope through the force of gestures, instead of placing our hope in gestures of force. “
Of the entire canon of Bob Dylan’s work, I think Workingman’s Blues #2 runs a close second to Like a Rolling Stone. The song came out in 2006 on Dylan’s Modern Times album. I cannot remember where I first heard or became aware of it. It was probably on one of the last area real-life classic rock stations before those faded into oblivion. The song isn’t one of the more popular or well-known of Dylan’s works but it strikes a chord in my middle-class soul.
Dylan says the song was written after touring with the great Merle Haggard as a nod to his Workin’ Man’s Blues, hence the “#2” in the title. For me, this is such a great song because of the visuals and emotions Dylan strikes with the music and the lyrics. Add in Dylan’s gravely, older voice, and this song hits the mark dead center.
The gold nugget at the heart of the story is, that despite life’s burdens that drag the narrator down, there exists the hope things will get better. At the end of the day, we all need to shine our nugget of hope to keep it fueling our daily toils despite “the buyin’ power of the proletariat” being down. (Who else besides Dylan can work the word “proletariat” into a song without a “WTF?” by the listening audience?)
Stoned59, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Workingman’s Blues #2 by Bob Dylan
There’s an evening’ haze settlin’ over the town Starlight by the edge of the creek The buyin’ power of the proletariat’s gone down Money’s gettin’ shallow and weak The place I love best is a sweet memory It’s a new path that we trod They say low wages are a reality If we want to compete abroad
My cruel weapons have been put on the shelf Come sit down on my knee You are dearer to me than myself As you yourself can see I’m listening’ to the steel rails hum Got both eyes tight shut Just sitting here trying to keep the hunger from Creeping it’s way into my gut
[Chorus] Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
Now, I’m sailing’ on back, ready for the long haul Tossed by the winds and the seas I’ll drag them all down to hell and I’ll stand them at the wall I’ll sell them to their enemies I’m trying’ to feed my soul with thought Gonna sleep off the rest of the day Sometimes no one wants what we got Sometimes you can’t give it away
Now the place is ringed with countless foes Some of them may be deaf and dumb No man, no woman knows The hour that sorrow will come In the dark I hear the night birds call I can hear a lover’s breath I sleep in the kitchen with my feet in the hall Sleep is like a temporary death
[Chorus] Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
Well, they burned my barn, they stole my horse I can’t save a dime I got to be careful, I don’t want to be forced Into a life of continual crime I can see for myself that the sun is sinking How I wish you were here to see Tell me now, am I wrong in thinking That you have forgotten me?
Now they worry and they hurry and they fuss and they fret They waste your nights and days Them I will forget But you I’ll remember always Old memories of you to me have clung You’ve wounded me with words Gonna have to straighten out your tongue It’s all true, everything you have heard
[Chorus] Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
In you, my friend, I find no blame Wanna look in my eyes, please do No one can ever claim That I took up arms against you All across the peaceful sacred fields They will lay you low They’ll break your horns and slash you with steel I say it so it must be so
Now I’m down on my luck and I’m black and blue Gonna give you another chance I’m all alone and I’m expecting you To lead me off in a cheerful dance Got a brand new suit and a brand new wife I can live on rice and beans Some people never worked a day in their life Don’t know what work even means
[Chorus] Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
Storytellers, really good storytellers, are priceless. It doesn’t matter if it’s the storyteller down at the local tavern or the storytellers behind award-winning books, movies, and songs, they are a precious commodity. They are a useful and valuable thing for community and society.
One of America’s greatest storytellers was the musician John Prine. Prine produced a treasure trove of storyteller songs in his 50+ years as a professional musician. He’d survived throat cancer and lung cancer. Both affected his singing voice but neither stopped him from performing, which he did until his untimely death in April of 2020 from COVID complications.
I’m eternally grateful to Coach Paul Lane for burning a CD of John Prine and sliding it into a stack of CDs he gave me one summer. I remember throwing it into the player while working out in the garage gym when “Hello in There” came on. I had to stop everything I was doing, sit down, and listen to those lyrics three or four times before I could get back to business. It is such a great song, mesmerizing and hypnotic to the point you feel you’re sitting in the room with the old couple. That’s powerful storytelling. That’s magic.
There’s so much one could ramble on about John Prine but I think his collaborator on the great “In Spite of Ourselves”, Iris DeMint, said it best.
“John Prine was, without a doubt, one of the greatest songwriters this world will ever know,” DeMent wrote on Facebook. “Here’s why he rests on my heart’s mountaintop: Because he cared enough to look—at me, you, all of us—until he saw what was noble, and then he wrapped us up in melodies and sung us back to ourselves. That was the miracle of John Prine. And it was enough.”
There are a multitude of great John Prine content on YouTube. One can randomly select one and travel down the road to storytelling greatness. I particularly appreciate his work throughout his career highlighting the struggles of Vietnam Veterans, like “Sam Stone” and “Angel From Montgomery”. Below is a link to the last song he recorded before passing. It’s called “I Remember Everything” and it’s storytelling only as John Prine can weave.
John Prine’s last recorded song, “I Remember Everything”.
DDay+80—eighty years since the Greatest Generation began the greatest offensive in all human history directed at the face of tyranny.
With three writing projects in the orbit of three different eras of Dwight D. Eisenhower’s professional life, I’ve done quite a bit of reading and research on Ike Eisenhower. The most important thing I’ve discovered in this work is how much I find Ike’s ideas and philosophies mirror my ideas and philosophies as I approach age 60.
Growing up in Kansas City, Kansas, all I ever really knew about President Eisenhower in the grand scheme of things was that he was born in Kansas. I remember bits and pieces of visiting the Eisenhower Library & Museum in Abilene, Kansas when I was about 8 or so on a family summer vacation to visit my grandparents’ house at Tuttle Creek Lake near Manhattan. My main memory is standing on a hot summer day inside the cool and quiet Place of Meditation, the final resting place of Ike and Maime. The surviving impression from that day is my gut telling me this place was somewhere special and the people buried here were something special.
After spending the last few years on a deep dive into Dwight David Eisenhower, I now can confirm those gut feelings, Ike was something special and his influence helped build the United States into the world leader the people of my generation and those to follow grew up taking for granted.
We could all benefit at this 2024 moment in the United States from the life of Dwight D. Eisenhower. There are many historical parallels to the decade leading up to World War II that are increasingly impossible to ignore. As Spanish-American philosopher George Santayana famously wrote, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
In remembrance of the 80th anniversary of D-Day, here is the letter General Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force, sent his troops before the commencement of the D-Day attack on the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 2024.
May God bless all the brave soldiers and their families for their bravery and sacrifice in standing up to Nazi evil.
General Eisenhower’s letter to the troops before the D-Day invasion, June 1944.
Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brother-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed people of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-1941. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their war strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!
Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.
The Family Curse has to do with sports fandom. In particular, our beloved Kansas City Royals. My maternal grandmother, Grandma Bosley, first exhibited the curse back in the 1970s. For the record, Grandma Bosley was a character and full of life. Those of us fortunate enough to spend time within her life circle are indeed blessed human beings.
I remember visiting her and Grandpa for vacations at their house on Tuttle Creek Lake when I was young. Their place and the surrounding area were pure heaven to us grandkids. In my memory banks from those summer days are burned images of Grandma, a baseball lover to the core, watching or listening to Royals games. When things weren’t going well for the boys in blue, she would always throw her hands in the air and say, “Every time I pay attention to the Royals, they play terribly.”
That my friend, is the Family Curse. Whenever attention is paid to the Royals, they perform poorly.
I’ve laughed at the Family Curse for over 50 years. I’m not laughing anymore. There’s an increasing probability it’s real and, as previously mentioned, its power may have fallen to me.
Grandma Bosley would religiously watch Royals games on TV or listen to the radio. When they gave up a run or two though, she’d scamper from the room citing how she’s cursed the team by watching or listening. Grandpa would ignore her while we kids would laugh at her, which made her madder. Grandma usually ended up on the back patio, again listening to the game on her transistor radio.
One or more of us grandkids (and often Grandpa) would also migrate to the patio to enjoy the summer evening and listen to baseball with Grandma the way it was meant to be enjoyed…on the radio. Baseball fandom at its best with the backdrop of summer twilight magic, cicada chirps echoing through the wooded valley, the smell of cooling red cedars, ice cream bars, and family.
Inevitably, the pastoral summer scene would again come to a screeching halt thanks to the Family Curse. The Royals’ opponent would take the lead, and our hitter would take a third strike with the bases loaded or hit into a double play. Grandma would throw in the towel and pretend to do some chore attempting to trick the curse into thinking she wasn’t paying attention.
After Grandma died, I didn’t think much about the curse. It still made me smile to think about those old times following Royals games with her. Then, a few years after Grandma Bosley passed, I noticed something strange. My Mom started exhibiting the same behaviors as her mother.
The Family Curse had passed to her!
I’d call and ask her if she was watching the Royals. She’d tell me she started to watch but switched channels because…you guessed it, “Every time I pay attention to the Royals, they play terribly.” I’d laugh at her and tell her she was acting just like her mother, which she did not like the comparison at all.
Her behavior continued through two Royals World Series appearances and multiple one-hundred-loss seasons. It did not matter if the Royals’ product on the field was successful or not, Grandma and Mom blamed every bad thing the Royals did when they were watching or listening on the curse. The curse they brought upon the team by paying attention to them.
Mom died last September. I didn’t think at all about a Family Curse in the wave of emotions and the empty space in our world left by her death. However, in the past few weeks, I’ve noticed something that’s never happened before. When I pay attention to a 2024 Royals game, they don’t play well. Recently, I cleared the schedule to listen to a game. I sat down at my desk and turned my MLB At-Bat app to the Royals radio broadcast to find out they were already down 7-0. In the first inning!
That’s when it hit me. The Family Curse has been passed to me.
What was funny when it happened to Grandma or Mom, is not so funny when it’s happening to me. The Family Curse hangs over the family despite the logic that a single person watching or listening to a baseball game from many miles away cannot affect the outcome or performance of the team.
In a way, even though it might end up with some horrible play from my favorite MLB team, my heart tells me the Family Curse might be a blessing. Carrying the Family Curse has a silver lining, if you can believe it. Having the curse now makes me feel closer to two women I miss dearly. Knowing I’m still connected to Grandma and Mom in this small way makes life, and a 7-0 first-inning deficit, a little brighter.
But don’t worry fellow Royals fans, I will wield my new Family Curse power wisely and in a way that promotes the greatest chances of not losing 100 games ever again…or at least in my lifetime.
THE COACH HAYS 