Wednesday, August 27, 2003

This morning's paper had sad news. Clive Charles, legendary soccer coach at U of P died this week- age 51- from prostate cancer. He is well loved, respected, and will be missed immensely. Friday, his jersey, #3, will be retired by the Portland Timbers. The first jersey number to be so treated. It's chilling to realize how young he was- younger than I am! And it reminds me of the death of my friend, Bill Brod, in 2000 from the same disease. When did I get my last PSA test? Good lord.

At about 2am this morning, Mars passed closer to Earth than its been since human civilizations arose. 60,000 years! We've been watching it for several nights from the back porch, though last night it was partly cloudy in East County. The brightness is notable- and wondrous. Perhaps I'll remember to get the binocs out tonight and look through them- it will only be a little farther away. In solar system terms that is.

Sunday, August 24, 2003

The weekend, as is most often the case, passes in a blur of activity. Painting the kitchen. Going away party for a neice on her way to France. groceries. Oh, and we forgot the cat litter. housekeeping. housekeeping. yardkeeping. A chapter of Alexander of Macedonia before bed. Soccer in the afternoon. The newspaper and coffee in the yard in the morning. Each of these stitches in the fabric of daily life- a cloth with thousands of such moments. Each that should be treasured. The mundane reality of the sun spilling through the window on the green leaves of the peace lily will not happen innumerable times. I admonish myself to look at it... This weekend's great pleasure was that Justin showed up- drove up from Ashland to attend his friend, Noah's, bachelor party. God it's amazing that these children are no longer children. Young men with lives and careers and girlfriends and children and worries and aspirations. I watch from the parental sideline, sometimes with anxiety but more often with a sense of wonder. Whoa! Did I have a hand in this?
Time to move on. Kaeli needs breakfast. As do I. Perhaps omelots. And then to the day's work. Music to have breakfast by....hmmmm.....Local Hero? baroque classics? Chieftains? Brightman? or maybe Fordham? Perhaps I will simply annoy my daughter and do bad imitations of Pavarotti over the eggs!

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