Starting less than forty-eight hours from now a slow-moving, long-lasting storm — at least, a nor’easter; at worst, a winter hurricane – will reduce Massachusetts (pretty much the entire state) to a waist-deep paste of wet snow riddled with broken trees and downed power lines. I’m coming to terms with it.
Speed-read Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano today. It was nice of some previous holder of the library’s copy to mark out key phrases in green highlighter. Also explored the poetry of Frank Bidart for the first time. Not a fan. That’s half the latest batch of library books down. I’ll try to be a little more thoughtful about the other two.
I have fulfilled a long-ago dream by signing up for this year’s James Joyce Ramble, to be held April 30. Basically, you run 6.2 miles while costumed actors read and/or act out scenes from the works of James Joyce. It’s been covered in Sports Illustrated, the New York Times and other noteworthy outlets.
I had heard of the race when I first lived in Massachusetts and it sounded like just my cup of tea — waggish and eggheaded. But I was in one of the periods of life when I was not running, not because of injury but simply because of slack, and a 6.2-mile race was beyond my ambition.
Since I’d moved back, I hadn’t heard anything about the race and thought it had died the death. Turns out it’s still around … and now, I am able to do 6.2 miles. So, off we go. Better late than never. Yes she said YES YES and all that.
I have also signed up for a small local 5K on April 2, just to have something to do and something to train for. Right now I don’t care too deeply about it, but maybe as I’m plodding up some hill over the next few weeks it will seize my imagination and compel me to move my feet.
In anticipation of my older son’s return from college for spring break I made raspberry Kit Kat ice cream. He didn’t have as much of it as I thought. So now I am trying to manage my own intake. It was still good to see him, and to mumble “Safe travels” irrationally while waving through the windshield at his fast-departing train back to Boston.
SABR has a journal called, I think, Turnstyle that publishes baseball-themed fiction, poetry, and similar creative submissions, and I am mulling over one or two ideas for potential submission to that. We’ll see what I come up with. I’m not going to submit shyte for shyte’s sake but I’d like to think I can come up with something suitable for this setting. Takes my mind off the falling trees, anyway.
I went to Newspapers dot com and read an issue of my old hometown paper, the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, from 40 years ago, thinking it might provide blog-fodder and/or trigger long-forgotten memories. Didn’t really do either. I guess I was just putting in time with my head down in March 1983. (I don’t really have evidence to the contrary.)
Neck Pickup 