A person I respect and admire introduced me to someone yesterday (a former newspaper editor, no less) as a ... writer.

That was
nice

1. I think it's amazing, after six years, the difference one cup holder can make.
2. I think we're finally starting to see the light at the end of the homework learning curve.
3. I think my kind of weather is coming down the pike.
4. I think the more people change the more they stay the same.
5. I know I owe Mark a thank-you, and I hope to get to it on Monday.

"Archaic Torso of Apollo"
by Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by Stephen Mitchell

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

(*When I went back to tweak the formatting of the poem, I discovered that this is my 500th post. Huh. Now what do you think that means?)

I suppose technically today is the first day of autumn, but since things don't officially kick in until after eleven tonight, I can't really count it. I am ready. I feel like I have been pushing back against the urge for fall for weeks now. Pushing back against my yearning for all the wonderful things that spell autumn to me. Somehow I feel as if I shouldn't want it too soon.

Sweaters and long pants.
Danskos and knee socks.
Skirts and tights.
Thick soups bursting with roasty flavor.
The bite of cool air against my cheeks.
Scarves wrapped around my throat and on my knitting needles
Flannel sheets and the weight of heavy blankets.
Fires in the fire pit.
The solid thunk of acorns hitting the house.
Gray skies and rainy days (oh, for some rain.)
Early evenings and houses lit from within.
Winter food like sausage and beans, roast squash and chili.
Fires in the fireplace with the house smelling like woodsmoke.
Of course, more football.

Lordy, I could go on. We're predicted to have 90 degrees for the next two days, and it's killing me. My friend Debbie (hereafter referred to as Kate/Cate) is just the opposite. She's a Southern Californian, so give her sunshine and 79 degrees every day and she's happy. I used to be the same. When we lived in San Diego I used to have to think, "Okay, January. Now what time of year is that? Okay. Winter." We'd staunchly tell people that our seasons change too. Yeah...sorta. 

Now I embrace the change and yearn for it. Kate/Cate sees fall in her headlights and knows that winter is around the corner. That thought fills her with dread. I see the same thing, and I think with a whisper of excitement, "What if it snows...?"

*I told Debbie/Kate/Cate that Neel really prefers Catherine with a "C" to Katherine with a "K," and since Debbie/Kate/Cate likes Cate Blanchette she's good with that, so I went back and changed things a bit.

Otherwise titled: "Football Momma." Or: "Why don't they ever show the bands?" Or: "Dancing Queen"

Dear Mark,

I told you it would be painful. I'm so sorry. It was fun talking to you yesterday. It's funny to me how much alike we are in some ways, although, you're right, I am more private. Nicer too. Anyway. I was thinking as I was driving home that I actually had a lot more to say about football. I know! Isn't that great? It was mostly about my grandparents, and how they loved sport too. My mom's mom was more of a baseball fan. The Cardinals. (Although she liked the Rams too.) It should come as no surprise that my mom is watching baseball a lot these days. That's why she got that huge flat screen t.v. She put Alex Rodriguez on her prayer list when he was slumping before he his his 600th, and sure enough it worked!

My dad's mom kept his dad company watching golf and the Redskins. We still joke about how she hated Greg Norman because she thought he took all of his money out of the country. My grandad loved his Redskins. Their training camp was one town over from his hometown and he'd go every summer. He died right before Joe Gibbs came out of retirement to coach again, and Neel spoke of that at his funeral. That if Grandpa had known THAT was going to happen, he'd have stuck around.  I've always had a soft spot for the Redskins cause of Grandpa, which is a good thing considering I live in Redskins country now. I think Donovan got a bum rap from the Eagles, so I want them to win more than ever. I wonder what Grandpa would think. I'm not sure he'd have much time for Dan Snyder. He'd like Shanahan, I bet. I like how sport connects families. Callum can talk to my dad about the Chargers, and watch baseball with my mom. His best bud goes to watch the Redskins with his own Grandpa every weekend. I like that. Football, all sport really, is generational. Like fishing for your dad and Johnny, I guess.

But, Mark, this letter is for you, so I should keep my musings on football to a minimum (except to just say, hey dad I totally agree with you about that lame-o whistle blow when snapping for a field goal rule). One thing that my Grandma Charlotte (the one with the beef about Greg Norman) would always complain about in college football is the fact that they never showed the bands at halftime. "Why don't they ever show the bands?" We say that all the time around here. Anytime someone doesn't get to see or do something they wanted to; anytime anyone is disappointed: "Why don't they ever show the bands?"

I thought of this as we were walking to the game on Saturday night. It made me laugh to think, "Why don't they ever show the bands?" I'd get to see the bands! And sure enough, at half time out they march. And over the loudspeaker comes the announcer. He tells us the most wonderful news. The band is going to perform a retrospective of one of rock and rolls greatest bands. Queen. You read that right, my friends. Some of the greatest sport anthems of our time. "We Are the Champions," and "Another One Bites the Dust." They could have left it there. They could have played it safe and stuck with the sport motif. Good crowd for some Queen songs. But this band was brave. What did they end with?

"Bohemian Rhapsody."

So there you go, Dancing Queen. Another reason to love sport. The bands.

Thinking of you. Your friend,
Lauren

P.S. What did you think of the Top Chef finale?

It's true, I really do. I'm a football gal at heart, but give me anything with teams (or no) and competition and scoring and spirit, and I'm there. It's in my DNA, I think. My dad played football in high school and a little in college, and when he moved to Tennessee, he adopted his new team as if the air had been orange when he drew his first breath. It was orange when I drew my first breath (And I am perfectly happy to be patient this year, dear Vols.).

I grew up with the hum of t.v. stadium noise on weekend afternoons. It doesn't feel like fall to me without it. It tickles me to see that the NFL is finally starting to market to female fans. I mean, hello? I've been a football fan all my life. And despite the fact that one of Neel's favorite football stories to tell is when the wife of a couple who are friends of ours said of my love of football, "But Lauren, you're a girl..." quite a few of my women friends are fans too. More and more it seems. And I actually know a bit about football. Enough to be dangerous, I guess. What I always tell women, or anyone really, who is new to football, is that the good thing about it is  you don't need to know a lot to enjoy the game. Four chances to go 10 yards. Run or pass. As many of those as you need to get down the field. Touchdown plus extra point is seven points, field goal is three. Basketball is similar in that capacity, I guess. Baskets score points. Baseball is trickier. With baseball, unless you have a more in-depth understanding of strategy it can feel really slow, and well let's face it, boring. I love baseball too, and used to follow the Cubs religiously. We had WGN as one of our early cable channels, and Ryne Sandberg heated things up on 2nd base. I really hope they hire him to manage next year. BUT, I digress. Really digress.

Back to football. Like I said, I do know a bit about the sport. I feel proud of that. Proud of all that my dad taught me  and proud of what I've learned from watching on my own. We were at a game this weekend (more on that in a bit), and I was sitting with a friend of mine who falls more in the basketball camp than the football camp. She knows the basics of marching down the field, but that's about it. So I'm sort of explaining as we go. At the end of one play, on the opposite sideline there's clearly some pushy-shovey going on, and of course the flags go flying. In my house, we like to try to call the penalty (And here's where I perceive a real weakness in my football knowledge actually. I do have a couple. But I have trouble seeing a lot of penalties. I can see pass interference, obviously, and encroachment and false starts, but I still have trouble with holding, even. It makes me mad that I can't call holding. And clipping. Did you ever see the Big Chill, where they're watching the Michigan game and whoosie's girlfriend (the dead guy) says, "clipping" and then the ref confirms it was clipping, and I can never tell if all the friends are impressed or irritated or both...but I was SO impressed. I want to be able to call clipping.)...ANYHOO. In my house we like to call the penalty before the refs, so automatically, I just say, "Personal Foul, Unnecessary Roughness on the offense. Personal Foul, Unnecessary Roughness on the defense. Penalties offset." And the guy behind me says to his wife who has spent the whole evening wrestling their toddlers, "She knows the drill."

This happens to me all the time, and, let's face it, I get a thrill of pride every time it does. Turns out I was wrong. There was only a 15 yarder on the offense, but I didn't feel too bad because it was on the opposite side of the field and I was only going on the location and the fact that A) it was after the whistle and 2) about 20 flags flew at once.

I love sport.

So, like I said, we went to a game this weekend. I think I've mentioned before that we live a few blocks away from a smallish university. This is mostly a good thing. I like a collegial atmosphere. Last year, we had some parking issues to contend with, but we marched on city hall and won that round. Also last year our own local smallish university started a football team. College football! Just down the street! Mostly there was excitement, with only a small measure of trepidation (Let's face it, we're grown-ups, and we worried about beer bottles in the front yards and rowdy college kids encroaching on our quiet streets.). When they went 9-2 (can you believe it? a brand-new team?!) and there were no beer bottles in the front yard (except perhaps our own, a-hem), well, everybody was happy. Win-win. Nine wins. And here we are again. New season. 

This past Saturday, our own smallish university played another local (under 50 miles away) storied college. It's the beginning of a rivalry. Lots of alumni from both floating around. An alum from one school to the left of me, another from the other school across the street. See what I mean? And early Saturday morning we were offered tickets. Callum nearly melted into a puddle of delight when he got the news. Let's face it, we all did. Tailgate at 4, kick off at 7, quick walk to the stadium in between. Really, it can't be beat. But here's the rub. Warning, expletives ahead. As we're walking along (And Neel and Callum sat apart from me and my friend, so they walked ahead. I can't speak to what they heard on the way.), we move through crowds of people, some young (college kids?), some not (not college kids?), and all I can hear is, beligerantly, "Oh yeah? Fuck you you fuckin' fuck." Really? And then things along the lines of, "Fuckin' losers. You just fuckin' wait." Nice.

In some ways this was the perfect game to see because I was not heavily invested in either side, I could sit back and watch good, live football and not bite my nails either way. It was fun to get caught up in that palpable excitement that you feel among people heading into a live venue. You can feel the pulse of that, no matter who you're pulling for, you're here to see them play. Until that first "fuck you." Killed it for me.

Really? This about sport I don't love and don't understand. Trust me, when it comes to cursing, although I am working on it, I am not a prude (thanks Mom!). But people, come on. Is there really the need to flip the fans of the opposing team the bird when your team makes a good play? At our local hockey games, our fans routinely chant, "YOU SUCK!" to the fans of the opposing team when WE SCORE. Seriously? Is this sportsmanship? Or is this how America is ruining sport?

Callum is a San Diego Chargers fan, and living on the East Coast, we have gone into "enemy territory" several times to take him to see his beloved team. For me the best experiences are when his Chargers jersey is welcomed. People get that he's a little kid doing anything to see his team. We went to a Ravens/Chargers game many years ago, and all the folks around him cheered for every good Chargers play. Ravens fans. They did that for my boy. Because they knew what sport meant to a little kid who never even gets to see his West Coast team play on t.v. And then on our way out of the stadium, once Callum had finally pulled it together after a last second Chargers loss, some drunk woman saw his jersey and yelled at him "Chargers SUCK." It was a long drive home. And this might be unfair, but the Ravens are dead to me now.

And yet I love sport. And I love live sport.  In many ways, it can't be beat. I love how this community has embraced this team. And all I can do is go and be a good sport and teach my kid to be a good sport. I think we should consider season tickets next year, because seriously how often do you get a chance to get this close? The alternative is sitting at home with Faith Hill and her short skirts and Viagra commercials during the NFL games.

Now what I really want to know is if Mark paid attention through this whole post about football, and are you back from your break?

And what I really want to do is thank Rebecca and Evans SO much for the tickets to the game. We couldn't have asked for a better evening or a better game to go to. It was a delight. Thanks for reminding me how much I do love sport and giving us the chance to see it up close!

Well, it's my mom's birthday too. Just hopping by for a sec to wish my mom a happy birthday. On the phone last night Callum said to her, "And you have a birthday coming up too." Eleven is very grown up!

Happy Birthday, Ama! We love you!

He had another birthday. Eleven.

I love this kid of mine. He's such a fine young man. He likes silly bands and poker. Monopoly and Wii. He has bravely embarked on this new adventure called school and handled it like a pro. So far, at least. He has lots of questions about things. He always wants to know more about history and science. He's always moving...his body seems to take up a lot of space. He's still full of snuggles, as willing to climb on my lap as he ever was, more so in some ways.

He's full of anxiety these days too. Needing lots of reassurance about, well, just about everything. He does not want to grow up. (He won't turn down those birthday presents, though!) I have to keep reminding him that I like this growing-up kid. I like the way we can hang out and the conversations we can have. (Our much shorter commute just flies by.) And yet, when we were in New York (and I know, I haven't said a thing about our trip to New York yet, or our finished kitchen, or how we spent our summer vacation...) and he would trail behind me complaining about the walking or the heat or how he needed a hot dog RIGHT! NOW! I was reminded of how small he still is. Just a kid.

But eleven? Oh man.

Happy Birthday, to my dear, dear son. My one and only.