The week gone by — Aug. 23

A friend of mine wrote about how she listens to the Yankees on the radio to help with homesickness, even though she could watch the games online if she wanted to.

“Perhaps John Sterling’s spontaneous homerun calls remind me of Phil Rizzuto’s enthusiasm I heard as a child. Perhaps it is the chance to take my eyes off of a screen and hearken back to a by-gone era in which we were not fixated on devices. Or perhaps, more simply, it’s like being in the garden in 1978 with my dad, sharing a game, and looking forward to the time when we can share one together again.”

She and I are the same age, so I also remember listening to Phil Rizzuto and Bill White on my radio, or going to the neighbors’ after dinner and sitting outside with him as he listened to the Mets.

Sometimes, at night, I could even get games from Pittsburgh or Philadelphia or Houston if I tuned the radio just right.

But even more than as a way to listen to ballgames, my radio was one of my first signs of independence, the first entertainment (other than books) that was truly mine.

I had my own radio before I had my own TV, and if I wanted to listen to baseball games or hear songs progress toward the apex of the nightly “Top 9 at 9” or “Top 10 at 10” countdown, no one could change the channel.

The one exception was that I couldn’t listen to the radio in bed. My father was convinced that if I fell asleep to the radio, I’d grow dependent on it, so he didn’t allow it.

Now, satellite radio has more musical options that I could ever imagine, even though I usually just pull up the hundreds of hand-picked songs on my phone.

And I can watch or listen to almost any game without worrying about whether it’ll come in, and if Suzi wants to watch something else, I just throw it on my iPad. 

It’s easier and better today, but I still remember the days when I hoped I wouldn’t miss my favorite song being on.

No, that’s not a picture of my first radio. I’m not that old. It’s by Erik Mclean on Unsplash.

WHAT I WROTE

Christmas? In August? — Desperate times may call for desperate measures.

Waiting to go home — The things you notice when you’re delayed at the airport.

WHAT I TALKED ABOUT

When we can’t go — What I miss beyond not being able to go to events.

 

STUFF I READ

Fizz takes a slightly different take on imagining life after quarantine.

Take note of what Alexia says here: “I did what I could to do the right thing but it was NEVER enough. I was so terrified of making a mistake that I couldn’t tell if I signed MY NAME CORRECTLY.”

Becky’s easing back into “normal” life.

The vacation is over … no more living vicariously through the Smelly Socks crew.

When they talked about bowling alleys reopening, I thought they might be able to do it with proper precautions. Kelly tells us how it went for her family.

Vee got good news at work, and celebrated in a completely appropriate way.

Renata celebrates her second blogging anniversary by writing about her friends … and I’m one of them! (By that same token, I seem to have picked up a new nickname, and in spite of hating almost every nickname anyone has tried to give me, I’m OK with her calling me this one.)

Savannah gets all gushy and mushy about her husband. (I don’t blame her. He seems like a great guy.)

I’m catching some William Carlos Williams vibes here from James, and that’s OK by me.

Carolyn notes that things people say to make us feel better aren’t always helpful.

Rosie doesn’t need to make excuses for anything, but I know why she does.

Austin has thoughts on proper mask usage. I personally wonder about the ones who think they’re to protect the area under their chins.

Julie shares how she deals with tough times.

“Trombone: You came to terms with being thoroughly uncool and this is where it got you.” It me.

This is an absurd idea. I’d almost be tempted to do it.

TWEETS I LIKED

I can’t do this when I get writer’s block.

There are people who don’t do this?

Me if I build or fix something and no one else is around. It’s VERY rare.

3 thoughts on “The week gone by — Aug. 23

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