• Throwing things: shoes and fits

    I met a nice lady a few weeks ago who told me one can never have too many shoes. Imelda Marcos leaped to mind. My new friend is nothing like Imelda, whose collection of shoes numbered into thousands of pairs. Let’s call my new friend Patsy because it is her real name. Patsy let me know she was going to go shoe-shopping when she got her first paycheck because she had her eye on a zebra-striped pair of boots that would go nicely with the purse carried every day, the only purse I had ever seen her carrying. When I asked her what was the matter with the perfectly red…

  • A-Rod, a strike-out before the strike

    Somebody had shelled out some big bucks for this family outing. It wasn’t me. I never is. It was probably Grampa and step-Grandma. It’s what they do. It’s amazing and wonderful, so generous, so memorable. The Ballpark in Arlington was new. No scuffs on the polished pavement floors, no bumps or chips along the glistening walls, no hinges squeaking in the stadium seats so clean they might as well have been sanitized for our protection.  I remember entering the stadium through a glorious corner gate that is probably architecturally aligned with first base. St. Peter comes to mind. But memory enhances visual associations with emotional experiences, good, bad, and to…