Portrait of Juan, Jackie's cat

Juan in repose

Summer's end pictures...

Miki's year of knitting

One thing that I really wanted to learn last year was how to knit.  I was tired of sitting in front of the TV while I scrolled through my phone.  I wanted to use the downtime that I spent in the family room to actually create something.  I wanted our television time to actually be productive.  To me, knitting seemed to be the perfect solution.  The idea of sitting with a ball of yarn and creating something warm and cozy that could bring comfort to someone sounded lovely.  

So, I tracked down a beginner knitting class, dragged my friend Andrea with me, and my journey into the world of yarn addiction began.  Below, is a catalog of some my creations as I near my 1 year anniversary of becoming a knitter.  I have yet to make something for myself, but I sure love seeing my new outlet wrapped around those I love.

My first hat.  Pete is modeling, but Grandpa got hat.

I found this lovely yarn and made a hat/scarf set for Kathy, my step mom.

My first Cowl scarf.  My mom loves hers!

Margie got a school spirit scarf to show her bulldog pride.

BABY HATS!!

Bamboo hat for our soon to be baby, Cordelia.

                                                      

First attempt at color change.

My first blanket.  Made for a coworker's new baby boy. Organic Cotton yarn.

Pete takes a look at books that find you when you least expect it.

I wasn’t looking for to read anything new when I came upon a blurb in People magazine about David Nichols’ novel, One Day. But I read it, loved it, reviewed it, met a girl who also loved it, and bada-boom-bada-bing and yada-yada-yada… I’m two years married and living in the suburbs. That book found me, altered the course of my life in fact.  

Another book that recently found me is Swing, a novel by Philip Beard. Again, I didn’t want to read anything new, wanting to take a break from reading. I should mention that me ’wanting to take a break from reading’ usually lasts for a period no longer than 48 hours. After that, I just have to have a book. I should also mention that I’m a bookseller, surrounded on a daily basis by literally thousands of books. I could have chosen any one of them but didn’t. Instead, I found myself at the newsstand flipping through a Sports Illustrated. There, at the bottom of one of the pages was a tiny book review about a novel called Swing. Now, Sports Illustrated isn’t exactly known for book reviews, but this one did have a sports angle to it. You see, part of the novel is set in Pittsburgh in October, 1971, the year the Pittsburgh Pirates upset the Baltimore Orioles to win the World Series. What does that have to do with me? I’ll get to that later. First, I want to tell you what a gem of a novel Swing is, and hopefully persuade someone out there to give it go. 

Swing is about a remembrance of an unlikely friendship between an eleven year boy and a legless, charismatic, Korean War veteran. From the onset that this is not a book primarily about baseball. To enjoy it, you don’t need to know a thing about the sport. As a young boy, I once did love baseball to the extent of checking player statistics every morning in the newspaper -- especially Nolan Ryan. But now, as much as I love the Colorado Rockies, I’m not losing any sleep if they lose. Those days are long gone (Unless, of course, they make a playoff run. Then all bets are off). But I digress. Baseball is merely in the background of this novel as the real action involves a family’s breakup and reconstitution, a disabled man learning to live again, a writer trying to find his voice, a cancer survivor fighting for her life and her art. It’s about a family, similar to mine, probably yours. It’s about friendship. The unlikely ones are often times the best ones, and you may not even know it as it‘s happening -- and when it‘s done. Now to my own Pittsburgh Pirates story. 

First off, I can’t believe I have a Pittsburgh Pirates story. I have neither been to Pittsburgh nor known anyone from those parts. But Pittsburgh came to me, in the form of two brothers, Air Force kids like many in the neighborhood. I’m not sure what their Pittsburgh connection was, but they were rabid Pirates fans just the same. My mother introduced me to them as she was helping me adjust to life as a new Floridian at about the age of seven or eight. At that time, there were no professional baseball teams in Florida save for the minor leagues. The closest team was the Atlanta Braves. And though the Braves did have many fans in Florida, at that time they were perennial losers -- except that they had Hammerin’ Hank Aaron on the team. He was an aging star by the time I came up, but still his every at bat was worth seeing. Yet, my heart was with the Pirates.

The brothers got me going in every sport (even hockey -- in Florida?) Having just written that, I get that Florida now has not one but two professional hockey teams. At the time though, hockey was just something they had and did up north. But back to baseball. The brothers introduced me to the great (perhaps greatest) Pirate, Roberto Clemente. He died tragically in a plane crash on New Years’s Eve 1972 while on a humanitarian mission to assist earthquake victims in Nicaragua. And then there was Willie Stargell. I hear heroin is quite a potent drug. But when you’re a little kid, and Willie Stargell was up to bat, and he hits a deep fly ball to center and it’s going…it’s going… it’s gone! No drug was better than that. So I do know my Pirate legends, from Bill Mazeroski to Steve Blass to Richie Hebner to Al Oliver to the skinny guy with the mean knuckleball. Unfortunately, by the time I came aboard the Oakland A’s had taken dominance over the league, then after that the dreaded Big Red Machine Cincinnati Reds. It wasn’t until 1979 that the Pirates returned to the series with ‘We are family’ as their catch tune. Following that, I moved on from the Pirates. 

As for playing the game itself, little league for me began with an auspicious start. I showed up with a toddler’s plastic toy glove that the coach said wouldn’t do. He then asked if I were right-handed or left-handed. I didn’t know what he meant by that question. I should say that I still have difficulty in the right-handed/left-handed department. Although not ambidextrous, I do certain tasks right-handed and certain tasks left-handed. Directions I find quite difficult. Luckily, my wife is the same. We frequently drive in circles. Example:  

Pete: Is this the right way home?

Miki: I don’t know. Look, there’s a bird! Let’s follow it. Maybe it’s headed to our neighborhood. 

Pete: Sounds good to me.

So the coach had me throw right-handed, then left-handed, and decided I was a lefty. Writing and eating however, I was right-handed all the way. As far as little league went, I played okay and then eventually washed out like the great majority. Good memories through and through.

Here’s a story I’d like to relate: There was a very large man who often brought his children into the bookstore on Saturdays. He was kind and the children very well behaved. One day, however, the eldest child, a girl, was quite disagreeable. I’m not sure what she wanted but the man told her she couldn’t have it. She threatened to scream if she could not get her way, and her father warned her not to do so. Her little face turned from red to blue to purple. If there was a scream in her, a wrath, we were all about feel it. I should say that I’m usually anti anything loud. If the Beatles came back to life and toured again and I was offered free tickets, I would likely turn them down fearing the venue would be too noisy. That said, I was rooting for the little girl. He was so big and she was so small. I wanted to witness her David to his Goliath. The stand-off lasted maybe a minute with ‘Don’t you do it’ and ‘I’m gonna do it’ and something had to give. Finally, it did. In all my years I have never heard a holler so loud. The walls shook and hair stood on end. Decibel levels must have hit a new record. I think the father eventually took her outside for a time out and all was forgiven. I wanted to mention that simple incident because, strangely enough, even that is a Pittsburgh Pirates story.