Overheard at the gym two days ago, Tuesday: one conversation after another re: the previous night's 15-inning Yankees-Red Sox endurance-fest. Me currently being out of the sports loop, tones of voice and speakers' attitudes caught my attention more than game details, especially the process of identification with one team or the other. Reminded me of conversations heard pre-playoffs between Yanks-Sox fans, where team names gave way during the course of exchanges to the pronouns 'we' and 'you.'
We're an interesting bunch, we humans.
This morning's headlines: Red Sox complete a historic playoff turnabout, taking game 7 last night at Yankee Stadium. The World Series begins Saturday night. At Fenway in Boston.
First the Patriots, now the Sox. Could be a paradigm shift underway, the sports scene mirroring the evolution of Boston's real-world situation and self-image.
The shift away from the warm season continues here, cold nights leaving the world outside the house draped in heavy frost. Autumn leaves have mostly given up the ghost, the few remaining traces of fall color now mostly overwhelmed by the silver-gray of bare branches and the green of fir trees.
Despite repeated killing frosts, plenty of life remains -- sunlight and rising temperatures bring critters out from hiding: small late-season butterflies seeking out the last blossoms, the remaining clover; purple finches, goldfinches, chickadees, along with groups of migrating robins taking a rest, hunting through the short grass for bugs. Yesterday evening, driving along back roads, I rounded a curve just as a small fox trotted out into view, loping along ahead of the car until it found a gap in the greenery on the other side of the road and slipped off into it, disappearing.
[this entry in progress]
(Long-time readers of this sorry excuse for a journal may have noticed that the 'this entry in progress' tag -- a notice that has meaning when I'm in Madrid and actually spend long hours seated in front of the 'puter doing the virtual equivalent of scribbling away -- has, during these last months in Vermont, come to mean something more like 'This entry is imcomplete. It may remain incomplete for a while. Quite a while. Days, possibly. Or forever. Don't know.' This is what happens when my 3D life takes over and online time grows scanty. I grovel with apologies.)
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This morning (far too early):
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 7:50 AM [+]
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