Raking Autumn Leaves

https://www.nytimes.com/…/red-state-liberal-leaf-blowers.ht…

Thanks, Margaret Renal, for your column today: "Raking Leaves on a Windy Day". It brought up a lot of sweet memories for me. 

I grew up in a suburb of Philadelphia in the 1940’s. In the fall, I would help my dad rake up the leaves in both the front yard (maples) and the back yard (a huge weeping willow tree). In those days, a wide-spread custom was to rake the leaves into the street, into a big pile. Part of the joy was doing something with my dad, who was not a big one for a lot of father/son activities. They often involved work: washing the car on a summer Sunday afternoon, or raking up leaves in the autumn.

Then the kids would jump into the pile (just because it was fun to do; try not to hit your head on the curb), and then we would light them on fire and burn them. (In those days, we also burned our trash in a big burn barrel in the back yard). Sometimes the leaves were dry, and would burn quickly. Sometimes they were damp, and would burn slowly. But either way, there was a wonderful odor that lingered in the air (unless it was a windy day.) I still remember it from long ago.

On December 7,1941 (I was almost 6), in mid-afternoon, we were raking and then burning leaves. A neighbor ran out of his house and shouted out: “The Japs have attacked Pearl Harbor”. 

WWII had begun for America. My dad signed up, and spent most of the next four years at war in the USNavy. I stayed home and raked the leaves by myself.

Obscure MLB Record Tied....and we were there!!

My friend Armin gave Nadine and I two tickets to the Dodgers/Mets game last Monday, Labor Day.  Right behind the Dodger dugout, 2nd row!!  We went with Armin and his friend Thomas, a big Mets fan.

The game was very tight, 1-1 at the end of eight innings.  But the Mets took the lead with a 3-run homer in the top of the 9th, and although the Dodgers did score one run in their at bat, they could do no more, so the Mets won 4-2.

I had told my brother Stan some time ago that we were going to this game, and about the very good seats we would be in.  He knew I was excited to go.

After the game, he sends me this text message:
"Jacob deGrom pitched his 25th consecutive start allowing 3 or fewer runs.  He tied a MLB record held by King Cole, who did it for the Cubs in 1910."

My first reaction was "who nu?"  There was no announcement at the game (because it did not celebrate a Dodger?), and no mention in the newspapers the next day.

I started to get suspicious; was my brother pulling my leg, that a record was matched at this game, and I was not aware of it?  And who could be named "King Cole"?  A merry old soul?  A pop singer?  But not a MLB player.  So I decided to check Wikipedia; here's what it said:

"Leonard Leslie "King" Cole (April 15, 1886 – January 6, 1916) was a professional baseball player in the early 20th century. He started his baseball career as a pitcher with the Chicago Cubs in 1909. In 1910, he had a record of 20-4 and helped win a National League pennant for the Cubs. On July 31, 1910, he became the first Cubs pitcher to throw a no-hitter, defeating the St. Louis Cardinals 4-0 in a seven inning game. His 20-4 record is the best winning percentage (.866) for a Cub pitcher in the 20th century. Cole was traded to the Pittsburgh Pirates, and then the New York Yankees. On October 2, 1914, Cole gave up a double to Babe Ruth–Ruth's first hit in the Major Leagues.  In 1915, Cole was diagnosed with cancer, and died shortly after the end of the 1915 season."

No mention of the "25-game" record.  But Stan insists he heard it on ESPN, when he went there to find out how the game turned out.  So now my question to him is: 

What MLB pitcher has started his most consecutive games allowing 2 or fewer runs?

A coincidence:

It was 108 years between Cole's record (1910) and deGrom's matching it (2018).

It was 108 years between the Cubs winning their 2nd World Series (1908) and their next one (2016).

The dawn of TV

Walter is another volunteer at the SOVA food pantry on Pico Blvd.  About my age, still practicing some law, but brings donated food from Nelsons several mornings a week in his brand-new black Mercedes.  Also, repackages the eggs, which come to use in bulk boxes, but which SOVA distributes in half-dozens.  Last week, while unloading his car, Walter twisted his ankle tore a ligament; will have to wear a "boot" for a while.

Walter grew up in the 1940s on Orange Grove Ave, one block from Canters Deli.  Fairfax Ave was then a heart of Jewish LA.  Canters moved there from east LA in the 1930s.  I pick up day-old baked goods on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays there, and take them to SOVA.

Walter's grandfather would take an old fruit crate, and sit on the corner and schmooze with his friends.

After the war (WWII), a radio and appliance store across Fairfax from Canters began selling TVs also.  Walter and his grandfather would take crates, and sit on the sidewalk and watch (at first in silence) the pictures in the black-and-white TVs in the store window.  Some months later, (perhaps feeling sorry for his viewers out front?), the store owner mounted a speaker out on the sidewalk, and Walter and his grandfather were then able to hear the sound as well!

Canters is still there after about 80 years at this Fairfax location.  The servers are still somewhat abrupt, what one expects in a Jewish deli.  The interior looks like it has not been remodeled since the opening, a bizarre back-lit ceiling in the main dining room.  Obama visited during his reign; photos on the wall.  But many Jews have moved further west by now, and the neighborhood is changing, with hip coffee shops and trendy stores taking over.

Cutting in Line

Tonight, we went to the weekly Sunday night classical music concert at LACMA.  (Every Sunday night, one hour, and free!)  Always a interesting and rewarding event.  The line was longer than we have ever seen before, because it was a large orchestra from the Coburn School of Music, ages 13 thru 18, and there were a lot of parents and grandparents and siblings in the audience.

Reminded me of my aunt Norma, who took her daughter, my cousin Ada,  and me often to the movies.  Norma was childlike and had a lot of flaws and difficulties in her life, but she could also be fun to be with, at least for me (not sure how it was for Ada.)

Norma would take us 69th Street in Philadelphia.  This was sort of on the boarder between the city, and the surrounding suburbs.  It was where the subway ended, and the beginning for the suburban street cars.  There was a lot of shopping there, and at least two big movie theaters.

When the three of us would get to the theatre, there would often be a long line, even during the day.  So, Norma would approach some good soul who was near the front of the line, and ask them if they would purchase our tickets when they bought theirs.  She always found someone who was willing to do it, and she would give them the money.  They would buy the tickets, give our tickets to Norma, and in we would go, ahead of all the other people in the line.

Norma did not have many scruples.  I thought it was very clever, but somewhat questionable.  But I did not object.

After these movies, we would often go to a nearby ice cream shop for banana splits: vanilla, chocolate and strawberry ice cream, on a split banana, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, nuts and a maraschino cherry on top!!

Rain

This week, Los Angeles got our second substantial rainfall of the season (October thru March).  I welcome it.

When I was a child, we lived four blocks from my grandparents' house, which was also just across the trolley tracks from my grade school, Oakmont Elementary.  My dad was away in the navy during WWII, and I spent a lot of time at my grandparents, especially right after school.  My cousin Ada (10 months older) was there, and we had a lot of fun times.

My grandparents' house had an enclosed front porch with a tin roof.  Especially in the summer, when it rained, I loved the sound of the rain on that roof.  We sat under the roof, safe and dry, and played Monopoly, Canasta, Jacks, PickUpSticks, and so forth.

The trolley tracks were built with rain gutters on both side.  When it would rain hard, these would fill up with rushing water, and we would walk in them barefoot.  This was about as close as we got to a swimming pool in our neighborhood.

At our house during the summer, when it was hot and humid, we would open all the doors and windows to let whatever breeze there was come thru.  (No A/C in those days.)  Often, when a storm came, it would start with gusty winds and the sky getting darker.  The winds would rattle the screen doors and windows.  Then the rain would come.

Upstairs there was a third bedroom, which was kind of used like a den.  It had a radio sitting on the desk, that had stopped running some time ago.  Still plugged in, still "turned on", though no sounds came out.  One summer thunderstorm, after a close bolt of lightning, the radio magically began playing again!

I have always loved being out in the rain.  Walking with an umbrella.  Driving in the car with the "swish-swish" of the windshield wipers.  Seeing the reflections of the lights in the street at night.  Watching the water running down the side of the curb into the storm drains.

LA's rainy season is about done for another year.

Why Buddhism Is True

Just finished reading "Why Buddhism Is True" by Robert Wright.  Suggested to me by cousin Bruce Linton, and I am so glad he did.  This book investigates the workings of our human minds from a standpoint of evolutionary psychology, and illuminates how many of our basic tendencies of mind, evolved over millennia, are often counterproductive in our current cultural situation (no longer hunter-gatherers or agriculturists living in small groups).  He argues that some of the basic tenets of Buddhism correlate to some findings of modern science, and that these insights can be used, through meditative practices, towards more acceptance of others, gratefulness, loving-kindness, and happiness in our lives.  Not just theory, but many anecdotes from the author's personal experiences, and the writings and thinking of others in the field.  Several times I found myself realizing: "I never thought about it this way before.  He's right!"  (No pun intended).  The book is both scientific and philosophical, without being theological.  If you are meditating, or want to consider it for your future, I strongly recommend this book.

Valentines Day

It was 1999.  I was working in IT at Rocketdyne in Canoga Park, in Bldg 105, which had been recently renovated on the inside.  We were each in cubicles with partitions about 5-1/2 feet high.  You could easily speak to the person next door over the partition (and also hear most of their phone conversations if you really wanted to.)  To one side of me was Mark; to the other side Cinde.  Each was married and 40-something.

Mid-morning, I heard Mark groan.  I asked what was wrong.  He said he just remembered it was Valentines Day, and he had not gotten his wife a gift.  And he did not have any good ideas.  

I said he better run out and get something.  Mark asked me if I had any suggestions.

Cinde's voice rang out loud and clear: "Jewelry is always good"!

Meditation and Growing Old and Gratitude

I started meditating about four years ago.  My friend Blanche Moss told me about a free 1/2-hour weekly class at the Hammer Museum in Westwood.  It's put on by the Mindful Awareness Research Center, part of the med school at UCLA.  Diana Winston leads most of the classes, but there are others as well.  Besides the class, I meditate at home, about three or four days a week, 1/2 hour at a time.

It's difficult to put into words the impact that this practice has had on me, difficult to describe.  But I believe it is real.  Of course, some or all of these changes might have taken place over these years without the meditation, but I doubt that.

When I was working, it would have been impossible for me to try to set aside a half-hour on any day to meditate.  I was just too busy with what I thought were the things in my life that I either had to do, or wanted to do.  First was work, at least eight hours per day, plus the commute.  Then all the other stuff of life as I lived it.  So, I feel grateful that I have lived into my retirement (almost eight years now) and found this practice, and been able to stay with it as much as I have.

In addition to just paying attention to the present moment (easier said than done), the leaders at the Hammer often emphasize other "qualities of the heart"; one is gratitude.  This has been very helpful for me.   I have witnessed other people expressing gratitude in their life and have felt envy of them, because I rarely felt it.

Now I frequently ask for it in my meditations and I sense it more than ever before (not a very high bar, in my case).  Gratitude for my life, my body, living as long as I have, my senses, my mind, Nadine, our home, our cat Ketsl (now gone), our children and grandchildren, our brothers and their families, cousins, friends (several gone now), my teachers, and the wonder and beauty of the world that we (temporarily) get to inhabit.  Also, gratitude for the many advantages I have been given in life, and the way that turns in my life, that seemed bad at the time, have worked out for the best.  And I feel gratitude that I have found gratitude.

As I think of this, I feel sorrow for friends whose lives have been cut short much too early in their lives.  Especially Peter Hawes, a Dartmouth classmate who I did not know well until later in Pasadena, and Tom Smith, a neighbor and friend in Newport Beach.  I imagine that they felt much joy in their lives, but I wish it could have lasted longer for them.  But I am grateful for having known them.