The Fall Booklist 2007

There's always a frisson of anticipation in the publishing world (and among readers) this time of year, as the new BIG books roll out. Enough of those articles touting the beach reads of summer, now the heavyweights are about to arrive. And this fall's offerings are especially tempting -- I can't wait to dig into new work from some of my favorite writers in all genres. The fiction list is truly impressive -- Kate Christensen, Ann Patchett, Ann Packer, Alice Sebold, Richard Russo, David Leavitt, Tom Perrotta, Haven Kimmel, Ha Jin, Frank McCourt, a new Isabel Dalhousie mystery from Alexander McCall Smith, and a new Easy Rawlins mystery from Walter Mosley.

On a sadder note, we've had the last mystery from Magdalen Nabb, who passed away earlier this week. Nabb was part of an impressive group of women mystery writers whom I discovered (and raced through) during the 1980's -- including fellow Brits Liza Cody, Sarah Caudwell, Dorothy Dunnett, and Americans Amanda Cross, Linda Dunlap, and Julie Smith. Like Columbia English professor Carolyn Heilbrun (who wrote under the pseudonym Amanda Cross), Nabb's mysteries focused less on violent crime and more on characters and their relationships. Her mysteries were set in Florence and featured a male detective, Marshal Guarnaccia. The stories unfold at a leisurely pace, especially compared to someone like Patricia Cornwell whose stories are gripping and fast-paced. But Nabb writes elegantly, like her predecessors Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers and it was always nice to enter the world of the carbinieri and Italy. She'll be missed by readers of literate mysteries. Her obituary can be found in the NY Times and the London papers. I favor the London papers -- those Brits really know how to deliver an obit with style.

bye-bye Summer

It's official. In Berkeley, at least, summer is over. The Cal frosh arrived ten days ago and the Berkeley High football players have been practicing on the big and little fields all week. Tomorrow is the first day of school in the Berkeley Unified School District (BUSD). I'll bet parents all across town are thrilled not to have to arrange one. more. summer. play date.

The weather forecast for tomorrow is hot and smoggy -- it's the first declared Spare the Air day of summer. Two days before September. Today, the BFF's boys found out which classes they're assigned to, and both are pleased with their teachers. They both have their new sneakers for the first day of school, and the elder son will be wearing his Cal Marshawn Lynch jersey, even though Marshawn did not return for his senior year, lighting out for the NFL draft instead. (One day, I will blog about the saga of the Marshawn Lynch jersey which I purchased as a birthday present. Was it some sort of karma for me to fork over cash for a Cal football jersey? Twice?) Interestingly, their best friends won't be in their classroom this year. For the elder son, he and "D" were in the same class last year but in different classes the year before. For the younger though, it's a bit more of a disruption -- two of his best friends are no longer in his class, and he's had the same class and teacher for the past two years. (Their school allows kindergarten and first grade teachers to keep the same class for two years, rotating the grade and teachers each year). He's not worried -- "I know everybody in my class" -- and all of the second grade classes join together on Friday afternoons for music class.

We all love the boys' school, Malcolm X Arts and Academics Elementary School, and I'm looking forward to another year of assemblies and potlucks, performances and book sales. It's not only a great school (named as one of California's Distinguished Schools two years ago), it's also an example of BUSD at its best. There are kids of all colors, from all ethnic, religious and socioeconomic backgrounds, learning and playing, and in the spring drilling for the STAR test together. I'd originally hoped that the boys would go to another elementary school, a hill school that is resource rich and has multiple connections to UC Berkeley's School of Education. But their mom felt more welcome at Malcolm X, it's within walking distance and she really wanted the arts emphasis. I now admit that I was wrong. I'd always heard "this school is the best fit for my child", but never experienced it. It's hard to quantify a feeling or to compare it to the statistical description of another program, but that intangible should be a critical factor in choosing a school. Berkeley is truly lucky, and has worked hard to offer a variety of outstanding educational choices in their public schools. There are 11 neighborhood and magnet elementary schools that feed into three middle schools that then feed into Berkeley High School. BHS was at the forefront of the "small schools" movement, creating the CAS (Communication Arts and Science) program in 1997, with its first graduating class in 2000. Now it offers a number of small school programs that students can rank their preference for, though assignment is done by lottery -- 1) Academic Choice (the program perceived as the most rigorous, and therefore desired by those who want their kids to go to four year colleges; inevitably the one said parents bitch about not getting into), 2) Community Arts and Science program (the aforementioned CAS), 3) Arts and Humanities Academy, 4) Berkeley International High School (with an International Baccalaureate curriculum), 5) Community Partnership Academy, and 6) Social Justice and Ecology. A dizzying array, yes? But nothing compared to the head-spinning ordeal of trying to locate information about any of them. Not listed on the Berkeley Unified School District website. Or the Berkeley High School website. No, you need to know to go to the BHS PTSA website (Berkeley High School Parent Teacher and Student Association for those not up on the lingo). Which is mentioned on the BUSD and BHS websites, but without any guidance that this is where to find information about the small schools at Berkeley High School. I've nicknamed this M.O. "the secret handshake" and observed it in so many educational institutions... all of which are concerned about access and equity, but have yet to integrate transparency into their outreach efforts. They don't intend for information or their process to be difficult or mysterious to access, but so often that's how it turns out. And I don't think it's done maliciously or even intentionally, in most cases. But because educational systems, no matter how well-intentioned, operate from the top down there's never a sense of how relaying information quickly can become a series of obstacles if you're looking from the bottom up. Which came to my attention late in the spring, when I showed up at my dentist's office in need of an emergency appointment. And overheard the receptionist engaged in a frustrating phone call trying to find out how to enroll her daughter in Berkeley High for this fall, and what the process was to get into the Academic Choice Program.

In so many ways, BUSD is a model school district, or at least has all the components that define a model district. Yet, it continues to struggle to serve all of its students well. And if you read the Berkeley Parents Network boards, it manages to piss off or disappoint a fair number of its constituents. All the while, continuing to wrestle with that pesky, decades old, achievement gap problem, without making much progress. How does this still happen, over and over, in so many districts -- urban, suburban, enriched, struggling??

Alright, I've tipped my hand with this post. A good deal of the blog will focus on schools and the mystifying field of education. After all this time, how have we come to know so much and be able to affect so little? I'll be looking most closely at the schools and school systems of my nearest and dearest, while also drawing on the knowledge I've picked up during my years in the field. And I'm very lucky to have a bit of a brain trust at my disposal, whose wisdom I'll share with you.

The nieces have a bit of reprieve before school starts. The local niece returns to classes next week, the long distance niece the week after. Both are in a transition year before the crunch of applications. The local will be applying to high schools next year, though she maintains steadfastly that she and her BFF will be attending Berkeley High. (And let me add that her mother already jokes about that tuition money she'll be saving). But there are a few private schools where the niecelet could thrive and be challenged, just with a smaller student body than BHS. And some of her friends will end up at those schools. Watching this year's cohort go through the process could be enlightening or disheartening. We'll see. The long distance niece is fortunate enough to be attending one of the best high schools in the country, and one I loved seeing applicants from during my days in undergraduate admissions. This is her junior year, the last gasp before plunging full tilt into the maw of college applications. She is on the brink of one of the headiest and potentially heartbreaking experiences of her life, and though there's a lot that I, her parents, teachers and peers can tell her, at this point, it's all in her hands.

Just as an aside, it's ironic that both nieces have attended private schools since jump street. My siblings and I attended suburban public schools, and I was the only one of the three of us to choose a private university. And my parents (a school district administrator and labor organizer) were a tad chilly to my choice, biased in part by their very positive UC experiences. My mother spent much of the 1980's-90's as a senior administrator in a challenging, urban school district that was struggling to educate children from all over the city who'd come from all over the world, uphold a consent decree, and garner new sources of funding as the state and federal governments annually reduced their financial support. My mother never questioned the school choices my siblings made for their daughters, and she thinks both schools are excellent (which they are). Are the nieces receiving a "better" education than we did? The choices are so different because the times are so different. The three of us (older brother, me, younger sister) participated in the first wave of integration in a suburban Southern California school district that was court mandated to desegregate. While we had the option and academic preparation to go (flee) to private schools, we didn't. My recollection is that in junior high, all of my friends were going to public school and that was good enough for me. And I was equally enthusiastic about going to the "Mustang blue and gold" high school where my brother was having such a fantastic time. Now, I'm struck by how hopeful we all were. From elementary school through high school, I had friends who were black, white, Asian and Hispanic. They were all the smart kids, and we were all in the same classes and clubs, and on the same athletic teams. Some of us went off to four-year schools, but most of the graduating class ended up at the local junior college as it had always done. But those public schools don't exist in the cities where my nieces live; those precise schools, in the little burgh where we grew up, have changed dramatically, and not for the better. Again, why are the choices so skewed, with those that have the most garnering the best and largest number of options?

There's a big, fat, full moon tonight, and Berkeley has relatively few "city lights" so it's dark and inky by 9 pm. I love turning into my driveway on these evenings, when it seems that the moon is shining directly on my backyard. I sit out on my back porch and enjoy it, until the raccoons start skittering around on the branches of the camphor tree.

And sorry for the lack of posts! Between family visiting (my brother and sister-in-law flew in Friday night to claim their daughter and just left yesterday) and a comedy of errors in my mouth, I've been a bit distracted.

The Latest Doohickies

This week, I've been hanging out with the nieces. The long-distance one flew in with my mom on Monday, the local one and I cruised down to the airport to pick them up. Once the luggage was packed into the trunk, the two of them piled into the back seat along with all their gadgets. Between the two of them, they have two video iPods, two laptops, one Razr cellphone (with texting and photo capabilities) and a digital camera. And two pairs of ear buds, though they usually share one pair while listening to one iPod. Their antiquated relatives rely on them to fix (please, skip the explanation and just make it work) the functions and programming issues for tv and cable remotes, DVD players, cell phones and other assorted electronic / digital / computer equipment.

I am no Luddite, but I am reluctant to adopt new technology. While I love my Apple computer and swear by my Palm Pilot, in most other arenas I've been dragged into the 21st century. I am camera-less, got my only cellphone the Christmas before last, and my iPod last Christmas. Owning multiple copies of the same album or song, only in different formats --LP, cassette,
CD-- I could not see the point of converting to digital simply because it was the latest thing. But when the local niece introduced me to iTunes (and more specifically her impressive playlist), I found a way to create my ideal, expandable music collection. To achieve it, I had to upgrade my operating system, add a whole lot of memory, and master a ton of information that I'm still digesting -- but I feel the magic!!

While the original plan for this week was to visit a few local colleges, get cracking on The Interpreter of Maladies and maybe catch a few museum exhibits, we have fallen far, far short of our goals. The long-distance niece spends hours every day on the phone and on Facebook; the local niece loves internet-surfing and IM-ing. And YouTube -- did you know you can watch tv shows from other countries on YouTube (e.g. Next Top Model with British accents)? It's amazing how much I don't know. And how much has changed. But, what would be the point of telling the whiz kids that my parents suffered through back-to-back adolescences with only one family telephone number? Or that there were probably twenty tv channels total, VHF and UHF combined? Already I get the rolled eyes and talk to the hand -- why give them more ammunition?

But some things don't change. Today, we did not tour the Cal campus, but we did some fabulous back to school shopping on Bancroft and Telegraph. Do you remember the excitement of picking out your own clothes for school, with your own money? Well, the money your parents gave you to escape the sulkiness and tantrums that were sure to accompany any shopping you did together. I had forgotten it, until I watched the two beauties wandering around Urban Outfitters -- from the rows of tank tops and camisoles to the stacks of t-shirts and cords to the sale racks -- in a state of bliss. So many colors! So many possibilities! So many outfits to swap with friends! It reminded me how bright and shiny the upcoming school year is at that age, and how exhilarating it is to make your first independent decisions. You could show your mom your purchases, but wouldn't you rather hide those bags in the closet until your best friend arrived?

Yesterday, we trekked to Japantown (a ritual) and found the usual treasures at our favorite stationery store -- notebooks, pens, colored leads for mechanical pencils, magnets, folders. So, they've made out like bandits -- smart, adorable bandits.

Last night, on the CNET news website, I read an article (posted by Stefanie Nelson on 8/15) stating that a larger percentage of the class of 2011 will come to college with gadgets than had the Class of 2008. Statistically, not so surprising -- but those gadgets? They were all those I catalogued at the top of the page. And the nieces? Currently they're in middle school and high school. What will they need to be technologically savvy for college?

And what technological breakthroughs will I be trying to master without their assistance??

I heart HBO

In the 1980's, they brought me same day coverage from Wimbledon for the tourney's full two weeks. And I loved them. Next came Sex and the City, which finally, fully, portrayed the complexity, joys and fears of being a single woman in the big city. The most important thing for thriving and surviving? Not a man, but a loyal posse of women friends. And I loved them more. Then they redefined the family drama with The Sopranos, Six Feet Under and the current Big Love. And I thought they had reached the apex.

But I was wrong. All hail -- The Wire.

Have you heard about it? The best show on television. Continually overlooked by the Emmy's. The superlatives are all true. I can't do it justice and will refer you to the master on this subject, Tim Goodman, the television critic for the otherwise lackluster San Francisco Chronicle. Have you read his column? Checked out his blog, Bastard in the Machine? Priceless. Hysterical. Snarky (his self-description, Mr. Crankypants says it all). The signature line that never fails to crack me up? " So, don't lie to me like I'm Montel Williams."

Have you watched it yet? You'll be sucked in immediately. I loved Homicide: Life on the Street, David Simon's network tv series. Definitely a primer for The Wire -- set in Baltimore, extended story lines, some of the same actors, a police drama, but so much more. The Wire probes deeper, immersing itself within the gritty, urban landscape, and is the contemporary heir to the classical Greek tragedies. How convincing is the acting? I will never, ever, be able to like Idris Elba in any other role, no matter how kind and gentle, because for me he so fully inhabits the character of Stringer Bell. Always. Forever.

I raced through all three seasons, using a combination of library copies, Reel, my local video store's selection, and Netflix to feed my addiction. And I patted myself on the back as I watched some of the special features on the last disc of Season Three. You see, even though the library didn't have copies of Season Four yet (set in Baltimore's floundering school system, can't wait!), I felt secure with my Reel and Netflix backups. Then, I went to Netflix and found out the distressing news -- Season Four hasn't been released yet. Horror! Shock! Despair! No announced release date even! What am I to do? Why, start rewatching, beginning with Season One. I never stopped to watch the episodes with commentary from cast members, writers and directors, since I was so eager for the next episode. Unfortunately, the library copies are checked out and have holds on them, and Reel has NO copies of Disc One, Season One. So I'm watching the Sopranos, Season Six, Part One for solace. Boo hoo.

Regarding my earlier pop culture reference, in my dream, I found myself huddled with Meredith Grey as writer? new character? on the set of Grey's Anatomy as they were setting up to shoot a new scene for the upcoming season. I was trying to impress upon her how critical it would be to maintain the show's level of excellence this season. Easy interpretation -- I'm sad about how much I'll miss Isiah Washington's character, Dr. Preston Burke. Now, I don't in any way condone what he said and did, and the way they wrote him out was completely perfect. But I'll miss him, his spiffy "lucky" surgical caps, his gorgeous looks, his willingness to put his feelings out there no matter how difficult Christina could be. And Diahann Carroll as his mother -- perfect casting. Even better than her role as Whitley Gilbert's mother on A Different World. In the end, Burke was a man who walked away from his love rather than make her into someone she couldn't be. Which is not a bad way to close out a character. As much as I enjoy all the rest of the cast, I'll miss him.

On the library front, I cleared the deck on Monday. Paid my $10-plus fine (so I could check out new items) and returned all the overdues. Came home with an armful: Penelope Lively's latest, Consequences; Margaret Drabble's The Sea Lady (again); Robert Ellis' City of Fire, a whodunit set in Los Angeles (I'm a sucker for location as a character); and two works of non-fiction, John Sedgwick's In My Blood; Six Generations of Madness in An American Family (yes, he's related to Edie Sedgwick); and Supreme Discomfort: The Divided Soul of Clarence Thomas (how long have we been waiting for this one?). And all the while, under the gun to finish Ann Cummins' Yellowcake, a novel blurbed by Antonya Nelson, Ann Packer and Sigrid Nunez. The long-distance niece is in town for the next two weeks and we're all reading along with her Jhumpa Lahiri's, The Interpreter of Maladies, the summer reading assigned by her school. The two nieces are keeping me busy and introducing all sorts of interesting things I've not experienced (last night, a marathon showing on MTV of America's Next Top Model). You'll probably hear more about this tomorrow!

Back home in Berkeley

My jaunt to Lake Tahoe truly felt like time away. There was no fog, blue jays galore, the aroma of pine trees and green tea sunscreen as well as beautiful, clear, blue water. But Friday evening, barrelling down 80, I did experience a frisson of excitement at the sign flashing: Berkeley - 14 minutes.

This is my eighth year in Berkeley and I am dug in. I recommend the Derby St. farmer's market on Tuesdays, Monterey Market strawberries over Berkeley Bowl's, and the Elmwood bookstore, Mrs. Dalloway's. I worry that the opening of PaperSource on Fourth St. will hurt Castle in the Air's business; Castle has a much, much better selection of fountain pens and inks. I worship the holy trinity of Acme Bread, Cafe Fanny and Kermit Lynch, and get the cheapest gas on the corner of San Pablo and Cedar (alas, no windshield cleaners). My favorite Peet's is the original on Walnut and Rose, and I was shocked, shocked, this afternoon to find the last Hear music store papered over and shut tight.

So you see, Berkeley has all you could want and a host of treasures to discover. It has the rich, intellectual life of a university town, the political infighting of a major metropolis, and the entrenched challenges facing any urban center. I'll be telling you about the battle over relocating my beloved South Branch of the library, the new school year at Malcolm X Arts Elementary School (where the boys go) and the city's other public schools, and the kerfuffle surrounding the plans to open a Trader Joe's on MLK and University that's just starting to escalate. One concerned neighbor is already worried about the potentially crippling traffic jams on Big Game Saturdays.

Relocating to the East Bay after years of living in San Francisco was more of a homecoming than a move. Both my parents grew up in Berkeley -- my mother was elected student body president at Garfield Middle School (now King Middle School, renowned for Alice Water's Edible Garden project) and my father played baseball and the trombone at Berkeley High. Following a tradition that continues to this day, mi padre actually lived in Oakland, but used a Berkeley address (either his grandparents' or his aunt's) to attend the Berkeley schools. His parents and extended family moved to Berkeley and Oakland during the 30's and 40's, migrating from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I live around the corner from my great-aunt's hardware store on Sacramento St., which remained in business until she and my Uncle Bill passed away in the early 90's. I love Berkeley, it feels like home. Except for all that navy blue and gold.

As anyone who's lived in a college town knows, summers are golden since the students go home! In Berkeley, early June is marked by huge numbers of U-Haul trucks and varied pieces of furniture and household items abandoned on the sidewalks for the city's trash collectors to pick up. But the real booty is what's left behind in the dorms -- clothing and books, sure; but the current student body has no qualms abandoning land line and cell phones, old printers and computers, microwaves, mini-refrigerators, coffeemakers, etc. It's like they load all they can (or want) into their mode of transport and abandon the rest as though a magic mover will come in and clean up the remains. Quite a change from decades past -- is it that today's students are used to being taken care of and don't register they need to clean up their mess? That they assume they're in a disposable environment and have no sense of what these items are worth? Hard to gauge, but this is happening on college campuses across the country, adding to the already taxing end of the year workload of experienced administrators while leaving them baffled about how to change the wasteful behavior. Lots of concern about this generation of undergraduates and twentysomethings, and I'll be posting on this subject from time to time. What does it mean for us (the legions of boomers) that we'll be relying on a generation of coddled, self-absorbed workers who have little experience handling any sort of adversity and expectations that they'll achieve at least as much as their parents? Will they be able to support us all? Or will Rome be burning?

On a happier note -- Bonds broke the home run record while I was away, and I missed all news of the event. But thanks to the wonders of technology, I can access as much print and visual coverage as I'd like right here in my own home! Thanks to the Internet, I can also read a virtual edition of the Sunday New York Times, and Woody Allen has a powerful, deeply felt tribute to Ingmar Bergman in the Arts and Leisure section. Reading it, I got why Bergman was such an innovative voice and I was impressed, yet again, with Allen's range of knowledge and his marvelous ability to capture and communicate ideas. I took special note of Allen's homage to Bergman's genius, and that he views himself, still, as the student in the presence of a master. That's such a change compared to current directors and stars, who seem so sure of their own unique talent and genius, while having such a limited understanding of the history of their craft. (I'm thinking of actors who can command astronomical salaries, like John Travolta and Bruce Willis. They pale in comparison to Paul Newman or Robert Redford, Al Pacino or Robert DeNiro -- never mind the greats like Burton or Brando -- who have created an incredible body of work, but are still out there pushing themselves in new directions). Okay, okay, I know this is the old art v. commerce argument, but you should read the article, which is titled The Man Who Asked Hard Questions.

On the book front, at Tahoe I definitely had the biggest book on the beach with Hermione Lee's Edith Wharton biography. (Hey, where were all those Harry Potter readers?) It's riveting. It's one of those works only a professor could write. It's 869 pages with notes and index. It can't be digested on the library's 21 day time frame. It's a definitive work. If I have it on my bookshelf, I can consult it whenever I want, for the rest of my life. I was an English major. I love Edith Wharton. I must have this book!!!! Okay, it's $23.10 on Amazon which is a better discount than any local, independent bookstore would have on a $35 book. I'll buy the Chabon in hardback at a local independent, I promise...

FYI, I have a feeling this week's posts will focus on pop culture. I had a dream last night I was in Gray's Anatomy. Which means ... something.

My bookmobile

I love drive-to vacation spots because I can turn my car's backseat into a traveling bookmobile. In June, I piled in with the new standalone Laura Lippman, Margaret Drabble's The Sea Lady, Sigrid Nunez's The Last of Her Kind, Linda Barnes' Heart of the World, Dani Shapiro's Black and White, Maile Meloy's A Family Daughter and Heidi Julavits' The Uses of Enchantment. Of course I didn't read them all during that week away, but I wanted to have options. Three went back to the library unread and the others were a surprisingly mixed bag. That's one of the wonders of reading -- even though I have a sense of what the book is about and that I'll probably like it, there's always that element of surprise. I was initially lukewarm about The Last of Her Kind, having heard endless buzz about it. I thought it sounded like a familiar story and wondered what Nunez could bring to the table that was new. My cynicism was dispelled in the first chapter. She is a wonderful writer, worthy of all the praise, and she created two interesting, multi-dimensional characters whose life stories I eagerly followed. I also loved the book's cover photograph -- featuring two young women, and accurately capturing that late 60's/early 70's vibe. I was struck by how natural these young women looked, compared to the current ideal with its emphasis on artificiality -- unattainably thin figures, cosmetic and surgical enhancements that make the individual seem otherworldly.

With my next read, I entered the suspenseful world of Linda Barnes. I'd started Heart of the World earlier, but just couldn't get into it. This time I couldn't put it down. I've followed the Carlotta Carlyle series since the late 80's and was relieved that Barnes hadn't lost her touch.

Then came The Uses of Enchantment, which so sounded like my kind of my book that I'd been saving it as my vacation treat. Unfortunately, it was such a slog to get through. I kept reading, hoping that Julavits would turn it around and finally get the story going, making it as gripping as the novel's premise. No dice. It was like reading a Joyce Carol Oates parody. Which left me thinking, what was all that fuss about?

A Family Daughter was the perfect antidote. Meloy's writing style (which I knew had to be overhyped) was delightful -- light and quirky in contrast to the complex family drama she was describing. I loved this book, and planned to read the prequel as soon as I got home.

Now, it's August and I'm taking some big books away with me to enjoy -- Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policeman's Union and Hermione Lee's biography of Edith Wharton. I've loved everything Chabon's written and I'm kvelling at his incredible storytelling after only a few chapters. Since Lee wrote the definitive biography of Virginia Woolf, I can't wait to see what she makes of Wharton's life. I'm thinking about taking Jane Smiley's Ten Days in the Hills since it's due at the end of the week, but I'll probably return it to the library unread. I also may bring Irene Nemirovsky's Suite Francaise since it's my book group's selection for September. Yet again, I'm covering all my bases.

Have you noticed the trend in my reading selections? Overwhelmingly, novels written by contemporary women. My book group deserves a lot of credit for making me read non-fiction and works by men, and I've discovered some great writers and stories as a result. But I've spent the past 26 years reading modern women writers -- in upcoming posts, I'll explain why.

Vacations also are a great time for knitting and currently, I'm consumed with socks. I'll be finishing up the seconds on two pair -- enjoying the satisfaction of turning heels and entering the home stretch, while dreading the hell of grafting.

I'll post again at the end of the week...

It's Really a Matter of Split Seconds

Courtesy of BFF's oldest son, I get introduced to parts of Northern CA I've only seen on weather maps. This weekend, it was the city of Pittsburg. I now know where the Port Chicago Thruway and the Bay Point BART station are. Oldest son is an impressive baseball player -- a member of the Bulldogs in the Oakland Babe Ruth team, on the Cafe Rouge team in the Berkeley league, and now part of a traveling team. He was watching the SF Giants games on TV at four, skipped the t-ball league, and played up into the Bulldogs at six. He now plays or practices nine months out of the year. I was never a baseball fan particularly, though my father was (Yankees forever, in spite of George Steinbrenner). The game was too slow and lasted too long; I attended a Giants game when they played in Candlestick and couldn't wait to leave.

All that has changed. I love AT & T Park and McCovey Cove. I miss Dusty Baker, and am an inveterate fan of Barry Bonds. When he tied Aaron's record on Saturday night, I rejoiced. And when he grabbed his seventeen-year-old son at home plate, and lifted him up in a one-armed hold, I said what I've always felt -- you gotta love Barry.

But it's in my role as spectator at Little League games that I've received my baseball education. I've watched kids who are just naturals, and others who struggle to improve over the course of a season. I've seen how a couple of good plays can transform a kid's confidence, and how parents agonize over every play. And I've observed a variety of coaching styles, a topic I expect to return to often. This traveling team has really good coaches -- they're on the guys all the time about the fundamentals, but also heap on the encouragement and aren't afraid to praise good performances. It's a nice balance -- high expectations combined with teaching skills. It seems to bring out the positive in the team, which isn't always the case.

This was the first game the oldest son played with the all-stars, and they put him in the outfield, rather than at shortstop or pitcher, his favored positions. But he made some great catches and the team as a whole is really sharp. For the first time, I could see how a play succeeds or fails in a split second. If the catcher hesitates before firing off a throw, if a fielder isn't ready and has to bend his knees to get down, if a base runner is trying to steal and doesn't immediately throw himself back on the bag, it's an out rather than a solid play. Amazing to see that Little Leaguers, the good ones, have absorbed that already.

They won the game by one run. I hope I don't have to spend next weekend in Manteca.

The Starting Gate

So here I am, writing a blog. And hyperventilating. As my annual vacation friends are well aware, I'm not one to plunge in. But here I go.

Initially, I thought this format could supplement my work on MyWire, covering some of the same topic areas -- books and the literary life, tennis, family issues. But other interests kept popping up: education and equity issues; America's continuing struggle with race; changes to places I love; the challenges and wonders I encounter living in one slice of paradise, the people's republic of Berkeley. My hope is that this will be a place for me to share the resources I've come across, support the efforts of my friends, and occasionally... rant. I'm not shy about voicing my opinion (as you all know), but I also want to hear from any/all of you, whether you agree or disagree with what I post. I profess I can still learn from hearing differing opinions, this will be a good check!

My main critique of blogs is that they're often self-indulgent. I hope mine won't be. Or that I'll figure out a way to share what's going on in my life without sounding too dogmatic or self-absorbed. That's another area you can check me on. But since this is about my personal life, here's an introduction to some of the recuring characters:
the lovely, brilliant and amazing nieces/ One lives locally, the other farther way. I'll call them the local niece and the long-distance niece.
the boys/ My best friend's sons, who live a few blocks away. Both are in elementary school, both are incredibly active and I've been amazed to see how much kids change day to day. And how they enter this world firmly formed and the challenge for adults is to work with that knowledge. I haven't figured out how to identify them yet.
my tribe/ the above-mentioned folks, my family of origin, and the large, diverse, extended community of dear friends and colleagues I've been been blessed to be a part of over the years. This includes my writing group, my book group and the talented women I work with at my favorite yarn store (my LYS - local yarn store in knitter's lingo). These are the resources and experts I mentioned earlier; I'll link you to their sites as I can.

So here I am out the gate. That wasn't so bad!!