Touching Base ... Not

Not far from where families were enjoying 

their picnics and playing ball, 

this man lay stretched on

a picnic table, a tube of Pringles and 

an "athletic drink" beside him.

It made me wonder about the nature

of being a solitary soul, with no one to 

whom one is responsible, no one who expects

to hear from you at some point during the

day, or within the week.

No one to miss you.

Every day or so, I check in with

my sister, and she with me.

I have friends I call on a pretty consistent 

schedule, "Is everything OK?"

"How are you?"

The little girl in yesterday's pictures

was learning to "touch base" while playing

with her family. Later on, it will extend

to relationships with other people.

The man above, by himself in the park, 

with no family or friends around,

made me wonder whether there is 

someone to whom he is responsible.

Who wonders where he is,

whether he is OK,

with whom he touches base.

He-e-ey, Batta-Batta-Batta!

On Sunday, our bit of Isaac had blown through, 

bringing much-needed rain and cooler temperatures.

It was the Labor Day weekend and families had 

taken advantage of the cooler temperatures to enjoy

a relaxing time in the park.

The park's shelter was full of people having 

a picnic gathering, while a group of young men 

were using one of the soccer fields 

for a game of flag football.

The baseball diamond was being used by a family 

to play a little softball game. I wished I had a different

lens because the group, made up of parents and 

three girls, was teaching the youngest

to play the game. She picked up the ball, she tagged

her sister out, and she threw the ball ... sort of.

When her turn came, her big sister took 

her by the hand to run the bases. 

And Dad taught her the chant,

designed to annoy generations of 

batters ... 

He-e-y, batta-batta-batta!

Labor Day Parade

Saturday morning people gathered downtown for a parade to celebrate the working man. It ran the gamut among electricians, truckers and communications workers; street workers, firefighters and aircraft maintenance people; welders, hotel and restaurant personnel. In addition to the high school marching bands that took part, the musicians' union provided three or four bands -- Dixieland jazz, blues, and rock -- for entertainment along the way.

They are all people whose work and presence is taken for granted, who are all but invisible to "big business" until they are no longer there to perform their jobs. They are people who take pride in their work and in doing it well.

They feel a deep pride in their country and resent that their work has, in many cases, been so devalued that it's been sent abroad, "outsourced" by corporations seeking even larger profits -- 98% of the working population of the United States being marginalized by the wealthiest 2%.


But no mind -- the little kids sat on the curbs with their parents, exercising the "three-second rule" as they gathered treasure troves of candy thrown to them by people on the gaily decorated trucks and mechanical displays passing by. They collected little flags and coloring books, too. Given that the temperatures were in the mid-90s, there were also bottles of water to be had and gratefully consumed.

The people present came from various political persuasions, religious preferences, genders, ages and racial backgrounds. Nobody wore a suit.