It's 4 a.m. and...

No, I'm not in line at Safeway, noticing that beautiful security guard again, and this probably isn't as good as it gets, because I've had, maybe, two hours of fitful sleep.

The streets are dark and empty. I'm on my way across town, up and over Bernal Hill to serve as airport taxi. My little guys and their Mom make their annual pilgrimage back to Connecticut around this time each year, where their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins all gather. Where they will help care for miniature horses, drive around a tractor, swim in a pool as well as the Atlantic, ride in their grandfather's motor boat out to Fishers Island, visit the local ice cream shop, and generally experience the East Coast summer, so different in look and feel than here on the West Coast.

Once when they were much younger, maybe 3 and 4, the boys were at a beach and they wanted to get out of their wet, sandy bathing suits and into something drier and more comfortable. So, like the good northern Californians they are, they stripped off their suits, toweled off, and changed, oblivious to the people around them, all Easterners. The Eastern children sniggered and pointed and laughed and generally made us all aware we were definitely out of place. Apparently a place where innocent little children are never seen naked. That's quite a change from here, where God's children of all ages take casual nudity in public pretty much in stride.

Anyway, I got them there on time, and they schlepped their bags into SFO, while I parked on the roof. When I came back inside and located them, there was a slight problem. Their tickets were for tomorrow, not today. While we made our way through the slow-moving line to the ticket agent, the kids laughed and joked but also were wringing their hands nervously. They've traveled often enough to know they might well face delays, or maybe even have to return home, only to repeat the whole process of getting here 24 hours hence.

I knew that if that happened, they would have to hire as real taxi, because I also am leaving town later today for a brief respite.

The agent put on her best firm bureaucratic face when Connie asked whether it would be possible to get on today's flight, even though the tickets clearly were for tomorrow's. "Nope," the woman answered. "It costs $100 to change your ticket."

Everyone's shoulders slumped. The woman, so far, had barely glanced up from her computer screen, and seemed not to have yet noticed the three anxious little faces looking up at her -- just the blond woman, whose face was reddening with a mixture of disappointment, anger, and frustration.

"I guess we'll all have to go home and drag ourselves back here tomorrow then?" Connie pressed.

"How many are you?" said the agent.

"Four of us."

"We have seats, but it will cost you $400."

"That's two much, we can't afford it. Sorry, kids."

At this the stern agent looked up, saw the children, and her manner softened. "How about if I do this -- just charge you $25 per ticket for a total of $100?"

The tiniest person in sight, Julia, beamed and was the first to answer, "Oh, thank you!" The boys broke into huge grins and thanked her. Connie thanked her. I even thanked her, though I am only the taxi driver.

So, off they went on their adventure.

***

The glow of last night's game still hovers over San Francisco. As I enjoyed the game, I was thinking that if I were to find a dream friend for my future, she would love baseball as I do, and love the Internet as I do. As I've said before, I write here because I need to, but I hope it is obvious I also love to. And I love meeting others who share this passion.


No matter what our backgrounds, we are all simple bloggers -- one-(wo)man operations lacking marketing teams, lawyers, accountants, offices, publishing contracts, advertising sales teams, or any of the accoutrements of the big media operations. The only reason any of us have ads on our sites is that Google makes that so easy for us, and then shares the clickthrough revenue with us on a per click basis.

Trust me, nobody gets rich by blogging!

But, perhaps, something much more valuable can eventually be found. New friendships, new communities, a new sense of meaning.

A rebirth of hope, which in baseball terms, springs eternally...


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