It's not that I am terminally serious, or that I don't know how to have fun. But absorbing non-fiction becomes habitual to a journalist. I've written and edited stories about climate change since the '70s; and about Osama bin-Laden since the '90s; about terrorism since the '80s and about environmental issues since 1968.
So, you could argue, enough already -- I probably already know more about these subjects than is going to do me or anyone else any good. But synthesizing these new sets of facts about two dreadfully depressing topics seems to be one of my favorite forms of brain exercise.
At least until basebaall season returns!
Walking around the neighborhood, smelling blossoms and snapping photos, I found myself wondering who so many people I've known throughout my life turn away from knowledge. I first became aware of the anti-intellectualism in my native Midwest in the '60s.
There was a deep-seated distrust of "eggheads," closely related to fears about Communists, homosexuals, Jews, academia, and complicated ideas.
I worked in a dairy plant in the summers when I was a teenager, among men with little education and sore backs. Some were men of very few words. Oddly, there were two sets of brothers in the plant, and both were estranged from each other. These brothers never spoke to each other, and when I asked others about it, they shrugged, "Been that way for years."
Sometimes, it was comical when their jobs required them to communicate with each other. They would stand there helplessly until someone stepped in and handled the information exchange.
My little basketball star is ready for his playoff game this Tuesday. He practices shooting hoops over and over. Not long ago, I could compete with him in the old game called "21." Yesterday, I thought I had started out pretty good with a 14-point run. Aidan then reeled off 44 straight points. During his shooting streaks the ball never even touches the rim.
It's all net.
Tonight, we have our windows open for the first time in many months. It is almost errie when the winds that normally build each afternoon stay away. "Earthquake weather," that's what the old-timers call it.
After eating pork roast, mashed potatoes, snow peas, persian cucumber, and either ice cream or cookies, the kids all had baths and shampooed their hair. We're all ready for another week. It's school at 8 for them, and 101 South for me, and my office by 8:30.
New York is just days away. Maybe this warm spell will visit there, too, helping leaves burst out in Central Park?
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