Welcome Oliver!

Sacramento

Just back from the hospital to meet my latest grandson, Oliver, born tonight! Congratulations, Sarah and Larry and big brothers, James & Leif! Mother and baby are resting peacefully.

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What Winning Is

I'm not sure why my youngest child's races bring out an especially tender side for me, but maybe it's because she is probably never going to win a race or finish among the leaders, yet she runs on, doing her best, and finding ways to feel good about her performances in personal, not competitive terms.

Today, on one of the roughest courses in the city, which includes running up a steep set of steps three times, through sandy soil along the edge of a golf course, and then weaving through narrow sidewalks that allow few chances to pass the runners ahead of you, she started out way in the rear of the pack, by my count 42nd or so among under 50 girls in her age group.

By the end she had passed over a quarter of those ahead of her to finish as #31, and she "kicked" to the finish line in impressive fashion.

Of course, there are no rewards when you finish 31st in anything in this life. And since our society rewards success and competitive achievement above all else, you might be forgiven for thinking I would not be especially proud of this result.

But you would be wrong. I am very proud of her.

She really isn't built to be a runner; she's stronger than most girls her age and she is still growing. What she may not have in pure speed she has in endurance -- I can see that if she chooses to continue running in the future she could be a pretty good participant in long-distance races.

Because she gets better as the event proceeds.

Anyway, as much as it's fun to see your child win a game or a race or some other accolade, the real joy in the experience is just being there with her. I ran into various friends, there rooting for their daughters and sons, and revisited the campus of the school where my two older daughters attended for their elementary years.

It was a cool, foggy afternoon. A giant wave of the white stuff rolled in over the Pacific, coating the western half of the city and keeping the runners comfortable, even as those of us watching started to shiver.

As always, as a single parent, I had no partner there with me to witness this event, nor anyone to talk about it with afterward, except you, dear reader. Thanks for listening.

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False Alarm

Tonight, on my block, we all smelled smoke, so we all thought fire. Someone dialed 911, and soon after the fire trucks showed up and we all gathered outside.

It turned out to be a false alarm. But a few of us got to meet each other for the first time.

Maybe next time that will matter.

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Something About Bin-Laden's Death You Didn't Know

I've always been a big reader, and when I find a book I like I often reread it several times over the years. Such is the case with Peter Hopkirk's classic The Great Game, which details the struggle over Central Asia between Russia and Britain that raged for a century or more and peaked in the late 1800s.

I highly recommend this book for a number of reasons.

Around halfway through it you will learn of the British military officer and explorer John Abbott, who was a key player in the great game of spying and deception in the middle of the 19th century.

He eventually was knighted and a British garrison town in Pakistan -- Abbottabad -- was named after him.

Earlier this year, when the Navy Seals tracked down and killed Osama bin-Laden, it was in modern day Abbottabad, still a military-dominated town over a century and a half after its founding.

Given the origins of the Mujahideen warriors bin-Laden purported to lead (who were funded and organized by the CIA and American military agencies in response to the Russian invasion of Afghanistan in 1979), there are layers of irony and historical precedent regarding where this clandestine assassination took place.

There's perhaps no better way to appreciate the nuances of these events than revisiting the historical context, especially because most of it has so long since been collectively forgotten.

On a Chill Wind Blowing

Every coach knows his team will have good days and bad days. Today, facing their arch-rivals from seven seasons of competition, the Palos were in for a challenge.

That they trailed only 0-1 at the half was a credit to how well they played.

At half, their coach exhorted them to fight hard in the second half, which they came out and did. But the other team was too skilled, and a few breaks went their way as well.

As these events were transpiring on the field, a cold front moved in from the ocean nearby, peppering the sky with a thousands puffs of white. A chill came over the scene.

The girls fought on, now without any real hope of catching the other team before the final whistle, but pushed to the opposing net over and over and finally -- on one of the corner kick set pieces they have practiced with their coach for weeks, punched in a goal late in the game.

Final score 1-4. "Keep your heads up," called their coach. "You played well."

On the way back, he told me, "I'm glad they scored that goal."

Something to build on after a loss. He's thinking like a coach. It's about halfway through the season, their record is 3-2, and until today, improbably, they were in first place.

So, a winning season seems within reach, which would be a first, and a run at the playoffs. Looking up at the sky as we walked off, I thought to myself about all the things that athletics represents -- winning, losing, sportsmanship, persistence, the value of hard work, never giving up.

Never giving up. That's the big one. That's the one so many people right now, tonight, in so many desperate situations, need.

Don't give up. Play on. There will be a different day, when the clouds pass, the sun shines, and the match turns out a different way.

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Coach's Assistant

Today, a young coach-in-the-making helped out at practice.

It's a warm night.

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Monday, Monday Report

Rainy days are some of my youngest son's favorite days, and within limits, especially when I have a good writing project at hand, I sometimes feel the same way. Today was one of those days; he'd spent the night in order to watch two of his favorite TV shows, Dexter and Breaking Bad, last night, then slept in almost to noon, which was not a problem, because today is one of those strange federal holidays -- Columbus/Indigenous Peoples Day.

We walked in a light mist over to our favorite local restaurant, El Matate, for lunch, then returned to an afternoon of homework and TV for him, research and writing for me.

Working and writing from home is an inherently isolating lifestyle. Some days, the most human contact you will have is an outing to a coffee shop or the corner store. So on this quiet Monday, having his company made this a very nice day indeed.