Another Win for the Old Man

As I've written many times before, the Nashville Bar Association softball league is special to me.  I've played in the league for almost 30 years.  Manier, Herod; Cox, LeVan, Sprader & Patton; Bowen, Riley, Warnock & Jacobson; and Riley, Warnock & Jacobson. 

Somehow, this season, we've become "the Russians," a nickname Duane Barrett and I gave the team, while we drank beer together, a lifetime ago. 

On my team and on other teams in the league, so many friends and teammates have come and gone.  Earlier this season, I played against Dickinson Wright (formerly Stewart, Estes & Donnell) and only recognized one player on their entire team.  It's like that on almost every team we play.

Somehow, at age 55, I've ended up as the last man standing.  Other than my teammate and longtime friend, John Rolfe, and Independents' stalwarts Gary Rubenstein and Eula, there aren't many - or any - players who have been played in the NBA softball league as long as I have. 

Last night, in the second game of the tournament, we played Hardin Law, one of our rivals of recent times.  All good guys on their team, including Bill Porth, whom I went to high school with.  Billy and I have been playing softball against each other for years.  Their team was down a few players, as was our team.  Vacations, Covid-19, etc.

J.P. and Joe were at the game, which always is big for me.  It means a lot to have them there, in the dugout, at an age where they can follow and enjoy the game, and interact with my teammates.  It's also important to me for them to see me, at age 55, competing, and stepping on the mound to pitch with the confidence of someone who has been doing it at a high level for more than three decades.  I also like them to see me, in my element, talking, laughing, and hugging players on my team and on other teams.  

Vanity on my part?  A little but also, I want them to see the importance of working hard to build relationships that last over time and the enjoyment and friendships that are forged in the process.

Our team took an early lead but Hardin Law closed the gap late and, in the bottom of the last inning, we were up 12-10.  It was slightly past 8 p.m. and almost dark because, for some reason, Metro Parks refuses to repair the lights not he fields at Cleveland Street Park.  

The first batter, a woman, grounded out to shortstop.  The next batter hit a ball to my right.  I backhanded the ball, bobbled it slightly, then whirled and fired it to first.  I thought we had the guy by half a step but Gary called him safe.  Gary was hustling down the line to get a good look at the play, so I couldn't complain, although the consensus was that he missed the call.  The last batter in the lineup, a woman, made an out.  

Good news?  Two outs.  Bad news?  Leadoff hitter coming up.  As always, the game turned on where the teams were in the lineup during their last at bats.  

The leadoff hitter and second got base hits.  The third batter hit a double, scoring one run, leaving runners at second and third.  Our lead was cut in half to 12-11.  Two outs.  A base hit wins the game for Hardin Law.

My teammates, especially the infielders, wanted me to walk the batter to set up a force at any base.  I thought about it but quickly decided I was going to pitch to the cleanup hitter.  The on deck batter was an old school, hulking softball player.  He had gotten a base hit every time he batted earlier in the game.  Looking at him in the on deck circle, I knew he - like me - had seen it all on the softball field.  I knew he wouldn't try to do too much if he batted with the bases loaded.  He would lace a base hit to left field and the game would be over.

The cleanup hitter was younger and less experienced.  He might - just might - be a little nervous.  He might press and try to crush the ball, as opposed to base hitting me.  I liked my chances with him.

Our third baseman, John Wilks, looked right at me and said, "Newman, you want to walk this guy?"  "No," I replied, emphatically.  "I can't get the guy behind him out."

I took a deep breath, stared in at the cleanup hitter in the fading light, and threw his a first pitch knuckle ball.  Sure enough, he took a massive swing and lines a hard grounder right back at me.  I gloved it, turned toward first base, and threw the ball to Derek Hughey.  

Game over.  

As Hughey caught the ball from me, John Wilks yelled "Neeewwwmannnn!"  My teammates and I congratulated each other with a little more enthusiasm than normal, enjoying our improbable win.  J.P. and Joe jogged out onto the field to congratulate me.  Adrenaline flowing, I made the rounds, clapping teammates on the back and giving high fives.  

One softball game in a line of hundreds, maybe more than a thousand, softball games in my lifetime.  Still, a memorable softball game.  I showed my boys - and I showed myself - that I can still spin it at age 55.  And that's something - for me, anyway.

After the game, I dropped the boys off and drove two Burger Up to get a takeout salad.  As I sat at the bar and sipped an Uncle Val's (gin) and tonic, I savored the victory, texting with several of my teammates.  It as a moment of quiet satisfaction, one I want to remember.

I don't know how many more years I have playing softball in the law league.  Maybe a few.  Maybe several.  But I'll remember last night's game after I'm done.

 

Double Nickels

I'm not big on birthdays.  Not for me, anyway.  It's weird - always has been - but I'm sure it's tied up with my dad dying at such a young age.  More than most, especially when I was younger, I've always had a strong sense of my own mortality.  Obviously, for me, a birthday meant a year older and year closer to, well, death.  

Morbid and weird?  Sure, but it's the way I'm wired.  Consequently, at least as an adult, I've never enjoyed it when anyone made a big deal out of my birthday.  Others' birthdays are great.  Mine?  Not so much.

The truth is I've never liked the idea of getting older.  That's not changed.  If anything, it's worsened as I've gotten older.  Maybe part of that is natural.  Maybe not.  

So, a couple of weeks ago, I quietly turned 55 in Charlottesville, then spent the day with J.P. after picking him up from sport camp at Woodberry Forest.  Actually, it was a perfect birthday for me.  Low key.  No party.  Spending time, along, with J.P.  Very nice.

At the time, I didn't dwell too much about turning 55 years old.  A few random jokes about being closer to 60 than 50 but that was about it.  Still, it was unsettling and the jokes I made masked an insecurity on my part about my age.  Not because of vanity but out of a feeling that so much of my life is behind me and the unknowable question of how much life I have left.  

I wouldn't trade my life or my family for anyone's, certainly, but that's a down side of having children so much later in life.  There's a real pressure to stay healthy as long as I can to be here for them as they grow into adults.  I worry about that all the time.  I don't want to be 65 years old 10 years from now - with the boys 23 and 19 - and be frail or a burden to them.  What if, God forbid, I get dementia or Alzheimer's and as they enter the prime of their lives, they have to deal with a father who is an invalid?  I don't want that for them.  

I worry about that a lot.  I really do.

An old friend of mine - a lawyer - has been in intensive care with kidney cancer and heart problems.  He's only a few years older than me.  Back in the day, as they say, we played basketball and softball against each other in the lawyer leagues.  He was an athletic marvel 25 years ago.  6'5".  In great shape.  In basketball, he could handle the ball, play defense, and score.  He was unstoppable for "the Wildcats," a team in the Nashville Bar Association basketball league.  A very competitive guy.

Now, he's coming off a major surgery and lately, it's been touch and go.  Unbelievable to me, especially last week, when I learned of his health issues as I played in a softball game in the law league.  Where does the damn time go and how did John and I get old?  How did John get sick?

Yesterday, I mediated for a lawyer who is a very good friend of mine.  Earlier in the week, it looked like the mediation would get canceled because his mother had bacterial pneumonia, was in the hospital, and wasn't likely to survive.  I remember when Dana used to visit his parents in Stuart, Florida, and fish with his dad.  Now, his mom's health is failing - she has Parkinson's and dementia and, on top of that, bacterial pneumonia.  Again, where did the time go?

Also yesterday, a lawyer who practices next door to me in Franklin - one who also is a very good friend of mine - buried his father in Tracy City, Tennessee.  His father served in the Navy, owned businesses in Grundy County, and in days gone by, was a dedicated cock fighter.  Yes, I've seen photographs.  His dad loved raising what he called "chickens" and fighting them in arenas small and large all across the south.  And after battling dementia and a myriad of health conditions, he's gone.  I feel for Neil, my friend, because he's lost two brothers and his father in the last couple of years.  

So much illness.  So much death.  

Lately, to be sure, I've had a difficult time appreciating the wonder of life while it seems like disease and death are lurking around every corner.  It's a delicate balance - it always has been, for me - that I probably can trace back to my father's death.  I think the balance has been upset, or thrown off, and that's hard for me to handle.  

My emotional energy, at home and at work, has waned, at times.  Especially at work, my capacity to empathize with my clients or with those I am mediating for, is diminished.  I don't much patience to deal with demanding clients or issue with staff.  Sometimes, I simply want to be left alone, and that's not possible in my line work.  I have to be "on" virtually every day I'm at work and that's been a challenge.

I'm not sure what I can do but soldier on, so to speak.  It's what my mom would have done.  Hell, it's what she did, every day of her life after my father died.  

So, this weekend, I'll put a smile on my face for Jude and the boys, and do what I need to do.

Keep.  Going.  

Mt. LeConte

Yesterday, I led our crew vacationing together in the Smokies on a hike to Mt. LeConte.  Jude, Joe, and Holden turned around at Rainbow Falls and hiked back to the trailhead.  J.P, Terry, Meg, Terry (Jr.), Tommy, Scott, Jacqui, Ben, and Ellie hiked with me to Mt. LeConte on the Rainbow Falls Trail, then back down from Mt. LeConte on the Bullhead Trail.

At my encouragement, we got an early start.  That's not easy when it involves wrangling a bunch of teenagers who like their sleep.  Terry was up early, though, and motivated his boys to get going.  We left the Gatlinburg cabin - "the round houses" - a little after 7:30 a.m. and arrived at the Rainbow Falls Trailhead parking lot just before 8:00 a.m., where we go the last three parking spaces.  

Our ragtag crew hit the trail a little after 8:00 a.m. on the way to Rainbow Falls.  It's funny, but as many times as I've hiked to Mt. LeConte on that route - two years ago with J.P.. for example - I always forget virtually everything about it.  Total mileage.  The terrain.  Total time for the hike up and back.  Difficulty.  I tend to underestimate all of those things, much to the dismay of anyone I'm hiking with which, of course, was the case yesterday.

The draw for me to this particular route to Mt. LeConte is twofold.  First, almost three miles up, you get to see Rainbow Falls, which is beautiful.  Second, you get to hike an alternate route down the mountain on the Bullhead Trail.  In other words, two trails for the price of one.  That's cool, to me, given that I don't get to hike Mt. LeConte as much these days as I did in the past, during and after law school.

Our group did well on the hike to Rainbow Falls, although Jude struggled a bit.  The payoff was there, though, as the falls were roaring after a hard rain in the Smokies the night before.  I cautioned all of the boys about climbing too high up toward the falls and Joe, of course, was mad that I wouldn't let him climb as high as the older boys.  

I took a few pics of the group at Rainbow Falls, after which Jude, Joe, and Holden headed back down the trail.

I also got a few pics of J.P. and Joe.

The rest of the group continued to Mt. LeConte.  The hike up the mountain was longer, and tougher, than I remembered.  More than once, one of the kids stopped and asked me, "how much longer," which was akin to the "are we there yet" queries I used to get from our boys on car trips to Florida.

At one point, in response to yet another question about how much farther we need to hike to reach Mt. LeConte, I estimated the distance at about .5 miles.  Big mistake, given that it turned out we were 1.6 miles from the top.  I caught a lot of shit about that from the group - deservedly so - when we arrived at Mt. LeConte Lodge and sat down at a picnic table to have lunch.  

Everyone was beat, especially, Ellie.  To her credit, though, she was on the point most of the hike up the mountain.  She fell once, ran out of water, and looked to be on the verge of tears at one point, but she made it.  As I gave her an extra bottle of water while we ate lunch, she casually mentioned that she regretted not finishing the hike up the Narrows in Zion National Park two years ago, so she had been determined to get to the top of Mt. LeConte.  I admired her tenacity, for sure.

The hike down, as usual, was tougher than the hike up the mountain.  For some reason, the park rangers haven't done any maintenance work on the upper half of the trial.  As a result, most the single track trail was obscured by knee high grass, which made it difficult to see the loose rocks on the trail on the way down.  Jacqui fell and I almost did more than once, as well.  Fortunately, the park rangers had cut the grass on the bottom half of the trail, so it was slightly easier going.

The last mile or so, I was on the point, with Tommy, Ben, and J.P. close behind me.  It was fun listening to Tommy and Ben talk about the college application process, among other things.  J.P. listened - mostly silently - taking it all in, hopefully, so he realizes the importance of studying hard and testing well.  

Finally, we made it to the bottom of the Bullhead Trail, then hiked .2 miles back two the Rainbow Falls trailhead and parking lot.  All of us, including and especially me, were in pain and ready for the hike to be over.  13.9 miles in one day, between six and seven hours of hiking time.  

I was proud of the kids, because hiking to Mt. LeConte isn't easy.  Hell, I was proud of the adults, too.  

It's strange but I don't remember the hike being so difficult two years ago when J.P. and I hiked the same route to Mt. LeConte.  I'm probably running more than I was then, or at least just as much, so I'm certainly not in worse shape.  Maybe it's that we were hiking with a group and I felt the added responsibility of keeping up with everyone.  Or, maybe, it's because I'm two years older, having turned 55 (gulp!) last Friday.  

It was a good hike with a great group of people.  Jude's friends - and their kids - are special.  Very special. It's always good for Jude to spend time with them, especially during this season of our lives.  

I had to drive back last night for depositions today and tomorrow, which sucks, because I'll miss the rest of the week with everyone.  Still, I'm glad we got to hike Mt. LeConte and I think it's a memory for all of them that will endure.

Charlottesville

Camper of the Week in week 3 for his team.

Football MVP for the entire camp.

His team won 4 of 8 championships.

And, today, in his team's final competition of camp - softball - he hit 2 home runs and a walk off ground rule double for the win, that I saw, in person.

More importantly, J.P.'s coach/counselor was effusive in his praise when I talked with him today at Woodberry Forest.  Humble.  Tremendous work ethic.  Team player.  Leader.  All of those were words he used to describe J.P. as we strolled across the 1,200 acre campus toward the dormitory on the last day of sports camp.

What was really special, though, was hearing from him that J.P. always took care to involve his younger teammates and to make sure they tasted success in a particular game.  Whether it was passing the ball to a teammate in soccer or hockey, or just encouraging a teammate to keep competing, J.P. was leading, and that's what Jude and I want from him.  On the athletic fields but more importantly, in life.

As J.P. and I picked up his gear and walked to my truck, then back to the Woodberry Forest bookstore, he exchanged goodbye's with several boys.  A nod of the head, J.P. slapping hands with another camper as we walked by.  J.P. met a lot of kids and made new friends.  A chapter in J.P.'s life closed but, hopefully, he heads into a busy and challenging fall with the confidence that can only come from living away from home, even for a little while, and establishing himself amongst he peers at camp. 

We walked down to the gym at Woodberry Forest.  It's an old school, turn of the century gym, the kind I love.  No air conditioning, sunlight streaming through windows on one side of the building.  J.P. and I got some shots up and talked quietly while we were shooting.  As we were leaving, Seth, one of his teammates from his team the first week, UNC, walked in with his father, who coached at Woodberry Forest.  He and J.P. laughed together as they talked about their first week of camp, when their team went 24-2.  As a result of their success, the teams were reconfigured for weeks two and three.

Seth, who Joe and I had named "the big dog," when we saw him in photos from camp, is taller than J.P. and a good basketball player.  His brother is 6'7" and plays in college.  Very nice boy.  His father and I talked at length, about baseball, when I dropped J.P. off, so it was fitting that they were the last ones we talked to before we left campus today.

Later, as we walked down the mall at West Main Street in Charlottesville, near our hotel, looking for a place to eat lunch, a boy yelled out, excitedly, "J.P.!"  It was Frank, a boy he'd met at camp who played on another team.  As I shook hands and introduced myself to his parents, Frank looked up at me, earnestly, and said, "J.P. is an amazing athlete."  I smiled and thanked him, then we said our goodbyes and walked away.

What an experience for J.P. had at Woodberry Forest sports camp!  I'm so grateful he had the opportunity to be there the last three weeks.  I'm grateful, too, that I have him back.

J.P. and his coach, Jay.  Jay is a football manager at the University of North Carolina who wants to coach football.  He and I talked for a bit and he had a lot of good things to say about J.P. as a person and as an athlete.  

J.P. with his coaches, Braden and Jay.  Really, really good guys.

J.P. and Matt Blundin, former quarterback at University of Virginia and head football coach at Woodberry Forest.  Matt and his wife, Amy, are the sports camp directors.

Now, on to the Smoky Mountains tomorrow to hook up with Jude, Joe, and Jude's college friends from Tulane.

   

Woodberry Forest Sports Camp Draws to a Close

After a grueling 9 hour drive to Charlottesville, I'm safely ensconced in my room at the Omni Hotel.  My depositions started late, they took longer than I had hoped, I had to pack, and I got caught in traffic jam outside of Knoxville for an hour or so.  

Still, I made it and I find myself sitting in an easy chair in my room, drinking a Bearded Iris (Tunnel Vision) IPA, and listening to Coldplay's "Parachutes."  The album was released in 2000.  I vividly recall listening to it in our hotel room on a trip with Jude to the Highlands in North Carolina, a lifetime ago.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  55.  And I'm going to pick up J.P. from Woodberry Forest sports camp in the morning which, really, is the best birthday present I ever could receive.  He's been gone from home for three weeks and Jude, Joe, and I have missed him in similar,  yet different, ways. 

I think Jude has missed J.P. more than she thought she would although, really, she had no frame of reference.  Joe missed his big brother, constant companion, and playmate.  In particular, he missed playing Xbox with J.P. and roughhousing in the playroom upstairs.  

Me?  I miss my protege, as I call him when we're up late watching basketball or some other sporting event.  I miss hanging with J.P. and miss running with him.  I miss joking around with him and making him laugh.

From what I can see, from the camp website, J.P. has had a good three week run.  The first week, his team, UNC, went 24 - 2.  The second week, his team, WVU, went 12 - 4.  This week, his team, WVU, won four of the eight championships in all sports.  From the photos I've seen, he looks like he's competing and having fun.  Tomorrow, I'll find out for sure when I pick him up.

It's going to be good - really good - to see J.P. tomorrow morning and to spend tomorrow with him.

The Quiet Place

July 4th, early, and I'm sitting alone in Barista Parlor Golden Sound, in the Gulch, having a cup of coffee.  Great coffee here and great space, too.  Garage doors on both sides that allow the morning sunshine light to stream in.  There's an old motorcycle in the corner for some reason.  Best of all, it's the only coffee shop I know of in Nashville that has a turntable and plays record albums on it, which I absolutely love.  It's a cool building with a great coffee shop vibe. 

Barista Parlor has been here for quite a while and the area has grown up around it.  So many changes in this neighborhood but Barista Parlor has been a constant, an oasis in the midst of so much change.

__________________________

Friday afternoon, on my way home from Monteagle, Jude sent me text to let me know that Joe was spending the night at Pike's house.  Whoa!  With J.P. at sports camp at Camp Woodberry in Virginia, that meant Jude and I would have the night to ourselves for maybe the third or fourth time in well, forever.  What to do?

Because it's what happens when you're together for more than 20 years, Jude and I, independently, thought it would be great to walk down to Epice in 12South for dinner.  Yep, great minds think alike.  I was able to get a reservation for 7:45 p.m.  I read a book while Jude finished up work for the day upstairs, in my office, then we left the house and began our walk to Epice.  

On nights like that, I was reminded how fortunate we are to live in our neighborhood, a walking neighborhood.  It was unseasonably cool for July, which was nice.  Of course, since it's a holiday weekend, there were a lot of people out and about in 12 South.  We marveled - as we often do - at how much the neighborhood has changed in the 20 years we've lived near or in it.  

Many places have come and gone in 12South - like Rumour's Wine Bar, Mirror, Katy K's Ranch Dressing, Serendipity (recently moved down the street) - and a few new restaurants are popping up.  There's a giant hole in the ground on 12th Avenue, where the funeral home used to be, and where a residential/retail development is in the very early stages of construction.

Jude and I got a table on the patio at Epice and had an almost perfect dinner outside.  The appetizers were exquisite, especially the hummus, and our entrees were superb.  I ordered the lamb meatballs and she had the filet medallions.  I drank a nice glass of Tempranillo that was a perfect match for my dinner.

As we sat outside, eating dinner, we talked quietly.  About work.  About the boys.  About, well, life, which has thrown us a curveball, for sure, this summer.  There was a moment where I just stared at Jude as she talked, relaxed and smiling.  I was struck by her beauty in that moment.  No makeup.  No expensive haircut.  No hipster outfit.  Just a natural beauty that radiates from the inside-out, enveloping her in an aura all her own.  

I really wanted to take a picture with my cell phone to capture the moment, to preserve it.  But, I didn't want to spoil the mood, so I'm writing about it now, with the idea that I'll preserve it forever.  

After dinner, we walked across the street, so I could introduce Jude to my friend, Troy, who bartends and manages at Burger Up.  He's heard so much about her, and the boys, that I wanted him to meet her and have a chance to say hello.  

We walked home to our strangely quiet house.  Also for the first time in forever, we sat on the couch and watched television for a bit.  Two episodes of "Modern Love," an Amazon Prime series based on a column by the same name in the New York Times.  Then, off to bed to read for a bit and a good night's sleep.  

Friday night was a respite for us in the middle of a busy, often stressful, summer.  An interlude.  

A quiet place.