Occasionally, I let the world around me influence my blog more than my art. I've been in my studio painting more than ever during these perfect autumn days, but my mind has been wandering and so goes my blog.
My grandfather Harold Hyram Parlee was a builder, an electrician, a plumber, an engineer, an inventor... he could do anything and he did, from early in the morning until "supper time" and sometimes, if he had the shop fire going, into the night. I often thought, when I walked into the sun laden shop, that I would spend every waking moment there too.
You approached his work place through the barn which smelled of freshly cut grass, still holding on to the blades of the mower, apples in bins from his tiny orchard, and maybe some slightly spilled fuel. The floor was well worn, almost soft beneath your feet. Then there was a huge sliding door, so massive and heavy that, as a little tyke, I needed help to open it. The size was to allow the entrance of almost anything my grandfather would need to work on. Running the entire length of the approx 30' space were windows over a work bench, true divided light panes that measured about 12x16 (completely guessing--they were large). When you stood at the worn bench, you looked out over the apple trees and lush vegetable garden and white picked fence bordering the property. The stove in the corner kept the space warm during any view--even a snow covered fence. Every tool had its place, every screw, nail, bolt, washer had its own jar above your head with the cover fastened to the ceiling.
Why would you ever leave? The one thing that took my grandfather away, even during the afternoon of a blue sky summer day was baseball, namely The Boston Red Sox! The living room door would be shut, the shades pulled, and the television ON. I know many of you (me included) find the game slow, maybe even a little b o r i n g, but when you think about the origin of the game and the men that would take the time to stop and play it, you have to have a little fondness in your heart for the sport. I never asked my grandfather about his personal experience with baseball, but I know he had one because in amongst the attic treasures, there was a well worn catcher's mitt.
So, I am a fair weather fan. I admit it. Until the playoffs, there are just so many baseball games, I find it hard to get excited about each one, but NOW, I'm IN! Dustin Pedroia's enthusiasm permeates, the youth and Aruban story of rookie Xander Bogaert astounds, and the jolly, happy soul of "Poppy"/ David Ortiz just makes me want a hug... a big, green monster kind of hug!
What I'm saying is, why not join in with this "all american" sleepy eyed time? If it was the one thing that could lure my Gramp from his shop, then shouldn't you give it a chance? You don't have to do it "for the love of the game", maybe do it "for what the game does for those who love it".
ps just don't ask me about the beards!
PSS the ascent is about history, pre-lift days, stories told, photos gone thru, and me feeling the coming of winter.