29 September 2014
Vol. IV, No. 221

From The Editor: Anita Sullivan is that rare thing in this century, an essayist, and that rarest thing in any century, a superb essayist: she proceeds, with quite some heroism, to the edge of the circle of light, and reports back to us on things almost beyond our abilities to see or describe. I, on the other hand, also drawn to Montaigne’s favorite genre, am still caught up in the fray within the tiny human heart and, this week, reflect upon “the long season,” my self-assigned PhD course in living well: baseball. Tim Bayer comes along behind us, but not bringing up the rear  . . . with some visual diversion. Hey, it’s been a pretty rich week here at Weekly Hubris!

”Great Blue Heron With Fish,” by Linh Dinh.

“Great Blue Heron With Fish,” by Linh Dinh.

The Highest Cauldron

“Grandfather Blue” By Anita Sullivan

EUGENE Oregon—(Weekly Hubris)—9/29/2014—A few evenings ago around dusk, I looked up and saw a Great Blue Heron in silhouette (well, even when they’re not technically “in silhouette,” G.B. herons look that way, since their qualifying blue is so dark and old it hardly qualifies as a color at all anymore. The bird itself is so ancient and regal that its name is probably placed into the modern “blue” spectrum as a courtesy; what we call its color is more like an immortalized patina reeking out from some vast realm between the feathers and bones where a whole lot of hanky-panky evolution took place that never got into the books), chugging across the horizon towards his lonely night resting place. (Read more . . .)

Mets rookie pitcher Jacob deGrom, aka Baby Bird.

Mets rookie pitcher Jacob deGrom, aka Baby Bird.

By Way of Being

“What I Learned From Baseball (Again, This Year)” By Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

BRIDGE & TUNNEL New Jersey—(Weekly Hubris)—9/29/2014—Like me, my mother came to baseball late and somewhat unwillingly. Her second marriage (or, what I have always termed The Grand Disappointment) yoked her, from age 57 to her death at 72, to a man with whom she had only two things in common: 1) ballroom dancing; and 2) baseball. Only on the dance floor and in front of the television set watching Braves games did she and Jack share a shred of common ground, so she made the best of it. (Read more . . .)

Music magic.

Music magic.

Won Over By Reality

“Music Magic” By Tim Bayer

BRIGHTON New York—(Weekly Hubris)—9/29/2014—I once dabbled with creating music and, to my chagrin, was forced to acknowledge my severe musical shortcomings. My dreams of being a rock star in a band crashed and burned decades ago. Today, through the power of modern computers, almost anyone can be in their own band—and they don’t even need a band! It’s music magic! The video I’m sharing with you this week is a wonderful example of technology-powered, music magic. (Read more . . .)

“Summer’s End,” Watercolor, 15” X 24” (1999).

“Summer’s End,” Watercolor, 15” X 24” (1999).

The Disappearing Land

“Summer Farewell” By Meredith d’Ambrosio

DUXBURY Massachusetts—(Weekly Hubris)—9/22/2014—I painted this watercolor of the road leading to our summer cottage on Daniels Island. Every year, the marsh grasses, with the inlet of Ockway Bay snaking through, reveal the rusty hue of summer’s end in the late afternoon sunlight. (Read more . . .)

At table, never display “two hands above the linen.”

At table, never display “two hands above the linen.”

Skip the B.S.

“Casting Bones Under the Table: Manners” By Skip Eisiminger

CLEMSON South Carolina—(Weekly Hubris)—9/22/2014—I’ve never been one to stand on protocol, for though I’d never urinate in a bath, I might in the shower. I’ve concluded, henceforth, that my expedient approach to behavior has been acquired, though I surely didn’t acquire it from my parents. To teach me table manners when I was six or seven, my Midwestern father appealed to my profit motive when the image of “hogs at a trough” failed him. He handed me a nickel after saying grace one evening and told me that if I could keep one hand under the table for the entire meal, I could “keep the buffalo.” (Read more . . .)

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