1965

It was a pivotal year. We were 12 playing Little League baseball in southern California. Several of the kids we played with would go on to become major leagues with one, Georgie Ballgame, even making in into the Hall of Fame, I believe unanimously. It was decent ball with seemingly an endless  pool of talent taking BP and awaiting their turn.

As you know from yesterdays post, we lost one of them yesterday. My buddy from age 5 died from a heart aneurysm earlier this week. I found out about it on FaceBook and spent the remainder of the day dealing with the tidal wave of emotions the news had washed over me.

I did OK, until last last night, when sitting on the couch of the folks for whom I house and dog sit, watching MSNBC discuss once more how pathetic we all are to allow a treasonous administration to do the bidding of an elite few, and it started.

I was fighting back tears. It is something I am not good at.

Before George F. Will could explain (again) how our Democracy, our very Constitution, is under siege by these brazen bastards, the flood gates had opened and I was sobbing out of control.

My best friend since 1956, was gone. Robbie touched so many people, myself among them, with his kindness, spirit, focus, joy, talent and skill, that I was having trouble getting past my own comparative feelings of loss and loneliness.

So I sat and sobbed.

As I did so, Kona, the black lab currently under my care (or is it the opposite) came up, tail a waggin', and sensing my anguish, put her head in my lap and looked at me with her huge brownish-red eyes, saying wordlessly, It'll be OK.

And it will.

Another pivotal moment. Thank you Kona and God Bless you Robbie. I am stronger now.