A San Francisco Experience – Go Giants!

San Francisco on summer evenings was often unique and that Tuesday was no different. The air was cool, with a breeze brisk enough to nip under collars and ruffle sleeves. She watched workers and shoppers crowding the cracked sidewalks, each person walking, strolling, or sprinting to destinations unknown to her. Some were intent, moving rapidly along, eyes riveted forward; others walked in cadence to their own chatter, engrossed in conversation with their cell phones pressed against their ears, oblivious to the chaos around them. A few homeless folks had found sidewalk settings where they would spend the evening staring sadly through blurry-eyes, lost in a consciousness of some phantom making. Bicycles dangerously darted in and out of traffic, invincible riders pushing the envelope, while cars, large and small, angled between delivery trucks and taxicabs, all inching forward minding the flicker of green and red signals like obedient children.

Exiting the car on Second Street beneath the concrete roadway of the Bay Bridge, she moved forward, flanked by two, forever friends who would accompany her to a venue just five blocks downhill by the San Francisco Bay itself. Maneuvering through the masses, the trio clutched their belongings close, and made their way down crowed sidewalks, across transit tracks, and into the city streets ignoring signals that urged them to stop, look, and listen before crossing. It was Tuesday night though, an evening in June 2014 when the only thing that mattered was the Giants game. No one was apt to follow the rules of the road. The throngs thrust forward, aiming toward the broad, red, brick building that was AT&T Park.

A quick pit stop at Majita for margaritas, chips, and salsa set the tone. The friends gathered a companion and moved on single-mindedly. Only one thing mattered at this point. Go Giants! It was almost game time. With seats directly behind home plate, and armed with cold beers and deluxe, ballpark franks, the quartet of friends allowed their anticipation to seethe into excitement.

After snapping a few photos with their iPhones, they simply sat, absorbing the lights, sounds, and action. Colorful neon lights flashed news, photos, and stats on the gigantic billboard and shimmered in frenetic bands that encircled the stadium itself; flags fluttered in the breezy night wind; intense, panels of lights, hundreds of them, flickered on, lighting the field as though it were midday though the sky had darkened to a charcoal grey. The organ player pounded loud, vibrant sounds, the rhythms all too familiar to the regulars there. Food was everywhere, vendors shouting, “Peanuts, cotton candy, kettle corn, here! Get your hot dogs! Hot chocolate! Get your churros here!”

The seats filled. Folks of every size, shape, height, and ethnicity found their ways to a single space that was theirs, lodging almost intimately next to family, friends, and strangers. They were all together, over 41,000 strong, united in harmony that warmed the heart. Worries about this cool night had disappeared with the sunset. Camaraderie, anticipation, enthusiasm, and solidarity heated the stadium now, where under the lights, no matter what the outcome, folks had fun. From “Play Ball” to “And that’s the game!” it was a party, and win or lose, it was one to remember!

At What Price – Love?

Never expected it.

Not like this.

Sudden.

Do not want it.

Not so soon.

Go away.

Can’t let go now.

It’s in place.

Stay.

When love goes

What follows?

Choices?

Never expected it.

Not like this.

A hasty thing.

Do not like it.

It’s too abrupt.

Wait.

Can’t let loose.

Memories

Linger.

We paid the price.

Expensive.

Priceless.

Never expected it.

Not like this.

Saddened.

At what price -- love?

A heart in two

Forever.

-- A little poem for anyone who has loved any person for any reason, in any way, and paid the price.        

                                                            Judith DeChesere-Boyle, June 2014

On Arrogance

Arrogance is not a very attractive trait, in my opinion. Too many people tend to harbor the characteristic, however. We see it everyday in corporate moguls and politicians particularly, in sport stars on occasion, in actors all too often, and, unfortunately at times in ordinary folks who should know better.

What is it that makes a person arrogant? Is it power? Money? Or is it simply the joy of having the upper hand? Does a competitive nature play a hand in arrogance? Does the obsessive desire to be right at all costs make a difference? Is it a lust to be better than others? Is it a lie? Clearly one’s fabricated, and often, inaccurate sense of one’s self will emerge as arrogance. Are these people delusional?

In my newest novel, in progress, one of my characters possesses the trait of arrogance. He goes through life as though his head is poked through a wide ring of clouds, surrounding only him, but with disastrous results, for he cannot look down through those clouds to see the person he really is. In reality he is a regular Joe with no particularly redeeming qualities. Yet he has set himself up on a pedestal of his own making, looking down with condescension and a sense of superiority on those around him. In my novel, he will pay. In the real world however, too many people with inflated egos and overt overconfidence lash out in inappropriate ways in hopes of keeping the status quo. Anger, reactiveness, and irrational behavior are often the results. It is plausible to believe that arrogance requires taking rather than giving, looking rather than seeing, and touching rather than feeling.

I’m not sure I would want to be trapped in an “It’s All About Me” world. A bit of humility, sincerity, and simplicity shows more character in my view, but that’s just the way I see it. Fortunately there are still those around us who are unfettered by a conjured, hazy ring of clouds about their necks. They have the ability to look up at the sky, at the sun, and at the mist above them. They have the capacity to look down too, and unencumbered by arrogance at all, plainly see who they are. And that’s a good thing.

"Arrogance is weakness disguised as strength." (Unknown)

The Amazing Arts

When I was a child I am sure I thought art was limited to “art class”. It was painting and drawing, molding and shaving, cutting and pasting. Art demanded a bouquet of brushes, the silky tips soaked in tin cans of water, readied to be smashed into tiny squares of color that usually melded eventually into a putrid green. Art was round-tipped scissors, gobs of tasty glue, clay, crayons, charcoals, and multi-colored construction paper. Art was smearing hues from one end of a canvas to another, mastering stick figures, and was, God forbid, “staying in the lines”. My classmates followed instructions and believed. “The sky is blue, bananas yellow, and trees green.”

I know better now. Of course, the sky is not always blue, bananas yellow, or leaves green, and, thank goodness, art is not bound to a single definition. It need not be a painting suitable for framing; it can be a poem written on a whim, a basket woven by fingers, deft and chapped. It is Michelle’s fruit art or an outfit sewn to perfection. It is Deb’s watercolor, Allison’s fine-line drawing, Louise’s finely knitted scarf, or Karyl’s jewelry creation. Art includes Shawn’s photography, Andrea’s Zumba dance, Alicia’s athleticism, or Jean Paul’s culinary masterpiece. It is Doyle’s voice, and the twang of Bart’s guitar. It is Kirk’s sculpture, Dave’s design, or my story.

Art is magic. It can draw a person into a place where persistence and practice, diligence and dedication, grit and tenacity are consummate rewards that one who has not been there may not comprehend. When I am sad, satisfied, angry, or confused, I know what to do. I write. It makes everything else pale in comparison. Simply the doing of it makes me happy.

Just Checking In!

Vacations do interrupt the old, blogging routine, so this will be short and sweet! Hopefully, I’ll have a bit more time this week to fill some pages. Until then, have a wonderful day.