I remember, I remember.
Those words almost brought me to tears this morning. There was a piece in The New York Times sports section about Johnny Bench.
For those who you who don’t follow baseball, he was a Major League baseball player. He was a catcher for the Cincinnati Reds. He was probably the best catcher in history.
Catching is a hard job. You work in a squat. You are involved in every pitch of every game. In a close play at home plate other players tried to knock you down. And, you are supposed to be able to hit.
In other words, Johnny Bench is a tough guy.
He’s in the baseball Hall of Fame along with a number of other players with whom he played. Being a catcher allowed him to get to know a lot of players. You talk at the plate sometimes. It’s a fraternity of sorts.
This last year has been brutal for all of us. It has been very brutal for MLB, and the living Hall of Fame of players.
Ten of them died.
He spoke about each of them. When he got to Tom Seaver — a world class pitcher — he said that he was very nervous catching him the first time because he was Tom Seaver.
Tom Seaver passed this year.
Then he got to a point where he talked about his feelings and he said, “I remember, I remember, I remember.”
It broke my heart.
The late musician John Prine, another victim of CoVid-19, wrote a song called, “I Remember Everything.” When he passed it broke my heart and about a gazillion other musicians and fans hearts.
He won a Grammy this year for that work. Some where in the universe I know he smiled his crooked smile.
The main story in the Times was about never being able to reach herd immunity. There are a lot of contributing factors, not the least being that about 40% of the country don’t want the vaccine.
Combined with other issues like a mutating virus, economic conditions, and temporary surges many scientists believe this will never end, that the best we can do is manage it.
One scientist went so far as to say that he believed that it will take about two generations to manage it to the point that it will be like getting a common cold.
I was taught that a generation is 40 years. Many people say 30 years. It doesn’t really matter. Reaching that point will take somewhere between 60 and 80 years.
That’s something to look forward to.
This is especially important in light of what I just wrote. Stay safe. Stay strong. Stay mighty. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Keep your distance. Get your jabs. Look after each other. Be patient. Enjoy all the purple.
Well, that left hand column was something. It took a lot out of me to write.
This side won’t be anywhere near as compelling.
Luckily, the dominant color is purple. I like purple. It’s the color of royalty. It’s a Mardi Gras color. I used to wear purple shirts.
This picture was edited fairly straight forward in post production. I really didn’t add much color. I just darkened things up and added contrast.
That’s an old approach. People used to say that I added too much saturation.
No, I didn’t. I just brought out whatever was there in the first place.
Oh yeah. Of course, I sharpened it. I had two ways to go. I could edit it as you see it, or I could add a lot of glow and make it soft and fuzzy.
One more story.
The war against working photographers is heating up.
A photojournalist, documenting the number of tortoises in a place where the sand of the beach was being eroded at a very fast pace, ran into a self-proclaimed speaker for the group who was working there.
She demanded that he leave and destroy his files. He left but didn’t destroy anything. Most comments were in his favor citing the usual legal findings.
I didn’t say anything. If I had, it would be along the lines of what I would have said to the woman on the beach.
I have looked at her and said, “Ma’am, this is a public beach. You have no authority over me or anyone else.”
Apparently, she was pretty aggressive. If she continued with me, I’d have concluded like this, “Ma’am step back and away from me,” In my most low but authoritative voice.
Then, without warning, I’d call the local sheriff.