Finally

So, my now-adult child, whom we brought home for the first time twenty-nine years ago next Friday, spent four to five hours yesterday venturing between the Cloud and the new computer bringing back all my files, which makes me feel a little like Golum from “Lord of the Rings.” Now, I have my precious, times a couple of thousand. The smart-aleck kid also decided to give me a new screen-saver picture, of her hitting a three-run homer against Aurora University sophomore year; she had two that day, as I recall. The neat part is she’s just made contact, and you can see the ball starting its flight path over the fence. Wow, and she can work with computers, too. Her reward was to go hitting with the old man. We talked a little about Kim Ng and the sacrifices necessary to follow in her footsteps; for openers, you embrace the life of a nomad. Who wants that? Then we pulled into the parking lot at Stella’s, and it was time to hit. For someone who hadn’t picked up a bat in a couple of months or more, the Bambina did pretty good, getting off a few Aurora-like shots against only one swinging strike in 120 pitches. I had to wear a mask, the batter didn’t. Some people around us wore masks, others didn’t. Maybe COVID doesn’t like pitching machines. Clare dropped me off a little before five, November dusk on a gray Saturday. But I had my precious, all of them, and I can only give thanks at my good fortune.