birch

About a year after we moved into this house, we had to cut down an old, triple-trunked birch tree in the backyard. It was unhealthy and thinning, and large limbs were starting to fall. It wasn’t safe for the kids or the dog back there, so it was ultimately an easy decision to take it down. I still remember feeling some misgivings about it. Nothing that old should ever be destroyed without at least acknowledging its time and what it gave us. One thing I won’t forget is going out there a few hours after the crew was done to take a look, and I was surprised to find that the top of the stump was wet. The roots hadn’t gotten the message yet that the tree was gone. They were still pushing water up to feed it, at least for a little while.

I had hoped to open with a picture of local deer munching the hedges in my front yard, but the trail cam I mounted out there hasn’t cooperated. The first time I brought it in, something had gone wrong with the SD card and there were no images. After reformatting it, a few days later I brought it in to realize that it didn’t fire to get their pictures, even though the evidence of them being there was clear. Their unmistakable tracks were in the snow, the snow was cleared from the top of the hedges at about the horizontal depth of an adult deer’s neck, and the needles were scattered below. They’re messy eaters, it seems. I love them and I’ll keep trying to get those pics. There was a big controversy here in town a few years ago, with folks up in arms about the unchecked deer population, pitchforks and torches in hand, screaming Something Must Be Done. There were insane proposals from the village board about hiring sharpshooters to kill them in the woods, and I think there was talk about some kind of sterilization program, too. None of that nonsense ever came to pass, fortunately. I think a lot about the people who move to a place called River Forest, and are upset to discover that wildlife sometimes makes its way from the forest, where the river flows, into their yards.

The first part of my tattoo is on. I know I said I’d share it, but I don’t think it’s entirely fair to the artist to reveal it in its incomplete state. I sat for about five hours, and will go back for about that long again in a month to complete it. Well, saying I “sat” for the session isn’t quite right. I was sort of lying on my side, with my hips at a very awkward angle and my left leg propped up by a roll of paper towels where he worked. Even with frequent breaks, eventually my lower back took larger offense to the process than did my lower leg where he worked. I’m really happy with the piece so far. It wasn’t at all what I had in mind at the start, but when he showed me his design, I was smitten. I’m no tattoo expert, nor an art expert of any kind. I do know that most creatives do best when you give them some loose ideas and let their muse take them where she will.

Many of my friends are excited that spring training has resumed. Baseball is in the air again. Hope springs eternal and all that. This is the first year I’m not feeling it. I’ve no less love for the sport, but I am well and truly done with the team I’ve followed for all of my summers to date. Until the current owner dies, or sells the team, I’m out. He’s made it abundantly clear in his actions and even in his words how much he hates the fans, and last year’s historic 121-loss season was no accident. From what I’ve read, their odds of improving much this season are low. It’s not about the winning and losing, though. It’s very simply the fact that I can’t support that regime with my time, money, or attention. The owner wants the state to build him a new stadium with taxpayer money, an appalling idea even if the team were good and the state were wealthy. He threatens to move them to Nashville, or sell the to someone else who would. So be it. I’m not even sad about it. I am open to supporting some other team until there is an ownership change. Who do you recommend, and why?¹

I went to see Jason Isbell at the Auditorium Theater last night, the opening night of the American leg of his current world tour. It’s just him and his guitar, no backing from his spectacular band The 400 Unit. I was absolutely spellbound. I am on record as saying he’s the greatest songwriter working today, and the songs he did from his forthcoming album only strengthened my belief. While I love the band, the format of this tour very obviously puts all the focus on the songs. The new album, Foxes in the Snow, is in that format, too, recorded live to tape over a few days last year. Just Jason, his 1940 Martin 0-17, and a couple of mics. What I’d give to have been in the room for that, though I suppose last night was a pretty good approximation. The thing that really struck me is the directness with which he’s handling his recent divorce from Amanda Shires. There were several songs that were clearly on that topic, including the absolutely devastating “True Believer” which he closed with. It seemed like there was a pause in the room between him striking the last chord and the audience breaking into applause, perhaps because we were all still stunned by rawness and pain he was willing to share so starkly. I can’t wait for March 7 when the record is released.

It was a big weekend for the kids. Friday night was Senior Night for Leah, celebrating the end of her four-year journey with the drill team. What a ride, starting freshman year just after the Covid lockdowns ended. From practicing and performing (in masks!) with the JV team that year to being one of the Varsity captains this year, front and center in so many of the pieces, choreographing several of them herself. I believe she’s the only graduating senior who will be studying dance at college next year. Meanwhile, Danny had a full-day volleyball tournament Saturday. We were pleasantly surprised to see that he was named the captain of the JV team. He really seemed to embrace the moment, both as a leader directing traffic among some confused freshmen who were competing for the first time as collegians, and in his level of play, which he really raised on this occasion. He was the best player on the court in both of the games I saw, and I heard that continued for the third one I missed (as I was on my way downtown for the Isbell show). There’s no better feeling than watching your kids kick ass.

I’m off to Mexico City this week for a few days for work. It’s an important trip, with me meeting a new-to-me customer for the first time. They have a giant application they need help building, and it’s likely I’ll be on this project for many months to come. Given my own company’s policy that wants us onsite with customers more often, it follows that I’ll be down there a lot. It’s beautiful and huge and chaotic and I love it. Also it’s hard to be mad about a +60 degree temperature delta in my favor this week. Funny, though: there are a lot of people who, when I tell them I’m going to Mexico City, react with something like fear or revulsion. “Isn’t that dangerous?” “Glad I don’t have to go!” One guy even asked me if my company provided security for us. Look, Mexico City is exactly like every other big city in the world: there are parts of it that are dangerous, and it’s usually the case that those parts are not the central business or tourist districts. I get the same reaction when I tell people I live near Chicago. Obviously, any violence is too much, and all these cities are working in one way or another to address the problem. I do wonder, especially in the current climate, how much of this “concern” about crime in the Distrito Federal is really about something else that these folks are, for the moment anyway, too polite to say out loud.