Walk Among While I Can

I eked out an underserved win yesterday over my namesake nephew in fantasy football. He had a lot of late minute injuries to his team which should have beat my underperforming bunch handily and I caught him on the Patriot’s’ bye week with his lead QB (Saint Thomas Brady)sitting down. I think I’m the Peyton Manning of our family league. I build up all these meaningless wins during the regular season and then fold like a tent come playoff time. My sister and her assistant (brother in law) continue as this year’s league juggernaut, remaining undefeated.

The Book

We received a very nice surprise when I got home from work last night. A package was waiting on the door stoop. It was a long overdue but dazzling book of photos from the Best Weekend Ever Part 1 back in 2009 when the Cali-Daughter married the Wingman. With the impending arrival of the First Blog Reader my daughter finally got around to working her magic with an online publisher to produce it. My wife was cooing almost uncontrollably as we looked at the memories of that fantastic weekend again. Inspiring doesn’t begin to describe it.

Where Do I get Some of this Beer!!

My wife and I were talking this morning about how much faster life seems to move since we moved the Worcester. Since it was already moving at breakneck pace before the move I’m not sure this is a welcome development. I think it has something to do with the easier availability of virtually everything in the city and the attendant distractions that populate it. It’s a bit unwelcome because one of the definitive aspects of middle age is how much faster life seems to pass by, must be the downhill slope effect. Each morning when I go the Y to swim I see an old man looking back at me from the all too many mirrors despite the young (to my view) eyes doing the looking. What is it with all these mirrors, anyways? Feeling a bit curmudgeonly today.

I finished up my latest Matthew Scudder novel yesterday by the peerless Lawrence Block with A Walk Among the Tombstones. This is a landmark for me because it was the Liam Neeson movie of the same name that stimulated me to start the Scudder novels in the first place. While I liked the movie, I loved the book. It was different enough to keep me interested and, as is in 99% of cases, so much better than the movie. Block provides the usual rich texture of New York City with a lot of the action moved the Brooklyn this time out. My google map app was working overtime to keep up with the action.

Scudder is called in to assist a drug trafficker whose wife was abducted by a couple of truly evil losers. In the last couple of books Block has taken the malevolence of Scudder’s opponents to a whole new level, creating characters bound to keep me up at night.  Scudder takes the minutest of details and using what I’m starting to call “Scudder sense” figures out who these bozos are. When they abduct a young girl he sets up the exchange in a cemetery that serves as introduction to the Old Testament climax (so much better than the cinematic one). Block continues to populate Scudder’s life with memorable characters and sidekicks including the irresistible TJ, a black street kid and takes Scudder’s emotional involvement with his lady love, a hooker, to another level. As with all things Scudderian it’s not flashy, but solid, believable and heartfelt.  Here are some of Block’s words as Scudder tries to explain himself to his girlfriend:

“I didn’t know where I’m going with this,” I said. “But I figured I had to tell you how I felt, and what’s been going on with me. I love you. I know that’s a word we don’t speak, and one reason I have trouble with it is I don’t know what it means, it’s how I feel about you. Our relationship is important to me. In fact its importance is part of the problem, because I’ve been afraid it would change into something I won’t like that I’ve been withholding myself from you.” I stopped for breath. “I guess that’s it. I didn’t know I was going to say that much and I don’t know if it came out right, but I guess that’s it.”

She was looking at me. It was hard to meet her gaze. “You’re a very brave man,” she said.

“Oh please.”

“’Oh please’ You weren’t scared? I was scared and I wasn’t even talking.”

“Yes, I was scared.”

“That’s what brave is, doing what scares you. Walking into those guns at the cemetery must have been a piece of cake in comparison.”

“The funny thing is,” I said, “I wasn’t that fearful at the cemetery. One thought that came to me was that I’ve lived long enough so that I don’t have to worry about dying young.”