It's Dora's Birthday (Darien, CT, early 1980s)

Genie wanted a picture, to go with Norman's profile picture.

From Our Balcony (Miami Beach, FL, Nov 2009)

Our friend Harold Davis visited us in November, on his way back from Cuba.

While here, he took a few shots of Miami. He said that if he lived in our apartment, he'd be out on our balcony photographing day and night. Here's a sample:


http://www.flickr.com/photos/harold_davis/4269986748/

In flickr, go down to the comments and click on "View this image larger" to do just that.

Lefty (The Bronx and Fayetteville, NY, about 1949 and 1963)

I am a lefty, in the sense that I prefer my left hand for almost everything--though I am pretty ambidextrous. I socially identify with lefties, a lightly oppressed minority (maybe 10% of the population is left-handed). But my parents always told me that I am natural righty, trained left. That's because because my teenage father was a high-school baseball player, and he wanted me to have the advantage lefties have in most sports. He was Whitey Ford's relief pitcher at Aviation High, which, as he pointed out, meant he didn't pitch much. And he played second base. I think I have a team picture I'll post some day.

I confirmed that I was a natural righty with my father 3-4 years ago. Elizabeth is a little skeptical of this story, but besides what my parents told me, I have some supporting evidence: I am really very ambidextrous, but lefties tend to be; I kick right-footed, but evidently about 1/3 of lefty males do so. But my best evidence is this picture:


So why am I golfing right-handed in the picture below? For one thing, it's not such a big deal in sports with a two-hand grip (like batting in baseball) to change hands. But the real reason is this. Early in my golfing career, I finished a round at Lyndon Golf Course, a cheap public course across the street from the famous and exclusive Onondaga Country Club, where I sometimes caddied. The "pro", who I didn't know, came up to me and said, "you should try playing right-handed". I was a pretty know-it-all teenager, and was used to unimaginative people who couldn't get their minds around people doing things with their left hands (this was still medieval times). So I came back with a snotty, "Oh yeah, why?". He answered, "Because I just saw you play left-handed." Whoops. (Sure enough, I tried it, practiced for a few minutes, and immediately shot a way better round than I ever had left-handed. Never golfed lefty again, even though I had to get a new set of clubs.)


I'm really glad I play tennis left-handed. Besides being a big advantage if you want to run for US President (Obama, McCain, Kerry, Gore, Clinton, Bush I, Perot: all lefties), it is a big advantage in tennis in particular. (That's why Rafael Nadel's uncle trained him to be left-handed. He's the only other natural righty trained left I've ever heard of--the other way around is of course common.) I've written up the reasons it is so advantageous in tennis here.

Terror In Miami (Miami Beach, FL, Jan 2010)

Wonder why I've had winter photos on this blog for the last week?

If you've never lived here, you can't imagine what this feels like to the residents. This isn't some abstract number on an Internet weather forecast; this is our balcony. Our heat pump has been blasting full-time and can't get the apartment above 70, which is OK for us, but a lot of our neighbors have no heat at all. I hope Norman's father's farm isn't getting hit too badly.


I looked out our window at all the beautiful boats anchored there, and wondered how cold the residents must be (these are boats that people who sail down here for the winter live in). But then I remembered who they were, and looked up their home weather. Never mind.

The Snow Kick Continues (Syracuse and Fayetteville, NY, about 1954 and 1964)

Before we had our house (when we lived in the Vincent Apartments), snow just meant fun, not shoveling. Here I am with the three kids I hung out with all the time.

And here's a picture I missed from my post last week: The finished product!

Thanksgiving in Vermont (Burlington, VT, probably Nov 1985)

From the same visit as the snow scenes in yesterday's post. Once again, Paul using his surgical skills to carve the turkey.

There's that stupid pineapple turkey thing again. I'm sure that was my fault.

Obviously, it smelled really good.

Robert, the cocker spaniel.

The boys work with the help of some beer. The one on the right seems to have made a great discovery of some kind.

More Snow (Burlington, VT, probably Nov 1985)

We sometimes spent Thanksgiving with Paul, Susan and, eventually, Dan. This is their house in Burlington.

Too Much Snow (Fayetteville, NY, early 1960s)

This bad weather all around the country (even the longest cold spell we've had since living in Miami) has reminded me how much I hated the part of my childhood devoted to snow. Syracuse is the snowiest real city in the US, and I think most of it fell on my driveway during the 4 years I lived in a house there. Shoveling it all myself was a really bad side of being an only child. The year I left for college, my parents bought a snow blower. (Yes, I got my daily fix of the New York Times in high school.)

I would get up in the morning, and this is what I'd often find.

Uncle Sam and Me (Probably Bronx, NY, about 1949)

The background looks like this was one of those Van Cortland Park Sundays I wrote about before, where the Turks and Greeks got together (not that Sam was any of those, but the two-family thing again).

Sam was a perfect uncle for a little kid. He took me lots of places, and I have many good memories of being with him. After he and Sue got married, they represented a far more sophisticated, educated and modern world than anyone else in my family, and it was good for me to be exposed to all that.

Mickey At Camp (Pompano Beach, FL, Jan 2010)

While we were in California, Mickey wrestled with camp, at the Pompano Pet Lodge.

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