Angels v. Orioles
22 July 2014
The last time I saw the Angels play the Orioles, I was in Baltimore.
Which really has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that I went to a baseball game. Two, actually.
When the kids were little, I had three ready answers for their requests: yes, no, maybe.
One day, when she was...five-ish, six-ish...the daughter announced, "You really mean 'no.'"
I queried as to her meaning.
"When you say 'maybe' you just mean 'no.'"
I told her that wasn't true, that they'd posed a request that wasn't an instant yes or no, and I had to think through the pros and cons of what they wanted. That perhaps it was a stalling tactic, that I probably wanted to say 'no,' but there might be a good reason to say 'yes.' So, 'maybe' until I'd made a judgment.
Her first video camera was a 'maybe.' And again, she told me I really meant 'no.' But I surprised her by saying 'yes.'
Look where we are. The kid made a film this past year that won her Best Director and Best Picture awards.
Then, there was the Memphis thing. (After which was the rhinovirus thing. Which really has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that it kicked my butt for a good two weeks.)
And now, I'm writing a short story. A short story that is becoming a script as fast as I can write it. And is slated to become a film.
Which, in fact, means...maybe.