For All You Baseball Fans Out There . . .

Visited the City of Three Rivers for the first time last weekend, where I took this picture. I was there for a conference, and didn't get out of the (very lovely) hotel very much. But on my last morning I had a couple of hours to walk around downtown. It was Sunday morning, and very quiet. I was trying to get a sense of the city, but mostly it seemed like any deserted downtown of any American formerly industrial city. A little lonely. But then I saw the sign for this sporting goods store, celebrating the famous Pittsburgh shortstop of baseball's early years, whom I had once read a bit about for a writing project a very long time ago, and I had a feeling of being somewhere distinguishable.

I had a good time at the conference, which was a smallish one in my field where I knew a lot of the people and also got to make some fun new friends. True to form, I was working on my paper up until the last minute, mostly in my hotel room. But I actually enjoyed that a lot, just having a peaceful place to write, and feeling focused in a way that is unusual in my current life. Plus the hotel was elegant and comfortable, dating from around the same time that Honus Wagner played baseball. In the mornings, I would order room service breakfast and settle in with my brand-new netbook and just write. The room was sunny and quiet, with a view of a gothic-looking building across the street. I was on two panels, a teaching roundtable and then a more formal panel where I gave a paper. Both went well. It felt good to be doing something scholarly, to get feedback and exchange ideas with people. In the evenings I would socialize, just going with the flow, falling in with different people I knew (or had just met) who were going to dinner.

On the Saturday night there was a wedding in the hotel. In the late afternoon, as I was sitting in the grand, high-ceilinged and chandeliered lobby, writing (I had moved to the lobby for a change of scene!), I kept seeing couples, some families, teenagers, arriving in their fancy duds. An older woman said to a young girl who was wearing a stunningly shiny dress and high heels, her hair curled perfectly, "Do you have a roommate?" The girl, whom I had been picturing as somehow snooty, answered her politely and respectfully. Perhaps it was her aunt, or a friend of her parents.

I had breakfast with a few of the conference people Sunday morning, then my solitary walk in the deserted downtown, and then it was time to go to the airport. I toyed with the idea of taking the city bus, which would have cost almost nothing, but in the end I opted for the comfort of a taxi. I was already feeling a little bit of that after-the-party letdown and loneliness, so I started a conversation with the taxi driver. He had this twang in his voice--the way people talk in a lot of parts of the country that are not New York--and as I talked to him I felt this longing to be from somewhere else, to have what I imagine would be a simpler life. I asked him, "Are you from here and have you always lived here?" He told me yes, he was from Pittsburgh, and that he had left twice but come back both times. He said that the first time he left he lived for awhile in Atlanta, and the second time in Florida. "I probably would have stayed in Florida," he said, "but my daughter is here and she was having a rough time, so I came back."

I felt very drawn to him after he said that.

It was a pretty quick ride to the airport, not much traffic. We talked a little about the traffic, or lack of it, and I mentioned that the marathon was going on in New York, so a lot of the roads would be shut down for part of the day, but that by the time I got back it would be over.

"Is that a big thing, the marathon?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "People come from all over the world to be in it. In fact, one of the rescued Chilean miners is running in it."

"Oh, really?" he asked, sounding impressed. Then he asked, "But why?"

I had actually been wondering that myself, and didn't really have a good answer.

Then we got to the airport, he got out and helped me with my suitcase, and we said good-bye. I felt truly desolate going into this strange airport and being all alone again, missing the friends I had been with and also feeling utterly depleted and exhausted. But I found a bar where I could have lunch and watch football (there is kind of a sports theme to this post, isn't there?). Actually I wasn't really watching the game--I find football basically unintelligible--but I like the hum of it in the background. And I like airport bars, even when I'm not having a drink, which I wasn't interested in at that particular moment. So I started to feel a little better.

In the taxi on the way home, I had to argue with the driver to get him to take Linden Boulevard (more direct) rather than the Belt Parkway (faster, no traffic lights, but more expensive because it's the long way around, at least five miles extra). At first I gave in because I couldn't really explain to him the way to go (I've only had to come from JFK to where I live now a couple of times since I moved). But then I had the brilliant idea of looking up directions on my new phone which has access to the Internet. When I said I would tell him exactly how to go he came around, although he sighed every time we had to stop at a traffic light. I, however, was very pleased with myself. Winning a bracing argument with a New York City taxi driver almost cured my melancholy.

I will say, though, that re-entry into my overextended, stressful schedule has been hard. In fact, at this very moment, I should be accomplishing the one task that is still not crossed off from the to-do list I posted last week: writing a recommendation for a student that is due next Monday. But I am going to go to bed instead and do it tomorrow at some point. I think I have to find some way to have less work in my life. I will let you know how that goes.