Thought for the Day

"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."

Goethe

Whatever you're doing today, the day before Thanksgiving...

If you're embarking on an 'over the river and through the woods' trek, I hope you'll have a great trip and a safe one, whatever your destination.

To put you in the mood : Read this Live Blog from today's NY Times about a family on their way to grandma's. I consider today the Officical Beginning of the Official Christmas Season (though I never get out my Christmas decorations until December 1st), because from here on in, everything seems to move in fast-forward mode. Of course it used to move even faster when my daughter was little and my parents were alive and I was still married and working practically seven days a week. But at my age, it moves as fast as it ought to, I suppose. I now have a granddaughter to fuss over on the holidays - this will be her first Christmas. Life marches on.

So, whatever you're doing today: working, cooking, traveling or taking it easy before 'the storm' hope it's a good one. Have a great Thanksgiving Day tomorrow.

Note: the painting in the middle, from Wind in the Willows, is by Arthur Suydam.

The Excellent Brilliance of Glass

Dale Chihuly, mastermind of glass. Thanks to Pat over at her blog Mille Fiori Favoriti which featured some gorgeous photos she took of the Chihuly installation at an Atlantic City Hotel she visited recently, I remembered a piece on Chihuly done by PBS years ago, on his magnificent installation in Venice. Couldn't find it on youtube or over at PBS though. But I found something else you might like to view: The Chihuly glass installation at the Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh. Something stunning to see in between baking or shopping or whatever else you've got planned for tonight or tomorrow. If you're like me, you'll be cooking anything that can overnight in the fridge, tomorrow.

Did you ever imagine that glass could be worked in such shapes and sizes and brilliance of color?

Speaking of Books...A Favorite Series

Combine cozy and ascerbic and what do you get? The Miss Zukas mysteries by Jo Dereske. I first began reading these books several years ago and so far, I've read most of them and enjoyed them all.

Wilhelmina Zukas aka Helma Zukas is a librarian (what's more fun than a librarian who solves crimes?) of midwest Lithuanian heritage (ok, what's more fun than a Lithuanian librarian who solves crimes?) who lives in the Pacific Northwest town of Belhaven, outside Seattle. She is a long time librarian at Bellhaven Public Library. The first books in the series were written in the mid-90's before libraries were overrun with computers, though even then, they'd begun their assault. Miss Zukas and her cronies (they more cynically than her) think of themselves as in the business of providing information to library patrons (library-goers are always called 'patrons'), aside, of course, from the process of borrowing books. Miss Zukas, especially when working the phone desk, always responds with patience and fortitude (laced with acerbic wit), no matter how inane the question. She considers it her sworn duty.

I won't get into the changes coming or already established with the advent of computers to libraries across the country, I much prefer to simply enjoy Miss Zukas' crime solving adventures as they stand right now.

These books all depend on the character of Miss Zukas for their entertainment. She is such a well established presence that it's fun just to see how she'll handle any of the plot twists that author Jo Dereske sends her way. Miss Zukas is what used to be known as a spinster of a certain age, she's never married and lives alone in an apartment complex a few miles from the library. In many ways, the Bellhaven library is her life.

In the first book in the series, MISS ZUKAS AND THE LIBRARY MURDERS, you may find yourself not really liking her much, I mean, she is a very rigid personality - everything must be done just so. Spontaenous, she is not. She has her way of dealing with life - apartment kept scrupulously neat, closets and clothing divided a certain way, everything in its own place. She thrives on repetition and order. But as we read further into the series, we begin to understand the excrutiating loneliness at the core of her life. She has solved that problem by dealing with the world in a way she's found that works for her. When I realized that, I began to like her more and more. She's a survivor.

Miss Zukas has a best friend, though maybe the word 'best' is stretching it. Ruth is the exact opposite of Miss Zukas, she is a free-spirited, trouble-making and finding, flamboyant artist (with lovers who come and go) who is always trying to drag Helma off on some hair-brained scheme. They both come from the same area of the mid-west, so that's the basis of their relationship. Helma tolerates Ruth, though in some deeply profound way, I believe she needs Ruth in her life as some sort of balance. Without Ruth, Helma would probably shrivel up and turn into a prune.

Miss Zukas is not fond of animals either, but over the course of the books she finds herself, cohabitating with a cat who takes up residence on her balcony and refuses to leave. She eventually feeds the animal but refuses to name it. How this relationship evolves is part of the charm of the series.

As Helma gets involved in murder, she comes in contact with police detective Wayne Gallant, a divorced, unhappy cop who doesn't know what to make of the strait-laced and very rigid Miss Wilhelmina Zukas. That evolving relationship is fun to watch as well.

Chapter One - The Body in the Fiction Aisle

On Thursday morning, when Jack the janitor stumbled over the body in the Mo-Ne aisle of the fiction stacks, losing his oatmeal and orange juice only a little way from the outreaching shadow of dark blood, Miss Helma Zukas was late for work, a rare occurence that caused her to miss the initial hysteria and excitement of the discovery.

Miss Zukas was just sliding behind the wheel of her Buick, dressed for a day at the public library, all except for the brown oxfords she wore to and from work to save her heels, when she glanced out over Washington Bay and saw sunlight glimmering through the cement gray clouds. Golden beams flickered wanly on the distant crown of Orcas Island. But it was enough of a warning for Helma. She was certain she hadn't pulled the opaque shades that protected her furnishings from the sun.

"I should have known this weather wouldn't last," she said to herself as she climbed the outside stairs to the third floor of the Bayside Arms, avoiding the elevator because Miss Zukas always avoided elevators. She was going to be late for work but it couldn't be helped.

Those few paragraphs give you the beginning of an idea who Miss Zukas is. The reason these books work is because Miss Zukas, as a creation, works.

Far as I know, these books are not available in hardcover, only in paperback. But they are still in print and worth looking for. The first three books together would make a great Christmas present for yourself or for the cozy mystery lover on your list.

1. Miss Zukas and the Library Murders
2. Miss Zukas and the Island Murders
3. Miss Zukas and the Stroke of Death
4. Miss Zukas and the Raven's Dance
5. Out of Circulation
6. Final Notice
7. Miss Zukas in Death's Shadow
8. Miss Zukas Shelves the Evidence
9. Bookmarked to Death
10. Catalogue of Death
11. Index to Murder

Read more about Jo Dereske and her books here.

Over the River and Through the Wood...

THANKSGIVING POEM by Lydia Maria Child. These lyrics were also set to music and became a familiar ditty we used to hum - still do, for that matter. If you don't know what I'm talking about, ask around, most any older person can hum it for you.

Read more about Lydia Maria Child here. She was not only a writer and poet, but an abolitionist and early proponent of women's rights as well as the rights of Native Americans.

Thanks to the amazing Book Tryst for posting about this poem and its author in a wonderful piece by Nancy Mattoon. When I first saw and read it, I knew I had to pass it on.

A Boy's Thanksgiving Day by Lydia Maria Child

Over the river, and through the wood,

to Grandfather's house we go;

the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh

through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

to Grandfather's house away!

We would not stop for doll or top,

for t'is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood -

oh how the wind does blow!

It stings the toes and bites the nose,

as over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood

and straight through the barnyard gate.

We seem to go extremely slow -

it is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood -

when Grandmother sees us come,

she will say "o, dear, the children are here,

bring a pie for everyone."

Over the river, and through the wood -

now Grandmother's cap I spy!

Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?

Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Thanksgiving Mysteries

Looks like a pretty comprehensive list of Thanksgiving Mysteries from Janet Rudolph over at Mystery Fanfare. I was flummoxed when I saw these titles. Who knew there were SO MANY mysteries set in or around Thanksgiving? I have to admit, I did't. So, if you can tear yourself away from the hot stove and the last minute running around, take an hour for yourself, make a cup of tea and sit down, put your feet up and read a good mystery of the season. Sounds like a plan to me.

47 Years Ago Today.

November 22, 1963: Such a sad and shocking day. I remember it vividly still. Not a fun way to begin this week, but it is what it is.

Meant to post this earlier, I seem to be playing catch-up today. I do have some memories of the day I'd like to talk about. Though even now, these many years later, it is difficult to remember without sadness and anger taking over - still.

I was 21 in 1963, working at Decca Records on Park and 45th, in the art department. There were no tvs available except for a small portable in the manager's office (b/w of course). Truth is, none of us knew he had a tv in there, they weren't as ubiquitous then as now.

It was near lunch time or early mid-afternoon, can't remember exactly, when somehow the news began to filter in on someone's transistor radio. At the time the news outlets were scattered and there were only three networks who had the sort of coverage needed for a major crisis. They were going with the story that the President had been shot but was still alive in the hospital. The truth, of course, was that JFK had already died in the car.

As more and more of the story broke, everyone began buzzing, gathering in the hallway as people came in from outside errands or lunch or whatever. When we realized that the manager had turned on his little tv, a few of us went into his office and heard and saw Walter Cronkite declare the President dead - blinking back tears. Cronkite's crying made the news even more unbearable. I mean, if HE couldn't bear it, how could we?

A couple of the women around me began weeping. I was too stunned and I remember my knees giving out and I plopped down onto a chair that, luckily, happened to be nearby. I could not say anything. I mean, what on earth was there to say? None of us could think what to say.

The company realized we were not going to be any good to work that day so they sent us home.
This happened all over the city. We all thought war might be about to break out because no one knew who was involved in the assassination. There were very few details available. We worried that something might happen to the Vice President or Mrs. Kennedy, there were all sorts of wild-eyed ideas and questions no one had answers to. I kept thinking it had to be some sort of crazy mistake.

On the subway going home, most everyone had a newspaper, the headlines in angry black and white, so I knew there was no mistake. The President was dead. Sitting in the subway, there was no talking, I guess no one wanted to say anything that might make the day real. I remember people staring at each other than down at the newspaper pages then glancing up, then staring at nothing. The whole ride was riddled with unreality.

I walked home from the station and it was like, well, what do we do now? Needless to say, our tv was on for the next week or so, the whole family in front of it. The funeral march - the black horse with the boots backward in the stirrups as had been done in Lincoln's day, the burial - the lighting of the flame, the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald on live television by Jack Ruby. (Can't remember which came first.) My memories of the day are imperfect.

It was an enormously heartbreaking yet surreal experience. I truly thought the world had come to an end. It was the loss of our innocence, you see. That was what the assassination meant for my generation: a great loss of innocence. We thought ourselves invulnerable, but if they could get JFK, they could get anyone. A deep feeling of fear and anger settled on the country. The thing was, then and now, no one could tell us WHY THIS HAD HAPPENED.

Music to Ride Horses By

Over on Pattinase, Patti posted one of her favorite movie themes: MIDNIGHT COWBOY - a great one to be sure. That gave me the idea to post a few of mine. The word 'cowboy' seems to be the operative word for today.

• First is the THRILLINGLY PANORAMIC theme by Bruce Broughton for SILVERADO, one of my all time favorite westerns. Here's the trailer for the movie, in case you haven't seen it and you're in the mood. I am a BIG fan of the French horn, in case you hadn't guessed that.

• Theme from THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN, sountrack by the brilliant Elmer Bernstein. Great film, even greater music. Last year on vacation in N.C., this film came on cable and my brother and I sat down in the evening to watch it. We knew the scenes backwards and forewards, even most of the dialogue. We kept everyone else entertained with our running commentary on the film, even jumping up and down off the sofa to act out some of the actor's moves - embarassing! Needless to say, a GREAT favorite of ours that we hadn't seen in ages. The younger members of the group shook their heads at us 'oldies' and went to bed. They missed a classic.

• Theme from THE BIG COUNTRY, by Jerome Moross. Not only a BIG theme, but a spectaular opening credit sequence. I never tire of watching and listening. I think there's a re-mastered version out there, if I'm not mistaken. The color in this is nowhere near the original.

Note: Painting up at the top by Frederick Remington.

Sunday Salon: Summing Up

It's been an eventful week as far as the blog is concerned: Short Story Challenge - My First Challenge EVER (hopefully not my last) was launched by yours truly. So far, we're chugging along like The Little Engine That Could - slowly but surely the word will get around - we think we can, we think we can, we think we can...

• Reviewed the new Lee Child book WORTH DYING FOR this past Monday. It's a winner - his second book this year. Second best seller. He is unstoppable and unflappable. A lovely man and a fabulous writer. If you like thrillers with a touch of the cerebral amid the mayhem, read Lee Child.

• I was so pleased to see my review for one of my favorite books, THE WOODEN LEG OF INSPECTOR ANDERS by Marshall Browne posted on PATTINASE as part of Patti's on-going Forgotten Friday meme. I was in very intimidating, but wonderful company. Quite an honor.

• Two reading disappointments this week: Allegra Goodman's THE COOKBOOK COLLECTOR and Michael Connelly's THE REVERSAL. Both not nearly as good as I'd expected. Finally gave up reading and just skimmed. No reviews forthcoming.

• I began re-reading Jane Austen's PERSUASION just because and found myself, once again, bowled over by the writing and the story and the sheer genius of a writer who saw so little of life and yet still managed to see everything important.

• Also picked up, from my tottering TBR pile, the Louise Penny book that won all the awards this year, BURY YOUR DEAD. Looks really good - this is a great series. I'm still having problems, for whatever reason, getting into WEAPONS OF CHOICE by John Birmingham, the time travel thriller I'd hoped to have read by now to comply with the Time Travel Challenge I entered at At Home With Books. Not doing too well with that challenge since I came to it so late in the year and I've been so sluggish about it. I think not liking Connie Willis' second book of the year, ALL CLEAR, got me down in the dumps about time travel books for now. I mean, she's the master of it all and yet I was truly disappointed in her latest. I think this is the first time I haven't liked a Connie Willis book. I feel like a traitor. Not a good feeling.

• I think I'm starting to get the reading blahs again, hence my attempt to forestall it by reading Austen. We'll see what happens. I'm thinking to return most of my library stuff still lingering around the house and just concentrating on my own books off my shelves for a bit. I think sometimes I just get overwhelmed with what's left to be read and I shut down. Well, yeah, that makes a helluva LOT of sense - but it's my way. Luckily, it doesn't happen often.

• So, how did your reading week go?

Saturday Salon: A Favorite Painting

Lord Frederic Leighton - 1830-1896 (Actually, he wasn't a 'lord' for very long, just a couple of days at the end of his life and the title died with him.) is one of those painters whose work most people are vaguely if not intimately familiar with. His work is of the 19th century Pre-Raphaelite school, a group of artists whose paintings are reproduced and printed all over the place, probably because of their general stylized romanticism, beauty and grace. Read more about the Pre-Raphaelites here.

Leighton's The Painter's Honeymoon, the painting shown above is one of my very favorites - a copy in poster form, hangs on my living room wall, so I live with it everyday. The very first time I saw this image, I was, as Dickens might say: struck all of a heap. It's not only the subject matter -an artist sketching while his adoring young wife looks on - it's the technique and composition, the richness of it all that drew me in then and now. The young woman's gown is an orgy of satin, the darkish, yellowish green dazzles in its heavy intensity. (I wonder if there's any artist alive today who could paint fabric in this sort of tactile way.) But note the other factors: her piquant and very sharp chin, the oval of her face, the gentle brilliance of her red hair, the couple's entwined hands as the artist patiently goes about his task. Is he drawing her do you think or drawing for her? They are still on their honeymoon, after all.

He is a kind of a blah figure to my mind, dark and almost hidden except for his hands and the concentration on his face. The artist can't be Leighton because he never married. But who knows, maybe he imagined himself in the scene.

The couple is probably sitting in an orangerie, maybe in Italy someplace? I've imagined so. I've imagined lots of things about this painting.

I've included a photo of the artist Frederic Leighton in today's post merely because when I ran across it in my online ramblings, my immediate reaction was: What a hunk! Yes, I am smitten by his manly, brooding, sharply chiseled face - sigh. I admit it: I am a Leighton groupie. Someday, perhaps in another lifetime, I hope to visit the Leighton House Museum in England.

Red Riding Hood - Oh No, They Didn't!

Normally - well, as normal as it gets around these parts - I wouldn't bother with a post of something I didn't like, i.e. film or book or other 'artistic' pursuit. I mean, why bother? But this time out, I just have to post this film trailer. TELL ME IT IS NOT AS AWFUL AS IT SEEMS! My eyes! My eyes! Yes, I'm yelling. I'm ranting. Sorry if I burned your ears. It's just that I'm simply astonished that bankers still keep putting up money to make this kind of - what's the genteel version for crap? - crap-eroo.

I have a better name for this affront to my eyes: TWILIGHT MEETS WOLF BOY. Wait, didn't they already make that? Then how about: TWILIGHT IN THE HOOD. Or WOLF IN THE HOOD. (That's probably more apt.) Why am I harping on TWILIGHT? This is the same director, folks. BIG surprise. But I don't have to tell you that, really. Look at the trailer and tell me otherwise. GAK! (That's me coughing up a hair ball.) Just from the trailer alone we can all easily figure out the gist of this little movie-o-la and well, really, there's just no necessity to see it. No necessity to subject ourselves to endless vistas of red hoods twirling and swirling in the snow. No need to expose ourselves to a possible overdose of s-e-n-s-i-t-i-v-i-t-y.

I much prefer, and I hope you will concur, the inimitable Tex Avery's version. Now THIS is my kind of Red Riding Hood. Don't give up after the first few minutes, keep watching, keep watching, wait for it...wait for it...

And speaking of Side Dishes...

Ah, J.C. Leyendecker, one of my favorite illustrators of all time. The man's talent for idealization of the human figure was remarkable. This vintage cover of the now defunct Saturday Evening Post shows why he was always called upon to illustrate men, men and more men. Though his women were no slouches either. So, for your viewing pleasure, I present The Pilgrim and The Football Player - both emblamatic of the season, at least until Black Friday. All I can say is: hubba-hubba.

See more of J.C. Leyendecker's wonderful work here on Flickr.

Friday: Forgotten Books

My review of a Forgotten Book, The Wooden Leg of Inspector Anders by Marshall Browne is posted over on the fabulous mystery/thriller blog: Pattinase. I'm in great and very intimidating company today. Please go take a look when you have a moment. Read more about the elusive Australian author Marshall Browne here.

Thanksgiving Sides

Not making the entire meal, haven't done that in years, but I am a contributor next week at my brother's. I love sweet potatoes in any way shape or form, so this year I'm making a great recipe from Country Living Magazine, the November 2009 issue - sounds easy enough. I mean what's not good with lemon on it?

LEMON-GLAZED SWEET POTATOES

Makes 4 servings. Working time: 5 min.

Total Time: 55 min. (Approximately. My words.)

Ingredients:

3 medium sweet potatoes

1 tablespoon of unsalted butter

2 tablespoons of dark brown sugar

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Peel sweet potatoes and cut into 1 inche slices. Butter a 13 x 9 inch baking dish and arrange sweet potato slices in a single layer.

2. Mix brown sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, and salt in a small bowl. Pour evenly over potatoes, cover with aluminum foil, and bake until potatoes are fork tender, about 45 minutes.

3. Remove foil, return potatoes to oven, and bake until glaze becomes syrupy, about 5 more minutes. Serve immediately. (The glazed sweet potatoes may be cooked in advance, stored in the refrigerator, and reheated in a warm oven.)

My comments: Depending on how many people you're cooking for, I'm assuming you can

just double the ingredients, etc, etc, as you like. Use your best judgement. I'm going to add a bit more lemon juice than 1/2 a cup, but I LOVE the taste of lemons on anything.

This would also be nice if you added a few toasted pecans. I may or may not. If you love raisins you could probably add a few of those those too. Don't think I will.

One More Recipe: If you're wondering what green vegetable to serve or bring, I have my own fast and VERY easy string-bean dish that I love. (IF you don't mind a cold vegetable at the Thanksgiving table. It can take the place of salad if someone forgets to bring it or you've forgotten to buy lettuce or it's just too much trouble with everything you have to do and nobody eats salad at Thanksgiving, anyway.)

MARINATED STRING BEANS ala YVETTE (HA!)

Ingredients:

A bunch of fresh string beans - judge how many you'll need by the people involved.

OR a bag or two of frozen un-cut string beans (you know, the WHOLE bean).

Your Favorite Salad Dressing - I like Ken's Steak House Table Caesar Dressing.

Warning: This dressing is kind of salty, so go easy when assembling salad. (It's

ALWAYS easier to add than to subtract.) You could use any herb dressing as

well or a nice simple red wine vinegar dressing.

What to do:

Cuts tips off fresh string beans, then blanch them in boiling water, whole, until crisp and still green. A couple of minutes should do it depending, of course, on how big the pot and how many beans you've got. You can also steam them, but this might take a little longer.

Take a bean out and taste it and you'll know when it's right. They should still be crunchy.

If you're using frozen beans, then just steam them or place them in a 1/2 inch or so of boiling water for a few minutes. Again, you'll know when they're done - taste one.

None of this should take more than about five or so minutes, maybe even less. It all depends on how crisp and crunchy you like your string-beans.

Okay, once the beans are done to your satisfaction. Put them in a colander and run cold water over them to stop the cooking.

Place beans in a bowl.

Add as much or as little salad dressing as you like - see my salt warning above if you use the salad dressing I like - then toss.

Cover bowl, place in refrigerator and VOILA! How easy is that? This is delicious by the way, so don't forget to take it OUT of the refrigerator and place it on the table.

I'm thinking you could also add some finely chopped roasted peppers to this dish and it would probably be great. But it's not necessary. Green or red and green always look nice at the Holidays and add a visual pep to meals that with turkey and traditional accompaniments always seem boringly monochromatic.

My Favorite Reads: THE DREYFUS AFFAIR by Peter Lefcourt

This is such a favorite book of mine, I re-read it every now and then and keep in touch with the author's website to see when-oh-when they're FINALLY going to turn it into the terrific film I know it can be.

From the back cover: What could possibly happen that would shock America the way the Dreyfus affair and its violent anti-Semitism shocked France a century ago? The answer: A major league shortstop kissing his second baseman in a Neiman-Marcus dressing room. Peter Lefcourt's THE DREYFUS AFFAIR is a made-for-Hollywood grand slam. Entertainment Weekly

Yeah, if only Hollywood had the guts and the creative moxie.

Here's the gist of it: Randolph MacArthur Dreyfus Jr., aka The Shovel, aka, Randy - America's golden-haired, baseball wonder-boy, the best-hitting, best-fielding shortstop in the Major Leagues and the very married father of two, has a bit of a problem. Quite without warning, he suddenly realizes that he is growing too fond of his second baseman, D.J. Pickett. Not hearty man-to-man, job-well-done, buddy, buddy baseball locker room fondness, no, this is the kind of fondness which if found out, would drum Randy right out of baseball, out of his MVP career, out of his marriage, out of his life! Goodbye to the Randy Dreyfus Shopping Center, goodbye to the endorsement deals. Goodbye to the money and adulation.

Randy loves baseball, loves his wife, loves his daughters. He tells himself he has the perfect life. Though of course there's Calvin, his Dalmatian dog, who hates Randy's guts and wastes no time peeing on Randy's legs whenever he gets the chance. But Randy has a plan in the works to deal with that.

Despite his sudden sexual confusion and the almost incident in the ballpark shower room which thankfully, no one saw, Randy hires a hit man to take out his dog because he can't focus on anything else at the moment except the fact that his life is going down the tubes. He doesn't have time to take the dog to the pound, he can't risk his kids finding out. This is a guy who is used to throwing money at a problem to make it go away. Besides, it's L.A., you can hire anyone to do anything.

The Dreyfus Affair is a hilarious book. It is also a very touching romance, a social satire, a great baseball book and a reminder, unfortunately, of where we are not when it comes to the acceptance of homosexuals in sports - not to mention, everyday life. The book was written in 1992, but I'm afraid nothing much as really changed since then. Even the advent and seeming acceptance of the brilliant award winning film, BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN has done little to broaden the views of Hollywood. According to author Peter Lefcourt, this book has been in 'turn-around' screenplay hell for years.

Randy Dreyfus begins the story as an unsophisticated young baseball phenom, careless of his family life, fond of the earthy language of the locker room and proud of his athletic prowess. Over the course of the book he evolves into an unexpectedly likable and even, endearing character. That he is dumb-founded by what's happened goes without saying and to watch as he fumbles about trying to undo this 'thing' which has come upon him, is part of the book's charm. Early on, he goes to see a psychologist primarily because he can't think what else to do and maybe the doctor can prescribe something to make it all go away.

The door opened, and a man of about fifty appeared, wearing a lamb's wool sweater and baggy trousers and carrying a set of beads in his hand. His hair was thick and sprinkled with gray, his shoulders sagging, his lidded eyes half closed, his entire demeanor like that of a large lazy sheepdog.....Randy followed the doctor into an inner office, which was small and cozy, with rugs and throw pillows scattered around. There was no desk. Fuad sat down in an armchair and gestured for Randy to take a seat opposite him.

They sat there for a long moment as Randy scratched behind his ear, a nervous gesture he had little control over. It was dead quiet in the room, except for the sound of an aquarium air pump in the corner and the clicking of the worry beads.

"So, Mr. Dreyfus, why are you here?"

Jesus. The guy didn't f**k around. He cut right to the chase. Randy didn't know where to begin...

"I'm not sure," he finally mumbled.

"Why don't you just plunge right in."

Randy looked around him. The door was thirty feet away. He wondered if Fuad kept it locked to prevent people from escaping. If push came to shove he could always overpower the guy and get the keys. He looked like he couldn't take a hit.

"You see, the thing is, I've never been to a shrink before.'

Fuad nodded slowly, saying nothing.

"It's kind of hard to talk about this."

"I understand. But unless you talk about it, we can't get anything done, can we?"

Now Randy was nodding but he still wasn't talking.

"All right," the doctor said. "Let's pretend that you're not here about you, but that you're here about someone else, a friend. Your friend's got a problem. You're concerned. You want to help. So what's your friend's problem."

"He almost got a rod in the shower in Cleveland."

"Excuse me?"

"Doc, do you think it's possible for a guy who thinks Pia Zadora's a fox to be queer?"

Pia Zadora? Well, the book is from 1992. But, anachronistic show-biz names notwithstanding, the storyline is as topical as don't ask, don't tell. The thing I love about Dr. Fuad is that he knows NOTHING about baseball and Randy's more colorful colloquialisms go right by him. Yet he turns out to be just the sort of patient, un-shockable listener that Randy needs.

The unknowing object of Randy's sudden affection is Digger Johnson Pickett aka D.J. He is the L.A. Valley Viking's' premier second baseman, a repeat golden glove winner. He is African American, a loner, a guy not interested in locker room gossip. He wonders why Randy lately keeps flubbing routine plays and making errors left and right. When out of the blue his teammate, with whom he's never really been close, suddenly asks him out for Chinese food, D.J. wonders even more.

Peter Lefcourt not only understands the workings of professional baseball - the pressure cooker race to reach the post season - he also understands the workings of the human heart. He has written a wise, funny, crackpot scheme of an irresistible novel peopled with characters you will never forget and a satisfying resolution which will leave you smiling.

As for Calvin, let's just say that he has the good fortune to have had his distracted owner hire the most inept hit man in Los Angeles.