Clinton, South Carolina, Saturday, April 14, 2018, 1:30 p.m.
Friday was incomplete on the sports front, that is, unless going to a gathering to support youth tennis counts as sports.
It didn’t seem particularly sporting. The food was great. A bunch of people got together to play their guitars and sing songs. I talked with people I don’t see very often. Chuck Waldron, who loves tennis as much as I love writing, asked me to participate, and I’m going to the fundraiser tonight with my guitar and some signed books for the silent auction. I’ve known Chuck and his brother, Glenn, for my whole life, or, at least, since I started going to school.
I took some photos of the soccer match between Mid-Carolina and Clinton at Wilder, a stadium that yawns for soccer matches. (I don’t mean that the crowd was quiet, but rather that the local football stadium affords plenty of room for a spring sport.) It’s a better place, though, than the other field used for soccer on the Clinton Middle School grounds.
The reason I watched soccer was that it started earlier than baseball, and I had someplace to go. Mid-Carolina won, 3-2, but it was exciting, and I stopped in a parking lot to talk on the radio on the way to the barn out in the country where the ribs, tenderloin, Frogmore stew, cake, brownies, and guitars were. Some people brought beverages.
As it turned out, the local website (GoLaurens/GoClinton) for which I work crashed, rendering local news effectively less worthy, and it messed up the timing of a story I had written earlier in the day and made the soccer match and baseball game less pertinent, particularly since, at this moment, the website is still down.
Dr. Steve Gaines and I talked about our days as football teammates, and I watched some kids from the Clinton High tennis team play pool. Outside, I played a couple of my songs to Lynda Mills, who taught me high school math. She left early because she was planning to play tennis this morning.
This environment was conducive to hearing slightly familiar people say, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Next are the hints I don’t get.
“Seriously, who are you?”
It’s impossible for this to be comfortable. Then I found out the other fellow was combining me with my brother, which is hard to do.
I got home and learned with great satisfaction that the Red Sox won again.
Another way I cobble out a living is with my books, a wide variety of which are available for sale here.