Monday, I went on a road trip for my job at the census bureau, driving to Ethelsville, Alabama. On highway 82, near the Mississippi state line. A very small town that doesn't even have a stop light. And I know because I looked. A lot.
But anyhow, I went to the community center there to pick up some paperwork. As with most things, the timeline didn't go as planned, and I had a chance to survey my surroundings. The center was very old and very small. I didn't think that to be out of sorts. But the center seemed to take me back to when it may have been built-- maybe the 1940s or 50s. There were a few stacks of old Baptist church hymnals there, whose hymn numbers didn't match what I am accustomed to as an Episcopalian. I found myself wondering about how many people looked at these songs over the years. Who they were. The hope it gave them. It makes me think about the people who came to the center and looked at those songbooks and heard church music on a now-dusty piano back in the day. There was a picture on the wall from 1971 showing who donated what amount. Some donated a buck, others ten, the banks a little more. But it totaled $650 and they found a place that sold them a Steinway for that amount. 40 years ago, this is what they were trying to do. I'm sure the center still gets used often, but it seemed to be a sad building in a town that's off the beltway. Surely if I spoke to an Ethelsville resident I'd get a complete picture.
It reminded me of a time in 1987 I believe, when I was an equipment manager for the Andress football team. We'd beaten Ysleta 10-9 on a late figgie. Our work was done and David and I walked across the quiet field in an empty, darkened stadium, though the guest 9, home 10 was still up on the scoreboard. It made me think of all the games the stadium had seen, and if it had a voice, the stories it could tell. The great games. The times kids from Newman Elementary next door came and ran on the track (and the time I skinned my arm). The times when we could get discounted tickets from Newman, when I was in second grade, and the time it rained buckets on us.
That was then, though, and I wonder about the stories that could be told now. The Carlsbad game in 1988 when there was a thunderstorm that took out some of the lights and forced a stoppage of play, after which we came back and won. A 38-game district winning streak. Battles against Irvin for the helmet. Beating Midland Lee 10-3 in 91 or 92, and tying them 21-21 in the playoffs that year, advancing on penetrations (before overtime became the rule). There are countless others, but I've been away for too long to know much.
Anyhow, a couple of good runs so far this week. A four on Monday at the UA rec center after work was a good one-- the Twins/Red Sox game was on, and it ended just about when I was finished. I find delight in watching ball games while running on the treadmill. Makes the time go by, and I try to 'race' the game. An 8-mile tempo run yesterday (six miles at 10:06 mile pace), and a three coming up this morning before I go in to work.
Saturday, a ten-miler is planned in Atlanta, Georgia. Ann is there for a professional conference, and I'm heading over Friday morning at the start of a three-day weekend. Really looking forward to it. The run, of course, and all it entails, but I'm especially ready for a night on the town with my wife Friday, plus a chance to see my Uncle John, dad's brother, whom I've not seen since 1994. He was unable to make our wedding back in June, for medical reasons, so I'm really excited to get together with him and his wife Marianne. I doubt we can catch up in an evening, but we're gonna try. Plus, the First Lady hasn't met these folks yet.
So there's much to look forward to.
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