Falling into fall

Twenty-six years ago, I spent part of the morning in an operating room at the Geneva hospital, watching as Bethany was delivered by Caesarean section. It was quite an experience. So was watching her grow up. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BETH!!!!

It's Labor Day, the traditional end of summer, so they say. And, at least this morning, we're experiencing a taste of traditional fall weather here in Ashtabula. Well, the truth is, we've been enjoying very pleasant weather for the past week - a welcome change from a summer when the term "summer-like weather" was used mostly in the pejorative sense.

The traditional start of fall has brought with it some reminders my traditional ineptitude. For example, I spent the morning putting together a submission to a magazine. This involved a series of mistakes, of course - doesn't everything - but after fumbling around for almost three hours, everything seemed to be in order, and I slipped my poor efforts into an envelope and sealed it. It was then that I glanced up at the computer screen, where my cover letter was still hanging out. I wrote the letter last week and read it over several times then. And this morning, I read it several more times before printing it. But it was not until the hard copy was sealed in the envelope that I notice the letter was dated September 1, 2020.

I first became aware of this phenomenon when I started writing for the paper. The errors that eluded me, no matter how slowly and deliberately I had read through my story, or how many times I had read through it, while I was at my desk in the newsroom, always seemed so obvious the next morning when I was reading the paper at the breakfast table. It was as if they had been printed in bold type.

Then I noticed on Facebook that niece Ashley ran a half-marathon over the weekend. During my time as a regular member of the fourth estate, I had the opportunity to get to know quite a few runners, and whether they were high school students running cross country or adults competing in 5Ks and the like, they all seemed like nice people, and I enjoyed talking to them, even if I couldn't figure out the allure of running for the sake of running. So it was, about a year ago, I read What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami and was moved to write a column about runners and running.

Ashley's post made me think this might be a good time to post the column. So I went to the Star Beacon website to retrieve it, and like Old Mother Hubbard, I was disappointed. The column was no longer there. That wouldn't have mattered, but having a great ineptitude for file keeping, I often depend on the web to keep my files for me. But, trust me, it was a darn good column.