On The Fly

Here we are; it’s Saturday. A day of leisure and the gentle art of doing nothing. Yet, it’s the season openers I'm attempting to follow in baseball, a sport resembling slow performance art with men crouching in the batter's box, their faces masked in concentration as they coax a tiny white sphere to glory. It’s early in the season, and everyone is trying to find their rhythm with those first few hits while swinging for the fences. I'm tracking two games: the Angels and the Cubs. It feels like herding cats while solving a Rubik's Cube blindfolded! Early in the season, the rosters showcase a mix of new faces. Players eagerly pursue their first hit and a home run–the thrilling moment they circle the bases, signifying the actual start of the season. Outside, the wind whips the trees restlessly. The sun plays peek-a-boo, offering brief glimpses before hiding behind grumpy clouds. Like me, it's a day that can't decide its mood. Inside the house is a study in quiet d...

Listen to the audio here. In a world of his own–lives, ole' Doctor Don, Not one world, but three, 'til the setting of the sun! There’s his Blog-World , so bright, with words all a-whirl, And Book-World , with stories of boy and girl! Then, Day-World , where legs didn't leap, didn't run, Just shuffled and creaked 'til each day is done. But his brain, oh, his mind, it’s zippy and keen, A most curious fellow that ever was seen! At ninety and two, with a twinkle so bright, He met Chatty and said, "What a strange delight!" This box with the answers, so quick and so bold, Of theology and stories, new truths to unfold!" "Integrity, relationships, where do they fit? This thing makes me wonder, bit by bit!" He ponders and pokes with laughter and a grin, "Til POOF! he has gone to a world from within! A world made of words, a fantastical place, Where limits of the body, left not a trace! He Soares, and he zooms, with a thought and a rhyme, Trans...

In this episode,  Opening Day Magic & the Promise of 162 . . . It’s back, baseball–yes, baseball! If you’re like me, someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest- it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. One hundred and sixty-two. That’s a lot. There’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of men in oddly tailored trousers spitting. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season, Thursday, March 27, 2025, to be precise– Opening Day . It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, and suddenly, everyone is filled with . . . O ptimism . You know, it’s a form of collective amnesia. All the previous year’s fumbles and foibles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your team implode – all of it disappears. Replaced by a sort of wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, this year will be different. As a Cubs fan, I know it well, this cycle of hope and d...

In this episode, Whispers of Spring . . . Spring has a way of sneaking in when you’re not looking. One day, you’re shaking off the last chill of winter, and the next, you realize the light has shifted, stretching shadows just a little longer. It didn’t make a big fuss about it—no dramatic entrance, no trumpets—just a quiet unfolding, like an old dog settling into a sunny spot on the porch. Last week, Daylight Saving Time kicked in, which meant we all fumbled with our clocks, grumbled a bit, and then, like frogs taken aback by a warm rain, leapt forward into longer evenings. The sun now lingers, in no rush to set, hanging in the sky like a tossed coin that refuses to fall. With the extra daylight, we find ourselves drawn outside once again, migrating to the back patio like folks are drawn to a warm campfire. The lawn chairs are right where we left them, waiting like old friends. The air hums with wind chimes, their tuned cylinders catching the breeze and weaving together something that...

In this episode: Mom Was Right (Again!) . . . Remember that old saying, "Mom knows best?" Well, this week, it resonated profoundly. I vividly recall my mother's steadfast remedy for the common cold, which was ingrained in my 1960s childhood: "Rest in bed, drink plenty of fluids, and take aspirin to reduce pain and fever." . . . Or now that I think about it, this may have been a Bayer aspirin commercial–Simple . . . Fast-forward to the age of AI and endless medical information at our fingertips, and guess what? Not much has changed. Yet, somehow, this week, Lori and I were blindsided by a cold—the first in over five years. My incredulous "How could this be?" quickly morphed into a dawning realization. Our company's annual meeting, a melting pot of colleagues from Illinois, Texas, Vietnam, Colorado, Northern California, and the Central Valley, was a veritable petri dish of germs. And, oh, the germs found me! Getting sick, especially after a long str...

In this episode, A Burr in the Britches . . . People often ask why I'm always up before the birds. Well, mostly because I'm awake. And if I’m awake, there’s usually a mental list of things to do already spooling out like a tangled fly line. But really, it's about the quiet. That sliver of pre-dawn peace. Coffee, a few pages of whatever's on the side table – right now, it’s a dog-eared copy of humorous essays on Fly Fishing by John Gierach – then shutting off the lights and just . . . thinking and sorting out the day's tangles before they actually tangle. You'd think a clear, crisp morning would feel like a blessing after a couple of days of rain. And it did, mostly. But there's always something, isn't there? A little burr in the britches, a knot in the tippet. This morning, it was the neighbor's lights. Now, I'm not one to get all worked up about such things. But there it was, this unwelcome glow seeping in through the windows. The side door an...

In this episode, Mr. GIA . . . Can you name one person who, during your lifetime, changed your life in an extraordinary way? Was it a parent, a teacher, a historical figure, or maybe a serendipitous acquaintance? One person stands out among all others -  Richard T. Liddicoat . Sunday, March 2, 2025, would have been Mr. Liddicoat’s 107th birthday. Although he passed away in 2002, his memory lives on in me. In 1985, as a resident student at the Gemological Institute of America (GIA) in Santa Monica, CA, I was invited by Richard T. Liddicoat Jr. (then Chairman of the Board) to his office. Liddicoat was a student of human nature, a lover of gemstones, and a lifetime GIA advocate. He would visit every Resident (on campus) Colored Stone/Gem Identification classroom just before each class was to graduate. He would often bring samples of remarkable gems submitted to the GIA Gem Trade Laboratory for the students to see. He would also stop by a classroom to discuss industry trends, the ...