Mood:  energetic

Frodo believes he first participated in the festivities upon a baseball diamond when he was no more than five years old.  Similarly, it has been at least twenty-five years since last he swung at a pitched ball.  Much about the game remains just as it always was, for that is the charm of the national pastime in the Shire.  Frodo has spent many an hour watching others play his game, but, most importantly, he has never stopped wondering just how good he is today.  Some changes have indeed occurred, and it has resulted in statistical accomplishments by others that dwarf those of the Hobbit, lo these many years thereafter.

For example, there are no bats made from ash or maple.  For the paltry sum of $300 one can purchase an aluminum bat which will last forever, that is unless it flies from the hand of the batter and conks the senses out of an innocent bystander.  Everyone wears a helmet, thereby denying all the opportunity to experience a concussion or a mimicry of the status which befell the late Roy Chapman in 1944, when an errant pitch struck immediately behind his left ear.  There are no "spikes" on the shoes, but the present tennis version costs a dozen times what the Ty Cobb endorsed (and honed) variety which now rest forlornly in places like Cooperstown.

Frodo knows facts such as these because of today's meeting of the Men of Gondor, which consisted of a Mexican lunch drenched by a Dos Equiis and a sense of attitude followed by an hour of "BP" inside a batting cage.  Utilizing all of the available technological improvements developed since last he swung a bat in anger, Frodo waited to take his turn against the mechanized version of Whitey Ford, or at least Pascual Perez.

Norm went first.  Wearing his Yankee t-shirt, and his Yankee cap, Norm gave witness to the truism that "you can't go home again."  Frodo truly believes Norm was a great fan, but as a player, well, he is still a great fan.

Dale followed, and he showed Frodo something he did not anticipate.  Dale made contact on nearly every ball to cross the plate.  Now that doesn't mean each would've found a passage through an imaginary infield, but it did reflect a natural hand-eye coordination which spoke well of one trained as a soldier.

Lonesome George was the only one left before the Hobbit.  LG impressed the Hobbit as the exact kind of guy he would want to bat second in his mythical line-up card.  Batting as a right-hander, he drilled ball-after-ball into right field, a skill which the Hobbit has not been able to master, ever.

The Hobbit swung at the first pitch, and missed it badly.  The results of the second pitch were not much different as the Hobbit attempted to adjust to the outside sink of the mechanized artillery, set at 75 mph.  The third pitch dribbled foul, to his left.  Two more swings and misses convinced the Hobbit that making contact was the secret.  How to accomplish that was the mystery.

Suddenly, with a mighty ping to echo throughout the innerworld gymnasium, a line drive carried high and hard to left field.  Then it began, and ball-after-ball screamed to dead left field, up the middle, and, finally, to the hole in right field.  Soon there was a crowd about, all watching the Hobbit torch the machine.  At that moment, Frodo could recite the words about John Henry, "a steel-drivin' man."

Momentum drove the Hobbit, and made him hope that this hour in time would never end, or that it at least last until Freddie Gonzalez of the Atlanta Braves wandered in and offered the Hobbit a long-term contract. 

Now the Hobbit can rest easy, knowing that he's still got it.  Glad he was however, that nobody suggested setting the machine at 95 MPH.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:59 PM EST

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Mood:  chillin'

For the record dear reader, you are present at another anniversary for Frodo.  In addition, this milestone chronicles an average input of 150 postings per annum, which ain't bad for a Hobbit with absolutely no history of finishing anything he ever started.  Witness, for example, the continued presence of the Ring as well as Newt Gingrich.

On this day of celebration, the Hobbit shares the mood for "sequestration" that seems to best reflect the national news.  Why, he wonders, haven't the parties simply been locked up in some sort of confined environment and held there until they come to some sense of consensus?  He knows that some of the participants will never compromise on anything, which means that still another legal solution fails the larger world.  The result would be that, eventually, the money will run out, and the sequestrees would starve.  No loss.

Frodo is similarly imprisoned in an Appalachian valley with shifting weather fronts.  Dandy and Tess are with the Hobbits, and they keep looking longingly at the motorcar, hoping that a bare foot will be placed on an accelerator and a homeward journey will begin before the next supper dish finally appears.  Sharing living arrangements with those who first read the obituaries on a daily basis cements the aura of "lands end" which imprisons the Hobbit this day.  Sydney and Beau Neau McKitty are thriving in the Shire with the careful attention paid their every whim by Miss Ellyn.  Too bad, thinks the Hobbit, that Sydney is not here, in full screech, to bring a swift conclusion to the sequestration suffered herein.

Say, maybe there is a solution for the negotiators after all.  Let them see how long they last with an eternal tape of a cockatiel in full screech.  Boehner would break into tears.

Happy Frodo Day. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:26 AM EST

Updated: Thursday, February 28, 2013 10:28 AM EST

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Mood:  party time!

A companion dog was the intent.  Frodo was surprised by the fact that the pictured potential adoptee was not among the 2 or 3 hundred canines with whom he has become acquainted while volunteering at the Animal Shelter of the Shire.  He answered his own question when he first saw the candidate and discovered that it only weighed 20.6 pounds.  Frodo has consciously avoided the "puppies and small dogs" in order to spend time with the larger, sometimes mangier, who receive less attention from the "oohers" and the "aahers."

Sam sat in the waiting area with Dandy, who was to be exposed to each of the potential candidates, and cast approving or dissenting input.

The candidate was the fifth to appear before the Committee, and it was at this point that Frodo conceived of the similarity between this process and that of the Academy Awards.  The only difference being that non-selectees still faced a potential meeting with the Grim Reaper.

She nearly fell out of the cage into Frodo's arms.  Perhaps she had seen him walk by on prior days, hoping that he would look her way, and now recognized this as her big chance.  Frodo held her gently as he slipped a small leash around her neck and placed her on the floor and started to walk into the viewing area.  Oh, how she pranced, and Frodo sensed that something special was in the air.

As soon as the candidate met Sam's eyes, the deal was done.  She looked enough like the late and long-lamented Fiona that tears swelled in the brave eyes of Samwise.  Amazingly, Dandy also saw something special in the fact that his front paw was being slowly dissolved into the widening maw of the last remaining candidate.

Frodo imagined that Tess, who wagged her tail incessantly while the paperwork was being completed, was silently mouthing the words "I would like to thank the members of the Academy. . .", and he knew that it was the most sincere use of these words in his lifetime.

She is a star (and she thinks the Hobbit is cool).  Much, much more than a companion.  She is a friend.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:54 PM EST

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Mood:  incredulous

Frodo does not have to remind anyone of the premise that life often imitates art.  It is when it comes up and bites you (or someone you know) in the ass that you really begin to think about the implications thereto.  150 years ago, it appears, somebody forgot to put a stamp on the envelope, and the result tells us something we already knew.

The Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America was formally adopted by the 50th State to so ratify just last week.  Frodo, in the immortal words of the late Jack Paar, says "I Kid You Not."  It seems that, according to the bureaucratic underpinnings of the Magnolia State, the formal notification although acted upon several years ago, was not formally transmitted due to an oversight.  The discoverer of the little faux pas was a physician who had recently seen the movie "Lincoln" and who "googled" aspects of the story for his own edification when he stumbled upon the Mississippi humiliation, or the latest one asserts Frodo.

Frodo wonders when, or if, the clarions of justice and liberty in Jackson ratified other pieces of federal legislation?  Maybe they've been shooting each other for 150 years without sanctioning the Second Amendment either?  Or just maybe that's why so many people are traditionally denied the right to vote?  How does the bumper sticker read?  "Fergit, Hell No?"

For the record, the state which was number 49?

Kentucky. 

Ashley Judd for Senate.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:52 PM EST

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Mood:  celebratory

The President announced during his SOTU that a goodly number of the remaining troops in Afghanistan would soon be coming home.  That, certainly, was good news, but what the announcement meant to Frodo was that even people he admires can be wrong, especially when it comes to issues of war and peace.  For the record, Frodo wants all of the troops out of Afghanistan, now.  How wonderful it would be if Frodo could document such happenings on the anniversary of his founding and the 1200th posting of his literary endeavors, both of which are imminent.

"Mr. President."

"Yes, Mr. Frodo is recognized from the audience of those who have attended my visit to a preschool program in the lands of the Shire this day."

"Mr. President, thank you, and welcome to the Shire."

"It is always good to be here Mr. Frodo, and to get a good look at a program where people and government work well together."

"Mr. President, I don't mean to burst your bubble, but let me add that I wished to take the opportunity to tell you that even though I have fought for you, and never regretted a nickel of the cost, I think you are just flat-out wrong when it comes to the continuing presence of US troops on the ground in Afghanistan."

"Well, Mr. Frodo, I'm sure you're aware of my committment to withdraw all troops by the end of 2014. . ."

"Almost exactly 96 years after what was dubbed 'The War to End All Wars."

"Point taken."

"Mr. President, that guy Karzai is possessed by the Ring.  Can't you see, as Presidential Nominee John F. Kennedy did during his debate with Richard Nixon that Afghanistan is not worth the "bleached bones of a single American soldier?"

"The reference being to the islands of Quemoy and Matsu bordering The People's Republic of China and Taiwan, and the cries for US involvement which Kennedy opposed."

"Yes Sir.  It is Frodo's opinion that nothing will be gained by the loss of more lives.  Despite the sacrifices, there is only the religious institution existant in that society, and that is not enough to support societal change."

"I have made that argument myself, in the days before my Presidency."

"I understand Sir, and you were confronted by a diplomatic and military counsel who argued the opposite, just like we heard in the early 1960's in Southeast Asia and before we invaded Iraq little more than a decade ago.  You were right then, you are wrong to continue following that flawed counsel."

"Mr. Frodo, I appreciate your input and will do all I can to bring all of our troops home as quickly, and as safely as I can."

"I believe that Sir.  No matter what, please do not let me down.  For the boys."

"For the boys."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:53 PM EST

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Mood:  hug me

There is 40 inches of snow on the ground in that state near Massachusetts that Frodo never can seem to spell correctly.  It is raining now in the Shire, and the temperature is 30 degrees cooler than it was the day before yesterday.  Seven predominantly agricultural states in the Midwest are no longer selling corn for ethanol production because of the on-going drought.  January was the warmest month ever recorded on our small blue planet.

Wood storks are nesting in the Okeefenokee Swamp, an event that has never before happened.  The glaciers covering Greenland have melted to a point that the mass thereof is smaller than at any point in recorded history.  Tornadic activity in February is more frequent than in the memory or the record-keeping of anyone observing the gun-toting sections of Mordor.  Most telling of all is the fact that Frodo wears two pair of socks, constantly.

Frodo could go on all day, but the research involved would only further deteriorate his already blue funk.  It goes without saying that the weather changes, and that any given day can reflect the most of this or the least of that, Frodo is not totally immune to his environment after all.  What concerns Frodo most of all is the fact that it is the "Orcness" in all of us that may be responsible.  The change, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.

Frodo's dulling memory synapses come through less frequently in his behalf than seemed to occur during his youth.  He remembers however, someone once saying that "If you took away everything that Man has added to the Earth, it would then again be perfect."  Who can argue?   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:19 PM EST

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Mood:  happy

Almost five months into the lively association of Frodo, Sam, Beau Neau, Sydney, and Dandy, the need for companionship on the canine side of the equation couldn't be more obvious.  That explains the presence of 20.6 pounds of avenging angel alongside the foot of the Hobbit.  Identified as a Welsh Corgie but clearly a remote relative of a Dachshund, "Tess" is a brindle who, for want of a more definitive noun, is a "Dorgie."

Tess is not in the least intimidated by the Appenzeller who outweighs her by three pounds for every one packed into her comparatively tiny frame.  This edition of the World Woof Federation (WWF, for short) is an on-going cycle of struggle for superiority in the Shire.  To this point, every "squeaky toy" has been de-sensitized, shredded, and piled into a single defensible fortress.  Every osseous fragment, nearly all of which are devoid of marrow or slime, has been removed from the "toy box" and is scattered throughout the internal portions of the Shire, or buried in the winter detritus of the great out-of-doors.  The search for hidden treasure and the subsequent struggle for buried doubloons of taste delight Daddy's Dandy beyond reasonable expectation.  Sam is abeam, and that is as if a different path had been chosen in a yellow wood.  There is great joy in the Shire.

Joy melds, over time, with the memory of those who watch over the Hobbits from the peace and quiet of hallowed ground.  The Hobbits still frequently call the new ones by the names they knew for so long a time.  No one seems to mind.

The Hobbits journey in the morrow to the land of the great water dish in the sky, and the search for adventure continues.  With the best of friends in tow.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:47 PM EST

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Mood:  cool

Dr. Ferrol Sams, MD, of Fayetteville, Georgia, passed away yesterday.  He was 90 years of age.  Dr. Sams had two careers, the first of which, the medical, commenced with his admission to Mercer University at the age of 16.  His second career festered embryonic after one of his professors urged him to seek a career as a writer.  His first book was published in 1982, and is entitled "Run With the Horsemen."  Dr. Sams continued his family practice until 2006, concurrent with career number two.

There are a few books whose opening sentence captures the appropriate location in the frontal lobe, and remains there for a lifetime.  "A Tale of Two Cities" and "Moby Dick" come immediately to mind among the handful which are known to all, seemingly.  Ferrol Sams added "In the beginning there was the land." 

In the final pages of the first book in what became a trilogy, Frodo backed off his assertion that he had been reading one of the greatest books of the twentieth century.  He added Sams however, to his identification of the ablest of the able, the Southern author.  Ferrol Sams was as passionate as he was honest.  He must have been one hell of a doctor.

Some years ago Frodo came to the acquaintance of an extremely intelligent and worldly young woman whose hometown was Fayetteville.  During the conversation, Frodo raised his admiration of Ferrol Sams as an author to the subjects of discussion.  He was greeted by a blank stare.  Only when the "Sams Center" was referenced did she ever question who or how the name for said facility come to be.  Frodo offers to others that becoming familiar with Ferrol Sams writing is a sound investment in personal wealth.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:17 PM EST

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Mood:  energetic

Frodo's father worked hard long hours for very little money, and he was never, ever, home.  He was a part of the "Greatest Generation,"  and he taught Frodo that a father was not what he wanted to be when the opportunity availed itself.  Every Hobbit, it seems, has memories such as these, and perhaps that is the only reason for the words upon this page.

He had a pickup truck long before pickup trucks became fashionable in the suburbs.  The rules were confusing in those days, and Frodo remembers once observing his father turn into a weigh station on a major thoroughfare in order to meet the requirements for trucks.  The state employee swatted them on with a wave of his hand, and a snicker.  He could not help noting the West Virginia plates on the pickup.  Frodo's friends thought the pickup was "cool," and did their collective best to get a ride in the bed of the pickup while Frodo rode on the passenger side en banc.

One Saturday, the Boy's Club Baseball Team for Hobbits under the age of 15 was to play a game in Alexandria, and Frodo's father had a rare day off.  Arrangements were made for all of Frodo's teammates to meet at the Shire, and to ride in the bed of the pickup together to the baseball game.  None imagined, nor have any likely forgotten that such a ride is immensely uncomfortable.  No matter to Frodo, because, for the first time, his father was going to be at a game to watch Frodo play.

Alexandria was right across the river from our Nation's Capitol, whatever that was, and considerably more metropolitan than Frodo's home.  Frodo could not help but notice that there were some dark-skinned people in the stands, which struck him as odd since there were no dark-skinned Hobbits on either of the teams about to engage each other that sunny afternoon.  No matter to Frodo, since his father stood behind first base serving as the First-base Coach.  All that mattered was that Frodo deliver and properly impress that man behind first base.

The game was very close, and when Frodo came to bat in the final inning, after completing all of his good luck mumbo-jumbo, he noted two Alexandria Hobbits standing arm-in-arm with a dark-skinned Hobbit, and he stared at them as if he had never seen anything so alien, and, in truth, he never had.  It did not take long for them to note the stares of Frodo, and they stared back.  They stayed there, smugly watching for Frodo to fail, like he probably should have.

When the opposing pitcher raised a fastball into the wheelhouse of the Hobbit, it was greeted by the product of a properly turned gluteus maximus and a 33 ounce Mickey Mantle bat.  Pulled with all of his right-handed might, the ball carried high and deep into left field and, as Frodo is proud to note, the fielder is probably still chasing that ball.  Frodo circled the bases, noting that the three Hobbits had turned away and were walking as if nothing significant had taken place.  Frodo had been so involved that he'd forgotten to look to his father as he passed by first base.

No matter, thought Frodo, we'll simply "high-five" at the end of the inning.  Frodo's father stared at him, not knowing for what reason Frodo held his palm up high.  Frodo asked what his father thought, only to here the admission that Frodo's father, too, had been watching the three Hobbits, and did not see the mighty blast of Frodo.

Frodo rode in the back of the pickup truck with his teammates, all of whom noted Frodo's contribution to the victory.  All of whom also talked about more than the three inter-racial spectators, but the number of "niggers" watching kids play baseball when they needed to be working for their welfare.

Frodo's father came to three or four games over the years to follow, but he never saw Frodo hit another home run.  He also never heard him use the word "nigger" ever again.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:15 PM EST

Updated: Friday, February 1, 2013 10:31 AM EST

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Mood:  incredulous

Vision is the slowest of the senses, for it always seems that one observes importance and then registers it on a scale of some sort only after digesting the echoes.  Thus were the moments that began with a flash of movement behind the Hobbit, and the scream of pain that followed.  One who entrusted his personal safety to the Hobbit was at risk, and in mortal pain.

Frodo's opinion of Pit Bulls has undergone a 180 degree change in recent months.  Since the population of the Animal Shelter servicing the Shire consists of more Pit Bulls than any other genetic assemblage, Frodo has found that nearly all of these creatures are sweet, safe, and incredibly gentle to those human and Hobbit who take a few moments in their presence.  They are challenged however by the Michael Vicks of the world, and the rental property landlords who seek to avoid any risk to their litigation free status in the general community.  That does not take away from the fact that the males are incredibly competitive, and that conflict between them is fearsome.

Today, Frodo was walking a young charge named Cain from his outdoor run into the comparative safety of an internal cage when he noted a flash and a savage guttural assault behind him.  Another Pit Bull, in an adjoining cage, took humbrage at what passed in front of him, and he hit the cage door full-speed.  Frodo heard the scream as the teeth and incredibly strong maw enveloped the victim at his side, and the battle reached herculean levels between creatures less than two years of age.  Frodo grabbed the two rear legs of his charge d'affaire as another Hobbit did the same to the creature at her command.  Soon there was a fully stretched envelope of blood and twisted bodies holding on to each other as if they were raptors from ancient times.  It was soon a stand-off, with neither participant even considering letting go in order to fight another day.

Frodo's fellow Hobbit took note of the stand-off, and mindlessly acted by probing a personal digit into the butt of the canine.  Startled, he let go of his opponent, and Frodo pulled Cain into a cage, and slammed the door between the mortal foes.  When queried by the "black shirts," Frodo had to admit that he could not say for sure exactly who or how the conflict was initiated.  All he knew was that Cain, lathered in blood, looked up to him, with wounded eyes, seeking help and comfort.

The other dog, whose name Frodo has forgotten, was "put down" this evening.  Cain will recover from his wounds, and he will remain among the population acceptable for adoption.  At least for now.

Frodo is unsure whether or not Cain was innocent, but he will not soon forget the look in those eyes.  The Hobbit will return in days to come, and he will set caution aside to discuss the future with Cain, aptly named.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:13 PM EST

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